Saturday, December 28, 2002
I have some holiday treats for everyone.
Some festive Newport photos...
And even a new story for you too. Can you believe it? I certainly can't.
Jim Parisi
Friday, December 27, 2002
You know, come to think of it, I have seen quite a few men wearing jogging suits around town too. Usually on men who clearly haven't been jogging since jogging suits were last popular sometime in the early 80s. Although not velour, this trend is equally disturbing. Men, jogging suits should be reserved for those who are doing just that: Jogging. Or for professional rap artists. Anyone else, for Pete's sake, if you must follow the crowd with regard to your comfort clothing, just go to the friggin Gap. And all you fashionistas out there, please, PLEASE do something to turn the tide of this truly wretched trend in fashion. What's next? Polyester jump suits? Want I should start pegging my jeans again? Florescent spandex bike shorts? How about the mullet? Should we bring that back too? See? I didn't think so.
Jim Parisi
Ladies, we are in the middle of a crisis, and no one seems to care. Flooding retail spaces around the globe are thousands of matching velvet and velour and spandex-blend jogging suits. Usually complete with racing stripe. Thousands of them. And a rumble is building. I am hearing more and more women talk about "comfort". About "easy". About "care-free". About the wonder of such a stretchy, giving, soft outfit. Nothing that pinches, lifts, binds, holds, flatters or accentuates. Women are buying them, thousands of them, all with the said excuse of having "something to wear around the house." But ladies, it's only a short walk from the house to the supermarket. And from the supermarket to the mall. And the mall to the movies. And movies to dinner. And dinner to the office. This Christmas the malls were crowded with women in what can best be described as designer sweat pants. Big butts proudly and prominently displayed in blue velour. These pant suits are the spawn of some fashion demon. It's a cancer on our society. Why isn't Vogue fighting this? What happened to miniskirts? Tall boots? Fitted sweaters? Underwire? Six-inch platform acrylic stripper heels? Ladies, it's a short walk off that comfort pier. Pant suits are only the beginning. Next you will be wandering the neighborhood scratching your ass and cleaning your ears with your car keys. Soon you will determine the wearability of an outfit by how bad it smells. I know where this leads ladies, and it's not a happy place.
Jim Parisi
Thursday, December 26, 2002
Random don'ts in a post holiday stupor.
Don't go out for Japanese food in Texas. It's generally a good idea to stick to places where lots of Japanese people actually live.
Don't let your mom pick out your blue jeans.
Don't ever eat an entire plate of fudge on Christmas Eve.
Don't play tug of war with a 200 pound dog on wet grass.
Don't worry about how much it cost.
Don't order gifts from Yahoo. Stick to Amazon.
Don't drink a big cup of Coke and go see Lord of the Rings.
Don't argue.
Don't leave too late. And don't leave too soon.
Don't go to Dallas the same time I go. It's always the coldest week of the year.
Jim Parisi
Wednesday, December 25, 2002
It's Christmas. Let's all take a moment to reflect on the greatest mystery of the season: How men who can build skyscrapers and put people into geosynchronous orbit cannot wrap a Christmas gift to save their damn lives. I am no exception to the rule. Every box I wrap looks like it was done by an epileptic speed addict with a car battery attached to his nipples. With that image freshly in mind, Merry Christmas. Let's toss back some egg nog.
Jim Parisi
Tuesday, December 24, 2002
It's Christmas Eve. I'm home with my family. It's cold in Dallas again. It gets cold every year the week that I arrive. Figures. That's OK. I'm not here for the weather anyway. It's important for me to be with my family, despite the aggravation. I have two big dogs following me around the house. I have two nieces who will arrive tomorrow to follow me around the house. I'll be gorging myself on my mother's banana bread. And if everyone can keep the yelling to a dull roar, there will be peace, at least in my world, for one or two days. I have the same hope for you. I hope your stocking is full. I hope you are happy in this Christmas season. And since I'll never say it better than Chuck, "God bless us, every one."
Jim Parisi
Monday, December 23, 2002
Jimbo: That color really looks good on you.
Roommate: What, red?
Jimbo: That's not red. That is cranberry.
I am soooo turning gay.
Jim Parisi
From Yahoo..."The archdiocese said it had filed a motion in Suffolk Superior Court asking that the lawsuits be dismissed on the grounds that the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution does not allow the government to define how religious entities should conduct their ministries of discipline." Just one more reason why I'm never going back.
Jim Parisi
Sunday, December 22, 2002
My family has been asking me to tell them what I want for Christmas. This has been a difficult question to answer. I have done surprisingly well financially this year - better than ever before. Sometimes I think I am ridiculously overcompensated for the skills that I actually have and the work I actually do. But don't tell my boss that.
As a result of my current fiscal blessings, all my material needs are more than satisfied. Hell, most of my material *wants* are satisfied. This leaves me only with a list of desires that would be considered frivolous at best, ostentatious and extravagant at worst.
How do I ask my parents for a Rolex Explorer II with a white dial and a flip lock clasp? Or a new bedroom set? Or a BMW M3? Or a Denon Dolby 5.1 digital receiver and amp? A few sessions with Dr. Bosley to get those hair plugs I have been dreaming about? Ooooo....that sexy strappy little pair of Jimmy Choo's that would go fabulously well with that Prada....ah....never mind.
I don't need any clothes. I have all the climbing gear I'm ever gonna stuff into a rock. I got a bag full or electronic toys to keep me entertained on any treadmill or any intercontinental flight. I've been blessed.
So this year I think I'll make a different wish list.
I wish I had more time. If you can box anything up for me this year, more time to write, to work, to play, to travel, to sleep, to exercise, to climb, to spend with my family.
I would like my brother's fearlessness. I would like him to teach me how he can look down a mountain bike trail that appears more like an cliff side than a trail and smile as he launches himself over the edge. I so envy his ability to stare out at the breakers on the North Shore of Oahu, to hear those waves breaking hard on the reef and still find the cajones to paddle out.
I wish I could see my niece eat spaghetti more often - although I'm glad I don't have to clean up after her.
How about a third party? Fiscally conservative, socially liberal, and not led by a sociopath ex-wrestler or an unstable billionaire.
I wish I had my mother's discipline.
How about a year of short security lines, on-time arrivals, and free upgrades to the front row.
I would like more patience.
I would like everyone to be more patient with me.
Dad, can I have your hairline? I got the waistline, and I appreciate that, but the hairline would be pretty damn cool too.
I would like my climbing partner to go a full six months without tearing, pulling, straining, stretching, dislocating, inflaming, or breaking anything that will require surgery and another three months or recovery time off of the rock.
And if not that how about a shiny new set of shoulder joints for him and some stretchy new tendons too?
A green card. For her.
So that's my list. That's what I want for Christmas. Although I'm probably just gonna get underwear and socks. Some of those items might be a bit tough to find, but that's what I want.
Of course, if all else fails, there's always the Rolex.
Jim Parisi
