The First Commandment

Cleanliness is next to Godliness, you know.

Funky? Oh, I Thought You Said Frumpy!

I realized something today, as I walked from my car to work. (Okay, I actually realized it a long time ago, and I haven't gotten around to posting it until now, but I know you'll forgive me for it.) So the thing I realized was this: I don't belong in New York. A woman in her mid 40's walked by me wearing turquoise jeggings tucked into black riding boots, a huge slap in the face kind of reminder: you don't belong in New York. All the people I pass are ridiculously fashionable; even the dour-looking, struggling actor-types with a permanent scowl wear their black jeans and long T-shirts in New York style, their vacant eyes staring straight ahead, walking that weird model walk. Kind of creeps me out a little.

Me? Today I'm wearing jeans I think I bought in college -- that would be the late 90's -- so they're baggy, wearing thin in places, and are that color that fell out of favor in fashion circles in the late 90's. You know what I mean, admit it, you had 5 pairs of them. Sneakers (at least those are Adidas), a T-shirt that's too big, and I'm carrying my lunch in a plastic Stop & Shop bag. That might fly in Ruston, Louisiana, but not here.

Maybe if I made an effort. It's just that usually I'm running late. Actually, I'm on time, which is late in NYC time, because you have to factor in an extra 15-20 to navigate the maze of asshole drivers that makes up Manhattan, plus time to park, so yeah today I was 30 minutes late. Remind me to take the train on Saturdays from now on. So moral of the story: I'm running late, and I don't have time. I usually come to work dressed in what would be considered my Sunday Best in Ruston, Louisiana; hair air-dried because I didn't have time to blow dry it after my shower, and dammit you're lucky I even took a shower, and maybe some mascara. At least it's not blue mascara. Wait, what? Blue mascara is back in? Aw hell. I need a stylist.

Apparently I Am the Little Engine That Could. Who Knew?

My life pretty much derailed in January. And just when I thought that maybe it was kinda back on track, the bridge was out, and that whole sucker went right off the cliff. Engineer was critically injured, engine was totaled, and the passengers, well, let's just say they're not sure they want to hop back on the Express.

There is an up side to complete self-destruction, though. We can rebuild. Clearing away the wreckage allows us the opportunity to start over from scratch. We can use higher quality materials, oversee every brick and hammer stroke, and even use some new tools we may have picked up along the way. We have the ability to do things better this time, to see just what went wrong, and hopefully, right those wrongs.

While I would never wish ruination on anyone, it is truly an amazing opportunity. But we've got to realize and accept that some passengers will never come back. They'll find easier ways to move forward; a different track, another train on which to load their baggage. Some things can never be repaired, some walls can never be rebuilt, and some wrongs can never be righted. 

But time marches on, and we've got schedules to keep, stops to make. All aboard!

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can...