The ill-fitting jacket on the ill-fitting writer

So this week I’ve been appearing on Jim Rome’s show out here in Southern California. I’m not a TV guy, but it’s r-e-a-l-l-y fun, and sitting across from Jim and alongside Lee Jenkins has been terrific.

That said, earlier today, as I sat in a chair to have makeup done (hey, it’s television), the woman applying my blush (or mascara. Or … something) took note when I complained about the collar of my shirt.

“You need clothing that fits,” she said. “Your jacket is big. That was OK years ago, but …” I’m not quite sure what the remainder of her words were, because I was trying to digest the initial message. Big? Years ago?

Then—like a snap—it hit me. I’ve become that guy.

That guy is the guy who—as Seinfeld once noted in a routine—dresses as he did during his prime years. I’m still wearing the clothing of a 25-year-old, circa 1997. Hell, as I sit typing this, I’m dressed in a blue T-shirt and baggy basketball shorts. And I’m friggin’ 40!? My wife will surely laugh if/when she reads this, rightly noting, “I’ve told you this. You need dress clothing that fits better.” Alas, I have ignored her plea, because, frankly, when does a book writer actually dress up? I generally sit alone in a Starbucks or Cosi or Panera or Atlanta Bread Company or Tea Leaf or Corner Bakery (friggin’ love this place, by the way) and struggle through book hell. No need to go all dapper for that.

But, sigh, here I am, on TV, in my (this is literally true) brown blazer that was purchased in 1998 for $30 from a Marshall’s in Dallas.

Perhaps it’s time to change …