Just another tired denouement

"Reflections on elevated topics are beyond me," wrote the superfluous Chulkaturin in his diary. Yeah. Me too. So, instead of discussions about large deviations for three dimensional supercritical percolation, I talk about cereal. A retired former co-worker observed the other day that I write about cereal a lot. Then she added that she has bookmarked this blog. A little flattered that I have at least one loyal reader, I couldn't help dwelling on the word "bookmarked." I have been bookmarked. Not violated, just bookmarked. Something akin to spiritual personal ornamentation. Ritual scarring of the psyche. Cool! I have emerged from the physical manifestation of the quest for emphatic individualization with just two tattoos, which are usually concealed by shirt sleeves; a double septum piercing, in which I no longer wear rings; ten ear piercings, five in each ear, fallow holes all, for now. The only jewelry I wear these days are two small hoops in my traguses, or is it "tragi?" I had a code of conduct governing my piercings. Only cartilage. Only body parts that are normally exposed. And only piercings I could, and would do myself, with a safety pin. During our last visit, my teenage son asked me if I'd take him to get a mohawk. I told him I had one over twenty-five years ago and maybe he should consider something a little more original. It's been done to death. In the end, I said I would take him to the barber, if he brought written permission from his mother. I am a punker at heart, although I was listening to ABBA today. I just like to get lost in a groove and throw the keys away. Everything is derivative.