...contempt of commonality...

When I dress down on the weekends you'll be hard pressed to distinguish me from someone that lives on the rails, or, most closely, a plumber's assistant.  I dress unabashedly low.  Most of the weekend days are spent cleaning or fixing the house; I'll not go in and out of even something half-way decent.  [The only exception is Mass; I'll attempt to look like someone other than street performer.]

Tonight, a group of posh kids, obviously lost, found themselves at my local Target.  The look the barely-20-year-old gave me was one of almost pity.  It wasn't so much contempt as it was that hovering air of 'I'm not like him'.  It was a queer look and he moved along after I caught it - he and his hipster friends leaving at the same time I did.

There's nothing wrong with the look, nor was I offended in the least.  I had a rough sweat-top and jeans that should've been put down many years ago (I guess I can equally unabashed say that I still fit the same clothes I did 15 years ago).  You add that rough hewn look with the air of uncaring abandon that I find myself growing into with the plebian contents of my cart - it offered itself wholly.

No worries - I was bemused at the two seconds of attention.  His date, a thin little Thai girl that was the artistic type, gave a few looks earlier in the store trip as well.  I say that non-egotistically, I know I'm cut from the same cloth.  It's not attraction in the least, it's artistic commonality.  She wore those popular black leggings, simple brown ankle-high boots, a knitted white sweater that fell off her shoulders.  Her hair was a dark black.  They looked like they all just smoked pot about an hour prior.

Either way, he walked four feet in front of her the entire time.  The subtle disdain was apparent; even wearing a white sweater jacket in January was a middle finger in my book.  It still does not surprise me how women are treated these days - they are glorious creatures, but modern man seemingly can do without them.

Came across, not in response to above, J.V. Cunningham's poem, "Coffee", and here an excerpt of it:

"I have so often fled
Wherever I could drink
Dark coffee and there read
More than a man would think"

I've avoided coffee for a few days, but I can't wait again to have a hot cup in the quiet of a small diner and think over things.

Updates abound, as I continue to work out the 2012 overlay for the entire site.  The working draft is in front of me and it feels good to get closer.