Putting together yard signs, slipping the printed plastic paraphernalia over metal rods, I almost killed Susan. Stacking them against a folding chair, their weight soon collapsed and toppled the devoted volunteer. I held my laughter, offered my apologies, listened as she reprimanded me and told me to lean them against the wall.

Susan retired in December to her home in Hawaii. In January, she was on a plane traveling to the mainland to volunteer for one man with a plan. This woman was so moved by Barack Obama that she left her professional life behind her to spread a message of change across the continental United States.

This woman left her home behind to campaign during the primaries in South Carolina. She used the air miles she had saved up to pay for her flight. She lives in volunteer housing and a friend back home has been paying for her rental car. “He said he couldn’t believe someone was doing this, he said he surely couldn’t,” Susan told me today as I volunteered for the first time at Obama’s VA campaign headquarters on Marshall Street.

Not only have people traveled from all over the country to help out, there were also volunteers from London, but it was Carol, a Richmonder, who shared a similar story. Carol works independently, but has taken a month off from work to focus on the campaign.

It started three years ago when she took her granddaughter to see Obama speak in support of Tim Kaine’s race for governor. “I didn’t know who this senator from Illinois was, but he had a unique name, so we decided to check it out.” She said from then on, she knew there was something special about Barack Obama.

Going into campaign HQ was slightly intimidating. In a makeshift office building, you are welcomed by folding tables, chairs, the ringing of phones, and hand-painted murals and posters wallpapering the room. Organized chaos is in the air – as is excitement and anxiety.  Papers and water bottles, clutter not only tables, but also the floors where volunteers are sorting, making calls, and entering data on their laptops.

I had my first assignment – I was phone banking. A volunteer coordinator handed me a list of names, explained the purpose of the calls, and gave me a sheet to take notes on. We were given names based on the neighborhood we live in.

Today’s mission was to inform people about absentee voting, making sure these folks knew about their polling precinct, and to see if they needed a ride on election day. A lot of messages were left – but I did speak to one woman. Her husband and son are political science majors and she said her family is really electrified about the race.

We talked about many things, but particularly about how I had never seen myself volunteering for a political campaign. This does feel different. There is something special about Barack Obama – he has managed to inspire across social, racial, ethnic, political, and religious boundaries. He speaks to all of America. I’ve caught the Obamarama.

Each Sunday morning, while the most pious of Richmond folk are in church, a smaller, more boisterous bunch are gathering for a different kind of weekly ritual.

Godfrey’s Drag Brunch has become one of the most diverse social events in town bringing together gays with soccer moms, yuppies, and even those grandmas that wear the big hats. With two sittings a week – one morning and one early afternoon – reservations are a must.

I had the pleasure of taking my dear, sweet (and incredibly supportive, not to mention brave) mother for her first drag experience. The morning brunch had been overbooked so the dining room was packed with the abovementioned melting pot ready to see some ladies of illusion strut their stuff.

Normal brunch fair is available – French toast, eggs, hash browns, a few salads, and also specialty quiche. My slice of the Chesapeake quiche had a buttery crust filled with full chunks of lump crab meat and cheesy goodness. As for Mom’s fruit plate – well, let’s just say the gays know fruit. It towered and would have done Carmen Miranda proud.

Any decent brunch and drag show would not be complete without a good supply of alcohol, so the speedy and efficient wait staff were ready to serve up Bloody Mary’s and mimosas. I had a mimosa, which in the Godfrey’s tradition of strong drinks, was a flute of champagne with a miniscule splash of orange juice. Mom had the decaf coffee.

Food and drink aside, the main course is the show. As a gay man frequenting the bar on occasion, drag has lost much of the glitz and shock value – both of which are the appeal to many of the guests partaking in the day’s brunch.

You had your hodgepodge of performances including a few up-tempo numbers with cartwheels, leg kicks, and other acrobatics; and of course, your ballads complete with dramatic lip-synching. It’s an eventful feast for the eyes with outfit changes and sparkles galore.

Don’t be fooled thinking the performances are toned down for a more general audience. When one of the queens took off her mink stole to reveal her gigantic implants covered in nothing but rhinestone pasties, my mother’s jaw dropped and summed up the “OMG” reaction of the dining crowd. You just don’t see a drag queen in pasties every day.

It’s not only the drag queens that make the brunch some of the best people watching around. A noteworthy performance was by one of the audience members, a rather crazed middle-aged woman crying during drag queen Tiffany Deveroux’s rendition of Whitney Houston. Rumor at our table was that she was Tiffany’s eccentric (and highly intoxicated) neighbor.

During a phone conversation with Dad later that evening, he said jokingly, “I think you’ve terrified your mother.” Her words were, “It was interesting.” Perhaps if Mom had something a little stronger than coffee, she would have let her hair down a bit more.

She was so impressed with how much one of the drag queens looked like Reba McIntire, she keeps bringing it up, urging me to show pictures to my father. It’s not really his cup of tea.

When you go, don’t expect just a meal and a show, but an experience. The morning extended well after 1 p.m. – rounding out the performances at a solid two hours. Be sure to bring plenty of ones as it is proper etiquette to tip the performers. We got a lot of bang for our buck and there’s plenty of fruit. I’m pretty sure Mom was eating on that fruit plate for a good while.

Colony Hotel, South Beach

Last month I escaped our humble home base to see the glitz and glamour of South Beach for a summer getaway.  And I did all of this flying solo - a daring move some friends said.  A few said, “I could never travel alone.”  To the contrary, I highly recommend traveling on your own.  You get to set your own schedule, don’t have to argue over where you want to go, and if you are disappointed with a certain activity, it all falls on you.  Although only in Miami Beach for four days, it was a substantial taste of this tropical setting and its surrounding locale.

All that glitters

South Beach is surreal.  It’s over-the-top and doesn’t disappoint on the amount of attractive people and places to see.  My first night was filled with a late-night stroll on Ocean Drive taking in the neon accents of restored Art Deco boutique hotels and multi-use conversions.  The narrow sidewalk on the hotel-side of Ocean Drive keeps pedestrians walking through a busy corridor of cafe patios that spill into your path of travel.  A walk through these sidewalk cafes takes you past diners, street performers, and maitre’ds pulling you in for their restaurant’s special at any given hour of the day.

Anything goes regarding fashion - a far cry from the conservative scene of Richmond.  Don Juans and their lady friends are decked head to toe in Ed Hardy and Christian Audigier among others.  Bold fashions statements heavily influenced by designer shops lining Collins Avenue and the Lincoln Road Mall sprinkle the landscape.  All of this is within walking distance of the hotels on scenic Ocean Drive.

South Beach At Dusk

Although the sun hid behind clouds throughout most of my trip, this didn’t discourage me from taking a couple walks on the beach.  Each morning, huge plows comb the beach to clear debris and the water remained a lovely shade of seafoam green.  If you start your morning at 8 a.m., the beach is yours - most people are still recovering from partying the night before.

The South Beach Local, a bus that circles the town, costs a quarter and stops at convenient locations.  The bus connects at Washington Avenue and Lincoln Road to take you into Downtown Miami - for $1.50.  Once downtown, a free Metro Mover will take you around to tourist spots and government centers.  Bayside Mall at the Port of Miami is filled with independently owned shops with an odd array of services available.  In addition to getting a gyro or Indian sari, you can also get your teeth whitened onsite.  Flagler Street is a main thoroughfare of downtown and reminiscent of run-down portions of Broad Street and Grace Street, but with a more international flair.  Most store fronts in this strip of downtown completely close shop by 6 p.m. - including the Macy’s.  South Beach is where it’s at in the nighttime.

Where’s the beach?

On my first night visiting, it was apparent that South Beach is clearly not about the “Beach.” Many restaurants serve well past midnight and most clubs stay open until 5 a.m.  This non-stop party does not come without a cost.

Lincoln Road, South Beach

While I saved money traveling during the rainy season, food and fun were still pricey.  You could spend $20 on cover just to get into the door of several nightspots including former theater, now danceclub Mansion and B.E.D., which creates its niche as a lounge with twenty beds for mixing and mingling.  I couldn’t justify spending this for a night on the town.  My first night in town, a Tuesday, I attempted to get into Score, which boasts Planeta Macho, its gay latin night.  The drag queen at the door shot me down because I was wearing sandles.  She said if I had straps in the back, I could have gotten in.  Too bad I left my strappy stilettos in Richmond.  I ended up buying a pair of Steve Madden loafers a few doors down - some shops on Lincoln Road stay open until midnight.  This was all too fussy to deal with after a long day of traveling, so I decided to walk back to the hotel and call it an early night.

The following night, Wednesday, I checked out Twist, which is the self-proclaimed hottest gay nightclub in South Beach with an impressive seven bars.  They were not actually that impressive because of the lack of patrons.  I took a seat at the bar upstairs in what appeared to be some sort of video lounge.  The bartender put in a DVD of Mariah Carey’s most recent tour and the fellows around me just watched in awe as she belted out a dance remix of “My All.”   You dare not interrupt a gay man watching Mariah Carey.  Queens love their divas.  I did order a Corona for $6 and a vodka-cranberry for $8.  As if overpriced drinks and Mariah’s seven (or is it eight) octaves weren’t enough, I ventured downstairs to the outdoor patio and into a glass-enclosed room that featured exotic dancers accompanied by a narrator.  This announcer introduced Pablo from Ecuador explained how he could pound members of the audience hard enough to see fireworks on the Fourth of July.   Tasteful.

Thursday night’s going abouts were more fruitful.  The night prior, I learned from some locals that Buck15 was the place to be.  After-hours, this art gallery turns into a full-blown bar with an impromptu dancefloor.  Going up the inconspicuous stairs on the edge of a Chinese restaurant, the unsuspecting venue is jam packed with wall-to-wall people.  After a little mingling, I crowd-surfed to the bar and ordered a simple Diet Coke, no liquor - $4!  Traveling a city solo means that you are also traveling to the bar solo.  This ain’t no thing on the home front, as you’ll always run into someone you know, but away from home, you are a tiny fish in a huge ocean full of sharks.  Perhaps my social graces were not on the up-and-up, but I didn’t care because I didn’t have to see these people again.  After trying to wedge my way into several friendly-looking social circles, I introduced myself, “Hi, I’m Kevin and I’m from Richmond, VA.”  I realize that these people are bombarded with tourists on a regular basis and really have no personal investment in getting to know outsiders, but the native gays I met were not the friendliest.  The nicest people I met were actually immigrants and those vacationing from other countries.  It certainly put the social scene in Richmond in perspective.

After becoming acquainted with a friendly fellow from the Dominican Republic and his friends, we finished up at Buck15 and I finally made it to Score, which had an impressive setup.  We entered the club from the alleyway.  My new friends were regulars and the bouncer let us in without paying cover.  Clubgoers naturally migrated from Buck15 next door to the second floor of Score.  The venue has two bars in the middle and and has a surrounding circular walkway/dancefloor.  One side of this circle is for mingling and the other side is for dancing.  A DJ spins electronic music as she is accompanied by a live drummer.  En fuego!  The lack of personal space for moving around did become slightly overwhelming and I left shortly after.

Say no to egg salad

Interior of Jerry\

After leaving Score, I grabbed a late-night bite at Jerry’s Famous Deli, for which I had high hopes.  I passed by earlier in the day and saw a monsterous egg salad sandwich that looked delicious.  I don’t even like egg salad that much, it just looked SO good.  One bite and I was disappointed, not because I didn’t like egg salad, but because it was so dry.  It was hard-oiled egg on stale bread.  Bleh.  And for $15, it felt like robbery.  But Jerry’s Deli sure was pretty on the inside…which seems to be the story in Miami.  You are paying for a lot of pretty.

Rewind to my first night in South Beach.  I allotted myself one fancy meal - my love for Sushi had me venture over to SushiSamba Dromo.  This Miami extension of the NYC original serves up an infusion of Japanese-Peruvian-Brazilian cuisine.  I ordered the Green Envy roll, which sounded like a very creative concoction of tuna, asparagus, keylime-mayo, encrusted in crushed wasabi peas.  I also had a side of the fried sweet plantains, which arrived in a beautifully displayed tower of crisscrossed strips of yumminess.  The sushi roll was good, but nothing particularly special in taste or presentation.  I’ve had more impressive, flavorful roles from local favorite Osaka.  While the sushi roll wasn’t wow, the atmosphere was uberchic with clean lines, rich red lighting, and pops of white set to a DJ rolling out house music from his iPod.  The SushiSamba experience included the two mentioned items and a glass of wine for a total bill of $33 after tip.

Puerto Suego had the most authentic Cuban food that I sampled in Miami - and it was right around the corner from my hotel!  You can’t go wrong with a Cuban sandwich and tostones.   The combination of roasted pork, ham, and Swiss with pickles and mustard on French bread was delicious, but predictable.  Yes friends, Richmond’s Kuba Kuba, serves up the real deal (not to be biased, but after tasting my Miami sandwich, I actually prefer Kuba Kuba’s version - maybe because it’s made with love.  Who knows?).  I had my fill of plantains during my trip - these tostones were huge and served with a very salty and oily garlic sauce.  This no frills lunch counter pressed French bread was a tasty and humble escape from the surrounding fancy eateries.

I ate an aweful lot of ham in Miami - maybe I was salt-deprived, but I don’t know what got into me.  In addition to the Cuban sandwich, I also had a ham and Swiss croissant at a French pastry shop for a mere $5 and a Hawaiian sandwich at fast-food chain Qbano Sandwich for $8.  Strangely, my meal at this Spanglish eatery was probably the most noteable because it was so unexpected.  The French bread was toasted to perfection and the cheese was gooey and melty and made a nice pairing with the sweet pineapple - it was served up with a really tasty garlicy mayo too.  Deliciouso indeed.

Beach bums and coconuts

I felt very safe walking around South Beach even at night.  The streets are heavily populated at all hours and the panhandlers are pretty laid back.  If I were homeless, I’d want to be on the beach too.

An old man passed me with a shopping cart trying to sell coconuts he had collected from the palm trees.  They also collect palm leaves and weave hats and baskets to sell to tourists.  I saw quite a few homeless people, which was very real compared to all the sparkles and glimmer of the over-the-top surroundings.

Homeless Lady Outside Nightclub

This picture taken outside a nightclub sums up South Beach’s relationship with the homeless.  A disabled woman sleeps as young girls wait to get into the nightspot.  The same night, walking back to my hotel, I got stopped by a man asking if I was in search of weed or crack.  Just a few moments later, a woman yells outside her cab window and asks, “What did you do to your leg?”  “It’s just how I walk,” I tell her.  She replies, “I can fix that for you.”  Oh my.  Solicited by a drug dealer and a prostitute in the same city block.  That’s quite and accomplishment, but that’s what I get for staying out past 3 a.m.

The next afternoon, walking around Downtown Miami, I run across a coconut that has fallen to the ground.  Curious, I pick it up and slam it to the ground trying to open it unsuccessfully to the glances of drivers passing by.  I think of the man that was trying to sell them the day before.  I be he could have cracked it.

Reptilian adventures

Gator at Gator Park, Everglades

On my last day in Miami, I took a side-trip to the Everglades - a vast coupling of rainforest and swampland mostly left untouched by man.  The tour bus took us to Gator Park, clearly a Disneyfied version of wilderness adventure.  A gruff, Dundee-esque bubba who claimed to live in the swamps guided our group’s airboat tour.  He pointed to four gators that surrounded the boat and was on a first-name basis with them.  How wild these gators actually were was questionable, but being so close to nature was undoubtedly, super-awesome.

Upon returning to the dock, our group had the opportunity to buy fried gator bites, gator sausage, and of course, gator trinkets.  I passed on all of the above.  The bus dropped me off in downtown Miami, where I took public transit to Villa Vizcaya, an estate built in 1916 by a wealthy industrialist.  In the 1910s, Miami’s population was roughly 10,000.  It took 1,000 people to build this guy’s winter home - 1/10th of the population.  It was impressive and completely decadent with furnishings from Ancient Egypt, many dynasties of China, and the Renaissance, but what caught me off guard were the hundreds of tiny lizards I passed during my stroll through the estate’s gardens.  You’ll see a lizard every once in a while in Virginia, but never that many.

Lizard at Villa Vizcaya

Locals told me that it usually rained at least once a day - but usually never more than 5 minutes at a time.  Chances for precipitation are a bit higher during hurricane season and incidentally, I experienced a torrential downpour leaving Villa Vizcaya.  Through thunder and lightning, I ran through massive puddles back to the metro station.  I don’t think an umbrella would have helped.

Back from Oz

Ocean Drive, South Beach

Although expensive and extravagant, I really did enjoy my time in Miami.  While there are certainly a lot of beautiful things to see, but with transient nature of the area, it felt like South Beach lacked substance.  I talked to a lot of people who were living in Miami and they offered mixed reviews.  A transplant from New York was very vocal on his dislike for the city - he said it was incredibly superficial.  I asked him why he decided to move there and he said he just wanted to get away.  The shop owner of the shoe store I went to moved to South Beach from Brazil and said she loved everything about the town.

The opportunity to travel by myself was liberating - walking everywhere and taking public transit allowed me to explore parts of the city that many tourists would pass by.  I even had a lady in downtown Miami ask me where the closest Walgreens was - I was actually able to direct her.  I guess it all comes down to what you are looking for.  I personally couldn’t see living there, but it would be worthy of a return visit, especially with a group of friends.  Despite the ups and downs, Richmond’s not such a bad place to be.  Miami’s stark contrast put this into perspective.  There’s no place like home.  You need that reminder every once in a while.

Tarrant’s, the popular downtown eatery expanded into the former Outre gallery space after being in business for less than a year. The bigger space also brought a new pizza venture, Tarrantinos, featuring gourmet pies and calzones. Surely this is a sign of a booming business, at least one can hope, since they offer an extensive menu, good service, and consistently tasty food. Their cobb salad is one of the best in town. I was curious to try the new pizza upon a reader’s recommendation post-Sette. I’m on a kick lately.

A committee meeting was moved to Tarrant’s at the last minute this evening, so I took this as a sign. I typically don’t indulge in the carb-filled treat very often, so when I do, I want wow. Tarrantino’s was certainly an indulgence. I’d been craving white pizza, so I tried the Quattro Formaggio - a blend of ricotta, asiago, mozzarella, and parmesan. The base layer of ricotta added a nice texture. All of the flavors mixed well, especially with the red pepper flakes and pizza seasoning that are served on the side.

The crust was tasty and soaked up the greasiness of the cheese as expected with a four-cheese pizza. The only setback was the unnecessary drizzling of EVOO on top of a pie already loaded up with fat and oil. The simple sauce underneath was just garlicky enough.

Compared to some of the other menu items, the pizza lacks a little of the Tarrant’s pizazz, but it’s a good pie, and certainly good enough to make it your neighborhood pizza place if you are in the proximity.

Maybe it’s my fault for setting the bar high. After visiting Matchbox, a pizza bistro in D.C., I had big expectations for fire-roasted pizza in my hometown. The flames shouldn’t merely bake your pizza, it should mend the flavors together and make them One.

Sette is one street over from Tobacco Row. It’s a cute place with a killer patio. Their menu is a nice mix of salads, sandwiches, and of-course, the fire-roasted pizza which I had heard great things about. We started with a very tasty calamari that was garnished with marinara and an olive tapenade. The calamari wasn’t overly crispy and the shaved parmasan was a nice touch. The flavors went well together.

For our pizza selection, we went with the Little Italy - a red-sauced pie with chicken, spinach, mozzarella, and goat cheese. It arrived and looked amazing, but simply didn’t deliver. The sauce was not thick and made the crust soggy. The chicken was not freshly grilled and tasted salty like it was scoured on the piefrom a pre-cooked pack. Disappointing.

I guess some things are just left for the big city.

Speaking of Greek, if you haven’t had the Greek Nachos at Kitchen 64, then you are certainly missing out on one of this city’s culinary masterpieces.

The reviews of the kitchy preppy/hipster/family/anyone-depending-on-when-you-go hotspot have been mixed.

I’ve personally been satisfied with most of the food I’ve gotten there and the service has been great, but I go for the nachos. The heavenly triangles of corn tortilla are smothered in mozzerella and feta cheese, olives,

lettuce, spicy banana pepper slices, and tomato. The best part is the tzatziki sauce served in addition to salsa that just compliments the salty morsels so darn well.

The nachos are originally a menu item over at sister-restaurant Sidewalk Cafe. I’ve had Sidewalk’s variation a couple of times, but something is just missing in the delivery. Sidewalk’s use of kalamata olives over Kitchen 64’s black olives is alright. The presentation is just prettier at Kitchen 64, but perhaps that’s because Kitchen 64 is just a bit prettier too.

It was back with a vengeance. A crowd of mythological proportions wrapped around St. Constantine & Helen Greek Orthodox Cathedral on Sunday afternoon in celebration of a blowout return of one of Richmond’s largest ethnic food fests.

As the church on Malvern and Grove underwent renovations, the past two years had been scaled back to a drive-through only Greek Food Festival. Compared to the pay-as-you-go style of other festivals, if you wanted to sample everything, you had to wait a line longer than a coaster at King’s Dominion. It was worth the wait as the food was as amazing as ever - but as pricey as going out to a restaurant. Souvlaki was fresh and well-seasoned; pasticio (think lasagna) was flavorful and spicy; grape leaves were tightly bound and zesty; and the spanakopita (spinach pie) was better than I had remembered.

My fave was the sinful Baklava Sundae. The combination of the sticky walnuts, honey, and flaky phyllo over soft serve ice cream made this bad boy worthwhile. Some eye candy serving up in the pastry line didn’t hurt either and made for nice dessert.

What is an Italian Festival without pasta?  Not much of a festival.

The scene today at St. Joseph’s Italian Festival was wet and muddy.  Attendance was noticeably affected by the rain, but most notable was the lack of food.  With the exception of coffee, gelato, pastries, and pizza, there was not much else available  Perhaps some vendors had to cancel because of the inclement weather.

The highlight was the delectable sfogliatelle at the pastry booth.  Still hot from the oven, this ricotta-filled dessert was wrapped with a spiral puff of dough and sprinkled with powdered sugar.  Yum!

At the core of any festival of this nature is the heart and soul of those putting it on.  Today, everyone seemed preoccupied with the rain, so hopefully better weather tomorrow will set the stage for a more festive event.  St. Joseph’s Italian Festival continues tomorrow at 828 Buford Road in Bon Air from 11 a.m. - 6 p.m.

I was the fat kid that could barely do a 15-minute mile in gym class. After losing 135 lbs. a couple years ago, I have decided to push myself physically. Back then, I could never have seen myself running a 10-minute mile, much less enjoying it. Today, running the Monument Avenue 10K, I can say that my first race was a phenominal experience.

During registration, you write your estimated time of completion to determine your start time. One hour, thirty minutes seemed like a safe bet. I began training a few nights a week on the treadmill and shortly worked myself up to 5K each session. Last week, I did a test run for endurance. My one attempt to train outside became too fussy with traffic -  thus learning, in the future, I should go to a park. With my lack of outdoor running, I was curious to find the outcome on race day.

This morning, portapotties lined Broad Street and so did the racers waiting to use them. Each participant received a bib including a number that corresponds with their start wave. I was in the “P” wave which had about 2,400 runners - the amount of people that registered for the entire race during it’s first year in 2000. Since then, the 10K has grown to 31,000 registrants and received a boost this year as a US Men’s 10K Championship Race.

The rush at the start of the race was exhilarating. Moving from Broad Street and taking a detour through Lombardy to get to Monument began a scene of live performers and spectators cheering on friends and family.  When I arrived at mile-marker one, I thought to myself, “Is this all I have ran?”  It was going to be a long 6.2 miles.  My goal was simply to complete the course at a running pace.  I didn’t have a specific time goal, but the competitive nature of the event helped keep me motivated.  Avoiding tripping over paper cups at the water stations also proved challenging for a person as generally clumsy as myself.  Running in the rain added to all of this excitement.

To add some quirkiness to the 10K mix, participants were encouraged to dress in costume.  For most of the duration of the race I ran with the X-Men, which was pretty rad.  I don’t think I could run with a wig on like Storm did, then again, there’s always next year.

I ended up passing the finish line at one hour, seven minutes, and fifteen seconds.  Not bad at all for the first go round.  Even after a bruised toe, sore nipples, a few muscle cramps, and some other select chaffing, it was totally worth it.  Next up, a marathon.

Image from Sportsbackers.org

Ever since this LA fashion clothier came to Carytown a few years back, I’ve been curious and intrigued by their mix of simplistic t-shirts, hoodies, silver lamai jackets, and brightly colored underwear.  When I walk into American Apparel, I feel intimidated by so much cool.  It’s overwhelming - you can hardly tell that the men’s clothing is to the left and the women’s is to the right because somewhere in between, there is a whole bunch of unisex…and K-9 jackets.  It’s all just a bit hipster.

The employees even exude a too-cool-for-school attitude with sparkly leggings, slim figures, and sweatbands.  Although something about all the neon dayglo feels like a throwback to an 80s workout video, I still find myself tempted.  Today, I gave into that temptation.  Honestly, I just wanted some cute underwear.

After circling around the store in a fit of indecisiveness, I finally gave in and asked a girl if she worked there - I assumed so since she was robotically folding clothes and doing an incredible job sorting them by colors.  I think back to when I worked at Blockbuster and became a master at the alphabet and movie genres.  Much in the same vein, these employees have mastered the spectrum.  I was looking for ringer tees and I was informed that the “2410s” had been shipped out last week.  Apparently, they are also so cool that they speak in a secret code.

Four pairs of Crayola-colored undies, a purple polo, and one teal t-shirt later, I can now be cool too.  I tried on both the polo and t-shirt and was pleased with the fit.  Friends have told me that their clothes hold up incredibly well, so $24 for a t-shirt seemed like a fair investment when I think about my last splurge on 7 Jeans.

Somehow, I feel okay giving my money over to American Apparel - a very socially conscious company that believes in taking care of its workers by not outsourcing and paying them a fair wage.  The company also makes significant contributions to the communities that it serves, so kudos to them.

So next time you see me, just ask and maybe I’ll show you my hot pink briefs.