Random thoughts

I think this might be a two-fer...we'll see how it goes.

First, as a man of some size, albeit not a size that is going to earn me my own show on TLC, finding clothes to fit me is hit-or-miss, largely the latter, and a source of endless frustration. When it comes to dress shirts and suits, it's a matter of finding the right label that will accomodate my size. Certain manufacturers run smaller, some run bigger. It's merely a matter of knowing which is which.

When it comes to sports gear, however, the scattershot availability is madding. For some inexplicable reason -- there is a stated reason, but it makes little sense -- most mainstream sporting goods stores max out at XXL gear. Not only is this confusing, it's stupid. In the first place, people playing baseball, hockey and especially basketball and football are not only going to be smaller than XXL, but also larger than XXL. These days, high school athletes are easily over 6'3" and weigh over 250 lbs. Uniforms and warm-ups for these athletes are easily going to be larger than XXL. Yet the manufacturers insist that the buying public are all wearing clothing smaller than XXL.

Another enervating source for this problem is colleges and universities, allegedly the bastions of higher education. Using a system of logic swallowed hook, line and sinker from the manufacturers, most collegiate garb maxes out at XXL...despite the irrefutable fact that as most alums age, they get bigger and fatter. For some alums, XXL sizes harken back to the halcyon days of our youth when we could still move without aches and pains.

There are plenty of clothing lines that offer extended sizes at a slightly elevated cost to its customers, but for the lamest of reasons, sporting goods manufacturers refuse to do this because they claim that not enough product at extended sizes sell. This is pure bunkum. There are plenty of people, myself included, who would enjoy having the selection that is offered to the perfect people of this world.

I don't think I'll hold my breath though. I'll probably be back down in to an XXL size before manufacturers realize the folly of their ways.

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I don't understand the phenomenon known as women and make-up. Cosmetics to me are simply warpaint. Many women, if you forbade them from using make-up, would get along just fine. For other women, no matter how much warpaint you slap on them, it makes no difference. Women, like men, are naturally good-looking or they aren't. Putting on warpaint is deceptive.

It's certainly a minority opinion, but I abhor lipstick. Many men like to taste raspberry, or cherry, or some other fruity flavor on their lovers' lips. I prefer the taste of my woman.

Then there's the whole issue of time that it takes women to apply the stuff. Don't even get me started on women who apply while driving.

Need I mention to any man the wonderfully artistic smudges most warpaint leaves on the men's clothing?

The whole idea just mystifies me. When my girl tells me she needs to put on her warpaint, I tell her she doesn't need it. I'm not just being nice; I mean it. And she truly doesn't.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Reading books

A good book is a true gift. The beauty of books is that before you begin reading one, you really have no idea just what you're going to get -- kind of the box of chocolates analogy. Sometimes you expect a book to be good and it disappoints, but then there are those times when you're blown away by and excellently conceived and written book.

Rarely do I get rid of books. I'm not a hoarder; I consider books to be great sources not only of entertainment but also of reference. Time and again I have referred to books I've previously read to find a fact that I recalled or to review certain passages.

Despite this, there are few books I reread. I have a list of books that I consider the best I've ever read and someday, perhaps in my dotage, I'll go back and reread them before I die. But there are so many books out there and so little time to read them all.

My interest in reading all the good literature that Gutenburg made available came from a small college called, I believe, St. John's, that has campuses in both Maryland and somewhere in the southwest. When I was in high school, it sent me the propaganda most high school seniors receive persuading them to attend their schools. Only these mailings were different in that they recommended books that all college students should read in their freshman, sophomore, junior and senior years. When I looked at the suggestions, I was floored by the few selections I had actually read. Then it hit me that there were so many other books that I wanted to read that I thought I'd better get a move on and start reading all that I could. I've been a voracious reader ever since.

One year, largely due to the time I spent each day to and from work on the train, I read seventy-nine books. These weren't comic books I was reading, but heavier, more involved works, sometimes involving great works in literature. My girl shakes her head at me when I read while filling up the car at the gas station. There is nowhere I won't read.

Reading has been a great gift. I wish everyone had the same passion for reading that I do.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles

Super Bowl madness

It's been awhile, hasn't it? Life has a habit of getting in the way.

I'm glad I missed the Super Bowl. For as much of a hardcore sports' fan that I am, the Super Bowl does nothing for me. It is the most overhyped, underwhelming spectacle on the American sports' calendar. Globally, only the World Cup comes close.

For two weeks prior to the game, we're treated to endless analyses of players, coaches, plays, tendencies, uniforms, halftime show participants, venues, match-ups, food statistics and anything conceivably connected to the game. Then, the day of the game there's a five hour pregame show that basically sums up the past two weeks' worth of tripe. The Normandy invasion preparations should have been this lavish.

I prefer the men's NCAA basketball tournament. It's far more compelling and infinitely more enjoyable.

(c) 2012 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles