Welcome to Thursday, the 80% worker’s Friday, and another half-assed attempt on my part to deduce the direction of my weekend by reading too much into my morning commute’s iPod playlist.
Here we go.
She’s In Parties by Bauhaus
Shining Star by Earth Wind and Fire
Get On the Good Foot by James Brown
Mass Destruction by Faithless
Transformer by Gnarls Barkley
M79 by Vampire Weekend
Ramble On by Led Zeppelin
As usual, I predict a darn good time. I would also like to predict that I find a stray $20 somewhere, although honestly, I don’t see that anywhere in the playlist.
Today is my 415th post, ladies and gentlemen, 413 of which have been consecutive.
Right around the 200th post or so I started to wonder just how long I could do a post a day when it occurred to me that, while I certainly have recurring themes I touch on, I also never seem to run out of my own personal wonderments.
The bus, for example. Is there an end to the humor the bus and its accoutrements offer? I ask you! The bus, the bus stops, all a microcosm of humanity in its beautiful, questionable, worrisome glory.
Let’s take yesterday, shall we?
Yesterday, I watched a woman at the bus stop downtown unselfconsciously apply deodorant. Cars streamed by, people walked dogs, beggars held out their hands and there she was, her shirt pulled up as she coated one armpit, and then the other.
“What are you looking at?” She said it matter-of-factly, not aggressively.
“I use the same brand,” I said.
“Good stuff, ain’t it?” But she didn’t really say “stuff”.
She then applied perfume.
Her afternoon/bus-stop ablutions done and satisfied that she was both smell-free and smell-full, she settled back onto the bench to re-stinkify with a pack of Marlboro Red.
The bus came as she lit up. I got on. She didn’t.
What else was in that enormous purse? Did the deodorant “hold”?
Not knowing is part of the fun. And yes. I’m having fun.
Have a great weekend, everyone. Come back tomorrow if you can.
2 hours ago