벌레 일지 WORMDATE: L4: 1,556 – 225,481: 11-2,167: 43.6 %-19 %
I’ve been scheduled to get my first jab in early September. The way it worked was, my age group came up, then you set up your appointment according to what date you were born. So, since I was born on a third, on the 13th was my day to set it up. If you were born on a day ending in 4, then it would be the 14th. So on and so forth.
It didn’t go all that smoothly. My Wife’s headteacher tried to set it up but there was some sort of issue with the computer system. Hard to say what exactly. It might be related to this thing where, if you’re a foreigner, your name can sometimes be stored differently. Like, my name, which is four names, has been given an odd dash in it and is ordered strangely, and there’s a lot of opportunity for things to be messed up. By Korean naming standards, my full name is basically a fucking paragraph. So, long story short (missed that boat, I think), it had to be set up over the phone the next day when translators were available. But it was set up.
So that’s good news.
Aside from that, mood has been a bit up and down. A bit moody. The heat has me uncomfortable and uncomfortable in my clothes. I also don’t like being in air-conditioning. Just a general itchy discomfort in my skin. I get that feeling when I don’t feel dressed right.
I like my new linen shorts and, Satan help me, shorts are a necessity, but the combination of linen shirts and shorts creates a look. A look that I am neither fond of nor feel comfortable in.
It ends up as sort of a yacht preppie thing. Frat boy kicking back. The look is called –if I have my terminology right– trad. Maybe Ivy League? Either way, it’s very preppie. Too preppy. I don’t like that style. Never have. It bores me. It’s ugly. And I don’t care much for preppies or preppy values. That whole WASP world can go get fucked. It’s nothing to look up to on a good day and it doesn’t have good days.
But that look started worming its way into my wardrobe in Sacramento, where I first had to deal with The Fucking Heat. If you want to look neat and put together, The Fucking Heat creates a challenge and one ends up defaulting to this preppy bullshit as bulwark against jeans and a t-shit, or whatever. I ended up buying thrift store polo shirts and some chinos. I like to be neat and put together and to know where everything is, but when I found myself wondering if I needed a pair of fucking boat-shoes, I realized, this shit has gotten out of hand. There’s tidy and there’s straight and this preppy shit is just way too straight.
Just felt totally wrong in my clothes. I don’t like that feeling. I feel better in work-clothes. Totally buttoned up set of dickies, and I’m pretty happy. Track suit is okay too – if a gym is involved. But this preppy thing? Ungh. I think back to the first conversation I ever had with a tailor about the first suit I ever had made and the first thing I said: “Whatever happens, I don’t want to look like a businessman or a fucking lawyer.” This preppy summer look is even worse. I look like one of those things who is “relaxing.” Makes me want to jump off a bridge.
I like to look a little sinister, I suppose. And there’s nothing more sinister than a preppy but it’s the wrong sort of sinister. Their vices are drab. Their sins are just more extreme versions of normal. Not my sort of thing. I like the abnormal.
I’m trying to get a grip on this mess. I’m veering back towards some sort comfort zone of simple punk thing, which I’m pretty comfortable with — though punk can be and usually is just as fucking square and straight as preppy– but I do want to keep my shit tidy. I don’t really want to take up position on Yonge street and return to crust. I just don’t have the stomach for it and, well, shit keeps going the way it’s going, there’ll be time for that. Give it a few years and we’ll all be there.
I also have a certain aversion to buttons and badges, brand logos, and any sort of direct statement or sign on my clothes. I don’t like to be so easily pigeonholed. I don’t like coming with operating instructions. Even that “dandy” thing. That was a thing people called me. (It was actually a thing I was called the other day by a perfectly nice lady who had to describe me to someone.) I was more or less fine with that label because it seemed so totally shallow and meaningless –just being a man who like clothes– then people started giving it a whole meaning and manifesto and writing message boards on the subject until I could no longer qualify for the label if I even wanted to, which I don’t. RULES! Pedants. Nerd shit.
I’m forged in a time and place where I was a square peg and there was round holes. I know the fashion these days is everybody gets their own carefully carved hole and eagerly and easily slides into a wide variety of aesthetic, psychiatric, and sexual definitions and, I hope people really like doing that and are happy with that, and that it all works out well for everyone, and I don’t want to fuck with anyone’s good time or view of themselves. But me? I’m just a misfit. On my better days, a fuck up too.
So, as much as I hate buttons, badges, and other announcements, I’m afraid that I may have to get over that just to maintain some semblance of myself with the temperature goes up. I might have use these things just to create the off-putting balance I feel comfy in.
Not because I want to get over that idea, just because some fucking patches might be the only, fastest, and cheapest way I can rescue my summer clothes from preppy perdition. The only way I can feel at all at home in my clothes again. Linen shirt and shorts? Gross. Linen shirt, shorts, and a handsewn anarchy patch? Maybe. We’ll see! It might work! I don’t know.
But while I try to figure out how to get comfortable in my clothes when the temperature gets above a humid 25, I’m just cutting sleeves off things, attaching safety pins to others, and becoming a bit of a tidy mess. Better butch than straight, I suppose. It’s fine.
But fuck me if I knew a pandemic and a heat wave would lead to this! No sleeves?
Shit is getting weird this year.