Jeans (Or Why I Am Stuck)

I have often said that I wish I had invented blue jeans: the most spectacular, the most practical, the most relaxed and nonchalant. They have expression, modesty, sex appeal, simplicity - all I hope for in my clothes.
-Yves Saint Laurent

All of my favorite pairs of jeans have ripped in a certain somewhat embarrassing area in the past few weeks. The rips aren't large, but they're there and that's enough to warrant exile to the permanent dirty-clothes pile (I have two dirty clothes piles, the one that gets washed on occasion,and the one that never gets washed because the other pile takes priority...). It's sad having to exile my favorite jeans, because they're always the ones that were most expensive, Express, Bullhead, Cropp (it's a Polish brand), they're all sitting in that pile.

This morning I was put in a predicament. Every single pair of jeans that are not ripped (which happens to be two pairs) are so in need of a washing machine visit that I can barely touch them. One pair I wore for multiple days while preparing for a concert I was in charge of - after hours of loading in equipment, loading out equipment, jumping up and down, and general running all over the place, they reek. The other pair I wore camping, and we all know what happens to camping clothes. Therefore, this past week I've been getting extremely creative with what I've been wearing. Dress pants - check, now they have grass stains all over because apparently when I'm on photo shoots I pay no attention to what I'm kneeling and laying in. Random cargo pants that I never *ever* wear other than when I'm dressing up as a marshmallow to play in the snow - check, now they have stains from going stargazing in a field where cows live. Therefore, this morning when I stepped out of the shower, I realized I literally have no pants to wear at all.

None.

I like to think of myself as a rather ingenious individual who is creative enough to work through challenges and emerge triumphant. As I stood there surveying the piles of clothes strewn around my room, I mentally put on my ingenious hat and got to work. I first double checked that all my acceptable pants were indeed smelly and gross. They were. So, I moved to the permanent dirty-clothes pile. I looked over all of my favorite jeans, sighed, and asked myself "Why not? It's not like anyone ever looks intentionally at that area anyway." I became brave. Very quickly that braveness turned into apprehension and I spotted my double sided tape. Perfect.

I grabbed my most favorite pair and spent several minutes taping shut the holes with double sided tape. Soon, they were good as new and I felt triumphant. I mentally took my ingenious hat off and slipped on the jeans. Just then I realized...oh gosh, I used double sided tape. But, it was too late. My jeans were stuck to my legs. I was already close to missing breakfast, so I figured I'd deal with that later, and walked to the cafeteria thinking I really like these jeans!

All went well, I got through breakfast and my first meeting of the day without anyone being suspicious or yelling out "Matthias! Did you know you have holes in your jeans?!" I felt rather happy with myself, after all, I did solve my problem without having to resort to the pants I used to paint in this summer. All went well, until I had to use the restroom.

I stood in the stall, unbuttoned, unzipped, and started to pull down when all of a sudden something caught. Oh no, the double sided tape! I realized quickly, I'm stuck! I can't get out of my pants! I really need to use the toilet. I tried again, still stuck. What had I done? The tape had fused to my skin and wasn't giving up without a painful fight.

Eventually, after removing several patches of hair, I was able to accomplish my goal. Then, absentmindedly, I pulled the pants back up. As I write this, I'm realizing I'm stuck again, and probably will try to hold it until absolutely necessary.

I think it's time to do the laundry...
-Matthias

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Excuse-and-Run

In Alaska it is considered an offense to push a live moose out of a moving airplane. Additionally, it is against the law to view moose from an airplane.
- Strange Alaskan Laws

There goes the one thing I've wanted to do all my life. Moose are funny when they run, think of what they'd look like flying!

In the spirit of my upcoming trip to Alaska, which due to unforeseen expensive circumstances just drew a day nearer (not by time travel). I have decided to write a survival guide for broke (and even in debt) travelers. While there are many different ways one can survive on a delightful jaunt in the Alaskan wilderness, or any wilderness for that matter, there is one key method that consistently works. I call it Excuse-and-Run.

In order to gain a better understanding of how to use this method, I will give you two examples that I fully expect to encounter next week while treating my sunburn in Alaska. Mainly, you just need to remember two things to prevent yourself from spending money while on vacation: blurt out the first excuse that pops into your head as to why you cannot participate, and then run before people can realize your cunning charm.

Situation #1: Whale Watching
You and your friends are sitting on a nice Alaskan couch discussing iceburgs and the like when someone mentions, "there are these really neat whale watching excursions that we can take if anyone would be interested. They're only $50 for 2 hours!" Suddenly, you freeze. Whale watching sounds so exciting, but alas you do not have $50. Anywhere. How do you gracefully get out of this exciting opportunity that could so easily broaden your horizons? Easy. Excuse-and-Run. As the rest of your friends are wondering how the size of whales compare to Russia, blurt out, "I'm terrified of whale watching. The last time I went whale watching, I was in Oregon. I got very seasick and while I was leaning over the edge of the boat sticking my finger down my throat trying to throw up just to ease the sickness, a whale emerged from the water and tipped the boat over so that we almost drowned. The coast guard had to rescue us and it was quite a debacle. It even made the local news." Then, before anyone can think about the legitimacy of your story, declare "Oops, I need to take my moose allergy pills!" and run off.

Situation #2: Eating Local Cuisine
Several days later, you are walking down Alaskan streets with your friends listening to them talk about a large whale that they got to pet. Someone's tummy rumbles (maybe it was yours, but you're not going to say anything) and another person mentions "You know, there's this really good Alaskan restaurant up here that serves delicious Alaskan food that costs money." Eating food sounds delicious, but you do not have money. Anywhere. How do you gracefully get out of this opportunity to satisfy your groaning stomach while staying alive? Easy. Excuse-and-Run. As the rest of your friends are beginning to skip down the road anticipating delicious morsels of Alaskan food that costs money, you suddenly stop and exclaim, "Stop! Wait! Guys, I'm terrified of Alaskan restaurants. The last time I went to an Alaskan restaurant, I was sitting by a window enjoying my moose burger. Suddenly, a real live cannibal moose burst through the window, took my burger in its mouth, and funnily ran away! If that's not bad enough, the glass from the window breaking got into my mother's water glass and she suffocated and died." Then, before anyone can process what you just said, declare "Oooh, I think I saw some fresh wintergreen leaves over in that forest by the ocean. Let me go see!" and run off.

By now, I think you get the picture. Excuse-and-Run is a very effective method of getting through a vacation after accidentally putting too much of your summer savings into investments that are more secure than under mattresses.

Bon Voyage!
-Matthias

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Sweatpants

"You know the message you're sending out to the world with these sweatpants? You're telling the world, 'I give up. I can't compete in normal society. I'm miserable, so I might as well be comfortable.'"
- Jerry and George, Seinfeld, in "The Pilot"

I used to wear sweatpants every single day of my life except for Sundays.

This confession may come as a shock to you, seeming how the vast majority of you only see me in my present state as the guy nominated for "Best Dressed on Campus" (which, I didn't win, thank goodness).  But, it's the 100% truth. I would wear sweatpants to school (this is when I wasn't homeschooled). I would wear them to the camp where my parents worked. I would wear them on social outings. I would wear them to T-Ball practice. The only time I wouldn't wear them was on Sundays, when I would insist on donning a full suit and tie. Every Sunday. To church. I also wanted braces, and freckles, and big glasses (which, my parents eventually bought me in the form of safety goggles...but that's another story).

I was a peculiar little boy.

I was on the T-Ball team in Medford, Wisconsin - the place where I lived. One particular year, when I was 5 or 6, there were these two nice ladies, probably in their 20's, who decided to coach the team. I liked them, they were nice, except they had a very strange propensity to yell the phrase "Hustle Hustle Hustle!!!!" whenever they felt like it, which was quite often. The first several weeks of practice, I ignored it. I had no idea what the words "Hustle Hustle Hustle" meant and the rest of the kids on the team didn't seem to either. One day though, I decided to find out. You see, on that day, the people who were supposed to set up all of the equipment for practice hadn't done their job, therefore the two lady coaches decided it would be our job to set up the equipment. Unfortunately, the shed where all the equipment was held was located on the complete other side of the baseball diamond AND the high school football field where we practiced. The lady coaches explained this to us nicely and then burst out yelling "Hustle Hustle Hustle!!!!" Everyone on the team started running across the field.

Except me.

"What does hustle mean?" I asked one of the lady coaches. She looked at me. Looked away, yelled "Hustle Hustle Hustle!!!!" again to the people who were beginning to slow down from utter exhaustion, and looked at me again. "It means you have to run really, really, fast. Now HUSTLE HUSTLE HUSTLE!!!!!" I jumped and started running. Except, my sweatpants were particularly loose that day. (I'm not entirely sure why I wasn't wearing a team uniform...but oh well).

Kersplat. (It had rained the night before). I hit the muddy ground with my face. My sweatpants stopped before my little body did, so I kinda slid partway out of them. It wasn't pretty, but thankfully everyone else on the team had already reached the shed and were too busy trying to hit each other with the T to watch little Matthias have a wardrobe malfunction.

Needless to say, that was the day I stopped wearing sweatpants to practice. I still wore them everywhere else for a several more years until I discovered that jeans weren't as horribly awful as I thought ("my gosh, these are actually comfortable! and they look better than sweatpants too!"). Now, I don't even own a single pair. Thank goodness.
-Matthias

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