People who wear sweatpantß

True enough, we are what we eat, but does the same apply for what we wear? Doctors wear scrubs, soldiers wear camouflage, and ballett dancers wear tutus, but must we let what we wear become who we are? Let's ask People who wear sweatpants.

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Wearing sweatpants in public makes quite a statement. It says, "Hey everybody, I just got done with some physical activity, or I am about to commence as such." Or, "Oh me? I just ran out real quick to pick up a few things, then it's back to the couch for me! I never leave the house like this, child please!"

Or, the real statement- "Damn, I feel super-comfy in these, my favorite pair of sweatpants that, somehow, magically, I never purchased, but still own and still love!"

I must confess that the first two "fashion statements" are said only in jest, to point out the ways in which our society has pegged the sweatpants and wearers thereof. They, in all of their cottony comfort, have been demoted to second- or third-rate by high-fashionistas, who seemingly place form over function in the shops of Gay Paris and New York, New York. (P.S. That "Gay Paris" thing is quite a little compliment to that lovely Euro capital du chic! But only if you say it in a cute little French accent.)

At its most basic level, clothing performs a simple set of tasks. It warms us when we're cold, and it shades us when we're hot. It protects the fairer skinned amongst us from sunburn, and it keeps niggas from turnin black!

To see this in action, look no further than the beach, where, because conditions permit, little or no clothing is acceptable, or even encouraged. And black people still have on white tees and Tims.

The reality is that a certain outfit, a certain look can get you into places you aren't necessarily supposed to be. Or, conversely, what you lack in your wardrobe can keep you out of certain places. A proper suit and tie will get you admittance into lovely hotel, with lovely people, and a lovely, comforting ambience. A good-looking uniform might grant you high-level security access at a hospital, in a school, maybe even at a military base.

But important to the discussion is the other reality that no matter what we wear, we change nothing about our core selves by changing our outer garments. Do we become lazier or more couch-potato-ish by wearing sweatpants? Of course not! Perhaps we may be couch-potato-ish at a given time and be wearing sweatpants, but you can just as easily sit around on ass in a business suit (ha, maybe get paid while you're at it if you're lucky).

The point is really to understand that our clothes should match our moods. When it's sunny, wear a sundress, and when it's rainy, rubber ducky boots. Both happy, hopeful looks, ready to enjoy the day. Don't wear white to a funeral, unless you really feel that way. And if you really feel that way, don't go to the funeral. Don't wear a negligee to church, or to your grandmother's birthday party. And don't wear hot pants to a Lovefest parade in Fabulous Frisco! Unless you're really feelin like hot pants ("HeyGirlHeeeey!!"). I think I hear an ass getting slapped.

But, and this is a big butt ("oooh hot pantsss"), we must all understand and embrace this final, crucial piece. The real value of a man comes not from the clothing on his back, but from the spirit in his heart. I may dress this way cuz I'm in a certain mood, or I may dress this way because it's my only pair of dry, clean clothing.

That's reality for so many people in this life that I can hardly stand to think about it.

But we must. Cuz we all wanted a closet like Cher from Clueless back in the day (yes, I dig Clueless), but who really got it?

To those without: You can walk into the door of a Fortune 500 company in a Goodwill coat and Payless shoes, if your resume's right and your game is tight, you got the job.

To those with (myself included): Understand that we are all, underneath the Louis, and the Prada, and the Rolex, and the make-up, and the car, and the house, underneath all that, we are all but men. Naked, mortal human beings who, just like the bums in the street, hurt and cry and bleed. Don't see someone's dirty jacket and ripped jeans and ruddy face and think it's okay to look down on them. Don't hold your nose on the bus cuz he smells bad. You don't think he would take a shower if he could? And please don't assume that cuz somebody has a slick suit and a hot ride he's worth a shit.
To start to find out what's goin on in this crazy place called Life, look at each person, each man, each woman, each child, really look them in the eye. Try to understand what they know, and what they feel, and what they love. For one day, when we all know what our neighbors know, and what our friends feel, and what our enemies love, we will all be neighbors, we will all be friends, and enemies will be no more.

-Dedicated to People who LOVE sweatpants!

Peace and Love for All,

Shad

Proverbs (of mine)

1 Hurry, but don't rush. Be patient, but don't wait.
2 When you tell a story about yourself, it always becomes a story about the world. And when you tell a story about the world, it always becomes a story about you.
3 I am blessed, as are you. If we keep this in mind, you will make it, we will make it, together.
4 A man's name is his badge and his honor; use it carefully and pointedly.
5 Don't fuck with anybody and don't fuck with anybody's stuff, and most of the world will be cool most of the time.

Getting Hit on by a 60-Year-Old Man

I gotta quit smoking. Cigarettes will be the death of me. Or the gay of me. *Shrugs* Guess that's why Euros call smokin a cig "blowing a fag." No, seriously.

Anyway, standing on the corner alone smokin a jack invites the zaniest, most beautifully awkward people into your life. Here's one more.

So this guy Michael, I meet him the night before, a regular bum tryna bum a cig or two. (Of course, take em, give me my 7 minutes of life back!) He's an English guy, like the major, not from London, and he's working on a novel - go figure. I ask what he's writing about, where I can find his work, questions he deftly deflects with quirky old-guy jokes and one-liners. I'm enjoying it at this point - a few beers deep and ready to witness some funny shit. So I listen for a bit, then roll back into the bar. Story over. Orrrr not.

Flash forward to Starbuck's, 20 hours later. I'm out sparking up a death stick when some guy comes bumbling up to me smelling like vodka and Ben-Gay. "Can I get 61 cents man?" An odd number for sure, but I'm change-less anyway, so I let him know. I look up, and lo and behold, it's Mikey, stuck somewhere between drunk, happy, cold, and "oops I almost pooped myself."

"Michael, right? I met you last night." A quick look at me, a friendly smile, and Mikey's off again, telling me wonderfully uninvited, awfully personally stories about his life. About his son who's "the next closest thing to incarcerated" - cooped up in a mental institute. Hmm, come to think of it, he may have been giving me a warning.

About his wife - "She's got my 38 year-old son living with her - treats him like he's six. You treat a grown man like he's a damn six-year-old, and he'll act like a damn six-year-old!"

"Not a fan of Mom, huh?"
"Hell no, haven't talked to her in eight years, the bitch!" I thinly veil my chuckle at this remark, and he's off again. "I used to have a beautiful apartment, up on Pacific. My son lived with me, and we both went about our business. See, me, I like the men," (Hmm... uh-oh?) "and my son and me, I never worried when he'd bring back the women and," -he interjected some oddball sex noise- "HUNGH, hungh. And he never worried about me, with the guys and the," - same sound- "HUNGH, hungh." Like I said, uh-oh.

He goes on, informing me that he's basically waiting on his mother to pass so he can inherit her $82 million fortune. "Sooo maybe she can hook you up with a few mil in the meantime. And you definitely owe me that dollar back now." Ha, sometimes I crack myself up.

At this point, I'm still wondering where this is going, getting colder and more confused by the moment. So, as I say goodbye and head back into the coffee shop, Mike gives me a cutesy little handshake, and, keeping hold with both of his weiner-beaters, he gives me a kiss on the hand - an old school, classy move (I guess...?), but a bit too soggy and Catholic-priest-ish for my liking.

I try to take it in stride, raising an eyebrow to the trio seated by the door - did they see that? Did they think that was as..... gay as I did? Only in Frisco.

I gave a little jeans-wipe, took a seat, and gave a half-grin to myself.

Cuz a straight male getting hit on by a guy is kinda like the least-appealing girl in the party showing too much love: flattering, perhaps, but style-cramping and cock-blocking for sure.

Either way, I think the wry smile on Mike's face as he walked away - was it the booze or the hand-rape? - meant that he enjoyed delivering the smooch more than I felt awkward receiving it.

So, the next time the feeling starts creeping up - "This dude is totally gay and totally hitting on me!" - don't think it's cuz you 'look gay' or 'seem a little fruity.' Don't get all pissed and try to act macho. Just laugh it off, wipe it off, whatever you gotta do. Just think of Mikey and me and our soggy, gay, little moment.

Much (Comepletely Heterosexual and/or Platonic) Love,

Shad

Oh yeah...

Oh yeah, how could I forget--

6) To learn grace and giving - Those who have the least give the most. Check it out if you have doubt.

Love,

Me

Why I want to be homeless - a List

I met some homeless San Franciscans. This group has far more knowledge than common misconceptions may allow. The pain felt is mine. But I've found little pain, lots of glory. Here is what I intend to learn after I become a person of the street:

1) To learn humility - Take lessons from one and all, for it is with humility that true strength and control are developed.

2) To learn thrift - We are bombarded by the overabundance of all -- people, things, all commodities coming and going after a buck. The true soul knows its needs and satisfies them exclusively.

3) To learn humor - Shit gets real funny when you're broke. But will you laugh or cry?

4) To be uncomfortable - Escaping the pampered cushiness of everyday boredom unlocks doors we can't even see yet. You'll surprise yourself at every turn. That's a promise.

5) To be handy - You'd be shocked at the enterprise of the homeless -- finding shelter here, scraping up a meal there! All with the skillful craftiness of one who has seen and done many things. We all have the know-how to get the things we truly need. Done.