http://panrising.blogspot.com/search?updated-max=2008-09-03T03%3A10%3A00-07%3A00&max-results=7
Did that work?
When I go back to Berkeley, I will once again have to make linear, logical arguments. But that doesn't mean I can't drink some crack-cocaine-coffee and jump in and out of arguments.
Alright, here's the deal. To be honest, today I witnessed a lady sitting next to me at a cafe, consuming straight up packets of Splenda. I thought she would stop at two. As I sat there with my ipod in, laughing to myself at this annoying but hilariously ridiculous situation, she opens packet number three, and four. What is this? I am not mentally and emotionally stable enough to handle a woman nearly 1 foot away from me, licking her fingers loudly from this cancer-powder, I'm just not. Maybe after a couple meditation sessions, I could- but was there a yoga instructor at that table? No. And she opens packet number five. Maybe she's homeless, I thought. That would be a shame. Then I would just be getting annoyed at someone else's attempt to attain sustenance, and that's really sad and deplorable. No, she had a nice bag with her, and also had bought a coffee, so this was impossible. Anyway, I had no way of knowing, so my only choice was to assume that she had an intense craving and perhaps addiction to Splenda. Packet number six- then seven. Alright, this is ridiculous. Is anyone else seeing or hearing this? No. No. I am alone in my misery. But it really wasn't that bad, more funny really. Who am I to judge? Who am I, really? That's a whole other question. But come on, I probably do some weird shit too- for instance, most of the time I speak in abbreviated words with the addition of animals for certain nouns, and that may very well seem certifiably insane, but everyone knows it's just my baseline mode of communication when I'm not writing and have to present myself at least decently for the Internet world.
Thank G-d I got a call from a friend and could step away at least briefly from this episode of Curb. It's nice to be able to exit the TV. So we talk for a while, I explain the situation, and as I'm turning to go back to my table, Splenda woman walks by, eating what I could only assume was her ninth or tenth packet. At this point, I was genuinely worried for her health. If you have 10 packets of Splenda per day, that's seriously got to give you cancer in at least a couple years, tops. And if you talk on a cell phone regularly, then you're done for. [that last line is not supported by any concrete evidence]. My point being: there isn't one, really. Just another day in paradise.
So one of my internships ended, and maybe that's why I find myself writing again with no purpose, argument, or initiative. Out of college, money spent, see no future, pay no rent. Strike that, edit: still in college, money spent, see some future, parents pay rent. Yeah, I'm grateful, but I'm getting a job my last semester in Berkeley, so it's okay! Either that, or I will resort to singing over-enthusiastic Destiny's Child's songs on the corner of Dwight and Telegraph, much to the dismay of my friends, who would probably film it and put it online. I have no shame. That's a lie- I have much shame, and only wrote that line as if I were a character in my own book - a female holden caufield- capable of living spontaneously. Who knows, if I had the energy and ballz (uterus?) to dare to dream and live like no one was watching while I dance, I could be the change I wish to see in the world-- problem is, I don't really want to see the addition of spontaneous and over-indulgent displays of freedom manifested through song. If I wanted that, I'd just turn on Glee (which I do, every Wednesday). Everyone can hate on Mr. Shuster's hair, but I think it's sexy.
Anyway, here's what I WOULD want to see. Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for a brief, *brief*, intro to the Philosophy of Chillness (an addendum to The Art of Panooshing). To begin, there are two types of people in this world: Those who are Down, and those who are Not. Those who are Not frequently go by other names such as Vampires and Truth-Mongers, and pride themselves on chastising others, using words such as "should/n't" following a personal pronoun in command form ("You know, you really shouldn't do that..."). Those who are Down, on the other hand, wear Nike Airs and skip across the streets [metaphorically], refusing to "believe" in a Philosophy of Chillness and instead choosing to LIVE it. They're Nooshers, plain and simple. If you ask a person who's Down if they're Down, they'll probably respond, "Well, For Sure I'm Down." Although many outwardly identifiable hipsters may seem like they're Down, a lot of them are not, as evidenced by the anger and or incredulity they experience when asked if they are a hipster. A person who is Down doesn't care what group he/she fits. But isn't that the anthem of hipsterdom? Not really. If you look closely, behind the clothes and witty remarks drenched in satirical pop-culture references that embrace otherwise shunned-VH1 shows, hipsters are just hesitant people who are NOT Down to Chill, unless they are in familiar surroundings. Therefore, while a person who is Down may happen to dress like a hipster (wardrobe doesn't matter), a person who is a hipster by all visual and auditory accounts may not necessarily be Down.
If you find yourself struggling to follow this logic, you are not down. You see, Chillness knows no boundary and does not need supported "facts"-- there are no rules, really, besides all of the ones I just mentioned. The Philosophy of Chillness is just a phrase that represents an ongoing and evolving flexibility WITH and affirmation OF life's twists and turns. Shit may, in fact, get difficult- as it always does in life- but in the end, those who are Down are always going to be Down, and those who suck the blood out of an otherwise innocent and self-sufficient population of fellow human beings, are not Down. Too harsh? Let me try that again. Those who are Chill don't drink on the hater-ade, and those who are not Chill need the hater-ade for energy to make it through the day.
Enough of this, I'm starting to preach. Maybe if I had an angle, see. That's what you need kid, a theme. Enough of this Felbs and the City- it's false advertising! Do I ever talk about the city? Does it even really matter where I'm writing from? So I live in New York City, the greatest fuckin city in the world, big deal. In a couple weeks, I'm moving back to Los Angeles- who will win the battle of the coasts? Find out after these messages. Truth is, I was changed by living here, but I also would've been changed if I have moved to Detroit. Point is to keep moving your feet people, never settle. Complacency is the breeding ground for mediocrity. Or maybe it's the reverse. I wouldn't know because I just made that up.
Alright, I hope you all have had a colorful journey on the Felbs Train. Join me next time when I de-bunk the myths of self-proclaimed "bloggers," people who use all-caps in the third person, often in conjunction with a popular societal phrase to express a self-aware sense of irony, (GET A LOAD OF THIS GUY, AM I RIGHT?!), and finally the purpose of doing physical jigs mid-conversation (There is none, so spare us).
I'm KT Felbs, I'm just a *little* neurotic, and anything you say can and will be used against you in the Court of Life.
