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May 28th, 2014

5/28/2014

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Maybe you saw the story about how we’re not supposed to wash our jeans. Really. The CEO of Levi’s, Chip Bergh, said so. Instead, he recommends you put them in the freezer once a month to keep them from smelling bad.

I think I speak for many of us when I say, “Ew.”

I think I speak for many of us also when I say, “Since when do CEOs have names like Chip?” Chip is the name of that guy in your Cub Scout troop who pretended to be all goody-goody until the den mother wasn’t looking and then started giving you Indian burns and Hertz Donuts. You know, when he punches you in the arm with a knuckle sticking out and says, “Hertz, donut?”

Well, anyway, that’s a Chip. Not a CEO. CEOs have names like Ed and Charles and Elizabeth. Which could be Chip’s real name but that’s for another discussion. Back to jeans.

This whole business of not washing your jeans is just nasty. And then putting your dirty jeans in the freezer where you keep your food … well, that’s even nastier. 

This is really simple. God gave us washing machines so we could have clean jeans. And if washing them wears them out, as Chip asserts, God also gave us stores where they sell jeans so we could get a new pair.
(Note to Chip: Your job is to sell jeans. Telling people how to make their jeans last forever is not going to sell more jeans. Are you sure you’re in the right business?)

As a baby boomer in good standing, jeans are a mainstay of my wardrobe. In fact, jeans figured prominently in the first episode of student activism I ever saw at Lakeland High School, my semi-beloved alma mater.

During my sophomore year, we students whined and complained so much that the administration finally rewrote the dress code to allow us to wear jeans to school. Just as the administration warned, it led to all sorts of changes. Boys hair began creeping over shirt collars. Girls no longer had to kneel on the floor while Mrs. Booth measured their skirts to make sure they didn’t show too much leg

It wasn’t exactly the chaos in the streets that the grown-ups predicted, but it was a pretty significant step into the 1960s. Which, this being Lakeland, happened in 1970.

Unfortunately, it set a low standard for student protests. They were always about us. There was a war on but we never said a word about it. People treated each other miserably but we stayed silent. We marched out when we didn’t get a day off from school for winning the Sectional. 

But at least we were able to do it in jeans. Straight legs, bell-bottoms, button-fly, you name it. And those jeans were clean. Not frozen. Washed, rinsed, spun and dried. Patched if necessary. 

Nobody got too worked up over keeping them perfect because they were jeans, and that was the whole point. They weren’t supposed to be perfect. Perfect you saved for your “good” clothes, the ones you had to wear to your grandparents’ wedding anniversary. Jeans you wore, in every sense of the word.
Not that I’d expect Chip to understand. Or, as I’ve come to call him, Mr. Freeze. Ew.
Redmond is an author, journalist, humorist and speaker. Write him at mike@mikeredmondonline.com. For information on speaking fees and availability, visit www.spotlightwww.com.

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May 21st, 2014

5/21/2014

1 Comment

 
The other day I was informed by someone much younger than me that I am “getting old.”

Boy, you get a little gray hair and some wrinkles around your eyes and express the opinion that most of today’s pop music is unlistenable garbage, and all of a sudden people think you’re past your expiration date.
I beg to differ. I am not “getting old.” “Getting old” is a rude and indelicate expression. It is blunt and abrupt and a little insulting. And where I am concerned, it is simply not the case.


Yes, I have a few years, but am I old? No way. I am:
• Piling up some miles on the odometer.
• Discount-eligible.
• Generously seasoned.
• Experienced.
• OK, make that very experienced.
• Vintage.
• A collector’s item.
• An authentic piece of mid-20th century Americana.
• Analog.
• Blessed with good shelf life.
• Nicely aged.
• More than a little peeved. 


Old? I’ll show you old. I’d arm wrestle to prove how non-old I am, but for last couple of years I’ve had this popping noise in my elbow and … well, never mind. I just don’t think I’m old. I’ll settle for older, but not old.
Old is when you go flipping through the channels on Saturday night, pause on a Lawrence Welk rerun on public TV, and say to yourself, “Seen it.”


Old – for men – is when you see Fred Mertz on “I Love Lucy” with his pants buckled around the armpits, and think to yourself, “That looks comfortable.”



Old – for women – is when you see Fred Mertz and say the same thing.

Old is when you see doctors, plural. And they all seem to be about 17.


Old is when all your shoes are slip-ons because it’s just too difficult to tie them, except for your walking shoes, which fasten with Velcro.


Old is when the weather is never good except for two days in the spring, and two in the fall.


Old is when everything you used to eat is off-limits, and everything you can eat gives you gas.


Old is the people who were ahead of you in school.


Old is a state of mind. If others look at you and state it, you mind.


OK, all kidding aside, I’m not really upset. From the perspective of a young person just getting a start in life, I suppose I do seem old. And I do old-person things, like reject the music of today, for the most part, in favor of what I grew up with. But that’s as it should be. I’m not supposed to like the music that kids like. It would be weird if I did and against the law of nature that says each generation is required to produce music that the previous generation cannot stand.


But mostly I can look at my life and see that it has been pretty amazing, going as it has from party lines to cellphones, typewriters to computers, actual friendships to Facebook. And it took some time for all that to happen.


Redmond is an author, journalist, humorist and speaker. Write him at mike@mikeredmondonline.com. For information on speaking fees and availability, visit www.spotlightwww.com.

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    Mike Redmond

    Redmond is an author, journalist, humorist, speaker.

    Write him at mike@mikeredmondonline.com

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