Monday, November 18, 2013

Arms and Armor

I was getting ready to head out somewhere the other day and as is my custom, I went to the coat rack by my bedroom door and took one of my many longcoats down and slipped it on. Then, I grabbed my backpack from its usual spot by my dining room table and headed out into the typical Northwest fall weather of wind and rain.

And I was about halfway down the stairs when an odd realization popped into my head. I've been wearing coats like this and slinging around a backpack everywhere I go since I was a sophomore in high school...

...and I found that realization more than a little weird.

Now granted, I'm more than a bit of an odd duck. Growing up I never had all that keen an interest in any sort of fashion sense because 1.) I never had the money to blow on clothes that were way overpriced to begin with and 2.) I'm just fine being a T-shirt and jeans kind of guy. If you have to make me choose between looking sharp and looking comfortable, I'll take comfortable any day of the week.

Doesn't mean I don't like to dress up. I just never thought I had to all the time.

It was at this same time that I procured my first trenchcoat and considering the statute of limitations has long passed and I outgrew it a long time ago...I stole it out of the costume racks up in the side stage of the Sunset High School theatre. Like I said, I didn't have the money, but as soon as I put it on, I knew it belonged more with me than collecting dust on a rack until it was finally needed for a show.

Over the years, I've heard every crack you can utter about me and my coats.
  • I'm a flasher
  • I'm a terrorist
  • I'm a mass-murderer
  • I'm a mass-murdering terrorist with a tendency for lewd acts of public display

Why do I like long coats so much? Because I've lived in a part of the world where it rains for up to 250 days a year and they keep me both dry and warm and also because I can both hide and feel safe in them. As soon as I put one on, it's like I'm wearing armor, because it's big and has weight to it. And the best part was once I started wearing them, the people who gave no end of grief about everything suddenly started leaving me alone.

If clothes really do make the man, then that suddenly made me, usually the smallest guy in the room, intimidating. Not a bad feeling to have, to be honest.

My backpack is another story altogether. When the show Animaniacs was still on TV, some of my friends started calling me "Wakko", not because I wasn't walking around without pants and sporting a big red baseball cap, but because in my ability to mimic voices, I could pull his Liverpudlian lilt off pretty well. That and Wakko was known for carrying his "bag of tricks" around with him everywhere he went, and I guess by necessity alone, I always carried around mine. 

Now I'd love to say I had really cool stuff in my bag wherever I went with it, but in truth, I usually just had my essentials. A book to read, notebook to write in, pencils and pens, and if I was lucky, the occasional snack. That was it. No trampoline. No giant mallet. No portable hole. I guess I just got so used to carrying it around because a pack is so utilitarian. I've taken one through every city I've traveled to and it stores everything I need. 

Then we come to the thing in the middle. Yes. That is a real sword. Yes. It's mine. And yes. I do know how to use it and the other five I own. My fascination with them came by no surprise at all, really. I was five years-old, saw Star Wars for the first time and it was fixed firmly in my mind. 

I want a lightsaber. 

Being so young and not understanding that such things sadly didn't exist, it didn't stop me from taking more than one old broom handle or Wiffle Bat and making that into a perfectly sensible substitute. As I got older and began studying ancient and medieval culture, I discovered that every great civilization had their own distinct version of what a sword looked like, and they were all beautiful pieces of both art and weaponry. 

So I started collecting them and then started learning how to use them. Now are they practical? In this day and age? Not even close, but I don't care. I appreciate them both for what they are and what they can do. They're history and I am a sucker for history. 

So why do I mention all this? I guess because I've never understood why it mattered so much why I like the things I like or what kind of clothes I wear. By comparison, what other people like or wear doesn't matter to me at all. If that's what you go for? Okay, to each their own. 

Life is too short to quip over such trivialities, really. 

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