I just had an anniversary, in fact. Last drink was 13 years ago. I could get used to this.
These kids are in the same transition program I was in 2000-01. Same crappy building, probably the same crappy furniture.
Last edited by Patrick (2014-01-16 14:44:59)
^
Oh. Well congrats on that then. Seriously.
Thanks.
Same building, new coat of paint, horrible artwork and different crappy furniture.
Patrick - good work on 13 years.
A personal question - don't answer if its impertinent - did you dress like this back then or change at some point?
^ I always wore buttondowns and chinos, and there was always a blazer and a tweed jacket around, a half-dozen ties, and something like a Bean blucher moc for shoes. Dirty bucs.
I don't think I even owned a suit until I was 30 or so, when I taught high school for a bit.
The obsession currently on display is a relatively recent development. After I quit drinking, I had to have something to do. Besides fishing, that is.
Last edited by Patrick (2014-01-16 20:59:07)
Thanks - just curious about how people (me, we, us) arrive at a certain personal style and if its related to a Road to Damascus experience or subtle changes or "lifestyle" or peer group.
I think I got my first suit at 15 or so.
Actually probably earlier at school. Uniforms don't count I guess. I came across an old pic somewhere. I'll see if I can dig it up. (and then Big it Up)
Awesome insight into your past FXH. What years were this pictures taken?
And nice foot bandages Shooey. "Bandaid" is very accurate. Love em.
Last edited by oxford cloth button down (2014-01-17 08:03:25)
I cut down trees, I skip and jump,
I like to press wild flowers.
I put on women's clothing,
And hang around in bars.
^
Haha. What I call a "character building experience".
I played on a rec Girls Ball games team two years ago. I told them I had been something of a prolific striker in my glory days. This was an untruth. My Girls Ball games glory days consisted of being a sub defender for one year when I was 9.
After it became evident I couldn't dribble, shoot, or head the ball and spent much of the match on my knees scouring the grass for insects, the managing player sent me to be goalkeeper.
Perfect. They don't run. I can nip at my flask and build little turf and dirt cities for the little people I imagine are around me.
Then some ex-Girls Ball games stud, Olympic alternate sent a screaming shot at me. Knocked me square in the face. I went sprawling backwards. Damn that hurt. I lost my senses for many seconds. I heard people laughing. Even people on my own team. I walked off the field and cursed my team swearing they would lose every game.
They won the league that year. I inquired about my trophy, but never heard back, so I bought my own plus another for "goalkeeper of the year." I wanted that to be a goalkeeper in stance with an admiring grasshopper colony looking up in awe, but such was beyond the design facilities of the trophy shop.