Sunday, June 30, 2013

But I Will Never Wear a Bimbo Shirt

Yesterday I went to my first professional soccer game. It was fun! A bunch of impossibly buff guys ran around in circles and fell over and writhed in apparent agony until some call or other was called, whereupon they leaped to their feet and continued scooting around with renewed vigor. Not that they weren't impressive! I can't so much as run around the block and they maintained a level of absolute sprightliness for an hour and a half. I must say though, the Philadelphia Union has a branding problem: 


They look thrilled

I was impressed that the swarms of bros swarming the stadium were happy to wear their Bimbo jerseys with a complete lack of irony. The look in this guy's eyes at the sponsorship party though...

....

They do make an effort to get English speakers to stop snickering....

But I snickered.

I liked how non-gross the fans were-- compared to hockey fans, who are kind of violent and terrible, they just yell useful advice and clap politely. 

The weeks are flying by, and it's astonishing to me that I'll be leaving Phila in a month. It's getting more bitter than bittersweet, really. I'm gonna miss everything.

It's not bitter to donate all my cool weather work clothes, though-- one of the reasons I'm going to grad school is that I want to work somewhere that doesn't leave me encrusted in half an inch of filth every day. Not that there aren't a lot of cool things about working in a metal shop, but looking like a scruffball every day for three years taught me that I don't like looking like a scruffball. 

With that in mind, here's how to not look like a scruffball on really short notice if you happen to be one (inspired by a conversation with Miss Laura who never looks as scruffy as me). 

Rayon is your friend. You can scrunch a rayon dress or top into the bottom of your messenger bag and it will emerge looking just fine. 

Also, make sure that anything wet in your messenger bag is sealed hermetically. Also, things that can become wet. You try getting melted chocolate out of a light blue blouse. 

Don't worry about clean pants. If your jeans are a mess but your top is obviously expensive, it's chic.  Somehow you don't get the same effect the other way-- a grimy Cinelli t-shirt and a shantung silk skirt looks weird. 

By obviously expensive I mean it has a fancy label and you got it for five bucks at AIDS Thrift. 

The awl on your Swiss Army knife is great for de-grubbing your nails. 

Slightly beat is scruffy. Really, really beat is hip. Don't ask me why. I had cloth mess bag in college that looked drab and shabby and made me feel broke. A girl I knew had an identical bag (ten bucks from the army-navy store) and it was covered in paint, mud, dust, grime, slime and mold, and made her look like a gypsy bohemian. So if you can't make something better and you don't want to chuck it, make it worse. 

Don't ever wear white. 

No matter how nuts your hair is, if your part is straight it will look like you did it on purpose. 

There is no reason to wear crappy, itchy, pilly fabric. Even to a metal shop. Ever. 

If it's cool enough for a scarf, wear one and wear a nice one. If it's bright and eye grabbing no one will notice that the rest of you is covered in bike. But take it off around power tools that spin. 

On that note, have a nice assortment of coats and jackets. Then if you have to look nice immediately after looking scruffy you can just keep your coat on and sweat in the name of sleekness. Also, hug your cat goodbye BEFORE you put your coat on in the morning (I can never remember to do this. Next coat I buy will be Dorian colored). 

Don't try biking in flowy wraparound skirts. They will unwrap. 

Anyone have any more suggestions? Pretty soon I'll have to present a reasonable facsimile of an efficient, sleek design-y New Yorker. I draw the line at Ray Bans, though. Why does everyone have Ray Bans?

And finally, the Tour opened with a team bus getting stuck under the finish line with the riders only 12k away:


They eventually let down the tires.

You can't make this up. 

--Isis

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Stop the World

Many months ago a guy called the shop I work at to see if we could make him a special bicycle. I happened to get the phone and we got to talking. He told me he was stationed in Afghanistan, and planned to devote himself to helping kids with muscular dystrophy on his return. I think he mentioned having a relative with MD, but I could be wrong. The bike was to have a seat in the front so he could take kids riding with him. I told him that would be no problem, and booked the bike into our build queue.

He called fairly frequently after that, to talk about his bike or just talk. That bike seemed to symbolize the civilian life he was looking forward to so much, and he said he thought about it all the time. Once I asked him what it was like in Afghanistan. He was quiet so long I thought the connection had broken, and then he just said that you get used to it. I always wished him luck when he rang off.

We finished the bike, but there was no word from him. He'd said he was sometimes hard to reach, so we just hung the bike up and waited. But weeks turned into months and I got concerned. I googled his name, but it's a common one and I felt like a creeper and stopped.

Then today I read an email from him. He'd been severely wounded and implied that he didn't expect to ride again. He asked if we could sell his bike for him. 'It sucks, but that's war.'

I had to hide my face in my arms for a minute. It's easy to dismiss the military as jingoistic and bloodthirsty, especially with all the news about sexual assault and brutality against civilians. But one forgets (I forget) that these are just young people like myself, with passions and idealism and dreams that they cling to to get through hard times.

I'm glad this guy survived. I hope he does manage to ride again.

No pictures or goofiness today. I'm just feeling weary and sad with the world, that sends its young to get blown to bits and lets its wealthy and powerful commit extraordinary crimes.

This world is too much with us late and soon...

Isis

Never mind, a picture: if you happen to be in Pennsport and you meet a hairless cat, he needs to go home.