And here is another video of my son and me, this time with Holden doing his Inigo Montoya impression. This was taken January 14.
And, last, here is another photo taken yesterday having lunch at Burma Superstar, January 21st.
You’ll notice that in all these photos and videos, I am wearing the same T-shirt. It is my lucky 49ers shirt, which I have now worn for
16 17 days. In a row. And since San Francisco (those of you who are not from here, don’t ever call it San Fran, or God forbid “Frisco”; as former SF Chronicle columnist Rob Morse once famously quipped, “That’s stewardess talk!”) just won the NFC Championship and will be playing in the Super Bowl, I will be wearing this tee shirt for another 14 days.
The question everyone has, of course, is does it smell?
While I’d like to boast about my naturally pleasant pheromones, I have to be honest.
Yeah, a bit.
I mean, it’s starting to. Maybe. I worried yesterday when I spritzed some Vanilla Fantasy Body Spray that I am starting to smell kinda like an ex-girlfriend’s crotch. Boxed-in musky pube doused eau du. Could’ve just been a flashback.
There’s a few ways I am combating this problem. For one, I take it off when I workout. Also, I don’t wear it to bed. And, honestly, it’s not that noticeable yet. I mean, I can go to restaurants and still get served, so how bad can it be?
Oh, who am I kidding? I still smell…delightful. I don’t know how I can wear the same tee shirt so long and smell so fucking good. But I do. Even when I sweat, I smell like America’s favorite salad dressing. (Not that I’ve been sweating much with 2 slipped disks.)
I have been around plenty of stinky people in my life. My brother, Josh, love him to death. But that boy stinks. Take of his shoes, run for the hills. Speaking of feet, I remember when John Wayne Newton experienced his unfortunate “soup foot” bout of ’94. Those were rough times at Belvedere. Most men are like this. Of course most men work, like, physical labor and shit. Me? I’m a writer. And I smell like a goddamn rose bouquet wrapped red velvet cupcake.
I can’t answer why I’m so blessed, why in a world of such suffering and stank, I prove olfactory Darwinism. Guess it’s a trade off for some of the neurosis. Have to touch the curb three times before I can step into the street. But I don’t get BO. Of course, my sense of smell is sorta fucked from all the years of cocaine abuse.
But the truth is, even if I did reek like bum shit, what could I do about it? This is my lucky 49ers T-shirt, man! The one I was wearing when they clinched the West; when they beat their nemesis Packers; when they won the NFC Championship. This is our chance for NUMBER SIX! You don’t fuck with sports juju!
We’re hosting a Super Bowl party, my wife and I. I am hoping many of you come (I mean, if I invite you). I can’t promise what this shirt will be like by then, but I hope the prospect of hard funky cheese stank won’t dissuade you. We’re going to have chips and dip! (And, no, silly girls, you can’t wash it; it might wash out the good juju!) Besides my naturally superior pheromones, we have a very big house.