MUCOLYTIC

Every man his own dandy

I don't know where I got it, whether it's inborn or just a result of nurture, but I am conscious of this thing called style. And I like people who have a keen sense of style. Others call it vanity but I insist that fashion sense is more of propriety. Having a personal style, the way you carry yourself – these are respectable pursuits of a decent and civilized human being. No, this is not even merely being human. All we have to do is observe some roosters: If mere animals can strut their stuff like supermodels on a ramp, why can't humans preen with things closest to their skin? Indeed, why can't men?

A lot of times, when I'm getting late for work, I am attacked by this debilitating affliction that’s yet to be named, a kind of mental block associated with fashion sense. I stand in front of my closet with only a towel around me and my mind racing against the beat of the clock, my eyes staring blankly at my wardrobe while agonizing why men invented clothes.

I believe that clothes are not worn just to keep ourselves from being naked; they are worn to keep ourselves adorned. If the former were our true intention, then we should have contented ourselves with disposable fig leaves as in the days of Adam and Eve.

When it comes to clothing, I have a tendency to embrace fashion fads as my favorite things for the moment. These fads come and go and a cursory survey of the extent to which I rode the bandwagon would reveal the following list. (To think that this list is strictly square and minimalist, not a fashion plate’s where one might encounter such items as Chippewa caps, turtlenecks and what-not.)

(Skip these two paragraphs; they are notes for myself in case I had a short-term amnesia.)

For everyday office attire: Plain white or pinstripe long sleeves, beige or khaki pants, chocolate brown leather belt and shoes. Light blue chambray (oxford), red tie and khaki pants, chocolate brown leather belt and shoes. Light blue long-sleeves, beige slacks, black leather belt and shoes. Navy blue pocket T-shirt, beige or khaki pants, chocolate-brown leather sport shoes, white sport socks for the weekend. Plain white crewneck and faded light-blue jeans for casual Saturdays. Burnt sienna sweatshirt. Cobalt blue nylon jogging pants. Leather sandals. Shoes for mountain hikes. Black crewneck. Plain white shirt and loose heather-gray gym shorts around the house. Baby pink long-sleeves, maroon tie, dark brown pants, black shoes. Pale yellow collared shirt and teal/olive green/military green pants when I'm bored with red, blue, white, gray, brown and black. Diver's watch for casual wear. I like Breitling's watches which for me have the right mix of flamboyance and intricacy. I settle for Fossil watches, though. For some strange twist of fate, a Ferrari watch landed on my wrist one day. As a job applicant: Look under everyday office wear and add: Paisley ties. Geometric ties, diagonals. Ties with sporty prints (regatta, polo, etc.). Argyle socks. Beige barong Tagalog, white tight-fit undershirt, shiny black pants and shiny black leather lace-ups/slip-ons for special occasions. Plain T-shirt, Sperry Topsider loafers and knee-length khaki Tretorn canvas shoes for tennis. Speedo royal blue trunks at the beach. Or bermuda shorts and puka shell necklace. Adidas sando and shorts and Nike rubber shoes for jogging and sports. Boxer shorts, preferably small-sized for a snug feel. Barber's haircut or crew cut for minimum grooming. Baseball cap, extra large shirt, baggy pants (slacks, jeans) for that hip-hoppy feel. Regatta boxer shorts in bed. V-necks in bold, primary color combinations, loose jeans and square-toed walking shoes around the campus, malls, street. Red-and-green plaid polo and beige slacks or blue jeans for a Christmassy/country/cowboy look. My favorite color combinations feels like a flag: Blue-and-white-stripes. Red-blue-and-white, with bold horizontal stripes that emphasize the shoulder or streaks across the chest. Chocolate brown collared shirt and blue jeans or dark brown corduroy pants.

Here's a list of other items I have worn and most members of my generation have worn or hope to have worn at least once in our late ‘80s lives: Anorak. Adidas sportswear. Bulldog shoes, beret, backpack, body bags, boxer shorts (Tommy Hilfiger, Calvin Klein). Button-up Levi's 501. Braces for the teeth. Cargo pants, cardigans, chinos, corduroy pants, clipper shoes, Converse Chuck Taylor. Cycling shorts, Cool Water. Doc Martens, Dragonfly tennis shoes, denim shirt, Drakkar. Eternity By Calvin Klein. Faded jeans, Fahrenheit. Fisherman’s hat. Giordano crewnecks, gray Tretorn suedes, 'tablecloth' polo. Hoops, hooded shirts, Hanes briefs and undershirt, hair dye/gel/mousse/glitters, Hawaiian-style polos. Jersey, Jockey briefs. K-Swiss shoes, knitted sweatshirt. Lee jeans. Leather jacket. Moccasins. Nike rubber shoes. Oakley shades. Plaids. Ray-Ban sunvisors, Sperry Topsider, square-toed shoes, shabby hats, Swatch watches. Swiss knife. Tie-dyed shirt. Varsity jacket, vertical-striped shirt. Woven-leather belt, wire-rimmed specs.

I envy people who can get away with wearing what they want, meaning, they can wear what they want without getting ostracized by society -- people who may not have worn any of the above but still emerge pretty successful at making friends and all. But then again, I've seen most of them in the UP campuses, hotbeds of nonconformity. I have this strong suspicion that such people revert to society's expectations (coats, ties, and other horrors) the moment they bid adieu to the paradisiacal life of nonconformity in the campus. (I remember my leftist schoolmates in college who spoke American English or worked as management trainees for McDonalds, sort of reverse deep penetration agents, haha.)

Still, that's no mean consolation to us, incorrigible fashion victims, who would follow the dictates of others until the day of our funeral where we would certainly be wearing what's in style, according to what the living thinks.

Excuse me while I rush to the mall to update my current wardrobe.

10.28.1999

Stephen Covey's first quadrant

1. Buy a Chippewa cap (or that other cap which Gary V. used to wear) and summon the guts to wear it in public.

2. Be vain enough to want to wear my contact lenses (100 L, 275 R) and muster the courage to remove them off my eyeballs before falling asleep.

3. Stop eating meat because it’s not just healthy, it’s allegedly healthy for the environment, too. Wanna know why?

4. Stop using these words so people won’t think I’m trying to impress: palpable, capacity (use wherewithal), etc. etc. (They don’t get the joke. Of course I’m trying to impress.)

5. Stop using these words so people won’t think I’m trying to be up-to-date and younger than my age: freaking, go ballistic, in fairness, etc. etc. (Of course not, I’m just trying to be me, at least when I’m not trying to impress by being the multisyllabic nerd that I also am.)

Rush

The stars glow fainter and fainter. The cock starts to crow. Crickets bid a farewell tune. The lovebirds in the cage join in. A baby’s wailing punctures the darkness. A neighbor’s kitchen lights up. My alarm clock rings. I wake up from a nightmare. I sit lotus-like and say a longish prayer. I jump out of bed and inch my way downstairs. A ghostly cold seeps through the bone. Then a violent sneeze… The mere hint of coffee brewing stirs me up like a ritual. I perish the thought of taking a jog. My joints creak in hesitation. Soon they finally give in. Soon globules of sweat form and drip-drop. An eggshell cracks. A pack of hotdogs thaws. There’s the smell of bread baking, too. For a few seconds, nothing can be heard but the sound of butter melting. Then from a distance a car engine suddenly starts whirring. A kettle whistles and nobody pays attention. The oven dings and two toasts pop out smoking. A flash in the pan jolts the fat, snoring dog like a bad dream. Five oranges are squished without mercy. I dash to the bathroom full of intentions. The shower flushes all that pent-up emotion. Warm water tickles the pores till they gush with vapors. Bath soap washes tiredness off the flesh. Shampoo bubbles glide down into a merry goo. All that sudsy grime goes down the drain. Morning news is stuttered on the radio. From a distance Mozart rises in a crescendo. I emerge from the bath like a newborn. Towel wrapped around the hips, my diaper. Fresh fabrics feel crisp on the skin. Teeth are scrubbed squeaky clean. The stubble on the chin is not spared. Hair gel is run through an errant hair. The underarm is coated with protection. A dab of musky scent slapped on the chest like a potion. A light blue chambray shirt is chosen. Its thick collar refuses to budge. Silk ties rustle in an ensuing scuffle. Black pants glisten under the fluorescent light. I rummage through the closet. I grimace for that pair of mismatched socks. Then the stomach groans. The tongue waters in equal anticipation. My lips are singed by the steaming cup. The throat quickens, the fast is broken. The cat meows for leftovers. The dog wags its tail with a mutter. A dryer hums with all the neighborhood engines in startup. From a distance the hissing of cars on the road tells me to hurry up. Nearby the rumbling of a tricycle motor grates at the soul. The seconds hand of the clock is on a roll. The eyelids droop, snatching the minutes lost to suspended sleep. I slam the door shut and this keeps me awake. The sun rises on the east, intent on burning life to a crisp.

2.15.1999 reworked 3.2.2004

Hobnobbin’ with the hobgoblin

I dunno if you’ve been to the Insular Building in Ayala Ave. but I am consistently spooked whenever I go there. There’s an elevator there that opens to a certain floor even without anybody pressing the button. And when you press the Close button, the elevator doors hesitate, as though waiting for someone to get in. What’s worst, this particular floor of one of Ayala Ave.’s oldest towers has zero occupants.

I am generally dismissive of claims of ghostly apparitions but I couldn’t help but give in. Especially when perfectly agnostic, atheistic, or even God-fearing people claim they see spirits! Gaad. There must be something scientific behind it?