Crime Scene
oil on canvas
16" x 20"
Do you ever try to be "cool?" I do. I try to be cool all the time. It's just my nature...it's embarrassing...I can't help it. I usually try to tone it down by walking in a funny way or jumbling up my words on purpose, but it never really works. No matter how hard I try to be an awkward imposter, it's impossible for me to hide my constant desire to be a cool fella. Heck, I think purposefully acting like an uncool goofball is now outcooling all of my hipster antics and outfits. The only way to be less cool at this point would involve me trying to be even cooler than I already am in a very deliberate and aggressive way that ultimately comes across as pathetic and sad. I'd give it a go, but let me tell ya, I'm trying as hard as I can as is...I don't think I can top this performance. As much as I'd like to be uncool, I don't think I have it in me. Again, I can't help it. Sorry or whatever. See how I wrote "whatever?" That's me trying to be cool.
Sometimes, like yesterday, I try to embrace my "coolness." This means I focus all of my energy and attention into being the coolest person wherever I go, consciously outcooling every other person at every location I visit throughout the day. It's fun. It's indulgent. It's ridiculous, I know, but I'm convinced that giving in to the caricature you've created of yourself is a healthy and rewarding endeavor from time to time. And boy oh boy, what a caricature I have created!
So yesterday, I woke up with my cat lying on my chest. She was making imaginary biscuits with my belly fat. I'm cooler than she is. She can't drink coffee like I can and she looks like a dumb dumb kneading fake dough from my fat rolls...I win. That was easy.
Next up, the bank. I inadvertently wore my sunglasses inside for a full five minutes before being scolded. This is a big bank no-no, you know? It's spelled out clearly on the doorway of most financial institutions, just in case you're an accidental rule breaker like me. I mean, it's hard to see through those pitch black shades, am I right? Anyway, paired with my facemask à la an early 1900's western bandit, I looked like a straight-up bank robber. I was cool. And when the teller asked me to remove my glasses, rather than getting embarrassed, which I was, I simply moved them to the top of my head...one smooth motion...I might've winked as I did it? Then, I told the teller my account number. I had to repeat it because my voice is deep and hard to hear. Cool.
And on the highway, I'm the coolest. You should've seen me driving yesterday! I have a dorky little car that nobody aside from a plumber could want, but I drive it with absolute confidence. Arm out the window when it's 40 degrees singing Prince's "Little Red Corvette" at the top of my lungs while giving "finger-guns" as you pass me sort of confidence...you know...cool! Do you notice how often I use ellipsis in my writing? You probably didn't, but if you did, let me tell you...I think ellipses are cool.
And at the grocery store I was the king of cool. You see, I only use a cart when I don't really need one, and conversely, I always choose to carry my groceries sans basket or bag when I've got a long grocery list. This action creates two different scenarios for all spectators: 1.) "This man with a single can of soup in his cart hasn't a care in the world...he's really enjoying the ride, isn't he?" 2.) "This man with thirty-five items tucked in his armpits must be in a hurry...he's probably got a cool social function to get to...maybe a concert or a bowling tournament?" I like both of these anecdotes.
And it doesn't hurt when I'm dressed like a combination of an old man and an adolescent. As it turns out, that mashup will always be cutting-edge fashion, regardless of the represented generations. It could be the same type of "ironic cool" that makes my two left feet and panic-induced dyslexia hip, but there's no doubt about it...a thirty-year-spread of clothing trends is a guarantee of coolness when you're in your thirties as I might be. Example:
Some ordinary guy says, "Is that cool guy over there wearing Off-White Dunks?"
His ordinary friend responds, "You mean that cool guy in lane eight holding two boxes of Rice Chex Cereal, four packages of corn tortillas, a bag of arugula, a brick of paper towels, and birthday cake-flavored ChapStick?"
"Yes! The cool guy with the arugula who is also wearing pleated corduroy pants and a nylon pullover jacket with a sailboat embroidered on the back!" exclaimed the first ordinary man.
"For sure," says uncool friend, "Those are Dunks and that man be drippin' straight fire." (drippin' straight fire=cool)
It was the coolest day ever.
And then, as I was loading my arugula in my car, an elderly lady pulled up next to me. She was driving a Rascal scooter...aggressively, if you can imagine such. There were bumper stickers covering both fenders. One said, "Proud Honor Roll Mom"...it must've been twenty-five years old. A little line had been drawn next to the "o" in "Mom," creating the word "Mam". Generations of honor roll students this lady has reared! Another sticker said, "Ass, Gas, or Grass." And where there were no stickers, there were scrapes, scuffs, and dents decorating her mobility machine. In the handlebar basket was a frozen ham and a six-pack of Budweiser. In the basket behind her seat was a brick of paper towels...the same brand I had purchased, incidentally. And between her legs was an oversized purse with a small dog inside. It might've been a chihuahua.
When I turned my attention to the driver, I noticed she was wearing the exact same faux-tortoiseshell sunglasses I had on. She was also sporting a pair of Doc Marten's "Combat Boots"...a trendy choice I know about from their recent resurgence with my high school students. She obstructed the pathway to my driver's seat. "You think I can make it through there?" she screamed at me. I responded, "Um?"
Before I had a chance to reply entirely, she zoomed between my car and another. I thought she had cleared the gap...and then...WHAM! She whacked my driver's side mirror with her frozen ham. She stopped briefly to evaluate the damage, decided she couldn't squeeze between the bumpers and cart corral in front of her, and threw the Rascal in reverse. WHAM! She put my mirror back in place with her frozen ham as she blindly sped towards me backwards at a rate I hadn't thought possible with such a contraption. "Um..." I said again.
"UMBRELLA!" She said it twice. "UM...BRELLA!" She might've popped a wheelie as she changed direction in front of me and then zoomed away. I could hear her singing "Paint It, Black" over her chihuahua's barking as she disappeared across the parking lot.
The rest of my day felt different.
* Oh, and if you like stories about little old ladies in scooters, I've got another one for you tomorrow. Oh, and the painting above is a picture of a murder scene. Oh, and happy winter solstice...or day after winter solstice...or whatever! Oh!
If you'd like to purchase the painting above, please contact Wyatt via his website: CLICK HERE
3 days 'til Christmas...
