Well so far this spring has been nothing but overcast and not that warm. I’m sure things will pick up eventually but so far I haven’t been impressed. Last night after posting I went out again. Not to anywhere in particular just took a stroll down Washington Street smoking a Padron.
No one I knew was out, but then again I never see anyone out. Possibly because they see me first, or possibly because they don’t go out. I walked until the cigar was halfway through, then I turned around and was finished by the time I came home.
It was a nice walk, iPod plugged in, listening to the Bird and the Bee’s latest release. Bill was planning on staying in the city and surprised me when he walked through the door an hour after I got back.
I was in the middle of watching yet another disc of Freaks and Geeks and it’s been enjoyable but by 10:00 I had enough of reliving someone else’s high school memories.
As far as I know my high school memories on celluloid were Square Pegs and Fast Times at Ridgemont High, or at least my high school years were bracketed by the time periods of the aforementioned show and movie.
I guess the class of 1980 just weren’t up to snuff and who can blame them. As far as I’m concerned I was the most interesting person in my class and I was barely noticed. I know that’s a presumptuous statement but then again my father was a presumptuous guy.
I did try watching Mad Men on DVD. Watched a few episodes and still I find it interminable. Once you get past the fact that everyone is smoking and drinking I don’t see any reason to watch it. And I smoke and drink so there’s no novelty there.
I spoke with my brother Brian today and he mentioned that what I wrote the other day about my problems with ‘stupid’ people was just like something my father would have written if my father wrote.
And I had to agree with Brian since as soon as I wrote what I wrote the other day I felt I was turning into my father. And that’s not such a good thing at all.
Disdain for one’s fellow human beings is something my father always had. There was always some shit head on the train or on his way to work, or even Chuck Ferguson my father’s co-worker, who when listening to my father describe him, you would think Chuck Ferguson was king of the shit heads.
Maybe my father was a pretender to the throne. Or the heir apparent.
So that’s something I have to work on. Being understanding, not condescending. It’s not going to be easy I’m sure. I was reminded of a picture taken of me at my niece Meghan’s wedding back in June 2007 and I can easily see myself looking a bit too much like my father.
Perhaps a little too close for comfort with that look of incredulousness.
Not that my father would agree, or even be proud since he wasn’t the most supportive person. But he’s not here and I am so I still have a chance to take this sad song and make it better.
That means stop complaining about the people at the supermarket, stop yelling at the feeble minded helpers at the shoemakers, stop cursing people that pull the door instead of pushing at the bus terminal. No more of feeling an air of superiority.
I was too insecure to pull that off, but when wearing a suit & tie, I do get treated as such. Let karma take care of it. Let karma separate the wheat from the chaff. No sweat off my back.
