I'm Just Like Marcel Proust and Here's Why

Eventful visit to the neighborhood coffee shop. First I saw one of the philosophers. He's getting ready for a two-year trip to India! If things work out, and he attains the rank of "Blog" Buddy, perhaps we'll have some "Dispatches From India" on the slate in the near future. Next item of note: They have a turntable there in the coffee shop, and the frolicsome baristas were playing some Dead Kennedys, which to them was an ancient relic of a strange and wonderful time. Suddenly I was transported, as if bodily, back to the old college dorm, where I sat on the floor with L. and our friend, the French girl who smoked cigars, listening to the Dead Kennedys, Zappa, Oingo Boingo, and the Fabulous Poodles. Truly I thought that the Dead Kennedys were the scariest thing I had ever encountered. Those were the days! Now people listen to them in coffee shops and nobody complains because it's really kind of quaint. (I do not mention "Blog" Buddy L. by name because she works in an office with a bunch of men who bother her, and she may soon begin to contribute anonymous tidbits from the corporate workplace. For example, just the other day some guy in L.'s office said that Judy Jetson was "hot," an observation perhaps better suited to a Bud Lite commercial from the early 1990s, though we should not cast stones here at the "blog" where we have been known to pine sadly for the glimmering crud of the past - in this very "post" it so happens!) Finally I would like to note that in spite of the hyperbolic title, I am not just like Marcel Proust. "Blog" Buddy Jim Whorton (the "Upstate New York 'Blog' Buddy") tells the "blogging" staff that M. Proust was, how shall we put it, rather unkind to his four-footed friends. Maybe this is untrue! We hope so! We want to think the best of our geniuses! Anyway, we don't traffic in "facts," necessarily, here on the "internet," so I think it's okay to say anything that pops into our heads.