It's Friday. This Friday is slightly unusual in that it ends the first full work week under the "new order", so to speak. And here I sit, seemingly unable to think except to be entranced by the thought of whether No Doubt has truly and totally sold out. (Or if the concept of "selling out" really even has any meaning, or ever did.)

Naturally, I cannot be the one to judge, since these lyrics might quite possibly be even worse that something to come out of the Britney Spears lyric generator. But still, the music is strangely entrancing.

I consider making what seems to have become my semi-weekly pilgrimage to the dance club. Do I want to? The week has certainly been stressful enough to warrant a bit of self-indulgent carefree release. Or so I like to think. There's this part of me I'm conscious of right now that wants to be guilty about going out to drink and party when there is so much suffering in the world. (I should clarify this by noting that the so-called "suffering in the world" of which I speak refers primarily to the fact that people I used to see daily won't be getting regular paychecks soon. Strange how the closer to home something happens, the less it takes to make an emotional impact.)

Child Slaves May Be Making Your Chocolate. And it probably doesn't worry you all that much, except as a passing thought. Me neither.

Someday, we will all be damned. The Christians too, but no more than the rest of us.

Well, I think I will take a jaunt down to the club. It almost feels like it's starting to become a second home for me. I'd throw in a quote by Alan Watts for ironic effect, except I don't feel taking the time to hunt and look it up. Besides, once I get started, I'd probably get enthralled and go on to fair use 5, 10, or 20 pages. And where would my night out be then?

Time to go "freshen up" or some such. Outta here.