The Wreckage Of The Infallible Mind.

Amazing weekend. Quite taken with this word "shaggard" which I may or may not use correctly depending on my mood. Whatever the case I'm sure someone will like nothing else than to correct me.

One thing about this city which is starting to get a little too predictable are the smarty pants. Smarty pants seem to be everywhere you go. There doesn't seem to be any type of establishment they favor. Preferring instead to indiscriminately spread their smartiness over the unsuspecting. Smarty pants always have something to say. Some insular arcane subject they know a moderate amount about and they would like nothing better than to tell you all about it. Or tell someone about it. I have to admit this last part is a little blurry. Sometimes, given the lack of anyone who might be interested they will spout off to seemingly nothing more than vapor.

The subject matter of these rants are as varied as they are obscure. Ayurvedic cuisine, tantric sex, bikra yoga, for God's sake Australian wine. It really (like their monotonous drone) goes on and on. I wouldn't say it bugs necessarily, but like the rain, and the hunormous spiders in the overgrown poorly manicured bushes it has become all too predictable. I almost feel like giving in. I bought a cook book yesterday and the emaciated man behind the counter started (totally unsolicited) going on about his "philosophy of cooking" and how it has improved his aura and outlook and there just never seems to be a big stick around when you need one.

All in all one simply accepts these hurdles and prances gracefully out of their way. Occasionally shoving them out of the way, but trying to be as polite and civilized as possible for the most part. I should work for the tourist board or some such organization that comes up with pithy little phrases for brochures like "Come to Seattle; You never knew how uneducated you are, but we'd like to tell you about it! Maybe over an overpriced cup of rancid tasting coffee. Yes? Yes. Yes!"