DAY BY DAY ACCOUNT OF MY UNSUCCESSFUL ATTEMPT AT STARTING A DRUM CIRCLE IN MY OFFICE

Monday - Made a flyer that announced my intention to start a rhythmic percussion group in the office break room. Included information on tribal drumming and suggested potential times for meeting. Also included clip art of an African looking drum and a Jesus/hippie guy throwing his hands into the air exuberantly. Handed out copies to people that I talk to on a regular basis and taped a few to the bathroom stalls. Also gave a copy to the hot intern, who seemed TOTALLY interested.

Tuesday - Forgot my drums. I am planning on bringing two djembes, a set of bongo, and some miscellaeneous hand percussion. Tried to get people into the spirit of things by starting a rhythm on the table in the break room during lunch. The beat petered out after I knocked over Julie's soda.

Wednesday - First day, very exciting. People watched with wonderment and a hint of envy as I dragged my handmade tribal drums from the elevator into the break room. As I expected, there were lots of cold feet. I strapped on the large djembe and walked around the floor for a few minutes to let people know the drum circle had begun! The lunchtime crowd was really getting into it, although no one participated. Bill from sales danced in a tight circle around me while people looked on and laughed. I think they may have been making fun of me, but it still served the purpose of breaking down the inhibition. After about 10 minutes, Andrea, the head secretary told me I had to stop. She asked if I planned on doing this regularly, and nodded seriously when I told her my intentions for a bi-weekly meeting.

Thursday - Bad day for drum circle. The lunch room was empty at noon, but I set up anyway and was able to reach a nice trance after only about 5 minutes. However, my groove was interrupted by someone throwing a half-eaten 6" Subway meatball sub into the back of my head and quickly running away. I am almost positive I know who did it, because there is only one person in this company who would eat crap like that. Don't worry, Rob, I forgive you. Determined to continue, I played only louder and more intricately. Another 5 minutes passed and I opened my eyes to see my manager and his boss staring at me. They suggested that maybe I should take the day off so I could clean the sauce and chunks of meatball out of my hair.

Friday - Came in this morning to find my desk empty, computer gone. Secretary was putting my things into a box. A large security guard was standing nearby with my manager, who brusqely informed me that I was fired. After initial shock, I asked if this had anything to do with the drum circle. He said he didn't want to discuss it. I offered to come it next week to lead the beat, but the security guard stepped in and roughly guided me to the elevator. I passed the hot intern's desk on the way out, but as I opened my mouth to speak, she spit in my mouth. Corporate Oppression - 1, Peace/Love/Harmony - 0.

Yesterday, I placed my $400 iPod and my $300 headphones on the bench in the men's locker room of my gym. Then, I finished changing, left the gym, and started the 20 minute drive home. Sometime on the way, I decided to turn around and go back to the gym. I went into the locker room and looked at the bench where I left my iPod and my headphones. They were still there.

Oh, I left out the part where I was screaming and cursing and gnashing my teeth and shivering with impatience because I could only drive 95 mph down Elysian Fields. I was extremely upset and stressed out for that ten minutes. I'm disappointed in the way I reacted to that situation, because, in retrospect, it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world if I lost my iPod. It would have sucked, but in the grand scheme of things, it was practically meaningless.

I need to work on that.

When you get to be my age, you tend to develop an inherent distrust of dairy. Long gone are the salad days of polishing off a gallon of milk a day, or whittling away at a block of mild cheddar while watching "Hey, Dude!" on Nickelodeon. Nowadays, I just don't have the time to sit down and enjoy a bowl of cereal (or three).

At this point I think I just buy milk for nostalgia's sake; it may take me two weeks to realize I have a half gallon of low-fat festering in the canister before I get the nerve to pour it out. If I do happen to get the urge to actually drink milk, I remove it from the fridge like radioactive waste, unscrew the cap, and sniff distrustfully. If it passes the sniff test, I have to prepare an exploratory sip to double check. Like a wine connoisseur taking their first mouthful of a vintage from hell, I draw it through my teeth, and cautiously move it from the tip of my tongue to the back of the mouth. It's almost a relief when I spitefully spit it out, tasting the cruel reality of spoiled milk. Truly, it is as if man's first nourishment turns against him in a bitter and wretched betrayal. It is a sight to see. With tears in my eyes and translucent streams of foul fluid running from my mouth down to my neck, I fall to my knees and cry out, arms outstretched. There will be no cereal today.

For some, this sour aftertaste can be considered the true loss of innocence in our society. For others, it might be the time you sold your virginity for drugs. But that is neither here nor there.

I love you, Mere.