Greetings, Voyeurs. Abaluba hasn't been very well connected to the home base in Boulder lately, with something like 90% of the recent posts coming from Kentucky. We're going to keep the peripatetic propensity alive with my first ever correspondence from the bustling metropolis of Alamosa. I'm holed up in the shadow of Colorado's southern behemoths, the Peaks Blanca and Little Bear. The San Luis Valley is typically bathed in sun, making it alternatively an agricultural breadbasket in the fields, and a replica of the Sahara along the shimmering sands of the Great Sand Dunes National Park.
That sun power is why I've driven down here, ironically through the teeth of a blizzard. A client has proposed a solar field just out of town, and I've come down to do some research in the courthouse. I'm psyched to help them get those electrons to market, especially since my Berkeley application referenced the work I've done in the realm of solar energy.
Legitimizing my resume wasn't the only reason to make the trek down from the home base. I've got bills to pay! Yesterday, I was out on Pearl Street grabbing a bite with my friend Dan when I walked past a great menswear store, Kinsley & Co. They are, or I should say were, right on Broadway at Pearl, and are (were) attached to the only Orvis retailer in Boulder. This shared retail space was practically the only reason I'd previously set foot in the place, though not for lack of desire for Kinsley's fine threads. In fact, I would lust. Sportcoats that boast tags with commas and cashmere wool from Italy are spendy, to say the obvious, and beautiful, to say the least. They are also just a bit beyond me. At least they were, until the economy went to hell and people quit buying things.
I'd been in the market for a number of wardrobe pieces for a long while. For the last couple of years, I've been looking for a dress coat, something in the overcoat or pea coat family. A blazer of sportcoat was also high on my list, and I recently realized the urgency even more pointedly when I got to the office sporting a tie (in homage to my Mad Men fetish) but only able to bundle in a ratty puffy coat still reeking of campfire. As Christmas lists are being put together this time of year, I figured I'd ask my folks, er...Santa, for some dough to offset the cost.
I had been consulting various sources to narrow down the search. First, my two gay uncles have provided plentiful insight. One talked me through some of his favorite styles, but then shed some light on a fashion blog called Magnificent Bastard. It's nice to get some unadulterated fashion advice that also happens to be pretty entertaining. During slow minutes at work, I'll check this website out and hope my picture doesn't make an appearance under the ultimate pejorative tag: Toolbag. So far, that space has been reserved for that bozo Jon, ex-husband to Kate, and father of eight.
Back at Kinsley, I had Dan the Man Mirsky with me. Dan's got plenty of style and swagger, so I was happy to have him as a source of confirmation for the stuff I was trying on. The owner and I began to talk about what I was looking for, and he took me to the rack of jackets. There were only two sportcoats in my size: 40 Long. The first one didn't exactly jump out at me, but he pulled the other off the rack and said, almost wistfully, "This is one of the nicest pieces I've ever had in the store." All the sales pitch I needed. He walked away, and I held a 100% cashmere sportcoat in my hands, its price tag reduced over a grand.
I pulled it on, looked in the mirror, and was instantly glad I'd waited to find the perfect jacket. It felt made specifically for my skinny torso, and the colors in the thread make it well suited for pants that run anywhere from jeans to gray, wool dress slacks. Thank you very much, Great Recession.
As I was walking towards the register, a rack of pea coats caught my eye, and I slipped on a beautiful import from Italy. I sure wasn't planning on filling the closet with the fur of pampered continental sheep, but someone had to do it, I suppose.
I may die a sad, painful death at the hands of a warmed planet and under the banner of a neutered ex-superpower, but at least I'll do so looking like one Magnificent Bastard.
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