I guess it’s the first day of school today. More of an assumption really, given that yesterday was Labour Day and today is the first day of school. Day.
Walking down the street, as I’m loath to do, en route to my powerful job in the CBD of the world’s best city, I took sight of car after car ferrying children to their first day of college life. You see, today, my Lincoln Continental hatchback was in the shop and my driver had come down with a case of the I-fired-him, so transit was my only opsh.
I suppose it’s really not that big a deal to myself, but to the average citizen, the mere pedestrian, catching a glimpse of me in person is no less wetness-inducing than the second coming of Jesus Harold Christ. “Talvid is among us!”, “he’s far more beautiful in person, let’s all orgy him!”, I could hear them shouting. Look, I get it. I’m one handsome notch above George Clooney and Brad Pitt combined, I have a rip-roaring blog, and my scent is like that of your own fart; I smell good to you. Doesn’t mean the attention doesn’t make me uncomfortable. In other words, the attention makes me comfortable. Actually, I’m not really sure. That was a triple negative and I don’t know how to fix it.
Speaking of which: to all the women who posted in the Missed Connections section on Craigslist saying shit like “we made eyes at each other on the bus”, or “you look like the kinda man who makes other men look like women”, or, “I lost my cat, have you seen it (pretty sure that’s a euphomology for, “my lady cat is lonely, please pleasure it”), I’ll call you.
So that brings me to the point of this essay: Is this what being in public is like for all you guys out there? I mean, obviously I don’t think so, but it’s nice to pretend like you value the opinion of others.