Full day of Funemployment #1

Aside from the poor start at 6am, things get better after the peanut butter toast and four-hour nap.  I spend 45 minutes on the phone with the coordinator for the Black Hills Fat Tire Festival, who has a slow drawl and pleasant demeanor, then bike down to the bookstore for 30-30-30 brainstorming, the worst $7 sandwich I've ever eaten and a vanilla chai.

Afterward, I walk the mall to deposit my tax return (finally).  Caleb, a shaggy-haired, tall blonde boy pulls me aside while pointing out a girl taking in a magic trick in the middle of the mall. 

"I bet that girl's parents would be extremely unhappy she is smoking a cigarette with all of that beautiful metal in her mouth."

"What?"

He repeats himself and I finally understand what he is saying. Another representative for Greenpeace. I mention I have already donated to another guy I spoke to at length in WashPark last week, and he gives me a hug - then instructs me to raise up my left hand,  similar to Hitler, and reposition for a "heart-to-heart" hug. I think he is nervous. The hug lasted less than .2 seconds. Apparently, we should be less comfortable hugging strangers, but I'll never turn one down.

Further on my walk, I am accosted to donate to the homeless twice, three more times by Greenpeace  (only receiving sub par hi-fives from each) and heed warning to a tall african american, who nearly grazes a white civic in oncoming traffic. When the road is clear, he skips around to the front of me and asks for $.50.  I say I have no cash, which is sad, because he wants to beatbox for me.  He says, "no problem" and proceeds to drop a two-minute beatbox collaboration - SO AWESOME. I shake his hand. I can't remember his name, but he brightens my day.

Later in the evening, I bike downtown once again to meet a friend for some brainstorming on the coming months. He buys me dinner and we walk the "50 miles" back to his hotel. On my way home, I pass three tour busses, all for Queensryche. I plow through the fan barricade that has gathered outside of the bus and observe slightly, then end up in front of Apaloosa Grill, where the doorman asks for a ride on my cruiser.  I stop and chat with him for a bit and decide I need to come back another Tuesday for the hip hop inside. Maybe for the cute boys inside, as well.

I pass something on the corner of 13th and Marion near a coffee shop I despise.  It's a black bra. I ponder how it may have gotten there, but don't care enough to stop. I'm a block from home and anticipating a bowl of the $6 cereal I purchased at the store not 25 minutes ago.

It's been a good day.