Monday, 30 May 2011

How do you do… specs

Help him! The Bionic Man needs his micro fibre lens cloth or he will almost certainly not see the impending incoming Global Holocaust! What? It was just a fat fly and a bit of gravy. Well good job you incinerated it and saved us from that erm fly, cheers, in future Bionic Man can we just call you man.

These glass magnifying spheres screwed onto strut shields in-front of eyes should have been resigned to museums in favour of modern masterful laser surgery and flexible contact lenses. But for some reason, maybe the same logic people get those apps on phones that make their photos look like chatty 80's cameras. For some, (that reason and a few more) glasses have continued where white women wearing bindi's failed.

I think you need glasses
Like some and unlike most, my first experience of glasses wasn’t pleasant. I was 9, and had been straining to see the board for a good few years now. It had developed from just opening my eyes really-really wide, quite swiftly into a straight hard poker stare. This evolved into a strained squint with a lean that eventually, in utter desperation I attempted to force my eyeballs outside their sockets like this man. The amount of effort was clearly not equal to the subject matter ‘flowers in winter,’ so instead I took to copying any work from Staz Seniv the Russian boy, the only Russian I had ever known and the worst copier in the world yet the only one in my limited field of vision.

My teacher finally found out my ruse when she noticed my writing suddenly went from semi-structured sentence to barely legible letters in the brief time we changed from own work to board. She noticed and like all good teachers marked it down and waited four months till the end of term to tell my parents.

This gave me a slight vindication to the criticism, “You don’t need to sit that close to the TV.” Yet sadly also give credence to the comment, “If you sit too close to the TV it’ll ruin your eyes”

This one, or this one, is it the green or red?

Opticians were/are strange places; yet eye-tests are fun, like playing guessing games with unaware implications. I, like every kid wanted to keep the testing glasses but it was the mid 80’s so big and jazzy were my choice.

The children’s section consisted of a range of glasses dipped in bright with stickers of cartoon characters on the side. Because my head back then was unusually large (yes, ha ha) I was able to choose older, teenage frames. The only ones that stood out were pillar box red, and although my parents offered me many other types, I wanted red. I see now why my parents were suggesting subtler tones, because the red ones looked unsurprisingly fucking ridiculous.

So now I had my positively comical red glasses to wear for when I couldn’t see words on the board, not for playtime, playtime I was cool again, that was until I got my leg braces and shoes drilled but that is another story.

You should have gone to

Throughout most teenagers experiences, when the only choice of face furniture was designed by a machine and chosen by a discount spectacle shop, you got the impression you weren’t getting the perfect match, or even a vaguely inaccurate one. That all changed with university where finally I was able to wear whatever my student loan could afford to buy and re-buy when alcohol or clumsiness killed them.

The type
There are two types of people who wear glasses, those who try and hide them with innocuous invisibility, designed, balanced and blended into nothingness. You normally see them in Yo Sushi nibbling a roll that needs to be bitten. And the others who like their four eyes to be brazen and bold, they saunter around surrealist exhibitions trying to master an expression of astuteness and desperately available.

Then there are the others that “don’t wear glasses” because, “they don’t suit them,” “don’t like wearing them” or “my eyes are not bad,” yes, the deniers. These bunch don’t even tell you they wear contact lens, the only way you find out is one day at work a bit of their eye falls into your soup and you scream. They confess like telling someone some sordid salacious secret. They show you their emergency pair for when their eyes crust up. They are awful; they are like braces for eyes. They don’t even fit, hanging off wonky and undernourished. Oh the shame.

Your not still…
You, you skin flint, need new specs cos when you try 'n see you have to look around the scratches.

When you have to bend them onto your face and they’re still wonky.

When they smell of concentrated sweat.

When your jet black glasses look now more a greyey brown flaky dried up pasty.

When people say, “How old are they?” And when you reply, they sigh.

You don’t need them?
I almost forgot they’re a growing alumni of cuntbags who wear glasses without lenses in, just cos, at the moment, they’re a bit hip. These twats, these dicks of the uberworld seem to be quite oblivious to how ridiculous they look, how foolish they seem when questioned and how angry they make me when they or one of their friends ask me if my glasses are real. By your question you have instantly put me on a level with utter fucks who put things on their face cos it’s cool. I actually need them, Aidsface.

How far do you cockgob’s go in taking someone’s disability and turning it into an accessory, d’you ride around in wheelchairs or prefer Zimmer frames? You go in for the colostomy bag or are you piss sacking it this season? And relax.

Shit, I can’t see.
Great, it’s raining and you’re cycling, Rainscape! look a smudge bus, a blur car and a blob bike, yippie I haven’t died yet.

Out from the cold, into the steamy room, you wipe, it re-steams, you try and say hello but you can’t find them, that’s ok in a few minutes it’ll look like your eyes are hiding behind a couple of Christmas windows.

Swimming in blur, where are they, hey, oops sorry I thought you were, no sorry, I’m genuinely sorry, honest I thought they were floats.

Yeah, dancing, woo, getting moshy, yeah, what’s that crowd surfer, arghhh! My glasses, on the floor, oh no, don’t stomp, no, not faster, don’t whatever you do, stamp on my glasses!

And the winner is?
You know, I know, we know, the one thing we’ve been tirelessly campaigning for over these years is recognition in the form of an award for people who wear glasses. Obviously not for Katy Commoner or Eric Everyman, no no, celebrities, facile, barely recognisable celebrities that are never seen near an opticians are all of a sudden prancing down a red rug with the sole proviso of promoting spectacle wearing, sorry scraping what little fame from a sub standard excuse for an awards by claiming they want to be “ambassadors”. That’s like Michael Barrymore retraining as a sexuality counsellor cum part-time lifeguard with a Saturday job as a careers advisor. Plus all of them look as though they’re not wearing glasses at all but awkwardly peering through some sort of stick insect climbing frame designed by Helmut Cock.

Why don’t you wear contact lens ay? I get this question every so often, like I haven’t thought of it, I tried it and then decided I look better with more of my face covered than exposed. Why don’t you try laser eye surgery then? They usually follow that up with it’s 99% safe. Yeah well I met the 1%, this plumber guy decided to get it done so he could work better; they burnt the wrong bit, now he can’t work and is quickly going blind. He’s a Christian, a real funda-mentalist Christian, I did want to ask him why he wanted to change God’s image and if he thought that was God’s plan or God’s revenge? Instead I just sat while he banged on about throwing broken clocks in the air and them reassembling themselves.

Look at you, you…
Speccy, goggle eyes, four eyes, Superman, Buddy Holly, Austin Powers, Where’s Wally, Alan Carr, jam jar! A general theme is if someone with glasses is on TV or in movies then you will be called it, regardless of accuracy or appropriateness. I don’t really understand these people; they must walk around pointing and shouting: Red Car! Chips! Shoes! Su-per-mar-ket! Like their brain-damaged parents. I pity those morons for all that they aren’t and all that they’ll never be.

A picture in frames
Glasses are old hat. The facts are they’re cheap, they’re available, when you’re young they are the best thing to have to see and when you get older like pubes you just get used to them, probably grow some varying styles and remove them once in a while.

People with glasses generally take them into their person as a part of who they are and a comforting if at times frustrating quirk. A social and physical defence, wall, screen, gap, mysterious enigma, is recompence for acquiring this deficiency. An inability of clarity yet the ability to escape into blurry world is a beautiful thing indeed. The well worn in frames, greasily smooth, bruised, bent even scratched to the sky, but perfect.

I have a friend who doesn’t need glasses, though he does have a large collection of paperclips he hangs from his person and a jealous stare, I lie, his stare is more hardline, I lie he doesn’t stare at all, he just cries, for me. Because I am Argentina and he is a ladyboy called Eva Hardon.


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