Rock Candy

I’m the sorta’ guy who buys new undershirts instead of doing laundry.

I’m the sorta’ guy who still expects to pay $30 for a pair of 501 jeans (and who hasn’t graduated to Diesel). And I’m the sorta’ guy who, when he realizes he’s going to a wedding in the morning with a freshly-pressed suit and no garment bag thinks, ‘No problem, I’ll pick one up at one of those cheap ass tourist shops on Broadway.”

But I’m also the sorta’ guy who tries to learn from his mistakes. Enough last-minute, H&M, must-have purchases that last a season have learned me one lesson: amortization.

Actually, my cousin Brian taught me about amortization. I was going to a wedding in L.A. and had all the trimmings: tux, bow tie (not a clip on), slip-ons. But I didn’t have cuff links. “Dude,” he said from his Goldman Sacks office high above downtown, “Go to Brooks Brother’s and buy yourself a pair of sterling silver knots. They’ll amortize well.”

And so, tonight, when faced with a 4 a.m. car pick up, a freshly pressed black suit (white shirt, silver tie), I decided to do the right thing: buy good luggage. Since when did a garment bag cost $300!?!

The bag rests, unpacked, a few feet from me now. I’ll wake in four hours, lay my suit, shirt, tie, swim trunks and running shoes in it, then roll towards JFK. In less than 12 hours, I’ll be sitting on the beach in Jacksonville, Florida, resting up for the wedding of rock star Casey Shea and his lovely wife-to-be, Langhorn.

My suit will be perfect. And in my ears I’ll be rockin’ the “Big Rock Candy Mountain.”

‘Cuz that’s how I roll.