Week 5: Nihon Chinbotsu!
The problem with cause-oriented jeans day is the inherent value judgment cast upon those who don’t wear jeans that day.
Friday morning I stopped in the doorframe of the office next to mine, leaning over like a wilted lily until I could see underneath Deb’s desk. She was wearing black slacks and heels.
Her typing came to an abrupt stop. “What are you doing?”
“Well,” I said, my tone dripping with disapproval, “looks like someone is pro breast cancer.”
“I don’t think that’s what—”
“No, the title of the email was very clear. ‘Wear Jeans on Friday to Support the Fight Against Breast Cancer.’ I think the negative implications are self-evident.”
She sighed and tilted back in her Aeron. “I know. I just didn’t feel like paying that much.”
That’s the other rip about jeans day—to wear them, you’re obligated to make a donation to the charity being feted. You have to pay someone for the privilege of wearing jeans on a day you probably would have worn them anyway. What’s next? In the middle of winter, hey, support the fight against lupus by paying for heat in your office?
“What do you mean? Isn’t it just five bucks?”
“It’s ten bucks,” she said quietly, the way one whispers the purchase price of a new home.
“TEN BUCKS?” I exclaimed.
Exactly, said her facial expression.
“Why so much?”
“I don’t know. This one came out of the New York office.”
“Why does it cost more to wear jeans in New York?”
“Cost of living maybe?”
“F@#$,” I griped. I mean, I wasn’t even _that_ opposed to breast cancer. I didn’t want to end it, just slow it down a bit. I had wondered why fewer than usual were wearing jeans this particular jeans day, and had attributed it to people simply forgetting about it. But today, wearing jeans wasn’t just a sign of support—it was conspicuous consumption, the landed elite flaunting the marginal irrelevance of ten dollars to their net wealth. The act of wearing jeans was just another bauble to be bandied about lightly by the middle class, like the latest Tod’s handbag or a Jackson Hole vacation. It was have-denims versus have-not-denims, in a race to the bottom of mutually coutured destruction.
“F@#$,” I swore again, not for lack of anything better to say, but because it was still relevant.
Deb shrugged. “Are you going to the Myers-Brigg thing today? At least we’ll get a free lunch.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” I turned to walk back to my office when a thought struck me. “If they don’t actually cure breast cancer by COB, we don’t get some sort of prorated refund. . .”
Deb narrowed her eyes at me.
“No, right? I was just—right.” I started walking back to my office.
“What are you doing now?”
“Oh, I have to buy some opera tickets for this weekend.”
Onto the game…
Who are these mystery men from Cleveland, this alleged NFL franchise with funny orange hats and morbidly obese fans? Last Sunday, they traveled to Bank of America stadium for a traditional Southern brunch of grits, biscuits, and Astroturf. Courtesy of the Growling Wall, America’s Team, your CAROLINA PANTHERS!
The most dominant defense in the league held the Cleveland mystery franchise to field goals all day. In a show of sportsmanship, they graciously allowed their guests to score the first three points of the game, but then rookie CB Richard Marshall ran back an interception for a touchdown and the route was on! Panthers up, 7-3!
(Cleveland’s coach is Romeo Crennel. The only things I know about Romeo Crennel is that he’s a former Belichick assistant and could feasibly get stuck in a hula hoop. I don’t understand all the attention paid to former Belichick assistants. To wit, Bill Belichick is 4-1 (0.800) this season, and Romeo Crennel, Eric Mangini, and Nick Saban are a combined 4-11 (0.363). The lone exception is Charlie Weis, whose team is still in the hunt for a bowl game. Which shows that the Belichick system is only successful when you have a quarterback named Brady.)
A touchdown by WR Keyshawn Johnson and a field goal by “Leg of God” K John Kasay put the Panthers up 17-3 in the third! The Cleveland mystery franchise never threatened, due largely to the dominance of MVP-front runner DE Julius Peppers. Another monster game: 1 sack, 4 solo tackles, 1 assist, 1 forced fumble and recovery! Impossible is Nothing for Peppers!
(I just looked this up: the names of Cleveland’s three professional sports teams are the Indians, the Cavaliers, and the Browns. I’ve never heard of a city running out of team names after two.)
The Big Cat D played flawlessly; the offense still had a wrinkle or two. Carolina showed horrendous third down efficiency, going 0-11, roughly the same completion rate after three attempts as Lopez on a Saturday night. But their wideout threats kept Cleveland soft in the middle, opening it up for RB Deshaun Foster to pick up 106 yards on 24 carries. Panthers defeat Cleveland mystery franchise, 20-12!
Next week:
Your Carolina Panthers travels to the Birthplace of Drivebys, Baltimore, to take on the scattershot Steve McNair and the overhyped Raven defense. Prediction:
Carolina 44, Baltimore 11
Until next time.
RROWRRRRRRRR!
Friday morning I stopped in the doorframe of the office next to mine, leaning over like a wilted lily until I could see underneath Deb’s desk. She was wearing black slacks and heels.
Her typing came to an abrupt stop. “What are you doing?”
“Well,” I said, my tone dripping with disapproval, “looks like someone is pro breast cancer.”
“I don’t think that’s what—”
“No, the title of the email was very clear. ‘Wear Jeans on Friday to Support the Fight Against Breast Cancer.’ I think the negative implications are self-evident.”
She sighed and tilted back in her Aeron. “I know. I just didn’t feel like paying that much.”
That’s the other rip about jeans day—to wear them, you’re obligated to make a donation to the charity being feted. You have to pay someone for the privilege of wearing jeans on a day you probably would have worn them anyway. What’s next? In the middle of winter, hey, support the fight against lupus by paying for heat in your office?
“What do you mean? Isn’t it just five bucks?”
“It’s ten bucks,” she said quietly, the way one whispers the purchase price of a new home.
“TEN BUCKS?” I exclaimed.
Exactly, said her facial expression.
“Why so much?”
“I don’t know. This one came out of the New York office.”
“Why does it cost more to wear jeans in New York?”
“Cost of living maybe?”
“F@#$,” I griped. I mean, I wasn’t even _that_ opposed to breast cancer. I didn’t want to end it, just slow it down a bit. I had wondered why fewer than usual were wearing jeans this particular jeans day, and had attributed it to people simply forgetting about it. But today, wearing jeans wasn’t just a sign of support—it was conspicuous consumption, the landed elite flaunting the marginal irrelevance of ten dollars to their net wealth. The act of wearing jeans was just another bauble to be bandied about lightly by the middle class, like the latest Tod’s handbag or a Jackson Hole vacation. It was have-denims versus have-not-denims, in a race to the bottom of mutually coutured destruction.
“F@#$,” I swore again, not for lack of anything better to say, but because it was still relevant.
Deb shrugged. “Are you going to the Myers-Brigg thing today? At least we’ll get a free lunch.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” I turned to walk back to my office when a thought struck me. “If they don’t actually cure breast cancer by COB, we don’t get some sort of prorated refund. . .”
Deb narrowed her eyes at me.
“No, right? I was just—right.” I started walking back to my office.
“What are you doing now?”
“Oh, I have to buy some opera tickets for this weekend.”
Onto the game…
Who are these mystery men from Cleveland, this alleged NFL franchise with funny orange hats and morbidly obese fans? Last Sunday, they traveled to Bank of America stadium for a traditional Southern brunch of grits, biscuits, and Astroturf. Courtesy of the Growling Wall, America’s Team, your CAROLINA PANTHERS!
The most dominant defense in the league held the Cleveland mystery franchise to field goals all day. In a show of sportsmanship, they graciously allowed their guests to score the first three points of the game, but then rookie CB Richard Marshall ran back an interception for a touchdown and the route was on! Panthers up, 7-3!
(Cleveland’s coach is Romeo Crennel. The only things I know about Romeo Crennel is that he’s a former Belichick assistant and could feasibly get stuck in a hula hoop. I don’t understand all the attention paid to former Belichick assistants. To wit, Bill Belichick is 4-1 (0.800) this season, and Romeo Crennel, Eric Mangini, and Nick Saban are a combined 4-11 (0.363). The lone exception is Charlie Weis, whose team is still in the hunt for a bowl game. Which shows that the Belichick system is only successful when you have a quarterback named Brady.)
A touchdown by WR Keyshawn Johnson and a field goal by “Leg of God” K John Kasay put the Panthers up 17-3 in the third! The Cleveland mystery franchise never threatened, due largely to the dominance of MVP-front runner DE Julius Peppers. Another monster game: 1 sack, 4 solo tackles, 1 assist, 1 forced fumble and recovery! Impossible is Nothing for Peppers!
(I just looked this up: the names of Cleveland’s three professional sports teams are the Indians, the Cavaliers, and the Browns. I’ve never heard of a city running out of team names after two.)
The Big Cat D played flawlessly; the offense still had a wrinkle or two. Carolina showed horrendous third down efficiency, going 0-11, roughly the same completion rate after three attempts as Lopez on a Saturday night. But their wideout threats kept Cleveland soft in the middle, opening it up for RB Deshaun Foster to pick up 106 yards on 24 carries. Panthers defeat Cleveland mystery franchise, 20-12!
Next week:
Your Carolina Panthers travels to the Birthplace of Drivebys, Baltimore, to take on the scattershot Steve McNair and the overhyped Raven defense. Prediction:
Carolina 44, Baltimore 11
Until next time.
RROWRRRRRRRR!
posted by Panther fan at 11:45 AM
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