A Bitter Taste
Usually, I try to be current with my digressions on whatever topic strikes me as being worthy of venting about, but today I've noticed that I've become more and more disgusted about the behavior of the patrons at my favorite coffeeshop. The thing is, though, this happened Monday night, and it has just festered inside of me for quite some time. I wasn't really intending on addressing the situation, but I couldn't help but notice that my cohort on my other site took the humorous route by placing a picture that mocks the situation for the absurdity that it truly is and will continue to be if it happens again. The situation occurred as follows. The two of us entered the coffeeshop, which happens to have just expanded to the storefront next door. Eager to sit in the new digs, we went over to the other side and perched on what we've come to learn as being the most desired table in the joint. Much like this one:
Well, shortly after that, one of the regulars, a near mythical creature in our eyes known as "White Hair," entered the establishment, turned promptly to his left to enter the expansion, and stopped suddenly with a bewildered look in his eyes. What could have occurred to cause such confusion in someone who, albeit old, is perceived as being "cooler than the other side of the pillow?" Well, it just so happens that the two of us were at his table, and, I was sitting in his chair.
Now, I know you're asking yourself, "Why is this such a big deal? Surely there are plenty of chairs in this place for him sit in and still maintain his air of coolness, right?" Apparently not. He appeared, if I may be so dramatic, to be a knight without his sword, a painter (Ironically, "White Hair's" one known craft is painting) without his brush, and totally without any ideas on how rectify this situation. Discombobulated, confused, angry, and all the other emotions that greet someone when they feel out of place and without a real purpose, seemed to have flooded over "White Hair" like a tidal wave. Lost in his thoughts, he finally settled on a chair that was equally comfortable as his regular thrown, if not moreso.
What troubles me about this situation is not the look of utter confusion on this man's face or even the somewhat unsubtle hint that we shouldn't be sitting there. What troubles me is the entire clique vibe that permeates the entire establishment much like the cigarette smoke that cloudens the air. This lifestyle that's so dependent on seeming to be independent is rather hypocritical in nature. The more they strive to be the outcasts who are accepting of people's flaws and kinks, the more they seem to tighten the circle to include only themselves and the desire to repel outsiders. It's a vibe that betrays everything they stand for, and it's a rather sad assessment on life on the fringe here in Pittsburgh. The entire notion of a coffeeshop that caters to the fringes is that you should be able, as a straight-laced un-hipster, to enter the premises and be able to enjoy the surroundings without the implied threat that you're sitting in someone's seat. This isn't the case in this place, and it's rather sad. I thought they were different. Alas, they aren't, and they're more often as petty if not moreso than the rest of us.

Lonely Thong
On Saturday morning, as I was walking to work, I saw a thong on the sidewalk in front of a local bar/nightspot here on campus. An urge to kick it swept over me, but it quickly passed. A simple, black thong on the sidewalk. It makes me wonder whether or not there was a girl waking up at the very moment wondering where her underwear, even that miniscule amount, went.

Stop
It's hard to shake certain beliefs. The types of beliefs I'm referring to have little or nothing to do with the prejudices that might mark someone in a specifically terrible light. These include the inevitable rascisms, sexisms, and any other type of -ism that's associated with negative waves and dogmas. What I'm referring to, though, are those beliefs that might label what has been, in recent years, a negative term, an intellectual or elitist. Now, I must confess the fact that being labeled an elitist is now considered something along the lines of being labeled a fascist makes little sense to me. Along the same lines, I'm also confused as to how liberal became associated with such negativity. Why is being labeled a liberal so bad? It makes no sense. I know, it's all about the conservatives trying to make liberals out to be the most uncaring, unpatriotic, selfish lot to come down the pike, but they aren't. It's a myth perpetuated by the conservative dominated media machine. Well, no shit. Everyone knows this, or do they? It's amazing how myths such as these become fixtures in society and are almost impossible to change without some sort of mass coercion on the part of the ruling bodies themselves.
Anyway, back to the notion of elitist. I have a problem with banality. The banality that seems to be the cause and context for many of the blogs that have sprung up in the last few years, which, probably, includes this very forum as one of its members. I have to confess that I find the idea of reading about the most mundane events in people's lives to be nauseating and without any real redeeming value. Sure, I think it's great that the masses are becoming more creative and I use that term very, very loosely, but I feel strongly that there are just certain people out there that have little to say, so they shouldn't force themselves to write meandering diatribes (much like this one) that chronicle the daily minutiae of their lives. Face it, there's just not a whole lot going on in life that makes it so interesting on a regular basis, not to mention the blogs that are published daily. What are people writing about? Nothing. It's all boring shit that no one, except for the writer themselves, finds interesting.
I know, it's hypocritical to be utilizing the very forum I'm criticizing to write this utterly disgusting diatribe lambasting the notion of writing by the masses. However, I feel strongly that there's a fine line between writing that should be done and writing that should never be attempted. I'm not suggesting that we leave it all to the professionals; that's fascist. What I am suggesting, though, is that people should stop kidding themselves into thinking that their most private moments are interesting, their little euphemisms are witty, their daily logs of their lives are even remotely close to resembling fodder for the masses. In other words, if you're thinking of starting a blog, and you're first post has something to do with how interesting work, life, whatever that happened to you today is worth writing about, don't. Spare us the agony and stop deluding yourself.

In Retrospect
I feel ashamed at my recent actions towards someone. I feel as if, yes, I have de-evolved into some petty person who holds a grudge even when there isn't a reason to do so. In fact, I'd go so far as to assert that I've become that which I've tried so hard not to: a jealous fiend who can't let go of the past. The situation, as it occurred today, in what would most likely have been a repeat of an incident that happened yesterday, was simple enough, if not innocent and totally within the realm of how decent, civilized people conduct themselves. The girl I referred to in a previous post, probably the last post that had anything meaningful to say if you could call it that, was walking out of a backroom of the library as I was walking towards the restroom. In some sort of animalistic grunt, we both said "Hey" to one another. Big deal, I had to piss, she was walking with a purpose, and there really wasn't any room for discussion. Still, it felt terrible. How had things changed so drastically so quickly?
It struck me earlier that what has occurred is a return to the way things were before. Before the conversations. Before the dates (if that's what they really were, now I have my doubts). Before the downward spiral that engulfed the final few conversations and attempts at conversations. It all fell apart so fast. Now, what I'm left with, even in the face of trying desperately to be the civil one, the diplomatic male who operates in a fashion totally opposite of how most do. Now, I'm back to square one where I get this totally disgusted look from this girl. This totally pissed off look. This look of utter hatred, if I may be so melodramatic.
So what do I do, trying to be the more mature one? Well, I walked right by her today in the very same library without even looking in her direction. She was at the desk talking to her ex-roommate, and I was checking out a book. I knew she was there. She knew I was there. I made eye contact, somewhat, earlier. So, why did I just walk by her without saying a word? I really can't say. I just know that I feel terrible about it. In retrospect, it feels worse than if I'd called her some terrible profanity. Or does it? I don't know. What I do know is that I feel as if I've sunk to a lower level. A level that people like her exist at. Miserable people who will never be happy and are incapable of having any sort of remorse, feelings, or common decency. I wish nothing but the worst for her. In my rage, I say I hate her. Yes, that word that you're told never to say about anyone. Yeah, I hate her with all my being. If I only hate one person, it's her. But, I don't hate her, not in the sense that is conveyed by the previous thoughts. No, I'm better than that. I don't hate her. No, I wish her the best. Sure, go ahead, and try to find someone else. Best of luck to you, babe. You're going to need it.

Oddness
Just as a way to reiterate an observation made by my teammate on my other blogger endeavor {Shrine}, I noticed last night that the ads at the top of the page were in reference to some rather odd materials. In this case, one of the ads was a link to a book which had as its subject defecation, or, in the words of the title, "poop." Here's the link to this oddity: {Shit} I'm at a loss, though, as to how to feel about this rather strange linkage. What on our site had anything to do with shit? I don't recall seeing anything that even remotely could be loosely tied to feces. My site, though, does have a rant on the increasing amount of garbage, including shit, that has been making its daily presence known in my town. Some mysteries, I guess, are never meant to be solved.

War
I don't know what is going on in our fair city as of late, but I have to say that I'm on the verge of violence at nearly every passing minute. I've had encounter after encounter with disagreeable people, or, in more blunt terms, total assholes in the last few days. If it's not radical joggers on the bike trail refusing to give any sort of concessions regarding the gravel path, it's being harassed by drunks while waiting for the bus. The latter episode might just be a standout in a long string of encounters with the detritus of the city. This drunken mongrel first mumbled some incoherent babble at me, which I could loosely translate into a request for a cigarette, which I didn't have, of course, because smoking is inherently disgusting. The next request was, "Do you have an extra dime?" Now, this baffled me for two reasons. First, being asked for a specific amount of money, in this case ten cents, is a rarity in these types of encounters. For the most part, it's ill-defined sums as in spare change, or, if they're really bold, they'll ask for a dollar, which is about as specific as it gets. The second reason I was taken aback by this request is that it's such a small sum, one dime. What the hell could you do with one dime? Not much, as far as I know. So, after I rebuffed him here, he proceeded to ask for an extra dollar, which must be a mythical beast as rare as bigfoot. Again, I told him I didn't have anything, but this apparently didn't sink through the mushy layers of his alcoholic haze filled brain because he had to repeat the question again as if the answer might change. What really set me off, though, was that after telling him that I didn't have anything to give him, he repeatedly told me that he was "just talking," to which I replied, "I know, but now leave me alone." This is when he moved towards me, and in an effort to get away from him I stepped around him and told him that if he didn't leave me alone, I'd call the police, who were, fortunately, just right across the street. Now, I've rarely felt such rage at someone, but after having had this and other types of situations plague me in the last few weeks, I feel as if I've reached a breaking point. I'm using this forum to declare war on these individuals. I'm through being nice and complacent to the whims of the deranged and alcohol fueled derelicts and dirtbags. Preemptive measures will now be used in order to avoid any such encounters in the future. To quote a famous phrase, "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore."