Thursday, April 11, 2013

Acid Washed Eighties

It’s a karmic thang. At least for me. I’m firmly settled on the fact that when what I’ll call…"humbling” photos of me emerge, I must reveal them. I’ve tried to destroy most of the worst ones but every now and then a few will emerge from the vapors.

I’d like to think that I have a fairly decent moral code…a good sense of right and wrong without a big pile of stuff for which I need to ask forgiveness. I try to roll rather clean in that regard because my other burdens are generally heavy enough to tote. And since I’m not prone to mince words when calling others out on their shrunken clothes, unbuckled monk strap impertinence; I feel that it’s my calling to share the absurdity of my former missteps.
And the record already shows that I readily admit to and reveal my sartorial missteps and poorly guided decisions regarding dress and deportment. My one hundred damn percent polyester banana Prom episode is on the record visually and in print. Right here
Oh, and I was reasonably self-deprecating, here, in my first girl, Nik-Nik shirt story.

So my best childhood buddy, DCA starts texting me photos the other week when I was back home. DCA and his wife were preparing a slide show for their son’s birthday celebration and he ran across a gaggle of photos of us from the early eighties. Oy. I think DCA knew that I needed cheering up a bit and the photos were nothing short of guffaw worthy. Oy. Again.
Some might say that photos of this type should be destroyed…never revealed and if they did emerge, full denial of knowing the subject therein would be the best strategy. This I cannot do. See again my opening statements. So here we have my porn star mustache phase in full furl. Furl—yep. We gotta caterpillar rolled up and sittin’ right there. On my upper lip.What. Was. I. Thinking? Alas.
But it gets worse. Acid washed? DCA is on the left and RCC is in the middle. I remember this particular evening clearly. We were celebrating RCC’s wife’s birthday, drinking at The Cellar in Charlotte, N.C. At least I’d shed the mustache. And the fact that I had on Polo Ralph white bucks offers zero compensation for the acid washed shitake that had me preening like some kinda high-waisted soccer mom. I believe the waist band on these babies hit me just below the nipples. Shut up.
At least I wasn’t wearing my Jimmy damn Connors loves Roscoe Tanner tennis hot pants like this cat was.
I don’t know what to say about this one. Polo Rowdy loafers. On a pontoon boat in the middle of Lake Murray. With a Totie Fields moo-moo on. At least when I cross dressed, I did so with an eye for practicality and comfort. Shut ____.
And here’s the photo that almost made me run off the road when it came through on my iPhone. Oh lordy. Saturday morning in the men’s store. Surprise...I was hungover. Interestingly, all three of us in this photo went on to become entrepreneurs and business owners. DWT and DCA have enviable net worths today. I have a negative one. And DCA already had contact lens, thank goodness but for some reason that morning, he hadn’t yet put them in. His glasses weighed eleven pounds. But who am I to trash talk his momentary, pre-contact lens, bug-eyed-ness. Look at my porthole sized glasses and my “I need to look like Harry Reems mustache. This is bad. I haven’t much else to say about this butcept that I thought until now that the seventies were bad sartorial years. I’m now clear on the fact that even though I was making my way out of a dark decade and into marginally better sartorial and grooming habits, I still had a long way to go.
Forgive me.

ADG II...travelling on business. Thank goodness.


Blevin said...

I have no scruples about deep sixing this kind of evidence. The nagging thought I had while shielding my eyes from your photos was what current confections will make the gallery of shame 10 years from now.
All the best!

Squeeze said...

This is the best of all possible worlds.

Anonymous said...

So glad you subscribe to the phrase "discretion is the better part of valor" when it comes to publishing old photos from DCA. You know exactly what I mean.

MWL, june-YAH

Main Line Sportsman said...

There is a prom photo of me from my junior year...when I was asked to go by a senior...the eveniong wear is beyond hideous. I still criticize my father for letting me out of the house in such a get-up. I would pummel the rental shop troll for pushing it on me if I could ever find him. Tha picture will never make the I applaud you for disclosing you'rn.

Anonymous said...

You know Max, I was thinking about making some changes. Maybe a smaller meal portion now and then. Mix in a salad. Skip dessert. Walk. But after seeing this story, I have decided that instead, I will grow a mustache. With a little effort, I can be a dead ringer for John Candy in Planes, trains. A bit warm outside for my Michelin Man parka though.


Anonymous said...

This reminds me of the reference to getting a tatoo: "like wearing your worst High School outfit every day of your life"

Anonymous said...

This was truly priceless. I enjoy your ability to laugh at yourself.

I'm not sure how I would feel if similar photos cropped up from my friends, but I hope I would laugh, too.


Anonymous said...

Good looking guy

LPC said...


yoga teacher said...

Well, hey, you seemed pretty happy about everything (except for maybe a little nervous prom night).

NCJack said...

I await the day, soon to come, when you get the "parent amnesia" and just can't recall, in front of LFG, any errors of judgement or deportment when you were a teenager. She will then pull up this and other blogs. You will swear it's not actually you. Your own child will then scoff, Bubba, SCOFF!

ADG said...

NC Jackie...Shut up. She ain't gonna scoff. She loves me.

YogaTeach...I was happy then and I'm pretty happy now.

LPC...Prunella, if this is my best, I've sunken to new lows!

Elizabeth...I HAVE to laugh at myself. It's a karmic duty.

AnonTattoo...I have those to deal with as well.

Douglas...I'd pay money to see you in the John Candy guise. A dollah?

MainLiner....see my comment about karma.

June-YAH...THOSE photos are completely under lock and key. For ALL our sakes.

Squeeze...I know.

Blevin...all the shrunk up shit will be the subject of shame ten years from now.

Anonymous said...

For a Max dollah, hell yeah! Although if I truly embrace the facial hair concept I may go all the way to Orson Welles in his Paul Masson commercials from 1980. Or perhaps Henry 8th, from his portrait by Holbein (the younger). Which, by the way,I bought the original of last weekend at a pop-up. Only 5 bucks. Retail is for suckers.

Dave T said...

I will provide you with the best compliment I can bestow. This post, specifically the Lake Murray photo and caption, caused green tea to of unexpectantly pour/fly from my nose. Perfect.

ADG said...

Douglas...I'm not sure what was bought for five bucks at the pop up. A Holbein image of that chubby sovereign or Orson Welles himself...who probably, now that I think of it, considered himself a chubby sovereign.

Dave T...I remember my butt being itchy on those vinyl pontoon seats.

Ian from Downunder said...

Hello Dustin,
This type of post must be some kind of much-needed outlet in view of what you're going through right now.
Did you ever see the British production in the 1970s featuring Peter Wingarde as "Jason King"? Your 1980s wardrobe reminded me a bit of what he wore back then. When I was in my late teens I thought he was very sophisticated with his flared troos, long scarves and double cuffed shirts rolled back over his coat sleeves smoking an Imperial Russian Sobrane, drinking champagne. I bet none of your followers has laughed as much as Mr Flusser.
By the way, the itinerary for our Sept holiday is taking shape. We'll be spending 9 nights in DC, so, if your work schedule permits, there will be some amusing photos of you getting rat faced thanks to 2 Aussie tourists!
Prepare thyself American for some tumblers of old single malt heading your way - FREQUENTLY.

Anonymous said...

"This post, specifically the Lake Murray photo and caption, caused green tea to of unexpectantly pour/fly from my nose."

You too? How many days ago did Max put this thing up, three, four? Ever since, up to and including this very moment, those 3 syllables will bring up whatever I'm drinking, currently it's Diet Coke and if I say Totie Fields out loud I'll have bubbles through my nose and a new keyboard to order.