M. Giant's
Velcrometer
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks


Wednesday, March 09, 2005  

Humpblog (3/9/05)

Maybe you’ve noticed that this her site has taken a rather domestic turn as of late. Both domestic in the sense of “occupied with everyday household concerns,” as well as in the sense of “hardly ever getting out the door.” As for the first charge, it’s a fair cop. Between work and my share of the child care, I have no idea what’s going on in pop culture, aside from what I catch from the commercials during 24 and The Amazing Race and the radio during my commute. As for the second charge, I leave the house almost every day. How else could I have noted a disturbing new trend in men’s fashions?

What is the deal all of a sudden with the second shirt button being way too high? Particularly on shirts with spread collars. I noticed it first on my own shirts, when getting dressed for work constricted my throat so much that I might as well be wearing a tie. I considered leaving the second button open, but all of my gold chains were out being re-plated.

I figured I was just going to have to start being more careful with my shirt shopping, until I noticed that all of my male coworkers were in the same boat, with collar plackets that split nearly horizontally before angling steeply down to the collar points. I haven’t brought it up to any of them, of course. Guys don’t talk about this kind of thing. I might as well jump up on my desk and start singing “Bali Hai.”

So I can only assume that this is a concerted effort by the men’s fashion industry to make us all, in the first and last words of Seinfeld, look like we still live with our mothers.

* * *

Meanwhile, the one person in our house who does live with his mother gets to wear the coolest shit. I’m not just talking about the miniature versions of grown-up clothes, although those are indeed awesome. Like the outfit he wore to a wedding a couple of months ago. He was all decked out in a white turtleneck, navy jacket, and tweed pants. He looked like Thurston Howell III after falling through a wormhole.

No, I’m talking about actual baby clothes, for which adult analogues do not exist. Not that I’d actually want pants that unbutton along the inseam, because I am not a stripper. Or a t-shirt that snaps under my crotch, because that would make it even harder to hide my gut (among other things). Of course, M. Tiny makes it work, because what choice does he have?

There’s something for every baby out there. For instance, M. Tiny has one shirt where the designer clearly couldn’t decide whether to decorate the front with a dinosaur or a pickup truck. So what doe M. Tiny wear on his chest? A picture of a dinosaur riding in the bed of a pickup truck. It’s genius!

Today Trash was deciding whether the dragon-motif shirt she had already put on him matched the dinosaur-emblazoned pants she was considering dressing him in. “Sure,” I said. “Dragons are practically dinosaurs anyway. Where do you think the dragon myth came from, anyway? Dinosaur bones found by medieval archaeologists.”

“You’re making that up,” she said.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s not true,” I answered. The last part of that exchange occurs quite frequently in our house. The pants went on, but I think it was more because she was bored with the conversation than anything else.

Of course, M. Tiny is still a few months shy of his five-month birthday and, as such, has only the most abstract understanding of the world. The designs on the clothes he’s wearing are so far down on his list of personal priorities that he’s not going to be able to count that high for a good fifteen or twenty years. It’s not like he’s going to be embarrassed by anything he’s seen wearing until then anyway.

Which is of course what baby pictures are for.

* * *

Not that there aren’t things he finds inordinately fascinating. A toy flower that we use to demonstrate the concepts of “coming” and “going,” which he would want us to do all day if he didn’t get hungry. A cat, if one of them gets close enough. Lights. And most of all, ceiling fans.

There’s one in his nursery. We keep it running pretty much all the time, not because it’s particularly hot in there, but because it mesmerizes him into docility. He’ll stare up at those spinning blades indefinitely.

I like to imagine that he’s thinking, Saigon. I’m still in Saigon. Shit.

* * *

Today's best search phrase: "What does 1.5 millimeters look like." Hang on a second, let me get my aneurysm.

posted by M. Giant 3:56 PM 9 comments

9 Comments:

M. Tiny is clearly a Parrothead. The first line of Jimmy Buffett's "Little Miss Magic" is "Constantly amazed by the blades of the fan on the ceiling..."

But really, who isn't? :-)

Jen

By Anonymous Anonymous, at March 9, 2005 at 7:21 PM  

The docility is a bonus, but once that's done he'll stumble around drunkenly and punch out a mirror. Then it's not so cute anymore.

By Blogger Dave, at March 10, 2005 at 9:23 AM  

I've got a 4 month old myself, who can't get enough of the ceiling fan... It works wonders when nothing else will.

By Anonymous Anonymous, at March 10, 2005 at 3:33 PM  

Ahh, I want a tee-shirt that has a dragon in a pickup truck.

By Anonymous Anonymous, at March 11, 2005 at 6:54 PM  

I want the shirt.

By Anonymous gilibij, at March 11, 2005 at 10:19 PM  

Now I'm curious: Where DID the dinosaur myth come from.

(For the record, I totally would have believed your story if Trash hadn't called you on it!)

By Blogger DeAnn, at March 14, 2005 at 9:58 AM  

had you seen this?

By Anonymous Anonymous, at March 15, 2005 at 7:23 AM  

Yeah, well, what about this?

By Anonymous Anonymous, at March 15, 2005 at 9:39 AM  

You are hilarious, M. Giant! I never knew what potential there was for humor in a small child until I had one. I'll have to bookmark this site.

By Blogger Nancy, at March 16, 2005 at 2:06 PM  

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