I turned to the side and didn't know what to say. I pretended I was on a TV show, and the camera was facing me, and a sound effect to signify "Wuh-oh" was playing in the background.
To move things along, I asked him how the mediation for the Marines was going.
"It's alright," he said. "It turns out though that I'd have to go through basic training for two weeks." He took a drag from the mimosa, and then the bloody Mary he had also ordered. "I just don't know how I'll do without my accoutrement."
You'll think it was retarded to get blitzed on a Thursday morning before 10:00 AM. The last time I did was St. Patrick's day during my freshmen year of college. But this was actually quite pleasant.
"So what do you have planned for today on this fine cinco-punto-cinco de mayo," he asked me.
"I'll probably be writing," I finally answered truthfully. "And hopefully helping out my friend with his project."
"Sometimes you say that you're working on projects, and I never know what that means. Do you make God's Eyes and musical instruments out of macaroni?"
"No, you dick," I said. "A friend of mine is making a film project, and I got to write out a script and a story board."
"Oh, really!" And that's when we shared one of those eye-catch moments I told you about earlier.
"...Sometimes, Emily," he said, with another pull from either the red drink or the orange, "I think I'm just making this all up."
"Solipsism?" I asked.
"Yeah, I guess. But that's been proven wrong plenty of ways. Like, the world kicks back at you, you know? You don't invent the involuntary reactions of the things you act upon."
"But you might," I said. "Just to project or protect the delusion that you're living in a world of free will. You might invent that something acts upon you in a particular and unpleasant way, just to 'prove' to yourself that the rest of the world is it's own actor."
To move things along, I asked him how the mediation for the Marines was going.
"It's alright," he said. "It turns out though that I'd have to go through basic training for two weeks." He took a drag from the mimosa, and then the bloody Mary he had also ordered. "I just don't know how I'll do without my accoutrement."
You'll think it was retarded to get blitzed on a Thursday morning before 10:00 AM. The last time I did was St. Patrick's day during my freshmen year of college. But this was actually quite pleasant.
"So what do you have planned for today on this fine cinco-punto-cinco de mayo," he asked me.
"I'll probably be writing," I finally answered truthfully. "And hopefully helping out my friend with his project."
"Sometimes you say that you're working on projects, and I never know what that means. Do you make God's Eyes and musical instruments out of macaroni?"
"No, you dick," I said. "A friend of mine is making a film project, and I got to write out a script and a story board."
"Oh, really!" And that's when we shared one of those eye-catch moments I told you about earlier.
"...Sometimes, Emily," he said, with another pull from either the red drink or the orange, "I think I'm just making this all up."
"Solipsism?" I asked.
"Yeah, I guess. But that's been proven wrong plenty of ways. Like, the world kicks back at you, you know? You don't invent the involuntary reactions of the things you act upon."
"But you might," I said. "Just to project or protect the delusion that you're living in a world of free will. You might invent that something acts upon you in a particular and unpleasant way, just to 'prove' to yourself that the rest of the world is it's own actor."
