Clothes make the Man

"Clothes make the man."

I couldn’t remember where I heard that quote from so I googled it. Apparently, it’s from Mark Twain. “Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.” This is why I try to be careful in what I wear. There is always some impression that I want to make or leave or not leave, and one of the easiest ways to do it is by the way that I carry myself and my choice of clothes. This is not a testament to the large and wonderful wardrobe that I have, because I don’t have a large and wonderful wardrobe. Rather, it is about communicating something, a feeling without me having to verbalize it.

There have been times on the street when someone would ask if I was in the military because of the way I held myself and the close haircut. Other times when I used to have to wear a suit to work, we went casual about 5 years ago, people would ask if I was a lawyer. Although, I could never tell if that was an insult or not because most of the lawyers I’ve met are drunks or cocaine fiends. One time at the gym, a woman asked me once if I was a ballet dancer. Again, I’m sure if it was because of my muscular and graceful bearing while I was stretching, or if it was the Lycra spandex thing I was in. Suffice to say, that article of clothing went into the garbage can at the end of the day.

This Saturday, I have a funeral to go to. The youngest sister of a co-worker passed away a few days ago from complications from cancer. As a friend, I have to go. I don’t want to go, but it’s not all about me so I’ll be there. The only thing is though, I’m not sure what I should wear. Trivial, I know but sometimes it’s the smallest things that count. Should I wear a suit? The ones that I have I got when I was about 10 pounds lighter. In fact about 4 years ago when I father died I wore one and halfway through the ceremony, I realized I was the only who was wearing a decent suit. My half-brother had some dingy colored thing that looked like he had just pulled it out the Salvation Army box. I couldn’t say anything of course since he’s older and we hadn’t spoken in about 10 years. Don’t ask, we’re not close. Other people wore shorts and even one had on a Tee shirt with a tie painted on it. King Tut was dead, this was what he was called behind his back and this was how they honored him.

Well I felt like an idiot looking more like a funeral director than a member of the family and I don’t want to feel like an idiot this weekend. It’s supposed to be 92 degrees and last thing I need to do is sweat like a pig in a sports jacket or collapse from heat stroke in the middle of the service. Like I said, it’s not about me and I don’t do heat well.

Hopefully the temperature should drop by 8pm when they show The Wizard of Oz in the open air at Penn’s Landing. That might be another clothing issue that I am going to think about. I have never been to one of these things, but from what I understand the audience usually entirely white, dresses up as movie characters and people sing along and cheer at the right places like they used to do when The Rocky Horror Picture Show used to be the cult film that everyone went to. I asked Larry for ideas for what costume I could wear and he said I could just dress normally and go as one of the flying monkeys….I’m a fuck him up next time I see him.

Anyway, just as Wizard warns us not to pay attention to the man behind the curtain, I really hope that day that no one pays any attention to me as I do what I do best, sweat and worry over nothing and just let the clothes make the man.

Memorial Day

It’s home for the holidays for me. That’s code for not going anywhere. I used to go out on Memorial Day. I used to go somewhere for the holiday weekend. One time was Boston. It was the mid 90’s and I had waited until the Friday before the holiday to think about going somewhere. I was fighting with whoever I was with then as usual and the there was this $25 fare from Philadelphia each way on Trailways, which was a hell of a lot cheaper than the $400 plus the airlines were asking to go to Miami with 1 days notice.

When I moved to South Jersey from North Jersey, I started to head to Washington DC like most people who live and or work in Philly did. When I say most people I guess that should be specific and say most black gay males did that. We were heading for the black gay pride events that were being held in DC. What other people did I don’t know.

I remember that we would head for the clubs on Saturday perhaps. Tracks, was the name of one of the clubs. We would line up outside for about 20 to 30 minutes waiting to get in, waiting for the pat down and crutch grope that we all had to endure. The club itself was large with many dance floors and packed wall to wall with all shades of chocolate brothas grinding on each other, showing and sharing all that they had or all that they were allowed to.

If I didn’t head down there on Saturday, then I would be on I95 on Sunday. We would be passed by hundreds of white dudes on motorcycles. I put it that way because I think, “white dudes” brings up images of the movie Easy Rider and Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild,” people on a mission. I found out later on that the riders were part of the Rolling Thunder, an organization that rode to DC to celebrate and remember veterans or promote campaigns to search for missing Vietnam vets and POW’s. I instead headed to Dupont Circle and then Banneker Field where people would walk around the perimeter of the field for an hour or two, sometimes in the rain looking like lost souls hoping to run into an old friend or a piece du jour for the evenings entertainment. Those were the days when some people wore spandex without underwear. Some men looked kind of sexy and others looked like they had used that penis pump a little too much and should have been seeking medical attention rather than sexual encounters.

Nowadays, I believe most people in the Northeast head for warmer get togethers like Miami’s Sizzle events, or the San Juan Brothas Puerto Rico or Cancun gathering. I, on the other hand don’t.

I could give some noble reason like I have gotten to a certain maturity and say that things like that don’t excite me anymore. But that really wouldn’t be true. I think I get bored easily and tired more often and the days of me hopping off a plane after acting like I was in the Golden Calf scene in The 10 Commandments and heading straight to work are long behind me.

This year instead I shall try to remember what Memorial Day is about. No, not the sales. Since no one in my family has ever fought in a war, I shall visit a memorial. Maybe the Vietnam Memorial in Philly which is no where near as dramatic as the DC one, but it has the same sentiment. I shall go there because even though I was too young to understand what Vietnam was about when it was going on, I don’t know how long it will be before I can go to an Iraq Memorial or count the amount of names that will be listed there.

Things that make you say hmmm.

Its late and so I really have nothing profound to say. Although some people may think that I have nothing profound to say anyway, but I do have a question. Why do runners no longer seem to wear underwear or support? Wont they be slowed down by all that bouncing flesh?

Just something that has occurred to me tonight.

In fact, now that I think about it, whenever NBC air track metes like the Olympics and such, they always try and avoid showing the front of an athlete below the waist. I guess too much trauma for that housewife in Idaho.

"Harry, get the vapors!"