phone rings, I answer.
It's a nebbishy sounding fellow speaking in a high, whispery voice.
guy: You have bees swarming over your roof.
me: *pause* Huh...I hadn't noticed.
guy: I called the fire department this weekend. They said there hadn't been any complaints.
me: Well, I haven't noticed any bees.
guy: *long silence* Oh.
me: Is there a book question I can help you with?
guy: Uh....no?
me: Okay, goodbye then.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
reading the omens.
At work: 104 degrees.
Home on the coast: 84 degrees.
So yeah, I'm taking off early today. =P
Home on the coast: 84 degrees.
So yeah, I'm taking off early today. =P
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
True Customer Tales
sketchy dude comes in with a box of books. I sort out the good ones and then we proceed thusly:
me: Did you want cash or trade?
him: Cash.
me: Okay, it looks like $20 in cash.
him: Mmmmmmmmmmm *ogles stack of books pretending to think*
him: Mmmmmmmm.
him: mmmmmm.
him: Uh how about $25?
me: No, twenty is about the limit for this group.
him: $24?
me: No.
him: $23?
me: I don't do the haggling thing, I offer as much as I think the books are worth from the get go.
him: $22.50?
me: No.
him: I'm just trying to get a cup of coffee without breaking the twenty!
me: Do you want the $20 or not?
him: Okay.
me: Did you want cash or trade?
him: Cash.
me: Okay, it looks like $20 in cash.
him: Mmmmmmmmmmm *ogles stack of books pretending to think*
him: Mmmmmmmm.
him: mmmmmm.
him: Uh how about $25?
me: No, twenty is about the limit for this group.
him: $24?
me: No.
him: $23?
me: I don't do the haggling thing, I offer as much as I think the books are worth from the get go.
him: $22.50?
me: No.
him: I'm just trying to get a cup of coffee without breaking the twenty!
me: Do you want the $20 or not?
him: Okay.
Monday, September 20, 2010
evolution
It used to be, when I'd get asked why I bought or rejected this or that book I'd make a genuine effort to explain my thinking. But hardly anyone is actually interested in what makes a book 'good' in a retail context, or rather they're not interested in the intricacies that genuinely determine saleability. They just want to know what you'll buy from the. I've actually had folks ask me for a list of what we'll buy. Unfortunately the business doesn't run along such a simple pathway.
After who knows how many years of buying books I just noticed I've developed a stock answer to this line of questioning-
"I think we can sell it," or "I don't think we can sell it."
Which has the advantage of being a closed loop.
Why is it good? Because I think it's salable.
Why don't I want it? Because I don't think it's salable.
After who knows how many years of buying books I just noticed I've developed a stock answer to this line of questioning-
"I think we can sell it," or "I don't think we can sell it."
Which has the advantage of being a closed loop.
Why is it good? Because I think it's salable.
Why don't I want it? Because I don't think it's salable.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
how not to sell a book
center this quip inside a clip-art heart on the front cover:
I mean, isn't there some law against that?
your you
warms
my me
I mean, isn't there some law against that?
Monday, September 13, 2010
the transformative power of art
Why were the girls up at 7am on a Monday?
Coming off an all night drunk, of course.
Fuss heard them through the heater vent and made demands.
"Meek? Scary guy?" he commented, jabbing his index finger at the back stairs.
Scary Guy is a 6'x4' painting of Dayduh's that currently resides in Meek's hallway, a pale fetus with a distended head that exudes a sense of cannibalism floating over a blasted wasteland. It had hung previously over the marital bed of a failed relationship. Fuss' relationship with it is equally complicated but less resolved, as he fears the hallway but reacts with confusion and dismay when the painting is moved or hidden.
Bowing to the inevitable down we went, finding the ladies in the kitchen where Meek was composing a plate of the only thing I've ever seen her make, poached eggs on toast. Hers were a bit rubbery and crumbly in the middle, which didn't stop Dayduh from returning her portion to burner for potential carmelization.
"I hate them runny!"
"They're supposed to be runny."
"I DON'T CARE!"
They ate and I drank my coffee in the living room to vinyl accompaniment by George Harrison. We had a few pleasant moments to ourselves while Fuss tried to puzzle his way past the anachronistic cat door in the kitchen. The previous evening's drunken revelation that Meek's inexplicable yet ongoing not-relationship with Youngdad(tm) was like cigarettes was broached, then the comparison moved on to heroin. I too the metaphor and, as is my wont, ran with it, promoting the use of The Librarian as a kind of human methadone.
Fuss eventually lost interest in the immovable cat door and returned to jam with George on the out of tune piano. My coffee finished, work beckoned and I gathered up Fuss while Dayduh lay across Meek's lap on the couch and writhed, it had something to do with imposing the smell of a cat piss chair she'd sat in at their friend's house.
"STOP it, don't make me wash these pants!"
"If you come up and mind Fuss while I shower you can watch Hoarders on the couch."
"DONE. Although I might pass out."
And that was our morning.
Coming off an all night drunk, of course.
Fuss heard them through the heater vent and made demands.
"Meek? Scary guy?" he commented, jabbing his index finger at the back stairs.
Scary Guy is a 6'x4' painting of Dayduh's that currently resides in Meek's hallway, a pale fetus with a distended head that exudes a sense of cannibalism floating over a blasted wasteland. It had hung previously over the marital bed of a failed relationship. Fuss' relationship with it is equally complicated but less resolved, as he fears the hallway but reacts with confusion and dismay when the painting is moved or hidden.
Bowing to the inevitable down we went, finding the ladies in the kitchen where Meek was composing a plate of the only thing I've ever seen her make, poached eggs on toast. Hers were a bit rubbery and crumbly in the middle, which didn't stop Dayduh from returning her portion to burner for potential carmelization.
"I hate them runny!"
"They're supposed to be runny."
"I DON'T CARE!"
They ate and I drank my coffee in the living room to vinyl accompaniment by George Harrison. We had a few pleasant moments to ourselves while Fuss tried to puzzle his way past the anachronistic cat door in the kitchen. The previous evening's drunken revelation that Meek's inexplicable yet ongoing not-relationship with Youngdad(tm) was like cigarettes was broached, then the comparison moved on to heroin. I too the metaphor and, as is my wont, ran with it, promoting the use of The Librarian as a kind of human methadone.
Fuss eventually lost interest in the immovable cat door and returned to jam with George on the out of tune piano. My coffee finished, work beckoned and I gathered up Fuss while Dayduh lay across Meek's lap on the couch and writhed, it had something to do with imposing the smell of a cat piss chair she'd sat in at their friend's house.
"STOP it, don't make me wash these pants!"
"If you come up and mind Fuss while I shower you can watch Hoarders on the couch."
"DONE. Although I might pass out."
And that was our morning.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
best guacamole ever
A visual guide.
Step 1:
Step 2:
Step 3:
It's super simple. The keys are GREAT avocados and a molcajete- I'm not sure why grinding everything up tastes so much better than mashing it in a bowl, but it's a gift horse I prefer not to look in the mouth.
I start with a technique gleaned from a pesto recipe in Vegetarian Cooking For Everyone- transform one clove of garlic and about 1/2 teaspoon of kosher salt into paste in the molcajete before adding the avocados. Garlic flavor minus the peril of biting into a chunk. It's surprising that a single clove wields such influence, but facts are facts.
After blending add the juice of 1/2 a lime (adds tang and prevents browning), taste and adjust seasoning if needed and dig in.
Step 1:
Step 2:
Step 3:
It's super simple. The keys are GREAT avocados and a molcajete- I'm not sure why grinding everything up tastes so much better than mashing it in a bowl, but it's a gift horse I prefer not to look in the mouth.
I start with a technique gleaned from a pesto recipe in Vegetarian Cooking For Everyone- transform one clove of garlic and about 1/2 teaspoon of kosher salt into paste in the molcajete before adding the avocados. Garlic flavor minus the peril of biting into a chunk. It's surprising that a single clove wields such influence, but facts are facts.
After blending add the juice of 1/2 a lime (adds tang and prevents browning), taste and adjust seasoning if needed and dig in.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
visual irony
Took the little man to the grocery store last night, which can be a chore as he's becoming less satisfied with driving the grocery cart racing car and wants to scramble out and scale the walls of the surrounding commercial canyonland.
While wrestling the groceries and reluctant child back to the car I spotted a Hoarder SUV parked next to us. It looks like someone had shoveled landfill through the back hatch until it was 3/4ths full then excavated a foxhole under the steering wheel.
As we passed it I read the badge on the back- it was a Ford Escape.
While wrestling the groceries and reluctant child back to the car I spotted a Hoarder SUV parked next to us. It looks like someone had shoveled landfill through the back hatch until it was 3/4ths full then excavated a foxhole under the steering wheel.
As we passed it I read the badge on the back- it was a Ford Escape.
Monday, September 6, 2010
true customer tales
young nerd couple at the counter buying books, he has a copy of some Star Wars Cyclopeia.
guy: should I get a bag? Or just let everyone know what I am?
gal, exasperated: well, whatever- there's nerds and then there's dorks, you know?
guy: should I get a bag? Or just let everyone know what I am?
gal, exasperated: well, whatever- there's nerds and then there's dorks, you know?
fuss vision
In the Utopian vision of family life promulgated by most parenting guides television exists mainly as a negative, the thing you righteously shun in favor of reading out loud, gamboling across grassy fields pursuing fluttering garlands of butterflies and then settling down in the living room to assemble a wooden puzzle designed by a team of German child development PhD's. And before you have a child it all sounds wonderful, necessary and possible. "Our baby won't grow up staring at the teevee like we did!"
But as with most well meaning advice related to proper modes of childrearing, I'll paraphrase Von Clauswitz-
"No campaign plan survives first contact with the Fuss."
There are times, more frequent than I'd like, when it becomes imperative that something distract his ire/fascination/affection/mania. If one of the OldDaughters happens to be around, fantastic- I hand him off like a football and get back to making dinner, or cleaning the living room, or whatever action he was rendering impossible with the implacable tsunami of his two year old-ness.
But if they aren't....
I salve my inflamed parenting pride with the watery balm of streamed content. "He's not actually watching teevee," I reason, "he's watching SHOWS." And while it's true our trusty Roku protects him from the vile sewage of modern broadcast advertising, the genius of corporate profiteers is revealed by the brilliance of turning characters into products.
"SQUAREPANTS!" he'll suddenly shout when we're at the grocery store. I look around and there it is, Spongebob toothpaste, or juice boxes, or washclothes, or whatever.
But to some extent all of that is what it is- we live in a corporate capitalist paradise and relentless marketing and huckesterism is one of the things we have to figure out how to accommodate. Those little low coolers at Starbucks and everywhere that proffer treats at toddler eye level with no annoying doors to block their grasping hands, the stickers on the floor of the supermarket that act like toddler magnets, etc etc. To the bulk of American society your child is just a consumer with zero self control, which predictably makes their eyes light up like a slot machine paying off. I'm sure someone out there is working on Baby MasterCard for the 5 and under set, parents being the only impediment to fully leveraging this untapped demographic resource.
Anyway.
Fuss has his favorites.
He loves Kipper, who used to be "doggo" but now goes by his proper name. He's also been enjoying Futurama, which he calls "rocketship". But his current video crush is a specific episode of Shaun the Sheep (aka "Sheepy!") where the pigs play spooky pranks on the sheep. It's got everything you need to wind Fuss up into a paroxysm of joy- a ghost, a flaming pumpkin and a scarecrow. I really need to film him watching it, it's by far the most exciting thing he's ever seen. He's prone to cheering "HAPPY WEEN!" whenever confronted by the traditional iconography and I need to get it documented before he figures out the right pronunciation.
He's already abandoned our favorite Fuss-ism, EEEEEE-EYE! for the more accurate but less adorable there is is! Children travel fast, much faster than our perceptions of them.
But as with most well meaning advice related to proper modes of childrearing, I'll paraphrase Von Clauswitz-
"No campaign plan survives first contact with the Fuss."
There are times, more frequent than I'd like, when it becomes imperative that something distract his ire/fascination/affection/mania. If one of the OldDaughters happens to be around, fantastic- I hand him off like a football and get back to making dinner, or cleaning the living room, or whatever action he was rendering impossible with the implacable tsunami of his two year old-ness.
But if they aren't....
I salve my inflamed parenting pride with the watery balm of streamed content. "He's not actually watching teevee," I reason, "he's watching SHOWS." And while it's true our trusty Roku protects him from the vile sewage of modern broadcast advertising, the genius of corporate profiteers is revealed by the brilliance of turning characters into products.
"SQUAREPANTS!" he'll suddenly shout when we're at the grocery store. I look around and there it is, Spongebob toothpaste, or juice boxes, or washclothes, or whatever.
But to some extent all of that is what it is- we live in a corporate capitalist paradise and relentless marketing and huckesterism is one of the things we have to figure out how to accommodate. Those little low coolers at Starbucks and everywhere that proffer treats at toddler eye level with no annoying doors to block their grasping hands, the stickers on the floor of the supermarket that act like toddler magnets, etc etc. To the bulk of American society your child is just a consumer with zero self control, which predictably makes their eyes light up like a slot machine paying off. I'm sure someone out there is working on Baby MasterCard for the 5 and under set, parents being the only impediment to fully leveraging this untapped demographic resource.
Anyway.
Fuss has his favorites.
He loves Kipper, who used to be "doggo" but now goes by his proper name. He's also been enjoying Futurama, which he calls "rocketship". But his current video crush is a specific episode of Shaun the Sheep (aka "Sheepy!") where the pigs play spooky pranks on the sheep. It's got everything you need to wind Fuss up into a paroxysm of joy- a ghost, a flaming pumpkin and a scarecrow. I really need to film him watching it, it's by far the most exciting thing he's ever seen. He's prone to cheering "HAPPY WEEN!" whenever confronted by the traditional iconography and I need to get it documented before he figures out the right pronunciation.
He's already abandoned our favorite Fuss-ism, EEEEEE-EYE! for the more accurate but less adorable there is is! Children travel fast, much faster than our perceptions of them.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
overheard
guy handing change to a homeless dude sitting on the sidewalk:
Here you go brutha....love your life!
???
Here you go brutha....love your life!
???
Oh That Crazy Orwell
quote from NPR news blip:
the US combat mission in Iraq may be over, but fighting continues!
Our Digital Future
I keep starting posts about our trip to England and they keep going nowhere, so I think I'll prime the pump with the kind of lightweight, off the cuff observations y'all have come to expect from the Baxblog.
A while back Bobo linked a trailer, the new flick from the guy behind The Host. We're on a bit of a Korean cinema kick at the homestead so it went on the watch list.
The other day I'm browsing Roku...and there it is! Streaming, on Netflix, for free (or rather $8.99 a month, which given our rate of consumption qualifies for that old Nuclear Power canard "too cheap to meter")!
I add it to the queue, chortling at my good fortune.
This morning as I'm opening up I notice the record shop has a copy of the DVD fronted in their window for $24.99.
Free, or $24.99...the conundrum of our digital age.
A while back Bobo linked a trailer, the new flick from the guy behind The Host. We're on a bit of a Korean cinema kick at the homestead so it went on the watch list.
The other day I'm browsing Roku...and there it is! Streaming, on Netflix, for free (or rather $8.99 a month, which given our rate of consumption qualifies for that old Nuclear Power canard "too cheap to meter")!
I add it to the queue, chortling at my good fortune.
This morning as I'm opening up I notice the record shop has a copy of the DVD fronted in their window for $24.99.
Free, or $24.99...the conundrum of our digital age.
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