now if this were the bay area, he'd be called david, getting his masters in english literature at berkeley (oh, excuse me, caaaaal), wearing all black (shoes, SLACKS, belt, turtleneck) with a beret perched jauntily upon his bald head, smoking some foreign brand of cigarette incessantly through his goatee-encircled lips.

once a seat became available, he plopped down, clearly weary with the weight of the world and began to rifle through this tome, only to be joined by this mook jock type in a white button-down oxford, jeans and athletic shoes. noticing the sartre, jock boy reaches down to retrieve a slim volume of simone de beauvoir from his columbia backpack. much to everyone's surprise, they begin to have a rather spirited conversation.

well, at least it looked spirited. you see, like most days, i had my headphones on, and on this morning, i was grooving to the best mix cd i've compiled in some time, entitled "Gay Like DeBarge". it is probably for the best that i didn't bear witness to the actual content of this dialogue. overhearing discussions of existentialism on the train between strangers can only lead to tears, metaphorical or otherwise. i found it strangely fitting that my soundtrack to this episode was a track from the new gomez cd called "ruff stuff", an upbeat ditty about the one man's struggle with drug addiction ("i've given up fags and drugs now baby").

speaking of arty and intellectual, several years ago, i made a commitment to myself to read three incredibly long classic novels. though i made it through Thackeray's Vanity Fair and Eliot's Middlemarch, i stumbled on Dostoyevsky. today, i renew my vow. this summer, i WILL finish The Brothers Karamazov. i know this isn't particularly light summer reading, but whatever, i'm strange like that.