I woke up yesterday morning to learn that not only had I arrived in Florida on a hot and humid day, but it was also opening day of Hurricane Season. Great, I thought to myself, and here I am completely lacking in emergency supplies. And after tending to work-related stuff* I hopped in the car and proceeded to drive south down to my stepsister's house in Naples. Lucky for me, too because there's already a Tropical Storm hitting the west coast - including the exact area where I was at yesterday. Of course, the storm itself was named "Barry" which seems oddly appropriate. Maybe it's just me, but the name "Barry" implies a large, drunk frat-boy who stumbles around the party where everyone else is being cool and trying to have a good time, where he makes an ass of himself by hitting on ex-girlfriends, breaking things, and eventually vomiting on the rug.
Fortunately for me, I was driving away from where Barry was making landfall, but I was already getting hit by some of the leading edge of the storm. It was horrible! Winds were reaching up to 15 miles per hour, and it was raiding so hard that sometimes my entire windshield was mildly moist! When I finally arrived I asked my niece how she managed to survive in such torrential hurricane conditions. To which she replied "This isn't a hurricane, it's barely even raining." Obviously, she's been toughened by the non-stop hurricane conditions down here and has no perspective. Not that I'm surprised, this coming from a girl who never saw snow until she was eight.
Speaking of drunken frat-boys, I forgot to tell ya'll about the giant douche I saw on the plane while on the way down. At first, he looked like your regular garden-variety Lincoln Park Chad, complete with artfully-frayed ballcap and popped collar polo shirt. But then I noticed that this was a very special popped-collar shirt - on thebackside of the popped collar was a word, embroidered into the fabric. The word was "Prepster". I was completely mortified by this turn of events, because not only does this mean that popped-collars are more than just a passing fad, but designers are now designing shirts that are *made* to be worn with the collars popped**.
Between popped-collars, leggings under dresses, and jeans-with-skirts, I'm now convinced that I have become a grumpy old man with respect to fashion at the ripe old age of 32. Truth be told I have always figured that it would happen eventually, just not quite this early.
* I had a business meeting Friday morning - the reason I was down here to begin with.
** As there would be no other way to see that word if the collar was being worn properly.
Fortunately for me, I was driving away from where Barry was making landfall, but I was already getting hit by some of the leading edge of the storm. It was horrible! Winds were reaching up to 15 miles per hour, and it was raiding so hard that sometimes my entire windshield was mildly moist! When I finally arrived I asked my niece how she managed to survive in such torrential hurricane conditions. To which she replied "This isn't a hurricane, it's barely even raining." Obviously, she's been toughened by the non-stop hurricane conditions down here and has no perspective. Not that I'm surprised, this coming from a girl who never saw snow until she was eight.
Speaking of drunken frat-boys, I forgot to tell ya'll about the giant douche I saw on the plane while on the way down. At first, he looked like your regular garden-variety Lincoln Park Chad, complete with artfully-frayed ballcap and popped collar polo shirt. But then I noticed that this was a very special popped-collar shirt - on thebackside of the popped collar was a word, embroidered into the fabric. The word was "Prepster". I was completely mortified by this turn of events, because not only does this mean that popped-collars are more than just a passing fad, but designers are now designing shirts that are *made* to be worn with the collars popped**.
Between popped-collars, leggings under dresses, and jeans-with-skirts, I'm now convinced that I have become a grumpy old man with respect to fashion at the ripe old age of 32. Truth be told I have always figured that it would happen eventually, just not quite this early.
* I had a business meeting Friday morning - the reason I was down here to begin with.
** As there would be no other way to see that word if the collar was being worn properly.
Comments
The teenage girl that lives in my house thinks the height of "hot" is horribly distressed bootcut jeans with flip-flops, a white polo with the collar popped, and an off-kilter beat-up baseball cap. Ugh, I say.
Egads, I say...