In childhood Colby's first father-figure was Steve. He was his mother's high school sweetheart, shaped most strongly by the rustic Maine lifestyle and his service in Vietnam. He has a thick Maine accent, which takes into account Maine's location - between Boston and Hallifax. It's easy to see that he views Colby as a son, and in turn has always opened his home to me.
In Steve's bathroom was a catalog of workmen's clothing that I continued to flip through long after I'd finished peeing. The standard leaf-and-trees camouflage was there, along with Timberlands and pocket machetes. There was, however, one shirt I had never conceived of. It came in neon orange and sulfur, with a breast pocket and suspender-like strips of reflective tape (which continued onto the pocket). In a non-rushed way I felt that I had to have it.
In the coming weeks I'd search for the shirt online and wouldn't be able to find it. I visited the L.L. Bean megastore and the employees weren't sure what I was explaining. Reflective vests are everywhere but a t-shirt was something I must had imagined.
In New York for a week, visiting friends and monuments, I tried to walk everywhere, especially on interborough trips. I walked from Williamsburg to Long Island City from my friend Jason's apartment to my friend Gabby's job. I followed Nassau Ave to McGuinness, where I looked for places to buy cigarettes. I got to a corner and got the green light to walk. I passed a store I'd seen many times that sells construction-site apparel. When I had crossed half the street, a car stopped to my left, I went to blink and the shirt glimmered behind my left eyelid. I continued and almost made it to the corner, jigged a little, and then turned around, ignoring how crazy I was about to look. I then jogged into the man's man store.
In celebration of summer my friend Todd organized a BBQ on Rockaway Beach. I went and wore my brand-new shirt, bright and blaring as the sun. It brought me to the attention of strangers, who would narrate my actions: She totally just peed in the water. She has a beer in her pocket! She's been here all day.
In the evening I made a stop at San Loco (on the Lower East Side). As I waited for my food, sunburned and stinking of salt, a woman looked to me and said, "You look like you've been doing community service all day. Like that shirt, it looks like you're on parole."
"Yeah, I've been by the highway picking up garbage. And now I'm getting a guacoloco."
In a book I was reading today, which was lent to me by my friend David, a young mother on acid named Mountain Girl told a quick story: "We got 'em at the uniform store," she says. "Aren't they great! There's this old guy in there, says, 'Now, you ain't gonna cut them flags up for costumes, are you?' And so I told him, 'Naw, we're gonna git some horns and have a parade.' But you see this? This is really why we got 'em."
Google Image Search brought this to me and I realized this dog is named Tiny Tim because it limps like the sick little boy in A Christmas Carol. 
When I was little my family and I saw Tiny Tim near the baggage claim at JFK. My only memory is that he was wearing a suit with his pants pulled up high, and from there I could see his decorative, child-like socks. I didn't know to look for Miss Vicki and I don't know if she would've been traveling with him anymore, anyway.
In middle school I heard about CelebrityMorgue.com from Howard Stern's radio show, which I listened to as part of my early-morning ritual. On the website I saw Tiny Tim for the second time in my life - arms crossed, in a coffin.
However, it was not until his cover of, "Living in the Sunlight, Loving in the Moonlight," appeared in a sequence on the first episode of Sponge Bob Square Pants did I finally get what was going on. His ukulele and his falsetto and his song choice and the fake drum sounds were everything I needed. Tiny Tim was made for me to love him, and a powerful spiritual force had been trying to inform me for almost a decade. And who was I or who had I been, unknowingly or with good conscience, to turn away from the ordained? 
The man speaks quickly and with his listeners in mind; his minimal success coming from his work as a one-man midway. He appeared on network talk shows, putting forth a awkwardly meek but shameless persona, getting laughed at by the hosts and their studio audiences, and then taking his ukulele out of its case and playing to loud applause. While Tiny Tim was obviously in control of his weirdness, how much of it was natural? Past the spouting nose and dark, sunken eyes, did he find himself attractive with rough, unkempt hair and flamboyant clothing -- the way I see myself at my best? When he finally found love in a 17-year-old (Miss Vicki), did he see himself as pathetic, or just proven right?
By the time he covered Rod Stewart's "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy," Tiny Tim was coffin-bound. The video came in the 80's, preceding the renewed popularity of the song as fostered by Ally McBeal. Tiny was bloated, wearing tight clothes in all-one-color, and surrounded by women with bangs and red lipstick. It was depressing, repetitive, and of home movie-quality. Soon after its release, Tiny Tim fell off a stage during a ukulele festival; he never really got back up.
