[Originally written 9/9/2006]
I am so mildly inspired to write about the obscenely strange combination of surroundings around me right now, that I simply must try, if only to distract myself from the misery that has permeated my brain for the past 17 hours.
Here I am, 5:02pm on a Saturday evening, sitting in a coffee house in Albany with a giant - I mean GIANT - cup of chai latte to my right, my ipod to my left, playing "White Horse" by P.Funk in my earbuds at an ear-bleeding volume. The main reason I'm risking my auditory stability is to drown out the mock-intellectual types that are apparently having their monthly "We're Better Than Everyone Because We Talk About Behaviorism in Third World Canines" meeting, and of course, they require making all their points at an equally as ear-bleeding volume.
"If you wanna be rich, you got to be a bitch...."
How apropos....and I only use that asshole word because I've heard it forty five thousand times from these douche bags, with their asshole haircuts and cheap shoes and embroidered Mac laptop bags, drinking their sweetened foamy steaming half-caff soy skinny latte fuck drinks. I shit you not, one of them has their dog with them. And honestly, the dog, in all its silence, has had the most interesting things to say of the bunch. That poor son of a bitch.
I am almost laughing out loud right now at the irony, as I, myself, am sitting in this coffee sanctuary, using my laptop (NOT a Mac...), listening to my iPod (yes, THAT'S a Mac), drinking a giant - I mean GIANT - cup of chai latte. And although they ARE fabulous, my shoes ARE also cheap...but now - and this is the laughable part - "Don't Cha" by the Pussy Cat Dolls is blaring in my ears, and I'm watching these mindless chatterfucks STILL droning on about garbagey garbage.
Their body language is hysterical to me: they're all leaned deeply into the table, chins resting on palms in between mind-altering statements, using words like "notify" and "juxtapostion" and "glitterati". The middle-aged trashy women sub-consciously covering up their 25-year-old mistake manifested in the form of a wrist tattoo that says "Born to Ride" in faded blue ink...the obnoxious, slightly overweight and latent-perverted men nervously shifting their weight in their chairs in order to impose some sort of uncomfortable feeling that will deflate their inadvertent hard-on...
And fortunately for me, what is now floating into my brain via the Mini Macintosh Music Miracle is Tom Petty's "Into the Great Wide Open"...which is bringing me back to ground zero, reminding me that even though I may share similar physcial surroundings with this group of total fucking idiots (computer, GIANT frothy drink, faux intelligence), I know I'll never be them, and they'll never be me, and for that I am truly thankful.
Pathetic: the 100% purebred SOMETHING keeps wandering over to my table and looking up at me with saddened eyes.
"I can't take their mindless jibberish anymore...would you PLEASE just throw a stick or something for me? I mean a real STICK, one made of WOOD. Not something this bitch picked up at an overpriced dog boutique, only because its tag claimed it was fashioned out of some rare South African material by a Cambodian war criminal and the purchase resulted in a 10% donation to the World Children's Coffee Association. Just a god damn STICK. I'm a DOG for Christ's sake...get me OUT of here!"
"Hello (hello....hello....)....is there anybody IN there....."
Ahh...."Wish You Were Here"...we've come full circle. Back to Pink Floyd, as before I opened my laptop. Initially, "Mother" was the inspiration behind this post. Why? Not sure, but it was. Something about Roger's lyrics, David's strumming, and Syd's ghost.
I will end here, as I need to pack up, return to the misery plaguing my mind, and of course, take my dog for a walk....OUTSIDE.