Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the weekend, brought to you by a partnership between Dow Chemical and the Department of Transportation in conjunction with your local government and The Committee to Convince You That You Have Choices.
Once again, we ask ourselves questions regarding said weekend. What will the weather be like? Will I see friends? Will I wear that dreadful shirt again?
The answer to these questions – and any others you can think of – is found deep within the murky and danceable songs found on my iPod.
What? You didn’t know?
My iPod, set on “shuffle” and played during my morning commute, knows all, tells some.
Play along, won’t you? I have so little…
Feng Shui by Gnarls Barkley
Say it Again by Scribe, feat. Tyra Hammond *
Kick Drum Heart by The Avett Brothers *
Tighten Up by The Black Keys
The Hardest Part by Coldplay
I Feel You by Depeche Mode
Just Like U Said It Would B by Sinead O’Connor *
Tired of Being Alone by Al Green
Say Hey (I Love You) by Michael Franti & Spearhead
Shake It Out by Manchester Orchestra
10:15 on a Saturday Night by The Cure
This Friday’s prediction? It says, hey! All those people you love? You should hug them, ask them to dance, maybe take them to the Bearded Lady Motorcycle Freak Show on Saturday…
And speaking of freaks, I don’t know what’s going on lately, but I’ve been meeting them.
First the man on the bike – who pulled over to introduce himself as “Mike” yesterday, by the way – and then the man outside the yoga studio…
6:45 in the afternoon. After almost a full week of temperatures that hovered around the 110 degree mark, the 84 degrees was almost autumnal. I left the heated yoga studio in my yoga pants and top, and waited, on the corner, for my ride,.
Envision me, if you like, looking fabulous.
This is preferable to reality.
In actuality, my complexion, following physical exertion, leans towards spotty purple-ness. As earlier confessed, I’m a head-sweater, and should you ever see me following strenuous effort, words like “apoplexy”, “heat stroke”, and “did you know ‘aubergine’ is French for ‘eggplant?’” will spring to mind.
Also at this corner is a man. He is my age. Tall, thin, in tight black pants and a plain black tee shirt, chains running from a belt loop to the wallet in his back pocket, he has hair to his waist and one of those mustaches that is shaved bare in the middle, a look that has always disturbed me. He is wearing a black cap advertising his love of Motley Crue, heavy black motorcycle boots and mirrored sunglasses.
His bicycle leans against the brick building.
We give each other the nod.
I watch as he bends forward, pulls up his pant leg. Stuffed into a grayed sweat sock are folded bits of paper, a pen, what may have been a bag of salted, in-the-shell peanuts, and a pack of generic cigarettes.
He straightens up, opens the pack, and holds it toward me.
I look into his mirrored sunglasses and smile, wave off the pack. “No,” I say, “but thank you so much for offering.”
He nods again, lights his own cigarette, bends forward and puts the pack back in his sock.
He throws his leg over the bike, straddling it. “See you around,” he says. He touches the brim of his cap and pushes off, whistling the opening strains of Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love”…
I watch him, smiling, as he pedals down Washington Avenue.
Have I ever told you how much I love human beings?
They’re my favorite.
Have a great weekend, everyone. Don’t be afraid to come back tomorrow.
* If you have the time and inclination, I recommend these songs!
4 hours ago