Hello all. It’s hot here and the days are long with the structuring element of school gone. I’m struggling to stay focused on re-editing my film but instead I’ll retreat to the air conditioned comfort of my favorite coffee shop and read the latest issue of The Believer — a sort of New York Review of Books for the OK Soda crowd.
Actually when I was buying said magazine at Santa Barbara this past weekend, I was in a very weird mood. Perhaps it was the free chai they were doling out, or maybe I had spend too long breathing mall air, or maybe it was residual bad vibes from my mentor’s critical sucker-punch at graduation, but I approached the counter in a strange trance-like state…
Me:These are the items in which want to consume.
Clerk: (after ringing them up): That will be $23.
M: This is the card in which I want to paid for the items I wish to consume.
C: Would you like a bag?
M: Yes, I would like a bag to carry the items I have consumed.
As I was walking away from the counter, in a post-consumption haze, a middle-aged woman dressed from head to toe in pink cut in front of me and proceeded to dawdle in a way that made it impossible to pass her. Before I could even think about what I was doing, I hissed at her like a threatened alley cat. As the startled woman stepped aside muttering “Sorry,” I zipped past her, realizing what I had done. Vaguely embarrassed, vaguely proud I quickly exited the store and told Ted who was waiting outside.
WITMOT? 