Mentioning Unmentionables

The primary topic of this post is my underwear. I'm not usually so direct, but I think that this should probably be mentioned up from so that your expectations regarding the intelligence of this post aren't too high.

As most of you are probably unaware, I wear Hanes boxer briefs. In my many years of wearing underwear, I find that these offer the greatest comfort as the elastic waistband remains encased in fabric and is thus nonirritating - a feature I have yet to find in standard boxers, though I admittedly haven't looked very hard. An added bonus is that these are readily available in Wal-mart, which is convenient in that when I go said store, I try to get everything I could possibly need so as to avoid further trips for a very long time. Wal-mart's product consistency being what it is, I've found two varieties of this underwear, despite only wanting one. One variety has a vertical ribbon of fabric sewn in the front of the waistband with "Hanes" written on it. The other has the word "Hanes" printed directly on the waistband. I've had the latter for a longer period of time, and as I finished my laundry yesterday, I noticed that on one particular pair, all but the "e" was missing from the front.

Because I'm so especially bored nowadays, I found myself staring at the "e" shorts and thinking about them. The more I thought, the cooler they seemed. First of all, the only letter left is lowercase. Tell me that's not cool. If it were the "H" that remained, I feel that the shorts would be an embarrassment, as though I had removed all the other letters in order to make some bizarre superhero costume, calling myself "The Hurricane," "Herring-man," or something else just as pathetic. You just can't have a capital letter on your clothes, unless you're a superhero. And even then, prepare to get laughed at.

The lowercase "e," though, struck me as almost artistic, especially since it was off-center. For example, E.E. Cummings (known to his friends as e.e. cummings) immediately springs to mind. In fact, I think he'd want his underwear to be like mine. I started thinking how mysterious and enigmatic this "e" underwear could be, doubtlessly impressive to anyone with taste. I began to wonder if it could be cool enough to score points with the ladies. Then I realized that if a girl has seen your underwear, then either you're on the path towards mutual intimacy or you've just been tremendously embarrassed. Either way, your fate has pretty much been sealed at that point.

Anyway, I finally snapped back to my senses and finished folding the clothes. And oddly enough, I'm currently wearing an old pair of true, baggy boxer shorts for a little variety. Yet, I still think that worn old pair of underwear is pretty cool. But these boxers have a giant "H" on the front, and I usually assume my alter-ego on the weekends.

Turn Your Head and Coffee

In addition to all the regular "hot gym girls" (see previous post), I've noticed a woman who works there who is very attractive. She is tall, strawberry blonde, and does a lot of physical therapy work with older people, so I'm guessing she is very good-natured. Of course, my favorite quality of hers is her giant bust size. My only regret so far is not trying to talk to her when I saw her in the coffee shop next to the gym. I went in one day a few months ago to try some iced tea, as it was an especially hot day. I saw her in line, and of course I chickened out and didn't say anything to her. What's worse, I doubt I'll ever have that opportunity again. Because not only do I hate coffee, I hate coffee shops.

There's precious little about the world that I hate. It's pretty much down to evangelists, 99% of rap music, and coffee shops. I guess I don't even really hate coffee shops, to be honest. I hate their typical clientèle. There's that certain stereotypical person you find there that just irks me. You know, the liberal arts majors who wear ultra-tight jeans and wear messenger bags like they're Congressional Gold Medals, despite never having been employed as a courier. I know it's a gross generalization, but these people have had a tendency to irk me ever since I ran into a great number of them while studying for my philosophy minor. Perhaps the single greatest atrocity that I associate them with, however, is free verse poetry.

Annoying and
Broken phrases that
Pierce
the
mind with their
pointlessness
Having...

Goddamn it, it's so annoying that I can't even mock it without getting pissed off. It's simply the shittiest use of the English language possible. I'd much rather read either a normal paragraph jam-packed with imagery or a series of lines broken into rhyme and meter. Free verse, however, seems like it was written by someone without correction tape on a typewriter with a broken return key. But this is exactly the kind of crap the coffee shop types love to read. How do I know? Because I've picked up the latest copy of the Silhouette.

The Silhouette (or Shitouette, as I've been known to call it) is the art magazine published by Virginia Tech every semester, and I've seen a number of copies being read at coffee shops. One semester, my friend and I both submitted our own poems, structured in rhyme and meter, to the magazine just to see if they'd get accepted. They didn't. You may be saying to yourself, "well, he's just bitter about not getting in the magazine." This isn't true, as I knew my poem sucked. My friend's poem was better, actually addressing the beauty of the Shenandoah landscape. Mine was about a kid who turned into an annoying asshole.

Regardless, the true reason I'm pissed at the Silhouette is that not only were our poems not accepted, but neither was any other traditional rhyming poem that might have been submitted. It was all free verse, and it all sucked. Actually, that may not be true. Some of it may have been truly good. However, it was simply too annoying to try to read through to the end.

Who knows, maybe it's just because I'm an engineer and I don't have a true appreciation for the English language. Perhaps it's a truly beautiful art form that I'll never be able to comprehend. I'd like to think it's pretentious crap produced by and for elitist latte-swilling douche bags.

Whoa, I really lost focus on what was supposed to be the main focus of this entry - big boobs. I guess they'll have to wait for a later post.

Is That Churchill or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

So recently I sold my drum machine for a cool $65 on eBay. That means I had slightly more money than I had budgeted, so hello mini shopping spree. In addition to the alcohol that was an inevitable purchase, I got a few things for the kitchen from Target, where I literally spent 20 minutes staring at blenders and wondering whether I could find a use for one, and wondering how powerful a 450 watt motor is in terms of blending. Since I was in the area, I also decided to stop at Barnes and Noble and make myself feel intelligent, feeding the illusion that maybe I'll read another book one of these days.

Now, the last book that I thoroughly enjoyed was Hughes: The Private Diaries, Memos and Letters, a very revealing and enjoyable biography of the eccentric Howard Hughes. I finished the book just before I saw The Aviator, and I was captivated. Howard Hughes may be my ultimate role model. He was an innovator, a visionary, a billionare, and a complete nutjob - all personal goals of mine.

Anyway, the point is, I think that I may actually like biographies - something's fascinating about being able to observe an entire life in the span of a few hundred pages of text. So I went to the biography section and started looking at a Churchill book. I had been debating getting either it or the new Einstein biography. So while I was looking and thinking to myself, this guy asks me out of the blue if I had ever studied Churchill before. I said no, and we had a real brief chat about biographies and history.

Now, I'm all for speaking to strangers in public. As of late, far too many people have become frigidly insecure about friendly conversation with random people you could run into anywhere. I've personally been trying to just strike up quick conversations with anyone with whom I would otherwise have to interact in the daily course of events. For example, I'm starting to be very friendly towards checkout clerks and waitresses, trying to start miniature conversations. I hope to soon reach a level of comfort where I can actually speak to people that I see randomly, checking out Churchill biographies or something. So I applaud this guy for just chatting for two minutes to a complete stranger.

Of course, at the time I was mildly weirded out. In my head, I wondered if this guy might be gay. Not entirely rational, I know, but I've been reading a lot of David Sedaris recently. After he left, I started to wonder which scenario would be better. Perhaps he was straight and was living the life I wanted to lead, saying "screw you" to the modern social norm of reserved individualism, and had found me approachable enough know that I wouldn't mind having a chat, or even that I wanted to be so liberated myself. Or perhaps he thought I was cute and just had to take a shot, hoping I was gay. I was in Barnes and Noble, after all. After a while, I started to almost prefer this scenario, as it would mean that I'm attractive to at least some people, even if it is just one gay guy. Along with my recent weight loss, it's kind of a self-esteem boost.

I ended up getting the Einstein book. Maybe I can read it somewhere public, and some girl will be able to sense both my intelligence and my increased sense of confidence and self-esteem. Then, I could take her back to my place and make her a drink...

Bah, if only I had bought a blender today.