On the Brinks of Insanity

I just saw an armored car driver pulling some bags of cash out of his truck. As this was happening, a guy walked by and said "Can I have some money?" with his hands making a bowl like an Oliver Twist character. The driver looked him up and down and hesitantly said "Um, not today..." Just then, Oliver's pose morphed into an overhand air swat to prove that he was only joking.

I immediately mind-punched the guy.

Beautiful Hair Guy and the Child Crash

Every day I drive to work, then drive home for lunch, back to work and then home at the end of the day. That's four passes down a fairly straight stretch of road per day, every day of my life. I know all of the details of this trip; when people get new cars, mow their lawns or even paint their houses.

There is sometimes a lot of foot traffic down this stretch, including a middle-eastern man who I started waving at 3 years ago, and ever since then, we've been "waving pals." It always brings a mutual smile to our faces to see each other and wave. I don't know the guy, but this story is not about that man. It's about a new walker, with a new made-up true story. He wears fairly beat-up clothes: slip-on shoes, a tie dye shirt and some cargo pants. He always carries a grocery bag over his shoulder and walks with a palsy-beat. One of his arms is tucked and looks as if he's carrying an imaginary football. However, none of these things measure up to the amount of what caught my eye the first time I saw him lugging groceries down the sidewalk. This man has the most beautiful hair I've ever seen on anyone in my life. 

As I drove up on this man the first time, I thought he was a woman. The flaxen ripply flow went down to the middle of his back, believe it or not. It was like Kenny G or Weird Al's hair, if they would've grown theirs out for another year. It was like vintage Michael Bolton's hair, but way more majestic.

Nearly every day, I saw "Beautiful Hair Guy," and every time, I'd stare in awe. The questions rushed to my brain: How far does he walk every day? Why doesn't he stock-up on groceries? What shampoo does he use? His clothes were fairly bland, but his hair shone like God's horse's mane. A true gift. I went to work and asked co-workers if they'd taken notice of this man and his beautiful hair, but they just laughed as I drew a quick sketch.

One day, as I was driving home from work, I was approaching an intersection, and a man turned in front of me - we collided. Quietly freaking out, I wrestled out of my airbag to see that my car was smoking. I threw open my door, jumped out, and immediately ran away from my hissing, totaled car. I had my hands on my knees bent over trying to stop my panic attack, when I looked up and saw the BHG hobbling over to me as fast as he could. He said "Are you okay?" I paused, gave a quick giggle and said "I am now." Seeing that everyone was fine, he carried on out of the road and down the sidewalk. I couldn't believe it. Was this man my guardian angel in Birkenstocks? Perhaps.

Several days after the incident, I went to the police station to get a copy of my police report. As I read the accounts, I stopped, re-read, opened my mouth and with a fixed gaze, started laughing hysterically. The other driver told the police that he was distracted by a child on the median. 

A child?! He obviously wasn't looking at the person's face! He was looking at the BHG's hair! He turned in front of me because he was in awe of the man's beautiful hair!

Do other people see my guardian angel as a child? I'm not sure. I snapped a picture of him once and this is all I got. A blurry vision of the BHG, but I'm okay with that.

This past weekend

Today is Monday, and I am sore. My weekend was jam-packed with nothing, so I created things to do. On Friday, I took off the second-half of the day to watch my kid. I went to the mall and bought some khakis (navy, light blue and orange). Saturday, my wife had a photoshoot to do, so I made breakfast, and watched the Lion King with Maximilian. We played pretty hard on his indoor slide, inspiring a midday nap. I went to Home Depot for random house supplies. Later on that day, I took Max on a 7-mile run, while I pushed his 33.7 lbs in the jogging stroller. That night, I got Max into bed while my wife enjoyed "ladies' night" with some friends.
Sunday, I got up and made breakfast, and just hung out. I went and hit 70 golf balls at the driving range. It was exhilarating. I came back home, ran to Panera for sandwiches, then we went to a winery in town, drank wine and then went to the in-laws' house for steaks and longhorn cattle burgers.
Today is Monday, and I am sore.

Bryan Adams' album Waking Up The Neighbours is incredible. That is all.

Hearse post.

Barbie-Hearse, a photo by mrkugler on Flickr.

Today, I was driving next to a hearse on my way home from work. Hearses are weird. First of all, they're like a mega station wagon, and they're always like light blue or creme-colored. They've also got curtains in the windows. The curtains don't really cover up anything in particular. Just there, neat and pressed. If I were a curtain-maker, I'd buy a hearse to display my expertise. Also, there's usually a big, metal thing on the back of the hearse. It looks like a big shoehorn or something, just pasted on the side for no apparent reason. I wanted to pull up to the stop light and ask the driver if the carpet matched the curtains. That's all of the ideas I have about hearses.

Walking with Cheeses.

Two days ago I went into QuikTrip, a local gas station/convenience store, to buy a bottle of water. As I walked up to the counter, a weary foot-traveler asked me if I knew where the closest train station was. I told him it was across town; a very long walk. "Why doesn't anyone know where a train station is, or where a bus stop is? Everyone's treating me like I'm an idiot... Well... I am" said the man. I kept trying to help him get where he needed to go, but then I realized that he had tattoos on his face. At the bridge of his nose, he had a small circle and larger ones as they went down his nose, with a big one encircling the end of his nose. However, the tattoo on his left (my right) cheek almost made me giggle. It was a triangular piece of swiss cheese. It was a triangular piece of swiss cheese. Swiss. Cheese. In a triangle.

How does a person get a job having that tattoo? What would his job be? Cheese inspector? Tattoo artist? He was very dirty and had a dog tied up to the trash can outside. I probably will never see him again, but if I do, I'll remember him. Safe travels, dude. 

I drew a picture of him.

The United States of Waving.

I mean, they look like they're having fun... As I sat there at the light, I just watched him wave, turn, wave and turn. Pulling up a bit, I could see his face and he was smiling. It wasn't just a casual smile, it was a smile of doing something out of his element. Mr. liberty was chewing gum, and with every chomp and open, the chomp always returned to that giant smile. I thought to myself, that must be kind of a nice feeling-being out there for everyone to see; on a muddy, yellowed-grass stage. No boss to tell you you're not doing it right, just another person dressed as silly as yourself to come out in a couple of hours to change shifts with. Today's turquoise corner thespian had a forearm tattoo and white hair. Everyone's got different techniques. His simple delivery (the classic oscillating double 10-to-2 wave) made me respect his "no-frills" classiness.

I wonder how much they get paid. That's all I've got.