Stand Tall

Ahhhh...after a very long period of.....just being lazy......I'M BACK.  And how better to start today's blog, but with the chorus of an old song....

"Stand Tall, don't you fall oh, don't go and do something foolish you're feeling it like everyone, it's silly human pride"


Hmmm...so this chorus can be interpreted many different ways and makes me think of several different situations.  The first is really sad.  A young man that I grew up with took his own life last week.  No one, not even the family, really knows what drove him to this end.  He was an outwardly happily married father with, what seemed, everything going for him.  It's sad to think that someone can be in a place that is so dark, with what seems like there is no way out, and take your own life to solve the problem.  What's sad is that if he had only shared his feelings with someone, he may have been able to get help...maybe his problem was magnified in his mind and made to seem bigger than it really was....maybe it was just "silly human pride" and he saw no other way out.  At any rate...it's sad, and he will be missed.  May his memory be eternal.


NOW, I'm not sure if I can turn this around and bring this back to my usual sarcastic blog, but I am going to try.  I don't want to minimize his death, but as my Mom used to say, "Life is for the living, and you have to go on.  Never forget them, but continue to LIVE."  So here we go....  the other way that I read into these lyrics is...Stand Tall and don't be a big pussy.  Why are SO many people SO petty?  Why is it that people pretend that they are all big and tough and unable to admit that sometimes....some things hurt their feelings?  And when their feeling DO get hurt, why don't they go to the source of the hurt INSTEAD of getting other people involved to fight their battles?  WHY I ask you, WHY???  It's always funny to me that there are those people in the world that act like nothing bothers them...they're immune to everything....but really....they're NOT.  It's all a facade.  They talk tough, they act tough, but at the end of the day...they're not tough at all.  Why can't people just be themselves and admit that they have feelings.  Like the elephant man said...."I am not an animal!"  It was him saying...I have feelings...and I  hurt when you say "hurtful" things.  NOW, the big part is when the hurtful things...or things interpreted to be hurtful may have been a joke!  That's my favorite.  Little boys wearing big man's shoes.  If you can't take a joke...then maybe, just maybe you should never make a joke yourself.  Hmmm...now that's a thought....quit being a big pussy and stop dishing it out if you can't take it.  Yes, that is the point of this blog and how I interpreted the song.  It should have been sung...."Stand Tall, don't you fall oh, over your big fat lip that's hanging on the ground because you think you're such a big tough guy, but actually you are a baby that can't take a joke, but loves to dish them out, ohhhhhhh.....ooooo yeah...."  Get my point?  If you don't...THEN ASK ME AND DON'T MAKE A BIG "F"ing DEAL OUT OF NOTHING AND GET ALL KINDS OF OTHER PEOPLE INVOLVED TO DEFLECT FROM THE MAIN POINT THAT YOU'RE A BIG BABY WHY CAN CONSTANTLY DISH IT OUT, BUT CAN'T TAKE IT.  NOW GROW UP AND GO GET YOUR SIPPY CUP.  Whew, that feels better.  Remember, Stand Tall...don't you fall....and if you do....get right back up and step over that SOB that's bringing you down.  ; )   LYLT!!!!

The Importance of being "Sparkalini"

You know...I never really think that I told the story of how Sparkey...lovingly known as Mr Sparkalini Bambini...came to be.  After all, being the namesake of my Blog, I think that's important history that needs to be documented.  So, let me take you back.  Picture it, it's late summer, 1998 and I'm temporarily living with a friend of mine, Katy Palermo (HEY KATY, SHOUT OUT GIRL) while my newly bought home is being remodeled.  So one morning I get up, get ready and head out the door to work.  At the time, I was still working at AT&T and had to go into the office everyday.  So I walk out the door and head to my car.  Since Katy lives in a condo, she only has one covered parking spot, in the back, and I used to park on the street, in the front. So I'm walking to my car and I hear this weird crying noise.  It sounds like a baby kitten trying to get it's Mother's attention to be fed.  I keep hearing it, and start looking around.  Suddenly, from the bed of the truck parked behind my car (a truck that appeared to be abandoned...I don't care what anyone says...the truck was abandoned) I see a little head popping up and down.  I walk over to the truck...remember, it's summer in TX (ie: HOT) and here is this LITTLE baby (now better known as Sparkey) all alone....no blankie, no water, no toys, no nothing!  Not only is he all alone in the bed of this awful abandoned, gross, truck...he's as thin as a rail, covered in fleas and has mites in his ears the size of capers.  Having never owned a dog in my life, I didn't really know what to do.  The only thing that I DID know, is that if I left that LITTLE baby there, in that Dallas summer heat, by the end of the day he would have been dead.  So, back into the house I went to retrieve a box and some paper towel.  I mean, the little guy was in bad shape....so bad, that I really didn't want to touch him, let alone just throw him into my car.  Back out to the truck, box in hand, I use the paper towel...pick him up...and put him in the box.  My ex had a dog, so I knew of one vet in town...Aardvark Veterinary Clinic...so off we went.  We arrive....me and dog-in-a-box...and I tell them that I have found a dog.  They all look at me....a little confused....and say, "And?"  ME: "And he needs to be attended to."  VET: "OK, but we're not the SPCA.  If you leave him here we can help him, but someone needs to come pick him up this afternoon and pay for the services rendered.  After all, he's in pretty bad shape...he's full of fleas, malnourished, probably anemic and from the looks of him, not long for this world if something is not done"  Wow.  OK.  It's not like I was going to take him to the SPCA so that they could take one look at him and send him to the gas chamber...So I said, "Fine. Take care of him and I will be back to pay and pick him up this afternoon!"  VET:  "...and what's the dogs name?"  ME:  "Really?  I just found him...I don't think he has a name."  VET: "We can't accept a new patient without a name."  ME:  "Fine."  Looking at him...SO cute, little, black and white, he kinda looked like a FireHouse dog, so I said, "Sparkey...his name is Sparkey."  Finally on my way to work, I start to think..."What the HELL am I going to do with a dog?  I have never had a dog and DON'T want a dog."  My first thought....call my sister.  I call Joanne, tell her the story and within an hour or so she has found a friend of a friend that wants the dog...sight unseen.  I get off work, go pick up Sparkey, pay for the services rendered and deliver to the guy that's agreed to take the dog.  I go home...to Katy's house and she and I start to talk.  ALL I can talk about is the dog.  "I wonder how Sparkey's doing."  "I wonder what he thinks about his new owner and home."  "I wonder what he's doing right now."  And on and on and on and on...it went on all night.  I hardly slept a wink.  Finally, morning comes and I call the guy that I gave the dog to....to get all the answers to the questions I had.  First, he tells me that he named the dog after me.  WHAAA?  Next, he tells me that his landlord found out that he brought home a dog and reminded him that there are NO PETS allowed and that he has found ANOTHER owner for...well, what he is now calling Andrew.  I told him ABSOLUTELY NOT...I want the dog back!  He agrees.  I take the remainder of the day off and go pick up SPARKEY!!!!           R E U N I T E D 'cause it feels so good.  R E U N I T E D 'cause we understood...  well you get the picture....it was the BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.  Since then...it's history.  13 years later, Sparkey is the LOVE OF MY LIFE...sorry Jeff....but you KNOW he's my life....and there's plenty of me to go around!!!   He follows me around and always accepts me as I am.  Never gets mad at me, never disagrees with me...it's an all 'round love fest.  NOW, to set the record straight....there has been some talk over the years that this dog belonged to someone and that I kidnapped him.  To those people I say, "Whatever."  If someone leaves a dog, in that bad a shape, in the bed of an abandoned pick up truck (I will die saying it was abandoned), well then they do not deserve to have a dog.  END OF DISCUSSION.  And to that I say...this has been the Importance of being Sparkey.  He's been there with me through thick and thin, and has never given up on me....even during times when I gave up on myself.  Thank you, GOD, for sending him to me.  This proves yet another thing....miracles still happen in this day and age, because he truly was a miracle sent from GOD.  ahhhhh

"Special"

Hmmm...the word "special" has changed SO much over the last....decade or so, that I think it's about time to talk about it.  I can remember when I was a kid and my Mom would talk about a "special" occasion.  It was usually someone's birthday, or a holiday, or just some day that was out of the ordinary.  It was the appropriate word, and indicated that something "good" was going to take place.  For "ME" it was not only the...certain chance for a meal that was out of the ordinary, but also a chance to dress up!  Yeah, yeah....I know, I was the only little kid that liked to dress up...RED FLAG...believe me....times have changed (not the RED FLAG characteristics, just that I don't like to dress up).  Any way, a special occasion was just that.....special.  NOW-A-DAYS the word "special" is either used; A.) In a derogatory way,  B.) As a way to be politically correct or C.) As a down right LIE!!!  In the late 80's and early 90's, Saturday Night Live had a character (played by Dana Carvey) called the Church Lady.  The character, Enid Strict, was a holier-than-thou Christian that when hearing something that she thought was off color or inappropriate would say her popular catchphrase "Well isn't that SPE-CIAL?!?"  It was the equivalent of saying, "Wow...how nice...you should be SO proud of yourself."  So just an overall derogatory way of now using the word.  Quite a departure from the "special" occasion that I used to get so excited about!  So then there were knock offs of "special" and the word started morphing to mean yet still OTHER things.  Picture it...an uptight, prude woman referring to a child with Autism.  She couldn't just be a human and say that the child is Autistic....instead, she has to say....in a hush voice....she's "special."  Really.  Well I know several parents that have children with Autism, and it's not "special."  It's a very frustrating disease that we really don't even know the origin!  I have NEVER heard them refer to it as "special."  In my mind, "special" is something that you want!  I don't really think that anyone WANTS to be Autistic.  And the whole hush part.  Why is it that when people need to say something bad, they have to whisper it?  Take for instance...."she has cancer."  OK people, saying it quietly does not make it better or go away.  A fact is a fact....just say it.  Another one... COMPLETELY unrelated to what we are talking about (surprised?)....Mexican.  The other day I was talking to someone and they said that the person in question was Latin American.  I shook my head, agreeingly and said, "Oh, where are they from?"  The person talking to me said, "Mexico City."  So "I" said, "Well then they're not Latin American, they're Mexican."  You would have thought that I had just called a black person the "N" word.  I was reprimanded and told that was not a nice thing to say.  I went on to tell them that being Mexican is NOT a bad thing....all it means it that the person is from Mexico.  Much like a Canadian person is from Canada (poor bastards...they can't help it....and be nice....my relatives are Canadian).  OK, sorry, but I told you that I was about to go off on a tangent so you cannot say that you weren't forewarned.  Now....in keeping with my shorter, quicker read blogs....my last deviation from the true meaning of the word "special" is when it is just a down right lie!  Take restaurants, for example.  It's one of those things that makes me go "hmmmmm" (one of many these days), but it always concerns me when you go into a restaurant and the waiter (server...whatever the politically correct term is today) comes up to the table and says, "We have a couple of "specials" today."  When they read them off....they don't usually sound too "special".....which makes me come to the ultimate conclusion that these "so called" "specials" are not "special" at all, but rather about to go bad quick and they need to move them.  Funny how a lamb chop (VOMIT) can be $35 for the entree one night and several nights later they are on "special" for $20.  So, who over bought lamb chops and what happens if they don't sell?  It also makes me wonder when this same "server" comes up to the table and just pushes the hell out of something.  If you know me....I think that all 37 of you (and some creepers) do, I am forced to ask the "server", "Is there some kind of bonus for the person that sells the most of these "specials" tonight?"  They always look at you and laugh it off....and then walk away from the table saying to themselves, "Hmmmm...I guess I was a bit obvious....I need to smooth that out a bit."  So, short and sweet and to the point, those are just a few of my current deviations on the word "special."  Depending on your age, you may or may not still use the word, and if you do, I'm sure that it has a MUCH different meaning from person to person.  So please....DON'T use "special" as derogatory....if you don't think it's "special" just say what you think it is!  DON'T use "special" to be politically correct...because it's NOT, it's really just offensive that you minimize something that is probably not "special" at all.  And most of all DON'T ORDER the special....I promise it's just old meat that's about to go bad!!!  Thank you for reading today.  You are all very "special" to me.  (you can decide WHICH "special" that was!)  XOXO!

Purgatory

As an Orthodox Christian, the term "Purgatory" if foreign to me.  Most Orthodox Christians assume that they will go to Heaven.  If you don't go to Heaven, the you're going to HELL.  Unfortunately there does not appear to be any in between place to hang out.  So, what is Purgatory.  Well, defined, Purgatory is the condition or process of purification or temporary punishment in which, it is believed, that the souls of those who die in a state of grace are made ready for Heaven.  Hmmm....seems life a half way house to Heaven.  Well, since today's blog is NOT about death....but rather texting, I am borrowing the term "Purgatory" to describe that place where TOO many text conversations land.  In this modern age where no one can pick up a phone and just F-ing call someone, we are forced to turn to other measures....texting.  Now, "I" tried to avoid falling victim to the texting phenomenon, but literally NO ONE answers their phone anymore.  Not sure if it's a screening thing (you can see the incoming call digits) or if it's a multi-tasking thing (sitting in a meeting with your phone on mute and still having the ability to take calls).  Either way, it's annoying.....and for MANY reasons.  The first one is that....not growing up texting, it takes me forever.  I don't know all the cute abbreviations (for you Polly...notice I didn't say acronyms) and cannot allow myself to text without using correct punctuation.   The second thing that is wrong with texting is that it is SO hard to convey the REAL message that you are trying to get across.  It's hard to detect sarcasm or lack there of, or sincerity...or lack there of, in a text.  I "personally" have gotten all bent out of shape over a text, because the way I read it was NOT the way it was intended when written.  If that person had just            c-a-l-l-e-d me, there would have been no question as to the intent of the message.  The third, but not final, thing that unnerves me about texting is that I usually cannot REALLY say EVERYTHING that I want to say as it's a combination of taking too long to type it all AND the damn keypad (letters) on the phone are SO small that I am constantly typing...correcting....typing...correcting.....   I get tired of typing and give up before I ever REALLY get to say what I want!!!  In my mind, though, the WORST THING ABOUT TEXTING is TEXTING PURGATORY!!!!  Oh My Goodness (didn't write OMG, because you would have assumed that I was going to say Oh My God, and I am trying not to use God's name like that anymore....baby steps....baby steps....) it is the WORST.  So I FINALLY get on board with the whole texting thing...take my time....write it all out....use correct punctuation (as not to confuse the meaning of the message) and then you get a one word response back from the other person.  REALLY?  It wasn't a "yes" or "no" question!!!   And THEN, when you text back and ask for clarity......crickets.  Suddenly the person on the other end disappears.  Did they not like that you asked for clarity?  Did their phone go dead?  Were they abducted by a stranger?  WHAT???  Don't just leave me hanging in TEXTING PURGATORY!!!  Or, someone drops a bomb on you in a text (happened to me today) and you write back for more details.....crickets.  If someone is texting me, and they happen to mention that they are in the car, and we've been texting back and forth for a while.....the second they don't reply.....?.....  I'm convinced that they have been in a huge accident and are currently being care flighted to the hospital.  It's just who I am.  My mind starts playing tricks on me and I start creating all these scenarios in my mind.  UGH!!!!  So people.....today's blog is short and sweet.....    Text if you MUST, but don't leave your friends, family, enemies, coworkers in TEXTING PURGATORY!!!!  Either actively text....allowing them into Heaven.....OR ignore the initial text and don't get involved and send them to HELL!!!

East vs West

So today's blog is not to be confused with the Jets vs the Sharks...two teenage street gangs of different ethnic backgrounds in West Side Story, but rather of two different cultures from different backgrounds.  So, in West Side Story the groups were from different social classes...in MY East vs West, they are as well!  So what are we talking about?  Guesses?  Bodily functions.  Yep...you heard me....bodily functions.  (So, Eileen, this is your key to STOP reading...as this will probably be TMI for you!)  So some people might say that you cannot compare the East to the West, as the cultures are SO different.  But are they?  Come on....people are people.  If you take India for example...they have some of the RICHEST and some of the POOREST people in the world. It's a total class system, but their regard to bodily functions are the same.  Granted if you saw Slumdog Millionaire you can see the classes and assume that not ALL of the population lives in "Slums" and poop in communal "open air" toilets.....but both the rich and the poor use their left hand to WIPE...exclusively.   If you read about Indian Etiquette, you are never to eat food or pass objects with your left hand.  Even though, I'm sure, they wash their hands after the wiping function...it's taboo!  I guess in our culture it would be really weird, as you usually use the hand of which you are proned...I think?  I would assume that if you are "right handed" that you would use your right hand, and similarly if you are left handed.  Hmmm....although if you drive a stick shift, you always use your right hand, regardless....hmmmm.....does everyone in the West wipe with their right hand?  Maybe there IS another cultural difference....and if so, I would be up a creek.  Don't think I would do so well to EXCLUSIVELY have to always eat with my left hand...since I use the right one to "you know what."  So that's one difference in East vs West regarding bodily function.  OK, so that example is extreme and REALLY has nothing to do with what I was originally thinking about....yes, bodily functions, but I was thinking about burping and....and you know...."excuse me, excuse me from the bottom of my heart.  if it came out the other end it would have been a FART."  So weird...fart is....is like a bad word.  Most men either do not believe or are not willing to admit that their wives or girlfriends fart.  REALLY?  Oh yeah, a significant amount of gay men are the same way....LORD.  Guess that's ONE gay stereotype that I don't fit into.  Come on...be honest....OK, maybe you're a prude and never fart in front of anyone...or admit that you actually fart, but.....when you're alone.....you do it and it feels good.  It's natural!  OK, I am going to be straight up with you and inform you that I am about to go off on a tangent.  Natural.  Farting and burping is natural.  That DOES NOT mean that you should just do it anywhere....and if you do (like accidentally burping  on a conference call when you're NOT on mute...LOL...you know who you are) you shouldn't pretend you didn't do it....blame it on the dog...or pretend you smelled it first (my personal favorite) and blame it on others around you...you need to excuse yourself.  I mention this as breast feeding women in a restaurant FREAK MY SHIT OUT.  If you say something, they say...."It's natural."  OK, well so is peeing, so I'm just gonna pee at the table...OK?  So I tread lightly on the "natural" thing, but come on ....everyone farts and burps.  In India, it's a compliment to burp after a meal (FINALLY, my original point).  Now that might be a little TOO much for me.  I mean...when you're at home...or with your friends....GO FOR IT!  But, if there is ONE person that you do not know VERY WELL....please, and I'm begging you...REFRAIN.  I have been out and some guy has let out a HUGE belch....gross.  Unless you KNOW me....not in front of me.  I do have a few friends....not exclusively men...that love bodily functions.  Probably why we're such good friends.  It is actually our goal in life to wait until we are in the car (me driving so that I have control of the door and window locks) or in a closed elevator to fart.  There is nothing more fun!  As I get older, my favorite thing about going to a bar is that you can fart whenever you want to, and NO ONE can hear where it came from.  Then, once you smell it, you go..."Gross...some pig just farted.  What's wrong with people?"  OR, you can burp and then blow it into the person's face next to you...please make sure you know them!  See, they can't hear it, but, believe me...once they smell it....you'll know.  LOL!!!  So, it's these things that make me wish that back in 2001, when I was a consultant and about to take a job in Bombay, that I actual had...or had the opportunity to.  I was all set to go, then 9/11 happened.  Once it did, all overseas consulting...at least for the company that "I" worked for came to an end.  Maybe that would have been my opportunity to get it out of my system...to be able to burp and fart and be praised for it....whenever I chose.  We'll never know.  So for now....I will just be an aspiring "Tony" (from West Side Story and not my Dallas friend Tony) and wonder what could have been......ho hum.....

Pick it...

Choices.  Life is just full of them.  Unfortunately, we don't always have a lot of say in quite a few of them.  Think about it...you're born (to parents, into a family, to a specific geography), soon after you are Christened, given vaccinations and enrolled in school.  So far...no choices.  During adolescence you start to get a few choices...maybe what to wear, maybe what topping to put on your hot dog...keeping in mind that these decisions are still heavily influenced.  After all, you can only choose from the clothes in your closet and chances are that if your Mom doesn't like mustard or relish...that won't be a choice.  So what choices do we REALLY have and when do we start making them....AND....have we already been so influenced that our choices are REALLY predetermined?  Let's go back to the hot dog...or any food for that matter.  Usually a parent will give a child food that THEY (the parent) like, the way that THEY (again the parent) like it prepared.  So if they like a hot dog with ketchup only...guess how the "little snot nose" is going to get...you got it, a hot dog with ketchup.  I recently heard of a Mother that was a vegetarian and was FORCING her daughter to be one, as well.  Forcing her, even though on a recent doctor's visit the doctor said that she lacked protein in her diet and was starting to develop health issues.  C R A A A Z Y.  OK, so that one is extreme, but our parents have a HUGE influence on our choices.  They decide what activities and extra curricular events we will participate in and form a great deal of our beliefs.  Now, I loved my Mother and do love my Father, but neither of them really did me any good when it came to extra curricular events.  As a boy, it is my opinion, that a Father should teach his son how to play sports..well at least how to throw and catch a ball....and if he cannot or will not...find SOMEONE to take on that basic Fatherly task.  Well, as that never happened, it was quite a mess when I was signed up for the Little League.  I remember wanting to play, but not having any of the necessary tools to play (mitt, basic knowledge, etc...)  I can remember Tina's Dad, George Bogordos, taking me to buy a mitt and showing me how to oil it (you rub the mitt with vaseline,  put a ball in the mitt and rubber band it to help it stretch).  Check.   Bad thing was that no one taught me how to USE the mitt.  When I got out onto the field....cute little white outfit....uh....uniform...it was a mess.....a HOT MESS.  To top off my "less than stellar" performance,  no one came to watch me.  : (   My Dad couldn't come to the games because he was too busy and my Mom couldn't come to the games because it was too hot out (didn't like to sweat) and she didn't like how competitive the parents were (that part I will agree with...it's kinda gross how into it some of the parents get!).  OK, next....swimming.  As a child I went to Vancouver, BC (where my Mom was born and raised) for summer vacation to visit Auntie MaryJane, Uncle Jimmy, Kathy (as she was known then...now she is Kathryn), Joanne (Bobo) and John (let's just leave it at that, although he was quite the P.I.T.A. then).  In their backyard (still there) was a pool.  As the youngest, I was thrown into the pool....oh about 100,000 times.  Probably a good thing, as I learned how to swim...and learned well (remember John was a P.I.T.A.)!  So when then time came, I decided I would join the swim team.  Finally, a sport, and a sport that I was good at!  I loved it!  Got to wear a itty bitty swim suit and didn't have to have a huge physical physique....it was a perfect match!  Well...until NO ONE came to watch me.  I mean...come on...what was going on?  I was GOOD, and STILL no one would come to see me.....you see, my Mom was one of those women that had their hair "done" once a week and the humidity in the Natatorium would make her hair fall....ugh....fail.  Once again a sport abandoned.  OK, I have gotten way off track today and actually embarked on a therapy session....thank you for listening!  I feel better knowing that it wasn't me!!!  So like I started out saying...choices....life is full of them.  We are very limited as children, unless we have a strong personality.  I guess when it came to food, I had a strong personality.  I can remember when I was little, my Mom loved soft boiled eggs....she also loved salt (probably why she had high cholesterol and high blood pressure).  Anyway, I can remember her making breakfast and trying to feed me those nasty, slimy chicken fetuses with salt on them.  To me, it was like snot with sand on it...wasn't going to happen.  I can recall her saying, "This is breakfast, either eat it or nothing."  I chose nothing and began a life journey (until late) of NEVER eating breakfast.  Even now, it's only on a weekend or special occasion that I'll eat it...soft boiled chicken fetus is STILL NOT on the menu.  Lot's of other foods come to mind...ones that I chose not to eat and went to bed without dinner for not eating.....still don't eat them today (Liver and onions...vomit and Veal...double vomit and animal torture).  SO do we really have choices and WHEN do we make them.  It would seem that on some childhood choices or opposition to the choice being "made for you" is based on a child's strong will (my food choices) and on some choices - choosing a choice that is not made for you (sports) it's a lack of direction.   OK, get ready to follow closely, as this is going to be confusing.  Unless your childhood choice maker wants to make a particular choice for you...you will probably never be exposed to it.  I WANTED sports, but neither parent was interested...sooooo, when I tried to "go for it" if failed...it wasn't what THEY wanted.  We both wanted food, but strong will can tend to tweak that one.  I really think that we have few, if any choices in life.  We may THINK we have choices....but do we really?  Our choices are already determined by our environment, our associations and or place in life.  Lot's of great things happen to people that are just in the right place at the right time. I hate to say that I believe in predestination.....but....

So remember what they say...."You can pick your friends, you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friend's nose."  This would prove that you REALLY don't have choices.  Now, remember that "strong willed" thing I talked about earlier.  So you CAN pick your friends, you CAN pick your nose, and if you're me (strong willed and your friend is Tina) you CAN pick your friend's nose....she might not like it....but, who asked if she liked it!  This time I get to choose and I choose to PICK IT!

Fashion vs Function

Fashion....defined as the prevailing style during a particular time.  Function....defined as performing a specific action or activity.  Alone they are just that....fashion and function....when you marry the two...well...sometimes, borders cross and...ugh!  Let's just put it out there.  When you look at the function of underwear...let's talk men's underwear, the purpose is really to put a barrier between your man parts and your outer clothing....actually not a barrier, but really to hold everything in place and prevent it from "flopping" around.  For this reason...my reason, it has always amazed me that some men wear boxers.  What do boxers really accomplish?  In my mine, nothing. They just add an extra layer of bulk.  They tend to ride up on you all day and you end up with bunched up cotton fabric at the top of your thighs all day.  Since the leg is loose and open at the bottom, they don't even serve to absorb that potential last drip of urine that you fail to shake off before pulling your pants back up.  Good argument for the brief....holds the junk in place and serves as an absorbent barrier between you and your outer clothing.  So why, then, are briefs getting SO complicated?  I was always a fan of your basic Calvin Klein briefs.  Got them in white...they were 100% cotton....comfortable and you could bleach them.  They always made a point about how easy the fly was to use.  The fly ran vertical on the brief.  So, if you have ever worn a pair of men's briefs, accessing the fly through the zippered opening of your pants....not an easy task.  There's not a whole lot of room!  I usually just go for the easy method of...unzip the pant fly, reach in and pull the underwear down from the waistband.  Much easier.  So why is there even a fly at all?  I asked myself that very question the last time that I went to one of those fancy stores that just sells underwear.  In thinking about it, I never use the fly, so why do you even need it.  Let me tell you.  If you wear briefs with no fly...you look like Linda Carter in Wonder Woman.  It's really weird.  This proves that fashion can sometimes win out over function.  Since there is no function...in my mind....for the fly....the only reason it's there is because it makes your tidy whitys look "normal".    Now they do have the undies with the fly running horizontal (the pouch)....more streamline, but again, why?  Now you have to open the zippered fly of your pants, reach into this "kangaroo" like pouch...over and under this fabric flap and then find your stuff....ugh!!!  I'll wet my pants by then!  Haven't you ever noticed that if you really have to go to the bathroom, no matter how long you have been holding it...the second you get in there...your body just wants to release.  It's like your bladder says, "I'm here and I'm letting go!"  Hmmmm....not sure how I got all the way to actual bodily functions....but I did.  Along that same line...for my female readers....women's underwear.  Now this is a WHOLE other story.  In my mind, unless you are a woman wearing the padded booty underwear...to give you that whole "Beyonce" look, you might as well wear nothing at all.  There's nothing to them.  Pretty much just a waistband with some floss attached.  Gross....butt floss.  Your only other option is Granny Panties...not cute.  Women have it even worse then men.  THEN, there's bras.  Initially a "device", again, to keep stuff from swinging around.  Now, padded, filled with water, lift, separate....:Lord.  Function is not a mere factor in under garments at all any more...it's all fashion.   Well guys, I just got some really shitty news on the work front, and can no longer concentrate on underwear.  Fashion vs Function....what's your poison?