Wearing A Cardigan Is One Of The Reasons I’m Interesting

I’m wearing a cardigan. I can recall thinking that cardigans were possibly the most uncool and old-personish garment you could wear – but obviously wouldn’t ever wear, under any circumstances, except maybe if there was a gun to your head, which you had reason to believe was loaded, and the holder of said weapon was saying something like: “Just put the fucking cardigan on, or you’re dead! And I don’t mean dead to imply that your reputation has been somehow injured. I’m talking corpses and coroners and shit like that.” (Obviously this imagined criminal packing heat wasn’t – or should that be isn’t? – a person with a well developed vocabulary, and it’s embarrassing to admit that I hang out with people in my head who could speak or behave better, if I’d created them that way, but I didn’t as I kinda feel more confident with these types somehow, and I can laugh at them a bit.)

Then Kurt Cobain wore a cardy when they did Nirvana unplugged for MTV in the later 1990s and it seemed less like an example of something you could wear but it would bring you bad luck forever after and no-one would talk to you … but Kurt was a bit of a weirdo, and you maybe weren’t completely surprised when he ended up dying the way he died, at the age he was when he died, in the manner of dying that he endured, the poor bugger. It may have been suicide and it may not have been. And I felt sorry for him. And I thought of his MTV cardigan and decided that I might have one of those, and even wear it, one day.

I didn’t want to wear a hand-me-down or something from a bargain bin – as Kurt’s looked like it may have been sourced from – but wanted to choose and buy something that appealed to, and suited, me. It’s expensive to buy a cardigan. They take some expertise to knit and sew and you don’t get them cheap, and I like my dark blue one, but kinda wish it had pockets – for putting a pipe and tobacco in, and for keeping chilly hands warm on the way to work. Not that I smoke a pipe or carry tobacco, but perhaps I wish I did.

It’s a jumper … with buttons. Awesome.

In other news, I now have gambling debts. They’re actually very small and hardly worth mentioning, but it sounds like I consort with shady characters and have seen the inside of a pawnshop (thanks Charles Dickens) – in fact if I saw my mate I could just pay him. Done.

OK. This is now gibberish and I should stop.

Published in: on October 5, 2010 at 7:04 pm  Leave a Comment  

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