perhaps sometimes violence IS the answer

Now, as you know, I don't judge. But the people who were staying at the bed & breakfast with us in Ashland last weekend were some of the most irritating, pretentious, idiotic, washed-up faux intellectual hippies I have ever encountered.

You know the type. E.g., the woman with long, loose gray hair, all flowing layered skirts and fringe and bracelets and brown velvet. The first morning we heard her and her table mates going on and on and ON about spirituality (a word I condone only if it is in reference to liquor) and new agey barf-inducing pop philosophy, and at some point she said, "Well you knowww, everything in the world is duality--right brain/left brain, yin and yang...." It was at that point James and I locked eyes and, knowing we were in danger of losing our breakfast if we remained to consume even one further morsel of it, went back to our room to roll our eyes and moan softly in intellective pain.

The next morning she arrived a little late, saw that her previous day's table cohort had no free spaces left, and rather than sitting next to a perfectly nice midwestern-y couple nearby she insisted on having a separate place set for her at a vacant table and declared for all to hear, "I think I'd better do some writing this morning." James murmured under his breath, "Wow, there's a frightening thought." And then she proceeded to "write" during breakfast by placing a small pad of paper next to her. Which she did not touch. She did do a lot of meaningful gazing into mid distance, however. I'm sure whatever she was thinking ("Which peasant skirts are back from the dry cleaners? How much turquoise can possibly fit on one necklace? Should I eat this bacon in front of people or pretend I am a compassionate, earth-loving vegetarian?") was exceptionally profound.

(That just reminded me of one of my favorite James mutterings ever. We were at a sushi restaurant next to a large party, and one woman was dominating the conversation in both volume and quantity of discourse--blathering on about her time living in Africa, and repeatedly referring to Johannesburg as "Joburg," and generally and loudly describing various scenarios that demonstrated just how much of a privileged white hosebag she truly was, breaking only for short digressions to discuss her preferred jewelers in Sausalito. At some point she excitedly declared, "Oh! Oh! I have the classic Africa story for you!" At which point James muttered, "Let's hope it ends with her being eaten.")


But where was I? Oh yes, about how I never judge. Really, it makes it easier to sleep at night. Y'all should try it.