A note about holiday outfits

My friend Nada observes on FB: "My dress up clothes had a great time at the holiday party last night; their fun continues with a trip to the dry cleaners."

Nada's experience leads me to believe that our holiday outfits may just need some etiquette guidelines to help them through the party season.

One's outfit should never attempt to match the wearer drink for drink. Doing so indicates that the wearer is becoming sloppydrunk and spilling too much.

Outfits with sleeves should be especially careful around the dip.

Ladies outfits should not to provide overenthusiastic introductions to attendant gentlemen. Your humble correspondent would say that nobody wants to see that, but he would be lying, and assures you that we do so want to see that, but trying to maintain eye contact with your eyes and your boobs is making us a bit crosseyed and is causing us to spill drinks.

Gentlemen's jackets should remain on the gentleman, rather than being set aside where mischievous ruffians may be tempted to go through the pockets while the gentleman goes to get another drink.

Gentlemen's outfits, trousers in particular, should remain about one's waist and not wander down to one's knees, even if some mischievous ruffian has come into the possession of another partygoer's new iPhone and decided that it would be the height of comedy to make unclad butts the partygoer's default wallpaper. While it is very funny to iMoon friends, the attendant riotous laughter does tend to lead to more spilled drinks.

Lady's footwear must make every effort to keep the lady upright, especially when near the dessert table and doubly so when the lady is distracted by two cackling buffoons posing for a butt shot. The resulting stumble and inadvertent launch of a tray full of eclairs leads to the only thing worse than a spilled drink, which is a spilled dessert.

Gentlemen's jackets should note that it is inappropriate to accessorize with whipped cream as a boutonniere even if your gentleman has no idea how it got there.

Spilled drinks are permissible in the event of an eclair landing in a lady's cleavage. What are the odds of that happening? I mean really. It never happens. almost.

Finally, every partygoer should consider themselves successful if their party outfit actually follows them home, though preferably not in a cab then next morning. Even so, one can't help but feel superior to those partygoers whose outfits were abandoned out by the hot tub, and who awoke, buck naked, in the cloakroom, to the shrieks of the housekeeping staff. They assure me they thought you were dead.

Big Brother is watching you...

So apparently if you linger overlong on a job link that you followed from Linked In, the talent wranglers will come hunt you down and try to get you to submit your resume. Which is both kinda creepy and kind of cool at the same time. I feel like one of those B-list celebrities that was never sexy enough to have a stalker of my own. It's like I used to have to go to an agency and hire stalkers, cause, you know, you aren't anything in this society unless somebody wants you.

So I guess I'm off to work on my resume...

How to interview for a job you don't really want.

"Yeah, this position isn't my first choice, I'd really rather be a heavy equipment operator but I drink too much."

"Yeah, well, I thought you guys would be good to work for on account of I've used your products, and I liked them a lot, because it's really clear from their design that everybody that works here drinks way too much, so I thought I'd fit right in."

"No more questions? Awesome! when do I start?"

The Problem with Pessimism

It occurs to me that the problem with sustaining a properly pessimistic outlook is that things really are getting better, well for me personally, anyway. And it's not like I'm winning the lottery or experiencing any great professional successes, but I do feel surrounded by love, and a guy can get by on that. And a paycheck.

So while I know the world is going to hell in a handbasket, I'm experiencing a bit of cognitive dissonance in my personal experience. They say the economy is faltering on the brink of a double dip recession, but I'm getting unsolicited contacts from recruiters, which hasn't happened since the wheels came off the internet bubble. Work is being nice. granting stock (paltry amounts) to the domestic rank and file all of a sudden, as if there's something less effective about shipping production to India, China, and what not.

And while were on the subject of me getting my ass handed to me...

Internal combustion engines suck. I've been trying to start my boat for two weeks. (No spark, leading me to the conclusion that the thrill is gone between us. Unfortunately I can't recall how BB King resolved this situation in his song.) Which might be part of the problem. Real mechanics prolly consult an engine manual or some stupid thing like that. Me? I consult the Blues.

I've consulted the Blues for many of life's little problems, and have found the the Blues are a particularly worthless reference when it comes to love advice. Ask the Blues a reasonable question like "Bad bitch done me wrong, what I do now?" And you get back suggestions like "Shoot her dead." and "Jump a northbound train."

I mean like what the fuck? Don't blues artists have real jobs!?! Shoot her dead? Really? Like that's what passes for conflict resolution in the delta? And jump a train north? Hello? I have to be at work in the morning.

We need a whole new form of the blues for whiney suburban dads like me.

Ass handing results.

As my dedicated readers will know, I took a soccer coaching exam a month ago, and finally got the results back. As anticipated, I did not get the coveted (by whom?) national D license, being judged to be "Not Ready". So I've got that going for me, which is nice. Now when people ask me to do something I'd rather not do, I can just say, "Oh, I'm not ready, I have like this official letter from WSYSA and everything."

Actually I think I got really close, but there was one teaching standard on my practice exams that I had trouble reaching, partially because my natural teaching style is more of laid back kind of let's see them "explore the space" of the drill, rather than directing it to exactly what I want to see the minute it varies from my script. And there are reasons to do it my way, cause soccer is a sport of "spontaneous expression" where magic happens if you cultivate the player's ability to create situations, but the reality of the exam environment is that you have to demonstrate that you can see and correct flaws in the execution of the exercise. And I could do that if it were a technical exercise, but a tactical exercise is... something I don't have enough experience with, and frankly when my excessively skillful co-candidates were running my exercises, I couldn't keep up with the speed they were moving. Which is my failing, I'll own it, and try to get better.

So I did not come out of this empty handed. While I did not get D national, I got the state D certificate, which means I am not a complete dumbshit. And more than that, I felt like I won the respect of my peers, even those who have a whole lot more invested in this process and a substantial chunk of their future tied up in succeeding. I meant there were folks who were trying to make a career of soccer coaching. That's some serious dedication to the sport, right there. So basically to have them take me seriously and respect my abilities. (I can pass very, very, very well, but you have to be good to appreciate how well (It was when I dropped the first 30 yard chip pass in over the defenders, that they realized it first. That pass takes a lot of touch, and most people have completely blown it enough times that they don't even try anymore.)) And they also respected my insights, if not always my judgement: "You know that flatback four formation is really difficult to coach." Me: "Yeah, but if you're going to teach the offsides trap and defending against through passes, it's the most intuitive formation for the kids."

And the final sour grapes moment: Getting the D national basically means you are ready to take the C National. As if. Look, you all saw me bitchin' about 38 hours of exam against tough competition, do you really think I'm going to sign up fro 68 hours of exam against even tougher competition? Not fuckin likely. I might retake D. But there's no way in hell I'm taking C.

In which I get my ass handed to me.

So in our last installment, we noted that I was headed for a fall with this soccer coaching certification. Oh how little did I know. So coaching isn't a big problem. I know my stuff. I can that part of it off.

The problem is I'm 48 years old. Some of the other candidates are 24 yo, former development team, Div I varsity, or English semi pro (in 1 case) players, and JESUSFUCKINGCHRIST they are a little difficult to play against for EIGHT GODDAMNED HOURS in the HOT SUN. I mean sure they are more skilled, but the thing about players that have played at that level is that they have an intensity level that goes to eleven so every fucking exercise is at level 10 which gets to be a little tiring.

So yeah, physically, I am a whupped as I've ever been.