Less Maudlin, More Marvelling

Why is it that every time I'm there, the women shopping in the Dillard's bikini section don't look anything like the models on the displays? Seriously, would it kill someone pretty to at least take a pity stroll through the department, just to keep up appearances? It's like going to a deli to find out they only serve Vegemite.

On the subject of Dillards, they have apparently instituted a policy of only selling to people who are not me. I went there today looking for a new pair of dress slacks and they had this great-looking sale thing going on - a button-down liquidation celebration, it was. Shirts as far as the eye could see for 19.99 in glorious colors like mauve, royal blue, and canary yellow! Brands like Perry Ellis on deep discount! French cuffs, collar stays, white collars, it was all there! It was glorious!

But, alas! Alack! Alarums! They didn't have shirts my size! Mens' shirts, for those not in the know, are traditionally given two measurements: one for the neck (I'm a 15-inch neck, meaning that unlike some of the musclebound rage-aholics at Bally's, actually have a neck), and one for the sleeves that's given in two-inch increments, like bra straps, or, say, bra straps (I'm a 32/33).

A 15-inch neck is, I admit, a bit on the small side, but not unheard of. I can usually find a couple of shirts in interesting styles in my size in any store - but not at Dillard's tonight. In fact, in a department that must have had 2000 dress shirts stacked in various piles, shelves, racks, and tables, they had one pathetic lonely little shirt in my size. They had plenty of sixteen-inch neck shirts out there, sure. And a few 15½-inchers out there.

I never had a problem finding shirts my size at Famous-Barr. Never had a problem at Lord & Taylor, either; same goes for Express Men, the Gap, or pretty much anywhere else. Pants, sure, that's always a problem. I mean, when you have a 30-inch waist and you don't have ovaries, you're gonna have to settle for second-best sometimes. But shirts? It's not like I'm some sort of lopsided sin against nature.

So, Dillards, allow me to tell you and your false-advertising swimwear department:

You
Freaking
Suck.

By the way, the Perry Ellis suits at Macy's? Nice. I just wish I were hip enough to wear one.

A Hole in the Sky

Today I had lunch at Subway in the Rat for the first time since Prince Hall came down, and it was kind of weird. I drive past the huge hole that Prince has been replaced by every day on the way into and out of work, and so I know it's there. I even admire it - when Washington University says they're going to dig a hole, they don't fuck around.

And I don't really think about the loss of Prince for campus. Honestly, Prince was a pretty bad building. Every interior wall was load-bearing (ha!) so the building couldn't be re-interiored and opened up. And every floor was structural, too, meaning they couldn't be taken out to make ceilings higher. Prince was just not suited to being anything other than what it was: an Oxford-style dormitory.

And so I didn't really miss it.

But then today I'm walking into the Rat and I look up past the wall that had been put in to control traffic flow back when it was a bar. And it just looked...blue. And empty. It used to be you could see the peak of the roof of Prince, and its old chimneys. Now there's nothing. No dust, no buildings, no trees - just sky. And there were no clouds around today, so the sky was unbroken. A solid light blue mass where a building used to be.

I don't really miss Prince Hall. Or, more accurately, I don't think I do. It's sort of like how an old tree falls down in your neighborhood. You didn't notice the tree, and maybe you didn't even like it. But now that it's gone, you have to wonder whether you miss it, whether you cared for it, whether you should plant another one, or whether you should just ignore that big gap and hope that something will just spontaneously show up and fill it again.

Because You Didn't Want to Know

The song they play in circuses? That silly doo doo doodeedoodee doo doo doo doo? It's called "Entry of the Gladiators (Thunder and Lightning)," by a guy named Fucik. (link to a midi version, halfway down the page:
Click me)

First off, Fucik has a name that does not at all lend itself to typos. Sort of like anyone whose name is Blitch, or Shuit. Those poor bastards.

Secondly, what kind of gladiators enter anything, anywhere, to that song? I mean, besides the kind that listen to Ricky Martin on their off days.

People I Don't Know

Just a quick question, after watching another one of those damned Tanqueray commercials.

Who the fuck is Tony Sinclair?

How to Be a Superhero

So I've been catching snippets of the new Sci-Fi network show Who Wants to Be a Superhero?, and I have to admit that it's kind of fun. It's this campy, goofball show where 12 normal people (and by "normal" I mean "really dorky") give themselves costumes, superpowers, and secret identities and compete in challenges against one another to see who's the greatest superhero of them all. At the end of every episode, Stan Lee weighs and measures each hero, and figures who is found wanting.

It's really awful, and a lot of fun.

Here's the thing: I have a new favorite superhero, and it's not Wolverine or Jean Gray's bra. It's Major Victory, a guy who knows exactly how goofy the show is. Everything he does is over-the-top. Every way he acts is goofy. And he's well-groomed.

I desperately hope he wins. Is this wrong?