My recent posts have mentioned my displeasure with Halloween and lament about being so busy even though we’re unemployed. Bitch, bitch, bitch.Got me to thinking that today would have been a wonderful day to make a “Frank” day.It didn’t happen, but it was a nice thought. Wound up getting wrapped up in yelling at the TV during the Giants game and yelling at my laptop working on a website. Perhaps we’ll shoot for next Sunday, it’s ok.So it seems then like today is a good day for me to spell out my theory as to why the Pythagorean Theorem holds the secret to resolve our current economic malaise. Here goes…wait, what’s that?What’s a “Frank” day you ask? Hmmmm, well, let me explain.

Frank isn’t a person – Frank is a shirt.

Frank is the brand name on the tag inside the shirt.

Frank is also a pretty ugly shirt. More colors than Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, short sleeve, and pretty ratty now too since it’s probably more than a dozen years old. So old in fact I don’t recall exactly where Frank came from nor how it came into my possession, but I do know that every time I wear it someone invariably comments on its sheer ugliness.

Frank however, is more than a haberdasher’s nightmare. Frank is a state of mind.

You see, typically, whenever I so choose to don the shirt, everyone (ok – my wife, maybe the dog) knows that it’s a Frank day – so warn the neighbors.

When you’re away on vacation at one of those island resorts, the one’s who attract folks who like to drink booze with a straw and stew in highly chlorinated hot tubs with bacteria-infested strangers, it’s not all that unusual to find a bunch of bodily-challenged middle aged men meandering about wearing the most hideous shirts. These men are sending a signal out to anyone within view that they’re off, from whatever it is they do, and the world and it’s problems should just leave them the fuck alone. That’s sort of what a Frank Day is. Being off.

Oh sure, I can hear you all now – shouting, loudly “Hey Bone, you’re an unemployed bum – you’re always off!”

Turns out I’m not. There’s always something a afoot here – I guess in these times that’s good, but looking back at some photos from this past Labor Day – seems it’s been too long since Frank took charge and let us free our minds for a select few hours.

Typically, we try and create a vacation-like environment right here in our backyard. We move the trip indoors when it’s chilly; Frank is after all a short sleeve shirt. This involves, pretty much hanging out by the pool, or the bar when it’s chilly and drinking generous amounts of rum-based concoctions churned out from the blender. The TV is off, the phone is turned off, even the computers are turned off with the possible exception of searching for old Neil Young videos. We’re all about escaping.

There’s usually something barbequed, or sandwiches. Lots of salty snacks. We never order delivery however, as there’s not a chance in hell we’d hear the doorbell. The pizza delivery guys in our neighborhood get very angry when you don’t answer the door within thirty minutes.

Oh, couldn’t hear the doorbell because we play the stereo loud – which probably annoys the neighbors. Obnoxious, but we try to keep the play list odd enough to scare away anyone who might wish to voice a complaint. We venture from Myles Davis to Marilyn Manson, Spinners to Coldplay, Grunge to Ambient Trance, Elvis to Iggy Pop. Usually all within the first few minutes. It’s weird, I know.

Taking a Frank Day break requires no specific rules beyond wearing the shirt, as it’s all about clearing your head. If you should ever choose to engage in your own Frank Day, I would say it’s best to be spent with someone who happily understands the true meaning and benefits. I’m lucky in that although she really hates the shirt, my wife is always up for a properly executed Frank Day when I pull it on. It’s nice to hang out and talk about anything that doesn’t involve any real effort with someone you love.

Thinking back to the last Frank Day, I recall the conversation including a wide array of topics from northeastern fruit bats to things that we like to eat with a spoon. Invariably, as she always seems to do, she swayed the chit chat down the road of vacation destination possibilities. Seems her birthday is coming up within the next several months, so she suggests that a vacation to Jamaica might be in order. I recall suggesting that we’re out of work and food stamps might be more in order.

Sitting here thinking how a Frank Day might have been a nice way to spend today, instead of watching the Giants blow another game and shouting at my computer, I came up with a great idea! She doesn’t have an equivalent shirt or accessory that necessarily represents the same ideal as Frank. Since we have the ability to transform our own humble abode into a veritable vacation destination – an ugly shirt might be the gift that shows meaning is truly most in order. A perfect birthday gift!

My luck, she’d find out there’s no big vacation planned, and probably hit me in the head with a shoe. It’s ok though – would give us something else to laugh about on Frank Day.