i need an editor

I like to think that over the last six years of living here in Seattle, I've developed some sense of personal style. I wear clothes that fit my skinny frame (e.g. "men's small") not to look trendy but to look good. Let's face it, people judge you first by your looks and then if those can keep their attention long enough, by your personality. Sad but true, we are visceral beings by nature, and the first train out of the 'sense station' is the ocular one. We make snap judgments of people based on their appearance and then extrapolate from there on what that person must be about without ever talking to them. I'm told we do this with everyone we see and meet in less than 7 seconds, which a long time ago seemed impossible to me, until I started doing it consciously. In other words; recognizing the fact that I was sizing someone up by what they look like. Which brings me to my pink shirt.

OK, so it's not really pink, but many would categorize it as 'pink'. I like to think of it more as a reddish-white. American Apparel describes the color as "coral", which I think is close but unfortunately I did not get the shirt at American Apparel, I got it at Urban Outfitters. That's right I shop there, I have a dick and you can eat it. They sell some of the best cotton tee's I have ever worn, in a variety of semi-unusual colors, I like to pick up a couple whenever I am in the store. Defensive maneuvering aside, I decided to get the t-shirt in question. When I grabbed it I didn't twice, it was a color that was appealing to my eye, but I should have noticed the first red flag. My Mom, who graciously bought me the shirt along with what I am sure my friends will eventually deem as a "hipster hat", said "So, I'm buying you this hat, and this pink t-shirt?" To which I replied "Actually, you are buying me this cool hat, and also this these t-shirts. Oh, I guess this one is kinda pink, huh? I didn't notice." Seriously, I said that, and I let my Mom buy clothes for me, please see previous line about said dick.

It is not weird to see some heterosexual male strolling down a public street here in Sea-teezy (that's how us Seattlite's refer to Seattle) wearing a pink t-shirt, which may or may not have a screen print of a giant cock on it in purple. Why? Maybe because it's ironic (the penis part, not the pink part, or maybe the pink part too) or perhaps it's because pink is just a fucking color. Yet, the minute you leave the city for somewhere like, I don't know, Renton, you are instantly berated by bucktoothed teenagers, who think that Panic! At the Disco kept them from committing suicide. Well I have news for you teenagers: The color pink is cool, P!ATD is not, and soon your going to realize this and you will probably find yourselves (again!) with one of your dad's ties around your neck attached to the door knob of your bedroom very soon, maybe even after you read this post.

RANTY!

That last part was in reference to what happened tonight while filming a Sounders game. There I was, running some cable before the game kicked off, when I hear from the stands "Only real men wear pink!" Classic. I ignored the comment like a cool dude would, but about an hour later during half-time I was confronted by three teenagers who were at first trying to get on "TV" after not acknowledging them for about 3 minutes one of them piped up "I like your shirt, you look like a girl!" Burn. While I could have picked that statement apart by saying something like "Wow! Your idea of what a girl looks like must be very strange. Are you attracted to women with flat chests and facial hair? Because if you are, you are in for a world of hurt, there aren't many of us out there." Instead I turned to the youth and said "Well, at least I don't sound like a girl." Which is what I actually said, to which he said while on the verge of tears and running away as his friends laughed at him "Panic! At the Disco will make me feel better!" No they won't son, no they won't. That tie you got your dad for Christmas last year is looking pretty good right now, huh?

All puberty and horrible, horrible teenage suicide jokes aside though. I find it funny that when I leave this city I become an entity in style, both negative and positive. While here (within the city) I find that I look like every other male on the street. Skinny, bearded, hooded, and possibly hungover. To be honest, if I could I would dress like a completely insane person, much like my father does now. I would go for a more indy-rock kinda of look and not the hipster-lite that I seem to be in now. I'd wear even tighter pants with wing-tip shoes, huge collared shirts from the seventies. My hair would be cut into one of those mullets that all of the European soccer players seem to be rocking. Wacky scarves would be the main thing I was known for, and I would have a nickname among the rest of the hipsters. Something like; Endangered or Roflmao.

In the end it all goes back to a conversation I was having with Mr. Proper the other day about dress. I was telling him about how I never want to go back to wearing a uniform of any kind, that includes wearing slacks and a nice shirt. When he asked 'why?'

"I am going to ride this 20 something thing, til' it crashes." I'm pretty sure I said that.