Things You'd Rather Not See

High up on my list is pulling in to the park by the community center one morning to run the Little Man around the playground before his nap only to find my father in law chillaxing with all the destitute people swarming around the Food Bank truck.


He isn't destitute, and I'm tired of him leaving grocery bags full of the expired junk he scores on our porch.

Relying on the public's sense of shame may protect the Food Bank from lesser parasites, but my father in law is made of sterner stuff.

Stanley Kubrick Made Me Get A Paypal Account

I previously shunned them because one, it seems like another useless layer of internet nonsense to navigate (I have credit cards already, mmk) and two, I know people who've been scammed and received an indifferent shrug from Paypal.

But then this came along via my Facebook friendship with the Castro Theater, who periodically commission original silkscreen poster for their cinematic celebrations:



The artist only takes Paypal.

DAMN YOU, STANLEY KUBRICK!

retro video: Ry Cooder

Department of Redundancy Department

title:

Jim White's Story of Carlsbad Caverns

subtitle

...as told by Jim White

true customer tales

gal comes up with an Emily Dickinson book.

"Is there any way I can get this for less?"

I check the price, six bucks.

"It'll sell for that, so sorry."

"Well, here's my argument..." *rummages around in handbag, comes out with a Barnes & Noble remainder knock-off of the same title* "...I bought this one from Barnes & Noble for six dollars, but I'm taking it back because they took out the hyphens."

"I guess the question is whether you think hyphens are worth six bucks."


She did.

yearnin' learnin'

This morning Fuss figured out he could make mama-dada (that's me) drink from his glass.
He's been insistent about holding his own cup for a while now, but this was a new wrinkle.

The look on his face as he tipped the glass toward me for the first time was priceless, intense concentration followed by fascinated delight as I sipped the water.

Watching him puzzle out the world is one of the best things about parenthood.

descriptive fail

Nosing around Amazon for Tim Powers stuff I came across a very conflicted listing.

The condition they selected from the menu was Used- Like New, which basically means a new book that someone has read carefully. Sounds good to me, so I check their detailed description.

front dust jacket torn 2 inches
Dust Jacket Condition: very good

???

Note to seller- there's no such thing as a VG DJ with a 2" tear, mmmk?
Let alone a Like New book with such a mangled DJ.

upside of the global marketplace & devaluation of the printed word

Someone somewhere on the internet in some thread about fantasy novels mentioned that they liked Malcolm Pryce.

I nosed around Amazon and found a copy of Aberystwyth, Mon Amour for fifteen cents plus $3.99 standard shipping. So, about half the going rate for a standard American pocket book.

Here are the rates for Royal Mail Air service.

I simply don't understand why they're bothering to sell me this book.

true customer tales

A Big Lady just wandered in with some friends, spotted a big Las Vegas picture book on the display shelf, yelled

"OH SHIT!"

and nearly knocked one of her pals over diving at it.

unfortunate tattoos

I'm eying a gal in her mid 50s with a Bacardi bat trademark tattooed in the Tramp Stamp bullseye right over her bum.

Tattoos are forever* kids, choose yours wisely!




*barring expensive & painful laser removal of varying efficacy.

life with fuss

Saturday morning featured one of Fuss's increasingly uncommon 6am wakeup calls, which I resent in direct proportion to their frequency. When 6am was the norm I didn't mind. I rolled out of bed, put on the kettle & set him up with breakfast while semi-conscious. Once the coffee brewed I'd put on a show for the little man while I checked the orders, packed the books and cleaned up after last night's dinner.

In a world where he mostly rises at seven (or, joyous event, seven thirty), six becomes the anthill under the picnic table.

It seems like half his teeth are coming in at once, which puts him in a consistently dire mood. Not that I blame him and this too shall pass, etc etc. But it makes navigating the shoals of his changeable moods more challenging than usual.

I made a peanut butter & honey sandwich and was packing my bag en route to work this morning when Fuss spied it and started freaking out.
Reason was, as usual, a resounding failure.

"That's daddy's lunch".
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHHHHG!!!"
"Do you want me to make one for you?"
"AAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRGHHHH!!"

As my frustration mounted the Wife, as is her wont, made a cogent suggestion.
"Just give him a bite."

I dug the sandwich out of its ziplock repository and proffered it.

The howling ceased as he leaned forward and took the world's daintiest mouse-bite, then smiled and made one of his ambrosial Happy Noises while patting both his thighs with delight.

I pocketed the sandwich with its serrated crescent moon reminder and slipped out the door.

outings

Aunt Helen wanted to watch the baby for a few hours yesterday, so we had a date.
In the post-Fuss era 'date' is defined as doing normal stuff you can't fully enjoy with a baby tagging along. One previous 'date' involved taking a nap together. Another time we sat in the cafe at Borders and read magazines.
Scintillating stuff!

We seized the opportunity to zip over to Morro Bay, where Wife got a massage from a reflexologist while I sniffed through the nearby thrift stores and junk shops for books. Found a real winner, increasingly rare in a world where any kook with a cell phone can do my job. I picked up a few more nicely listable items from an antique mall after the massage, then it was off to the Hofbrau for a leisurely dinner.

Had a weird moment where I saw someone who looked familiar out of the corner of my eye. It was the guy behind the counter slicing the meat for the French Dips, who I recognized from decades ago when mom would take me there. The disbelieving Wife engaged him on our way out and lo, it was the son of the founders who'd been in the game for 40-odd years.

So I can't remember names to save my life, but I can spot a guy I don't really know who I haven't seen in 30 years out of the corner of my eye...my brain is a bizarre organ.