Michael Perry's Blog, page 53

Quickbooks and Coffee Shops

Glory of the road. Morning merch count.

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Michael Perry: Everyone wins the grand prize at the potato poundage guessing game

Every week the Wisconsin State Journal runs “Roughneck Grace,” a weekly column written by Mike (many of the columns will be adapted from Mike’s Tent Show Radio monologues). This week’s column ‘Michael Perry: Everyone wins the grand prize at the potato poundage guessing game‘ can be see online here.

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Rocking the Dad Fashion

Inspired by a Tweet thread posted by old friend and deep-hearted songwriter Christopher Porterfield, I hereby re-up the brief essay “High Fashion” from Million Billion:

I have just been to a fashion show in my own house, featuring me. The runway was the hallway to the bathroom, with a dogleg left past the woodstove into the living room. The audience sat on the couch and consisted of my wife and two daughters. Flash photography was forbidden, as Dad does not wish to wind up shirtless on SnapChat in light of certain lard-based gravitational issues.

My sartorial state is a source of long-term despair for everyone in my immediate family except for immediately me. There was a time now decades distant when I cared how I dressed, and this led to some egregious overshoots including bolo clips, popped collars, a pink silk head scarf, wrestling shoes worn with my jeans tucked in, open blazers with the cuffs rolled, more than one trench coat, and, for a while, an affectation of hats. The arc of fashion bends toward reality, and eventually I settled into a reliable groove of sturdy boots, no-name jeans, and free t-shirts. This has saved me a lot of time, cash, and retrospective humiliation.

As a clothes rack, my body is a stack of used tires. Even fit and fine I’ve always been shortish and stocky-ish, and no matter what those men’s magazine photo spreads tell you, nothing dresses a man better than being six feet tall with narrow hips and just one chin. Unfortunately, recently my wife read one of those men’s magazines, specifically a section on how to decorate certain body types (“balding husky,” anyone?) and, after a trip to town centered mainly on clearance bins, the three people I share my house and life with staged an intervention.

Apparently the triggering event was a recent speaking event at which I appeared in my favorite pair of jeans, which are still my favorite even though I have waddled a hole through the left inner thigh. There was concern that from an audience perspective it might be possible to determine my underwear preference. It was also noted that the t-shirt I was wearing bore evidence of the grease from a pre-millennial gas station mozzarella stick. Sometimes I think they’re just looking for things to criticize.

I had packed the van for a concert that evening and run into the house for a quick shower when I found the three of them waiting on the couch beside a card table stacked with clothing. There was no escape, and so it began: Into the bathroom to change, then out in my socks to stump through the gauntlet of gaze: My wife, looking on benevolently, hoping for the best; my 9-year old, mostly giggling; and my 17-year old, mostly horrified. There were folded arms, pursed lips, and once, when I made the mistake of parading through shirtless in a pair of decidedly undersized “skinny” jeans, outright hoots. Turns out, these particular trousers caused an anatomical displacement I am told is called a “muffin-top.”

But if merciless assessment is love, I am beloved. Eventually the jury approved one pair of pants, three t-shirts that didn’t advertise anything, and a button shirt that goes with my eyes while simultaneously minimizing the muffin top. That night when I took the stage I felt confident and grateful and then on the long drive home after midnight that t-shirt collected a drop of gas station hot dog grease and now it really suits me.

 

“High Fashion,” from Million Billion

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520 Pounds of Potatoes

All gratitude to family, friends, neighbors, and above all, my wife.

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Michael Perry: America’s pastime? How about a day on the farm?

Every week the Wisconsin State Journal runs “Roughneck Grace,” a weekly column written by Mike (many of the columns will be adapted from Mike’s Tent Show Radio monologues). This week’s column ‘Michael Perry: America’s pastime? How about a day on the farm?‘ can be see online here.

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DINA-mite

My ’51 International pickup has a younger cousin in Mexico. Touch of Bondo, splash of paint, good to go. Oh, and one front wheel.

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Audio – Jesus Cow and Miss Honorée

We’re making this listen free because we’re honoring a friend.

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Cool Hat, Cool Mom

Back in the ’70s, beer can hats were cool. We were a teetotal family, so Mom crocheted this version. We have a cool mom.

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Michael Perry: Clearing wood, clearing the head, both at the same time

Every week the Wisconsin State Journal runs “Roughneck Grace,” a weekly column written by Mike (many of the columns will be adapted from Mike’s Tent Show Radio monologues). This week’s column ‘Michael Perry: Clearing wood, clearing the head, both at the same time‘ can be see online here.

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Please help us stay in touch.

We enjoy (and benefit from) communicating with readers and listeners via Facebook and other social media outlets, but every now and then they tweak an algorithm or change the rules behind the scenes and we are reminded there is no better way to stay in touch than by good old fashioned mailing list, so if you haven’t signed up, please consider it. It’s the best way for us to let you know if Mike has a new book or recording available, and if he’ll be performing in your area. Info on how to join the mailing list (plus what we will and won’t do with the info) right here.

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