What I Learned On Last Night's Spring Break - or - Razor Burn Or Velcro

It’s 8 am. I’ve been keeping my blinds open at night, which means that betwixt the morning sunshine, the delivery trucks, the construction next door, and my dreams of emotionally crushing natural disasters as a bartender at Chili’s, I am waking up earlier and earlier every day. This does not mean that I am going to bed earlier; actually the contrary is true. I’ve been folding up my days later and later recently, tapping out at 4:27am last night while wearing my headband, glasses, and nothing else. I woke up with my reading lamp on and an extreme close-up view of page 120. All that it really means is that I am going to have to function today on less than four hours of sleep. I’m sleep deprived, I’m indestructible, I can breath underwater. Last night I had beers and shots with my broke-ass plant-shop coworkers. Lots of beers and lots of shots. Cheep beers and shots of whiskey until midnight; the way a Wednesday should be. I then followed that little gathering with a few bourbons on the front stoop of the hosts of last week’s Gold Party. A gold party in a regular party but the hosts buy a bunch of gold spray paint cans and all the partygoers bring trinkets and knickknacks patty-wacks and whatever worthless crap they can find to be improved by a layer of shiny gold spray paint. Everything is better when it is solid fucking gold. I was unable to attend this party as I was having the time of my life in Kentucky, but I saw the pictures of the gold trinket table, the veggie dishes, the “let’s-all-make-out-on-this-couch” couch, and a flipbook style account of a guy covering his testicles with toxic aerosol gold spray paint. Nobody was impressed with Mr. Goldnuts, and even days later on the stoop after glasses bourbon, comments of “no one will be sucking on those anytime soon,” continued to surround the story of Captain Shiny Balls. The big winners of the Gold Party seemed to be the gold walrus and the gold toaster oven. I plan on returning to this house with my alarm clock and my toilet bowl scrubber. Every king needs his scepter. I also think a little civil disobedience with gold spray paint sounds like fun, so I’m trying to set up a trip to the minigolf course for some unauthorized putter gilding. I also think that since Mayor Daily raised all Chicago parking meter rates to fifteen minutes for a quarter, increased the operating hours of the meters until 9pm, and eliminated free parking on Sundays, those meters need to look better. I believe that those meters are made out of gold anyway and that they should look the part. Cool Hand Obsquatch?

I learned two amazing things last night. The first is that when taking a real vacation, one should not buy a round trip ticket. Every location on the planet where there is ground, there are lower airfares than in the US. But more importantly, beyond the monetary cost, setting up a predetermined departure date will only insure that you are going to leave before you want to, and ending a vacation before you want to means missing out on an adventure that you might never get a chance to go on again. The tether holding me in Chicago is getting thinner and thinner. This airfare advice fell on my ears in the same fashion as Copeland’s Fanfare For A Common Man; compelling and profound, triumphant and awe-inspiring. The next time I fly, I’m untying the knot around my ankle.

The second thing I learned is that my headband prevents my forehead from getting sunshine. This means that as my face gets back it’s healthy summer glow from the dirt and the sun, I have a very faint, yet still very pristine strip of white flesh running temple to temple across my face. I have a headband tan line. Yesterday was hot and sunny, today will be hotter and sunnier and I am at the brink, on the cusp, staring over the edge of a grand chasm of self image decision. Not just with the headband, the headband is staying, it’s just gonna have to migrate a bit further north for the summer, but what am I going to do about this beard. This is my first beard, and I kinda like it, a lot. I stopped shaving the day after my brother’s wedding last September, and have since enjoyed the scruff growing out of my face. I did shave off the beard for a bullshit job interview in January, but immediately learned my lesson, stopped eating bullshit, and resumed my nonacceptance to shaving; I immediately returned to my steel wool ways. If I do not shave it off soon, today or tomorrow or at most by this weekend, I will have a beard tan to accompany my headband tan. So now I get to chose, Brillo Pad or Babyface.

It’s 9:45 am now and no matter what I decide, I have to put on some pants and go to work. I hate putting on pants.