All Kinds of Happy

A happy skateboarder. Go, dog.  Go! 

There's happy. And then, there's HAPPY. After a killer exercise class, I'm happy, in an exhausted, "Thank God, that's over" kind of way. However, this isn't the sort of happy that requires damage control via a slick publicist. "Yeah, so, the SJG got a little too happy. It happens. What are you gonna do? She hears Hava Nagila and loses control, especially if she's hit the Manichewitz hard. To all the nice people whose personal space she violated during her Hip Hop Hora at the Hollywood Bowl, she apologizes and promises to never get that happy again."

Hmm.  This skateboarder looks suspiciously Happy. 

The other day, I witnessed a new version of happy, the kind that deserves a capital H, on my way home from the afore-mentioned killer exercise class. Driving up Fulton Avenue, I saw a dude of indiscriminate age, doing a combo skateboarding-dance routine as he veered in and out of traffic. He was wearing headphones, bopping along, waving at everyone. That's an altered kind of happy bordering on wackadoodle. Not that I judge. Well, maybe a little. All I know is, the vision of this total Skateboarding Meshugenah, swaying side to side, is the kind of happy that's in short supply these days. Sure, this guy's happy may be medicinally-enchanced. Maybe I should've yelled out the window, "What the hell are you on and where do I get me some?" But before I knew it, his extreme Happy ramped up my humble happy and made me laugh. So thank you, Skateboarding Meshugenah, whoever you are, and please, next time you freestyle it through Sherman Oaks, wear a helmet.