Bright Star was an excellent film. You should go see it. But you may need to bring some tissues.

I was snacking on some almonds as I waited for my lunch break and, for some reason, the thought that I am eating baby trees popped into my head and made me sad.

Why don't I give a shit when I eat baby chickens?

Derek Fisher: Some, not all, of that. And definitely no chips.

I was unimpressed with Derek Fisher. I don't think I've ever been there when a celeb refused to sign things for the staff. He didn't seem to want to be there. No eye contact with anyone, no memorabilia, no pictures, last minute (literally) decision to personalize and immediately on his cell phone and rushed out the door afterward.

My favorite part of this whole evening was a conversation I had with this one lady...

Since I decided to be a bookseller and help out with the event I was frequently approached by customers who needed help locating things. One middle-aged lady asked if I could help her find a diet book. As we made our way to an unoccupied computer we started chatting and were having a good time discussing all the insanity. Once we reached InfoB the following exchange occurred:

Customer: I guess I came on the wrong day. I didn't go yesterday cause Wednesdays are crap with Farmer's Market, but I figured today would be fine. What's going on?

Me: Oh, we're having a book signing.

Customer: Oh, so is that brown guy really here?

GIANT PAUSE BECAUSE HOW DO YOU RESPOND TO THAT?!

Me: Uh, yeah, Derek Fisher is here.

Customer: Oh! I thought you were having Dan Brown here cause I saw all the signs.

Me: (feeling both relieved and like an asshole for assuming she was racist) Oh! Oh, no. We just started selling his book the other day and are promoting it.


Anyway, the memory of that conversation totally got me through the night.

writing exercise: enumeration

This is a result of a two hour conversation with someone who writes horror and an evening meal at Denny's.

“The Late Night Menu”

I’m a creature of the night. Most days I don’t even appear until the sun has said farewell to the skies. If I was one of those people who collected friends, they’d give a short chuckle and say “Oh, that’s just -------- for you.” But my collection is far more interesting and I don’t do relationships. I’m more like a meal Denny’s: always available to satisfy your hunger, but you’ll usually regret indulging yourself later. I’m not those well-known classics either like Moons over my Hammy or a Grand Slam. No, I’m the Late Night Menu.

1. The Club Sandwich

Thinly sliced turkey breast, crisp bacon, lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise on toasted white bread.

He was actually my first. Most people assume I got my start early in life, but in truth I was a late bloomer. Since all of my education took place at home there wasn’t really much opportunity to mingle with the masses. I mostly kept to myself up until the death of my parents. That is a particularly interesting murder, involving painstakingly hollowed out severed limbs left in the vestibule of a church. Still unsolved, by the way, if you’re looking for a new cold case to obsess over. But I digress. My first time was kind of a cliché because it did take place in a seedy motel room off of the interstate. I met him in what the manager liked to call a lobby, but what was really a small room with five and a half chairs scattered around and one three-legged table piled high with old National Geographics. The décor of the whole room just screamed Yard Sale.

Anyway, I was reading over an article about the role of witchcraft in cannibalistic societies when I overheard a man complaining to the manager that the lights in his room wouldn’t turn on. The manager told him that the electricity should be working fine to which this stranger replied that, indeed, everything electrical except the lights was functioning properly. I think it was the way he spoke that drew me to him: extremely “proper” English spoken in a crisp and eloquent manner. It transformed this shabby little room into the foyer of an upscale country club. The way he looked only added to the illusion: tall and lean with clean white skin and blond hair smooth against his skull, all wrapped up in a impeccably tailored pair of tan trousers and dark blue sport coat.

Once he realized that any conversation with the manager was bound to end in confusion he wandered over to the table and inquired about the lighting in my own room. I told him it didn’t matter whether my lights worked since I wouldn’t be using them. He seemed intrigued by the comfort I found in darkness and ended up joining me on my hike to see a wild flower that only blooms at night. The original intent of my visit, you see. It was strange at first, having someone with me in the darkness. The flower became inconsequential after I noticed the way the moon kissed his body: starting with a streak through each strand of his hair. His skin, softly illuminated, was simply fascinating. How could I resist?

I was sloppy that first time. Didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as I thought I would. I’ve gotten a lot better at looking at all the ingredients first before I choose an entrée now. Frankly, that first time was simply too bland. He was an excellent conversationalist, though. I almost regret it.

2. The Double Cheeseburger

Two beef patties and four slices of American cheese. Served with lettuce, tomato, pickles and red onions.

This was one of my favorite nights. Normally I have some sort of plan for the evening, but I woke up at dusk feeling antsy. I turned on some music, hoping that if I got the blood flowing, the sensation would cease. But it didn’t. If anything, the uncomfortable feeling intensified and I couldn’t help but think that there was somewhere else I should be. Deciding to embrace the discomfort, I quickly dressed and exited into the evening. The deepening shadows offered some relief as I followed my feet to our destination. I didn’t even know the place existed. I only walked about two miles and there it was, the word -------- written in neon lights was the only indication that there was an establishment within the small rundown building. As soon as I walked in I was welcomed by a lingering cloud of cigarette smoke and suspicious looks from a few people at the bar. I only vaguely noticed the two soldiers when I took an empty stool next to them.

It was embarrassingly easy to entice them home with me. Almost no struggle at all. The more responsible of the two mentioned an early deployment in the morning, but the other convinced him to stay. They were two particularly tasty looking pieces of meat. Both were thick, but in a bulk muscle way. They probably could’ve easily thrown me across the room if they were given the chance. From their accents I gathered their recruitment took place somewhere more midwesterly than our “big city”. All American boys, fresh from the farm. I took it nice and slow that night, often stopping to run my hands down their flesh. It was particularly pleasing to feel the raised veins after I tied them up. Smooth skin, warm from the rush of blood as they try to escape the bonds. Yeah, that was an excellent night. I don’t think they ever did find the bodies.

3. The Spicy Buffalo Chicken Melt

A golden-fried chicken breast tossed in a spicy Buffalo sauce with lettuce and tomato, topped with melted Swiss cheese. Placed on grilled ciabatta bread with a zesty garlic spread.

Mmm, this is my best one yet. It happened when I was in Europe…

To the asshole who decided to throw a half-consumed plastic bottle of Dr. Pepper at me from the 2nd story at the Bridge expecting an explosion of DP on my person:

Fail.

Its only going to work if its completely full.

Go back to school and learn something.

I can't wait to see this movie. It looks like my kind of film.


Bright Star
by John Keats

Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art--
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
No--yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever--or else swoon to death.

okay, I'll give you that

After reading excerpts from the Bible for my writing exercise, I have to admit that lyrically, it is an excellent piece of prose.

Here we go again...writing exercise 1

Collage: cut up pieces of prose rearranged to generate a new narrative.

“Judgment”
Before that sudden journey no one is wiser in thought than he needs to be, in considering, before his departure, what will be adjudged to his soul, of good or evil, after his death-day.

I stayed in the bathroom for about an hour, taking a bath and all. Then I got back in bed. It took me quite a while to get to sleep-I wasn’t even tired-but finally I did. What I really felt like, though, was committing suicide. I felt like jumping out the window. I probably would’ve done it, too, if I’d been sure somebody’d cover me up as soon as I landed. I didn’t want a bunch of stupid rubbernecks looking at me when I was all gory.

Mr. St. John came but once: he looked at me, and said my state of lethargy was a result of reaction from excessive and protracted fatigue. He pronounced it needless to send for a doctor: nature, he was sure, would manage best, left to herself.

I looked when He opened the sixth seal, and behold, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became like blood. And the stars of heaven fell to the earth, as a fig tree drops its late figs when it is shaken by a mighty wind. Then the sky receded as a scroll when it is rolled up, and every mountain and island was moved out of its place.

I think he definitely strides between hero and villain…Someone who arrives at your door, proclaims himself a god and then smashes your planet is not exactly your best friend. But the real question here is why? Has he gone off the deep end or is he working towards something?





Sources
Alexander, Michael. The Earliest English Poems. Penguin Group, NY. 1991. p7.
Beard, Jim. “Son of Hulk: Here There Be Giants”. Marvel.com News. September 3, 2009
Bronte, Charlotte. Jane Eyre. New American Library, NY. 1997. p345.
Salinger, J.D.. The Catcher in the Rye. Little, Brown and Co., Boston. 1991. p104.
The Holy Bible NKJV Revelations 6:12-14

Creepy!

I totally want to see this.