It still seems like a good idea…a reasonable compromise. Then there’s always theory versus practice…a twain within which I actually earn my living so you would think I’d know better. But my loden green cordovan shod self practiced it a moment ago and my first pass at actualization didn't go well. In my haste to embrace—my hurry to scriven (scriven probably was but definitely is a word now. Shut up) the old fashioned way…pen to paper…I ordered a Five Year Journal.
Butcept I didn’t take the time to assess the dimensions. It’s a tiny little book and there’s about enough room to write half an ADG’s thumb worth of profundity at best. My handwriting is kinda reflective of the ADD man I am…I can’t write tiny. I don’t think, feel or imagine tiny so this ain’t gonna cut it. I can’t chronicle a mouse fart on the lines provided much less anything else. I suppose an upside to this little vehicle is that I’d never be able to write anything with enough flourish to worry about my mama reading it and then vapor locking on me.
Here’s proof. But I’m not gonna give up on the Five Year Journal idea…It suits me. I just ordered a larger one and we’ll see if its spatialosity is such that I can profundicate suitably. Stay tuned.
Oh, and someone reminded me that this used to be a blog about clothes and shit. So here. Have another take on cordovan…cigar and corduroy.
Patinating nicely I'd say. LFG patinated at nine months. We remain astonished.
And the trousers here aren't just any corduroy swathing. Here's horizontality’s maiden debut for 2011. Rumble strips I imagine them…since they are going sideways. Speed bumps for my britches. And if anyone’s britches needed slowing down, courtesy of a horizonticated vibratory prod, it would be me.
Oh. And there’s cowboy boots here too.