Yesterday morning I put on my black Motorhead t-shirt. In the process of doing morning things, I spilled coffee on its front. Into the wash it went. My replacement t-shirt, which had no musical significance, but certainly a comfy feel and nice fit, lasted a few hours until I splattered chicken stock all over its front. A little Zap sprayed onto it and into the wash. The replacement's replacement was my Waylon Jennings t-shirt. As I slip it on I notice stains dripped on the front. Catfish blood from last week. At that point I finally slide into my Carhartt man apron, which promptly acquired char stains from burnt hickory.
Although irritated at my sloppiness, I grinned a bit with pride. Through the magic of cotton t-shirts and my handling of stain-making substances with the grace of Vera from Mel's Diner, I kind of summed up me. 'Me' in a sense of 'these are the things that I fucking dig'. Black coffee in the morning--every morning. It may not have stained my black Motorhead t-shirt, and even if it had, who cares. But if I'm to get a stain on that t-shirt, I want it to be someone's vomit. And not Hank's. Whisking chicken bouillon to make faux stock may not be the manliest thing you've heard all day. But whisking that shit all over my new t-shirt that wife bought for me in Portland means that I was getting after it. Whisk hard, that's my motto (it's not). But the smoked jambalaya that said chicken water helped create will make you think twice about whether I'm manly or not (I'm not). The Waylon Jennings t-shirt is a favorite of mine. Waylon Jennings is bad ass, so I like to wear this t-shirt while around bad ass types of things. Like catching catfish off a boat dock in Branson while quite liquored up on Scotch Whisky. Damn catfish swallowed the hook, hence the gill blood on ol' Waylon. That catfish ended up on a stringer and devoured by snapping turtles. He had it coming. Seeing as how I am sort of in the barbecue business, sort of, I purchased a heavy duty denim apron from Carhartt. It makes wearing an apron even cooler. So after jacking up several t-shirts, I finally put the sonofbitch on. Sausage drippings, hickory char, and dog slobber graced it immediately. All three of those things are magnificent. In hindsight, I'm really wishing I would have changed shirts a fourth time and poured a glass of Lagavulin on my belly. That would have brought this whole "Wednesday of meaningful t-shirt stains" full circle. Instead though, it went inside my belly. Right where it belongs. //re:
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AuthorI am Earl. Archives
May 2024
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