The Hitchcock Effect

Flatbellies, heed this.  

Most men are shaped more like a pear than a pencil.  And certainly more like an old milk bottle than an inverted triangle.

Queen Cotton pointed this out to me the first time we met.  I was having a bowl of chili with a Coke and red velvet cake.  I was 25.  She had already seen my future, and it weren't pretty.

She said that Southern boys in particular got doughy and roundish, unlike Northern boys whose shoulders tended to be wider than their waists.

A lot of this is just a matter of physics.  As in, no physical activity and you get round.

And gravity.  That strange phenomenon that makes your muscular chest slide down to your beltline is the same one that makes the hair on top of your head slide into your ears.

Oh trust me.  This will happen to you.  Unless you are one of those Jim Fixx nutjobs that runs all the time until they fall over dead whilst jogging.

Want visual evidence?

Take a look at the PGA Champions Tour players versus the PGA Tour Players.  No white belts and flat front skinny pants on those over 50.

Take a look at an Old-Timer's baseball game.  The pinstripes have become parabolas.

The most common pant size in America is a 36 inch waist by 30 inch inseam.  The second most common is 38 waist by 30  inseam.  And so on.  Short, fat men we are talking about here.  Not many Mario Manningham bodies.

Unfortunately, not only do men grow penguin like, we also don't know how to dress to deal with the issue.

You know what I mean.  Like the nice deacon at church.  His tie starts at his neck, then it swoops down his sunken chest and out towards the horizon in front of him over his paunch.   Kinda like the large hill ski jump at Innsbruck.

Having spent some time in the men's clothing business, dealing with the reality of men's bodies is quite a learning experience.

For instance.  If you are really bored, attend a pant fit session for big and tall men.  Their waist sizes range from 48 inches to, at least, 72 inches.  And when asked, a man will lie about his waist size by at least two inches.  In many cases, four inches.  In lots of cases, 8 inches.  Which means,  men don't wear their pants around their waist.  They wear their pants under their belly.  I still twitch when recalling a group of varying shaped large men lined up in what they swore was their correct pant size.  They looked like someone had squeezed the bottom of a balloon. 

I know some guys who got filthy rich creating what many people thought was a cool brand of fashion.  What they really did was to make it ok for fat guys to wear their shirts not tucked in.  They called it Tommy Bahama.

Men,  in general, don't wear Spanxx.  Or girdles.  Or corsets.  

We wear the ill-fitting things that are not designed for real men.  The originals were modeled on a guy that's built like a Men's Health cover.  Then they size scale the darn thing for the rest of us.

Don't even bother looking for help online.

Here's what those skinny bastards at askmen.com have to offer.

fashion tips for fat men

The best way to look great in the long-term when you’re overweight is to lose excess weight with the help of a proper diet and exercise program.

Read more: http://www.askmen.com/fashion/fashiontip/32b_fashion_advice.html#ixzz1lcXd1XFR

Well, thanks alot. 

We need to re-think this.  Maybe we shouldn't be asking who wears the pants.  Maybe we should be asking who wears the mumu.  

Hope for parents

They appointed him fire marshal his senior year at Denver City High School.  That's Denver City, Texas.

This job came with enormous responsibility and authority.

It was his job to teach fire safety.  To practice fire safety.  To ensure the school was prepared in case of fire.

He was required to choose six deputy fire marshals.  Six trusted students who would take their jobs as solemnly and seriously as he took his job.

Shortly after his appointment and the deputization of six of his closest friends, it occurred to him that the school needed an all-out fire drill to test the building, the students and the staff for readiness.

So he rang the fire alarm.

Correctly ordered all students and faculty and staff to exit the school orderly and safely.

Once the building was emptied, he and his deputies did as they were supposed to do.  They locked all the doors so that no one could re-enter and be injured should there be an actual fire.

It was snowing that day in Denver City.  Snowing and windy.

After a few minutes, the principal began banging on the door and yelling at the fire marshal to let everyone back in.

Through the door crack, the fire marshal yelled, "Hang on.  Just need to check a few more hallways and make sure everything's clear."

Forty-five minutes later, the doors were unlocked and the shivering school body went back to class.

The fire marshal was relieved of his duties the next day.  News is sketchy as to what happened to his deputies, but it is believed they too may have lost their appointments.

The fire marshal is today a successful businessman, loving husband, devoted father and the chairman of the deacons at one of the largest churches in the world.

Veteran's Ink

So, you want to show support for men and women that have served in our military?

No, really, do you?

If you don't really want to, that's ok.

If you do really want to, keep reading.

There is a company called Veteran's Ink.  Here is their website  www.veteransink.com

The company is owned by veterans.  The company only employs veterans.

The founder is Patrick Sowers.  I know him. I've worked with him.  He is an Iraq War vet. 

Veteran's Ink sells something you should be buying anyway.  Ink at prices way less expensive than retail.  (Did you know that 80% of Hewlett Packard's profits come from selling ink?)

They also are experts in helping companies and organizations manage printing equipment.  Nationwide. 

So, if you, your organization, your company, your family, your synagogue, your church, your bank, your city, your mosque, your whatever buys ink and prints stuff, why wouldn't you call or email Patrick and see what Veteran's Ink can do?

You might save alot of money, and in the meantime, create a job for someone that has willingly sacrificed their life for you. 

Please pass this along.  The unemployment rate amongst Iraq and Afghanistan vets is over 12% and growing.  This is the kind of thing we can do to reduce that number without any government help. 

Email this to the person at your company that buys ink.  Send it to your vendors and suggest they think about it.  Email it to all your friends.

Thanks for what you already do, and thanks in advance for helping Veteran's Ink continue to make a difference.

The price of freedom

I sat next to four gentleman in their 60s today.  They were loud talkers.

They were opining about the Marines in Afghanistan that appear to have made some unfortunate decisions.

Their conversation took them into a discussion of the mindset of today's American military.

They took a number of different views.

Some expressed empathy with soldiers dealing with incomprehensible difficulties.

Some considered all folks in the military to be dumbasses.

These were comfortable men.  Wealthy men.

None ever wore the cloth of the nation.

I could have just left them alone.

But, I didn't.  I couldn't. 

On my way past them, I offered them a thought.

Their conversation wasn't theoretical.  The people they were empathizing with or complaining about were real.  

I told them to keep talking.  But I wanted to remind them that they were talking about people as real as them, their kids, their neighbors.  I didn't disagree with them. I didn't agree with them.   I didn't have any answers.  I just wanted them to know there are very real Americans that are doing a very difficult job on their behalf out of love of country.

Three of them shook my hand and shook their heads in disbelief.

They said thank you.  They said, "I'm sorry."  They said they appreciated the reality check.

But one of them was different.

He ignored me.  He did not offer a handshake.  He blew me off.

And with his actions, he blew off all the folks that serve and protect our country at the behest of our Commanders in Chief.

I've come to accept him and those like him.  I don't understand him, but I don't have to.  It is his right to not give a damn.

I'm just glad that his type isn't the majority.  Yet.

I'm more proud of the people I know that are in harms way tonight to protect his point of view.

It isn't the fault of the military.  It is the fault of politicians.

When our country sends folks to war, they ought to do a better job of getting the citizenry to be supportive.

It is scary to think of our all volunteer military being at the beck and call of a politician without the support of the American people.  

I'm not smart enough to be a woman. Part two.

Woman have to be smarter than men.

They have so many more choices.  Issues.  Decisions. Options.  Possibilities.  Worries. 

Let's start with just getting ready to go out of the house.

A man can get ready for anything in twelve minutes.  Work.  Hunting.  Black tie.  Golf.  Twelve minutes.

Do his necessary business.  

Shower with Ivory soap.

Shave (maybe, or partially). 

Brush his teeth.

Arrange the mop of hair on his head if he still has any.

Put his clothes on.

Done.


A man can be perfectly attired anywhere in the world for any occasion with this as his entire wardrobe.

One black suit.

One white shirt.

One pair of jeans.

One black tie.

One pair of black socks.

One pair of black cap-toed lace-up shoes.

One pair of boots.

Underwear optional.


Not nearly so easy for women.

Let's start at the getting clean part.  Well, only because the necessary business  part isn't polite.  But gents, women sell something to each other called PooPourri.  I swear. Look it up.  Number one selling item in those stores that sell women everything they want and nothing they need. 

But then it starts in earnest. 

Bath?  Shower?  Both? 

Soap?  Scented or unscented?  If scented, which scent?

And or, exfoliating or non-exfoliating scrub?  Bath or shower gel?  Bath or shower oil?  Bath or shower salts?  Or bubble bath?  Or milk bath?  Or milk bubble bath?

Wash cloth?  Loofah?  Bath brush?  Poof?

And then when the bathing is over, there is the next set of infinite choices that must be dealt with.

Just how emollient do you need to be today?   Tubes, jars, pumps, bottles, sprays.  Oils, creams, lotions, with and without scent.

Oh lordy, and the hard part hasn't even started.

A female business associate I once worked with explained it this way to her always waiting male counterparts at the start of the business day.

"You don't have to complete a painting every morning, now do you?"

I have no idea what order these things are used in.  But here is at least a partial list.

Powder.

Cleanser.

Foundation.

Concealer.

Shimmer.  Not to be confused with Glow.

Blush.

Bronzer.

Rouge.

And then there are eyes.  Mascara.  Eyelash curler things that scare the willy out of me.  Eyeshadow.  Eyeliner.  Brow liner.

And then lips.  Gloss.  Stick.  Liner.  Cream.

Please remember, for each and everything listed in the previous fifty lines of copy there are exactly one jillion choices of colors, scents, brands, and designers.  Not to mention the various tools, brushes, applicators and other weapons of the alchemist.

This is why Alan Jackson sings,

I'm sorry I got mad, waitin' in the truck;
It seemed like hours, you gettin' all dressed up,
Just to go to Shoney's on a Wednesday night.

All the while the buffing has been going on, she has to plan what she is going to wear.  And here the number of choices and the reasons why are impossible to calculate.
 

Who will I see today?  Have they seen me in this before?  Am I trying to impress, hide, flirt, be sedate, be outrageous, intimidate, please, infuriate, accentuate, emasculate or all of the above?


Dress.  Skirt.  Shorts.  City shorts.  Skort.  Cullotes.  Knickers.  Sweaters.  Blouses.  Shrugs.  Tank tops.  Tube tops.  Halter tops.  Camisoles.  Jeans.  Leggings.  Jeggings.  Tights.  Yoga pants.  Cotton.  Wool.  Indigo.  Gold lame.  Angora.  Sequined.  Lycra.  Spandex.  Darts.  Empire waist.  Hollywood waist.  Belt or not belt.  Shawl.  Oh shoot me now.

And don't forget, there is an entire selection process of mysterious undergarments that must be selected from.  Colors.  Fabrics.  Appropriateness for the occasion.  (What?  Different underwear for different occasions?)

I have a daughter in the fashion retail business.  They make trunkloads of money selling things that go under the clothes.  Things like Spanx.  And dimmers.  (I wish I had invented those.  $25 for two pieces of molded plastic to eliminate public party hats.)

And these are universal issues for women.

A few years ago, I was shopping on a Saturday afternoon on Oxford Street in London.  In one quaint shop,. there was a woman covered in full burqa buying the tiniest dental floss g-string thong thing in the brightest color of purple.   Allah be praised, indeed. 

Shoes?  Did someone say shoes?

Have you been in a DSW?  Or Nordstrom's?  There are two pair of guys shoes in the corner.  The other 87,000 square feet are filled with shoes for the lady.

Flats.  Platforms.  Low heels.  Mid heels.  Stiletto heels.  Mary Janes.  Clogs.  Boots.  Booties.   Knee high boots.  Thigh high boots.

Slings.  Pumps.  Sandals.  Thongs.  Flip flops.  Mules.  Skimmers. 

Open toed and closed toe.  (Although Nancy Reagan did say a woman should never let her toes show in public, and things seemed to work out well for her.)

Oh, and then there is hair maintenance.

With the exception of monastic Buddhists and Miss Tanzania, most women don't shave their heads.  (And after seeing Sinead O'Connor's recent photos, hallelujah.)

Those with long hair want it short.  Those with straight hair want it curly.  Those with brown hair want it blonde.  Some want it purple.  Seems very few want it grey.

So everyday for a significant number of women in this world, it's going to be a bad hair day.  After various options of shampoo, conditioner, straightener, curl, pomade, spray, teasing, brushing, combing, and those Satanic creations called hair dryers, it still don't look right.

Women around the world have to deal with the politics of gender in culture, business, government, and law. 

Women around the world have more complex plumbing systems and therefore more health issues.

Cysts.  When's the last time a man had to worry about a cyst?

Cancers of various parts of the body that men don't even have.

The whole reproductive cycle, peak breeding years, pregnancy (no man has ever died birthing a child), lactation, birth control that too often falls solely on the woman, hormones, menstruation, chapped nipples, breast infections, yeast infections, menopause.

And yet, women handle all this and typically live longer than their male counterparts.

And in the meantime, raise children, start businesses, create art, and make homes out of houses.

God said, "It is not good for man to be alone."  Because he made man with limited capacity.  Man couldn't multitask.  So woman was created to be the perfect complement to man.

I'm sure glad it turned out this way.

What time is the Outback Bowl?







 

The Christmas Angel

I ordered the apron for mom out of a mail order catalog.  It was a November in the early 1960's.

Everyday after, I would check the mail.

"Dad, did a package come for me today?"

"Nope.  What'cha looking for?"

"Ah, nothing much.  Probably tomorrow.."

When school was let out for Christmas, I started meeting the mailman at the end of our driveway everyday.

Seven days to go.  Six.  Five.

My heart began to sink.

Then a package would show.   But it wasn't mine.  Not the one.

Three.  Two.

On Christmas Eve, we were busy getting ready. for the best day of the year.

Packages being wrapped.  Fruit cakes being sliced.  Ambrosia being chilled.  Phone ringing.  Big Papa and Momie stopping by to see what was going on.  Looking forward to seeing all my cousins.

In the joy and warmth and excitement, I lost track of the mailman.

He had come and gone that Christmas Eve.

My mom was the center of my universe.  She loved Christmas.  She loved to spread joy.  She loved to cook those once a year specialties.

I had spent hours picking out just that special gift. I had paid for it in cash with allowance money stored in my honey butter jar.  It was the finest apron ever made.

But now it wasn't here.  I had nothing for my mom for Christmas. 

"What's wrong",  mom asked.  "You act like Santa isn't coming!"

Little did she know how right she was.

As I moped around late that afternoon, I tried to think of something I could do for her since I had no gift.  Help around the house?  Draw her a picture?

I was in a total stew.

And then I heard the sweetest words.

"Oh, look.  The mailman came back.  He said he had overlooked something."

It was nearly dark on Christmas Eve.  And here comes the mailman with my mom's apron.

She wore it every Christmas till she died.

Thank you, Christmas Angel.

That Christmas about 50 years ago, you appeared as a mailman.

Wonder what you will look like this year? 

I'm not smart enough to be a woman. Part One.

Second only to my forthcoming bestseller, "Cats and Dogs, an Explanation of the Differences between Men and Women", my new friend Mark Gungor explains it best. 

Women are superior.