On Smoking

Had lunch with my scientist uncle again today -- the one of algae oil repute.

Somehow we got on the topic of smoking. I have a checkered past involving smoking. It's what happens when you spend a lot of time around Arabs, Mexicans, journalists, and "arteests".

Anyways, after the typical "cigarettes are death!!!" moralistic condemnation from all sides, Uncle starts talking about how in college, his calculus teacher used to smoke cigars in class. Big, fat, probably Cuban cigars. With the illicit glee of a 12-year-old boy telling his friends about how he saw boobies for the first time, Uncle takes a quick glance around Applebee's and quietly intones that one time, he smoked. He says this with pride, like he's a true rebel.

His nerd friends and him decided one day to grab a bunch of cigars and try to smoke them. Uncle says he was afraid to inhale but finally worked up the nerve to do so. He ended up coughing, and then he puked. He says this with a glint in his eyes, reliving the cheap thrill of youthful vomiting. I smile and nod my head, silently validating his need to be seen as dangerous. Deep down inside, though, there's only one thing running through my head:

Pussy.

On Hats

People treat me differently when I wear hats.

I usually can't pull off baseball hats because my giant head is shaped like a deformed crocodile egg. (And yeah, I know what a crocodile egg looks like, I used to go to zoo camp during the summers as a kid. Bitches.)

But I discovered last year that if I tilt the hat to the side just a smidge, I can pull off a frat boy look. Douchey, but socially acceptable.

Anyways, I spent all last week in Austin checking out UT Law, and in Denton, where I bought a white hat from my alma mater, Hellhole State University. I've taken a liking to it, and especially since getting a shitty, asymmetrical buzzcut, I've been wearing it pretty often.

This weekend I wore it while I was out on a food run with Malena. She even commented on how it looked "hip hop." The cashier girls at Corner Bakery refused to make eye contact, assumedly becuase I was too thug. So as we're going down Zaragosa and we pull up to the corner, this guy taking donations for one of the local Black Baptist churches spots me. With my white baseball cap. Tilted. He points and smiles. I know I'm doomed.

"BIG BALLA!!!" he yells out as he walks towards the car. "Damn you so balla you got yo woman driving you around in the car!"

"Of course," I reply. "That's how you gotta work it."

Long story short, I gave the guy a dollar and I think Malena was mildly horrified to be referred to as my "woman." She got a kick out of "big balla" though. I think it's my new nickname.

Oh and by the way I officially left the set of Law and Order: La Raza. Next adventure -- free trip to Miami. More to come.