"bummer" used without considering the dumbass-insinuating reprocussions

mania undulates in ~2 week spurts. i am so hyperactive and edgy that i can scarcely stand myself. i want to get into a screaming, passionate argument, be thrown down and fucked, get obliteratingly altered. instead i am chastely sipping asian jasmine tea and listening to dirty blues. externally i may even appear fairly combobulated (is that a word?).
saw dick dale for free at easy street. i fucking love that store. robyn hitchcock and dick dale, free, within a week and a fifteen-minute walk from my lair? this is why i moved. he is talented as fuck but a bit of a blowhard- kept babbling "check this out! wasn't that cool!" his 14-year-old son was on stage with him. he (the son) appeared mightily disgusted by the whole thing. talented little bastard. everyone clapped the loudest for him. of course he ended with 'miserilou'. afterwards i took a bus into the cold, crowded heart of downtown, the streets filled with vagrants and groups of yelling teenagers.
there is a book of americana via kodachrome that i highly recommend to anyone with a passing interest in lurid post-war kulture. oh, the days when women wore white gloves to go to "the City", when junior sprawled askance in front of the telly, when meat was red and marbled and the potatoes twice-baked into regal whorls of gold.
i read a thing about the nostalgia of those days, the era when kids played outside all day, when everyone knew and liked their neighbors, when everyone sat down for a well-balanced family meal... and how the kids who grew up in that era are now the adults who build fences in their fuck-you suburban enclaves, whose children are obese and lackadasical with strong controller-thumbs and paltry educations... and how perhaps that Wholesome Yay-Kin rearing wasn't all so positive after all. it gave me pause. apparently.
nostalgia is ignorance, romanticized- ignorance in forgetting what actually was. i sound stoned, but sadly, i am not.
the city is cauled in dense fog. it fits my mood.
may i add that my workplace ladles on the bullshit? i had a fucking staff meeting today, my day off- 60 miles roundtrip for an hour of chest-thumping crap-bleating drivel. the management there is so "good job, great idea" while discussing nothing of import- 15 minutes of today's meeting were devoted to the holiday party and should they hire a santa for the kids and if you work that night you probably shouldn't sign up for secret santa (and thank fuck, i do work that night- the better to not flaunt my barren-uterused atheism) and bring in canned goods for the food drive! the only part of any of it that made all of us laugh was the note about "if you feel a breeze, pull them up please"- a reference to the new assistant's affinity for lo-rise pants and the resultant ass-crack, rhyme courtesy of one of the doctors. "our resident poet" the manager said, not sarcastically.
i have been able to recall enough of my dreams lately to know they are pleasant and sexual and populated with people i know. there is no undercurrent of malice in any of them. being awake is a comparative bummer.