Sharing a Birdcage

So brother dearest was just in town for the past week, gracing us with his effervescent self and sleeping on our couch while interviewing in Boston.  It was a nice taste of things to come if he does, in fact, make his way to this fine city.  It has been 14 years since the two of us have lived in the same zip code and it makes you realize how nice it is to have family around.  In just a weeks time he managed to impress and disgust me all at once. It was just like the good old days.  He changed a light bulb. He broke the shower curtain. He took out the trash countless times. He wore the same jeans 8 days in a row.  He helped with dinner. He spilled chewing tobacco on my leather car seats. Such a dependable ebb and flow of brotherly charm. I found it quite comforting.  One of the nice things to discover was that while living apart, we actually enjoy a lot of the same television shows. Jersey Shore and Modern family played on repeat throughout the week and he even let me sneak in a few episodes of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.  We ended our lovely week with a night on the town.  A solid mixture of debauchery and surprises, but all in all a nice finale to what was a great week.  We will keep you posted on the potential reunion of Pete and The Bird.  This could get really interesting....

The Ninja

Wikipedia states that, “The functions of the ninja included espionage, sabotage, infiltration, and assassination, as well as open combat in certain situations. The ninja, using covert methods of waging war, were contrasted with the samurai, who had strict rules about honor and combat.”

I have met a Ninja.

Espionage – I think that the Ninja I met was born with this.  Always had a knack for naturally being around just to listen to everything I had to say.  It is almost a crime to call it espionage in its purest form but it is still espionage.  Always absorbing my ever word.  This leads me to the next trait.

Sabotage – Hands down, all in, the best trait of the Ninja I know.  It’s almost as if there are 47 throwing stars and 17 daggers flying at you at once.  Just when you thought you had things under wraps, this Ninja I know would uncover and still (pause for effect) can uncover.

Infiltration – Worst trait of this Ninja.  Due to bone structure and choice of Ninja apparel, it caused the Ninja I know to struggle in this arena.  Nevertheless, through force or, like the above, sabotage, this Ninja would find a way.

Assassination – This Ninja I know can kill with a look.  I almost have been killed like 18 times before the Ninja somehow stopped it.  This Ninja uses the above tactics and moves in for the kill with ease. 

The thing I learned about this Ninja is that this Ninja is the most loyal and put together person I know.  Always in the proper Ninja wear and always sticking to the “Ninja guns” (side note – Ninja’s don’t have guns, they have cool things like throwing stars (side-side note, notice I don’t say Chinese throwing stars?  You racist throwing star people out there need to get a grip!) and Ninja swords, and other things that are way cooler than guns.  Regardless, this Ninja is always there when you need the Ninja.

I think in a lot of ways I must be the proverbial Samurai in this case.  Always sticking to rules and codes of conduct that I have enforced upon myself and others.   Unlike the Ninja I know, I’m reluctant to break them even if it is the right time and place to break them.  Loyalty to rules and codes can be detrimental if you cannot manage the loyalty.

The Ninja I know is probably listening and watching me type.  I do think I’m lucky to have met the Ninja.

Even though I had to grow up with her. 

Pete.

La bookbag

Birdface, we need to find some kind of application that plays theme music when people open up my portion of the blog.  A-Team or Thundercats preferably. 

La bookbag.  Interesting you brought this subject up sister from the same Mother.  I have been examining these French dudes wearing some sort of purse held on by a strap for quite some time.  Envy at first, but common sense at last.  It does hold everything you need.  Nevertheless, there is zero reason for a man to wear a man purse.  Wallet, phone, tobacco, possibly keys.  Sometimes a gun, but I don’t want to talk about it. 

“A wise man always hides his keys close to his door so he will never forget them.”  Thank you Mr. Miyagi.

Transitioning on to the “North Face Backpack”.  The United States, Canada, Mexico, Iraq, Afghanistan, Kuwait, France, Germany, Kyrgyzstan, Turkey, Ireland, England, Japan, Okinawa, Guam, Kenya, Tanzania are just some of the countries that my trusty North Face backpack have been.  I break everything.  I destroy everything that comes in my path.  I can’t kid rid of this back pack.  It’s relentless.  I think I have a relationship with it.  When it feels lonely so do I.  I cry when it cries.  Wait, what?

Point being - A man likes his back pack.  It is sometimes hard to part with it.  It is sort of a territorial part of your body.  When you have a back pack full of cool stuff you are therefore cool.  I’ve never bought off on that but I have been a victim of the force field that it is. 

Birdy, I’m with you.  The satchel is much better than the book bag.  It’s way cooler and way more Indiana Jones.  There is one question though.  Who made the book bag uncool?

Perplexed

I’m having a difficult time understanding the concept behind adults wearing backpacks.  There once was a time when I would spot a fellow commuter on the subway, with a backpack strapped on tight and becoming perplexed, I would think: Oh, he/she must be an adult student.  Thaaaat's why.   In my opinion, there are still many more reasonable alternatives to an L.L Bean, but hey, sometimes it's about balance and convenience, and I get that.  Nowadays, however, these obtrusive accessories are popping up on the backs of waaaaaaaay too many passerby.  There is no way that this many people are getting their MBA, right?  So if that's not the case, then what the hell is the story here?

There should be no reason that an adult (not enrolled in school) should be strutting around anywhere outside of a mountainous region donning a bookbag. And some of these are packed to the brim! We're talking zipper-busting, boulder-bearing, massive pieces of equipment.  It just doesn't make sense.  There's nothing worse than getting side-swiped by one as you try to make your way down the street.  And gender speaking, women really have no excuse at all.  God invented handbags for a reason, ladies.  And they come in all sizes too! More importantly, what do you need for a days outing that can't fit into a purse?  How can you look your favorite leather bag in the face and say, "Not today, buddy. I'm taking the North Face."  I wouldn't even be able to fill up the paisely-embroidered front pouch of my 6th-grade Jansport with the contents of my purse these days.  Cell phone, lipstick, camera, sunglasses, pen, gum? What else?  Tell me.

I've worn a bookbag once in the past 5 years and it was because I was climbing a mountain.  And to be honest, it wasn't even mine.  I was just doing someone a favor and lessening the load for a couple miles.  Now this bookbag made sense. It had extra layers of clothing, socks, gloves, a winter cap, fruit, granola bars, peanut-butter sammys, antibacterial, chapstick, a camera, a phone, several water bottles, a fifth of gin, handwarmers, first aid supplies, etc.  Of course this laundry list of stuff required a bookbag. I understood the theory behind it.

Up until about a year ago, when we would be packing for a trip, my boyfriend would reach into the back of our closet and grab his trusty black bookbag.  As he would begin to fill it with all his personal belongings, I would have to count to 5 before approaching him.  Baffled and offended by his lack of common sense, I would ask "Why the bookbag?"  He would look at me like I was the one pulling out an article from 1989 and out of pity, confusion....or I don't know what, I would back down.  But I finally gained the courage to explain to him (with a little help from Google Images) what a grown man looks like with a knapsack harnessed to his back.  Now he gets it. And his black bookbag hasn't made an appearance since.

We trudge through the hallways of elementary, high school, and for some, college, with these things. Was that not enough? Next time you pass a 40 year-old tossing one of these over his back, please ask them what the F is inside and then report back. Thank you.
-The Bird

The Rebuttal

Bottom line – I should dress more appropriately and better, but I continue to wear the rags that define me.  I am a product of the clothes that are bought for me from the people who understand fashion and good looks.  Like most things, there is a reason. 

First, let me say that the women in my life (Bird a.k.a. sister and Mom a.k.a. my Mom) are impeccable wearer’s of clothes.  They understand what is “in” and they wear it well.  Other women give them compliments and emulate them when possible.  It is an honor to be in their company.  My ma is, without question, the best Mom on Earth and she is the type of person you want to give a hug every time you see her.  Birdy is tough but the best sister you could ask for.  Keeps me honest but she understands her brother.   Regardless, they are classy.  It’s a lot to live up to.  Nevertheless, I appreciate their taste in fashion and in some ways it represents the type of people that they are.  Kind, loving, and classy.

When I was in school, circa 1998 – 2002 my roommate gave me a bit of advice that I have lived by.  I think it is important to understand the person before this moment of glory is divulged.  “Big” Al Thomspson.  He was recruited to play football and his shoulders are as big as Ford Truck.  Nicest person you will ever meet in the world.  Born and raised in Prince George County (PG County as the gangsters say) Maryland just outside of the Nation’s Capital.  I’ve been there before as the token “white dude”. Al is a man of conviction and his father is a pastor.  Normally on Sunday he would put on a fancy suit and go to church.  For about 9 hours.  One time, Big and I started a conversation about clothes which resulted in one of the greatest lines / ideals of all time.   Big said to me “Mart, it’s not the clothes that make the man, it’s the man that makes the clothes.”

I ran with it.  And I didn’t get much help with the people I lived with down the road.  You see, I lived in a house in North Carolina with 5 other guys.  All Marine Corps Officers like me.  Often, you could return home on a Friday evening to the house finding someone looking in your closet for a new shirt to wear.  Sometimes you could be out at a bar and look at one of the guys and realize that, yes he has a nice shirt on, but also that it’s yours.  In fact, we had a red, black, and white pair of plaid trousers that were worn by a different person each weekend.  You have to understand that 95 percent of the time we were in uniform and the time for civilian clothes turned out to be a joke at best.  Often we would wear checkered shoes (VANs) or Converse All Stars with jeans and a repulsive t shirt, with holes.  We just didn’t really care.

As I get older and more “professional” I realize that I need to step it up a little bit.  I do, however, get a kick out of the people in my workplace who recommend this.  So, you’re telling me that orthopedic shoes and a crappy beige blazer make you classier than me?  I think once they open their mouth the truth comes out.  You can take a blank out of blank but you can’t take the blank out of blank.  You know what I’m saying.

So I guess I’m in a crossroads.  I’m 5’10’’, 188 pounds (just weighed in this morning).  Nothing fits me.   I have short arms and Banana Republic and J.Crew don’t consider these things.  I like to run and do physical activities.  It is almost like some of these stores / designers say, “Ok, let’s design some clothes that only fit 10 percent of the population (who hate sports and think that going to the gym is for Neanderthals).”  It’s not fair.

Hence, I’m reduced to my baby sister’s worst nightmare.  Levi jeans and t-shirts.  I truly believe that I can be changed with some female influence but I think that I’m happy with resistance at the moment.  It’s going to be a project but I’m sure it will be fun for whoever takes it on.

At the end of the day, respect for yourself and the understanding of the big picture things in life outweigh Mr. Louis Vuitton   Any day of the week.

-Pete

Bringing up Brother.....A Tale of Style

I guess I'd consider myself quasi-stylish. I mean, it's not like I'm cutting edge-latest labels to hit the streets-just got back from Bryant Park last week" fashionable. But I'd like to think I can hold my own out there. I prefer Polished over Bohemian, put-together before practical....I guess to put it into a designer perspective...I'm a little more JCrew, a little less Betsey Johnson.

Now my dear brother is 4 years my senior but in fashion years, sometimes he seems to fall 10 years my junior.  While he cleans up better than most guys I know, his skewed idea of "dressed-up" is jeans with any shirt that doesn't have writing sprawled across the front.  One time, years back, I came home from college to find him sitting at our parents kitchen table, donning his Naval Academy "dress whites".  I teared up on spot. Not because of the honor and dignity that this uniform symbolized....but more so because I had never seen a crisper pleat in my life. I wanted to meet the man that ironed his pants and ask him to marry me.  Now a good part of my preppy persona is not my fault.  They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and our mother just so happens to put the "class" in Classic.  On any given day, she looks like she stepped fresh out of a Talbot’s catalog. She came from the era of khaki and Keds and she threw us into the back of that wagon the moment we met her. Our dad’s not too far off this path either. He used to sport monogrammed Lacoste sweaters in college (the reason, our mom tells us now, that she first fell for him) and I have still yet to see the man EVER wear a shirt without a collar. I'm serious. No T-shirts for this guy. I'm not kidding. He cuts the grass in Cutter & Buck Polos, circa 1995.

Speaking of the good ol’ 90's...turns out Don Henley wasn't the only thing cheesy about this decade. This also marks the wonderful era that gives way to the infamous "portrait". That’s right folks...I’m talking about the WHOLE family (aunts, uncles, cousins...Nanie and Pop-Pop too) actually stood on the steps of a historic building in my collegiate hometown (there were pillars) to pose for a photo in matching white shorts and navy polos. I swear to God. You can't make this shit up.

Anyways.... my point is that I don't envy my brother. He has been stuck with a fashion-obsessed mother-sister combo for 30 whole years. That's 360 months of latest trends, must-have seasonal selections, and a whole lot of us talking about nothing at all. I must say he has been a trooper.  There are times when he attempts to rebel from our gentle guidance.  One faux paus has been permanently branded into my memory, despite my constant attempts to black it out. It was one of our family’s most favorite times of year: college football season.  We have been tailgating with aggressive passion for the past 30 plus years at the university in our hometown.  While the team might be 1-AA, our tailgates our nothing short of A plus.  My mom spends Monday through Friday preparing, my dad is sent on countless "errands" the whole week prior, and my brother and I now do our best to make it into town for at least one home game each year.  Last year all of our schedules allowed for us to convene for the single best game of the year. Homecoming.  It was a crisp, fall morning in early November as well all bustled around the house, trying to get out the door and to the stadium. My mom and I were clad in our freshest denim and must-have boots for the season. Dad was vigorously ironing, putting the final touches on his striped oxford. Friends were arriving to carpool, all sporting their fall favorites as well.  Then there was brother.  He bounced down the stairs and rounded his way into the kitchen, where I almost choked on my pumpkin latte.  His jeans were from a decade I wasn't present for and they were torn in several places. (Not in a rock star meets hipster way), but instead it looked as if they had been washed over 1000 times and possibly slept in the night before.)  The jeans were paired with a black hooded sweatshirt with a skull and cross bones displayed on the back.  I think the front might have mentioned some sort of "Bike Week" extravaganza that I am sure he didn't attend and there were noticeable stains on the arms, despite the black color.  With one hand I covered my mothers eyes and fought back the urge to slap him across the face with my other. It was as if the cheer just escaped the room. My spirit for all things fall and football was lost.  I begged him to change but he refused.  So onwards we went, 3 human beings and our one alien offspring.  Believe me, I always put up a fight.  But sometimes you just can't win.

But despite moments like this, where he has a momentary lapse in judgment and sheer decency, he has developed a style all his own.  And I can respect that. While I may get on him for his lack of de rigueur, he is privileged to have acquired our mom's gene of "wearing anything well". He can rock Chuck Taylors and corduroy with the same swagger as he can a three-piece suit. So while I get on him when he's wearing his favorite royal blue polo from Goodwill (it has the name "Charlie" stitched in white lettering over the left breast pocket for Gods sake); the reason for my lecturing seems fair. Why should someone settle for simple when they're meant to be smashing?

-Bird