When the Cable That Was Free™ went away¹, we were left with a hole². No longer did we have House Hunters and Designed to Sell to watch nor reruns of Project Runway or Top Chef during the times we ate, but instead were left to regular programming.

It was mildly harder for The Girl™ — having been used to some form of cable throughout her life, whereas I have only had cable sporadically throughout my lifetime and only then, the first time just before I exited my teenage years³. But, cable didn’t have such a hold on us that we’d actually pay for it. A quick rundown of shows we watched revealed that we could either watch them online if they weren’t on regular programming or we could download a show.

We eat at about 6pm — early. I generally start cooking shortly after 5pm. Being homebound helps in that regard and I generally have our dinner ready to go or 3/4 of the way there by the time The Girl™ arrives home. We’re generally sitting at the coffee table at 6pm and we skim the channels trying to find something to watch. Previously, this was the aforementioned House Hunters. Lacking cable, we looked for a replacement.

We found Two and a Half Men. I’d been intrigued by the show for a few years now — the combination of Charlie Sheen and Jon Cryer and a kid sounded like some kind of weird Three Men and a Baby twist. However, it’s occurred to me that if a show has had some kind of staying power, then perhaps it does have some legs to it.

And who would have known? The comedy is far more riskier and clever than some of the sitcoms I’ve seen in the past — Friends really?

I’m officially addicted⁴.

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¹ Now that TV is going all digital (have you not seen the numerous February 2009 Doomsday-esque ads for your TV not working!), our cable company that provides the Internet has switched to converter boxes for their actual TV cable and so no more cable pipes in via the standard cable cables. ↩

² Not gaping. ↩

³ I also was sans TV from the years 1998-2001, opting instead for a homemade solution of a big ass speaker, a tiny little audio receiver hooked up to a Discman as well as books, books, books. ↩

⁴ We watch the show twice daily — at 6PM and then again at 10:30PM. ↩

There’s a specific moment that I call a London Moment™ or London Moments™. I’ve tried to write about this before but I don’t feel it was very successful that first time around. I’m going to try again.

It’s made up of two primary things — nostalgia and a specific instance. It gets its namesake from London itself, from the last time I was there in 1998. At the time, I was staying at a relative’s flat — a recent failed relationship had put me in an odd place but I welcomed the reprieve on the other side of the city.

The particular moment deals with being in the shower, preferably hot, with the sun streaming in through the windows casting a particular glow — orange almost, a gold of sorts that doesn’t occur very often — only on some mornings and some evenings. There is a combination of déjà vu and all that has come before this moment. A welcome sadness with a nice tinge of hope thrown in. A mild sort of cartharsis.

I still don’t think I’ve explained it well this time round either but perhaps that’s what makes it magic — that’s what makes it a London Moment™.

The 7:30AM doors open and subsequent 8AM start made me wonder how many people would actually show up for such an early event, let alone, one by me regarding Creative Content for the Web. To my surprise, I was proven quite wrong. People were willing to come out, indeed.

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My parents instilled a sense of fashion into me as a child. I grew up surrounded by piles of Vogue and more of their ilk. My mother and sister rattle off designer names, as familiar to them as their own family. My father aligns himself with designer names that simply sound aristocratic — Ralph Lauren, Hugo Boss, Valentino and their kind.

I resisted their call to fashion, opting instead to embrace the styles of skaters and snowboarders, hip-hop and grunge. Despite disappointing my parents when I’d wear the nice striped shirt and slacks only when I had to attend a function of some kind, I soaked up the magazines and the names and more importantly cultivated the eye for what made clothes look good.

My family would probably chuckle today and be proud. That I’ve finally over the past decade, come to embrace a good cut, a fitted shirt, a proper pair of pants that fit and a shoe collection that women I have known have been surprised to see, almost jealous in some cases.

I like to watch trends. I keep an eye out on what the kids are doing these days — currently, I’m not too happy with the selection of American men’s fashion at the affordable level. The classic brands have remained preppier than ever and the rest are going with some kind of hip-hop indie hybrid comprised of chunky Nike dunks and tight jeans matched up with your father’s blazer on top of either a striped t-shirt (either slanted, horizontal or asymmetrical), a striped sweater or cardigan or some other pattern variant (houndstooth, herringbone, etc).

I’m personally a man of solid colours and clean cuts. The Europeans have long been prescribers of this aesthetic, as well as some of the Asian countries.

Menswear is described by many as hard to do — there’s a limited canvas to seemingly work with — masculinity is measured in finite terms and the clothes, made to match. Very few designers and companies make menswear that I feel push the boundaries even a little bit, re-inventing old classics into new silhouettes and shapes. There are a few I do like though.

The scene at the post office was to be expected — a long queue and no certified mail tags to be found. I had already sent out yearly taxes last week but I was here to drop off the quarterly return.

I don’t wait in the line. There’s an automated machine on the other end of the long, almost-hallway-like shape of this particular post office only enhancing the seeming severity of the queue here. I always head there unless I need to send something international.

There is an inherent fear of the automated machine. It typically sits alone, waiting for someone savvy to come along and happily use it. I belong to this small elite¹ group of people. Those Who Do Not Fear The Technology™.

However, on this day, there are two people ahead of me. Savvy types. Well, except the fella up front who’s being guided by a postal worker. It’s obviously his first time. Eventually he has to get back in line — the machine fails him somehow. The lady in front of me is better but not by much. She falters slightly and the postal worker who’s beautifully decked out in some kind of ladies Burberry jumpsuit with matching Burberry visor and shoes, comes to her aid like some kind of BurberryWoman™ superhero.

While this is going on, I finally notice a girl, who looks like a college student. She’s scribbling furiously away on a plastic chair with a deck of envelopes and other papers next to her. I finally realize that she’s actually doing her taxes right then and there, at the post office. I start to imagine her plan for the day — I’ll wake up, go to the post office and do my taxes then mail it off! The USPS: Your One Stop Shop.

Certainly.

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¹ I wonder if Obama does as well.  ↩