Sunday, April 03, 2005
Karol Wojtyla, RIP
God bless, John Paul II.
If ever a man deserves to be seated above the salt, it's that brave and good fighter who just left us to plead our cause on the right hand of our Lord.
Let not our memory be of the hunched figure fighting for words but the man in his granite-jawed prime, the innovator, the visionary, the moral compass.
I woke this morning in my usual befogged state and donned the first T-shirt from the pile in which to shamble out to buy my usual NYT.
Standing in the queue, the man in front of me turned, looked down at the pattern and, placing hand over heart, muttered a smiling "Amen, brother".
Entirely fortuitous. I have a gazillion Ts, it could have been some trendy Guinness logo or Miss Avril Lavigne in full-throated chant. But that one. Nice.
Bought in situ from a crone off a backstreet stall, it still reads, "TOP-TEX sportswear L".
What's with T-shirts these days? Was a time you could be walking down Capodistriou Street, downtown Athens, see a Celtics T approaching you and ^5 a "Go Larry Bird" and the dude would beam. Today, it'd be a "duuh?". They even fake 'em: there's no Hard Rock caff in Hong Kong, yet I've seen them sported on sagging bellies from Nissaki to Nacogdoches
