For the record, Forrest informs me that he is sick as if that is some kind of explanation for missing a comic deadline. Perhaps we will hold off on comic updates for a week or two to build up a bit of a buffer against such events, but we live in an industrial society so more likely I will commission the design of a robot to replace him.
But fear not, I am currently disease-free for the first time in two weeks. Well, mostly disease-free. In any case, rejoice! For I am here to entertain you in his stead. Well, I’m really here just to rant, but if you find that sort of thing entertaining then you should probably seek medical attention. Also, I’m writing this at work, so it may seem rushed and will be largely unedited. I tend, to overuse, commas.
A major blow has been struck in my continued campaign against the fashion industry. Anyone who knows me personally knows that anyone at university who didn’t know me personally knew me as the guy with the red hair and trench coat. The coat in question was a tan Weatherproof with a heavy removable liner, through-pockets, and far too much fabric with which to cover my relatively small frame. I was forced to retire this coat about a year back due to wear and the fact that my girlfriend thought I looked ridiculous in the thing like the Grinch’s heart looks ridiculous in his chest cavity.
I have been lost ever since. Every season, including summer, some member of my family gets me a jacket as a gift for some occasion or another, but none matching the glory of utility and iconic style of my Weatherproof. As if trying to console a man who’s lost a love my introducing him to other people, I was viewed them with polite interest, and even wore a few of them, but secretly I found them all to be a failure in storage space and utility. With my hairline taking cues from the economic recession, I was to lose my identity forever, only to have it replaced by being the mostly bald guy in that sort of meh jacket. Thus did I decide to seek out a replacement for my beloved Weatherproof.
They don’t effing sell them anymore.
Some time in the interim, long coats had become fashionably uncouth for males. Who makes the decisions on this sort of thing is beyond my reach, but allow me to deliver a digital slap across the back of the head to this person. Everywhere I turned, I was asked if it was a gift for my girlfriend or mother and then met with confusion or outright disgust when I told them it was not. I am perfectly comfortable with my bohemian nature, but to the people who are supposed to sell me organized systems of woven thread, suddenly I am a non-entity.
My final recourse: second hand stores. The result: a marginal success. I managed to find a few candidates which were then further narrowed down by some consultation with Danielle. The new coat shares the long profile and removable liner from my days of yore, but misses the through-pockets and color. Though the color of the new one is very nice, akin to that which stealth aircraft are painted in video games. Fire me from a cannon and enemy radar will not be able to detect my presence.
So the short of it is, no more setting me up with coats. I’m wearing one right now, and I’d like to see how it goes for a while.
Ja.