Embarking upon a new fashion sense with the new year

I apologize, reader, that I have neglected my bloggery for nearly two months. I'll pick up where I left off and summarize the mundane events of my existence over the last few weeks.

I'm still driving Daddy's car. He's basically letting me use it as long as I like, which is a load off, given the financial strain we'll likely be under for a while while we pay off my wife's surgery. Yes, my bride finally had to go in for a diagnostic procedure, where they found the likely cause of her abdominal pains and we hope fixed the problem. Thanks to my shitty insurance through my employer, we'll be facing bills to the tune of several thousand dollars, which we'll have to pay off in monthly installments for years to come. So much for my plans to get my wife a nice Volvo or something.

Thanksgiving was much more relaxing this time around. Instead of cooking all day for 7 people, or bunking down in a residence with 8 relatives and 3 dogs, we checked into a nice Marriott for 3 nights and made our various family visits during the day, then retired to our quiet hotel room and took a dip in the hot tub downstairs, waking up to a sumptuous breakfast buffet each morning. We considered it a last hurrah before the upcoming surgery consumed our lives. During the week before the procedure, I became possessed by the spirit of Howard Hughes (or maybe Howie Mandel, who's still alive), growing paranoid over bringing home infectious organisms that could jeopardize my wife's health and delay the procedure (which she already had to reschedule because the first week of December wasn't convenient for her self-centered employer), so I washed my hands every chance I got and used sanitizer in between hand washings. And yet, I still caught a cold! So I had to avoid kissing my wife and took to wiping down doorknobs with disinfecting wipes. I guess the paranoia paid off because all went according to schedule. The silver lining to the dark cloud of surgery was that, with the surgery taking place on the 22nd, we had a solid excuse not to travel and visit family on Christmas day or the following days, and instead we spent the holiday and my remaining vacation days sitting around in our cozy house, eating sweets, sipping hot chocolate, watching movies, and viewing the entire first season of Bones (a gift for my wife). Coming back to work today was such a drag.

I did not allow my body to atrophy completely, however. I have resolved to exercise at least a little bit every day, from now on, health and schedule permitting. After finally undertaking the task of cleaning out the upstairs library, I made a little headway towards my goal of setting up the room as a dual-purpose library and gentleman's gym. Keeping the heavy tasseled draperies and oriental rug, I added a fake potted palm from downstairs and the twin standing fans from the master bedroom. My rudimentary set of weights -- consisting of only a pair of 35-pound and a pair of 20-pound dumbbells -- sits on a pair of end tables side-by-side, and the stability ball and Bosu sit in the corner. For extra old-time strongman appeal, I downloaded a $4 collection of piano rags to play while exercising.

A generous gift from my wife will ensure that my workout won't be completely mired in the 19th century. On Christmas morning, I was bestowed with a brand-new Xbox 360 Kinect with a Zumba game and a game inspired by The Biggest Loser. If it works out for us, we'll cancel our gym membership and save $50 a month. I hope to purchase additional used dumbbells for a little more variety -- and resistance -- in my exercises. I would go out and get some tonight, but I'm afraid I already spent all my Christmas money on my lingering L.L. Bean habit. I really hope this particular "look" I'm going for sticks, and it's not just another stupid phase in my lifelong journey to find my ideal fashion sense. While I was going "preppy" back in the summer, I overdid it and took it too far in the conservative direction, at one point going to the beach bars wearing polo shirts neatly tucked into belted khakis, making my wife feel like she was out with her father. Now that I'm halfway into my 32nd year, and no doubt coinciding with my desire to relive my college days, I'm developing an obsession with looking, feeling, and staying young, and if I've learned anything on that long road lined with castoff garments, it's that one's clothing choice can make a great impact on one's perceived age, so now I wish to bring to mind a smartly-dressed college student. Not quite frat-tastic, not quite Junior Republican, just somewhere in the middle that says casual, youthful, and effortlessly put-together. The first great leap I made in this direction was acquiring 3 pairs of dungarees, or "blue jeans," as today's youth calls them, and wearing them daily. The outermost layer of my winter wardrobe shall be a classic duffel coat with toggle closure, long the choice of the ivy-leaguer who wants a long coat but wants it to be a bit more cavalier than the Crombie while looking more put-together than a simple fleece coat. Other layering garments shall include rib-knit cotton sweaters, worn with t-shirts underneath, not a stodgy collared shirt, as if I just rolled out of bed and threw one on before heading to PSY-101, waffle-knit crewneck shirts for variety, sometimes worn underneath thick, soft chamois shirts, and plain white long-sleeve t-shirts worn under contrasting short-sleeve t-shirts or polo shirts. I'll still don the brightly-colored rugby shirts for '80s throwback appeal, and I'll keep my oxford shirts in the mix, interspersed with my weathered canvas shirts, all worn untucked, of course. I also purchased a pair of L.L. Bean's gumshoes, not just for urban downpours (could have used them last week when I had to make a grocery run in pouring rain), but also for strolls on the beach in early Spring when it's still a little too nippy for bare feet. By dialing back the conservative vibe and shaking it up a bit with colors, patterns, and textures, I hope to look as if I woke up next to a naked sorostitute with no recollection of how she got there, and plan to head to the beach or the mountains as soon as I get through my morning exam in Rocks for Jocks, blowing off my afternoon "cake" class so I can get there while it's still daylight. I now feel smugly superior when I cross paths with a suit-clad stooge in my office building who, despite probably earning far more money than I do, has no choice but to wear that itchy gabardine cocoon with a silk noose around his neck. While I covet his salary, he no doubt covets my youthful freedom. If I could only afford a car for my wife, I could reclaim the 4runner, the perfect car for the preppy, outdoorsy college douche.