Low-Tech Day: Part II

The Morning

I first wake up around 9. No way! Back to sleep. I wake up about an hour later. I put on some deodorant and clothes. No shower. But my hair is all messed up. I go downstairs and get a bottle of water. Not from the fridge. I use it to brush my teeth and to wet my hair so I can make it presentable. Not even sink use yet. Pretty low-tech of me.

Sweet! There's a really bad knot in the drawstring in my shorts. This'll be fun. Maybe I can just make really hard knots and then fix them all day if I get bored. I take my tweezer, fix the knot and decided it's time for breakfast. Cereal and generic brand pop tarts. Not toasted. The cereal is a handful of scoops of Corn Flakes smashed into my mouth. The toasty tarts, or whatever they're called, are S'mores kind. They taste awful.

One of my plans was to go walk down the street to a park with some basketball courts and shoot around for a few hours. I head out with basketball and the remainder of my water bottle in hand. It's like a 5 minute walk, but today, I kind of wish it was longer. I get to the park and realize now is a good time to use a public restroom, because I won't have to flush. Low-tech! A guy leaves the bathroom as I'm going in, and I think he asked, "Are you working?" I say, "No." I'm not sure he's all there. I go to the bathroom and get to the court and start shooting around.

I start out just warming up ya know? With a few dunks here and there. Throw one off the backboard and alley-oop it to myself basically. You know, just easy stuff. After about 45 minutes of shooting around, I decide I'll shoot 100 free throws and see how much better I am than Dwight Howard.

My first 10, I start 9 for 10. I usually don't do that well, but this is low-tech day baby! Come on! I'm gonna be JJ Redick from the line! My next 10, I think I missed 4, maybe 5. But after the first 50, I've made 36. 72%. Waaaayyyy better than some ol' Dwight Howard. The wind starts blowing pretty hard though as I'm ready to start the second 50. I mean, we're talking the ball is moving left to right about a cylinder and a half at the wind's strongest. And then some cholos show up, probably on their lunch break, on the court next to me. I don't wanna perpetuate the stereotype that all white people love shooting free throws for hours, so I decide with the cholos and the wind, it's just not worth it to see how the last 50 go.

I don't know what it is, but I can't shoot a 3 pointer to save my life anymore. It's like the line is some actual, physical barrier when I shoot. I airball and brick about 10-15 3 point attempts before I finally make two, and I'm ready to go back home. But wait, before I go, I just need to fucking AAARRRGGGHH! Windmill dunk makes all the cholos go whoa! I'm pretty sure I saw one of them do the sign of the cross and kiss a Virgin Mary necklace he had on while I was still in mid-air. It was that epiphanous.

The Afternoon

I get back home, and I crumple up on my bedroom floor, fetal position, and think, maybe now is a time for a good cry. But just then, I see some bug crawling on my floor. It's 12:40. For the next fifteen minutes I have a Mexican standoff with this stupid bug. I drop my flip flops on him like 8 times. I don't wanna actually smash him with one, I'm just trying to make it look like an accident. "Oh no, I was about to go to the pool and I dropped one of my sandals and it happened to land on this bug. I feel so bad." But this bug can jump, so about half the time, he ducks out of the way of my flip flop at the last second. He eventually sneaks his way into a box and is safe...for now.

So, cry interrupted, I decide I'll just read for awhile. I read from about 1:00 to ehhh, maybe 3:00-3:30. I am re-reading Rant by Chuck Palahniuk. As far as his books go, I think Rant is one of his most creative and unique and would recommend it to anyone who is a fan. But it is one of the those books that probably gets better and starts to make more sense as you read it multiple times.

Oh, also, after I got back home, my hands were pretty dirty, so I used the sink to wash them. First sort of modern tech thing I've used so far, not counting using the button at the intersection to cross the street.

So, it's 3:30, and I'm gonna go back to the park to run for a bit on the track they have that loops around the park. This is one of the few times I wish I could use a computer or something. I'm wondering if there's something about how long that track loop is. I did 6 laps on it the day before, but I don't think I'll do 6 today. As I'm walking to the park, some 10 year old kid from across the street yells "Hi" to me. I know he's saying it to me, but I'm like, just don't look. I don't wanna have some shouting conversation with this kid from across the street for a half block. He yells "Hi" again, and I turn and look. He's looking at me with two friends, backpacks on, just done with school. I shout "Hi" back. The kids laugh and the one says "I'm not creepy, I'm just friendly. But not too friendly." And I'm like great, shut the fuck up, and I keep walking.

I get to the park and start running. I only do 5 laps today. I think because the day before there were these two girls that were walking on the track for awhile in the opposite direction, and they gave me the power to show off and finish one more lap. Prettttty sure they were impressed with my runner's gait. It's pretty much like...the perfect runner's gait. Arms swinging in perfect unison, thrusting down hard like I'm holding harms. Calves and quads flexing and torquing, causing the sinews to stretch and snap as they tense and relax with each elongated stride. And of course, my runner's face. Mouth agape, drooling out of the side of my mouth. One side just a little more limp and sagging than the other like I might be having a stroke. And then, the mouth closes my lips part back, and I give them my runner's smile. The smile that says, "Hey baby, my lungs don't feel like they're on fire at all."

I finish the 5 laps, walk like I just got it up the butt for a few seconds after I finish and my muscles tighten up, and I go back home.

It's 4:00. I finish the last 40-50 pages of Rant and it's at least 5:00 now. I feel like that 5 hour energy guy. Read a book, ran a couple miles, shot some hoops, dunked for some cholos, awkwardly said "Hi" to a tween...might as well go record "My debut aaallllbum." And I didn't need some b.s. energy shot to do it. Just a fistful of cornflakes and s'mores pop tarts.

Dinner

I'm hungry. I decide it won't be too high tech to walk somewhere and get some food. I decide on Carl's Jr., or Hardee's for pretty much everybody else not on the West Coast. They do have TVs that play some weird Carl's TV channel, and my eyes happen to glance over at the screen a few times, but there was no prolonged watching. Dinner was boring. That's like all that happened. I have no funny jokes here. So I walked back and got home around 6:00. Only 6 hours left.