House of the Rising Sun

With a title like that, you must be expecting some pretty philosophical scribbling; some insight, some revelations, some optimism. Well hey, that's not the case. It just happened to be the last song I heard on my way out the door this afternoon... which meant I was whistling it when my front tire washed out on my way across a damp bridge down by the university.

Now my elbow is raw and my wool pants, previously a forest green, appear identical to the weather-treated lumber they kissed when I went down. Nothing like a good wake up when you don't need to be woken up. The day has been funky anyway, and I didn't need that to supplement the crappiness.

Things are on the mend hopefully, and I'm really trying to reverse this downward-spiraling toilet-bowl mind-set. Holly is swinging by in a few to grab coffee and possibly a dollar movie with me. Maybe we can get there late so we miss all the consumerism-fueled previews and advertisements.

That is another thing thing feeding the fire this afternoon. I am already seeing Christmas banners and decorations up in businesses all over town. Do you think I see "Celebrate Jesus's Birthday"? Hardly... even the coffee cup I'm sipping out of has a fat Santa asking me to buy Starbucks for my loved ones this year. I am going to send out some propaganda from Adbusters.org to all my friends and loved ones to try and relay my thoughts about this embracing of consumerism. Buy more live more love more or else? If we really need an excuse to purchase, why blend it or mask it behind the facade of a prophetic celebration?

Breath. Just, chill. I've been in knots since watching ER with Lauren last night. Like I needed that: dude comes in off the street, drunker than Captain Morgan, passes out on the ER floor and proceeds to vomit blood from internal bleeding. The writers of ER proceeded to detail Mr. Morgan's battle with alcoholism: from widowed husband, to dysfunctional father, to incarcerated murderer. And now, here he is, dying from Liver/Kidney/Esophagal meltdown but finally realizing all his sins and wanting to make amends with his long-since alienated son.

I stayed calloused and unemotional until Lauren probed into how I could relate it to my own father. Shit. Leave it up to primetime TV to touch the nerves. I read Anna Kerinina for an hour before being able to drift off to sleep.

Holly is here. Take care.