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Survivor-Man Me?

8 Feb

February 8, 2018

Let me tell you what I was wearing. Not because I think you’ll get a thrill out of it, but because it is relevant to the story.

Blue sweat pants. Brown slip-on Skechers that I say are trendy and Saarah says are not. No socks. An old, thin green worn out t-shirt that is only good for wearing around the house. A winter coat.

That’s quite an ensemble and no, I was not on my to the Queen’s Ball. I was outside throwing out the trash. It was midnight and about 25 degrees outside. (That’s degrees Fahrenheit, not that Celsius nonsense. Celsius is just a scam perpetuated by the big mercury conglomerates to make us buy new thermometers.)

Does the dude in this stock photo look cold? He just looks creepy to me.

I walked around the side of my building to where the garbage cans are and put my trash in one of the already full cans so that my bag was precariously balanced atop a mountain of who knows what. I’m pretty sure that my building’s super empties these cans once in a while, but then again, what do I know? They never seem to get any emptier. (Yet they never get any fuller either. Maybe he empties just enough to keep the status quo.)

So, mission accomplished, I was walking back around the building when there was a gust of wind and I realized just how poorly I was dressed for the weather. Good thing I was only going to be outside for a minute or two and had a warm home to go back to.

But what if I didn’t? What if I were homeless?

Dressed as I was, was I prepared to survive a night of sudden homelessness?

I was already feeling a chill in my toes and since I wasn’t wearing socks my feet weren’t particularly comfortable to begin with.  So if I was forced to spend a night outdoors, braving the elements, how would I handle it?

My first worry was about frostbite. My hands I could jam in my jacket pockets, but with no socks my toes were an obvious frostbite target. I could probably tear up my shirt and wrap my feet in the cloth, then jam them into my shoes. But then I’d be shirtless (calm down ladies). Well, I was wearing a winter coat so I could zip it all the way up. My head was bare and my jacket didn’t have a hood. Maybe I could save some of the ripped t-shirt to wrap around my head like a bandanna to protect my ears from frostbite. Nothing I could do about my legs. The wind blew right through the sweatpants.

I had to face the fact that I was barely dressed to survive the minute and a half I’d be out in the winter, there was no way I’d survive overnight.

It was one thing to toss out the trash dressed that way, but I’d have to prepare better if I were to live outside.

If I were ever really homeless, I’d somehow make my way down to Florida. It’s much easier to be homeless in the winter laying on Miami Beach than it is here on Coney Island Beach.

That’s the life!

Being homeless on the beach does have some perks.

 

 

 

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Tom Brokaw Is An Old Fart

4 Oct

October 4, 2017

Tom Brokaw, though semi-retired, is still one of America’s most respected journalists. He anchored the NBC news for 22 years from 1982 to 2004. He’s covered every major story and worked on every major newscast spanning three decades. He’s written books and produced documentaries. He is very well-respected.

He’s also a cranky old man. 

How else to explain the following “you kids stay off my lawn-style rant”? Brokaw has a short commentary series that airs on certain radio stations across the country. It is known as both An American Story and The Brokaw Report. The segments are less than a minute long and the topics are whatever is rattling around in his dusty head. In the segment below, Tom registers his disgust and offense at the apparently brand new to him trend of people wearing ripped jeans. Listen to this and try not to laugh at his righteous, moral outrage.

Click here to listen to Premium Prices for Torn Jeans Are an Insult to the Impoverished.  Go ahead, it is only 39 seconds. 

“It is poverty chic mocking the poor.”

It really seems as though poor Tom has just begun seeing this brand new fad of “mostly women” wearing ripped jeans. I can’t wait for him to discover crocs. But he really believes that wearing torn jeans is, somehow, an affront, an insult, a spit right in the face of poor people. He really is out of touch. He seriously sees it as people playing dress up as poor people. He thinks poverty cosplay is a thing.

Plus he still says “trousers.” The last person I remember casually using the word “trousers” in normal conversation was Mr. Armour, my third-grade teacher, but he gets a pass since he was in his 70’s. In the 1970’s.

Poor Tom Brokaw, worried about all the sad, offended poor folks with their broken hearts and hurt feelings at the sight of a hipster in torn jeans. 

Notice his perfectly unwrinkled trousers, even when slumming with the poor folk.

Lest you think this is just an isolated incident and I’m blowing Tom’s old man cred out of proportion, here are the titles of some of his other rants.

  • The Miracle of Flight Might Not Seem That to People Who Fly Everyday
  • There’s Nothing I Enjoy More Than Spoiling My Grandkids
  • Prediction: Department Stores Will Downsize to Kiosks
  • Email Is A Wonder, But Is Too Often Abused

I’m sure you think I made up the spoiling grandkids one but I didn’t. 

And also, congrats to Fancy Ol’ Me! This was the first time I used the word “lest” in a blog post. Probably the last too, unless I turn into my own version of Tom Brokaw.

Does this look like a man who is out of touch with the poor?

 

 

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