Tag Archives: American Culture

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The Toilet Bowl

From the Best of http://www.chroniclesofmccloskey.com

QCBFL_-_Snow_Game_2011_Vander_Veer_Park%2C_Davenport_IowaYou know ,we all are really like a piece of malleable iron. Life’s experiences mold us, shape us, prod us, squeeze us, as we go through the refiner’s fire of life. This shaping process makes us what we are as adults and forms our basic personalities. A lot of this happens during the formative years of our lives. Take for instance when I learned to swim as a boy. I took lessons and was pretty good in the shallow end. When it came time for the test, I was afraid of the deep water. My mother who was sitting in the lounges with all of her girlfriends in hysterectomy row, as the lifeguards called it, was observing the proceedings. She instructed Don Geyer the pool manager to throw me in much to the horror of her friends. She said,” ladies- that water is going to get deeper and deeper every year.” Don threw me in and I swam to the side and with jubilation I said to my mom, I did it! My mom said,” Patrick- you can do anything you want to do in life.” With that, Don dropped me off the low board and eventually the high board and I passed the test.

A few years later, I swam in the winter for a team at the Northside YMCA and witnessed a lot of interesting happenings in the bowels of the city. One night while we were waiting to be picked up, two guys came running into the lobby where we were, wielding knives as two city police officers chased and eventually apprehended them. I told my parents what went on that night and my mom said,” Patrick- life is not the suburbs. It is good for you to see the other side of life and how tough it is in the city.” I would learn to appreciate that as I was bullied and had to defend myself with city kids. I held my own and usually was invited to their birthday parties after a few punches and pushes in the pool gained their respect. I was not a fighter but the refiner’s fire of the Northside forced me to defend my adolescent position in life. I worked most of my young life because my dad thought it was important for me to learn to be responsible to a job. Lots of molding, shaping, prodding, squeezing in those days.

Other lessons were learned by our daily routine at this time of year. Touch football on the Nicolette’s front lawn in our neighborhood. We had a posse of kids. Richard and John Nicolette, Cliff Forrest, Glen and Ron Zankey, Carl Shultz, and our hero- Rick Cuneo who was dating Jane Nicolette at the time and was headed off soon to Vietnam. Rick was an amazing athlete and every day after school, we all would play on the slanted, tight field which was the front yard of the Nicolette family. There we tested our athletic prowess every day with Rick proving to us all that he was the superior athlete much to the admiration of Jane as she watched the games. So, one day Rick goes off to Vietnam and we were a little shaken until we got a letter back from him stating that he was teaching surfing in Chu Lai which was a base on the ocean. Not too bad a duty for our star athlete. But Rick had prepared us for the annual challenge of the older kids from Woodland Road across the street from our neighborhood. Every Thanksgiving, we had the Toilet Bowl and the challenge was always paramount in the minds of all of us. The guys from across the street included the Rose brothers who skateboarded down a very steep Woodland Road on each other’s shoulders. They had a little screw loose which made them dangerous at bowl time. The Fisher brothers were good athletes, Michael Martin,  and some of the other guys brought their friends who were freshman football players from Slippery Rock University. I remember clearly after all the trash talking, having a clear shot at the quarterback only to be knocked into the middle of next week by the pulling guard from SRU. As I sat dazed and confused, the plays went on and once again the boys of Richmond Circle were defeated by the Woodland Road gang. As we made our way back across Siebert Road, we were taunted by a couple of hoods- Buster Livingston and his sister. Both sported leather jackets and those cyclone fence climbing pointy shoes with the Cuban heels. They didn’t play but they made sure we knew they were badasses and that thier posse had beaten our posse.

The Toilet Bowl went on for a few years and then faded into the memory of all of us as we made our way to college.Thanksgiving football games are really popular and these days there are even official tournaments for Turkey Bowls and Toilet Bowls as we all prepare for the eating and the subsequent snoozefest that is the Thanksgiving feast. A lot of the games are a little too organized for me as I see these types of official tournaments, teams and leagues that are common among the youth of America. What happened to the old pickup games? Everybody today has to get a trophy, a uniform, and accolades from adoring parents and coaches. The old days of the pickup baseball games and football games seem to be fading like the setting sun. Some of that refining fire took place when you picked teams, learned how to take it if you were the last guy picked, got into scuffles, and played all day until your parents went crazy calling you home for dinner. Touch football in the neighborhood taught me how to take a hit, how to grin and bear it when you cut yourself and got stitches, and basically got clean fresh air until the time change forced the early ending of the neighborhood clashes on the Nicolette front lawn.Those guys from Woodland Road always got the best of us but we always were up for the challenge which taught us how to compete with older kids who relished taking their aggressions out on the younger guys from Richmond Circle. We gave them a run for their money one year after Rick returned from his tour of duty and they balked at his participaton. But all was fair when we brought Rick and they brought their testosterone heads from SRU to play. Even the hoods shut up on those days. Yes- the Toilet Bowl and the neighborhood games were another part of my molding.I wouldn’t change a thing and I am happy the way that the refiner’s fire spit me out. Thanks for reading and get ready for the Bird. He is coming soon.

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The Married Bachelor

IMG00251-20100811-2242NiteRider2IMGP1917 I was out the last two nights on the mountain bike in absolutely beautiful, starlit conditions riding the trails with my new Cree light. Amazing technology for a very low price. But, as I rode along the trails and daydreamed a little bit, I thought about the seasons of my life as the 58 year old kid. I was a bachelor until just about 34 years old, then I was engaged, married to a great gal, became a new father and currently just celebrated 25 years with the bride and 18 years with our son Jack. One of the interesting seasons was when I was first married and Janet still was a flight attendant for USAirways. Jan had to get used to living with the bachelor. For instance, when she spotted my toilet in the bathroom in my townhouse, she wondered what the hanger was sticking out of from under the lid. I said that it was to shim up the float device so that it wouldn’t leak. I said all she had to do was remove the hanger, do her business, and then replace the shimming device. She said,” This isn’t going to fly Mr. Bachelor.” We laughed and I had to figure out how to replace the device with a new device. I became an expert at toilet repair.

When Jan would go out on a trip, I was basically back to my old ways in riding after work and coming home after eating with the boys. My neighbors called me the married bachelor and laughed at my life having it both ways. Night mountain bike riding was a staple and I had several crews. The one group liked urban rides in the city parks of Pittsburgh with an intermediate stop at the Penn Brewery. After a couple of nice micro brews, we ventured to some more parks and over some rather harrowing railroad bridges. The lights are great but sometimes you couldn’t spot the holes in the boards that were the catwalk alongside the tracks. If you were not careful, the front wheel could nosedive and the ultimate over the bars onto the wooded walk was the result. Also, the final uphill at 180 BPM on the heart rate monitor with the beers in you was a little unnerving. But these guys were fun and by the time I came home, I had a good workout, some good comraderie, and my neighbors who were still up marveled at my life.

The other night riding crew was a more non-traditional crew to say the least. Mountain bikers tend to be free spirits and I ended up out in the woods in the eastern part of town later at night than I usually intended. This crew was fun, good riders, but stopped often to light up a few fatties and sit and look at the moon. Being a non-partaker, I liked the company and the ride, but was anxious to get rolling( not the fattie) and get back to my car and back to my house before it became insanely late. Again, the neighbors would laugh as I returned even late at night because from out of their window or out for a late night stroll, they lived vicariously through me as the married bachelor. ” What would Jan say if she knew you were out mountain bike riding at night, on railroad tracks,in city parks or suburban parks, drinking beer and carousing until now?” I laughed and said, ” she knows I ride. She just doesn’t know all the details.”

The Married Bachelor also went on ski trips when the bride was working. We had no children at the time and if she was working, sometimes I would get a wild hair and use my airline pass and book a flight to see some of my skiing buddies. I would run into some of her flight attendant friends who would ask where Janet was and I said…..”working.” They would laugh and say “nice life you have because of her labor, McCloskey.” I said,” Marry me, fly for free.” Only sometimes I took it to the extreme. But all in all, the neighbors would see me packing my ski bag and just shake their head and say, “what are you going to do when you have kids?” I said, ” I will cross that road when I come to it” and headed to the airport. Lots of powder, groomed trails, and fun with the ski buddies.

I was always dilligent in keeping in touch with my flying bride and oftentimes it was from somewhere out on a trail or in some watering hole with the dirtheads. But the transition from bachelor to married life was a little easier than most guys have it. Looking back, poor Jan had it worse than me. Gone during the week and coming back to a leaking toilet, or surprises in the basement because of the hole in the foundation that allowed visitors into the basement unattended. In my usual bachelor ways, I promised my bride that I would have that fixed and while she was away, I got an old 8 track tape box and jammed it up against the hole with some cement blocks behind it. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t much to the dismay of the bride doing wash in the basement and being greeted by either a living species or a dead one in a trap. She was a trooper and the married bachelor slowly came around to being a respectable human being.

When Jack came along, things changed a bit. Jan was no longer flying and my riding was confined to the butt crack of dawn during the week before work and on the weekends. The skiing was altered in the same manner but married life was wonderful especially with the new boy in the house. Lots of adventures since then that included skiing, riding, baseball, basketball, and now the boy is 18 and off to college next year. We all wonder what happened to the time and as we look back at the seasons of our life, Janet and I have a lot of laughs about the married bachelor days and the transition to fatherhood and settling in with the bride. I am so glad I did it. I had a lot of fun in the single days but nothing compares to being married with a son. Now the rides are in the evenings again because the time constraints have eased a bit. As I make my way through the leaves and the cooler weather on the trails, I enjoy them with friends, or by myself, or better yet………with the bride who saved the married bachelor. Thanks for reading and …………..think snow!!!

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Packing for a Trip is an Art and a Science

Adventure Rolling Duffle, Extra-Large Duffle Bags Free Shipping at L.L.BeanGoggin_Samson These are the famous words of Steve Elliott who is a co-worker and a very experienced traveler. Steve travels light on business trips but he is also a motorcycle rider and has to be careful of what he takes on trips because he has to support it on the bike. Steve is also an accomplshed photographer and it is amazing what he can fit into his camera bag. His experience traveling the globe has taught him the wisdom of not taking too much when you travel. You only need so much and with experience, you can learn what is important and what is not.

I have my own protocol which I will share with you, but first I would like to entertain you with the major mistakes that I have made in my life and the lessons that I have learned. For instance, in my early skiing and camping days at Tuckerman Ravine, I thought it would be a good idea to pack my food in my pack in Pittsburgh before I left on my 12 hour drive. I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches out of a loaf of bread and put them back in the bread bag. As they bounced in my pack on the way up, and on the hike up, and against the wall of the lean to as I slept, by midweek I had peanut butter and jelly doughballs to eat. Freeze dried foods were the answer. I bought a hockey goalie bag one time because I thought it would be the perfect bag for all equipment and clothing on a trip. The problem was that the space made me greedy and I packed way too much and the bag weighed a ton. I now find that several bags like the duffles from Bean are perfect and have rollers. With the hockey bag on one shoulder and the ski or bike bag on the other shoulder, I was lucky I did not throw my back out of whack. Way too much weight in one bag.

I just finished reading a book by Paul Stutzman called “Hiking Through”. It is his story of his journey all along the Appalachian Trail. It was interesting to read how he sent winter clothing home at the post office and picked up a shipment of lighter clothing from his friends. Obviously there is a lot of planning in arranging food and clothing drops but the mantra of the trail is the lighter the better. When you hike 2000+ miles, you need your pack to only contain the essentials and not extra clothes and food that you do not need. Ramp this up a bit and the packing rules for climbing Everest can be so strict that climbers break toothbrushes in half to conserve weight. When you get to those altitudes, you need your pack to be as light as possible because the effort is really difficult and one thing you don’t need is to be heavy in the pack.

So, bringing it back to my level again, these are my protocols for my different activities:

Skiing- I start from the feet up. Skis, boots, poles obviously. I then pack my socks, longjohns, ski outfit, a couple of t-necks, a sweater, a fleece vest, wool hat, gloves and a baseball cap with a pair of jeans. Most of this can fit in my green duffle and the ski bag and if you overflow, you can use the ski bag for extra clothes. But I try to make sure I have cold weather gear because I can always strip down. But I find that if I go from the feet up, I don’t usually forget anything.

Cycling trips- again, I go from the feet up and make sure that I have cycling shoes,socks, extra cycling kits, including arm warmers, and knee warmers, some rain jackets that can be packed in the back of a cycling jersey. T shirts, underwear, and shorts with a fleece vest are usually the only other thing you need. One time we went for a two day down and back road bike ride on the Skyline Drive in Virginia. We made arrangements to stay at a hotel on the southern end. All we had was a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt stuffed in the back pockets of our cycling jersey along with our wallets. We rode 100+ miles on the Skyline Drive, checked into the hotel, showered, ordered a pizza and sat around in the t-shirt and shorts and went to sleep. The next day, we put the cycling stuff back on again after we had washed it in the sink, and stuffed the clothes in the back of the jersey again. Two 100+ days on the bike with minimum baggage. We had to carry everything so the lighter we were, the better we were.

Hiking like the other two activites is dictated by the length of the trip and the weather expected. But as we have said, the lighter the better. Like the Skyline Drive ride, all of our needs are on our back so it good to save the back and keep it light. Foul weather gear is important but you must look at the weather and if it is warranted, make sure you take it. Hypothermia is no joke so be light but be prepared.

One final word is packing for your daily exercise. I utilize our local county park for running trails and mountain biking. I have made a practice of packing my clothes the night before, and taking my running shoes or bike with me to work. I have found that if I would stop home before I go to the park,I could get delayed with some chores that I can finish after my workout. Also, it is too easy to come home, sit on the couch and put the tube on and be a slug. If you pack your stuff and take it with you to work, you can change in the car like me or go to the mens or ladies room at the park. I have been known to utilize red lights on the highway to make some quick changes in the car. Not recommended unless you have some skill from years of experience like the 58 year old kid. Sometimes you get burned like when I was stripping out of my ski clothes and into a suit for a funeral when a police car pulled me over. As I scrambled to get a shirt and pants on, the officer politely came to the car and told me to be on my way because he was pulling over the guy behind me. Whew. Close call on the road.

In any event, no matter what trip you take, or what activity you do, give some thought on how to pack and how to pack lightly. There are always washing machines and dryers everywhere. At the very least there are sinks and drying racks. So why load up with anything more than the essentials like foul weather gear. Take a tip from Steve. He has traveled everywhere and never had an issue packing light. Thanks for reading.

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The Happiest Guy in the Whole World

downsized_0715091352richard-dix-2-sizedphoto John E. Reynolds- born August 8, 1899. Heads used to turn when nurses at the doctors office asked my grandfather his date of birth. Not many people had met someone who was still living a vibrant life and had been born at the turn of the 20th century. I spent a lot of time with my grandpap and the picture you see above is of me and my grandpap deep sea fishing off of Oregon Inlet, North Carolina. More on that in a minute.

John E was a character. Apparently in the days of prohibition, my grandpap had a key to every speakeasy in Pittsburgh. He liked a party and no government regulation was going to stop him from making gin in his bathtub upstairs or frequenting the joints that had music playing and liquor flowing. The other picture above is of Richard Dix the famous silent film star. My grandmother was friends with Alice Mills who was a silent film heroine and it was not unusual for Alice to visit Pittsburgh from California and bring other stars with her like Richard Dix. The reason they came was not only to see the Mills family but to get together with John Reynolds at the speakeasies and have a good old party in the middle of prohibition. My grandfather was actually pretty well known in the Hollywood circles and more and more stars came to Pittsburgh. They wanted to take my mother back to Hollywood and get her started as a child star but my grandmother would have no part of that. So Hollywood came to the North Side and had much revelrie with John E. Reynolds. The Feds came to my grandpap’s house one time and asked him if they could look out from his pantry to see the illegal wine making operation happening with the neighbor. Apprently there was some wine trafficking and the Feds wanted to use my grandparent’s house as a lookout. Well obviously when they told John E when they would be back, he immediately called old man Volpe and tipped him off. The day the Feds came back, there was no activity and they gave my grandpap a quizical look. Needless to say, the wine always flowed at 2815 Stayton Street courtesy of Volpe the bootlegger.

Fast forward, I came on the scene right before my grandparents stopped drinking. They had had enough and decided to quit cold turkey. The Abbot Beer Distributor was never the same without my grandpap and his cases of Duquesne Beer. But, all was well and they embarked on a mission to educate their grandson on the weekends. On Friday nights, they would always take me to dinner as a young lad and then we would make a beeline to Wheeling, West Virginia to take in the horse races at Waterford Park. My grandparents were purists. No trotters for them. They liked the flat races and taught me how to read a tip sheet, how to look at the horses and the jockeys, how to wait until the last minute to see the odds before placing a bet. My grandfather always swung for the fences and placed money to win. My grandmother was much more conservative and placed show bets. In her mind she would win if she hit either a winner a second place or a third place. But not John E. He went for the gusto and made me go to the window to place all bets. The people behind the windows got to know me and allowed me to place my grandparents bets even though I was woefully underage. My grandpap smiled and laughed no matter what happened. He just liked to watch them race. They took me to Hollywood in Florida, Pimlico, Churchill Downs, and all the other major tracks on the east coast. We had a ball and my grandpap smiled the whole time.

My grandpap always took me fishing as a young guy and to this day, I still use all of his tackle and rods. His cronies were Bill Marcus(an attorney), and Judge Bill Miller. Both of these gentlemen loved to fish and we went everywhere together. They had quite a racket. My grandfather was a real estate appraiser and bankruptcy referee. When Interstate 279 was going to be built, all the houses in the East Street Valley had to be appraised so that the government could pay people to leave their houses to make way for the new road. The three amigos did all the appraisal and legal work and it was years of work due to the scope of the project. They would work from April to November, take December off for the holidays and then spend the next three months in Florida fishing and playing golf. I would visit and fishing became second nature to me. When I could drive, it got better for the three amigos because they could sleep in the car while I drove to Canada, North Carolina or Florida. Lots of miles logged, lots of Canadian fresh water fishing with little to do for a teenager at night after those guys went to bed at 8:00PM. But at 4:30 AM they were ready to rock. They always let me drive the boat and run the outboard. It got a little dicey when we were in the Everglades and my grandpap thought it was funny to sneak up on an alligator and poke him with the fishing rod. Their mouths would always open in a menacing smile and as a cherubic young lad, I was in shock as my grandfather laughed hysterically. I dinged the propeller a few times in Canada on hidden rocks and almost tipped the skiff in the Everglades due to some jerky operation of the outboard motor, but the kind and patient instructions from the three amigos was always reassuring.

After my grandmother had passed, my grandpap lived alone in their new condo in the north of Pittsburgh. I say new because my grandpap almost burned the house down on the Northside when he had about 3 adapters and 9 plugs in the wall with his new computer and other electrical devices that overloaded the circuits. As the house smoked and the firemen put out the flames, they took it as a sign to move and they bought the condo. My mother would always look out for my grandpap on the Access bus every day, feed him his dinner, and then watch him return on the bus. I helped her by cooking dinner at the condo from time to time and taking John E. out after my run or bike riding. We always laughed about the old days, the fishing, the horse races and life on the Northside. My grandfather always wore a coat and tie as was the custom of the old time Irishmen. In fact, he was the only guy to walk every day down at North Park lake with the coat and tie and hat. He always bought a new car every year and one year when he was 89, he decided to buy a Honda. As a died in the wool Buick guy, this was surely a departure but when he accidentally drove it over the hill and into the woods at my folks house, he climbed out of the Honda and looked at me and said,” Ooh- I guess it is time for the Access bus.” Again we laughed, but deep down we were relieved that he was ok and he was no longer driving. When he turned 90, we sat him in the back of my dad’s vintage Buick convertable with a sign that read, ” John Reynolds is 90 Today”. One smart ass yelled to him ” Are you still getting any John?” And quick as a shot, he hollered back,” Yea- more than you sonny.” We all howled at that one.

The best part about all of this and my wonderful memories of him will always be his persistent smile and good humor. Now I am not a geneticist and I don’t know about traits that are passed down. But I like to think that I am a positive person. I love life and all the interesting, funny and adventurous times that come about in one’s lifetime. I believe my joie de vivre came from my grandpap. My mother always said that I took after him with his humor, his traits, and his quirky way of living. I am definitely a Reynolds and I can say that I am proud of that. Not that there is anything wrong with the McCloskey side of the family, but John E. Reynolds was a great role model and wonderful guy to know and love. Everyone should have a grandpap like I had. Everytime I throw a line in the water and try to land the big one, I think of him. Everytime I watch the Derby and the Preakness, I think about him betting the farm on the big win and my grandmother harrassing him the whole time. Everytime I see a white Buick with black interior( he was color blind), I think of him. The guy was hilarious. I can’t wait to see him again in glory!! Thanks for reading.

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The All-American T Shirt

photo Perhaps the most iconic piece of clothing that is worn in America more than any other is the T Shirt. Now as the 58 year old kid, I will admit that I wear a T Shirt with shorts and running shoes probably 60 percent of my time. T-Shirts are comfortable, they make statements, they go well with jeans, shorts, just about every type of casual wear. T-Shirts can advertise where you have been, where you would like to go, what events you have done. They also can make statements about who you are. They are for kids ” My parents went to the Bahamas and all I got was this lousy T-Shirt”. Or perhaps “Future Major Leager” . They are for the partiers. ” Brass Balls Saloon” ” I got the Crabs at Joe’s Crab Shack” and other crude statements on T-Shirts with loud colors. T-Shirts can be tye died and all the old Jerry Garcia fans can relive the summer of love with an old faithful tye dye. That old gray pony tail looks good with a tye die. There are so many different types of T-Shirts that we can’t even name them all.

Athletes, both national class and weekend warriors, collect T-Shirts. You work hard in an event and the prize is often no more than a T- Shirt that you can wear with pride when you have completed the Boston Marathon, the local 10K, a criterium bicycle race, the local Triathlon. People collect shirts from events and sometimes make them into car seats, or blankets or bed spreads. T-Shirts can look good on a fit person, a not so fit person or on anyone with a sense of casual dress or a funny sense of humor. In short, well, T-Shirts are the All American way of expressing yourself in clothing. I will always wear them and I am sure that all of you have a collection of your favorite T-Shirts from many different venues and events. But, you knew I was going somewhere with this and you are right. There is a protocol for T-Shirts which I call Pat’s T-Shirt “do’s and dont’s” Feel free to add to these rules but remember that when you add a comment, these instantly become part of my rules and your contribution is not only welcome, but becomes an integral part of Pat’s rules. So without further delay, lets take a look at these rules or protocol and have some fun with it shall we? Here we go:

Always buy a high quality T-Shirt that will wear well. Haines Beefy are the T of choice and if you can get one with an understated logo on the front leaving the big obnoxious logo for the back of the shirt, that would be the best. If you manage to get one with a front pocket, that is even better.

White shirts look clean but eventually get gray or weathered. These shirts have a short lifespan but they do look good. Dark colored shirts last longer and wear better.

Don’t ever wear a T-Shirt from some place you have not been. Have some pride and don’t try to fool us with the fact that you were there when you were not. In the same vein, don’t ever wear a race T-Shirt if you have not done the event, less you be exposed for the poser that you are.

If you are overserved and buy a shirt that is a bit risque, be careful where you wear it. Maybe don’t wear the Brass Balls Saloon shirt over to your prospective in-laws house. That may go over like a lead balloon.

Free shirts from a company or the local Major League Baseball give away will not last in the next major rain event. They may just disintegrate on your body as you leave the stadium.

If you are an XL, XXL or larger, don’t try to show us your guns and wear a large. Gravity has a way of exposing some flaws that are below the big guns in your arms.

If you choose to alter a shirt that will showcase your six pack or some other parts of your body, please make sure that your perception is correct before you go out in public. Maybe ask a good friend for some true commentary.

Event T-Shirts have a shelf life. Don’t wear a race shirt that showcases an event that occurred over ten years ago. Bad form and everyone will know that you have not done a race or an event since then.

Don’t wear a Harley shirt if you don’t ride a motorcycle. Don’t ever wear a Harley shirt if you don’t ride a Harley. You might get your butt kicked.

If you use a brand name sporting good, you have a right to wear the shirt. If you don’t use the equipment, who are you trying to kid? Bad form again.

In order to ensure the “cool factor” always wear a shirt from as far away from where you are right now. For instance, if you ski in the East, wear Jackson Hole shirts or Mammoth Mountain shirts. If you ski in the west, wear a New England area shirt. Never wear a T-Shirt from the area where you find yourself presently. Not cool and nobody cares. Good conversations can come from comments about the area that is far, far away.

In the same way, a T-Shirt from an event from far away definitely ensures the cool factor in the local race. “Wow- that guy did the Ironman!”

And the real funny thing is that we all think these rules really do apply. The fact of the matter is that most people can’t even read your shirt because they are walking, riding, running past you so fast that they don’t even notice. HAHA. But you notice, right? You feel comfortable and cool, right? Well that is all that matters. You busted your butt in that event. You had a fabulous trip to that exotic place, right? Well that is really all that matters. All kidding aside. But if someone notices and comments…….cool. T-Shirt did it’s job. Wear those shirts for as long as you can. Your accomplishments and memories are important. When they are no longer cool, they make great dusters. Thanks for reading.