I'm the daddy of the mack daddy

That line is running through my head.

Scott is in town for the summer! He's taking Adam and I to dinner on Friday. Very few people make me laugh as hard as Scott.

The last time we saw each other was in Queens. I was in New York taking Mike Daisey's intensive and had booked a hotel in Brooklyn. Scott and I went to dinner and I was back at my room, getting ready for the next day, when I saw a mouse pop out from behind the television and scuttle across the floor.

I lost my shit.

I called Adam. It was midnight West Coast time. "There is a mouse in this room," I said, using the voice I reserve exclusively for sex and terror.

He cracked up. "Welcome to New York," he said.

After I went through my whole litany of how he was a motherfucker and how could he laugh at a time like this, I insisted that he help me reserve another hotel room. "For tonight?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. I wasn't getting a good wireless connection and kept bugging him: "Did you find anything? Where? Jamaica? I'll take it."

I'd reserved the damn thing when he convinced me to stay put for the night and just switch places in the morning. "How do you scare away mice?" I asked.

"They don't like motion," he said. So I bounced up and down on the bed for about a half hour before realizing I wouldn't able to simultaneously sleep and bounce.

Next day, it was Scott to the rescue. I checked out of the scary mouse hotel, went to SoHo and had the first day of the intensive, canceled my room in God-knows-where-Jamaica, and showed up at his place in Astoria. Clean and vermin-free. I slept like the damn dead.