Christmas Issue

The thing keeping Christmas from being really fantastic is two tendencies of mine that get in the way of gift receiving. The first is easily remedied by being poor: I buy stuff I want when I want it.

The second is a more far-reaching problem: I don't really talk about stuff I want. Now, it's no secret that I want a motorcycle and I need a new iPod, but we all know they're not cheap (if they were I wouldn't have been using a partially functional unit for the past 10 months), and other little things I like go largely unmentioned.

Now I've already heard tale of one present I may be getting and it's perfect because a) I don't talk about wanting it but to the observant I clearly do, and b) it's something I wouldn't have bought for myself.

But there are some things out there that I think I'd like but don't talk about for whatever reason. Like a set of DJ-style headphones. I don't want to be that guy on the bus with the overly elaborate headphones - especially if my iPod doesn't work - but a large part of me thinks I'd enjoy them. I saw a pair of Sony ones for like $30.

Of course I still need that golf bag and UCLA head covers for my new, awesome R7 clubs. They're just not stylish enough yet. But maybe the UCLA stuff would clash with the red and black bag. We'll never really know.

Sports Night Special Edition just came out on DVD. Everyone should want that.

There's also a new Tomb Raider game that could be fun (the last one was) and I'd like to read some magazines/publications such as the Paris Review, McSweeney's Quarterly, the Believer, Good, but don't cause they're kind of expensive and I'm kind of lazy.

And if I had that couch/bed from Ikea, I might just use it as my main couch and leave my futon down all the time cause I'm a fan of not reconfiguring my bed every morning and evening (again, lazy).

And why are navy blue slacks so hard to find? I feel like they'd go with everything (just like jeans do) yet no one seams to have them.

This kind of turned into a Seinfeld routine, but what is the deal with blue pants? And how do I tell my secret Santa at work to just buy me a bottle of booze or a good book?

But then again... too few to mention

I have this affinity for the Roaring 20s (and to a lesser extent, the Depression-era 30s). The books of course, but also the idea of the parties (I'm sure it would have sucked if you didn't know Gatsby) the cars on dirt roads, the hustle-and-bustle of New York, the short haircuts on the ladies, the hats, the thrill of drinking illegal martinis, the flapper dresses, and mostly the men's suits.


I can't lie, I like wearing suits and I don't think I'm being arrogant when I say I look good in them. Everyone does, that's why men have been wearing suits for hundreds of years with only slight variations. Two buttons, three buttons, with a vest, with a bow tie, with a bright-colored T-shirt a-la Miami Vice - the alterations for seasons and eras are really only minor details.

What makes the 20s and 30s fashion distinct in my mind is that men wore suits all the time. Traditionally, if a party's dress code was "casual," it meant men would show up in a three-piece suit. If a man were going to a park for a picnic on a Sunday afternoon, he'd wear a suit. And he looked good doing it.

After watching "The Darjeeling Limited" yesterday I was struck by how casual the three stars looked as they trekked across India even though they were all wearing suits (the movie is also great for non sartorial reasons).

Aside from Barney Stinson urging people to "Suit Up," Mike has also been encouraging a heightened dress code lately. The man owns well over 50 ties and he looks good in all of them. So this morning I was thinking I would like to wear suits on occasions that don't call for them in the modern sense (weddings, funerals, church functions etc.). But the thing is I need to wear suits that look nice, but don't cost as much as my usual suits so I won't get sad and poor if some moron spills wine on me (cough... Parsa... cough).

Not four hours later, without looking, I found a linen suit, the kind I would feel great about wearing out to Jay's on West Egg some fictional Saturday night 80 years ago. The one problem was they didn't have pants for me, just the jacket. I now regret not buying the jacket and hunting down the pants later. I need a nice summer jacket anyway, as I outgrew the one I used to love. Not so much in size but in age bracket.

The pants eluded me today, but that’s no matter — to-morrow I will search harder, stretch out my arms farther... And one fine morning ——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Necessity of normalcy

My hair is never quite the same. Each day it does something a little different, presumably because, I suppose, it's one day longer. I have yet to lop any of it off since returning from over the pond in part (yes, a pun) because I keep getting told that I have nice curls, in part because I'm not ready to pay someone $20 to take them away from me, and in part because in a writers'-strike-beard kind of way, it helps keep me in that place I've been.

I have yet to take off the leather strap on my right wrist that Sophia didn't have to try hard to convince me to buy, even though I bought two at the same time. It's the one I put on and I have no immediate plans of ever taking it off.

There was talk of posting pictures here, and after a weekend in Sacramento visiting friends with my laptop, being asked to share stories and click through iPhoto, I realize I've never seen a lot of them. I remember taking pictures in general, if not always specifically, but looking through them is strangely foreign. I can see the people, places and events without trying but their photographs look like the caricatures of people sold on the Charles Bridge and outside the Uffizi Gallery. For pictures, they're ironically not very picture-perfect.

And so many of the things that are most vivid in my memory and that I most want to show people, I didn't take pictures of and so many of my favorite events of which I have scant photographic evidence would be boring to all the billions of people in the world but two or three. No one wants to see Jason at the Madrid airport triumphantly holding a plane ticket back to DC, and I don't need a picture to remember, but I know I have one. I've seen it recently and it isn't what I saw that day.

So I will happily share my photos with the world, but I have to see them first. And I'm not ready to replace my memories with photographs yet.