Dorkness at Noon

[substitute]

It was really great to see changeng tonight, as he headed back home from playing down in Laguna. Between him and me and Jared and Deanna and Dan we managed to invent a urine-powered car, perfectly plan Stuart's takeover of all world media, and have just a little bit too much caffeine. Or at least I did. Blink, blink.

I had a nice talk with Movie Guy Dan about old punk rock days and was surprised to hear about some people who should be dead, but somehow aren't: Texacala Jones, Paul Cutler from Vox Pop/45 Grave/Dream Syndicate, Rick Wilder from the Mau Maus.

I met Dorothy, who is Deanna's friend and is nice and smart and stunning and apparently a champeen pool player.

I bought tomatoes and olive oil. There were various millionaires in the market buying cookies and whisky. As I drove home I thought about the idle rich, as I have been a lot lately. I see them when I go to the local ritzy mall to get my computer fixed, and they're just kind of hanging out buying stuff on weekend afternoons, looking a little dazed in their gigantic $500 athletic shoes and gigantic $80,000 wondertrucks. I wonder what it's like to have nothing at all that moves you, and no reason otherwise to move? It seems like a kind of Hell.

Comments

[srl.livejournal.com]

My trip this summer, in which I saw and met a lot of people living in double-wides and other manufactured housing, seems to have adjusted my sense of the world a little bit. Many Bostonians now seem to me a bit like your "idle rich". They may not actually be idle--- often they're rushing somewhere that seems vital, most often to work or home, frequently wearing an iPod. They live such obviously comfortable lives that I'm not sure they've ever considered the life one lives in those small towns, or for that matter on the other side of the city, in the neighborhoods I've always been warned not to live in.