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A Note on Fashion
Jun. 7th, 2018 09:21 amLast night I was invited to attend granddaughter Sophia's choral concert at the local high school. It's in one of the smallest suburban school districts in Central New York, but it has a state-ranked school music program. The 5th and 6th grade chorus, which Sophia sings in, boasts almost 50% participation, school-wide.
So, I thought, what better time to break out the new olive green sports jacket which I'd vitually stolen from Tar-jhe at 50% off. To complete my ensemble, I wore a mottled green tee shirt--also new, but from Walmart, my chocolate-brown carpenter pants with tan suspenders and, of course, my brown, steel-toed Wellington boots. Dang, I looked good!
When I arrived at my daughter's house, I asked her what she thought. Now, from high school on, including four years at Albany State and one year afterward, Beck had worked at Lerner's of New York.
From folding and re-stocking inventory as a 10th grader, she rose through the ranks to floor manager and assistant store manager and, in her last year, was asked to consider off-site training as a store manager. Which she turned down to pursue a degree in veterinary technology.
Anyway, the best she was able to come up with was, "Well, you look better than I do. I worked all day in the garden and only had time to change my shirt." (Her girls looked immaculate, as always, with Sophia dressed to the proverbial nines for her last musical performance of the year.)
At that point, I felt compelled to explain to her that I was in the process of developing a new look which I'd decided to call "Country Crock." Now, I know there may be some copyright infringement issues with this, but I seriously doubt that anyone is going to think that I'm trying to pass myself off as a tub of fake butter. I may be a tad slippery at times, even a bit slimy, but never buttery.
Thinking that what had put her off was the fact that my outfit was not fully accessorized, I mentioned that I had left my Mossy Oak cap at home, lest it raise unnecessary panic amongst the nice suburban moms and dads who had, after all, begged, borrowed and, quite possibly stolen to establish their families in this moderately affluent and mostly white school district.
I mean, look at it from their perspective.
They've successfully escaped with their families from "Little Detroit" (which is what the nice suburban folks call the city of Syracuse) only to be confronted, in the midst of the school's crowning cultural event, by some old guy in a Mossy Oak cap and Wellington work boots which, for all they knew, were caked with fresh cow shit--a sight only slightly less horrific than the ghost of Dylan Klebold strolling down the hall in a black trench coat.
See what I mean? So it was obvious that I had to ditch the cap.
Anyway, the concert was good, the musical selections universally appealing, and a couple of standout solos made the evening memorable.
Afterwards, there was the usual meet-and-greet among the parents waiting for their kids outside of the auditorium. I did catch a few sideways glances and no one offered to shake my hand, but there was no "fake sneeze" name-calling and no "accidental" bumps with an intentionally lowered shoulder.
In the car on the way home, I attempted to further explain myself to my daughter and maybe to myself.
I told her that I'd called my new look "Country Crock" because it was a sort of homage to my roots, the places where I'd been, the family that I'd come from. That I had wanted to look "country" but knew that, in all the ways that really count, I really wasn't.
With or without the Mossy Oak cap...
LPK
Dreamwidth
6.7.2018
So, I thought, what better time to break out the new olive green sports jacket which I'd vitually stolen from Tar-jhe at 50% off. To complete my ensemble, I wore a mottled green tee shirt--also new, but from Walmart, my chocolate-brown carpenter pants with tan suspenders and, of course, my brown, steel-toed Wellington boots. Dang, I looked good!
When I arrived at my daughter's house, I asked her what she thought. Now, from high school on, including four years at Albany State and one year afterward, Beck had worked at Lerner's of New York.
From folding and re-stocking inventory as a 10th grader, she rose through the ranks to floor manager and assistant store manager and, in her last year, was asked to consider off-site training as a store manager. Which she turned down to pursue a degree in veterinary technology.
Anyway, the best she was able to come up with was, "Well, you look better than I do. I worked all day in the garden and only had time to change my shirt." (Her girls looked immaculate, as always, with Sophia dressed to the proverbial nines for her last musical performance of the year.)
At that point, I felt compelled to explain to her that I was in the process of developing a new look which I'd decided to call "Country Crock." Now, I know there may be some copyright infringement issues with this, but I seriously doubt that anyone is going to think that I'm trying to pass myself off as a tub of fake butter. I may be a tad slippery at times, even a bit slimy, but never buttery.
Thinking that what had put her off was the fact that my outfit was not fully accessorized, I mentioned that I had left my Mossy Oak cap at home, lest it raise unnecessary panic amongst the nice suburban moms and dads who had, after all, begged, borrowed and, quite possibly stolen to establish their families in this moderately affluent and mostly white school district.
I mean, look at it from their perspective.
They've successfully escaped with their families from "Little Detroit" (which is what the nice suburban folks call the city of Syracuse) only to be confronted, in the midst of the school's crowning cultural event, by some old guy in a Mossy Oak cap and Wellington work boots which, for all they knew, were caked with fresh cow shit--a sight only slightly less horrific than the ghost of Dylan Klebold strolling down the hall in a black trench coat.
See what I mean? So it was obvious that I had to ditch the cap.
Anyway, the concert was good, the musical selections universally appealing, and a couple of standout solos made the evening memorable.
Afterwards, there was the usual meet-and-greet among the parents waiting for their kids outside of the auditorium. I did catch a few sideways glances and no one offered to shake my hand, but there was no "fake sneeze" name-calling and no "accidental" bumps with an intentionally lowered shoulder.
In the car on the way home, I attempted to further explain myself to my daughter and maybe to myself.
I told her that I'd called my new look "Country Crock" because it was a sort of homage to my roots, the places where I'd been, the family that I'd come from. That I had wanted to look "country" but knew that, in all the ways that really count, I really wasn't.
With or without the Mossy Oak cap...
LPK
Dreamwidth
6.7.2018
