What Have You Done Today, Lazy Bones?

Today was another fine day, though noticeably hotter than yesterday. Once again, I blew a fine chance at an early start. I had the alarm set for six in the morning. No, that’s not a typo, it’s true. Perhaps I was just playing a joke on myself last night. Just wishful thinking? I don’t get up at that time unless I have to be at work or I have to go on a booty call. Now, the former will be happening any day now as I’ve started looking. As for the latter, well, I’ve never actually been on a booty call, but I have covered for friends who have been on them at comparable hours of the morning. Let me just leave that be and move on to the next paragraph.

Now, yesterday I was up early but didn’t shower until nearly eleven and consequently didn’t get out of the house until quarter after that hour; today, strangely, I was showered and ready by nine or so, but didn’t get out of the house until the same time as yesterday. Why don’t I set my alarm for eleven from now on? If I do I’ll probably be out of the house by nine.

Today I blame it on iTunes. Yes, that’s right. Just when I was all ready to go and was psyching myself up to walk out the door, Party Shuffle decided to throw me little Samba party with a few Flamenco tunes thrown in. It was too much for me. I had to sit there and listen, tapping my foot (off rhythm…call it White Beat, or the inability for dudes like me to count any beat except for those featured in Creedence tunes) and, yes, swaying my head. Luckily, none of this was visible to any other human beings. Yes, the joys of being in the man cave. Space is limited at the moment, since I rent a room in a house, so I should convert the southwest corner of my room into my Man Corner!

It wasn’t just iTunes that held me up. I had to get my roomlord, Nick, to take some digital shots of me to put online. When I say roomlord, I mean he’s the guy who has the lease and is subletting the rooms to me and a few other people. He’s not the landlord, and I wouldn’t call him a simple roommate, since he’s the boss. Thus, I coined the term roomlord (I like saying it twice in a deep voice and thinking about heavy metal at the same time), and believe me, dear friends, it will soon be on everyone’s lips, right next to tomorrow’s cold sores!

He took two shots of me against a bookshelf downstairs, and I wasn’t happy with them, but they’ll do for now. I need something outside in the natural light. The flash in the dark room made me look so fat and old…it made me look like myself! Tomorrow I’ll put the camera in my backpack and when I find someone who looks like they won’t run away with the camera, I’ll have them take a picture of my nose against some historical landmark downtown. Everyone says my nose is my best side.

At roughly a quarter past eleven in the morning, I was walking the five or six blocks toward Lancaster and the trolley stop. Deja vu it was! Again the great breeze. No sign of the heat that would descend on the city just an hour or two later. The only thing out of the ordinary was the fact that I was getting some mean stares from everyone that I walked by. The topper was a gentleman who noticed me not far from Lancaster. He was parking his car in front of a church and attempted to get my attention. Since I couldn’t catch what he was saying, and I was an object in motion that tended to want to stay in motion, I did the politest thing I could think of, and answered back, “Hey, good morning to you.” I continued walking.

Now, call me paranoid, but after I was a block or two past the church, I heard him calling from some distance behind me, “Hey buddy! Hey, buddy!” I didn’t stop and find out what he wanted. In fact, I convinced myself, in the space of a second or two, that he wasn’t actually calling me. Looking back on this puzzling event, I don’t imagine he was calling anyone else because the street was empty at that time.

I got to Lancaster seconds behind the trolley. I had never seen the back end of one of the trolleys before, and at the same time I stood appreciating it, I swore I didn’t want to be left behind again any time soon. I crossed over to the other side of the street to wait for the next one. This ended up taking at least ten minutes.

During that time I noticed a few more stares. One gentleman, walking northwest up the other side of Lancaster, gave me a good look up and down several times, frowning right at me. Well, it was either me or the sign marking the location of the bus stop, and only one of us was people watching.

This next part is true, believe it or not (and I suspect you don’t), but a light went on in my head at that moment. I looked down at my wrinkled t-shirt. Bright red. I was wearing a bright red t-shirt in the hood! What was I thinking when I got dressed that morning! Going out and walking around the hood in red! Some nerve I had!

But wait. My reasoning kicked in, and said, no, you racist fuck. Of course, white boy living in the hood for the first time, you think everyone standing on the corner is a drug dealer and you think if you wear red they’re going to… No, no, no, I said to myself, shaking it off. Don’t be silly.

Around that time I boarded a lumbering number 10 trolley, sat down in a seat and assumed the position: that is, with my arm up on the window sill and my chin resting in my palm, drinking in the view outside like it was the first time I was seeing a city or human beings. That’s the way I am, and it’s one of the few things about myself that I wouldn’t change if I could. Anyway, more on my wardrobe later on.