And so it starts ...
I resisted blogging the same way I resisted cargo pants. Since everyone else was wearing them, I wanted to be contrarian and avoided them like some knowing fashionista (which I'm not). But then it occurred to me that cargo pants would give me lots of pockets in which I could spirit away the usual things: receipts so important you can't throw them away (yet they end up mangled in a purse); random sticks of gum (made stiff by neglect and rigor mortis); folded-up dollar bills you didn't have time to stuff into your wallet; phone numbers written on bits of paper. So I bought a pair, and now it's my favorite one.
Ceci n'est pas une blog. It's another pair of cargo pants.
Let's see how this all goes.
Ceci n'est pas une blog. It's another pair of cargo pants.
Let's see how this all goes.
posted by Jho at 7:29 PM
1 Comments:
What is it with this fussy resistance to cargo pants? Some of us have even evolved to the point of wearing (my heavens!) cargo shorts. I particularly like to wear models from the late 90's from the thrift stores. Ya' know, lots of elastic to accomodate mybody's girth. My body, yes, the one that doesn't exercise. You'd recognize it from the pages of Happy Fatty magazine.
This practice of finding myself in a dead man's pants soothes me . . . or maybe a younger man's who has taken up a sudden fetish for eating jelly beans around town, the pockets teeming with them, carried like ballast to prevent one from being swept away by the frilly and airy fantasies that Madison Avenue employs to fill up all Americans.
Yesterday I, myself, had the fantasy of buying some puppets. I found some at the thrift store, and when the boy down the street came over for a play date with my four-year-old, he went right over to them, put them on his hands and began to attack the furniture with them.
I heard the end table let out a sharp cry!
The best thing to keep in your cargo pants pockets is your digital camera. You can whip it out when a scene arises that needs to be remembered. Today, driving past the Home Depot, on the other side of Pocket road is the abandoned Hmong garden. Normally this time of year preparations are being made to grow sweet corn and cabbage and tasty melons, but this year the word has gotten out that the garden is going to be plowed under for a new pet hospital. I wanted to take a picture of what remains of the disheveled shelters. For several weeks I've been wanting to work on a series of poems entitled, "Hmong Garden in Winter." I will have to see if there is one more rainy day this spring where I can go and take a picture to get the right mood. Today was too sunny.
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