…so here I am sitting in the Starbucks that hangs like a growth on the USC Columbia bookstore — a bookstore run apparently by Barnes & Nobles. I wonder which member of the USC administration received the doubtless million dollar benefits from that little deal.
Not that I am complaining about the Starbucks; I am in fact thankful for the continuity with my previous incarnation as a college instructor, albeit as an adjunct. The Tall-Milds taste exactly the same as they did in British Columbia, but then such is the goal of all good food franchises, is it not? We are now so embroiled in our endless movements that we need artificial samenesses of the massive food franchises to give our infinite transience some sense of coherence.
Ok, fine. I’m just down about taking these wretched Praxis exams so that I can enter this miserable teacher’s certification program so that I can try to get a non-existent job teaching petulant and intransigent high-school students something about art. Gods of Sex and Death! How did I get here?
… must think about the positive …
… huurrk …
Right. So I get to the right building completely by tapping into the collective unconscious of Columbia itself, happen to park at the one broken meter that no one has noticed is stuck at the three hour mark, and there’s Sam Adam’s Winter Ale waiting cold in the fridge at home.
Also, at least I am starting to think again about resurrecting my artist’s soul and begin painting again. I’ve not produced art seriously since … well, for a while, and I thinkn I am ready to now.
Oh, and I’ve been controlling the weather with my mind. That’s kind of cool too.