Adaptive Curmudgeon

Someone at BBC Lounge linked to my rant about Star Wars. (Whoever you are, thanks.) This made me happy for reasons which have nothing to do with hit counts. Three particular details stand out:

First: BBC is not a decrepit news organization, it’s a forum about bass boats. I wrote about Star Wars and gained attention amid the bass boats. Who could have seen that coming? Meanwhile people who really dig fishing wound up, en masse, reading my blog which is as much about smoked tractors and homicidal trees as anything. (Really it’s a blog about nothing.) It’s totally random and therefore delightful.

Second: Reply #16 on the Bass Boat Forum did wonders for my ego.

“I am kind of thinking that the review is better than the movie. Lol”

Third: Reply #26 crushed my ego back to the appropriate size.

“The guy that did the review is a total douche canoe”

So there you have it. We live in an unpredictable world that makes no sense. Somehow that means I’m either a superlative reviewer or a douche canoe (or both!). I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A.C.

P.S. I still miss Darth.

A Curmudgeon lifestyle means ignoring big social events until a few weeks later when more favorable terms arise. I just watched Star Wars. No lines. No crowds. Cheap tickets. Just me and the kids and overpriced popcorn in a half empty theater.

The drawback is a perpetual timeshift with everyone else. I’m writing about Star Wars when (almost) everyone else has forgotten about it. Which is my point; it wasn’t bad but it’s forgettable. I can’t stop myself. Bitching must ensue. (Warning: Spoilers ahead.):

• Overall it wasn’t bad. Nor was it great. It was mathematically mediocre, just like the countless movies J. J. Abrams, Disney’s Corporate Overlords, and associated vat grown entities excrete annually onto the silver screen. After dozens of superheroes and a seventh Star Wars rehash I’m worried. What did Hollywood do with all the interesting people? Are they chained in a basement somewhere? They made a workmanlike chunk of market tested tapioca. I yearn for more. Star Wars has devolved to the spaghetti western of our time.
• Speaking of “carefully mediocre”: It was a sad reminder that the first Star Wars was unusual and creative.
  • Must we admit that 1977 had creativity (space based fighting monk ninjas with magic swords) but 2015 is a mental dead zone? “The same magic sword but now it’s red.” Really? Disney (or whomever is milking this cow) is reduced to a new sword analogue in every episode; now it’s green, now it’s a two sided staff, now it’s nunchucks. Is that all we’ve got?
  • The sameness was intentional and I suppose if I were autistic and needed patterns to feel safe I’d like it. I’m not and I don’t. Must I “witness the power of the the third consecutive big spherical object of menace with a planet killing superbeam and a small vulnerable weak spot”? I suspect a lot of people did like it. Maybe people like to repeat a mantra?
  • Speaking of mindless repetition: Are people in a galaxy far far away really really stupid?
    • By the time you’ve blown up the third death star even the death star manufacturing trade association would give up.
    • Hannibal attacked Rome in 218 BC with elephants. History remembers him as an epic bad ass because elephants were the death star of the ancient world. If it was a bad idea and Hannibal had frozen three fleets of elephants in the Alps he’d be on a Cracked list instead a historic bad ass.
  • Speaking of stupidity: How am I supposed to be afraid of bad guys who are borderline retarded? Modern movie makers can’t even imagine a true villain. The current Darth Vader analogue (Kylo Ren) breaks shit when he gets bad news. This is to bad ass as a hamster is to a cobra. Compare this snivelling freak to the original 1977 Darth Vader. My good pal Darth had style! This is how a proper bad guy should operate:
    • Darth never drew his magic light sabre sword of nastiness until he was about to kill someone. This is bad ass 101 and it’s universal. In Dune a drawn crysknife cannot be sheathed until it draws blood. Everyone knows this.
    • Speaking of killing, when Obi Wan was mucking around Darth’s military base super bad ass Darth sensed him and sought calmly and intelligently to find his quarry. He didn’t start by kicking over the coffee pot in the stormtrooper breakroom. He went alone because super bad asses roll like that. He found and killed Obi. Did I mention Darth was evil?
    • Kylo Ren periodically goes ape and smashes someone’s workstation. We don’t even put up with this level of bullshit on a football team. If Darth saw such misuse of an elegant weapon of a more civilized age he’d pound some humility into the little shit. More likely he’d kill him. What’s the point of evil if you lack control? Hollywood needs to grok the difference between a totalitarian monster and a thug carjacking a Honda.
  • Speaking of failed role models: Princess Leia and Indiana Jones had a space divorce and spawned an idiot son who’s both a fuck up and menace to civilization? The whole world at the fingertips of well paid writers with all the cocaine they need came up with a twentieth century broken home? Harrison Ford and Carrie Fischer looked like two sad old boring has beens discussing which one should drive junior to Band camp. Happily ever after could have worked. Solo pumped and dumped her could have worked. Leia shoved Solo out an airlock in a pre-menstral fit would have worked. But “junior hasn’t done well in school so he’s a Sith” was pathetic.
  • Speaking of Pathetic:
    • Han Solo, in 30+/- years, has accomplished absolutely nothing. He started out as a harried vaguely unsuccessful smuggler hired by a desert freak and a clueless farmboy. Three decades later he has managed to develop as a man and a human being into a smuggler who’s still on the run from his debts. In the meantime he lost his ship (!) and had a crappy semi-resolved entanglement with Leia. Perhaps he has a drinking problem? Maybe he and the Wookie are co-dependent losers?
    • Carrie Fisher, has aged poorly and looked like the kind of harridan who’d come to a homeowner’s meeting to bitch about your mailbox color. She sounded like  Hillary Clinton discussing NFTA agreements. If this is all that the rebels / freedom fighters can come up with maybe they deserve to lose.
    • The fact that Harrison Ford looks hunky and Carrie Fisher looks like a dishrag is proof that life is unfair. I’m sorry Mrs. Fisher. As a man who’s ageing to look like Keith Richard’s ashtray I can sympathise. Perhaps Harrison Ford has a deal with Satan?
  • Speaking of people who have learned nothing: Luke, the chosen one, has skipped town yet everyone still pines for him? For literally decades they’ve prayed their saviour will Yoda up and save them. Except Yoda was chillin’ in a swamp when the world needed him. That’s what we call a hint. The dude’s got a cell phone. If he wanted to help the rebels he’d call. In the meantime leave the man alone. Maybe he’s studying cool Jedi arts. Maybe he’s writing Sparkly Vampire fan fiction. That’s his business. He wasn’t supposed to shoulder the whole universe and if “save us Luke” is all you’ve got since 1977 you’re not trying.
  • Which is really what it all boils down to isn’t it? They’re not trying. The first story, even if it was only a space adventure, tried to be a complete story arc. It wasn’t Beowulf or Hamlet but it gave it a shot and it was different. Not a rehash of Star Trek. Now, like much of America, it’s locked in time and cannot grow. We’re going to have decades of Disneyfied Star Wars until they blend in with James Bond and Pokemon and Power Rangers and all of the other things that repeat the same tune forever. Back in 1977 I wanted to see good and evil continue their epic struggle. Over time it has become a snippy teenager stabbing an old man doing a cameo appearance. Weak!

Darth, I miss ya.

“Go with the decision that will make for a good story. “

I found a list of 45 fatherly words of wisdom at RECCE ROOM and that one is my favorite. It ties into something I’ve personally said in many dire and unpleasant moments:

“This is going to be a really funny story… later.”

Glad to know I’m not the only one.

There are a few other classics in the list:

“No matter their job or status, everyone deserves your respect.”
“A man does what needs to be done without complaining.”
“Never stop learning.”
“If you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room.”
“Luck favors the prepared.”

And the most undeniably true of all:

“Buy a plunger before you need a plunger.”

Words to live by.

I was in my truck and bored. My solution, which never works, was to turn on my radio. I had a choice between the same playlist they’ve been pounding into the ground since 1984, a hyperventilating nitwit on AM, another playlist they’ve been pounding into the ground but with enough “yee-haw” inserted to call it “country”, a couple muscleheads who think football is an urgent thing, and America’s Pravda.

I chose NPR. What can I say? I’m tired of the songs currently on my MP3 player.

So NPR chooses to spend it’s time with a breathy yahoo interviewing some generic “expert” about… get this… food.

They sounded like a paired clone experiment in how alike can two college educated white chicks get in both tone and thinking. Diversity? Yah! One has a blue Subaru and the other has a green one and they shop at different branches of “Whole Foods” and have different versions of iPhones. Want diversity on radio? Book me and Pyjama boy for a cage match discussion about economic policy… I guaran-damn-tee that you’ll see two sides of the issue (and possibly the gutted insides of Pyjama boy). But I digress.

The clones were talking about the eighth revision to the Dietary Guidelines promulgated by the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services and the U.S. Department of Agriculture which is based on the work of the 2015 Dietary Guidelines Advisory Committee. Holy shit, I can’t believe I just typed that sentence. (I’m not making this up.)

Of course it’s not really news that it exists. We all remember this kind of crap from the health classes we slept through in High School. Like all red blooded Americans I’m aware that there are recommendations and, as God intended, I ignore them.

Meanwhile breathless interviewer chick feels the need to explain this fact to the six human beings who haven’t been exposed to dietary nattering bullshit. The quote (from memory) is something like this:

“This document is the Government’s advice on what people should eat.”

Then I have an epiphany. We have Governmental advice on what you should eat.

What’s more fascinating is that there are apparently people who pay attention to such things. (Who these people are is something of a mystery but I accept that they exist.)

What turned the dial to eleven was that there is a radio station run by and catering to people who consult the Government about whether it’s better to dine on a carrot and tea or cram your face with Pringles and Vodka. They live among us.

OK fine. I’m well aware that this is just a nannyish cascading feature. It’s a second order driver of school lunches, SNAP benefits, cafeterias in VA hospitals, and possibly explains what the hell happens to you if you eat one of those five pound blocks of Government cheese. (Do they still make those? Man, I’ve got stories about Government cheese!)

The vat raised NPR drones were presenting this information as if normal human beings might just stand in front of the fridge in confusion until they starve. Like maybe I need guidance to know a McRib is sub-optimal. (Note: I love McRibs and I don’t care what the hell is in them, but I’m not dumb enough to pretend they’re healthy.)

I started laughing and couldn’t stop. Let me repeat it because just typing it makes me laugh: We have a list of foods to eat and people who write the list and people who discuss the list and presumably someone somewhere who follows it. I spent all day wondering who needs that list as part of their actual day to day life.

UPDATE: The world is not as stupid as it first appears! Not long after I posted the text below someone sent a link to Snopes indicating that it’s False. On the bad side I fell for it. On the good side we can safely say we live in a world that’s marginally more sane than one where a dude would gold plate his balls. And for that, I’m thankful.

To whomever sent me the link; you’re a ray of sunshine. Thanks!

I found him:

Oklahoma Jackpot Winner Dies After Gold Plating His Testicles.

You don’t have to click on the link. It is exactly what it sounds like.

This is the man that needs the food list! Luckily I’m here to help. I’m a team player and all that. In the interest of the health and general welfare of American people, whom I love and care about, I’m offering this public service announcement:

“It is the considered opinion of the writer of this blog that gold plating your balls is a bad idea. Also, if you’re the sort that might consider the idea, get someone smart to read to you the dietary guidelines. In fact just let them pick your food for you. Otherwise you’re likely to eat fifty three tacos and wash it down with four liters of Dr. Pepper and a tub of margarine. Then you and your nuts will wind up dead in the shitter at WalMart. Please don’t do that.”

That concludes today’s public service announcement. I’m glad I could help.

A.C.

P.S. Hat tip to IowaDawg.

As shocking as it may seem, yours truly has friends and relatives. You probably thought I was raised by wolves? I was recently fortunate enough to spend time with kith and kin. Despite being cuddly as a porcupine and a bit of a loner; I love them.

We all benefit when ties of friendship (or blood) are strong and I hope to foster them. Sadly, the last few years the media has hammered the idea of family (love?) over politics. Thanksgiving and Christmas invariably lead to abhorrent bullshit media articles:

• From CNN*: “Breaking News, How To Withstand Insufferable Nitwits At Thanksgiving Dinner.”
• From Slate*: “Everyone Else Is Stupid. Make Sure To Explain This To Them.”
• From Hot Air*: “Your New Year’s Resolution To Tell Everyone About Benghazi.”
• From FOX News*: “Ten Ways to Verbally Pile Drive Your Elitist Douchebag Cousin Who Bought A Prius With The Student Loan Money He’ll Never Repay.”
• From People Magazine*: “Why It’s Your Duty To Discuss Bruce Jenner’s Genitalia On Christmas Eve.”
• From The New York Times*: “Talking Points To Fling At The Retrograde Bitter Clingers Who Live In The Wasteland Between Manhattan and LA.”

It seemed to peak with this simpering eunuch:

Dear God! Kill it before it reproduces.

I set out to spend my holidays as politics free as humanly possible. Should Pyjama Boy go on the offensive I’d change the subject to index funds, double my whiskey intake, and smile. I can do that on Jesus’ birthday of all days! I’d do it for the good of humanity. I’d be strong. I meant well.

It almost worked but I made a miscalculation. I failed to understand that I’m Pyjama Boy’s diametrically opposed reflection. Like him, I speak volumes simply by existing. Damn!

Look at Pyjama Boy up there. Don’t you just want to beat him with a frying pan? Even without the text you’d still smell blood in the water. For one side of the political spectrum he’s a human version of a red flag in front of a bull. Can you imagine a conversation with that flake about a neutral, non-political, interest? You could propose a discussion of… anything and it would be boring to him. Imagine trying and rejecting topics alphabetically; apples, aardvarks, the Apollo program, beer, bacon, boobs, cars, Carthaginian civilization, cats, dogs, dingos, Dio, elves, Eggos, farts, frogs, fornication… need I go through the alphabet? By the time I’d gotten to Led Zepplin, Ziplock bags, and zero point energy I think we’d all agree the man-boy in the picture would struggle to talk about non-politics.

Luckily I’m not him. But I’m the polar opposite of Pyjama Boy and that brings its own baggage.

I’m into liberty. I radiate it. I think about it. I breathe it. I see it. I feel it. I care about it. Liberty has seeped into my pores and it shows. Just as the twit up there simply enrages us; I might do the same to him. Despite my best intentions I’m a walking beacon of personal liberty… and I can’t lower the wattage.

I tried, I really did. But I’m a human steamroller of “don’t tread on me”. It surfaced in whatever I did.

When I helpfully took out the trash I discovered that clear plastic bags were required by regulation and just about hyperventilated. Some folks must use clear garbage bags to verify their compliance with recycling or something similar (I wasn’t clear on the details). They think it’s normal. I think anyone who examines my trash is fixin’ to get it shoved up their ass. Yet who am I to question their world view? I tried to ignore it and was only mildly successful.

There was a swear jar in a tavern. WTF! I pre-paid a buck and opined that if there’s a time and place to swear it’s at the bar. Seriously, folks you gotta’ help me with this. What kind of Stalinist shithead wants us to talk like children at a motherfucking bar?

Whoops. Not very mellow of me was it? Was my thinking akin to Pyjama Boy who’d demand a fruit smoothie of the same tavern?

I lurched from one confusing or non (anti?) freedom moment to the next. My bacon raising, gun toting, wood splitting, bearded, backwoods, redneck internals couldn’t self calibrate.

We went shopping. I bought ammo and lit the “gun control” fuse. Silly me. Who doesn’t think ammo is a great stocking stuffer? People who don’t like guns; duh! Lesson learned.

My computer runs Linux. Why? I have nothing to hide so why not let it all hang out on Facebook? After all the NSA people are surely nice people who are keeping us safe. Alas my laptop is encrypted and has a skull placard on  top. It radiates menace to the trusting.

I was not in my natural habitat and wasn’t good at blending in. So I apologize to the universe… and kith and kin. I tried to be neutral but I’m as subtle as a hurricane. They looked across the dinner table and saw this:

I am smiling.

Perhaps next time I’ll be more mellow. Possibly sedated. At least sufficiently so folks on the opposite side of the political spectrum don’t look like they’re about to burst into flames. I’m trying. I swear I am.

A.C.

* Like many references on the internet, these are made up.

Mrs. Curmudgeon here. I am setting the record straight. Despite your doubts it was NOT a trap. Curmudgeon gave me the best gift ever, by not shopping for gifts. I got the electronics, pistol, and jewelry I wanted instead of obscure documentaries or magazine subscriptions, hot sauces that put real human beings in the hospital, outdoor equipment I couldn’t fathom how (or why) I would use or in what situation, another antique tractor for the door yard, strange kitchen accoutrements that don’t belong in my kitchen but might fit in at a backwoods garage or in a mad scientist’s laboratory, live animals that give me the willies (it’s never a cat or a dog or a cute little bunny rabbit), alcoholic beverages that knock you on your ass just by getting a wiff of the fumes, or crazy clothing that does not match and does not fit, but always has a surprising element to be demonstrated (often destroying the article of clothing in the process) such as glowing in the dark, exploding, sending radio signals, repelling flame, detecting radiation, fighting off insects, or withstanding sub zero temperatures. However, even if choosing gifts is not his god-given talent he can ALWAYS be counted on for bricks of ammo in the correct calibers every year. Keep up the good work A.C. – I sure do love you. Even when your Christmas gift wrecks the kitchen, destroys half the garage or “accidentally” kills that cat you despised… But thankfully not this year! Thank you for NOT doing your normal creative Christmas shopping. My hero.

As you know, Mrs. Curmudgeon bought an iSlab like a normal American. She loves it. She’s happily twitterbooking or facechatting or whatever it is people do these days.

I chose the path less traveled… then wandered around in the woods and got lost. My Linux laptop was insufficiently weird so I “built” a Raspberry Pi. I endeavor to run it with a smart phone accessory (lapdock). A man who talks to trees is the sort of fellow who would desire an “improvised” laptop. (Call me “adaptive”.) I have no regrets. Incidentally I have my “real” laptop stashed in the truck’s tool box but refuse to use it. (Call me “curmudgeon”.)

Like all things in life, and most that I inflict on myself, the devil is in the details. I’ve hit a snag on the lapdock boot process. The Pi (actually a Pi2) works flawlessly. A chimp could assemble one and I’m apparenlty just the chimp for the job. The lapdock accessory also worked flawlessly during a few test runs. Then I hit the road and it refused to boot to the Pi. Works during testing and craps out at “go time”? That’s why we prepare in advance for the zombies.

I think it’s no big deal but I haven’t yet figured it out. Maybe the lapdock has performance anxiety? I’ll give it a gentle supportive pep talk and then blister it’s paint with a string of profanity. One of the two will do the trick. (Plus there are more logical approaches like tweaking the Pi’s configuration… I’ll report on that later.)

So you’re reading a post that was typed on a $35 toy the size of a cigarette pack but viewed through one of those huge oversized TVs I like to mock.I’m using the computational brains of a peanut to display my pointless text on what looks like a billboard. Could I be a better representation of the election process?

Posting may be light because it’s Christmas and I’m lazy. Also the hotel TV has cable and cable means cartoons and I’m only human. I think I saw Pinky and the Brain on a different channel. I’m about to tune out. Bye.

A.C.

P.S. If you took my word for it that the lapdock worked flawlessly and are now being ridiculed by your loved ones and their iDevices take heart. I’m pulling for ya’ and this is just a hiccup. All I can say for sure is that it worked before and adding hdmi_force_hotplug=1 to /boot/config.txt wasn’t the silver bullet I hoped but it sounds way impressively technical and who wouldn’t want to sound way impressive? (Actually I suspect all of this is somehow the duck’s fault.)

Christmas is about giving. My gift to you is to shut my yap. No need to thank me. I’ll show up again some other time. Feel free to buy a t-shirt in the lobby and have a safe drive home.

We’re all lucky. I had a post in mind about The Trumpening. Like the world needs more of that. Fortunately, Bowling Pin Chicken was unavailable for consultation and my dog is too noble to discuss such matters. Lurch the cat wanted to talk but I think we can all agree he’s brain damaged. I got the point. It’s Christmas Eve.

No politics this day.

Merry Christmas.

I committed an omission in Young Men’s Fashion Advice From A Woodsman. I’m adding a lucky thirteenth pointer:

13. Unless you are seven or an on duty bodyguard who expects violence within the hour, it is never acceptable to wear a clip on tie. In fact, it is not even acceptable to own a clip on tie.

Taki’s Magazine, which never encountered a controversial opinion it wouldn’t print, has an article called “An Idiot’s Guide to Getting Dressed“. (Hat tip to Maggies Farm.) Gavin McInness targets hypothetical young men (“idiots”; but that’s a tautology) and explains how to stop looking like ignorant low class dipshits. I read his article while wearing cheap boots, ballroom jeans, a sweatshirt, and sporting a beard manly enough to shove San Francisco halfway to Hawaii. I haven’t worn a tie in years.

You’re expecting me to go on a rant. Maybe say something like “Ties are for wimps. A young man should spend that money on a socket set.” Nope. Not gonna’ do it.

“Oxfords not brogues.” Translation: “Regardless of your inherent abilities you look like you’d stick your dick in a light socket if I left you unsupervised.”

In general (and at a socio-economic class far lower than McInness’ poolboy) I agree with what he has to say. Right now I look like a serial killer who woke up in a gutter. But that’s a situation I control and I have earned. When I was younger I didn’t have a track record. I hadn’t had the time to demonstrate my intelligence, skills, trustworthiness, or merit, to employees, business connections, etc… I spent most of my days looking like a derelict but attempted to maintain at least the ability to look civilized. (For an ape like me it wasn’t easy!)

That doesn’t mean that as a young collegiate serf I wore a tie to my job at the mill or I pumped gas wearing Oxfords (whatever they are). That’s stupid. McInness’ advice is for business. However, on rare occasions, not more than quarterly, all young men need to look like adults. I did my best. I stuffed myself into the best clothes I had (which sucked but I had a budget of $0) and walked into that situation like I knew my head from my ass. It worked.

The point is I didn’t go “full ugly” until it was time. It’s a disservice to the youth of the nation when they are not properly introduced to the difference between choosing to look like shit and being shit. It matters.

I’m here to help. This Curmudgeonly advice is for young men who’ve never done anything more than be rumpled. If you’ve been hanging with Biff at the yacht club you’ve already mastered this and should quit reading right now.

What the broke, blue collar, inexperienced, young man needs to know for formal situations:

1. If the situation involves either of these phrases “will the defendant please rise” or “do you take this woman” it is officially go time. Blow it and you’re doomed. Be ready for it!
2. You’re not James Bond. You’re not rich, you’re not suave, you can’t dance worth shit, and you’re not fooling anybody. Dress as well as you can afford and do your best to act like a civilized human but shoot for mid range. If you were urbane and super cool you wouldn’t be reading my blog.
3. If you’ve cultivated inner sophistication your outward appearance matters less. What is the last book you read? Was it “Spiderman” or was it “Moby Dick”?
4. Good clothes are necessary to get you in the door. A good mind is why you belong there.
5. Use appropriate vocabulary but only at the level you truly posses. If you’ve done nothing but watch TV you have nothing to say and lack the words to say it. Shut up and smile. If you’ve read considerably and thought more, then you’ll have things worth saying. Don’t try vocabulary you don’t merit. Bluffing will only impress other idiots. If you can’t complete a sentence without slang or swearing, shut up and nod… especially if your day starts with “will the defendant please rise”.
6. Table manners aren’t just fretting about which fork to use. If it’s lunch with the boss; even if it’s a Big Mac on a paper plate, eat like a grown up.
7. At fancy restaurants people eat weird stuff. If you wear a tie many times a month you already know this. Otherwise it’ll be a surprise. If the meal looks like that scene in Indiana Jones try a morsel and smile. (Man up and taste the escargot!) If you’re a gluten averse vegan chickenshit, nibble at the salad and don’t make a fuss. If you’re a bubba, choke down some damn vegetables and don’t try ordering a cheeseburger. If you aspire to sit at the big boy’s table act like you already belong there.
8. Social drinking in a business context is deadly. Of course I did it all the time. As a young man you will too because you’re a dumbass. Since you’re already playing with fire make sure to follow social cues. If the boss wants Merlot or neat whiskey don’t order Budweiser or an banana daiquiri. In fact, never order a banana daiquiri in any crowd unless you exceed the median age by 20% or are trying to get laid. If you want a Mountain Dew, drink water. If you have a sudden urge to tell the boss he’s a chump, switch to water. If you’re feeling particularly handsome, rich, dashing, or intelligent, switch to water. It’s rarely a bad idea to shut your yap.
9. Traditional church was once a training ground for dressing and acting civilized. Hippie church doesn’t count. If the preacher doesn’t mention damnation and hell several times an hour, you’re in hippie church and are probably wearing sneakers. I didn’t avail myself of church Sundays so I had to overcome a deficit. If you’ve been putting on “Sunday best” 52 weeks a year you’ll do fine and don’t need my advice.
10. Looking civilized is a perishable skill. The less you practice the less you can pull it off. I’ve been slacking off on this life skill. I may someday regret it.
11. It might help to think of “fancy clothes” as wise survivalist preparations for certain social challenges. You’ve got a rifle and ammo in case the zombies take over. Why not an ironed shirt in case the other kind of zombies make their move?
12. The inability to clean up and act well is never an improvement. If you can look like James Bond on the weekend and shovel shit Monday morning you’re truly a stud.

God speed to all young men. Hopefully the next time a tie must be deployed you’ll nail it. Sometimes you’re only a business luncheon or public presentation from something new. Conversely no bride, employer, or judge is going to be impressed with your sweatpants.