In a continuing effort to explore the universe in the vein of my last entry, I have followed some serendipitous threads that have lead me to a new, burgeoning sense of enlightenment -- same as the old sense of enlightenment, in fact, but more clear. The possibilities truly are limitless; the trick is that you've got to believe.

The universe has some interesting ways of reminding you what is true, if you're brave enough to listen.

My Creative Visualizations CD says that one of the things I should do is find songs that reinforce the view of my self that I want to have, not the songs that reinforce the one I've already got. Shakti says that it's remarkable how much of our lives -- from how we see ourselves to how we treat others -- are defined by pop music.

It's the old High Fidelity conundrum -- Do I listen to pop music because I'm miserable or am I miserable because I listen to pop music? I mean, why is it that "Eye of the Tiger" is just a fun song to listen to but "It's Not that Easy" by Liz Phair makes me tremble? Did I pick my Top 5 or did it pick me?

I'm a proponent of the theory that all you need to know about a person you can learn from his record collection. Or his favorite DVDs, or what books he keeps on his shelf. I don't know how good at decoding that information I am, but I feel certain it's there. But can you change what you want to watch/hear/read? Can you forcefeed yourself a new identity with a new media collection?

I cling to my sense of self pretty desperately. I wear blue even though maybe what I need to do is wear green. To what extend do my choices limit my possibilities? I suspect my possibilities are limitless.

It's earlier than it feels.

I think the motliest crew on the planet are the people who staff the Indiana Bureau of Motor Vehicles License Branch at 86th and Westfield. And I do really do mean that in the nicest possible way.

While waiting in line there this evening to get title and tags on my sweet-ass new car, I encountered no less than a midget, a 500-pound woman, a girl with all chrome teeth, and a guy with this unbelievable Trump-esque combover -- all working behind the counter, and all decidedly much more eclectic than the actual customers. (I think it would make a great setting for a new sitcom.)

Some of you may be heartened to know that I was able to make it out of there without losing $50 in cash. However, all of you will despair at the fact that, when asked for my name, I accidentally let forth a big drool wad. Even the dude with the combover thought that was tacky.