photo by Linh Dinh
BUT WHO DON'T KNOW THAT? My sense of style has always been my strong suit. Rugby eclectic and ill fitting. I routinely wear clothes that are 10 , maybe twelve years old. I never buy new clothes unless under duress. I stapled the cuffs on my dress pants when the seam started showing that jaggedy scissors thing that goes on with the bottom of your pants when the seam thread breaks.
I feel very comfortable looking as bad as I do in nice clothes. I'm always doing something wrong I don't understand. Once (and only once) I bought a tuxedo, a Christian Dior tuxedo. You could buy Chrysler with as much as it cost. Anyway, I walk into Dirty Frank's wearing this Christian Dior tuxedo feeling like a master of the universe visiting his common chudlings, and the first person I see sitting in the first barstool is my friend Thomas Jackson, also known as TJ. TJ looks like Mr. T without the jewelry. Dark as knight. Big smile thick arm bad ass.
TJ plays me like a violin. "Well lookee here! What we got?!" I am showing off totally, unashamedly. That's why I walked into Dirty Franks wearing a tuxedo. TJ stands in front of me like a colonel inspecting his troop. From my patent leather shiny shoes his eyes moved north taking in every subtle detail of my costume (the cufflinks didn't match -- ON PURPOSE!)
He said not a word in judgment. His survey complete, he leaned over, lifted the bottom of my right trouser leg just enough to confirm his suspicion. "Wool socks," he smiled, triumphant.
What kind of sick shit it that?
This photo is actually flattering. Thanks to an act of god in the background. I was taking pictures of the double rainbow last Friday when the owner of the camera I was using asked to use his camera for a minute and he took this picture. Linh Dinh is back in town.
This is my Grantland Rice "Outlined against a steel gray October sky" photo that perfectly demonstrates that I'm no better dressed than the last time you saw me.
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