In Merrie Olde Westeros

With dashing knight Jon Snow

On our dragon like a sleigh

O'er the serfs we go

Scorching all that's in our way

At the Wall the forges ring

To make our swords shine bright

Past moon and stars we ride and sing

A slaying song tonight!

Pantsed!

I imagine a custom-tailored suit in a fine fabric can be quite comfortable.  Not so much with the usual off the rack stuff, and unless you are really into impressing strangers, you'll usually want to get out of one after the wedding or funeral you wore it to.  The usual cut of trousers, slacks or pants I have never found comfortable.  So it's blue jeans most of the time, as a default.  Recently, though, I found something new:  the Wrangler Outdoors pants made of mostly nylon with a fleece lining.  You can slide right into the car seat in them, and the lining makes quite a difference right now in December.  A little over $20, obtained on line or at a Vanity Fair outlet if you have one nearby.  Since I got two, the jeans have not been in use lately after being the staple for decades.  Students can wear them to school now and probably can't conceive that was grounds for being sent home back in the day (OK, way back).  But I probably would have had some baggy hand-me-downs then anyway, so it wasn't so much of a missed opportunity.

It's been much worse fashion- and comfort-wise in previous ages.  Take a look:

This ancient Celt should have had a mirror at home, don't you think:

I have a picture of my father having to wear boys' knickers, like these:

Sort of like wool cargo shorts.  Maybe not too bad.  But you probably couldn't wait to graduate to the big boy stuff.

And this style will always be remembered as au courant in the 1960s:

I still think they look good on the ladies.  Not so much on those of us on the other team.  And one more thing that almost always looks good on them and not us:

Speaking of not wearing shorts or jeans to school, for a little while back  in the early 1960s, the fad was a miniature belt with buckle on the top rear of the pants -- we called it "ivy league," but who knows why.

Jabberwacky

Have you been way out in the countryside recently?  Other than the observation that the corn fields have been cut, I'll bet the quiet made an impression.  Before the Industrial Age, there must have been a lot less noise all around.  In some environments -- public places, cities, big stores -- for the sake of your inner balance you can try to tune it out, but you do expect it in those environments.  Why then do people consciously add to the cacaphony  seek it out and, it seems, need it?

I'm thinking about two things:  voluntarily listening to an endless stream of chatter from media which one could turn off, and voluntarily using that portable phone 16 hours a week (on average).  It's said we endure 4,000 to 5,000 advertisements a day, also.  Wouldn't those three things, going on constantly or simultaneously, drive any normal person nuts?  Once, on a bus trip, I had to listen to a woman talk for the entire three hours at, not with, her seatmate.  I could not possibly think of enough to talk about for three hours straight.

That's irritating, but jabber has been getting dangerous:  cell phone use in vehicles leads to 1.6 million crashes a year.  Pedestrian deaths and injuries are up significantly also, and here's how that happens:

And believe it or not, texting and driving is six times more likely to cause an accident than drunk driving.  So, what's so important about jabbering back and forth that you'd risk it all for?  It's a mystery to me, except that it might just be another example of addiction in humans -- which of course makes no sense either, but it's deep and wide in our species for sure.  I ran into two teachers from Texas recently, and they said their students are so tied to their phones they have ceased to learn much of anything, have no context outside of their bubble, and don't seem to know how to actually do things.  That's scary.

         Your ears are soft and small
         and listen to an old man not at all...

                             -- John Crowe Ransom