Life in Slow Motion

Dearest Readers, I have become lost... I dated an actor and got dumped via e-mail only to realize that everyone has baggage - only most people don't carry a Louis Vuitton. And so tonight, I yearn, ne long for a place where everybody knows my name (Cohen, Stern, Golden/Silver-stein, blatt, burg) and where most people's baggage is in fact a newly purchased Louis. Tonight I returned to the Village. Spooky...

*

It was a dark and stormy night in the Faux Hill; or as dark and stormy as it gets in these calm monied parts. An air of pervasive calm has prevailed over Starbucks; the teenage riff raff has come back from various camps in Algonquin Park and have departed for wannabe ivy league schools in Montreal and London; the Village has been reclaimed by its rightful citizens - the tax payers and by its future tax payers - law school students.
My most frequent interaction has become a various nodding routinte with these future home owners, comical only for its repitition:
"You look familiar." I see one girl in Lulu and I know...
"You were in my class." She says.
"McGill?" I ask.
"Jewish Holiday's; or some other Jewish class." And as we update each other on various summer exploints, current life plans, she tells me how she's finished her first few days of law school. She shows me the courseback with pride, as secretly we both count how many Jewish studies classes she took to get were she is. How many classes padded that CV in the quest for the holy grail: 4.0.
And so the cycle continues this fall in Faux Hill... the new generation arises as the old lingers on a patio sipping chai latte's proud of their accomplishments and David Gray laments on the ipod, "life in slow motion, somehow it can't be real."