Too Much Information

And now we begin a new one-part series called Too Much Information, in which I lay out insight into the various ways in which I am loopy.

After awaking from a long and refreshing slumber, and a morning spent lazily watching youtube videos and surfing the web in bed, I got myself together and started my trip downtown. I would make two stops: I would go to the Silver Snail to pick up my stuff from last night's party there, and I would stop by the bank to deposit the cash we made at that party. As I gathered my things together to leave (ipod, keys, wallet, sunglasses, etc.), I put the sales money in my front pocket instead of in my wallet. I thought of putting it in my wallet, but didn't.

Right now I am experimenting with a diet by which you limit your intake of certain kinds of foods but eat whatever you want one day per week. My day is Saturday so I treated myself to an order of fries from one of the trucks in front of City Hall. I am quite a connoisseur of those fries and these were some of the best I've ever had. I continued my walk west and as I was passing Osgoode Hall, I passed an old man playing acoustic guitar for change. Earlier this week, I passed him going the other way on the other side of the street and he was playing the Law & Order theme song. I really wished that I had been on his side of the street so I could give him money. Now that he was right here, I thought "I should give him five bucks!" as I passed. Then I shifted my focus to the pocket in which I carry my wallet. It felt I little light. I reached into it. Empty. I dug through the rest of my pockets. Nothing. I raced back to the chip truck to see if I had left it there. No dice. The truck operator suggests it may have fallen under the truck. Of course it didn't fall under the truck but I crouch down and look any way, even though I know I won't find it there. I pace around some, looking all over the ground, zig-zagging as I try to retrace my steps.

By the time the realization set in that it was gone, I was reaching the same old man playing guitar. I asked myself what I'm supposed to be learning from a bum deal like this and the answer that came from the ether was that I needed to backtrack so that I would pass the man with the guitar again because I really need to give him five bucks. So I reached into the pocket containing the money from yesterday's comic book sales, pulled a fiver out of it, and laid it into the old man's guitar case.

And that felt pretty good.