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Drive. Damn it people, take a drive. Succumb to the privileges of western expansion. Get all Bush-like and blow some money on gas and drive around the city this weekend. Some call it a Nietzschean
undertaking. LAist calls it coping.
Read. There’s some good gay Truman Capote anecdotes over at The Elegant Variation this morning. Perhaps that’ll inspire some soul-searching. If that fails, you can read the Da Vinci Code again.
Sleep. And realize that when you awake, the world will not have changed and your life will only have improved in the small pittance of the sense that you’re now a little more rested and bolstered and strong and thus ready to continue. Because the impulse that pervades is perhaps decline, but ascension and momentum and gall in the face of a letdown (Bush) is so much more attractive.
And hell, the assumption that you feel metaphorically fisted by a country and a federal government that doesn’t represent you might be a bit naïve. If you’re among those who feel waves of giddiness this weekend, who feel affirmed in your rightness… you know what you can do? Lean back, shut your eyes and get yourself a nice, long, loving hummer.
