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Tuesday, June 24, 2003
I'm quite comfortably able to report that while Matt and Jason may consider themselves budding Metrosexuals, I am clearly no such creature. I will not be categorized, Mr. Marketing Man.
I loathe shopping (fortunately Amie does enough for the both of us), and up until a couple weeks ago, the only hair styling products I've ever used were in my Robert Smith wig, on Halloween night, 1989. I've never picked up a pair of Diesel Jeans, I don't even know what the hell those magazines are that those guys are talking about. Give me a good beer before a glass of wine any day of the week. (Seriously, give me one. Please? It's been a rough day.) Then again, I believe another indicator of Metrosexuality (or, as Jason says, "lady lovin homos"), is neatness. And I am, if anything, compulsively neat. Matter o' fact, the first time Amie ever walked into my apartment, she thought... "Oh my god, he lives alone, his place is incredibly neat, well decorated, he's got a cat... and he's not gay. I could marry this guy." And so she did. That's besides the point, though. One symptom does not a metrosexual make. Oh, wait, there's the yoga lessons... and Trading Spaces on the TiVo. Awwwww crap.  |
 neil halstead live in cambridge, ma on november 14th, 2008 previously: joy formidable - boston 2011 recent posts on the 'nac...
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