Pardon me, but I couldn’t help but notice a few extra pockets on your shorts. It also seems that you’re not 12 years old, so your choice of apparel confuses me.
Yes, cargo shorts season is here and it’s gonna be—as Rob Thomas says—a hot one, so, yes, go ahead and shed those pant legs, but you do know that there are other types of shorts, right?
What’s going into those pockets, my dudes? What secrets art thou stowing away in thine side pouches? A mystery, indeed.
Perhaps in the desert or jungle, those pockets could hold tactical tools, or maybe vials of precious antivenom after a chance encounter with a deadly creature. But we’re not tromping around a harsh environment and there are no venomous snakes—we’re just standing in a craft brewery, sipping on hazies. To be honest, if a snake slithers in here, I think it’s gonna be pretty hard to run away from it with those pockets filled with keys and coins knocking against your knees like two un-jockstrap’d scrotums.
We’re also not at CD store in the ‘90s. I know Throwing Copper would fit perfectly in those square side compartments you’re rocking—thereby freeing you to cross your arms and really focus on the MagicEyes at the mall kiosk—but none of those things exist anymore, my bruv. No need to pack your saddles that are weirdly and perfectly shaped to fit physical media.
Or maybe the cargo pockets are a metaphor? Like: despite attempts to make life more comfortable, one cannot truly unburden themselves from the baggage they carry around with them. Is there something deeper (besides those side pockets) that I’m just not getting? If a pair of cargo shorts falls from a hanger at Old Navy, but nobody’s around to hear it, does it make a sound?
Side note: it’s rumored that all Old Navys are haunted by spirits of unsold cargo shorts. If you’re walking past one late at night and put your ear on the glass, some say you can hear the faint sound of velcro flaps opening.
If you’re a parent (or specifically my dad), then it’s fine to wear cargo shorts. You obviously require extra items and snacks to pacify your children. I don’t know what these items are and, frankly, I don’t want to know. None of my business!
But parent or not, under no circumstances should anyone sport the dreaded cargo/flip-flop/polo combo, or what I call “the San Diego outfit.” Some guys will complete the ensemble by throwing on a backwards hat. I’ve seen bros out on dates dressed like this. Are they wearing their nice cargos? I wonder.
But nobody is too far gone to be saved. Wearing bad shorts doesn’t have to be a stain one has to bear for the rest of their lives.
Your road to salvation can be paved with jorts.
There are few things more divine than a pair of jean shorts. I’m not one to make conversation with strangers, but if I see anybody wearing a pair of good jorts, you better believe they’re getting a compliment. I’ve given eulogies for jorts that I’ve had to throw away because they’ve been worn out to a state of indecency.
But we must remember that not all jorts are created equally, and we should proceed with caution.
Store-bought, hemmed jean shorts are a major red flag. Don’t wear these unless you’re a juggalo, or a serial killer trying to distract us from noticing the freshly dug graves in your yard. And forget about store-bought cut-offs. Selling destroyed clothing at an inflated price is one of the most egregious evils of capitalism.
A good pair of jorts must be earned—an evolution that takes, on average, about two years. It’s an involved process, for sure, but I like to think of it more like a beautiful metamorphosis. They should start out as pants, then wear out in the knees (method is up to you, but I prefer wrasslin’). Cut them off at the holes, let them fray, let them fade, and then the transformation is complete. Voila, a beautiful pair of jorts.
Remember, everyone has a pair of regrettable shorts, and sometimes wearing them in public is unavoidable. But we must be vigilant and hold each other to the tough-but-fair standard of two front pockets, two back pockets, and maybe that weird little useless pocket that’s meant to hold pens. But no more than that! As we slide into the heat of summer, you’re gonna want to wear shorts, but that doesn’t mean you have to sell your dignity um... short.
I’m taking next week off because I’ll be in Seattle running a Ragnar. Please have me in your thoughts in case the sun ends up melting me. You can read about the last time I tried to run one of these things but couldn’t because the course was on fire. Someone should do something about global warming, amirite? Anyway, see you in two weeks.
THE WEEKLY GOODS
I made a trailer for books. Not any specific book. Just books. I hope this gets you pumped for books.
Go to this
As the state continues to open up, even goths can’t stay sad. This Saturday, a bunch of excellent record-spinners including Vaughn Avakian (who’s been holding down Sabbat’s livestream during the pandemic), Jamie Ryckman, Camilla Robina, Heather Hardcore and Junior the Discopunk will be playing new wave songs at The Casbah as part of Neon Beat. This is cool because it’ll mark the first in-person shindig for many of these fine counterculture DJs. Time for all you goths, punks, and new wave heads to emerge from your grimy nooks and dance. Neon Beat goes down at The Casbah this Saturday at 9 p.m.
Get mad at this
So, two dudes from my home state of Utah buried $10,000 somewhere in the Wasatch Mountains. This is the second time they’ve done this—last year the duo buried $5,000. This time, they’re upping the cash amount and making it more difficult to find. Why would anyone do this? I mean, why does anyone do anything anymore: to get internet famous. In the Instagram post, one of the guys gives this reason: “The only thing I can think of is when Jay Leno asked Elon Musk why he made his windows bulletproof, and without even hesitation he said ‘because it’s badass.’” There’s literally nothing in that sentence I like. Sorry to rain on everybody’s fun parade, but I just don’t like the idea of rich people using the world as their personal game board. Oh, and the other day, search and rescue had to save a treasure hunter who had been trapped by a boulder. Badass.
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Julia Dixon Evans edited this post. Thanks, Julia. Go follow her on Twitter.