New Orleans is Louis Armstrong, his cheeks swelling up as he plays, his horn tilting toward heaven, the instrument a seemingly inexhaustible source of melody and percussion and swing. Armstrong carried the joyful sound of jazz--a music born of the crazy-quilt, shotgun marriage of races and heritages that make up his native city--around the world, and the world fell in love with it. And to fall in love with jazz or its bastard child, rock 'n' roll, is to fall in love with New Orleans.
"Hard Times in the Big Easy," Time: Hurricane Katrina - The Storm That Changed America, December 2005, page 29.
I have sat here, typed a paragraph's worth of thoughts, deleted and retyped many times today. Many. I literally have nothing to say. Everything meaningless is rather easy to put into words. The superfluous flows without any resemblance of concern for the hearer or what the listener asked for. But the important vernacular is far from my lips right now. Very far. So much so, I have nothing to write.
There, I got a paragraph. I better quit while I'm ahead.
"'Cause if it isn't making dollars Then it isn't making sense If you aren't a moving unit Then you're not worth the expense If you really want to make it You had best remember this: If it isn't penetration Then it isn't worth a kiss"
So, I have finally reached a decision about what I'm doing for the fall as to living arrangements and schooling. That decision is... I'm again confused. A phone call tomorrow may help. I will let you know (when I know).
Picking apart words for meaning makes one weary. The dictionary and thesaurus are tools; not sacred writings. Desperation makes you void— Being void makes you desperate. Sinking ships for love only agitate. Those who will want to someday be free from deception. Only truth can consciously separate the will and the divine. Heresy.
I love how people make blanket statements, but then totally mean another thing in word and action. Example, people who say, I'm not a [insert ideology they're not: Marxist, Racist, Fascist], but I think [insert the typical ideological conclusion they claim not to be]. Okay, here's your chance to stereotype me.
This Summer is Already Dubbed: You're So Last Summer
I went shopping earlier this week to look for a new pair of kicks (a.k.a. shoes). Upon arrival at a number of stores, a weird phenomenon happened. At two completely different sporting goods stores (Champs Sports and Sports Authority), I was confused for an employee of the store. This in itself isn't that ironic of a occurrence, as it happens from time to time. Yet, the reactions of the man and woman who confused me for an employee were separate issues altogether. I was dressed professional casual, as I had just come from work (blue polo shirt with typical gold striped design, tan khaki pants, brown slip-on shoes). Both of the stores, however, implore a different type of outfit for their salespeople. They go with a jersey-looking top and dark trousers, neither of which I was currently wearing. At Sports Authority, the man looked to me to help him get a pair of shoes down from a high shelf. He asked, "Do you work here?" When I told him that I didn't, he still appeared to want some help. I was in a hurry, though, and it didn't cross my mind until later that he might have been seeking assistance from anyone who would have helped. So yeah, I had my work badge on that day too. But the funny thing is, my very particular Eau Gallie High School badge doesn't look like a badge those stores have for their workers. It has my picture on it, too, what kind of shoe store has their employees pictures on it? The lady at Champs was the funniest and most annoying of the two. She had the foresight to look at my badge and call me by name (that always annoyed me when I worked at in customer services jobs anyway): "Jeff, are these running shoes?" She repeated the question when I didn't bother to look. I didn't look at her because, well, we all know that I don't work there! The third time she questioned me, there was much more force behind her words. I looked at her this time. She again posed the question to me, again with more enthusiasm, as if she was frustrated with me. I looked at her puzzled, flabbergasted, and quite annoyed considering this was the second time this had happened that day. When I informed her I didn't work there, she looked at the real employee, looked back at me and shrugged her shoulders like it was an innocent mistake. This is the clincher though. She then directed the question to the Champs guy, but she gave me the dirtiest look. It was like she was saying "You're no help to me now," which I wasn't, but still, I was frustrated. She kept looking at me, just giving me dirty looks when I looked back at her. Plus, she was loud, yelling at her very undisciplined teenager, and talking complete crap the whole time. When I left the store, I gave her a dirty look back.