Tuesday, 22 November 2011

In Theory

In theory, the shirt I am wearing is my favourite shirt.

It is black, and therefore slimming, so it hides the love handles I inherited from my father better than hours of cardio and my war against simple carbs ever could. (While I am forever grateful for inheriting my dad's sense of humour, I really can't decide which family trait of his I am least grateful to have inherited.  Right now it is a three way tie between the love handles, the big nose, and the underwhelming penis... but in 30 years or so, I have a feeling heart disease may run away with that title.)

In theory the shirt I am wearing is my favourite shirt.

It is tight in the shoulders, chest and upper arms.  So, while the colour slims the waist, the fit makes it easier to "check my progression" every time I walk past a store window (FYI: if you don't check yourself out whenever you walk past a reflective surface, you might as well pack it in and start wearing yoga pants every day).  It also makes it easier for me to make girls spontaneously orgasm all over the sidewalk by flexing my biceps at them.  It's the little things in life.

In theory the shirt I am wearing is my favourite shirt.

It has The Beatles' Rubber Soul album cover on it in greyscale.  The Beatles have been my favourite band since I was 8, and I've never owned an iPod that didn't always have at least one Beatles song on it.  However, saying you love The Beatles is like saying you love pizza.  Of course you love The Beatles.  Everyone loves the fucking Beatles.
For some reason, though, rockists seem to think that being a fan of the biggest band in the history of bands puts them in a secret club for people with especially discerning musical tastes.  As a result, when I wear this shirt in public I am treated to all the perks that are afforded by musical elitist hipsters to one of their own (these perks include nearly undetectable nods and slightly less hateful sneers than usual.  Filthy hipsters all work in retail and spend their money on varying styles of oxblood Docs so having their respect doesn't really offer anything of actual worth or substance.  Except BJs.  They offer BJs.  BJs are of actual worth and substance.)  I also think Rubber Soul is their most underrated album (as underrated as a Beatles album ranked number 5 all time on the Rolling Stone top 500 can be at least).  White Album, Sgt Pepper's and Revolver all seem to be people's go-to favourite Beatles records, but Rubber Soul had In My Life on it.  If we were putting together a tournament to determine the greatest Beatles song ever, In My Life would be my darkhorse pick to bust everyone's brackets in the first few rounds.  In My Life is an incredible song.

In theory the shirt I am wearing is my favourite shirt.

In reality I hate this fucking shirt.  It has all those desirable qualities and yet I just don't like it.  I haven't worn it in public since the summer, and it is definitely going to be in the next batch of clothing I donate to the Salvation Army.

Last month I started a list in my phone of all the things that, in theory, I should like a lot, but in actuality hate for no real reason.  If I were to have posted the list, it would have looked like this (all sic):

-Rubber sould shirt.     Fuck that shirt man
-Natalie portman eh yknow just eh
-Ricky gervais that fuckr ruined talking funny
-Marilyn pillheadhomewrecking alcoholic shouldnt be your hero "love me at my worst" fuck your worst you nightmare of a human being
-Coke$$$ +   
-Blondes amanda
-zooey deschanel try playing a different characterfor once also if you dontliek the spotlight dont make millions from it dummy

Most of those were typed one-handed while driving, and I have no idea who Amanda is or why she made me decide that I hate blondes, but that's the list.  I really thought it was going to manifest iteself into a great premise for a comeback entry, then I ended up burying the lede in 600 words about this stupid shirt, and now we're done.  Stupid fucking shirt.  See how it ruins everything?