In support of my pants hypothesis

The other day I saw an old man – he looked to be in his 70s or 80s – walking up Academy Blvd. He still had a jaunty – if slow – step, so life must not have been too cruel to him overall. He also had on a new pair of jeans. Yes, jeans. Jeans with the cuffs rolled up. About six inches worth of rolled cuffs. Why would he do that? I know why. Because he used to be taller. At least six inches taller. Gravity's a bitch.

Old Man Pants

I think I figured out old man pants. You know, the pants that are worn belted about five inches above your belly button. Here's what I figure:

From the time I entered the Air Force back in 1987 until now I've always bought size 30 length pants. It's locked in my head that it's the proper size for me in the same way that my shoes are a 9 1/2. Never-you-mind the waist size. That's always changing and never for the better. I look forward to the day when I'll eventually be twice as round as my legs are long. I'll have a cake to celebrate! The... whole... fucking... cake. Candles and all. Won't even blow them out. The spit'll get 'em, and blowing cuts into eating time.

Anyhow. The last three pairs of pants that I've bought have all been labeled (a number I'm not sharing) x 30. All three are too long. By at least an inch or so. I'm freaking shrinking. Or my legs are. Maybe I'm staying the same height but my spine is stretching and my pelvis is falling groundward. I don't know. I'm not a scientist! All I know is something's amiss.

So I'm having to hike them up a bit higher than normal. I figure this is what happens to old men. Ears, ear hair and nose hair grows; legs shrink. But we don't want to let go of that magic number that we achieved and memorized in our 20's. We think, "If I buy shorter pants then they'll be TOO SHORT and I'll look like an IDIOT! I know I'm a size 30, goddammit!" This, in spite of the fact that we are walking on the cuffs of the new pants. We can't put on a pair of the old ones just to check because the waist doesn't fit... for some reason. Mmmm. Cake.

So, we keep hiking up the pants until it no longer feels wrong, secure in the knowledge that the size is right. Sure, our junk is getting squished all the time, but you get used to that as well. Tighty-whiteys helped pave the path there. Besides, in a few years you won't need your junk anymore anyway. Before you know it, your belt is five inches above your belly button, you're walking funny, can no longer pee due to crushed plumbing, and kids are shaking their heads at you and wondering if you have any idea how stupid you look. Fuck you junior! Just you wait 'til YOUR legs start shrinking! Asshole.

Scene: A Courtroom

Jonathan Franklin, the defendant, is on the stand, shifting a bit, sweating a bit. Eyes dart around, looking at the jury, the lawyers, the audience. The prosecutor moves into the foreground.

Prosecutor: "Your Honor, members of the Jury, you've heard the witnesses, seen the evidence presented so far, and have possibly already arrived at your conclusions. However I received new evidence this morning that will remove any doubt in your mind as to Jonathan Franklin's guilt."

He turns around and lifts a boombox from its place on the table, turns back and speaks to the defendant.

Prosecutor: "Mr. Franklin... get up and dance!"

Defense: "I object! Your Honor, this has no bearing on the case whatsoever!"

Prosecutor: "All will be clear within minutes your Honor!"

HizHonor: "I'll allow it."

Prosecutor: "You heard the judge Mr Franklin... shake your booty."

The prosecutor hits play on the boombox, and 'I Like Big Butts' fills the courtroom. Mr. Franklin reluctantly rises, moves in front of the bench and gets down the best he can. It's pretty pitiful. A fair amount of shuffling, awkward starts and stops, and twice he bumps into the stenographer. The prosecutor stops the music at the part where Sir Mix-A-Lot is offering his opinion on silicone parts.

Prosecutor: "That will be all Mr. Franklin. You may return to the stand. Your Honor, members of the Jury, as you can plainly see," points at Mr. Franklin, "GUILTY FEET HAVE GOT NO RHYTHM!"

Pandemonium erupts, the judge bangs his gavel, Mr. Franklin jumps to his feet and starts shouting.

Franklin: "No! NO! I'm white! White I tell you! It proves NOTHING!"

The bailiffs rush forward and subdue Mr. Franklin, removing him from the courtroom as he kicks, screams and spits. The prosecutor stands with his arms folded looking mighty smug and humming about big butts.

Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping...

... you know why? As was revealed in a recently discovered ancient scroll found in the desert among the dunes and what-have-you, on the 8th day, God had snacks. Among the snacks was THE Banana. The first, the biggest, the proto-banana. King Banana. Seriously, it was huge. Still not totally rested from those six days of frenzied making of everything there was, after eating THE Banana He tossed the peel over His shoulder. He spaketh, "I'll create someone to pick that up later," to nobody in particular, decided it was good, stretched, yawned and took a nap. Unfortunately, the peel lay right in the path where Time marches. Thus, Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping.

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I have another deign up for voting at SplitReason.

The votes started off pretty strong but seem to have stalled. Hopefully it'll get printed.

Summer Colds Suck

Indeedeedoo.

Still here

For several weeks on the way in to work I've wanted to get a picture of the sign in front of Independent Records on Platte so that I could make some funny with it. Being me, I didn't get around to it in time, and now it's been changed. It had been announcing the impending arrival of a couple of CDs. It read:

Jun16
Rancid
Dave Matthews

I was going to say something along the lines of how I didn't know Dave needed to be kept refrigerated... but without the visual why bother? Lost opportunities.
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I'm back to actively looking for a new full time job. They're still using me at Graham for now, but as the days roll by I'm becoming more and more certain that I'll never be rehired here, and if I freelance for the rest of the year I'm going to be royally fucked come tax time. It wouldn't be so bad if I was making enough to be able to put some aside for taxes as well as pay the bills, but I'm not. Not even close.
---
Depression is kicking in again. I can tell. Everything I try to do leads to frustration. I want to throw and kick shit way too much. Bah. Just thinking about it is making my head vibrate. Essentially, I'm engulfed by the feeling that everything I do is pointless and doomed to failure. Don't bother saying it isn't true. On some level I know that I'm good at some things, but right now I can't find that place. The only thing that is going to get me through this is knowing that it's not new and I've gotten through it before. But even that doesn't really help much. Since my ears have started ringing and I want to scream, it's time to write about something else.
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A couple of weeks ago I found out that my mom has been mad as hell at me for a long time because of some of the stories I've written here that involved her and my childhood. She still is, I guess. Nothing to be done about it though. I apologized, but pointed out that they are my stories too, since they involved me, and I had a right to tell them. If she didn't want that part of our lives to be brought into the light of day, she should have tried a bit harder to keep me the fuck out of it. She countered with how her other children would never have betrayed her like this. After that it turned ugly. I'll bet it was interesting for the other shoppers in the Antique Mall. So it goes.

---
Yesterday I finished reading an excellent book that Heather got for me for Father's Day by one of my favorite authors, Christopher Moore, called "Fool". I read it in two days. He's a gifted author. He just needs to write more, dammit.
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That's probably as happy an ending to this post as I can come up with today. Hopefully next time I'll manage to be more upbeat.

The job search continues...

Last week I made less freelancing at my former place of employment than I would have if I had just sat around, drawing unemployment. This week isn't going that great either. So I'm still keeping an eye out for job opportunities. I have one person starting up a game company interested in having me fill an artist position, but I'm thinking it's a low-to-no compensation deal, so it'll have to be a background gig at best. I might be wrong though. I'll see when he gets back in touch with me.

I've also been wandering around the local craigslist and decided to look away from my field and see what else is being offered. I came across a posting for "Phone Actors & Actresses"... I'm thinking "Sex Line." That, or perhaps they call up people and do Macbeth at them until they're paid to stop.

*ring*ring*

"Hello?"

"And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths, Win us with honest trifles, to betray's In deepest consequence."

*click*

*ring*ring*

"Hello!?"

"Nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death, To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd, As 'twere a careless trifle."

*CLICK*

*ring*ring*
*ring*ring*

"Grrr...WHAT!?"

"I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent, but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself And falls on the other."

"STOP CALLING!"

**SLAM!**

-30 minutes and 20 phone calls later-
*ring*ring*
*ring*ring*

"Okay... What... What can I do to make you stop? Just... please stop."

"It's $3.95 a minute for me to stop and it's been... 35 minutes, so that's... $138.25. We take Visa and Paypal."

"That's insane! I won't pay!"

"That's your choice, but I have all night and a lot of Shakespeare left. Keep in mind, the longer we go the more it'll cost you. Next up is King Lear. Here's a free sample: 'Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks! You sulphurous..."

"STOP! STOP! I'LL PAY!"

"Damned right you will."

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Okay, one thing I can't find a way to do with Blogo is change the color of text. It's mind boggling that I can't find a way outside of coding in HTML to simply change text color. I hope it's just something I'm missing.