I’m typing this on the back deck in the papasan with the mexican blanket thrown over it. This is my throne, and below me extending 26 paces my kingdom. This is my coffee shop, office, and refuge. 3 in one, just like the lawnmower, only with the mower I think the options are mulch, collect, or spew.
Right now my feet are extended a single pace out from the chair and into the gently falling rain. I’m letting the rain clean the dirt off my shoes. My pant legs were soaked, anyway. Not from the rain, but from my mansweat. I can’t recall sweating this much in a summer since living in New Orleans without air conditioning in the late 90’s. It’s the daily cross I bear. By 11 am I’m soaked with sweat as if I’d stood in a downpour, only I smell a bit worse. I’ve finally put my finger on what the constant companion soaking my t-shirt smells like. It smells like me, only sour. Shred up my shirt, dust it in sugar, and cannibal children would line up to buy it 3 buck$ a box at the movies. Sweat & Sour Mikes.
Look, here’s me with Seth and Deaton, as portrayed on BTW.
Only one of us is carrying around all that back sweat. Also only one of us drives an old pickup without air conditioning. What’s up with me in that photo? I’ll tell you. I saw that Ben was snapping a photo and thought, “shit. That’s definitely going on his blog. I should look like I’m looking at something instead of looking at the camera like a J-A!” So that’s me looking at “something” like a jackass. And no, my legs don’t see the light of day much.
I know, nobody wants to hear or read about me complaining about the weather. But it’s not the heat I have a problem with. I simply grow weary of saturation due to perspiration. Also the mold growing on the back of our leather sofa is creepy. The upside is the force our beer cave of a bedroom hits me with once the window unit is cranked up at night. It is sweet sweet no-sweat heaven. Once I wanted to be buried in a simple wooden box made by skilled, callous hands. Now I just want something with AC. Is that too much to ask?
Now it’s raining too hard. Gotta relocate. I’ll tell you what’s older than my truck: Weezer. I’ve been listing to their 1994 album named, conveniently enough, Weezer. I downloaded it legally today to spite the the pirates, and I find it exceptionally awesome. Who knew? Of course, I’ve heard half of the songs on the album b/c they’re hits. I never knew they were all from the same album. It was released a year too late for me to notice. ’94 was my first year in college, and unlike everyone else who goes to college, those four years were a musical vacuum for me. I spent most of my time leading trips for the college Outdoor Rec program, or staying up till the wee hours at Dennys in last minute hopeless preparation for exams or overdue essays. This was before musical piracy or ipods were invented, and I didn’t go to many parties or clubs. I saw a Matchbox 20 show once. Joe, my first roomate, played that Counting Crows album endlessly. I still think of them ans Counting Joes. Trinity’s only on-campus musical offerings were a Village People show (campy but fabulous) and an Idigo Girls concert that I missed. The rest of the time we pretty much just watched Star Wars or Rattle and Hum until we fell asleep. So no Weezer for me until 16 short years later. Today, to accompany my backyard shoveling!
BTW. I rediscovered Weezer playing Guitar Hero. Never have I felt more virtually heroic as when I got 5 gold stars for performing “My Name is Jonas” flawlessly on the medium difficulty setting. You don’t even want to know how many hours of practice were required for this accomplishment. That game is freakishly hard.