baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Medicinal Powers of Carne Asada, Mocha, CDs, and Animation Explained In Over 50 words It's Friday and I'm on a desperate search for giddy. *Here, giddy, giddy, giddy,* our narrator croons clutching a plate of milk in one hand and a butterfly net in the other. Unlike the view outside my window, my mind is dark and wet. Outside, Southern California is delivering on its promise of wonderful, mild, sunny weather-inside I'm sucking on the bitter nectar of self-pity. Considering my inclination towards over-dramatization, it's a wonder I have any self-pity-nectar left at all. But, alas, the pool of melancholy runs perpetual-and so I must drag myself from its wetness and go bask in the sunlight of giddy-wherever that sunlight may be. Meet plan A: Today, I am thinking Giddy might take the form of a nice, unhealthy, grease-laden meal enjoyed with the company of work-folk. This usually helps-so long as nobody in the Work-Folk-Alliance breaks The Rule: Thou Shall Not Be A Depressing Piece of Shit While Eating A Delicious Plate Of Carne Asada.* The power of food, I say, can never be underestimated. Off course, judging from the mood of Work-Folk-Alliance-Member Number Two, the chances of The Rule bring broken are fair to good. This will be tough. I may need to get dessert too. If lunch time culinary irresponsibility doesn't do the deed, I do know that copious amounts of giddy reside in cups of white-chocolate-mocha from Diedrich. Yes, unlike other facets of my world, white chocolate mocha has yet to kick me in the ass and make me bleed on the inside. Yes-Good food and good company: two of the most important ingredients for Giddy stew are in plentiful supply I believe. And I'm thankful. I'll be the first to admit that the verbalization of problems-real and imagined-help only to perpetuate the soap-opera. And I'm not a huge fan of soaps. Drama is a necessity I believe-but I tire of it fast. I've wasted too much time mired in the mud of drama and I want, no need, to cleanse myself as quickly as possible from any shit that hits my fan and cakes my eyelids. Life, to be cliched and trite, is much too fucking short. Too short for arguments, too short for anger, and definitely too fucking short for this bullshit. Which brings me to Plan B. In case that my body has built up a resistance to the wonderful mood-enhancing powers of fatty-food, good company and white chocolate mocha, I may need to buy some CDs, Yes. CDs. CDs are good. DVDs are good. Stuff, in general, is good-so long as it's high-quality stuff. Like the movie Atlantis. That looks like good stuff to me-anything animated-anything that's a product of some unbelievably talented folks-any kind of art-holds strong giddy potential. So I raise my arms and shout my voice-hopefully triumphant in my search for Giddy in other places besides my good life. Wish me luck. 1:40 p.m. - 2001-06-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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