Brain Drippings

Jethro has a good post up about the Confederate flag which might make for an interesting discussion.

Absolutely nothing interesting is going on. I haven't even had sex. I keep trying to come up with something funny or fascinating, but I'm stuck. And speaking of feces, I was taking a dump the moment the Michael Jackson verdict was read. I realize it's old news now, but I had wanted to mention it and I forgot.

I took Gwennie and Emma to the store today and they were bad. Emma cried over everything and forgot her underwear. I'm still not sure how I missed that one. Gwennie was just plain bad, asking for every little thing and dragging her feet and her arms, knocking things off the shelves, hanging off the cart and slowing it down, and whining constantly. I wish we didn't live in a world where it is so wrong to swat your kid HARD across the bare tush in public. She knows I won't do it when there are people around, and she takes full advantage - even though she knows she's going to get it at home.

What else. My diet is not going well. Carmen Electra is still a stupid cunt. I think I may go back to school when Jethro is done. I know I swore to almighty Whatever that I wouldn't, but I can't resist the urge to get an expensive useless degree and talk down to the people I think need a talking down to.

I think if I'm actually going to get a useless degree, I should probably go whole hog and get the most pretentious, uppity, snot-filled degree there is. I've narrowed it down to some type of Literature or Art History, with the scales tipping to the latter. It's a subject I find fascinating ever since Rome, but it is an undeniable fact that if you speak about art, you are going to sound like a pseudo-intellectual who parade their snobbish, homosexual art friends as an apology for being white and straight.

Like wine drinkers. And it isn't fair. I like wine, but I deliberately remain ignorant of its intricacies because once you start becoming familiar with it, you end up sounding like a jerkoff whose only pleasure in life is telling people how smart he is, instead of someone who just wants to get laid, which is stupid too, but honest, at least, because it's pretty much the whole point of alcohol on all intellectual levels.

Like poets (and my apologies in advance to the poets among us - this is just personal bitching and if poetry gives you pleasure, I am truly happy for you). I find poetry to be the most useless genre to vent one's feelings. So much of the poetry I read is about feelings, or *shudder* one-dimensional social commentary. This isn't good poetry. Read Yates, or Auden, or Dylan Thomas, or even Robert Frost. I don't care for poetry, but they were good poets.

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I just conducted a little experiment with Gwennie. When we were at the store yesterday, a young black man sold us some ice cream that he promised was really good. I was giving some to Gwennie just a few minutes ago and she said, "This is great. I guess that guy was right."

For no important reason, I wondered if his race would figure into her memory of him, so I said, "What guy?"

She said, "You know, the guy at the store!"

"What did he look like?"

She said, "Remember? He had a red hat and he had black curly hair, and brown skin, and he was wearing a red shirt with a white tie."

Somehow, I feel satisfied with Gwennie's answer.