I hope you like Monty Python, otherwise this will all be meaningless. It may well be, anyway.
In one Monty Python episode, absurd and hilarious things occur - I know, I was shocked too. The defining line of that particular episode, however, was this - "no on
(more)e would choose to be Scottish, unless they had no control over their own destiny."
Oh, Mr. Cleese, et al. It no longer matters if you're Scottish or not.
The world economy has crumbled. The global temperature has risen .8 degrees Celsius, and another 1.2 degrees spells near-absolute disaster for the environment we know (thank you, Rolling Stone. I always knew you were good for more than jealous-rage-inspiring photos of musicians and their posh mansions). Formerly middle-class people are living in their cars, unable to collect monetary assistance from welfare agencies because they still have the car. "Lose everything, then come back and see us," is what they've been told. And this morning, the news broke that a Ph. D. candidate had shot over a dozen people at the local premiere of a movie.
I don't know about you, but on hearing that last story I skipped coffee and cracked a beer. I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, hair wet and rapidly curling into chaos. I ignored the wildnerness of my hair and put on mascara. Eyeliner. And then, on a pre-meditated impulse, I took out a slender brush and stroked on peacock-green, glimmering eyeshadow, higher and higher on my eyelid. It was not subtle. It was all I could do. It was all I could do.
*
It's no longer a question of fitting into a world as mad as the one we live in. The question these days is, how Scottish do you feel?
And,
What color is your eyeshadow?
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