I ran four miles this morning through Prospect Park. There are certain days where I wake up and see the blue sky and know that the weather will be far nicer than I deserve. Today was one of those days.

I wore a Guns ‘n Roses t-shirt to work today. I was wearing gray chinos and yellow sneakers. I also wear a backpack to work. I wore a jacket and tie to high school. Now I can dress like a comic book shop employee. This is a 41 year old’s wardrobe in 2018. I’ve got to be honest, I’m a fan. My father couldn’t dress like this. He had to wear some kind of professional attire, usually the preferred wardrobe of the late seventies: short sleeve collared shirts and slacks that were all somewhere on the yellow to brown color spectrum. My mother was even more well dressed for work: skirts, heels, and blouses. Though, it also bears mentioning that I often carry in that backpack a two pound device that can play any song, movie, or television show ever recorded and that I use for my career, taxes, banking, and communication with friends. My parents never had that. I guess progress brings with it a relaxed dress code.

I had a co-worker come to my desk during the last minutes of Portugal vs. Iran and Spain vs. Morocco this afternoon. The final minutes saw a late goal from Morocco to take the lead and a late converted penalty from Iran to tie. Both could have impact on the knockout rounds of the World Cup. So, all of my friends were chatting about it and three apps on my phone were blowing up. None of this, however, has anything to do with email marketing for pharmaceuticals so I had to have a conversation with a producer while my phone vibrated every phew seconds. The co-workers across the desk from me were freaking out and I was eyeing the Fox Sports Go tab on my browser. I missed the end but got my work done.

At the end of the day, I walked from Herald Square to Sheridan Square to Washington Square. Days like this don’t come often so I wanted to take advantage. I got a soft serve in West Village and tried to kill time before Happy Hour Story Hour at the Duplex.

I think I saw Justin Theroux walking his dog up Sixth Avenue by the Waverly Diner. He looked like any other New Yorker but I could tell. He had a clandestine celebrity vibe about him. His hat was pulled down tight over his head and he was wearing sunglasses, which is the uniform of the New York City celebrity. I wonder how he’s doing with the whole Jennifer Aniston break up. You know, because we’re close.

Happy Hour Story Hour was great as always. I could have gone up but I haven’t thought of anything story worthy in a while. It’s still great to listen, though. I also liked being among all the rainbow flags in the West Village (and two doors down from the Stonewall). Happy Pride, everyone.

Took the F train home and read more about Raymond Carver. Now I’m at my kitchen table writing this. I’ve had worse Mondays, folks.