
I
don't know how things stand now, but in the late 1970s the corrective
eyeware industry had not really mastered the operational aspects of
eyeglasses that, theoretically at least, got darker in the sunlight and
lighter indoors. There was this one kid in my grade, Craig, who had
tinted aviator glasses very similar to the ones partially masking Mike
Parrott's apprehensive expression, and Craig's glasses were never
tinted enough outside or untinted enough inside. I sort of hated Craig
because both he and I had curly hair and glasses and braces and played
small forward on our constantly defeated junior high basketball team. I
hated my curly hair and glasses and braces and losing and hated Craig
because I guess I needed in some way to put all that self-hatred onto
somebody else, especially a someone who didn't seem to mind all the
things that seemed like curses to me. In fact, I am pretty sure he
permed his fucking hair to make it curlier, and somehow the fact that
his glasses were tinted, that they featured this new,
attention-grabbing technology, made his glasses the same as the perm,
an embrace of his cursed status as a four-eyed brillo-head. By the time
we were in tenth grade and putting in our fourth straight season of
getting our brains beaten in on the basketball court, Craig's refusal
to realize that he was cursed had resulted in him even having a
girlfriend that he seemed likely to be having sex with, which was
something like the Apollo Space Program to my Caveman Banging Rocks
Together And Thinking About The Moon. But even so, in my mind Craig was
still the douchebag with the stupid tinted glasses. He had to be.
Anyway,
Mike Parrott seems here to be on the brink of a humiliating discovery,
his eyes fixed on the horizon as if an airplane skywriter is spelling
out the last letters of a message that Mike Parrott's wife has run away
with some other Mariner that Mike Parrott has always fervently believed
to be a douchebag. In the season to come, Mike Parrott will valiantly
battle the creeping self-doubt apparent in this picture, going 14-12
with a respectable 3.77 ERA. He will even begin the following year with
a win, but then he will lose every single other game that year, 16
games in a row, to finish 1-16. I don't know if Mike Parrott's tinted
glasses contributed to the monumental losing streak, but one has to
wonder why a guy whose home games were in the roofed Kingdome would be
drawn to glasses that were always a little too dark when the wearer of
them was inside.
pete millerman said...
...having myself spent the better part of the mid-to-late 1970's sporting the model of wire-rimmed aviator eyeglass frames known as "the Ogilvie" in deference to gifted child thespian Alfred Lutter, I think I can pretty much state definitively that Banging Rocks Together and Thinking About the Moon is, in itself, no small achievement.
6:32 PM
Josh Wilker said...
"The Ogilvie" model persisted in some quarters beyond the 1970s, though in those later years it was more often known as "The Koresh."
9:11 AM
He got his nickname when we crossed over to border to Massachusetts. Anthony's was the name of our destination. It was (is?) a titty bar near Westover Air Force Base. Unlike Connecticut, Massachusetts allowed the Canadian ballet to serve alcohol AND show full frontal nudity at the same time.
In any event,there was a group of guys sitting across the runway from us. They thought that Ed was wearing a toupee and offered a dancer $50 to tear it off of his head. This gal was doing the bump and grind with Ed, steaming his glasses while the guys across the way were chanting "Wig! Wig Wig!" She chickened out and wouldn't pull off his toupee and told him what was going on.
"See this!' He yelled across the catwalk while he yanked his hair. "It's all real."
He's had that nickname ever since.
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