I escaped from work for a bit this morning, and walked several blocks to the lesbian coffee shop, where I realized I had no cash, and so departed, coffeeless. I walked over to the other lesbian coffee shop, the one that takes credit cards, nursing a low-grade hangover and trying to recall the words to a Faron Young song called "Pick Me Up on Your Way Down."

It took me a couple of blocks to recall even the name of the song, and I was thinking of calling Al, who would definitely know what I was talking about, but the last time I talked to him, he began an in-depth conversation about "Wichita Lineman" that got Glen Campbell stuck in my head for two days and began a heated debate on the topic with the Keelhauler. Eventually, the Faron Young song it came back in shreds until I could piece the whole thing back together. It's a great song, expressing the sentiment, "You made it big and ditched me, but I'll be here waiting for when you become a loser again." Suitable for all occasions, really. Well, all occasions a loser might encounter.

I'm not sure exactly why that song popped into my head, especially since it took me so long to remember its title. It may be because I'd been thinking of a friend who's had a little success in his field, and how he's changed. I think that calling him a friend may be overstating the nature of the relationship.

I was also thinking, carrying my tray of coffee in cardboard containers, about the gentleman who invited himself to sit with Karn and me last night at the bar. He introduced himself as Gary, or Cary, maybe, and accepted the last piece of our pizza, but held out his hand so I could feel the rough skin, to prove that he worked, that he wasn't indigent, that he didn't need our pizza, he just wanted it for lunch the next day. "I'm gonna heat that up in my microwave," he announced, closing the box, then showed us his work truck, which was parked outside. He had dark skin and a white beard trimmed short, and he wore an old hat. Due to the grapefruit vodka Karn and I were drinking, my memory of my conversation with Cary/Gary is hazy, but I remember him saying that I was "all right," that I'd been "straight from the heart right from jump street." I'm not familiar with that usage, but I think he was trying to tell me that I remind him of either Holly Robinson or Johnny Depp.

Which brings me to my next subject: what to wear for Halloween. After much consideration, I think I'm going to go as this guy (see illustration):

ILLUSTRATION

He appears in a catalog that arrived at my office, addressed to my boss. The catalog sells "work gear," variously described as "rugged" or "breathable," crafted from day-glo PVC and reflective tape. My boss tends toward neutral-toned casual businesswear, but perhaps he's thinking of branching out with an eye toward either visibility or safety. At any rate, I really like this model's attitude and superhero-style jaw. He gets bonus points for the Mary Tyler Moore flip hair-do, which I think I can recreate on my own head, come Halloween. Next, I will have to perfect my speech pattern--I envision a mix of Jeff Spiccoli and Snake, from the Simpsons. I am calling this character "Derek," and I plan to have him say "Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuh huh huh" a lot.

Feel free to use my great Halloween costume idea for your own parties this year--Derek is part of the public domain, and his essence should be absorbed by all. Although not in any kind of actual bodily fluids way--it's strictly a spiritual thing, the Essence of Derek.

Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhuh huh huh, righteous!

Star of the day. . .Buck Owens