A chronicle of the whimsical jaunts of this guy as he goes around some foreign places looking for food.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

I shouldn't be awake...

But I've still got 11 minutes on this damned terminal.

Beggars are beggars. I find the most eloquenty critique of the beggar aestethic was Nietzsche when he said (and I paraphase): The beggar is the most loathesome creature because he makes you feel guilty when you give him money, and guilty when you don't give him money. I'm no Ayn-Rand-style-Objectivist, but... HEY! Leave me alone buddy.

I'm going to get a patch to sew over the brand name of my backpack. I'll also try to wear clothes without English writing on them. I have a theory that if I eliminate the english around me, I'll eliminate the skullduggery being inflicted upon my innocent person. But what shall the patch iconoclize (<-- My Word)? Difficult to predict.

And why are Cool Ranch Doritos called Cool American Doritos here? These backwards peoples, I'll never understand them.

One interesting little tidbit I learned about this fair city: The largest chain of coffeeshops in the city has it's mothership store next to the city's police station. The swift, swift irony of it all. Eat that Jerry Fallwell!


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