Scars; Playing an Elf at Macy's; Boxers

Today was bright and sunny, just a tad chilly. But I don't remember doing anything particularly exciting. Not that that's unusual.

It was around 1:30 this AM before I went to sleep. And it was after 9 when I grugingly got up. And had a breakfast of two pieces of toast with blackberry jam (seedless). And a coke.

As you'll recall from last time, I'm trying to sort out my very messy collection of mags. Among which is several years worth of "Freshmen." I've always thought that was a cute play on words. So I decided I'd look at a couple as I ate.

I can't say I got excited by anything I saw. Something I did notice, not for the first time, was a model with a 12 inch scar down the middle of his chest. Several times before, I've come across a similar scar. Because of the way the models are posed, it may or may not be obvious.

However, I've never understand the surgery that requires such a scar. Appendectomy? Or could it be some type of muscle definition that only looks like a scar? I've just stopped and looked again, and it definitely appears to be a scar.

Oh, I remember what else I did. I also went web surfing and wound up at the audio archives of Public Radio's "This American Life." There, I discovered David Sedaris' famous story of working as an elf at Macy's when he first moved to Manhattan.

If you're not familiar with David, he is extraordinarily funny in a sardonic way. And he is very open. A couple of years ago, I heard a story he did for Public Radio on living in the south of France as a openly gay male. From what I've read, he is also something of a swish, since he views himself as a sissy. Not in the generic sense, but in terms of being campy. In a Quentin Crisp sort of way, one assumes.

If one is interested, then try Santaland Diaries.

I left the restaurant, and stopped at the PO, only to discover a very empty mail box. Not a mag, letter, package, bill or death threat.

Back home, I gathered up the wash and headed for the laundry. About the only thing there of interest was a tall, young guy wearing dark blue carpenter jeans, a light blue tee, and a tan ball cap. Once his clothes were out of the dryer, he folded and fluffed.

What stuck me was the large number of boxers. One pair was light yellow with pin up girls on them. And I think I caught sight of a pair with holly images. He didn't seem the boxer type; I'd have pegged him as the bikini type or even combat.

Do people determine the style of undies by their endowment? Maybe they did at one point, but a reaction to marketing may be the deciding factor now. "Wear CKs and you'll look like Travis!"

I wonder if anyone has done a study of what can be told about a person by the way he fold laundry. Now that I think of it, the only thing I fold are towels. Maybe a flat sheet or two. I don't even try with fitted sheets.

A couple of hours ago, I attacked the mags again. And arranged "Wired." I'd not realized I had a "Wired" #1. It looks like I may have almost a complete run.

PAX!