In a state full of bootwearers, I don’t recall ever having seen anyone get his shoes shined, perhaps because people have no pride in personal appearance anymore, or they have no disposable income. It must be a more urban venture. I guess it’s honest work. It seems less degrading than offering your body to a stranger for money, and some places allow that. There are better ways to earn a dollar on your knees, and bootblacking is one. In fact, ICS Learning Systems should get on this asap. It’s got to be more lucrative than TV/VCR repair.
In any event, bootblacking is alive and well. Okay, alive and ailing. But like a person free to choose his own health insurance, a few of them still exist.
Jim Walker, 72, works on the shoes of Idaho Stampede Assistant Coach Barry Rohrssen, Thursday Jan. 17, 2013. (AP Photo/Idaho Statesman, Darin Oswald)
Scarves and stripes always trumps Juicy sweatpants.
Gettin’ their prim and propers on during homeroom.
What I love most here: Marjorie’s accessorizing with a double belt. What I like least? Juan in his pre-restraining order days, displaying some protective aggressive tendencies toward a girl in a transparent sweater.
This is my favorite casual shot. I want to know what happened to that girl in the middle. She looks like she could get stuff done without being asked twice. I bet she knows how to delegate.
No, this isn’t a post about urinary tract infections; it’s about lyrics, because that’s 99% what’s swirling about in my big bullom head. Song lyrics, including cheesey, inspirational soundtrack lyrics.
I’m not saying St. Elmo’s Fire can in any way rival Eye of the Tiger for most motivational song of the 80s (and you KNOW the 80s was full of motivational ditties), but one cannot deny the Tony Robbins-esque “can-do” attitude of the lyrics. So as we near the end of February, casting our New Year’s resolutions to the wind (which is where the dust is, which is what we are), keep John Parr’s words in mind:
Play the game — you know you can’t quit until it’s won. Soldier on– only you can do what must be done.
Ladies, I know what you’re thinking: No, someone else can do what must be done: dishes, laundry, dinner. But think about it. Could anyone really do it the right way? Or will they just screw it up, forcing you to redo it, reprimanding them with clear-cut words that dissipate upon their ears because they refuse to be teachable?
While we’re at it, did you think you’d be ten pounds lighter by now? I did. I cut my portions, drank more water, drank less soda and wine, and exercised more, even going to an RPM class at the devil’s own Gold’s Gym. But guess what? I didn’t lose a pound. Not a filthy pound. But I can’t give up. You know why?
I can see a new horizon underneath the blazing sky. I’ll be where the eagles flying higher and higher.
I guess that’s a metaphor because I’m actually still down here on rough terrain. I can’t even afford a plane ticket to see the eagles flying. So maybe it’s a metaphor for rising higher. You can do it!
I can climb the highest mountain, cross the wildest sea.
Who am I kidding? I can barely trudge up that hill near the soccer fields. I can barely cross the YMCA swimming pool.
You broke the boy in me but you won’t break the man.
Oh, okay, this is just for dudes. Now it makes way more sense.
Just once in his life a man has his time. And my time is now. I’m coming alive.
Yeah, totally for dudes. It’s not a woman in motion.
Gonna be your man in motion, all I need is a pair of wheels. Take me where my future’s lyin’, St. Elmo’s Fire.
What in tarnation does this mean? A man in motion? A pair of wheels? Do you need a bike, sweetie? Did you get caught up in the whole Lance Armstrong thing? Why is your future lying in St. Elmo’s Fire? St. Elmo’s Fire was a bar–is your future in bartending? How’s your Tom Cruise flair?
Sometimes I actually get sick of “not getting it,” so I researched this one because I am sleuthy like that. Per http://www.songfacts.com/, David Foster wrote the song for a Canadian athlete named Rick Hansen, who was paralyzed from the waist down after a car crash. On March 21, 1985 Hansen began his “Man In Motion” tour, putting over 40,000 Kilometers (24,856 miles) on his wheelchair in 34 countries on 4 continents, while raising $26 million for spinal cord research.
If you’re Canadian, you have no excuse not to know that. Being American, I’d never heard of him. But it does make me wonder what the heck it has to do with a Brat Pack coming-of-age film. Oh, and P.S. this movie poster declares “the heat this summer is at Saint Elmo’s Fire.” I’ll tell you why: because it’s SUMMER and they’re wearing coats and scarves and close-toed shoes. I’d be hot, dressed like that in summer, too. Come to think of it, passion can’t even burn deep. Deeply, perhaps. But not deep.
…to the 70s, cheerleading never goes out of style.
Even when the outfits are disastrous.
We’re all familiar with the common “lean-back and flash your invisible oven mitt/handgun/wine glass” cheer, aren’t we?
Well, there must be something to it, because many schools employed this tactic, as if to tell the opposing team to “hit the road, Jack.” My lumbar hurts just looking at it.
But being flexible is the name of the game. Mix with exuberance and stir.
Of course, you can’t forget your pom-poms.
Even novices can promote school spirit! This girl appears to be conducting the band with a baton at a pep rally.
And don’t forget that when cheerleading was popularized over 100 years ago, it was a boys-only sport. That explains why Steve Martin, Samuel Jackson, and several presidents cheered for their schools.
Can you imagine if men had to wear those tiny Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders outfits?
These were my son’s menu choices yesterday at a local Mexican restaurant. Pretty run-of-the-mill stuff. The food is just mediocre, but we frequent it because the waiter does what seems to be nearly impossible these days in the world of self-absorbed, iPod-staring, adolescent servers: HE MAKES US FEEL WELCOME.
He greets us, shakes our hands, and asks how we are doing.
He brings us our drinks before we request them.
He does the “check-back” at least three times.
He keeps our drinks full.
He SMILES. He’s super-good at this one, without being fake.
He brings us to-go drinks without us having to ask.
He shakes our hands when we leave (or if he’s putting in an order, he waves good-bye).
And so even though the food is pretty meh, the service is great. He never looks slammed, he’s never in the weeds, never appears overwhelmed. He’s got this. And because he’s got this, we tip him well every time.
But until yesterday, I had never realized how inappropriate the illustration on the kids’ menu is. A Mexican man salsa dancing with a frozen margarita? With salt on the rim? I’m not making this up.
I Don't Get It 