On Futility

I'm supposed to be working on my grad school applications. I'm sitting in my favorite coffee shop with my laptop and a bottle of orange soda. There's a man at the front of the shop, assaulting us with an acoustic guitar. Christmas carols, folky tunes, and kiddy songs, which involve loud barking for some reason -- all bounce off my gigantic headphones. I am nestled in the safety of Mark Knopfler, INXS, the Jesus and Mary Chain, and Miles Davis. Strum on aged hippy, I am impervious. I won't give you my last dollar either. Bark bark bark.

Have you ever been so antsy that your pants are uncomfortable? No matter what I do - hitch 'em up, loosen the belt, tighten the belt, etc. - they won't let me concentrate on my screen. These are my favorite blue jeans too. Maybe I should take them off and dance around a little. How'd you like that, Mr. Hippy?

What's this "New Blogger" noise? Is it better? Am I foolish not to switch?

Uh-oh. Cd's done.

The doors on the bus go open and shut
open and shut
open and shut
the doors on the bus go open and shut
all through the town