Turned 50 this morning.
Half Century mark.
As I sit here, I can feel wisdom imbruing my mind and oozing from me like an intellectual diarrhea.
And sometimes just as smelly and inconvenient.
However, I find myself blooming like an intellectual rose at this point in my life.
So, and I mean this from the bottom of my somewhat shallow heart.
Whatever wisdom you find here is golden, take it to heart and realize that if you disagree, its only due to your ignorance, and that isn’t your fault.
And I forgive you.
Moving on to the blog.
The Man is in the M-er F-ing HOUSE!
The Starbucks closest to my house is a big one, couple of dozen tables.
Busy, even during the off hours.
And you would think that with that mass of humanity, it would lower the instances of crazy, safety in numbers and all of that.
Try not to think.
Turns out that it just makes crazy up it own game.
Enter the Man.
He is either badly aging 50’s or normal aging late 60’s.
He has swagger to his walk, like he is the Shit.
Let me describe his outfit.
White short shorts, bordering on booty shorts.
Pasty white legs that would need several weeks of a proper diet and then a workout program to look even ok in booty shorts.
As it is, its more than a little creepy.
His shirt appears to have slipt thru a time portal from the 80’s.
OP poloshirt, white with faded blue seagulls.
His hair has a little bit of Pomade in it, giving it a slick and greasy look.
He has an original Ipod, complete with the vintage headphones, vintage to the point that the cord to one of the earpieces has a little ducktape repairing it.
Here is the cherry on the Sunday for this little scenario.
He is a big Journey fan and is singing along to Wheel in the Sky.
And he does not sing well.
Journey was only tolerable if it actually is Journey, but when its sung by The Man (AKA Freakboy) it becomes creepy and a little frightening.
The voice is like a serial killer’s, like its the last one you will ever hear as the trunk of the car closes.
And then there is the straw.
The Man fancies himself as a drummer of sorts with a green straw from the cream and sugar kiosk.
So he is singing out loud, pretty poorly by the way, and smacking this straw onto the table like he is beating on a snare drum, out of beat, of course.
Now I don’t want to assume too much hear, but lets go out on a limb here and say that the Man has, or has had, an issue with various chemicals in his life, most likely for a long time.
Long term abuse of any drug makes you hard to take, case in point, me and caffeine.
But there is a loss of self awareness that comes with the more mentally damaging drugs.
In other words, you lose sight of just how weird you have become.
Like a meth head that has scratched holes in his face, then hits you up for change with some convoluted story that, to him I am sure, makes it seem like he is just a regular guy who needs a couple of bucks to get out of a jam.
All the while, continuing to scratch new holes in his face.
And if the thought actually entered your head, “Don’t judge.” Grow the hell up. And if you think the bible says don’t judge you aren’t paying attention.
Uh oh. Looks like there is the potential for mayhem, the federales have arrived.
In classic form, The Man is not shocked to see them.
With almost no words bing said, they all head outside to talk.
Perhaps they are all friends.
Everyone is smiling and friendly.
The meth head with the heart of gold.
Maybe this will be the sequel to Pretty Woman, a new vehicle for Julia Roberts. (Hooker with a heart of gold scenario)