I didn't realize until today what a bad idea this was. You see, my hairdresser always seems to drop some cuttings down my back, and invisible though they are, they itch like the devil. They're also persistent, which is why I always expect to drop my clothes immediately into the hamper as soon as I return from the hair appointment.

All this means that today, when I put on my brand new shirt, it wasn't long before the cuttings (inadvertently transferred onto my shirt last night) began itching like you wouldn't believe.

"Oh, well," I thought. "It's a small price to pay to show off my new T-shirt." I wore it anyway.

I'd designed the T-shirt myself, from images borrowed from NBC.com and from a Planet Hollywood image, which I altered. The resolution required for the T-shirt was higher than for the Internet, though, so there was a limit to how big I could make the image on the actual shirt.

Here's a close-up of the result:

And before anybody asks, no I won't make any more of these shirts. I consider this an individual work of art, and I believe that reproducing it would be unfair to Harlemm Lee, the winner of Fame. He's welcome to borrow my idea, however, and make his own such T-shirts, so that the money goes where it belongs, to him!

So I bustled around town, on my errands, a little bit irritable because of the itching, I must admit. I stopped back at my apartment to take my dog for a quick walk and wouldn't you know it, that's when it began to rain.

By the time we were back home, my T-shirt was a couple shades darker. I hung it on a chair in front of the air conditioner, hoping that before I got back home it would be dry enough to actually photograph it, making a mental note to get some Woolite to wash it in and remove those pesky cuttings.

The main problem with running errands where I live is the traffic. A relatively simple task takes at least an hour round trip, between the congestion and the busy check-out lines. I have to chuckle, whenever I'm visiting my family in Central Pennsylvania and they complain about crowded grocery stores or traffic. They have no idea.

Next stop was the Verizon Wireless office to find out if my phone could be fixed. It had mysteriously stopped working on Sunday. The last call I ever received from it was an editor asking me to do extra work. I think my phone decided, "That's it! I'm tired of this!" and gave up the ghost.

After puttering around with the phone, calling someone at another location and reprogramming it, the Verizon technician told me it couldn't be saved. "It's the equipment," he said.

"You mean the phone?" He nodded. But he said that, checking my account, it looked like I was owed another phone anyway. The only catch: my dad had to pick it up, since it was his name on the account. And he's in Central Pennsylvania.

I must admit, I wasn't as upset as I would have been a year ago or so. Chalk that one up to therapy. And also to the fact that I was secretly glad to have the opportunity at a new phone. When I called Dad later, I told him, "Smaller is better."

I didn't mention that the Verizon Wireless employee had chuckled when she looked at it and said, "How old is that? Does the antenna pull up?" I pulled the antenna out, and she giggled.

Then it was to Office Max, where I needed to get a new cartridge of black ink for my printer. This had been foreshadowed when I bought a stack of cards and paper earlier this week. I was going to make some takeaway cards to advertise my literary magazine, Wild Violet. When I went to check out, the cashier looked at my stack of papergoods and said, "Do you need ink?"

"Not yet," I said. He smiled knowingly. "But how late are you open? I might be back."

As it was, I hadn't made it back until today, and that cashier wasn't working or I would have gotten in his line again and showed him he was right.

The last stop was the grocery store, where I stopped on a whim to grab a Red Bull energy drink out of a small cooler. A young mother with a fussy baby sighed and said, "They're addictive, aren't they?"

I nodded, even though I'd never had one before.

I've been sampling different meal replacement bars, which I've found to be a great lunch solution for my typically busy lifestyle. I grabbed a few, along with another sixpack of Slimfast (my typical breakfast, with fruit and soy nuts throughout the day as snacks, when needed). And because it was Friday, I also grabbed a carton of Ben and Jerry's. I treat myself on weekends, you see. I chuckled to myself, wondering how it would look to the cashier that I had an armful of healthy foods and then a container of premium ice cream.

The cashier didn't seem to notice. He took me as his last customer and then flicked off the light, much to the annoyance of the woman behind me, who gathered up her groceries in a huff and stomped off.

The cashier stared after her. "I wonder why she's so upset," he wondered aloud, handing me my receipt.

"Um... I need the $18 change, too," I reminded him.

"Oh, yes. Of course."

When I got out to the truck I realized the bagger had forgotten to bag my can of Red Bull. I found myself getting almost as irritated as the woman who'd left the checkout line in a huff. I breezed back into the store, telling myself not to be ridiculous, not to let this be the last straw in a somewhat irritating but otherwise OK day.

The bagger was busy at the end of another aisle when I returned. The Red Bull was lying at the counter at the end of the now vacant checkout lane. Small and compact, it had rolled to the side. I instantly realized how it could have been missed. I smiled, flashed my receipt to the bagger and reminded him that it was mine before grabbing it.

It was only driving home that I realized I'd forgotten the Woolite. I opened the Red Bull, to see what that woman was talking about. It tasted like ground up vitamin pills mixed with soda.

When I returned, my T-shirt was dry, my dog thrilled to see me. I still had several hours in which to write this and do my exercise tapes before starting the evening's work. The Grateful Dead was playing on the radio, "What a long strange trip it's been..."

Yeah, you can say that again.

 

More thoughts on "Fame":

May 29, 2003 - Fame, Remember My Name!

June 19, 2003 - Go Harlemm!

June 26, 2003 - Planet Harlemm

July 5, 2003 - The Music of Love

July 10, 2003 - Magical Harlemm

July 17, 2003 - Final Four

July 24, 2003 - And the Winner Is...!

Moral:
Life: don't talk to me about life.