Too Funky?

This morning, on the radio, I heard George Michael's 'Too Funky,' and it placed me on a time machine I had almost forgotten existed.

I remember listening to this CASSETTE tape on my walkman on the plane ride en route to visit one of my favorite people in the world, my friend, Julie, who was world-wise and cool and gorgeous and a sorority sister and a recent graduate of our college. And shortly after graduation, she was living in the big city -- a place so close to me, but a place I had only visited twice: once as a senior in high school, and once as a bright-eyed Christmas break visitor with Julie and her family the year prior.

But this shiny muggy July in 1992 is how I will always prefer to think about New York City: steamy summertime, the fashionable Julie Taylor smoking Marlboro Lights, drinking Malibu and diet cokes at the Whiskey with the waitresses in cat suits, and seeing Falsettoland with Joe Ceriello who showed up to the theatre wearing jean shorts. I also remember being so fucking excited because I had the inaugural issue of OUT Magazine, which was, like, super classy for a young gay kid who was still relegated to reading dirty personals in the back of the Penny Saver.

my god, I feel old.  Thank you, Julie, for making me feel like the coolest kid in the whole world. thank you, a billion times over.

Xoxoxoxo

Lost and Found

Today, when I made my daily pilgrimage to Dig Inn, for a standard, but healthy lunch that only sets me back $10.50, and gives me an additional 1200 steps for my FitBit obsession, I saw something that struck me.

There was a young-ish man standing at the take-out counter, and I paid attention to him because I thought he might be waiting for food, just like I was. 

He was a little chubby, and had reddish hair and a shirt that was ill-fitting, but I felt his embarrassment, although I couldn't peg what it was about him that needed to feel embarrassed.

As I checked to make sure he was taken care of, a worker came from the back and said, 'I'm sorry, sir, but I don't have anything.' 

For a second, I wondered if this early 20-something was trying to get a job application for this fast casual chain restaurant, and I felt the shame for him.

He walked away, and he made some weird mark on my brain. I thanked the worker for my pre-made, pre-ordered lunch (exactly the same as every other day: broiled chicken, summer couscous, and broccoli and garlic -- calorie count of 780, more or less), and I turned to walk out of the crowded store.

As I got to the door, I saw 20-something saying 'Thank you' to a single woman sitting at a table, reading a book, near the front door, and he had a very youthful velcroed  blue and white wallet in his hand. Apparently, Red Headed 20-Something had misplaced his outdated wallet in the store, and it had been left right where he left it -- at the table near the door where Single Reading Lady was  enjoying whatever it was she was reading.

20-something Red Head had a little flush to his cheeks, and I felt so happy for him. So relieved for him. And so encouraged for so many reasons:

1. No one had taken Red Head's silly wallet.

2. Reading Lady got to have human contact with someone other than her cat at home.

3. Most importantly, that feeling of dread 20-Something likely had was gone. And he could continue on with his day. Whatever those plans might be. But I thought about how anxious he probably was...worrying about canceling credit cards and insurance cards and maybe cash in there.

And Red Head may have gone back to an office and was able to focus on a cure for some horrible disease. Or he was able to create a really clever dating account for a personals website. Or he just was going to be able to sleep better tonight because his world was put right at 2:15 pm this afternoon.

And that is why I will never forget that 20-Something Red Head's slightly pudgy face, and all of the relief it spread to me in that fleeting moment.

Take Two

It makes life a lot easier when you've had dreams and just kind of left them on the shelf.

Case in point:

As part of a challenge, this morning I went to start up a blog to help me with my ability to 'find my voice,' and -- lo and behold -- I already had a blog template, and a few stray entries ready to go.

And while my age has creeped up there: I am no longer the "36 year old" I referenced in the blog's header (I am now the firmly entrenched in 44 year old space), most of the rest is the same.

I am still working on my goals.
I am still trying to find my voice.
I am still challenging myself to understand why I'm doing this.
I am now working to stop the narrative I've grown to love and retell with gusto.

So, I am rebooting this.

Version Drew.0.  Or Version Drew.2? Or Drew.3?

Whatever it is, let's see how this goes.

It's getting old putting it all out there on Facebook and expecting to have people read it.

I'm going to do this for myself, and see what happens next.

#Reboot
#TimeFlies
#TheComingStorm!