It's the cream of the fight: 2.25.04

You know how I feel about regularity. Update-- that�s how I felt. Today, I had an experience that reaffirmed my solid faith in the value of being a regular. Before, I was just one to espouse its virtues; now, I am about to proselytize.

First, you should know about my problem with commitment. It doesn�t stem from an aversion to it. Quite the contrary, it is a problem I have with the strange, dogged loyalty that overtakes me once I�ve become partial to�anything, really. It�s caused me some problems in the old personal relationship category, let me tell you, but occasionally, it muddies the waters of consumerism as well. The dry cleaner that I go to regularly sometimes doesn�t do a bang up job. Truth be told, lately my stuff has been coming back stiff and chemically overdone, sometimes with oddly placed pleats (a euphemism for random wrinkles that have been pressed in with a steam roller). But, I haven�t given them a total pass yet because, like I�m telling you, it takes a severe transgression for me to wise up and move on.

But I love the lady that runs the place and Jamie, the guy that helps her out. I walk in today, and I must�ve looked just like I felt�braindead bored from a horrifyingly slow morning at work, vaguely dissatisfied and frustrated in general. And Ms. L. is all nice and cheerful to me while she takes my stuff. While she�s sorting it on the counter, Jamie comes up to me and stands there looking. I have to mention that he doesn�t appear to fire on all cylinders�some mild developmental delay, something is going on there. Anyway, he says, �What�s wrong with you today?� �Ahh, nothing,� I tell him, �Just a boring morning at work. You know how it goes.� And he stands, nodding, and suddenly moves faster than I thought he could, running into the back of the place. �You got to listen to my new cd,� he�s yelling over his shoulder, �You�ll really like it, it�ll cheer you up.� And he�s back with his walkman. �What is it?� I ask. �No, no, just listen,� he keeps saying when I keep asking him. Finally, I put on the headphones and he presses play and the first few staccato drumbeats of the track hit my memory like someone tapping me insistently on the shoulder. Annoyingly. �Oh my god,� I say and Jamie is smiling at what can only be my quick recognition of his song.

�It�s "Eye of the Tiger",� I tell him and he�s bouncing his head, nodding enthusiastically and also like he can hear it too, smiling so widely at me, I have to do it back to him while the base line gears up and the first verse starts. �Rising up, back on the streets�� �Oh, man,� I say to him and when I try to take the headphones off, he�s gesturing for me to keep them on and bouncing now on the balls of his feet like he�s Rocky in the ring himself. �It�s Survivor,� he keeps saying, �You remember that band?� So I nod and keep his headphones on. I listened all the way through past the first chorus before Jamie�d accept them back.

And he was so right. It cheered me up, it made me smile to myself all the way back to the office. Even though now I can�t get the damn song out of my head. Thanks, Jamie.