Abundance of Triflingness

When I'm considering carving the mold out of the bread to have a meal, it's time to go grocery shopping. I've been putting it off for the last week. Not for lack of money, but for abundance of triflingness.

It's so not glamorous, so not sexy, so not exciting; it's so not what you want to come reading about in a poet's blog. So here I go, beginning what I most feared. Letting you see how ordinary I really am. It was pretty uneventful, except that as I helped the cashier bag my groceries, I noticed that the person ahead of me had left a plastic-bagged banana bunch, which he'd paid for. I considered taking it, but thought against it as it violates the laws of every major and minor religion--even agnostic L_____'s, who would likely sick the Karma Fairy on me.

Once L_____ and I were having a conversation about odd jobs we'd previously held. She'd once worked at a coop coffee shop--

In the other room, Helter Skelter, the made-for-TV Charles Manson flick, is blaring. For some reason, I can't cut it off. Within the first two minutes, Charlie had already whacked off an ear with a machete. I tried to turn it off. Then, there was an orgy. Then, I tried to turn it off again and they'd slaughtered a houseful of people. I haven't watched a made-for-TV movie in like 10 years, but I can't cut this one off! How can I be a cool poet if I watch made-for-TV movies! And on CBS, even! So, to save my credibility, I had to leave the room and do something I could call artsy, like write in this blog.

So, L____ worked at this coffeeshop, which was a coop, which she thought was really cool and conscious and environmentally friendly blahblahblah when she began, but, once behind the scenes, she saw how badly they were gouging customers. After about 2 or 3 weeks, she'd had it, and non-acknowledger-of-God that she is, decided that this coffeshop needed to get what it was coming to it.

So one day, she went into the bathroom, loosened a few bolts, turned a few knobs, and sabotaged the toilet! She figured that the money they'd spend in calling in a plumber to fix the toilet would at least start to make up for how badly they were getting over on their customers. And to make herself feel
better, she attributed this to the Karma Fairy. She said if she didn't do it, something would happen to them eventually; she was just speeding along the process.

"So," I asked L____, who, again professes to be agnostic, "is this Karma Fairy--who avenges the mistreated, who judges, and makes all right in the world--is this fairy at all related to... God?"

"...," she said.

No."

So they've finally stopped killing people on the CBS movie. Even though they said parental advisory, I think CBS is gonna get in trouble for this one. Eight o'clock on Sunday night? I mean, if we can't even buy liquor here (Georgia) on Sundays, how can we watch a pile of nude writhing LSD-induced bodies? How irresponsible! We'll never be able to control ourselves.

My bedtime these days is pretty early. So I need to wind down. A lot's happened this weekend--a friend got her law degree, I shaved all of my hair off, I had a performance at the DeFoor's Centre (with a companion write up in Creative Loafing, I met with C____ to give her my feedback on her new novel, I helped A______ pick out some accessories for his new house, I blogged twice, and I went grocery shopping! Lots of change in the air.

...

I promise these are going to get better. I promise.