It's hard for me to concentrate in the presence of other people. Working at a coffee shop and knowing this about myself makes me wonder why other people prefer a public setting to do their thinking. Is it because they grew accustomed to the classroom setting, surrounded by people their age? I don't know. What I do know, though, is that it's nearly impossible for me to begin a book or write a coherent entry in my journal under these conditions.
It doesn't help that I've gone out on a regular basis since returning from Florida, nor is it beneficial to be smoking cigarettes on an inconsistent basis. When this happens, my mind feels detached from my brain and almost inaccessible.

Here's an excerpt from a letter I'll never write:

It's not that I hate my life. Actually, that couldn't be farther from the physical locality of the truth (actually, "further from the truth" will work just fine). It's that I hate other people's lives-- the inconsistencies in logic, and the conflicting principles people hold, and how "praiseworthy" is synonymous with "out of reach." It's the lack of a practical approach and the quick fixes. And that becomes a refusal to accept and take responsibility. And these banks and drug companies offer a slippery slope that wouldn't seem so steep with the application of pragmatic thought.
Can't sleep? Maybe going for a run and adjusting your diet could help. Or Ambien. That's cool too, I guess. Can't keep up with mounting credit card debt? Maybe a student in the middle class of society wasn't meant to live larger than the Pharaohs of ancient Egypt. Or maybe a new television is in need of purchasing, as some more outfits and expensive dinners.
This is life: the shortcuts to happiness have repercussions that far outweigh the fleeting moments. This is rudimentary stuff-- cheating on your homework assignments will usually leave you several steps behind on studying for the test.

Enough complaining. Time for some oatmeal.

Ishmael and the Bank

Ishmael is a book that examines current problems by looking into the past. One of the key assertions is that human existence was going great for over two million years. Then, along with the agricultural revolution, people realized that the harder they worked, the more they could enjoy particular things they liked (food, mainly) instead of being limited to what was available. One thing led to another and food was no longer free.
Anyways, the books is 263 pages for a reason, and I won't spend the time to give it a proper summary. One thing I will mention, though, is that the gorilla (who's the book's main character) alleges a sort of conspiracy. Well, no, "conspiracy" isn't the right word... but I'm not sure what is. Anyhow, because the food eventually became "locked up (meaning one has to indirectly work to earn it as opposed to foraging or hunting or cultivating small gardens)," human beings, essentially, willingly incarcerated themselves. And because some people are willing to work harder than others for food that used to be free, these individuals have more control of the food (which would evolve into money, to be used on things other than food, like birth control and fast cars).
The whole idea, once every detail is laid out, is entirely convincing and makes me skeptical of the last 10,000 years. But this isn't what I'm trying to get at. Here is:
A customer came in earlier and commented on the gift cards we offer, saying something like, "You need credit cards to make these things work?" It was part question, part statement, so I just agreed. I know this guy, by the way: he owns a bar downtown. He went on to mention that he doesn't accept credit cards. (Hearing this reminded me of Kevin Whiteley, Terra's friend whom we visited in San Francisco, and his frustration over places not accepting credit cards because the business isn't legitimate (meaning more so that the business isn't run by legal citizens than meaning the business is a front for something else).)
So I asked the man if this was simply to avoid paying the credit card fees. "Pretty much," he said, but added that the whole business seems to be a conspiracy (seems to be working like one, anyways). Like this: credit cards are so convenient that everyone should have one and they should be an acceptable form of currency wherever currency is taken in exchange for a service. But what convenience is free? So they charge a fee for every transaction, usually letting the merchant foot the bill (like it's a choice, ha).
In the second half of the man's rant, he mentioned that there are two kinds of people in this world: those in the banking business, and those not in the banking business.
I don't know where I'm going with this. I thought I had it all figured out, but now I don't know who should be blamed, the banks or the people who spend money that isn't yet in their pocket.
Whatever, fuck credit cards.

Sister, Do You Know My Name?

I feel that I should write, yet nothing's coming to mind.
I suppose I'll recapitulate the past few days. Sounds boring? I'd say.
The evenings of both New Year's eve and New Years day were spent at the Aragon, arriving in time to miss the Greenhornes but to enjoy the Black Keys. Their set was pleasantly surprising as they played older stuff, for the most part. Oh, and "I Got Mine" was played as if their record player was accidentally on 45 instead of 33. It was awesome. "I'll Be Your Man," on the other hand, was slowed down a bit. I can not and will not complain-- both shows were great.
After the show on New Year's eve, Lucy and I went to Chris Montoya's to hang out. Well, we headed over there with intentions of hanging out, but we ended up driving everyone to an all-night taco spot before dropping Earl, Matsuo, and Juan at Earl's house (Chris and Woj had sneaked off and wandered home while the rest of us were ordering food).
New Year's day was cool-- but I ended up getting home at 6 in the morning (and nearly falling asleep mid-conversation in a cab). Matsuo went home soon after the show so Chris and I went to Wicker Park to hang out with Christina, Bella, and Rebecca.

This whole re-cap thing is really starting to bug me, but it's necessary. Well, in a way. I really noticed this in Florida when I tried to write in a particular journal that I rarely use:
beginning a new entry was like meeting a friend (one that you already know... say, meeting for dinner): the first few lines of conversation are an exchange of pleasantries and an abbreviated version of each other's lives since they last met. It's a good warm-up, really, and is only skipped in dire emergencies (death of a mutual friend, recent marriage proposal, car just broke down).
Also like a real, live conversation, the longer the writing session lasts (measured in text, not time), the deeper the content delves. A negative parallel can be seen when one page drags on over the course of an hour-- nothing gets said and the experience is pretty awful, in a general way.

Now that we're past that, I should go clean up so I can go home before 9 o'clock tonight. Sweet.