I awoke this morning at 8:37 (my favorite number, as 837 was the address of the house I grew up in) in my fantabulous new big-ass bed, to a clear, summer-like day that has to be seen to be believed, if you're familiar with the Richmond District.
Before leaving on what would be a 5-mile walk that would take me along the beach, through Golden Gate Park and to the neighborhood library where I would guiltily pay a $3.60 fine to get my books out of hock, I jumped online to make sure there was no breaking news that I would get my ass kicked for ignoring come Monday morning.
And there was a pleasant little surprise waiting for me: A very sweet note from my high school journalism teacher who, if he reads this, will now realize that I had a rather large crush on him back in the day.
I feel so honored when someone from my past seeks me out (excepting my former stalker and curent AA disciples who have rung me because they've reached Step 9). It makes time and life seem much more full and contextual -- even magical -- as opposed to a linear train track where, after we pass the stations, they fade into the distance.
It's shocking to me now to find that Mr. V is only five years older than I. Poor guy, a 21-year-old, good-looking man thrown into a school of 1,000 Catholic school girls. I and a handful of other classmates terrorized him.
Yes, I was an impertinent punk. And Mr. V, I aplogize.
I must confess, though, the sauciness has followed me and is bound to get me killed, fired or promoted one day.
A managing editor at the Wilmington, N.C., paper where I worked once told me tactfully: "There's a difference between being opinionated, and being ornery for ornery's sake."
Ha! Tell that to my current publisher. He walked by this week as I was filing expenses for the Atlanta trip and asked "What the hell were you doing in Atlanta?" "Fucking off," I replied.
Perhaps not the best way to treat a man who's had a reputation for keeping a gun in his desk back in Detroit.
Well, if he ever looks me up years from now, I'll apologize to him too. But not now -- I'm having too much fun.