Friday, September 12, 2008

shine on you crazy deer head!

There few things I like more than getting up in the morning knowing I have a job for which I can dress any damn way I please, especially during the summer months when Congress takes it's month-long vacation (because the 11 other months days it works during the year are just so dang strenuous...). Yes, the beauty of the telephone and Interbuttubez, allows writers to do their jobs in any attire. Draped in velvet? Why the eff not?! Wonderwoman underoos? If you really feel like it!

And while I've never sported legit underoos to the office, I did sport a semi-hookeriffic ensemble the other day.

Hookin' in the a.m.!

I'll give you a moment to recover from the blinding whiteness of my legs...

*You whistle and watch the moments tick by as you continue to see white spots in the shape of my legs as if a camera's flash just went off*

*Meanwhile, I Google "self-tanners"...*

And we're back. I recognize this outfit is a little ridiculous for work, perhaps even retardulous, and so I expect to get some sort of critical, but light-hearted comments from a couple of my coworkers. In this case, I got "little German boy in Lederhosen" and "why are you wearing hot pants?" It was all in good fun, till I cut them. Just kidding! No one was shanked.

I must add, though, I kind of want to shiv DC's heat index. After spending a number of days in lovely Las Vegas last week, I grew accustomed to dry heat. Sure it was hovering around 100 degrees (that's 40 degrees Celsius for you non-Amurricans), but it never felt as hot and sticky as it does here, even the other day when the thermometer hovered around 65 (18) when I got up. Effing humidity. Which is why I decided to mix my seasonal gear with my slightly Bavarian-inspired outfit the other day.

It's true, sweat still dripped down my proverbial balls (thank you Lil' Jon for that unforgettable, yet incredible apropos lyric) because of the humidity, but my buttocks was nice and air-conditioned as I rode my trusty bicycle, Baguette, up and down Connecticut Ave. that day, dodging the apparent plethora of blind drivers that seemed to be on the road.

But more important than the shorts, which, note to someone in my office, are definitely nowhere near as short as hot pants, is the T-shirt. I bought it recently in New York City at a store called Uniqlo (a.k.a. the Japanese Gap), which I've discussed before. The loose cut is kind of perfect for humid days and the design on the front is just plain tight.

And the deer's neck won't even turn green!

This shirt appeals to me on so many levels. First, I really enjoy venison (I'm from Minnesota, where roadkill is a seasonal staple). Second, I enjoy optical illusions, and this shirt does a find job with that. The detail in the "chain" is blog-worthy -- it's stitched in with gold thread -- and the "medallion" is gold-to-the-max screenprinting. Together, the whole thing almost looks real. Hmm...kinda like a modern version of Plato's allegory of the cave, no? A little? You know, without the shackles, fire, shadows and cave? Now do you see it? Whatever, I tried.

By the way, on a completely different note, besides Atomic Experiments for Boys, I'm also reading linguist Steven Pinker's latest work, The Stuff of Thought, which brings up Plato's allegory as a way to illustrate how we might understand the meanings of words. If you're interested in communication, language, writing, speaking, listening, human behavior, or anything of the sort and want a thought-provoking, witty read, I suggest either taking a trip to the library or jumping on to obtain a copy. Or, if you can wait another couple of weeks, you can borrow mine. It's both baffling and fascinating how little we know about how our minds work. Or well, perhaps, how little I know about how my mind works...

What does work, however, is the Rock & Roll Hotel, which is hosting a DC's own New Rock Church of Fire, a group that not only has christened itself with possibly the best name ever, but the band is also taking steps to carry on the tradition of the great Fugazi, one of the few reasons I heart DC, or at least the DC of yesteryear. Anyway, doors are at 9 p.m. tonight and it's $10 to get in, but there's probably $2 Sparks, so you can make up for the money you spend on a cab with giving you liver a workout. I'm the Richard Simmons of liver fitness.


LivitLuvit said...

I was feeling like it was an H Street corridor night- and $2 Sparks? Just did me in.

Anonymous said...

Ohhhh....I wish that were tomorrow night. I needed a good itinerary. Fudge.

jheisel said...

how is this band i have never heard of "carry[ing] on the tradition of the great Fugazi"?

Marissa said...


Two-dollar Sparks will do anyone in.


Tomorrow is Ukrainian disco!

Yeah, I'm not joking. HOLY GHOST ON THE DANCE FLOOR! (Claire Huxtable reference, anyone?)


Hmmm...local rock? No? Maybe? Fugazi came from DC, they're influenced by Fugazi. I'm making a leap here. Go with it!

I-66 said...

There ain't nothin' wrong to dance just like you want to...

Shannon said...

Any time someone mentions Underoos, I get all ticked off that I never had them as a child. My hippie parents didn't approve. Days of the Week underwear, though? Awesome!

Marissa said...




Ah yes. I fondly remember the days of the week undies. I remember I only have the weekdays though. I was so confused.

Matt said...


I've already told the internets that you are my new imaginary crush...
So, are you just trying to send me into an whirl-wind of whatz-itz , with this postings? (being so lurve-ly, and all?)

Jeepers! I'm just one man, for Deek's sake!

But if you ARE, for some sad/ sick reason trying to drive me (and all'a them other boys) mad with desire? Couldn't you at least live closer?


~your ever-loving-admirer,

Anonymous said...

...creepy. I think we all know what I'm talking about... ^^^^^^

(for those not playing at home) I'm referring to the fact that you named your bike baguette of course.


Elle Gee said...

Holy discombobulation. Thanks to this post and its comments I will now spend the rest of the evening reassembling the scattered pieces of my cerebellum.