Monday, April 03, 2006

rainy days and sundays...

When faced with the prospect of spending Sunday scrubbing red wine out of vintage linens or getting hamburgers and walking around Pacific Heights, Mikey and I chose the latter. We turned off the dreadful Kevin Spacey vehicle, Pay It Forward, dragged ourselves off the couch yesterday and headed over to The Fillmore, grabbing huge burgers at Johnny Rockets while focusing all of our energy on remaining upright.
After our 3pm feast, we tried to figure out what to do next. “Well, I want to be outside. Let’s go walk around in the rain.”
“Fine with me. We’ve just got to find a way to Pay It Forward.”
The movie, sadly, had inspired us to do good works for three strangers in the hopes that they would Pay It Forward by helping others in a similar fashion. In the movie, Haley Joel Osmet befriends a heroin addicted hobo and brings him home to his white trash, single mom, Vegas household. As we walked along Fillmore, an insane homeless person pushed Mikey out of the way, mumbling something along the lines of “Move, fucker.”
“Um, that guy with his sweatshirt tucked into his pants just called me fucker.”
“So, should we invite him to come live with us?”
“Only if he sleeps in YOUR room.”
We kept walking, popping into a few stores but basically wandering aimlessly, oblivious to the rain. “Oh, let’s walk over to that park.”
“Yeah, a park sounds good.”
Along the way, we picked out our favorite fancy houses and made our way up a hill, finding a park with an amazing view of the whole city. Passing well-dressed gays walking dogs and strange people sitting in bushes, we wandered without purpose or destination until lo and behold, we spotted our friend again, sitting on a park bench cursing.
“Hey, there’s that dude that called you fucker.”
“Oh my god, stop getting so close.”
“I think he needs a hug, Mikey.”
“Forget it. We’re not paying it forward to HIM.”
“Well, then we’d better find a little old lady to help cross the street or an addict to make clean.”
“Let’s just keep going.”
We headed back to the Fillmore and observed the masses, too exhausted to say much other than to mock the insane or unattractive. “Okay. I’m done walking.”
“Let’s drive.”
“Okay. Where?”
“I wanna see the Mrs. Doubtfire house.”
“Cool. I wanna find the Top Chef house.”
An hour of driving later, we were out of things to do again. “Should we go home?”
“That seems lame.”
“There’s an art store. Let’s do projects!”
“Oh, I want to make art for my room!”
“Shit. The art store is closed.”
“Fuck. Well, what’s around here?”
“Beats me. And we still haven’t paid it forward.”
“This paying it forward crap is too much work.”
“No kidding. Other than letting a hobo crash in your garage, what the hell are we supposed to do?”
“We don’t even have a garage.”
“And who does heroin anymore?”
“Screw this. We’re going home to watch What About Bob.”
We did not Pay It Forward yesterday, and while I had every intention of doing so, being do-gooder is tough. It’s not that hard to do something nice. We’re all capable of that. The hard part comes when the person you want to do something nice for calls you a fucker…