Yet Another Case of Tail Wagging the Doglly

In my youth, before my injury, before college, before my mustache, I always thought leggings on ladies looked a little declasse.  Even when my research told me that Dutchmen (I'm 75% Netherland Dutch and 25% German Deutsche) have a fondness for women in leggings, I was leery.  However since I've decided that my signature affectation will be a really classy cowboy mustache, ala Sam Elliott which I also found declasse in my youth, women in leggings, spandex, lycra have a newfound appeal to me that heretofore I did not have.  I believe that my Dutchstache brought it out in me, or is this  proof-positive of the  theory that as one ages, genetics play an ever increasing role.  Yet one more argument for nature vs. nurture.

Sunday Afternoons with my Pastor from Another Mother

Awhile ago I reconnected with an old schoolfriend from Elementary, Middle and High schools. He's now a pastor at a church across the Phoenix megalopolis. Our afternoons are chocked full of dialogue, in fact in future meetups he's going to use his connections as a primmer to help me weightlift at a neighborhood gymnasium. He knows a little bit and can access resources to help train me.  I took weightlifting 2+ semesters. One for college credit and one one as independent study (where the instructor would help me individually). On pumped to have a buddy who will repurpose his skills to assist me. Once again giving credo to the phrase, "it's not what you know, it's who you know." I'm being to love the Good Old Boy System.  It's mightily more intuitive. Simpler is usually better.


New Facial Hair Quaffage

They call me csionallyowboy.  I recently purchased the Phillips Norelco OneBlade, and use it to trim my o moustache into an overgrown chevron.  Think Tom Selleck's Magnum p.i. crossed with Dr Fu Manchu, and then just left to grow wild, pruned occasionally.  Exemplars include Sam Elliott in Big Lebowski, Kurt Russel in Tombstone, et cetera.

Clothes may Change, but Style Pervades

After the dawn of the new year, I intend on updating my wardrobe, freshening my style.

My clothes do seem to be shrinking as the years progress.

Henceforth, less denim, more paisley and  plaid fabrics.

I'll use  to shop (just makes more sense to bring the mountain to Mohammed).

Haste Makes Waste

I pace myself, turn, turn, turn. 
Haven't recently been accused of moving too fast
Ala that ancient wisdom doled out by Asian wise men on old TV programs (Kung Fu, etc): you moved to quickly, Grasshopper. I don't wish to lose track of things (that happens despite my lack of alacrity); so I figure, 'why chance it?'.  So often to the consternation of those around me, I move at glacial pace, making sure all the i's and j's are dotted, and t's, f's and x's are crossed.


Introspection, Baby

Realizing that the preponderance of life is out of our individual spheres of influence, I have gotten into the habit of ending all my correspondence, be that e-mail, SMS, or casual conversation, with the alliterative throwaway phrase 'Whatever Works.'

It marries my love of linguistic flair and my Libertarian leanings; id est, it's tantamount to  saying "If God wills it..." and President D.J.Trump's, "We'll see what happens."