je suis dans le jardin
people are really something, aren't they?
so i find it funny how when you're around somebody with a british accent, or even australian for that matter, you're compelled to adopt a sorry iteration of your own. why is this, and more importantly, why exclusively British? you never hear haughty greetings in an indian or even spanish affection on the morning elevator ride. maybe there is just something whimsical about a severed vowels and neglected "t" that makes speaking a little brit funner than plain old english.
then there's the title best friend. what once was, i'm relatively certain, a coveted title bestowed upon a singular--that means one, and only one--member of one's immediate social circle by another to indicate the strong and profound bond they share has soured from exclusive to a collection for target. a title once weighty with letters and devotion has even suffered several amputations of the fatal kind, as notebooks, facebook profiles and crystal-encrusted t-shirts alike bear the tag BFF in ubiquitous numbers. perhaps we have the human evolution from simple laborers to intel duo-core processor driven cyborgs to blame, as each social environment in which we find ourselves should warrant the need for a best friend...or BFF, even.
we're so quick to trust.
like at this very moment, the lady with whom I've been chatting about the sheer nature of my shirt is my BFF on the subway. then of course there's the work BFF, as well as at each subsequent appointment i attend. there are BFFs from college, from one's indigenous locale of rearing, and perhaps even down to the vaguely communicative coos and shrieks in the nursery for the few fleeting hours after birth.
and in a world tilting under constant oppression, iniquity and shitheads who can barely steer a baby carriage, it's nice to know, as far as fellow meandering humans go, you've got more than an, " is this seat taken?" to depend on.
hope your weekend is loaded with lots of sex and deep-conditioning treatments.
Xs and Os