Consider this a rant and while there are my usual crude and sexual references there is nothing more here than my opinion based on some recent events. Hint it’s not erotic or dirty.

And just because you’re all dressed up it doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing. I spent much of my youth in clubs and smoky bars watching over dressed posers pretend to be rock stars and some skinny scraggly kid in the tattered pair of Levi’s he lived in because they were his only pair get on stage with a cheap guitar and smoke their sorry asses musically. It’s one thing if your band sucks, it’s another thing if your bands sucks but you can market the hell out of it. Despite that image alone won’t make you. Now taking a walk on the wild side away from the clubs, the vice, and the sin of the dark side and enter my life today. A world of greed, high stakes deals, and well lust.

I look like the old guy in the J Crew catalogs mostly when going through life, Polos’s and sweaters, thought out pants or jeans and over priced shoes. During the day I’m the typical MBA fuck wad Brooks Brothers wearing type guy. It is the Rock Star uniform of my profession and just like the great bands of the 80’s I am surrounded by talentless wanna be’s on occasion. So I choose my group of friends like you would a super group, people who have been there and done that, know what it takes to be a star, still have their chops(or may be better than ever). And guess what? Have no crippling addictions including stupidity. In truth my look is a cross between a bank president and the Gordon Gekco character. In a way I am a bit of peacock wearing fine garments and distinctive ties. Sometimes bold and colorful other times classic. Stripes and patterns in strong colors. I’m not only a dick but I play a giant erection for a living. Which brings me to the point of today’s rant. Clothes alone may not make you what you want to be.

When going to a business meeting a mid 30’S white guy should not wear a burnt orange shirt with a purple tie and putty pants. It doesn’t work. You look like a fucking clown just add big shoes, a group of screaming 8 year olds, balloon tricks and cake.
I’ve rocked a Black suit with a red shirt and red tie. At the time though I was supposed to be the Devil and the host of a heaven and hell party theme party I was throwing. I would never wear that combination to a business meeting any more than my combat boots and cargo shorts. We’re all supposedly grown ups and we’re not in media or entertainment so perhaps try to look like you have a clue.
Give me a hapless somewhat crumpled absolutely brilliant technical mind over a well dressed empty suit any day. But times they are changing and as I watch more people struggle to get out of business casual and back in to sport coats and suits remember this. You can dress for success but you need to be smart. Your half assed lack of insight and nonexistent virtuosity makes you a chump. You my friend are a dinosaur and I am the ice age. That is assuming another predator doesn’t kill and eat you first.
Maybe it’s the schools faults that you can’t think, that you can’t be insightful in any meaningful way and being bold alone is not enough but it helps. Shallow doesn’t work and closed minded is the kiss of death. Maybe it’s you mothers fault you can’t dress yourself.
What do you read? How often? Does it matter? Here’s a hint A nice diet of actually useable material about your industry or profession mixed in with a little global insight not from the cable news channels or NY times will give the ability to mix in facts and perspective from the Playboy article about the Somali Pirates with facts from the same topic in the financial times and the economist and no one will know you also enjoy porn. Interestingly enough I think Playboy had one of the better articles on the topic.

Don’t get me wrong I like a healthy does of all things carnal, and great erotica but it’s a balance with professional obligations as the world around me changes everyday both technologically, politically and economically. (BTW I believe that we will have another down turn before we hit a real recovery)
America has by and large lost the ability to dress for the occasion. Jeans are not formal, there is no such thing as “your good sweat suit”. With rare exceptions by and large we are a nation of under dressed. In church, at returaunts, and even the theater.

Say whatever you like about my morality and lifestyle. Here’s what I do know. I know how to dress for the occasion or event I’m attending. Yes I am a slave to quality, brand and price but it’s the effort and general look that matters not the price. If you are a man and can’t tie a tie learn and put one on once in a while. Having something around your neck does not mean you are suddenly into breath pay and you wife is going to choke you when you cum. I dress conservatively in most situations, Suits for business, weddings, funerals, and anywhere that takes a reservation. I adjust for the region I’m in but prefer to be slightly over dressed.
I wear a costume to costume parties, I wear shorts and sweats to the gym, to go for a run or athletic events only, I have Dickies for work pants in the yard. Denim in a country club is a cardinal sin, too little sun screen at a nude beach will ruin your evening plans.

Now that you know how to dress its time to get a little smarter. Because if you don’t a group of well dressed guys and girls just like me and my friends are going to show up at your customer’s, your employer’s, your girlfriend’s, or your doorstep and guess what we’re not poseurs. We’re been reading and studying. We’ve done the work and know what it takes. We’re planning it all out and don’t let the nice smiles fool you we are ruthless and will do everything we can to take whatever it is we want.

So dress like a rock start, twirl your mic, hump your guitar, party too much, and maybe even try to get laid by some fat girl in your broken down old van. But remember just because you’re wearing leather pants it doesn’t mean your a rock star a fact that will be painfully obvious when I come to your town and show you how it’s really done.

The Dead sang about it.  Morrison said that “People are Strange” and in both cases nothing could be more true

So here’s my life, with everything going on and the impending economic collapse and a quick retreat to a lovely warm and safe socialist political climate I’ve been busier than ever after spending months locked in an office with obscenely sized stacks of dead trees and conference calls with barristers, lawyers and other treacherous business types like me.

I admit that I’m a bastard and a whore. It is what I am even if it is not a life I have intentionally chosen. Now I find myself strolling through mostly empty airports and climbing aboard flying penises of both demure and gargantuan proportions all in the name of profitability.

So as I head back out to the world to work my evil capitalist magic I find my nights are now littered with accents from the Far East, my early morning with the Brits and Europeans. Portuguese has become a soothing lullaby until my translator of the moment speaks in English, which sadly is my cue to tune back in and act like I give a fuck. Which in fact I do actually give a fuck but only to the extent I make money off what is being said, being coin operated is an easy life in the sense since if there is no coin in it for me, don’t expect me to operate.

It’s been late nights and long dinners in private rooms. In order to celebrate my rerelease into my circle of money grubbing pagan friends, compatriots, and cohorts I set out to stimulate our failing economy by purchasing what I expected to be about $1200 in new shirts and $300 in new ties, after all one has to look the part if they are asking another person to spend around 120m a year with them. I walk up to the register and find out that the total was $150.

Now I may be a lot of things but dishonest isn’t one of them and I informed the clerk there must be something wrong. I had 12 shirts and 3 ties. She looked at me like I was the biggest tool in the world “yes you do sir. However they are all on clearance so the shirts are $9 a piece.” So in short I bought a series of 120 items for the price of one. Who says an economic collapse might not be a good thing. Fuck at that price I could buy my neighbors house for 7.5% of its value or a little under 30k (I may hate the Midwest but I do like the cheap house prices) Fuck I could pay cash for his place default on my mortgage and buy it back with a gimmie from the feds right? Oh so it doesn’t work that way? Fuck where a hedge fund manager when you need one!

Any how I take my new dapper look on the road with the usual series of meetings and glad handing. You know shaking babies and kissing hands sort of behavior you’d expect from a guy like me. On one night in particular me and my guest sit around chatting while having the waiter fill up our glasses with a lovely and buttery Cakebread chardonnay that was preceded by a little grey goose and followed by after dinner liquors. Life is good. I’m drinking diet after a few martinis and a little wine but the long and short of it is that three hours later a few of us stride and some of us stagger out of the establishment. Just another night in the life, not all that unlike so many others. A five hour meal, some pleasant conversation and a few drinks. It is what I’m paid to do despite the insistence of the legal and HR depart that it is not “officially” part of my job description. I insist that they have no clue what my job is and that buying liquor is part of it. Recently my boss told me “hell buy him whores if that’s what it takes just try to keep them under a thousand each.” That folks is why I love my boss, he gets it and while the statement was made partly in jest it’s understood that sometimes unsavory things need cared for.

In the coming weeks I replay the same routine with different faces in Dallas a few times, A bird shits on me in the middle of eat fajita outdoors at a trendy Tex Mex place, it was a casual meal and damn good food. Also it was not the first time I’ve been shit on either literally or metaphorically.

I get a “Unicard” so I can slam sweet tea martinis in a dry county and believe I now know more about Whitney who was my waitress than I do about my own kids and the Blonde combined. She was a nice girl with a sweet little Texas accent but apparently asking for a wine list meant tell me about your entire life, all 22 years of it in graphic detail. I knew I should have worn my does it look like I give a fuck t shirt instead of a pin stripe suit with a pink tie. I’m so much more unapproachable when not dressed up. The blonde was somewhat grateful I didn’t come home with the little Raven haired number from dinner. Personally I think she would have like Whitney but then again what the fuck do I know.

A head hunter calls me, perhaps the world isn’t ending. A Vulture capitalist calls me a few day later with an early stage opportunity. In true form I dispense with the Bull Shit and ask the real questions. I’m lucky, I’m employed and I don’t need a new job today like so many people. I can be selective. He called back a few days later. Perhaps its not just vapor ware he was pitching.

Along the journey its Cinco and I call a friend for dinner. There’s a huge party, lots of Latina’s and we’re the only Gringos at the place. At one point a girl in jeans is dancing on the pool table. Three minutes later there are three kids up there with her, it killed the mood. I went back to my Enchilada’s. The next day I’m out to lunch with 6 people (I do go to meetings without food but most often they are not worthy of mention).

I listen to a woman who says she ‘s turning 40 but looks to barely be 28 bitch about her body. I thought she was pretty. Then again I like women who have some curves and well look like women. A few minutes later the Blond across the table from me who was obsessing that she has gained 3 pounds since her wedding and still appears to be a good 10-15 pounds under weight looks up and declares in a bold tone of voice.

“Hey wait a minute. You got my mom drunk!” Now I’ve gotten a lot of people drunk over the years and gotten drunk with more than my fair share as well. By this point based on knowing the ongoing lives of a few of those folks I have indeed gotten several if not a lot of people’s mom’s very drunk. Hell I spent a 10 good years living the best iteration of a non stop party I couldbefore deciding to turn pro and have someone else pick up the tab. To a certain extent I could have written the drinking man’s version of “I hope they serve beer in hell”. Despite that I’ve never once been accused of getting anyone’s mom drunk until that very moment.

So how to react with a few peers and 5 other guests were at the table. I knew the field and the crowd. So being the honest man I am I looked at the little 20 something blond girl, staring right into her dark brown almond shaped eyes and said as plain as day.

“ I Didn’t get your mom drunk, she did that all by herself. Beside I know for a fact she was still 2-3 drinks away from showing me her tattoos.“