Category: manners

Where has all the good taste gone?

Chalk it up to the fact that Tim Gunn’s faboo style book is currently on my bedside table.

Or maybe blame it on the fact that I’ve been looking over The Good Man’s shoulder as he’s doing research on a tux for our upcoming nuptials.

Perhaps the fault lies with the fact that The Good Man and I attended a “semi-formal” wedding yesterday.

In any event, I’ve been thinking a lot about men’s suits lately. What works and what doesn’t.

I realize “fashion” is surely a subjective thing. But Mr. Gunn, of “make it work” fame, emphasizes fit and perspective when wearing clothes (and I agree).

And the old idiom, “don’t let the clothes wear you”.

So when a link titled “GQ’s best suits under $500” came across my blog bleary eyes, of course I clicked with alacrity to see what’s doin’.

The Good Man and I had just been talking about how it’s totally possible to buy a nice, well fitting suit for not a terrible amount of cash.

And here was a link to a slideshow to perhaps prove the point.

Oh was I disappointed when I took a look.

All of these suits listed as “the best” were all sort of…eh..: shoulder shrug : to me.

There is a trend lately to have only the top button fastened, which is fine by me, but if the suit fits well, you don’t get as much of the terrible pucker as seen here:

Also, look at this one. From what I can tell, it’s not a cotton suit (rayon blend the website says), but damn, look at all those wrinkles (all down the arm and the pants).

Did I miss a memo? Are wrinkles in? If so my crow’s feet are ready to take flight.

I don’t mind a casual suit like that, but it needs to fit! It also looks a little tight across the model’s tummy. My rule of thumb…if it makes the model look fat, it ain’t doing ANY favors for you.

Have we lost the concept of pants that break, jackets that fit and lay nicely, and a color that accentuates the coloring of the man wearing it?

A suit doesn’t need to be spendy to get the job done.

You can take a scruffy, fashion challenged guy and put him in a suit that fits and it’s simply awe-inspiring.

None of those listed as GQ’s “best” gave me even one *sigh* of appreciation.

I like this one the best, but even still, it’s not firing me up (and oh those SHOES! But that’s a whole OTHER post for another day).

Either I’m an ol’ fuddy, or we’ve lost our sense of style.

I blame (appreciate?) my maternal grandmother for giving me at least a modicum of a sense of style. Her tenet was that no home should be without a full-length mirror. No domicile of mine has ever failed this rule.

You can TELL it when someone doesn’t have one. The outfit looks good until your eyes travel below the knees then it’s a mess.

Lines, people. Check the lines.

Ah well, let’s head off to the weekend. It promises to be sweltering in the Bay Area, so my fashion will be reduced to flip-flops and the minimum acceptable amount of clothing.

Oh, and socks of any sort with flip-flops are a NO. Honestly, I’ve seen people tuck the sock between the toes and slide on the flips. Not ok. That’s the fastest way to see my “bit into a lemon” face.

I once saw a lady at work who did this with *pantyhose*. Tucked ’em between the toes and slid on toe divider sandals.

I almost passed out.

Just say no.

New kid on the bus

So as documented here in these pages, I’m a commuter, taking a combo of CalTrain and shuttle bus to get to work each day.

With the move to the new office location this week, I’ve been driving. I’ve had to haul things back and forth and that made it necessary.

Today was my first go at taking CalTrain which meant I needed to ride a different shuttle bus to get to my new location in the Silicon Valley back forty.

I felt insecure last night knowing I had to learn a new route. I knew the kids on the old bus. We had our deal. We knew who sat where.

What would they be like on the new bus? Would they steal my lunch money? Would I have to sit next to nose picker guy (cuz no one else will)? Would I get beat up? Mocked? I just didn’t know what new challenges awaited me.

So my train arrived at the station this morning, I stumbled off, backpack hiked up on my shoulders, nervous. There are a LOT of buses there waiting on kids like me. All the local businesses are making it easier for employees to commute.

I wandered around, looking for not easy to read signs on the variety of buses, big and small. I did finally see the bus I needed, a little bitty bus (insert all short bus jokes here) and I climbed on. I did a quick survey of the crowd and realized most of the people on the bus were mainly the test engineers that moved over to the boondocks about three months ago.

Engineers! These are my people!!!

I wasn’t the nerdy kid, suddenly I was COOL! I stood a little taller and swaggered to the only open seat at the back of the bus and sat down confidently.

But…

Do you know what sucks? Sitting in the last seat at the back of the bus. It has the most sway. I was literally popped up out of my seat each time the driver hit a bump. I arrived at work a little green in the gills, but I arrived. Lunch money still in my pocket. Feeling a little more confident.

Ok. What’s next? I feel like I can take on the world today!

Multi-tasking!

I ended up taking this business trip to Florida on my own, and as such, I have been cooped up in this hotel for two solid days (literally….I jogged outside on a break during the conference today because I hadn’t seen the sun in two days).

So tonight, I decided to venture out. On my own.

I have a good friend at work who grew up near Orlando and she recommended a local restaurant. With the grace of dog and a Google map, I headed out.

It’s a place called Hemingway’s. I was a little non-plussed given that it’s part of the local Hyatt.

But this friend of mine has impeccable taste, so I trusted.

I made a reservation under the name “Smith” for one little me.

When I got to the place (after getting PROFOUNDLY lost on some Florida byways), I realized that I had forgotten to bring my book with me. I wondered what I’d do to entertain my lonely self.

There was no need to worry. My reservation was for 7:00pm which is just 4:00pm back at work.

So I checked email. Let me tell you, yes, I was one of those obnoxious people tapping at my iPhone over dinner.

But over the course of one and one half hours, here is what I was able to accomplish:

1) Lengthy email conversation with my boss to figure out bonus amounts for my team this quarter.

2) Email conversation with our team’s admin to set up seating chart for our group office move in three weeks.

3) Also via email, set up this year’s baseball bet for the season. Another $20 wager with that bum Dodger’s fan friend of mine that the Giants will finish above his suck team in the final standings. Year one, I won. Year 2, he won. Year three, he won. My team is so lame this year I should just put away the $20 now…

4) Did SMS love to my work friend because that dinner was really top notch, she was spot on.

5) Assigned a project to one of my employees.

and most importantly…

6) Exchanged love words with The Good Man because I miss him so terribly much.

Not a bad day’s work over a glass of Pinot Noir and some really delicious scallops.

With belly full, I’m back in my hotel room, bloaty, happy and ready to sleep well tonight.

W00t!

The Good Child

I used to be that. I was the one that didn’t get into trouble. And when I did get into trouble, it *pained* me. I worked long and hard my whole life to “go along to get along”.

But not always. And not as much lately.

Been doing a lot of “head work”. You know the kind where you go sit on a couch and talk about your feelings? It’s hard work, but as I work at it, I find, I don’t always like sitting there being a good girl anymore.

And that’s ok. What’s not ok is the guilt I still have about it.

Tonight I went to the book club at my local library. For this month, we read “Three Cups of Tea” by Greg Mortenson and David Relin.

The book, roughly, is about a guy who tried to scale K2 in Pakistan, but didn’t make it to the summit. While wandering around, hungry, disoriented and lost, he finds himself in the tiny village of Korphe, where the villagers care for him. While there he sees the sad state of schools in the village, children study outside and share a teacher with another village, and vows to build them a school. This sets off a long journey around building a series of schools in a fairly hostile country.

It’s a wonderful story. But in my opinion, the writing in the book is truly awful. And this is a book club, right?

So the discussion group I attend, it’s mostly elderly folks. They are really wonderful and I enjoy them. But I get tired of the need for everyone to agree. Every time the book club starts, the librarian asks, “how did everyone like the book.” Everyone always likes the book. Everyone but one. Me.

I have become, in the bounds of this book club, the proverbial turd in the punchbowl.

And the cheese stands alone.

I don’t *try* to be disagreeable. I just like a lively discussion. But I think these fine folks think I’m a rabble-rouser.

Which, if you know me, is pretty funny. I’m feisty, sure, but there is that whole ingrained “go along to get along” thing.

Maybe this therapy thing is working? Because tonight I’m ALL fired up. I do feel a little guilty for not being the good girl, but I’m working through it. I am not sure the people enjoyed my point of view, but I thought I made some darn good points.

We don’t *always* have to agree in order to get along. Right?

Or is that just me……………

Top of the World

G’wan, ask me how my weekend was. I dare ya.

Ok, I won’t wait, I’ll tell you anyway.

I just had the greatest weekend of my life.

At the top of the world, or at least the Top of the Mark on San Francisco’s Nob Hill.

See, that’s where The Good Man proposed to me.

It was a complete surprise, and well executed.

And I said yes.

Hell, I was just on top of the world to be having dinner on the 19th floor, looking out on one of the clearest nights San Francisco has had in months.

But this…so unexpected and just so right.

I’m walking about three feet off the ground.