It’s 3:27 am on a Thursday morning in early October, and I’m laying in bed in my apartment in Queens, NYC.
I had an interesting day today. I woke up around 5 am, which is way earlier than I usually do. But for some reason that’s when my rooster crowed.
I lay in bed for a couple of hours trying to fall back to sleep, but with little success. I listen to music. I text a friend from the Philippines on Facebook Messenger. I listen to the morning news highlights from NPR Radio.
Around 7 am I give up on further sleep, get out of bed, and go into the kitchen to make coffee.
I recently rediscovered my Mr. Coffee machine. I haven’t used it in years, but I brought it down from an upper kitchen shelf about a month ago.
And you know what I discovered? Man, it is fun to make coffee! I love the morning ritual, the filter inserted into the machine’s cup, the tablespoons of ground coffee poured into the cup, and then the water poured into the machine’s front upper section.
I learned through experience that the big question is not what kind of coffee machine you have, but what kind of coffee you make. The first time I purchased coffee at the supermarket, about a month ago, I got the Starbucks Arabica medium blend. It was pretty good.
The next time I got the Starbucks Espresso Roast Dark Arabica Coffee. It was super strong, but also rich, nutty, and earthy. I loved it.
What’s interesting is that the third time I bought coffee, I decided to try a new brand, and so I got New England Roasters Coffee Colombian Supremo, mainly because it was on sale. And you know what? It was absolutely terrible. So I made a mental note to spend $2 more per pound from now on to get Starbucks, because bad coffee just sucks.
To go with the coffee I make myself a cheese on wheat bread sandwich, and I have a banana with it.
Then I make the six minute walk east on 30th Avenue to my local New York Sports Club. I used to work out four or five times per week, starting when I was age 15. I’m 44 now, and over the past year the frequency of my gym visits has dropped precipitously.
I think I just got burned out on the gym. I’ve also been struggling with my career, which doesn’t make for gym motivation.
But over the past week and a half, I’ve gone to the gym four times, and I feel like I’m finally getting back on track.
At the gym I start with the chest press machine, and I do ten reps at 90 lbs, then 110, 130 and then 150. I try to go up to 160, but my chest and arms just won’t cooperate.
This is somewhat disappointing, as I was pressing 200 lbs last year, before I stopped going to the gym. But no worries, I tell myself. I’ll get back there soon.
After six sets I move to the shoulder press machine, where I do sets of ten reps at 50 lbs, 60, 65, 70, and then back down to 60. Again, this is way lower than when I was pushing up 100 lbs, but it’s to be expected.
I finish the upper body workout with triceps push downs, rear deltoid extensions, bicep curls, and then trap shrugs.
I hit the mat for crunches, and complete the workout with abdominal pull ups and abdominal pull downs.
My workout done, I stop at the local fish store on the way home, the Ocean Fish Market, and buy a pound of Tilapia.
Next I head to Key Food, my local supermarket, and buy some lemons for the fish, along with some food staples for the fridge.
When I get home I shower, shave, and put on some new clothes. Then I head out again and hit 30th Avenue, take a right, and enter the local Chinese-run hair salon. I’ve needed a haircut for about a month, and my current “do” is halfway between white afro and overgrown bowl cut. So it’s time for a haircut, it really is.
A lovely Chinese lady tells me to take a seat, and she asks how I’d like my hair cut. In my mind I’m thinking, for a $14 haircut you can do it any way you want lady. But instead I tell her to cut over the ear, shorten the sides and back, and just do a trim in front. Scissors only please, no buzzer.
She says cool, sprays my hair with water, and begins the haircut. After a minute or so she notices I’m sweating, because it’s a really humid day in New York, so she offers me a towel.
“Yes, it’s very hot today,” she says, trying to assuage my guilt over sweating like a hound dog. I thank her, mop my brow, and sit back as she continues the hair cut.
She’s done in about fifteen minutes. Then she whips out a hand-held mirror, shows me the back of my head, and then lets me study the front of my hair in the large mirror in front of me.
“How do you like it?” she asks.
It looks pretty good, I think to myself. I mean it looks fine. I have no doubt that if I spent $50 or more on a haircut, which I did once, it would look even better. But this will do.
So I tell her I like it. I pay for the haircut, $14 plus a $4 tip, and I’m outta there.
I head home, chill out for a bit, and then set to work on my blog. I launched the blog, Gen X Chronicle, about 2 ½ years ago, and it’s finally starting to take off. I cover news, culture and lifestyle through a Generation X lens.
I do some IT work for the blog, then I check work emails and texts. On Friday I’m starting a tutoring assignment from a tutoring company. I’m going to be helping a college freshman study for the verbal section of the LSAT. Writing is my specialiy, so I’m confident I can help her. Plus it will bring in extra money for me, which as a writer and blogger is always welcome.
Around 6 pm I start to get hungry, so I consider my options for dinner. At Key Food earlier today I bought two potatoes. I was thinking that I hadn’t cooked with potatoes in years because of carb fear, but maybe tonight would be the night.
So I pull out my phone, open the Pinterest app, and search for potato recipes. Right off the bat, a recipe screams out at me. You slice the potatoes, but you leave a little room at the bottom edge so the slices don’t fully pull apart and the potato remains intact.
Then you drizzle each potato with olive oil, butter, salt and pepper, and bake at 425 degrees for 40 minutes.
So that’s what I do. I prepare the potato dish, put it in the oven, and set a timer on my Google Home for 40 minutes.
I set a second timer for 20 minutes, and when it goes off I pull the Tilapia from the fridge. I sprinkle it with salt and pepper, coat my cast iron grill with olive oil, and proceed to grill the fish.
The fish is finally ready at just about the same time as the potatoes. I squeeze a lemon over the Tilapia, pour out a dollop of ketchup for the potato slices, and dig in.
It’s very good. The Tilapia itself is yummy, but I realize that because it’s such a bland fish it needs a sauce. Next time make a sauce, I tell myself.
The potatoes are also good. I mean they’re really good, actually, they just don’t taste like french fries. Probably because they’re baked and not deep fried.
All in all, it’s a good meal, but not my best ever. I’ve made some great dishes over the past year, from Chicken Parmesan with Angel Hair Pasta to Thai Pad Kee Mao to Mexican Fajitas. Tonight wasn’t quite up there with the greats, but it was really good, and it beats takeout any day of the week.
After eating, I take a nap for an hour or so. Then my friend Mitch comes over to watch the Yankees Wild Card game. The Yanks crush the Oakland A’s, and Giancarlo Stanton and Aaron Judge both homer.
I’m a Mets fan, but I casually pull for the Yankees too, so it’s a good outcome.
While Mitch and I are watching the game in the living room, my cat Copper is chilling on my bed in the bedroom. She’s really shy, but lately she’s become more bold. Now she isn’t afraid to jump on my bed, or even to come into the living room on occasion.
Next Mitch and I watche the Deontay Wilder — Tyson Fury press conference in New York. The two heavyweight giants are scheduled to fight in December, and I’m psyched. When you add in Anthony Joshua, it seems like the heavyweight division is finally having a rebirth. As devoted fans of boxing, this makes both Mitch and I very happy.
After Mitch leaves, I stay up for a while longer and watch The Late Late Show with James Corden. I’ve taken a liking to him, because he’s pretty funny and his British background seems to elevate the show just a tiny bit above the other late-night competitors.
Then I watch some Tyga videos on YouTube. I watch “Taste” and “Swish.” I love the ladies he puts in his videos. They’re so beautiful, and they’re wearing such skimpy clothing, that it just chills me out. It’s like an ass parade of sexy women in G-strings. What could be bad?
Finally I watch some Tyler Childers and Colter Wall, two country music and Bluegrass singers I like a lot.
I have a couple drinks, whiskey on the rocks, and just chill out.
I finally get in bed around 3 am, and I contemplate the day.
All in all, it was a relaxing, local, neighborhoody kind of day. I went to the gym, I shopped, I did some work, I cooked dinner, I chilled with my friend, and I listened to some music.
These are the kinds of days you live for. Because nothing much happens, but at the same time everything happens.
I drift off to sleep with a contented feeling in my mind and heart, and I sleep through the night in peace.
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