Buddha And Golf

I write to you, my dedicated readers, from the Westfield Apple Store. I have taken refuge from the scalding, disapproving world in this, the soothing oasis of Westfield Shoppingtown. My plan is to spend as much time here as possible. I have restructured my schedule so that my classes are early and grouped together, giving me entire afternoons and evenings to reside here. I will trade my meal points for money, which I will use to buy food in the food court or one of the autonomous eateries for mid-mall snacking.

If possible, I will try to seduce my way into the heart of the salesgirl at LoveSac, so that I may take naps in one of their giant beanbag chairs.

I have caught wind of Chaz having some trouble with the police. I am sad that he had to get caught up in that mess. Such is the price of fraternizing with a man with as many enemies as David Brody.

I was walking back from a sulk in the park when I saw him. He was one, maybe two-hundred feet away, but I could tell it was Brody by his slouch. A group of five others followed him around the back of Danforth; it brings the Pied Piper to mind, though Brody was certainly wielding an entirely different kind of pipe--one which he would gladly share with his mice.

I contemplated the various ways of attacking: the direct assault is always more thrilling, though then I'd run the risk of being thwarted. After all, we are not technically allowed to drop anything from dorm windows. I wished that I had prepared for such an opportunity by renting or purchasing some sort of vicious animal, or at least one which sprays a horrible musk when frightened.

It was either out of laziness or sadism that I chose the indirect method; WUPD would do nicely. I sat on our balcony and waited for the boys in blue to arrive. It was a long wait, and I could hardly contain my enthusiasm. Waiting for Brody to suffer has much in common with Buddhism: life is suffering, and there is only one way to end that suffering. Of course, Siddhartha and I disagree on the last step.

So while waiting requires tantric patience and concentration, orchestrating Brody's suffering is much like golf. One must aim from very far away, using broad strokes, ultimately coming closer and driving the point home. Calling the cops is only phase one of this hole.

So, Chaz, I'm sorry you had to get caught up in this. If you call me, I can pick up something from the Shoppingtown for you. Something nice. I hope you can forgive me.

That is all.