My Blog from MySpace, v. 9 (Dem Fuckin' Reds)

Wednesday, February 06, 2008


Color coordination: is New York attempting to make me gay?
Current mood: angsty
Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping

So I'm getting ready for work this morning, and I decide it's a Timberland Boots day. Probably because we're going to have torrential downpours and tropical storms. 63 degrees expected high today, it's already 50 degrees. Some fucking New York winter we're having - I'm wearing a t-shirt. Red, with slogan, "No More Drug War" plastered on the front.

Company shirt. It was free. I think I should get paid for all of the advertisement I wind up doing with their free shirts. I wind up running the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn with a company shirt on, I make it a point to go to the halfway house with the company shirt on. I've got four of them, in different colors. I hadn't worn the red one yet, and needed to have that fresh-clean-new shirt feeling this morning. Don't ask, it wasn't a rough night or anything, just one of those feelings.

Anyways, when I'm putting on the t-shirt this morning, I'm thinking to myself, "goddamn, what do I have that goes with red?" Fucking black, that's what. Black goes with everything. Boots were black, with red designs - don't ask me what the design is, I'm staring at it right now and still don't have a clue... but it is a red design.

Cool, I'm matching. Throw on the baggy black jeans, because they're 1) comfortable, 2) black, which matches everything, and 3) on my bedroom floor, which means I get to clean up my room while getting dressed. This is a win-win-win situation for me.

Get to the Metro stop with my brother Gabriel, and he looks down, and says, "nice match there with the jeans, red threading and all... I couldn't have done better!" This bothers me. Why? Allow me to illustrate:

My brother Gabriel is queer as a three-dollar bill. The only thing detracting from his gayness is the fact he's in a rather committed relationship with a lesbian. I don't know how all of that works, I'm new to the realm of gender politics and identity. In my realm, he's gay like he could star in Brokeback Mountain. As in, gay like he listens to Merle Haggard and Lucinde Williams, and sings along while wearing a straw hat, pink tutu and leopard-print panties. That's fucking gay.

You can laugh only if it is kind-hearted. If you're mocking him, go to hell bastards, my brother is one of the dopest people on the planet. If you don't believe me, ask Lorretta Nall from Alabama, she's a great independent source of this particular truth. Those that know him will vouch for me. I digress.

That he thinks I'm doing a better job of matching is disturbing me, so I look down, and notice that he's right - I've got my pants cuffed, and the inside stitching... IS RED!

Goddamnit if New York isn't sinking in, and trying to make me Gay. Or at least a metrosexual. Fucking hell! I bit my lip while chewing gum from the shock of it all, and even now almost passed up eating a banana, because I felt like the plot was thickening...

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