There's almost no risk being a low-level drug dealer as I was. Nobody even notices if you have a monthly rotation where you pick up a few extra pills or a couple hundred bucks. The police didn't even know I existed. One time I got pulled over for not wearing my seatbelt. I was driving in Hillcrest and had 50 tabs of Red Euros stuffed into a tunnel above my parking brake pedal. My hair was the color of money and pulled up into two spikes like that little kid Japanese cartoon character. That's the one thing I'd have changed if I could go back: don't look like you're on the drugs you're dealing.
After the cop told me why she pulled me over, she looked up at my hair and said, "Step out of the vehicle, please, sir." Oh, man, I thought I was going to lay eggs. I was two blocks from the club where I was supposed to make the drop. Ten minutes and I'd have been clean, but there it sat, under my dash. That much E is an "intent to distribute." In a plastic bag, pushed into an empty wire run, it screamed to me like a siren, "FELONY!"
I imagined my mug shot distributed around the police station, eventually the Internet, and maybe the local news with the caption, "Guess what this retard with the green hair was doing?" If I were going to do it over again, I'd be Mister Goddamn Rogers. Oh, you bet I'd have a v-neck cardigan, a pair of canvas deck shoes, and my short brown locks would be smoothed over the top. I'd tell them I didn't put my seatbelt on because I was rushing my kitten, Mrs. Snugglebottoms, to urgent pet care.
I played it cool because even if they think they've got something, they really don't. Even if they've got this dufus wearing yellow sunglasses at night who's obviously up to no damned good, they don't have a thing. The blonde lady officer went through my truck, she pulled the seat up, she opened the glove box, she fingered my ashtray full of coins and came up with a handful of nothing.
At the club I palmed off the package and sat on the smokers' porch. I was lit up like neon and told all my friends over and over, "You wouldn't believe what happened two blocks from here. Two freakin' blocks away, and I was almost tossed in the hoosegow."
WHAT I WILL AND WON'T WATCH THIS WEEK
Thursday, August 31
ITVS 7:30 a.m. At 7:30 a.m.? Let's dig in our bellybuttons while the coffeemaker drips and then we'll scratch in the general vicinity of the boxer-short region. Maybe we'll wonder why our feet are sticking to that spot on the kitchen floor, but it's a tad early for dancing. Besides, our unitard and leggings are still in the laundry.
FOX 8:00 p.m. Let's play another round of "Would You Rather?"! Would you rather watch Xena and Cheech sing "Memories" or sniff the braided armpit hair of that hippie girl who plays bongos at the farmers' market? Mmmm...patchouli, marijuana, and unfettered b.o. never smelled so sweet.
Friday, September 1
Secrets of the Great Wall
DTIMES 9:00 p.m. I'm not sure about the Chinese one, but according to a rhyming song I heard when I was six, there's a wall in France with a hole in it where you can see naked ladies. I'm guessing that beats all hell out of anything Discovery Times found in Beijing.
Saturday, September 2
When Cowboys Were King
HIST 8:00 a.m. Ah, the good old days. When people were illiterate and filthy. Take me back, History Channel. Take me back to when cowboys were king. Just don't make me black because people could own me. And don't give me polio or dysentery. Ah, yes, the good old days. Put me on horseback in the wide-open plains. Only speed up that toothbrush and toilet paper thing. Sing to me, History Channel. Sing me the song of the lone cowboy and the beauty of the wild outdoors. But don't let me get killed by an animal or Indian, and could I have a tent and some Gore-Tex gloves? Sweet. Ah, the good old days.
A Day in the Life of Television: A Museum of Television and Radio Special
CBS 8:00 p.m. Inflated Sense of Your Own Self-Worth and Pop Culture Butt Kissing, thy name is CBS.
Sunday, September 3
The Flavor of Love
VH1 9:00 p.m. I can't help myself. I want to stop watching The Flavor of Love , but if you dress up an aging hip-hop star in a plastic crown and let trashy women with gigantic asses vie for his attention in a hot tub, you'll have me every time. Gold teefs, Lycra minidresses, and champagne are a recipe for trouble and, sweet Mary, I can't get enough.
Monday, September 4
Behind the Camera: The Unauthorized Story of Diff'rent Strokes
NBC 8:00 p.m. If it's all the same to you, I'll pass on this one. Monday at 8? I'll be in a closet, weeping softly for the death of a great nation, but you go ahead. I don't mind.
Tuesday, September 5
FOOD 10:00 p.m. Because that's what you want associated with food: the road. Here's a hint, you nitwits, I don't care what kind of clever little word- association thing you think you've got going on. You imagine it's cute to switch "tested" with "tasted" because all I've got in my head now is smashed up squirrel, broken glass, and the squeal of Goodyears on asphalt. Dumb-asses. Now I'm all pissed off and I need a bourbon. There's a better show for you, FOOD Network, Pissed Off and Needs a Bourbon! I'm all in a lather and need to be soothed. Where's my Batman mask and blankie?
Wednesday, September 6
Unique Whips -- The White Stuff
SPEED 9:00 p.m. I don't even want to know. Sure, it's something about cars and it's a suggestive title, using lingo from a generation with which I'm out of touch, but I'm way beyond wanting to know what this means. Let me totter into old age quietly, and don't poke me with a stick until I'm completely dead, please.
Thursday, September 7
Mundo de Fieras
XEWT 9:00 p.m. I'm unsure of the translation. Mundo means "world," and fieras might mean "fierce" or it might be some version of "fire." Either way, I like the sound of it. I sashay around my kitchen in my choo choo undies, I crinkle my nose, and shake my hips and I shout, "Mundo de Fieras! Mundo! De! FIERAS!"