Benefit of overcommercialized America? Starbucks is a mere two blocks away. Grabbed my stack of Chinese philosophy and hit the pavement, hate to use the term "brisk" (cliche, really) but that is an appropriate description of our sudden autumnal turn in the weather. A clear November night in Indianapolis, and the sidewalks of my typically downtown/gay scene/urbanite digs are populated with... baby boomers? Pleated khaki-sporting gray-hairs and trophy wives? Gaggles of suburbanite Desp Housewives clones?
A later perusal of the neighborhood newpapers informed me that James Taylor* was tonight's headliner at the theatre next door. Aha. Perhaps that is why the ticket-hawking drones didn't pay me as much attention as usual.
*Note: I love James Taylor. He joins the ranks of Simon/Garfunkle, Dylan, and CSNY in the realm of musical ass-kicking. You've got a friend, indeed.
Filled my head with the Tao for a couple of hours, which led to natural Western sense of unworthiness. Realized the research is going to be heavy for this next paper, and immediately resolved to resume study of the Buddhist meditations. (Seventh Dalai Lama - excellent).
An image reflected in a mirror, a rainbow in the sky, and a painted image
Make their impressions upon the mind,
But in true nature are other than what they seem.
Look deeply in this world, and see
An illusion, a hallucination, a magician's creation.
- Song of the Immaculate Path
Eventually sufficiently distracted to set aside the text in favor of local dish from NUVO and the Urban Times. Extensive articles on local chefs and culinary creations made me realize that I had forgotten to eat today. Never thought that I could possibly fall into that horrific category that I always scornfully classified as being fit for the likes of teen anorexics and bobbleheaded plastics. (You know what they say about assuming). Quelle horreur! Felt like such an ass. And hungry as hell once I came to realize the real cause of my plaguing headache. But really, at 11 pm there just isn't much point, with the obvious exception of drunk eating.
Tomorrow is another day, Scarlet.
Realized today that am only 3 days away from holiday treats and sass at Crunksgiving, the most genius social event of the season. Leave it to my friends to pair a kegger with altruism: price of admission to said soiree is indeed canned nonperishables to be donated to a local food pantry (or the traditional cash, obs). And I don't have to work until 1 pm the next day. Is going to be delightful and shameless. Uber-excited.
Also had the eye-opening revelation that it's almost December, aka the end of the fall semester, aka retail workers' hell. There is already a Santaland set up at Castleton. For the record, Santa is creepy. Under any other context, would you really like to place your cherubic little ones on the lap of an overweight older man in a velvet bodysuit parading around with zoo animals and circus performers, aka "elves?" I think not. Obviously a pedophiliac's dream holiday. I must have inferred the truth at an early age, as there is photographic evidence of me red-faced and screaming on the lap of one department store Santa in Michigan. Or maybe that was my brother. Either way, we were on to something. He's frightening.
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