Thursday, February 16, 2017

Hill shaming

If you ever need to find me there's a good chance I'm at the top of the Baldwin Hills Overlook.

You see, I used to be a compulsive runner. Knocking out 3-4 miles everyday; it takes a lot to maintain my girlish figure.

Then the foot doctor warned that unless I wanted painful surgery to remove the bone spurs from my heels, I'd better stop.

So now, instead of running, I'm hiking.

I'm always running into people up on The Hill. Last week it was two women from past lives at past ad agencies. Before that it was the art director from Deutsch, a kid half my age, who always seems to be galloping up and down the faux mountain.

Hell, I meet so many people up there, a month ago I stopped this very attractive young woman on the switchback and asked if I knew her from somewhere. She looked so familiar. I was positive I knew her from a recent freelance gig at an ad agency.

I was being ridiculously innocuous. But I'm sure she went home and relayed the incident to her roommates.

"So some fat old bald guy, with holes in his T-shirt, stopped me on the Hill today. Yeah, as if..."

Yesterday, as I summitted the top and went to take my seat along the cement bench, I came across this clown (pictured above.) He was, well there's no other way to put it, prancing around, doing some kind of performance dance.

I wished I had videotaped him so you could appreciate the full measure of this guy's desperation. It was hard enough to sneak a snapshot of him. And I think videotaping people without their permission may be illegal.

If you zoom in on the picture, you'll notice the man's electric green fake fingernails.

He also wore a mask, long fake eyelashes and a wig.

I have no problem with how this guy wants to out in public. I've seen myself in the mirror and am in no position to pass any judgment, whatsoever.

But if you don't want undue attention, you can't be doing cartwheels, flailing around like some rejected Broadway chorus line dancer and then engaging with fellow hikers, loudly telling them in a booming voice that can be heard in Pacific Palisades...

"N***a, I got to keep it real. My shit is my shit. I don't force it on no one. Cause deep inside, I mean really inside, I'm a introvert. For realz."

OK Mister, you're going on the blog.

No comments: