Revolution

One rotation of a rope around a jumper.  Or in this case, a war against the editors of Vogue Magazine.

In the sixteenth century, a group of inspired revolutionaries declared independence from the tyranny of their king.  They declared the right to one's "Pursuit of Happiness," as long as one person's pursuit would not infringe on another's rights.

Therefore, in the pursuit of my personal happiness, I request an amendment be made to the current standards of fashion.

Let.
Me.
Have.
My.
Bell-bottoms.

The current tastes in fashion are like sour milk poured over a bowl of Golden Puffs.  Disgusting.

But bell-bottoms will prove to be a cinnamon roll topped with cream cheese frosting, eaten and enjoyed as the sun rises following a miserable snow storm.

That's how tasty it will be when I finally get my bell-bottoms.

I detest straight leg jeans.  My calves and ankles have no breathing room!  I also prefer to maintain the blood flow to my heart, so I abhor the skinny jeans.  And hipster pants?  Puh-Leez.  In my day we referred to the visibility of one's ankles as "preparing for the floods."

No, thank you.  I prefer to maintain my standards of breathe-ability, circulation, and comfort.

Have you ever heard of "pulling out all the stops?"  It is a term from organ performance that means to open all the valves to the pipes to give the loudest and biggest sound possible.

So here's my proposal for Vogue.  Ditch the skinny jeans.  Burn the hipster pants.

Let's pull out all the stops and give the loudest fashion statement with the biggest flares possible.

When I tell people I want bell-bottoms they laugh.  They actually laugh!  And then they tell me that it is "unfashionable" for a person to wear bell-bottoms (but they give no reasonable explanation for why it is unfashionable).  And these are the people who simultaneously allow others to wear leggings or tights as pants.  I say that is what is truly laughable.

I believe if we left all fears aside we'd see that boot-cut jeans (the most comfortable jeans around) are just a tamed version of the bell-bottom.  Thus, by facing our fears and pulling out all the stops, we can create the jeans that everyone actually can be comfortable and fashionable wearing.

In all honesty, I really don't know what it is about bell-bottoms.  It might be the love, peace, and happiness, but there's definitely something about them that makes me go "GAAAAAAAAH!!! I FREAKING LOVE YOU!!!" every time I see a good looking pair of 30-inch flares.

And there is the qualifier.  Good Looking.

I agree, there is nothing attractive, nor fashionable, about those horrendous snow-pea green corduroy disco pants.

But a nice pair of white disco flares?  Or some dark bell-bottom jeans?

There is nothing wrong.

Therefore, I end with my own declaration:


I hereby propose an amendment to the current concepts of so-called fashion.

I hereby declare that I, as an individual, should not be denied the right to dress as I please so long as I look good.

I hereby declare a promise to continue looking good.

I hereby declare that you allow me to wear my bell-bottoms and be fashionable.  You'll thank me.

Because should you refuse to meet these terms, I will resort to warfare and buy my bell-bottoms anyways.  This will cause others to realize the prestige of bell-bottoms and all so-called "fashion advice" will be left behind to wither away to nothingness.

Join, or Die.

Floor Routine: The Waiting Game

Before every performance you always have to hurry up and wait.

I'll just say it flat out right now.

I don't like the waiting game.

When I was in the high school orchestra, my teacher always told us to expect to do "a lot of hurry up and wait."  Performances and festivals were rarely on schedule, but we always had to be ready as if they were--just in case.  So we would rush to the hall.  And stand.  Then to the warm-up room. And sit.  Then back to the hall.  And stand.  "No talking, please!"  Then around the corner into a new hall.  And stand some more. "Quiet, children!"  Then on stage.  And sit. "psst...someone should yell BOO!" And more sitting.  Perform.  Back to the hall.  Stand.  "Pay attention!!"  Pictures.  Stand.  Load the bus.  Sit.

See? The whole hurry up and wait thing gets a little boring.  Every action is preceded and followed by a large waste of time.  Things should just GO!

But then I guess we would have missed out on all the fun we had together as friends.  For example, "psst...someone should yell BOO!" was a suggestion from my good friend that I believe we laughed over for a good ten minutes.  Oh, how we laughed at performances!  Particularly those of us fortunate enough to sit in the viola section!

So I guess as long as my friends were around it wasn't so bad.

But jump-rope performances? Oh dear, those bring with them the worst waiting game ever!

I don't do anxiety.  Actually, in all honesty, does anyone do anxiety?  I guess not.  But from my viewpoint, I do it especially terribly.

As I stand and wait for a jump-roping performance I get all jittery.  And I get nervous.  Then I'm excited, then tense, then thirsty so I get a drink.  Then I pace.

Back and forth.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.  Back and forth.

Naturally this makes me more thirsty, so I get another drink.  More pacing.  Talk with one friend.  Another drink.  See a different friend.  "Hey! Good luck, man!" "Thanks!"

Pace pace pace pace pace pacepacepacepacepacepace.............

"Hey Mike!"

GAAAAAAAHHHH!!! It's time already!?!?!

"Hey Mike! You're gonna wear a hole through the floor!"

...Darn it.  You really shouldn't scare people like that!  More waiting.  Another drink (At least I won't be dehydrated...).

So you see, the waiting game can be tiresome and quite stressful.

Waiting for a mission call is tiresome.  And stressful.

They've always come on Wednesdays, yes?  At least, for the past six years I believe they have.  So why should they now suddenly not come on a Wednesday?! The suspense just might kill me!!!

So please Mr. Mailman or Mrs. Mailwoman, please come soon with a big white envelope? Okay?