There is a rainy festive atmosphere here in L.A.
Sunday passed with only a murmur of dark morning clouds thundering across the sky. A mellow Sunday and it wasn’t until later in the afternoon that some drizzle began pelting down over the basin. December 5, 20 days before Christmas, rain is falling, early nights, people are ready to live it up. Umbrellas, heavy jackets, L.A., in disguise. People here are not ready to do this. We aren’t used to the elements of inclement weather.
We are used to dusty and dry.
Rain and wind are strange foreign animals. We think we know what do do from watching stupid television shows and movies, but that’s it. We don’t know what we’re doing. Drive in the rain around here and it will prove just how badly people are prepared for a weather script that they haven’t memorized. Bumbling and fumbling and crashing and squishing. That is how Dr. Seuss might describe L.A. under a rainstorm.
7-11 was fun.
They’ve begun pushing their food offerings in the past few months and people have been biting.
Frankly, some of that shit looks good. I have not bought pizza or hot wings or taquitos from 7-11 yet, but believe me, that commitment is not far off. 7-11 is a 24-hour stoner/drunk-fest man. It took them this long to realize there was big money to be made in greasy and salty food with the semi-fresh offering of “hot out of the oven?” It’s on sale now. And don’t forget 7-11 also sells lottery tickets. Between the lottery tickets and the fresh food, it takes a good 25 minutes before you can finally pay for your Monster canned anxiety before you get the hell out. 7-11 has turned into a logjam of non movement and everyone is buying or asking for shit that can’t be rushed. The 7-11 clerk runs around with disposable plastic gloves while his cohort carefully attempts to “de-perforate” the next lotto ticket from the supposedly “lucky” strip the senior citizen is convinced will pay out. No one gets out of 7-11 quickly. Whatever. It’s all good if people see fit to spend the last of their earnings on stupid-ass astronomic odds for the State of California. The lottery is a fool’s (moron’s) game. For people who believe in miracles and unscientific regulation over the wheels of nature; People who hope for lottery winnings have relinquished logic and good sense. They are looking to be struck by lightning at least 20 times within the next week. No wonder 7-11 recruits such a strong showing. It’s demographic speaks volumes. And there I am!
Earlier at 7-11, I was preempted (ie, cut in front of) by a wrinkled ghetto broad with her 14-ish daughter who was waltzing around and primping everywhere like she was a red carpet Hollywood sassy heiress instead of the East L.A. second-generation scumbag floozy she was shaping up to be. Attention whore in the making.
Fucking attention whores.
I love that word, that phrase, that descriptor.
It is wonderful. A beautiful encapsulation of what most women are.
The mass media has taught them that flash and dazzle are the curative potion to end all ennui of the modern female soul. The modern girl, egged on, driven by her acculturated ego, by all that she is told to be, by all she is told is intense and self-fulfilling, lives up to a notion ingrained in her impressionable little mind. So by the time she is 13, she is a freakin’ pantomimed gender role. She thinks not, worries not, concerns not. She is the narcissist, the shell of a sociopath. Mimicking human emotions and crying about them on Facebook. We worry about the absence of fathers and give it much lip service. I’ll tell you what the absence of fathers brings to our children: a soulless void. Conscience and sense of right, wrong, justice, morality; all tossed right out the 54 inch window, because the female gender has proven unable to innately supply such steadfast markers upon the spine of civilization throughout human history.
We live in an age of dangerous sociopath self-involvement.