Painted Maypole is no newcomer to pantsblogging. Her highly acclaimed 2008 post, The New Pants Network, is considered one of the finest pieces of contemporary American pantswriting, and is frequently discussed in upper level college pants seminars.
This year, Painted Maypole has added to her pants repertoire with three stunning new works of pants under her belt this year: Shakespeare’s Pants, More of Willy’s Pants, and undoubtedly her finest pants oeuvre to date, Showtunes in the Key of PANTS. This latest work explores the gamut of pants emotions, from sheer pants exuberance to pants melancholy, and will have you singing in your pants:
When you are PANTS,
You are PANTS all the way
From the first time you’re worn
To your last dyin’ day.
Truer words were never sung.
Congratulations, Pantsed Maypole. You are invited to try these pants on for size.
The historic and highly coveted Golden Pants Award was first awarded in 2008.
I find myself cranky today, for no good reason. Well, it’s rainy, and I have a lot of work to do. I also need to get myself down to the RMV to get my driver’s license renewed, as it’s only valid for a couple more weeks.
I’ve had the license for 10 years now, which means I have to get a new photo for it, too. So I don’t get to renew online. Aside from the laziness factor, and not wanting to waste my productive hours hauling my cranky ass down to stand in line and deal with potentially cranky RMV employees, I should probably be glad to get a new photo.
I got my first driver’s license in California when I was 17. It was a really good photo. I mean, really good. One of those photos that look better than the live person. I remember at least one occasion when some guy at the CVS counter looked at my license and asked if I was a model. Heh.
I think I may have had that license (or at least the same photo on it, since I had to get my actual license replaced when I was mugged) till we moved to Massachusetts in 1995. I lived in Rhode Island for about 6 years, but didn’t have a car there. I may have had a license there, but I don’t really remember it.
I don’t remember, either, what the photo looked like in that first Massachusetts license. I don’t think it was particularly good, because what I do remember is the determination to get me a good photo for the next license.
I remember the day well that I went for renewal. I made efforts to wear a flattering color, wore make-up (which I almost never do). It was a good hair day, even. And then I stood in line for over an hour in stuffy hallway on a hot day. By the time I got called to get my photo, I was tired, sticky, limp-haired, and just in a hurry to get out of there. My interest in getting a flattering photo was drained out of me. The forced smile under the glare of the glasses has been irking me for 10 whole years.
So now I get to prepare for the next 10-year photo. I haven’t had a haircut in over a year. I’m pretty sure no one will mistake me for a model now, with my glasses and perma-ponytail look. I’m okay with that, as long as I can manage a less downtrodden expression.
Maybe what I need is some validation:
Check out at least the first few minutes, if you don’t have time for the whole movie. Found via BipolarLawyerCook, who is back online with a spankin’ new url, after her old blog disappeared for a couple of months. Glad you’re back, BLC!
So, what about you? Have you ever had a really good ID photo? Or a really bad one?
We don’t watch a lot of TV in our family, but sometimes we do let Phoebe and Theo watch some short videos. They like shows best that have colorful costumed characters and musical numbers with lots of rhymes:
Today is May Day¹, a holiday which many celebrate by dancing around the maypole. I don’t have a maypole, but I may dance around the living room with Phoebe. Perhaps while listening to Safety Dance³.
As Painted Maypole pointed out last year, the video for Safety Dance features a maypole. (Also Morris Dancing. I probably won’t attempt to Morris dance with Phoebe.)
(You can see slightly better quality video at the MTV site here).
She also entreated us to compose a May Day poem or song for this week’s Monday Mission. I struggled with this assignment, but
inspiration finally struck, and happily without causing serious injury.⁴ Here is my May Day tanka⁵:
the maypole beckons
revelers frolicking ’round
bright ribbons entwined
you can dance if you want to
you can leave your friends behind
Dancing 'round the maypole in the video for Safety Dance by Men Without Pants. I mean Hats.
³ Safety Dance is one of Phoebe’s favorite songs, and will sometimes ask to hear it over and over again. She requested it at the wedding we went to in March, and cried when she learned we’d only get to hear it the one time.
⁴ I wasn’t sure where to fit this in, but I learned that May Day, as a distress call, is actually based on m’aider from the French phrase venez m’aider, meaning “come rescue my sorry ass.”
⁵ I was introduced to the Tanka form by girlgriot, who stunningly wrote a tanka a day for the entire month of April.
Even more shockingly, I left a number of important sock-related things of last week’s sock-themedThThTh list:
Let’s Talk About Socks: a George Michael song
I Want Your Socks: another George Michael song. That dude was seriously into socks.
Socks and Candy: A Marcy Playground song. Oh, man…what’s that smell?
The Socks Pistols: an early British punk band known for such hits as “Knitting in the U.K.”
Socks in the City: a TV show about some single socks looking for their mates. (Note: contains explicit laundry scenes.)
Socks, Lies and Videotape: security tapes reviewed after a series of thefts at the laundromat
The Opposite of Socks: A movie in which Christina Ricci comes of age and explores footwear alternatives
Socks on the Beach: an unpleasant footwear decision leading to much sand being collected between the toes. Also a fairly obscure and unpopular cocktail.
A Midsummer Night’s Socks Comedy: a movie about people who wear socks with their sandals
socks education: high school classes in which kids learn about foot anatomy and the consequences of socks. (Don’t forget the importance of safe socks!)
socks maniac: one who just can’t get enough socks
the fairer socks: should be washed separately from the darker socks
casual socks: shouldn’t be worn to a formal occasion
socks scandal: what may happen if you choose the wrong socks for the occasion
The Second Socks: Simone de Beauvoir’s less famous oeuvre on her collection of mismatched footwear
The Joy of Socks: the definitive volume on the pleasures of socks
Quite a few years ago, long before we had kids, we’d occasionally go on a weekend getaway to stay in a bed and breakfast somewhere in New England. During one such trip, we stopped by a town known for its shopping. I seem to recall that we were heading to a game store. We saw quite a few other specialty stores, though I don’t remember what they were for the most part. What I do remember was seeing a sock store.
John and I had never heard of such a thing before, and we had a laugh about the idea. I mean, really, a whole store devoted to socks? Who really cares that much about socks? How could a store stay in business that really sold just socks?
However, we are nothing if not curious. So we decided to stifle our laughter as best we could and pop into the sock store to see for ourselves. As you might imagine, what we saw were a lot of socks. Seeing as we both had feet, and both used socks, we thought we might as well pick some up. I found a set of 3 pairs of socks in a sale bin, and John got some other socks. We made our little purchase and went our way, continuing to laugh at the supreme silliness of a sock store. We mocked the sock store.
However, it would appear that the socks must not be mocked.
For it turned out that those socks we had bought, the ones we picked up on a whim, they were really good socks. Once we tried them, all of our other socks became instantly inferior. They fell down. They weren’t as comfortable. The sock store socks became the favorite socks, sock favorites to a couple of people who wouldn’t even have believed that one could have favorite socks.
What’s more, suddenly we needed more socks.
We found ourselves seeking out socks, not just buying them willy nilly. Before you knew it, our sock stock had multiplied in size, as did our need to find better and better socks. We lamented that there was no sock store nearby. Our desire for socks could not be sated.
The only reasonable explanation is that we fell victim to the curse of the sock store. Having mocked it, we are now forever doomed to want more socks.
Not all of you may know this, but I’m a big fan of the socks. Living close to Boston, you hear a lot of people talking about the socks. People really get excited about socks this time of year. Especially red socks.
You’ll be happy to know that we have our share of red socks in this household. Phoebe and Theo each have at least a couple of pairs each. You can catch them sporting their red socks just about any day of the week. That’s right, plenty of red socks sporting events here!
One of these days, I’m going to have to learn more about the games that people play with their red socks. Or maybe it’s in their red socks. People get so excited about red socks game days. I can just picture everyone hanging out, wearing their red socks, playing boggle and parcheesi. Or maybe people take off their socks and throw them. Either way, what fun it must be.
I do get a little concerned, though, when I hear people talking about getting red socks tickets. I’ve gotten my fair share of parking tickets in and around Boston. I know that there’s always a danger that I’ll get a ticket if I forget to feed the meter. But do they really need to ticket people who forget to wear their red socks?
Well, I’d best get back to my laundry. Those socks aren’t going to wash themselves!
Okay, so I’m not on Twitter. I was kidding with that last post. Ha! The joke was on you.
But more people took me seriously than I expected, so I guess the joke is on me.
The fact that several people took me seriously could mean that:
a) My faux tweets were convincing.¹
b) People did not actually read them.
c) People who Twitter are used to filtering out the sort of decontextualized response that I put up in “reply” to my imaginary friends.
The even bigger joke is that having made this joke, I’ve come terribly close to actually signing up for an account.²
The truth is, though, I really can’t afford another online timesuck. I’ve been so tempted, with various friends seeming to all be playing together off in Twitterland. So I stop by people’s Twitter pages.
Then I feel like I’ve stepped into a cocktail party full of people continuing a variety of conversations that I can’t quite follow. And I can’t even get a drink or find the cheese platter. My head spins around a bit, and then I leave.
Anyhow, my Tweetybird friends, I’m afraid I can’t come out to play with you now. But if I do, I promise that I will take every opportunity to write about ceiling tiles.
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¹ But come on! I talked about cupcakes with exploding olives! I crack myself up!
² But I haven’t.³
³ Or have I?
collecting tokens 