Posts Tagged ‘clothes’

Two Short Ones

Posted: 22/09/2010 by Toby in Other
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Last week, on the plane, I sat waiting for the people in the aisles to move along. I had the middle seat. I was glad to have that seat, because I had missed my flight, and at the customer service counter they were able to put me on the next flight. I took the seat that was given to me. As I was handed the boarding pass, the rep was very emphatic: “the meal is not guaranteed.” It even said so on the boarding pass in all caps and bolded. They’re not amazing meals anyway.

So I’m sitting and about 3 rows up is a stubby guy, late 50’s not quite bald with glasses and a goatee who keeps lookin’ at me. He’s crouched under the overhead bins, also waiting for the aisles to clear so he can step out. He’s not being as sensible as I. He puts his hand on the top of a seat, and I notice his middle finger has been mangled at the top. It’s a big shorter, and it’s badly scarred at the end, like it was chewed on with more than one bite, as though the destruction wasn’t all at once. He notices me see his hand and instinctively, and foolishly pulls it in so that I see three fingers and a gap in the middle.

This made me smile.

I’m getting used to suits.

All my life they’ve been a sacred piece of clothing, something to be handled with kid gloves, something not to be flung carelessly. Even on my mission there was still the reverence for the suit. Now, they’re clothing only. Expensive clothing to be sure, but clothing merely to be worn. This is a good thing, I feel it’s another translucent sheet I’ve stepped through, like realising something obvious, something that only I couldn’t grasp – perhaps because of my upbringing.

On the Catwalk

Posted: 22/11/2009 by Toby in News, Pictures
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I’m a model you know what I mean
And I do my little turn on the catwalk
Yeah on the catwalk on the catwalk yeah
I do my little turn on the catwalk

I’m too sexy for my shirt too sexy for my shirt
So sexy it hurts…

‘Cos I’m a model you know what I mean
And I do my little turn on the catwalk
Yeah on the catwalk on the catwalk yeah
I shake my little tush on the catwalk

Anyone recognize this song? It’s from I’m too Sexy by Right Said Fred a one hit wonder band. It was a unforgettable tune and lyrics for me. It’s amazing how many neat songs in the world have been the only known song from a singer or group.

Anyway I diverse. Recently I had the opportunity to go to my first Catwalk Fashion Show. I had asked my niece what she’d like to do for her birthday and that was what she chose. I did a search on the internet and before long I had found a show and booked the tickets via Ticketek.

November 12th was our outing. Brooke and I ventured off to the city, for a girls night out. We only took a slight detour on the way there near the end, there was a new tunnel, and some roads I’d not been on before, but we course corrected (there may have been one illegal turn oops…), parked and headed inside.

There were around 120 stores represented, many of which I’d never heard, most of which Brooke had, some nice things and some garbage, and, some really good prices. There were huge discounts from the original prices, up to like 70%.

We managed to see all 4 catwalk presentations. They used the same models for each segment. They were 30minute shows (2 hours all up). Brooke was familiar with several of the models some from a TV show called “Australia’s next top model (?). Funnily enough whilst getting my hair cut on Saturday and flipping through the magazines one the models we saw, was in Cosmopolitan.


My observations:

* I had just assumed that all the models are taught to walk the exact same way, all these models had definite differences to their walks. Some were slouchy (bad posture), another had this kick up out the back. I started to see how some become more well known and supermodels than others.

* I had assumed they always had just about nothing in the bust department. There was actually a variety of sizes, from nothing to a full C cup. All wearing no bra’s, some were heading south quite fast.

* One of the models had a large scar down her leg and it hadn’t ended her carrier. Good to see :)

* Most were spray tanned from head to toe, but one model had only her chest up spray tanned.

* My favourite was as we sat in the front seats for the catwalk shows (3 out of 4 were great odds, we thought). I could see lots of stretch marks and in a variety of places. Granted none on their tummies (YET) but legs, butt, arms etc…. yes…. it was nice to see that they too are human and are susceptible to each of our gene pools and life.

* With the large screens visible on their walk back, most of the time they spent it looking at themselves.

* It was mostly women in the place (spectators and shoppers). I wondered if the Models were thinking these women are probably picking us apart.

*I’d never really thought about their hair that much. I noticed that each segment had it’s own hair style where all the models had the same do. We noticed they all had long hair and similar lengths also.

* Some of the models definitely seemed to enjoy their job more than others, some looked so miserable with their grumpy face on, it was as if you could tell which ones seemed to have nice personalities and which ones didn’t! Some really played up to the camera’s at the front of the catwalk, it added to the experience I thought.

* I wonder why the walk means that feet, legs, body then shoulders and head come last, how does that enhance the clothes?

* The shoes they were wearing were mainly so tall and looked so hard to walk in I could see the stiletto backs slide , by the end of the night I could see red marks and rub marks etc… on all of their feet, some shoes didn’t fit so their toes were hanging off the front and others, were too big. The walkway is so smooth and shiny that I was surprised with those massive high heels that someone didn’t slip. You’d want to soak your feet after for sure I felt, ouch….

4.5 hours later we were done and the event was over. We headed home. Brooke got a manicure and painted nails, I got a large arm bag and Gigi yep Gigi got a designer summer dress at a major bargain ($10).

I’d definitely go again. It was so nice to get out of the house and get some special time with Brooke (my niece). It was a new experience, a 1st for us both.

A great night was had :)

Early Childhood Education

Posted: 25/10/2009 by Toby in Informative

I’m all about starting my kids off right, as you can see here.

But these are even MORE awesome.

Death in the Family

Posted: 10/11/2008 by Toby in Funny

It is official, the coroner was not needed, because the event was pretty certain.  It happened around 6:30 this morning, while I went for my run.  Yes, you might have guessed it, my watch battery died, after almost 6 years of faithful service.

Not my Pants

Posted: 07/11/2008 by Toby in Other

First, listen to this song:

Yes, unfortunately there was a time in my life where I paid good money to listen to that song, back when music was sold as a single album in CD form. For you little punk kids, CD’s are shiny round discs that look like DVD but only hold about 700 MB of data, and therefore only about 20 songs max. Next time you’re at grandpa’s house ask if you can see his CD collection, okay?

Pants. At this instant in time, I am wearing a pair of Banana Republic flat front boot cut cotton (mix) 34 X 32 tan khakis. My wife recently noticed, and kindly pointed out to me a disturbing new xx in my otherwise tranquil pant wearing life. My pants pockets pook. They pook? Yes, they pook. They, when I am standing, open slightly to reveal their white lining. Madonna, Tiger Woods, and Obama don’t wear pooked pockets, so this is a problem.

The committee decided it must be a symptom of the pants being too small. How do pants become too small? Simple, they lay in their drawers popping fiber-altering pills, wishing for death.

You may have noticed the measurement above: 34 inch waist. You’re looking at a man who used only to buy 32 inch waisted leg-and-crotch coverings when he wanted the ‘comfy-baggy’ look. I have now graduated up through 32, 33, and now (pregnant pause) 34 (by pregnant, I don’t mean fat, but I do mean large and bulbous. This is foreshadowing).

Swallowing my pride and admitting that my pants too small they might be, solve the problem it did not. I refuse to comment on whether they appear to fit or appear to be baggy. I refuse.

The culprit, be something else, it must.

Okay I’ll stop the Yoda gimmick, but that last sentence made me chuckle.

I have come to the conclusion that my ever expanding waist is not the problem. It must be a part of my anatomy I don’t see on a daily basis, and not seen perhaps not considered before. You may have guessed it already: my CQ. You may think that’s the letters ‘c’ and ‘q’ but look again and you might see two cheeks and a.. private part. Yes, my bulbous buttocks are the latest alleged perpetrator of the pooky pockets. You see, the typical (white, latino, asian, non-black) male looks a little like a legoman. The legs are connected directly to the back, with no transition except for a hinge. My derrier, however, consists of bulges, which get bigger proportional to my belly.

I’m starting to understand why exercise videos, membership gyms, diet pills, healthy food, and bowflex are so popular.

Balaclava Boy

Posted: 10/06/2008 by Toby in Pictures, TJ
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Yesterday Grans package arrived for Master TJ. It was a Balaclava. I told Toby about it and he wasn’t really sure what it was, so for those of you without such knowledge here is the low down.

Guess who I am?

Yep the highlighted word will give you the definition and a picture!

Check out my new headwear!

This was hand knitted for TJ from his Gran Frater . I hear his cousin Ezra has one also, too bad they can’t get a picture together with them on. Maybe Aunty Nicky will email me one and I can post it here also, side by side instead.

Gran wanted a picture so today I shall oblige her. He put it straight on and was smiling all over. Covering his eyes, hiding, trying out the different ways in which to wear it, it was great fun.

Normally a winter item one might say, however it is winter in Australia, and before long it will be winter again once more here in the USofA.

Thanks Gran. We love you.

Miracle Worker

Posted: 08/06/2008 by Toby in Funny, Informative
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I’m not referring to the movie with Patty Duke as Helen Keller (1962), nor the one with Patty Duke as Anne Sullivan (1979), nor the one that did not include Patty Duke (2000). I’m referring to a totally different miracle worker, the one who does my laundry.

Some background: two weekends ago I performed my routine (yearly) check of the oil. The oil was low, and the color was dark. The engine was getting older, so it made sense, even though it hadn’t been very many miles on that change, the car was going through oil more quickly. Last week, I had to drive to work, but I hadn’t done the oil change, so I added a quart.

I was very careful. I was in my cubicle clothes, and it was my favorite shirt, the one Nicky had brought in. I made it to work without mishap and even found a park. After getting settled in, checking email, checking schedule, making a phone call, there was a wet mark on my shirt that simply refused to dry up. It was just inside my field of vision every time I looked at the papers on my desk to the right. It was about where my right nipple would have been when I was 5. I finally gave it a close inspection– and it was motor oil. I must have been sloppy somewhere between the bonnet and the bin.

The shirt not only had to wait for the rest of the day, but for the rest of the evening, since I went straight to NW DC to paint eggplant and curry on the walls of a condo belonging to some nice Pakis.

When I got home I actually tried to tell Sharole what to put on the stain. In fairness, she tried to consult with me.

Not the next morning, but the morning following, I fixed myself breakfast, something I could eat while driving, and then went into the closet to pick out my clothes for the day. I noticed the shirt in question was hanging in the closet once more where it always is. Its very normalcy, innocuousness, told me what I would find when I looked. The stain was gone! Yes, my laundress had worked a miracle again.

I congratulated Sharole, and then went in again to pick a shirt. While in there, I inspected the absent stain, to be doubly sure it was gone, and noticed something else. There was a brown mark on the shoulder, as if someone had held the hanger, turned the shirt to look at it, and unknowingly, on his thumb, there was a small dab of what he was about to eat while driving. If I hadn’t known already what I was eating, I would know it by the squishy mote of Nutella clinging to the shirt.