underdogishere

After some poking around on the Internets Tubes, I've finally discovered the genesis of the skirt that I pictured in my last post (scroll down a little).

It seems that there's a new product, about to be released but still mostly secret, called Fart 'n Fly. This product plugs into -- well, you can figure out what it plugs into -- and it redirects farts downward to create thrust. After fueling up, say with a big bowl of refried black beans, the Fart 'n Fly provides vertical lift that allows one to take to the air, in pretty much the same way that Professor John Robinson used to fly with the jet pack on Lost in Space. (Speaking of Lost in Space, I have a coworker who can exactly mimic the "bloop" sound that Debbie, Penny's pet Bloop -- that thinly-disguised chimp -- made.)

Anyway, as you can plainly see, the Fart 'n Fly requires special attention to clothing. The Fart 'n Flier must leave an open path for the exhaust gasses, while still maintaining modesty. A long skirt is just the thing. But, as you can imagine, the build-up of heat is considerable. And what could be more embarrassing than having one's skirt ignite during flight?

So, those funny ruffles down the back of the skirt? Cooling fins. Take my word for it.

Labels: Stylin'

I haven't posted a Stylin' and Profiln' entry in a long time, so I humbly offer these shoes. These shoes are available as small as size 6, but their name only comes in a size 11:



These shoes are called (I kid you not): Sketchers(R) 'Bikers Sightsee' Fashion-Forward Mary Janes. I can just see some teenager shouting downstairs, "Mom! Have you seen my Sketchers Bikers Sightsee Fashion-Forward Mary Janes? Mom?"

And then there's this skirt:



I'm not sure what to make of this skirt. It seems to call more attention to the prominence of the wearer's butt than the wearer's butt may want. But more than that, in some strange way, this skirt strongly reminds me of an animal. I just can't put my finger on which animal.... A chicken? A peacock? Puff the Magic Dragon?

What do you think?

Labels: Stylin'

Today's stylin' and profiln' entry is the skirt pictured here. No, I'm not talking about the wisdom of wearing a mini-skirt when it's apparently cold enough to justify fur-lined (faux, I'm sure) boots. The lady has probably coated her legs with teflon.

I'm talking about the pockets....

They're on the outside. There are two Big Reasons why pockets on the outside are a Bad Idea:

Big Bad Idea Reason #1: Do you really want to walk down the street knowing that people are looking at you and thinking, "Does that lady know her pockets are pulled inside out?" Or, worse yet, "Look at that lady! She's put her skirt on inside-out!"

Big Bad Idea Reason #2: You can't use these pockets to carry anything bulky or heavy. I mean, really, how would that look, with the pockets sagging and slapping? With these pockets, you can't carry anything bigger than a credit card.

But then, to that, the lady in this picture looks like she's saying, "What's your point?"

Labels: Stylin'

First, a note of explanation about the title of this post: Multiple question marks signify incredulity.

I mentioned in an earlier post that, among many others, I get the Victoria's Secret lingerie catalog. Not that I look at it. I don't. Not me. I swear! You gotta believe me. But I couldn't miss this -- it was on the cover. Really. And this is what was on the cover:



Will someone please explain to me why ladies underwear needs a button flap? Seriously. And if they're going to put in a flap, then why isn't it... you know... down where it provides access to... something (blush). What's up with this? Can someone explain it to me?

No, wait, I have a better question:

Who thought up this idea, and why does he make more money than me?

Okay, that was really two questions....

Labels: Stylin'

Here in Central Florida, the billboards for the theme parks encourage you to "Ride the Movies." Now I wonder if we aren't "Dressing the Movies." Exhibit A, for today, is the blouse and jacket that appears on the cover of the most recent Victoria's Secret catalog. (The clothing catalog, not the lingerie catalog -- get your mind out of the gutter! Though I do get the lingerie catalog, too -- I don't know why. I think I get every catalog that's published.) Here it is:



I call this style "Pirates of the Caribbean meets 1776." I mean, really, don't you think that if Abigail Adams had dumped old John and run off to swashbuckle on the high seas, she would have looked fetching in this?

Labels: Stylin'

No one earned a gold star for identifying the origin of the phrase, "The Horror! The horror!" I'm a little surprised, but I chalk it up to the prize not being worth the effort of typing. Alas, for the days when I was a schoolchild and a gold star on the forehead was what I lived for!

"The horror! The horror!" are Kurtz's final words in Joseph Conrad's terrific short novel Heart of Darkness. And they are Colonel Kurtz's final words, as spoken by Marlon Brando, in the movie that Francis Ford Coppola based on Heart of Darkness, only he called it Apocalypse Now.

Now you know....

Labels: Stylin'

So... Andrea asked why I go through the ladies apparel catalogs looking for gaffes. I am so busted! The truth is that, although the catalogs come to my address, I do not go through them. Judi does. She's actually looking for stuff to order. But every so often she'll chortle (and when she makes one of these finds she does chortle) to me, "Look at this! Who would wear this? Do you think anyone ever buys one of these?" And so the finds that I post about are really Judi's, and I have been using them without attribution. Much like Ben Domenech did at the Washington Post. I feel pretty low. As Ben Domenech probably does. But, honestly, I only feel low because I was busted. As Ben Domenech probably does.

But the similarity between Ben Domenech and me ends there, because Ben Domenech resigned, and would have been fired if he didn't. Alas, as far as I have been able to tell, I am not being paid to post to this blog. So I am not an employee. I am a slave. And, as everyone knows, slaves can't resign or be fired. They have to be bought. And who would want to buy me? So my slave status gives me happy immunity from any consequences of my malfeasance. Phllluuuuuuuu! Take that, Ben Domenech!

I promise I will give Fair Attribution to Judi when I pass on Her Gems in the future.

P.S. Andrea, you'd make a good detective. You ask the questions that make guilty people sweat. I sweat buckets.

Labels: Stylin'

A little while ago I posted about some of the ridiculous clothing I see in the many catalogs that I get in the mail. It's time for a redux. Today's first exhibit are the shorts in this picture:



Actually, taken by themselves, there's nothing wrong with these shorts. They're even kinda cute. What makes them Exhibit A is that the catalog identifies them as "Yoga Shorts."

Yoga shorts? Now really, I ask you, when someone designs clothing for a specific activity, don't you think it's reasonable to expect that that person has actually performed that activity his or herself? Or at least has some passing familiarity? Because I'm pretty sure that the guy (I suspect it's a guy) who designed these shorts didn't know anything about Yoga except how to spell it. And even that's questionable. Who would wear these shorts to practice Yoga? I dunno. But if it's you, my only suggestion is that you wear cute underwear, because when your arms and legs are in a position resembling a plate of angel-hair pasta, your undies are going to be on display to God and Country. Or at least the rest of the Yoga class.

Exhibit B for today is a skirt that I'm sorry to say I've actually seen real teenagers, or at least aliens impersonating teenagers, wearing, in real life. The experience has left me emotionally scarred. So much so that I can't comment on it. When I try to comment, my fingers tremble so hard that they can't find the keys. Here, I will try to comment: hfloaeubudeljkfbaeuibvlkrhilsva;liu! See? My fingers also have trouble finding the space bar.

Anyway, if you would like to comment, please feel free. I will just describe it: It's a denim miniskirt, to the hem of which has been attached a four-tier gauze prairie skirt. The horror! The horror!^* See the picture:



^* Extra credit: If you can identify where the phrase "The horror! The horror!" is from, either the book, or the movie that was based on the book but has a different name, then let me know and I'll send you a gold star to put on your forehead! No googling, now -- you are smart! You can either post a comment or, if you're shy, send me a message at gss at att dot net.

Labels: Stylin'

I used to do a lot of my shopping from mail order catalogs, and now I do most of it on-line, so I get a lot of catalogs in the mail. This is the off season, so I only I get two or three every day. In the run-up to Christmas I can get as many as ten a day. Did I say a lot? Most are from companies that I never shopped with -- selling my address around, I guess -- and sometimes I wonder how I made it onto the mailing list of, say, a catalog that specializes in officewear for professional black women. But I did.

Anyway, in the catalogs from one particular company the models look like they are teenagers, or at least were teenagers in the recent past, so I guess the styles are aimed at teenagers, but still, sometimes I just have to shake my head. Take this, which is called an "asymmetrical skirt":



I'm pretty sure Buffy was wearing something just like this at the end of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the movie, not the crappy TV show), so now you, yes you, can look like you've just come from an apocalyptic battle with an army of vampires, without so much as having to wield a broken chair leg.

And here's an asymmetrical skirt that's perfect for the female teenaged prison inmate who wants to look like she's just come from an apocalyptic battle with an army of vampires:



I was never a huge fan of prairie skirts, and I detest the new gauchos, so you can imagine my reaction when I saw this bastard step-style, the (I kid you not) prairie gaucho:



Ouch!

Labels: Stylin'

...are a women's fashion trend that I vividly hope will come to a quick, abrupt, and even violent end. Like, maybe, next Tuesday. Is it possible for women to make themselves look any more ridiculous?

I think not.

Labels: Stylin'

I hate jeans. The clothing, that is, not girls named Jean. Or even guys named Jean. No, I just hate the pants made out of tent canvas. I live in Florida. It gets hot here. And jeans are heavy, thick, and bulky. So not-Florida. I prefer shorts. Actually I prefer no clothes at all, but given that I live in a garmented society, I prefer shorts. If shorts are not appropriate then I like pants with pleats at the waist. Something loose and light.

That said, sometimes it does get cold here, and then there are those occasional social situations where jeans are the only acceptable attire. So... I have to own a pair. And they do get faded and raggedy over time. So... once every so-many years I have to shop for a new pair.

That time came around this past winter.

I hate shopping for jeans. Actually, I hate shopping for clothes of any kind. When I go clothes shopping I start out miserable, because I know how awful it's going to be, and then with each thing I try on that doesn't work out I get more frustrated and discouraged so that after a while -- like, two items -- I could just cry. Except, of course, Guys Don't Cry. We learn that in Guy School.

But as much as I hate shopping for clothes, I really hate shopping for jeans. Me, I like my jeans baggy. Not waistband-at-scrotum-level-baggy, but comfortable-baggy. But, you know what it is, is the main problem is that jeans aren't designed to be worn by human beings. They're designed to be worn by Space Aliens. Space Aliens who don't mind having a double-folded double-stitched seam of tent canvas stuffed up their butt cracks. That's the main problem.

So anyway I went on three shopping expeditions and tried on scores of pairs of jeans. I'm not exaggerating. And, finally, among all the scores, I found the only pair that were tolerable. Not exactly comfortable, but tolerable. But -- and get this -- they have buttons instead of a zipper for the fly.

A long time ago, all trousers had button flies. Then someone -- a Nobel Laureate, surely -- invented the zipper, and zippers quickly replaced buttons in trouser flies (except in the Navy -- what was up with that, anyway?). Note to Levi Straus (and Co.):

There was a reason for this.

I could probably write a thesis about why zippers replaced buttons in trouser flies. Maybe someday I will. In the meantime, I'll just treat you to the abstract:

Buttons suck. Zippers rule.

I would say I don't know why anyone would buy pants with a button fly, but I can't, because I did. So all I am entitled to do now is complain. The biggest problem is they take so darned long to unbutton. You'd better not have to "go" in a hurry. In fact, you practically have to make an appointment to do your business:

Me (on phone): "I'd like to use urinal three in the second floor men's room at ten tomorrow morning."

Receptionist: "Okay, I've got you down. Please arrive fifteen minutes to fill out paper.. er, unbutton your pants."

And you can pretty much forget about sex. The button fly is as good as a chastity belt. By the time you get your pants unbuttoned, your partner will have grown tired of waitinq, masturbated, and curled up and fallen asleep. In fact, I now suspect that button flies are part of a Conspiracy on the part of the Religious Right to Reduce Teenage Pregnancy.

And you know, it just might work....

Labels: Musing, Out and About, Stylin'

I created quite a stir at work when I wore my new beagle socks.

Labels: Dogs, Stylin'