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krisis

Krisis has been creating Crushing Krisis since 2000, writing songs since 1996, and reading comics since 1991. He is a Customer Success and Digital Brand Strategy executive, serial organizer, parent, and feminist, among other things. Based in Philly through 2017, he now resides in Wellington, NZ.

Fashionista

July 27, 2004 by krisis

I am a fashionista.

Perhaps this requires some explanation.

Often I know, without even thinking about it, what trends are worth engaging in and what will seem ridiculous in just a year’s time. Furthermore, I can spot a lamentable fashion option at fifty paces. It’s not a queer eye for a straight guy so much as a wary eye for the well-dressed man.

It’s a power that I cannot explain. Well over a year ago, i was touched by a nearly-physical urge to own brown and orange clothing. I spent months culling brown dress shirts from thrift stores and orange t-shirts from speciality shops; I beefed up my earth-toned repetoire. And then, suddenly, this fall brought as many pieces of clothing in those colors as it did leaves. I haven’t bought a single piece of this new, Post-Fall raft of clothing; my collection was established even before the colors were launched.

My innate fashionista radar sometimes picks up trends passively, leaving me unaware that my tacit endorsement could be akin to a butterfly in Africa — creating a fashion hurricane in the greater Philadelphia area months later. Last summer in a hip village thrift store i became obsessed with their retro ties, and after much deliberation Rabi and i decided that they could be used as belts. I purchased two (one was brown), and trotted them out on several occasions with jeans, to the bewilderment of my classmates and co-workers. Imagine my shock and horror to walk into the dreaded Gap this past weekend to find a near-fascimile of my brown tie being sold as a… get this… BELT. Yes, a fucking belt.

No, I’m not bitter. Just a little bitter.

The whole motivation behind this tirade is a current trend that my Spidey-like Fashionista-Sense has let me down on: pink.

As far as I was ever concerned, Pink was for distinguished men, men who golfed and wear polo shirts on Friday. I thought of it as a good’ol’boy-badge. Suddenly, it is everywhere. Pink shirts. Pink ties. Yahoo dating aids proclaiming “He looks good in pink,” as if to infer the superior quality of their pink-wearing catches.

You want some pink, the world is telling me. Have some pink.

The thing is, I’m not getting a read on the pinkage. I’ve seen a couple men look very sharp with pink-dotted ties or dusty-rose colored shirts. However, I’ve also seen some hideous pink-on-pink ensembles that leave me wondering if we’re headed in the regrettable direction of pink denim in the near future.

Given the subjectivity of this this particular trend, I think I will pass, but I’m not sure if I’m making that choice as a Fashionist or a trend-hater. In my mind, just as both turquoise and lime green seemed like a super idea at certain points in the 1980s but dated about as well as reruns of The Facts of Life, I think the people who could wear pink to begin with are the only ones who are going to escape this unscathed. Yes, a pink and grey tie is a lively accent to wear on Monday’s, when everyone needs some accenting, or on Fridays, when you’re headed out for cocktails afterwards. Otherwise, I think all of the early adopters will be limping back to their closets to find a conservative blue shirt within the span of a few months.

Unfortunately, that opinion is not fueled by my wary-eye sense, as far as I can tell, so I can’t really speak to its ultimate veracity. However, I do know that the “Look at me, I’m metrosexual” rating of this trend is through the roof, and that all us real metros are not going to let it get out of hand by offering our endorsement.

In closing, just remember: say no to your bourough as a mispelled designer name, say probably not to pink, and don’t wear your first initial as a monogram unless you are Madonna or have a name starting with E.

Also, keep your eye out for dark purple. Maybe. We’ll see.

Filed Under: essays, fashion Tagged With: rabi

Disuse, Misuse, and Abuse

July 26, 2004 by krisis

Lindsay and I sat at her high kitchen table, comparing calluses. Hers, she said, had faded from disuse. “But,” she sighed, “I guess you wouldn’t know about that.”

I don’t, and was shocked to hear that Anthony, a particular six-string-slinging idol of mine, had similary forsaken his instrument for the better part of a year.

What is it about stupid me, who can’t reproduce four distinct lines of underneath harmony after a month of practice, who still can’t play the solo in “Say It Ain’t So” even with my spiffy new guitar, who has the least performance experience out of everyone who touched one of the five guitars we had with us on Sunday, that keeps me plucking and strumming away, while others with more talent have set their habits aside? Why do I care so much about something I’m not particularly good at doing? And, why don’t I have more new Trios to show for it?

In other news, my name is 796, “intuitive” edges “crushing” by 198, and “crisis” is only a hair more common than “conflict.” Not that there’s anything intuitive about any of these conflicts. All I know is, at the point tipsy is only electrolytes away from shogun blondes, we need to do something…

Filed Under: guitar, self-critique, Year 04 Tagged With: lindsay

July 16, 2004 by krisis

Note to the one person on my team that i don’t like that will never get sent:

You need to spend more time thinking and less time opening your mouth. Also, “irregardless” is not a real word, and when you use it to start every one of your sentences it makes you look like more of a big fucking idiot than you actually are. pls improve, tnx.-p

https://crushingkrisis.com/2004/07/108999707841577458/

Filed Under: corporate

Getting Cozy

July 14, 2004 by krisis

By the end of yesterday i was under the impression that i was being paid thousands of dollars to walk up and down the hallway every five minutes in the most uncomfortable pair of shoes that i own.

That illusion was dispelled today, as i have received every indication that i will continue to receive compensation even though my footwear is significantly more comfortable.

It wasn’t as if i was being an unmitigated slave of beauty. I knew the shoes were uncomfortable for walking. I would never wear them to give a campus tour, or even to race through a train station. I was comfortable with my choice because i spend my days in the corporate world, where everyone is either an email or an elevator away.

Everyone, that is, with the exception of my manager, who is too busy to reply to the constant stream of email our department generates and on the same floor as me. This is because my cubicle is stationed in what i lovingly refer to as East Jibip (just south of Siberia, where Henna sits). This puts me roughly a quarter of a city block from my managers office, where i tend to wind up at least twice an hour (not counting times i stop by to find the door closed). Additionally, i am significantly father than i can throw a stapler away from both of the printers to which my computer is mapped.

It’s bad for my shiny Florsheim shoes, but it’s good exercise. In fact, it’s great exercise. By the end of the day yesterday i think i had completed over a mile’s worth of shuttle runs to my manager’s office and back. Today i easily logged half a mile of printer sprints.

Knowing me, you’d think i’d have a pedometer already.

Filed Under: corporate

Tangible

July 8, 2004 by krisis

Over at SongFight they have two particular side skirmishes that have been piquing my interest.

One is the Album a Day movement, where you do your best to write and record a 20-Minute EP in a single 24 hour period. Lots of SongFighters have joined the fray; the results i’ve heard have been mixed, with a lot of silly songs, but a a few keepers. I am sorely tempted to try it.

The second, starting on Friday, is Marathon Songs – where all the participants will write one song per day for sixteen days. The thought of recording and posting a song for sixteen straight days makes my head quiver and long to explode – this is, afterall, my year off from Blogathon. Still, i am intriqued by the thought of forcing out a product consistently for two weeks, especially as lately i am alternately convinced my songwriter gland has atrophied and afraid that i will never be able to record all of the dozen dozen songs i’ve got floating around.

That’s the crux of it, really. I have so many songs floating, and i am torn between forging onward into the unknown and holding back to work what i have into perfection. Hopefully the decision will be made easier by the shiny new guitar winging its way to me from Kansas City as we speak, but in the meantime i am warming up for either or both of the SF challenges, with my final decision on whether i participate or not coming on Friday.

So, yeah, basically what i’m trying to say is: here’s some shitty poetry.


I am thinking where am i
Georgia O'Keefe flowers keeping watch
Over my drip drop on the museum floor

I am soaking wet in Washington
Sixth and Pennsylvania
With four dollars in my pocket

     Lost here in the city
     I recognize each building
     That i have seen on teevee
     Could i be as real as these streets?

I was walking in New York City
Skirting the hole
Where buildings used to be

I was circling Central Park
Where teevee stars walk
But i don't know where i am really

     And lost then in the city
     Rabi seated across from me
     Could i be as real as those streets?
     As real as the buildings i once looked down from upon
     Now gone?

I am wondering who am i
Walking to your house
Wondering if i know where i begin
So many ends i've got figured out, but
The means to acheive is what i'm always missing

Dry now in Washington i know i'm as real as the streets
And that white house where all the dignitaries meet
As real as Georgia O'Keefe's
Lewdest flowers, hung for all the world to see

Filed Under: music, my music, poetry, weblinks Tagged With: rabi

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