Whitey Tighty, Earthy Loosey.
I came home today to find a shovel propped up against the wall in the hallway.
...Which is not particularly strange to me. It fits in with the rest of our decor. Our hallway still looks like a 1920's crazy person's world-war-five-preparation bunker, complete with peeling walls and the occasional ultra future nutrition bar (aka Snickers wrappers) squirreled away ("dropped") in various corners.
What struck me as strange was the white pair of sneakers standing beside Andreas' and my more muddied shoes. As far as I'm concerned, only one kind of person white sneakers, and that's the the one with a so-called "fashion sense". When I say fashion sense I mean not so much fancy as stupid enough to spend the month's lunch money on a zebra tutu, regardless gender.
You know what sort of person I mean, the kind that buys a pair of sweat pants when sweat pants are in, wearing them with knee-high boots and tearing holes in the knees to make it look like he's not the last to discover the sweat [fat] pant fashion. He's been wearing sweat pants for years. See these scabbed knees? That's right baby, point is you can.
The kind of person who runs out and buys rice-paper beanies because Jean Paul Gaultier has discovered that models look really good wearing material that is both see-through and also edible. They strut down the catwalk hungrily staring at their breasts which are covered in all that delicious food, the shirt the proverbial carrot, nipples pointing the way. Gaultier pats himself on the back for the nicely presented bit of irony: verily, the Doris Lessing of the Lesser is More world.
The fashion slave is also the kind of person who wears white shoes in a muddy autumn world. It's rebellious. It's a Jesus-like "I can walk on water and not get my whitey Nike's wet" sort of mentality. It's unpractical, it's expensive. It's Homer, who's bought a spade with him today to go dig a hole in one of Stockholm's bigger parks tomorrow morning.
Apparently the trend he's following now is the blogging trend, the latest tool in his girl attracting plan. The more the page hits and comments - the larger his odds of meeting a femme fan with which to share his beenies.
In his latest blog he claimed that he was going to dig a hole in a large Stockholm park. His plan is to head out there at two am tonight and fulfill the promise. If I know Homer, he's not going to get up at two AM to dig that hole. He's going to get up at eleven AM, scratch himself, shuffle some snickers wrappers over the shovel and claim artistic freedoms when he crawls back into bed to dream about claiming blogger balls, garden tools, and other various hoes.
...Which is not particularly strange to me. It fits in with the rest of our decor. Our hallway still looks like a 1920's crazy person's world-war-five-preparation bunker, complete with peeling walls and the occasional ultra future nutrition bar (aka Snickers wrappers) squirreled away ("dropped") in various corners.
What struck me as strange was the white pair of sneakers standing beside Andreas' and my more muddied shoes. As far as I'm concerned, only one kind of person white sneakers, and that's the the one with a so-called "fashion sense". When I say fashion sense I mean not so much fancy as stupid enough to spend the month's lunch money on a zebra tutu, regardless gender.
You know what sort of person I mean, the kind that buys a pair of sweat pants when sweat pants are in, wearing them with knee-high boots and tearing holes in the knees to make it look like he's not the last to discover the sweat [fat] pant fashion. He's been wearing sweat pants for years. See these scabbed knees? That's right baby, point is you can.
The kind of person who runs out and buys rice-paper beanies because Jean Paul Gaultier has discovered that models look really good wearing material that is both see-through and also edible. They strut down the catwalk hungrily staring at their breasts which are covered in all that delicious food, the shirt the proverbial carrot, nipples pointing the way. Gaultier pats himself on the back for the nicely presented bit of irony: verily, the Doris Lessing of the Lesser is More world.
The fashion slave is also the kind of person who wears white shoes in a muddy autumn world. It's rebellious. It's a Jesus-like "I can walk on water and not get my whitey Nike's wet" sort of mentality. It's unpractical, it's expensive. It's Homer, who's bought a spade with him today to go dig a hole in one of Stockholm's bigger parks tomorrow morning.
Apparently the trend he's following now is the blogging trend, the latest tool in his girl attracting plan. The more the page hits and comments - the larger his odds of meeting a femme fan with which to share his beenies.
In his latest blog he claimed that he was going to dig a hole in a large Stockholm park. His plan is to head out there at two am tonight and fulfill the promise. If I know Homer, he's not going to get up at two AM to dig that hole. He's going to get up at eleven AM, scratch himself, shuffle some snickers wrappers over the shovel and claim artistic freedoms when he crawls back into bed to dream about claiming blogger balls, garden tools, and other various hoes.
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