To a T.

What is casual, can stretch to fit all sizes, and is appropriate for any occasion, from fashionable to that of the most humble sort? What item of clothing can make a statement so clearly that it’s impossible to miss? Here’s a hint. At one time, it was considered underwear, but now it’s no big deal if you wear it to the grocery store. Forget Madonna. I’m talking about T-shirts.

It’s funny. In the catalogs, both off and online, the T is always capitalized. Many think this has something to do with its shape. But no, the initial design of this invaluable garment originated with a guy named, Tom. Tom knew a good thing when he saw it and sent off one of his first prototypes to the Patent Office in 1897, with the words “Patent # What?” scrawled by hand on the front. Because of his foresight and business acumen, generations of Tom’s descendants have lived the good life of those whose ancestors were either brilliant, as in this case, or ruthless, as in the case of countless others.

The T-shirt became the first line of defense in the war on perspiration. It also provided a layer of warmth in colder climates. It combined practicality and versatility.

Although the T-shirt did not live in fear and secrecy, it remained something of an unmentionable until Clark Gable established it as a fundamental garment of masculinity. After his historic portrayal as Clark Gable, visibly at ease, in a T-shirt, men all over America were soon posing for their sweethearts and just about every other woman they could corner. They even posed in front of mirrors, enjoying the confluence of form and function. In this case, their own form. They contemplated the bulges that were highlighted. For some, this was an endlessly fascinating biceptual moment of rapture. For others, it was a not altogether romantic revelation of love handles.

The rise of the Japanese economy and workforce, as the source of everything cheap and essential, propelled the worldwide adoption of the T-shirt. Inexpensive colorfast dyes didn’t hurt either. Suddenly, the T-shirt was seen everywhere. From the crowded streets of India to the leisurely boulevards of Indiana. From the sand dunes of Timbuktu to the street lights of Times Square. From the beaches of Sao Paulo to the wheatfields of South Dakota.

Small children, big children, male and female, young and old, people of all philosophies, political persuasions, and those petite or even more than portly were wearing them. This trend in fashion was quickly followed by jeans and athletic shoes. In dress, if not in ideology, the world came together for the first time in history.

This humble item soon found its voice. At first, it identified with a team or a garage on South Street, but it soon developed to carry messages from sources as varied as Einstein and Mickey Mouse.

Here are just a couple of examples:

Make Love, Not War
I’m with Stupid.
I’m not as Dumb as you look.
Where there’s a will, I want to be in it.
I say no to drugs, but they won’t listen.
A day without sunshine is, you know, night.

Once I saw a teen-aged girl, walking with her parents. Her shirt read, ‘I Bring The Pain.’ As a parent, I can’t seem to shake that image.

With the right T-shirt, I feel ready for anything. I am able to draw from my drawers a shirt appropriate for any occasion. There is no limit to what I can say or what my walking canvas can convey. Without it, I am at a loss. Voiceless, unsure, and half-naked. Not exhibiting, not highlighting, not protesting. Not cool, not hip, and not hot. Just a guy. Just another lumpy torso. Just me.

But, damn, just look at those biceps.

Spend and Tax Spend and Tax Spend and Tax

I will never again complain when I see six guys standing around watching one guy fix a hole in the street. At least, you can see them. They’re not hiding anything. But, hey, what about those bankers? Those financial titans?

Just like the guys in the street, they are now receiving taxpayer dollars, but the amounts we have given them, in the ongoing bailout, is more than shameful; it should be illegal. What’s shameful are politicians, who write bailout bills that don’t mandate, require, and legally limit the money the bankers are able to put in their pockets.

I won’t go into the incredibly obscene amounts they’ve made off with in the last twenty years. Then, it was clients and shareholders who were willing to pay them. But now, it’s our money. Taxpayers, well off and near-destitute. People who have lost their jobs and, perhaps, their houses.

Business practices, non-existent ethics, and greed are the precipitating factors in this financial meltdown. These emperors of Wall Street still had clothes, until the house of cards they were playing with finally collapsed. A house that had been held up by a belief and faith in the system and their professionalism.

Now, we are desperate and want someone to fix it. It is thought that only these financial wizards have the knowledge to do this. Naively, we believe that their sense of responsibility and the obvious reality of their failure will cause them to work hard to bring this about.

Unfortunately, they have traveled far beyond responsibility and any concern other than their own interest. They see only the next step in their journey. The step that has them directing their abilities to seize the opportunities these billions of tax dollars create. To them, this is an unexpected dividend.

To be fair, these guys have families. They are not inhuman. They simply don’t care about anyone else. They have shed the skins of shame, compassion, and responsibility. It seems our government representatives have also. Obama has given us hope, but who will help him act?