Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written a Diarrhea. I was in the middle of traveling and other stuff that got in the way of writing. I kick myself every time I go longer than a week to write in my journal, and judging by the bruises on my chest, I got to kicking a little too much this time. Now that I’m taking kick-jogging classes, I’m more limber than ever. If you’ve never heard of kick-jogging, you’re not the only one. I started taking these classes from my absent-minded karate instructor about a year ago. He teaches one on one karate classes and one day he got his schedule mixed up and asked me if I minded having my lesson on the way as he jogged to his next client. It was such a success that he developed the kick-jogging concept and that’s all he’s been teaching from that day on. With the extra cardio and the random obstacles, (barking dogs, mail carriers and other joggers on which to try out my moves), this style of martial art gets me a lot more bang for the buck, not to mention the classes are cut in half now and last only forty-five minutes.
I’m on the train back from North Carolina. Actually leaving from Wilmington, Delaware after I rode up with my sister from my parents’ house in NC. I’m sitting in business class typing away, looking not-so-business class-like with my scruffy beard and my standard dress of mismatched thrift garb, while everyone else is dressed in business attire. About the only thing I have in common with these professionals are my socks. I happen to be wearing a slick pair of business/dress socks that are out of this world and even too fancy for my pants. And my pants happen to be a slate blue corduroy pant designed by a friend and fellow artist, Wendy, from Built By Wendy. (Which are my fanciest pair of pants in my arsenal and I have A LOT of fancy pants! Just a little plug for Wendy).
I was also thinking that this would be a good time to pull out my wedding ring. (I found a wedding ring in a dumpster when I lived in Los Angeles and I used to wear it from time to time to see how people (Girls) treated me differently.) I bet the conductor would treat me like a stylish writer that was spoken for. Maybe I would garner some looks from the young parents and their loud baby sitting in front of me as I lean over and give the baby a ‘hush now, little fellow’ signal with my ringed finger extended over my mouth. And using the same ringed finger, dangle my headphone wires in front of the wet-faced kid and say, ‘Ssshhhh, quiet down sweetie. Hush now baby, don’t you cry. Your momma’s gonna buy you something from the cafe car. And if that food your momma gives you doesn’t help your screams… (pointing to my golden finger) Bobby will let you borrow my wedding ring… But just for a little while and under strict supervision because it’s a hell of a chocking hazard, and the last thing I need is to choke a baby… Tell ya what, I’m just gonna move to a seat a few rows back’ … And that’s what I’m really going to do because the kid will NOT shut the hell up. See you guys in a few.
Okay, I’m back! Happier than ever! I found an empty four-top with only one more stop to go so it looks like I’m home free with plenty of leg room to stretch not one, but both of my legs to show off my cool socks to all the passers by. I actually hate these socks and I want some of my old dollar store socks with the Puerto Rican flags on them. Now those are some good socks! Speaking of old socks, I remember a few years back I wanted to start a business selling old wool socks that I would find in thrift stores and I’d sew brightly colored wool patches over the holes and call them ‘ReSockled Socks, By Bobby’ The wool socks would be very well reconstructed and even stronger and more sturdy than when they were new. And with each pair of ReSockled Socks, By Bobby, I’d include spare patches with a needle, thread, and a carved wooden light bulb, (which is a beautiful piece of artwork in itself), for all the customer’s darning needs. I got this idea because I have a ten year old pair of very warm and beautifully broken-in wool socks with holes all in them which I wear over a colorful pair of thin socks and the look is just FABULOUS! Then it hit me like ten pounds of brick, ‘This right here is a GREAT LOOK and I should make these recycled socks and come up with a clever name and sell them for forty-eight dollars a pair!’ That’s how much I would sell them for, due to the production costs. These socks are so expensive because I hand-make these puppies, and it takes a long time to hunt and find old wool socks, not to mention the cost of me flying back and forth to Indonesia to sew them together. (I would make them overseas but use all of the materials from the States. The equipment and the working conditions in Indonesia are superior to what’s in my living room. Not to mention that I can afford to pay myself more over there) Anyway, I would pay forty-eight dollars for a pair of socks that are guaranteed to last for at least ten years. Oh yeah, that is my guarantee. If your ReSockled Socks, By Bobby don’t hold up for ten years, you get HALF your money back! Pretty good if you ask me.
Ahhh, I see the New York skyline on the horizon and now it’s time for me to pack up and get ready to start another busy week in the city that I love. Or as I like to say, ‘It’s business class as usual.’ I’ll try to be more diligent with these Diarrheas from now on, I promise!
I love everyone who reads these things! I send a swift and accurate kick your way.
