Notes from Randomalia

Notes from Randomalia

1) I need to believe that the designers of the world thought they were doing a good thing by re-introducing leggings. I need to believe that they honestly thought that by re-introducing these figure-revealing items of clothing, they would inspire a diet and exercise weight-loss revolution in MOA (that's Morbidly-Obese America). Unfortunately, the results of their glorious experiment have been nothing short of catastrophic, as what we are now faced with is walking up subway stairs behind women whose behinds look like two sacks of curds jiggling in our faces.

2) As for peg-leg jeans, which I'm also seeing in disturbing profusion the past few months, ONLY the models look good in them. Face it, if you aren't a five-ten sylph with boyish hips and no waist to speak of, those super-skinny jeans JUST DON'T LOOK GOOD. And before you start to roll the hem of your jeans above your boots or to tuck your jeans into your boots, ask yourself, "Do I have a 34-inch inseam?" Think about it, have a little common sense -- if you are small, short, or stocky in any way, why would you create a horizontal break just where you want to look longest and leanest?

Repeat after me, ladies, just because it's fashionable, doesn't mean you have to wear it. Or as my mother used to say (usually when she was refusing to buy me something trendy from Foxmoor Casuals), "Wear what looks good on you, and you will always look stylish."

3) Psst! Hey, you! Yeah, I'm talking to you! Just because you have managed to cram yourself into those size 6 lowrider jeans -- that doesn't actually make you a size 6. In fact, I'm guessing by the muffin top bulging around your middle that in real life you're probably a couple sizes bigger than that. So give it up. You aren't fooling anyone. Except maybe yourself. And frankly, you're making the rest of us slightly sick.

4) For the life of me, I still can't figure out the talent/fame equation in the music industry. In some ways I'm hopelessly idealistic, and quite possibly outdated, in thinking that people who have real talent will eventually be discovered and get the fame and fortune that is their due. Maybe that's why people of my generation (tailend boomer/front end x-er) have such nostalgia for our music. Because we know that, frankly, if Tom Petty put out his first album today, he would nosedive into obscurity (too ugly for TV). If U2 were releasing their first album right now, they'd be pulling Guinness pints in some Dublin pub instead of being touted (by me, at least) as the Greatest Rock Band Ever. So when I am fortunate to happen upon my favorite subway busker, usually in the Union Square subway station, I always let a train or two go by so I can listen to him play and sing. His voice is so haunting and his songs have a minor-key plaintiveness that just cuts to my heart. Theo always gets my money, too.

5) I went to bed with a new book last night, Paul Auster's "The Brooklyn Follies" and was so delighted with it that I read it in one powerhouse 5-hour push -- setting it aside with a satisfied sigh at 3:00 in the morning. How is it that I have not read anything else by this man? (hint, hint: Barnes and Noble gift certificates make really nice Christmas gifts for book junkies like me.) When I woke up this morning and saw the book on my nightstand, all I could do was grin at the memory of how happy it had made me for those several hours. Some books are like that -- you greet them with the shy smile of a lover on the morning after.

6) In the "what was I thinking?" department, I have come to realize that I completely made up a story about the retoucher that wasn't true. In fact, I created a person who didn't exist. I mean, come on, this guy a) lives in New Jersey, b) thinks Las Vegas is awesome, and c) drinks Long Island Iced Teas as his cocktail of choice. Any one of those three should be a dealbreaker in itself. See what happens when you don't pay attention? Not to mention, if he was into me, he would have actually called me on the telephone or exhibited some willingness to spend time with me. Oh well, no big loss. He's still kinda nice to look at and he does have a nice butt.

7) Women in Chuck Taylors? Not sexy, honey.

8) I willingly admit to being a snob about a few things. For instance, 'tis the season for women to break out the department store furs. I can spot a department store fur from a hundred paces. I find myself looking at women's fur coats and evaluating them in my mind: Hmm, tails and scraps. Hmm, cheap pelts. Hmm, scraped off the grill of her husband's SUV.

9) Another thing I am a snob about is cheese. Parmesan cheese does NOT come in green cans! That stuff in green cans is sawdust! And another thing -- the people at Polly-O should NOT be allowed to call those shrink-wrapped beige erasers "mozzarella cheese." I feel really badly for people who don't have a local cheese maker where they can get real mozzarella cheese.

10) A subway busker who never gets my money is that annoying guy with the braids who rides the "L" and sings "Stand By Me." I think it's the really loud clapping that he uses to accompany himself that gets on my very last nerve.

11) Back to food snobbery. I once bought one of those 7-11 "cappuccinos" at a highway rest stop, and when I got in the car and took a sip of it, I nearly threw up! It was a thick, disgusting, oily, sickeningly sweet mess that I promptly dumped out the car window. I hope it didn't cause any accidents from the slick I'm sure it left on the highway. And I had to wonder with horror -- do most people in this country think that's what cappuccino is supposed to taste like?

12) On the other hand, some nights I just don't have the energy to eat anything except a can of Niblets for dinner.