Scent of a Man

It’s hot and gross, and because I ran out of the house before showering this morning I found myself on the subway, hanging onto the rail, and horrified by the intensity of my own stank. If it had been a leisurely weekend spent in the soothing bosom of air conditioning, things would be better, I’m sure — it usually takes a while for me to proceed very far past musky under ordinary conditions. But I spent a good chuck of yesterday in the hot sun, hauling props and styling models for one of my little projects, and I got home slightly before the onset of heatstroke. I spent the night like spent the rest of the weekend — hunched over my laptop designing my little heart out, and I was up again this morning finishing up the work at hand. Before I knew it, it was time to fly and haul myself uptown to teach.

Blah, blah, blah. I’m sure you all get the point: I worked all weekend and forgot to shower this morning and so I’m trying not to pass out from the smell of my own armpits. Mmmmm, the glamor of summer!