Why I'm Up at Stupid O'Clock

This morning, around 4:30 AM, in my half-asleep stupor while lying in bed, my mind started racing.

I was thinking about how Democrats have been saying for years now that if they just had control of the White House, the Senate, and the House of Representatives, they could pass real reform.

I was thinking about how maybe their idea of reform is different than mine.

I was thinking about how our country can't seem to stop fighting wars, even though the US Congress hasn't seemed to actually declare any wars.

I was thinking about how the US Congress is probably the least relevant branch of government, and it's no one's fault but the US Congress's.

I was thinking about how Mayor Michael Bloomberg is spending a gazillion dollars of his own money on his re-election, which only makes me want to vote for him less.

I was thinking about how few New Yorkers even know who's running against Mayor Mike. (It's City Comptroller Bill Thompson, not that anyone cares either.)

I was thinking about how not only has money from the health industry corrupted the debate on health care, but also how the personal investments our Senators and Representatives have in insurance and pharmaceuticals will make any real changes to the current system impossible, since they've got careers and personal fortunes on the line.

I was thinking about what an asshole Tom Daschle is for recommending to President Obama that he take a public health care option off the table when three-quarters of Americans support a public health care option.

I was thinking about what a relief it is that Tom Daschle isn't Secretary for Health and Human Services.

I was thinking about how the man who's probably more responsible for saving the Democratic Party than anyone, Governor-Doctor Howard Dean, has been marginalized by the party he put back in power.

I was thinking about how the New York Mets haven't lived up to their potential since 2000.

I was thinking about how I still don't really understand what exactly is going on in Iran.

I was thinking about how I really need to buy some pants that fit me.

I was thinking about how little money we have right now for me to invest in pants.

I was thinking about how I should really just get up and make myself some goddamned coffee, because now that I'm thinking about all these things, I'm not going back to sleep.

A Rather Satisfying Thing To Do

I like Fruit of the Looms. I've found Hanes to be of a lesser quality, and although I have a few pairs of high-class undergarmenture for special occasions (ask me about Bjorn Borg!), all I really want is a boxer-brief that offers comfort and support. With maybe a dash of fun color.

It's been a while since I've gone through the old underpants drawer, and some of those guys have gotten a little spiritual on me. Get it? They're holey! HA HA HA HAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

So I opted for a complete overhaul.

Fruit of the Looms are surprisingly difficult to find in New York City. The last time I needed to do some Fruit of the Loom replacements, I couldn't find them anywhere, until I broke down and wandered into NYC's only K-Mart, at Astor Place. In general, as you might expect, I try to avoid the big box stores.

But K-Mart has what I need, B&E readers, so I hope you'll forgive me for not supporting an independent underpants seller.

For $30 (and let's assume some exploited Bangladeshi seven-year-old laborers), I got enough Fruit of the Looms to replace my entire underwear drawer. And for the past two mornings, I've looked into that drawer and seen those brand-spanking-new Fruit of the Looms staring up at me, batting their eyelids just begging me to wear them.

It's given me a little too much pleasure. You should do it, too.

Motivational Jeans

Thanks in part to giving up sweets and thanks in the other part to doing massive amounts of push-ups lately, I've lost a little weight recently. Just a little, really, but my jeans have gotten a bit loose around the waist. So a few weeks ago, the missus and I went out shopping for some new ones.

I'm sort of between sizes. So my options were loose around the waist, like my current jeans, or just a tad too tight.

As I was showing the missus a pair that was distinctly too tight for me, a salesman walked by, and complimented how they looked. I said, "I don't know, man. They're a little tight."

"They can be your motivational jeans!" he said.

"My motivational jeans are my old jeans."

He got a good chuckle out of that and wandered off. And I still haven't bought any new jeans.

My Favorite Day

No, it's not my birthday! It's not Christmas, Easter, or Arbor Day! Today is No Pants Day!

No more screwing around, B&E readers! Take off your pants! Anything worth doing is worth doing without pants!

Driving your car? Drive without pants! Taking a flight? Fly without pants! Visiting your mother? Visit without pants!

For the love of all that is great in this world! TAKE OFF YOUR DAMNED PANTS!

God, I love you all so much...

Much Ado About Pants

pants
Originally uploaded by dangunderman.

Welcome back, dear B&E readers. By welcoming you back, of course, I welcome myself back from yet another trip that took me through heightened security.

Air travel is often the source of material (see Airplane, Airport, Top Gun, and Red Eye, among many others), and my flight back to New York from London offered a curious anecdote that caps off a couple of weeks of pants-prominence.

I'm seated next to a nervous flyer. She's sandwiched between me and a smelly man. Poor woman. About two hours into the flight, Nervous Flyer and Smelly Man both get up to use the toilet. When Nervous Flyer returns, figuring I was up anyway, I take care of business also. When I get back to my seat, Smelly Man still hasn't returned.

"This might sound a little strange," Nervous Flyer says to me, "but the man next to me took his pants off." I must be giving her a perplexed look. "I felt him shift and bounce, and then I saw his bare leg exposed from under the blanket." I still have nothing to say, so she adds, "And he went all the way to the back of the plane to use the bathroom and hasn't come back."

"He had his pants on when he went to the bathroom, right?"

I don't know why that seems relevant, and obviously I would've noticed if a pants-less man had gotten out of his seat. But I really don't know what else to say to her. And I'm still trying to figure out if she thinks he was keeping a bomb in his ass that he is now assembling in the lavatory, or if she is simply disgusted by the thought of Smelly Man masturbating in the back of the plane.

My lack of response is clearly disappointing to Nervous Flyer, and by this point, she's white-knuckling the arm rest. Nervousness can be contagious, of course, so now my mind is racing at all of the things Smelly Man could be doing in the bathroom. And I never would've expected that semi-public masturbation would be the best scenario.

Nervous Flyer finally says, "I'm telling someone. I don't know what I'm going to say, and they're going to think I'm crazy, but I'm telling someone something."

I let her out, but she's back immediately. "OK, he's just standing back there." I still don't know if she's worried about bombings or diddlings, but somehow seeing him standing in the galley eases her fear. And we watch X-Men 3.

Smelly Man returns to his seat ten minutes before landing. The missus thinks maybe he wet himself (she's still in Scotland, by the way). But the smell of Smelly Man was BO, not urine. So why he needed to take off his pants in our row, then stand in the galley for six hours will remain a mystery.

But as long as I'm on the subject of pants...

While visiting the missus' godparents, we played the consistently entertaining game of comparing dialects. In Great Britain, where they speak the Queen's English, pants means underpants. And trousers are pants. Bum means fanny, and fanny means female genitalia. So when the daughter of the family put on her best American accent (which wasn't terribly good) and asked, "Do these pants make my fanny look big?" much laughter was had by all.

"Pants" is clearly a comedy word in both versions of English. I once wrote a comedy sketch about a patient whose therapist didn't wear pants. The set-up was funny, sure, but somehow, repeating "pants" over and over and over just kept making the sketch funnier and funnier and funnier. That David Letterman's production company is called "Worldwide Pants" must prove something about "pants" being a funny word. Heh. Pants...

But even before the trip, pants were becoming a serious issue in my life. I've spent the past five years working from home. My attitude has often been, "Why put on pants when I don't have to?"

Well, as I've mentioned, I've been looking for work. In most work environments, pants are compulsory. Now that I've found and accepted a job, I will once again be a daily pants wearer. In some ways I feel I'm growing up. In other ways, putting on pants every day feels like a step backwards. I thought my pants-wearing days were behind me. I will once again be working for The Man, and The Man requires pants.

Fortunately, however, I can wear the pants of my choice. I don't need to wear The Man's pants. My Carhartt's are good enough. And actually, I'm not really working for The Man, as I will be the only man in the office. And besides, it's a place that works solely with the nonprofit sector. Still, I'll have to wear my nonprofit pants every day.

And this brings me to the final pants-relevant news of the day. While searching for my pants image to go along with my pants post, I made a startling and pleasant discovery...

No Pants Day is May 4, 2007. Yahtzee.