An exchange with the boss, making a rare weekend appearance:
"Michelle's out of town, so I'm going to the movies. Am I going to see The King's Speech?"
In unison, "No!"
"Am I going to see Black Swan?"
In unison, "No!"
I interject- "Let me guess.....Battle for Los Angeles?"
Boss, throwing arms high in exultation: "BATTLE FOR LOS ANGELES!"
Knowing him as I do, there wasn't actually much guesswork involved...
Sunday, March 13, 2011
30 Day Song Challenge Day Eleven: A Song From a Band You Hate
What to make of this palimpsest?
What criteria should guide my choice? The quiz author provides no help.
Did they mean "a song you like from a band you hate? Because that would be sort of interesting. But I don't do much hating of bands. I don't listen to stuff I don't like, so there isn't much mulch for hatred to take root and bloom in.
How about a song I love from a band I won't otherwise listen to?
And we'll season it a bit more by making it a band most folks are in love with.
With those parameters, I present How Soon Is Now by the Smiths.
One of the greatest songs of all time from a band I can take or leave.
What criteria should guide my choice? The quiz author provides no help.
Did they mean "a song you like from a band you hate? Because that would be sort of interesting. But I don't do much hating of bands. I don't listen to stuff I don't like, so there isn't much mulch for hatred to take root and bloom in.
How about a song I love from a band I won't otherwise listen to?
And we'll season it a bit more by making it a band most folks are in love with.
With those parameters, I present How Soon Is Now by the Smiths.
One of the greatest songs of all time from a band I can take or leave.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
True Customer Tales: Really Small Book
guy: Do you have a really small book? Like, a reaaaaly...smaaaaal...book? (gestures with hands indicating exactly how small)
Unrelatedly, the iPod is rocking Bon Iver right now and a gal pretty much ran up to the counter to tell me how much she loved that we were playing...John Iver.
Unrelatedly, the iPod is rocking Bon Iver right now and a gal pretty much ran up to the counter to tell me how much she loved that we were playing...John Iver.
true customer tales: When I Retire
student dude at counter to pal:
Such wisdom from one so young.
Alas, by the time he's ready to retire the industry will have been replaced by hackers swapping cracked ebooks on whatever comes after the internet.
I want to have a used book store...but like, when I retire or something. And I wouldn't sell my own books, so I'd have to like, go out and buy books. Or something.
Such wisdom from one so young.
Alas, by the time he's ready to retire the industry will have been replaced by hackers swapping cracked ebooks on whatever comes after the internet.
Hey NPR
Why should I care about you when Glenn Beck defends you more vigorously and effectively than you defend yourself?
I'm absolutely over caring about 'liberal' institutions who's first and only response to any attack from right wing crybabies, however obviously ridiculous and fraudulent, is to surrender and beg for mercy.
I like our local station a lot, but the yayhoos at the national level can suck it.
I'm absolutely over caring about 'liberal' institutions who's first and only response to any attack from right wing crybabies, however obviously ridiculous and fraudulent, is to surrender and beg for mercy.
I like our local station a lot, but the yayhoos at the national level can suck it.
True Customer Tales: Yelling into Cell Phones Edition
lady walking past the door yelling into her cell phone:
guy by sale cart, talking loudly into his cell phone rather than yelling:
I can totally see how that would be TOTALLY AWESOME!
guy by sale cart, talking loudly into his cell phone rather than yelling:
No I'm in a bookstore- I'm talking quiet because it feels like I'm in a library!
30 Day Song Challenge Day Eleven: A Song From Your Favorite Band
I haven't got a favorite band, any more than I have a favorite movie, or book, or whatever. If I think about it in a random moment of my life I can come up with an answer, but pick another random moment and the answer changes. It's too important a position to chisel in stone so I use a chalkboard.
How about I go with my oldest favorite band that's still in heavy rotation, a genetic throwback like the Horseshoe Crab.
How about I go with my oldest favorite band that's still in heavy rotation, a genetic throwback like the Horseshoe Crab.
Friday, March 11, 2011
30 Day Song Challenge Day Ten: A Song That Makes You Fall Asleep
In the olden days I couldn't sleep without something to short circuit the nocturnal tail-chasing of my neurons and I crafted a mix tape specifically for that purpose. The tape is long gone, but here's a representative track. Not your typical lullaby, but it worked for me.
This Morning in the Marsh
Fuss demanded we hit Sweet Springs this morning because he wanted to see if the "ducks were home", as they've been AWOL our last few visits. Happily they were, or a pair anyway. Success!
As we wandered around he came across a forked Eucalyptus branch with two tufts of leaves.
"hey...this one's got ears!" he noted, waving the evidence overhead.
A bit further down the path he found a similar branch, devoid of leaves.
He picked it up and proclaimed "dada, this one's got HORNS!"
He also told me a long story about the stream running under the footbridge, where it was coming from and the obstacles it had to overcome to reach the pond in front of us and eventually the sea.
I wish I had a tape recorder on hand, it was so delightful the words fled my consciousness almost before I heard them.
As we wandered around he came across a forked Eucalyptus branch with two tufts of leaves.
"hey...this one's got ears!" he noted, waving the evidence overhead.
A bit further down the path he found a similar branch, devoid of leaves.
He picked it up and proclaimed "dada, this one's got HORNS!"
He also told me a long story about the stream running under the footbridge, where it was coming from and the obstacles it had to overcome to reach the pond in front of us and eventually the sea.
I wish I had a tape recorder on hand, it was so delightful the words fled my consciousness almost before I heard them.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Scary Guy
Devra updated her art page thing, so interested parties can check out Fuss' old frenemy Scary Guy.
Keep in mind the original is about 4 x 7.
Keep in mind the original is about 4 x 7.
Restaurant Review: Frankie & Lola's
We stopped in for lunch yesterday because our usual go-to destination (Taco Temple) doesn't take cards and we're in the cash flow trough right now.
It's in the spot where Pacific Cafe was in the days of yore, out toward the rock in Morro Bay. The vibe reminds me of Mo's in their old spot, but less cluttered- lots of corrugated steel and heavy wood furniture and a few choice vintage photos on the walls.
The Wife opted for the roasted chicken sandwich- when in doubt, she goes for roasted chicken. I had to get the turkey and stuffing, just cause. We split the sides- I got the cole slaw, she got the fries.
Cutting to the chase, everything was fantastic- super fresh, super flavorful, excellent presentation. Price tag was about what we'd have spent at the Temple, so we're going to have to flip a coin or something to pick a destination next time.
The slaw was the opposite of the usual wet blob of whitish slop- purple cabbage, shaved paper thin, lightly dressed with vinegar (rice?) and spices. Fresh, light, appealing.
The fries were super flavorful, but didn't have a super thick crunchy crust. Given the choice, I'll take the flavor every time.
My sandwich was a delight- the turkey was carved off a breast, moist and firm. The stuffing was compelling, a sagey, crunchy brown layer atop the bird. The foundation was provided by homemade cranberry sauce, delivering a perfect sweet/tart accent. Special mention to the bread- they either make it themselves, or get it right out of the baker's oven.
To top it off, I ordered iced tea that wasn't stewed and bitter, the first time in my life I've had genuinely good iced tea in a restaurant.
Given the quality of the ingredients and the attentive preparation obvious in the lunch service I'm looking forward to checking out their breakfasts and dinners.
Recommended.
/edit
It's really easy to make an acceptable, edible sandwich. Even Subway can do it, if you're careful. But to make an exceptional sandwich is a rare, commendable feat.
It's in the spot where Pacific Cafe was in the days of yore, out toward the rock in Morro Bay. The vibe reminds me of Mo's in their old spot, but less cluttered- lots of corrugated steel and heavy wood furniture and a few choice vintage photos on the walls.
The Wife opted for the roasted chicken sandwich- when in doubt, she goes for roasted chicken. I had to get the turkey and stuffing, just cause. We split the sides- I got the cole slaw, she got the fries.
Cutting to the chase, everything was fantastic- super fresh, super flavorful, excellent presentation. Price tag was about what we'd have spent at the Temple, so we're going to have to flip a coin or something to pick a destination next time.
The slaw was the opposite of the usual wet blob of whitish slop- purple cabbage, shaved paper thin, lightly dressed with vinegar (rice?) and spices. Fresh, light, appealing.
The fries were super flavorful, but didn't have a super thick crunchy crust. Given the choice, I'll take the flavor every time.
My sandwich was a delight- the turkey was carved off a breast, moist and firm. The stuffing was compelling, a sagey, crunchy brown layer atop the bird. The foundation was provided by homemade cranberry sauce, delivering a perfect sweet/tart accent. Special mention to the bread- they either make it themselves, or get it right out of the baker's oven.
To top it off, I ordered iced tea that wasn't stewed and bitter, the first time in my life I've had genuinely good iced tea in a restaurant.
Given the quality of the ingredients and the attentive preparation obvious in the lunch service I'm looking forward to checking out their breakfasts and dinners.
Recommended.
/edit
It's really easy to make an acceptable, edible sandwich. Even Subway can do it, if you're careful. But to make an exceptional sandwich is a rare, commendable feat.
30 Day Song Challenge Day Nine: A Song You Can Dance To
Well, you can dance to just about any song, given proper motivation.
Why not 'a song that makes you want to dance', or 'your favorite song to dance to'?
Anyway.
Bobo unearthed this one from the stacks at BooBoo's on an LP of assorted DC GoGo music (back in the day our record buying rule of thumb was when in doubt, buy an exotic compilation!)
It summarizes the dancing-est era of my life, which also jousts for the title of 'Most Miserable And Dysfunctional'. Although I wouldn't trade it for anything, unlike the competition. It's a reductive alchemy memory performs to forge a Golden Age, burning away all the bad shit, melting the good together to craft a Utopian skyline.
I was living at Little Havana with Bobo and Hudson (before his interest in National Socialism metastasized), crashing on the fold-out couch in the living room lulled to sleep each night by the alternating green and red ceiling glow from the stoplight by the 7-11 at the bottom of the hill. We all had jobs doing hard work in unpleasant conditions, me at a sausage plant working 12-15 hour days in a refrigerated metal box, the boys in the kitchen at Angelo's.
The emotional equilibrium was wildly variable.
One afternoon I came home to Ministry's Stigmata vibrating the pavers in the courtyard while Hudson and a pal beset a plaid couch in the middle of the living room with an axe and a machete, respectively. At the conclusion of the number they hurled the dismembered pieces out a window onto the sidewalk.
We all benefited from structured releases of energy, and regular impromptu dance parties were primary safety valves. Someone would come home in the right frame of mind, hit the strobe light in the corner of the living room and off we'd all go. The strobing was a bug light for locals, who'd drop in for the festivites. One memorable evening we rocked so hard a mircroclimate was created in the living room, condensation from the ceiling raining down on us.
There aren't many other memories I'd trade the spirit of a really good dance party for.
Footnote:
Another contender for defining track
Why not 'a song that makes you want to dance', or 'your favorite song to dance to'?
Anyway.
Bobo unearthed this one from the stacks at BooBoo's on an LP of assorted DC GoGo music (back in the day our record buying rule of thumb was when in doubt, buy an exotic compilation!)
It summarizes the dancing-est era of my life, which also jousts for the title of 'Most Miserable And Dysfunctional'. Although I wouldn't trade it for anything, unlike the competition. It's a reductive alchemy memory performs to forge a Golden Age, burning away all the bad shit, melting the good together to craft a Utopian skyline.
I was living at Little Havana with Bobo and Hudson (before his interest in National Socialism metastasized), crashing on the fold-out couch in the living room lulled to sleep each night by the alternating green and red ceiling glow from the stoplight by the 7-11 at the bottom of the hill. We all had jobs doing hard work in unpleasant conditions, me at a sausage plant working 12-15 hour days in a refrigerated metal box, the boys in the kitchen at Angelo's.
The emotional equilibrium was wildly variable.
One afternoon I came home to Ministry's Stigmata vibrating the pavers in the courtyard while Hudson and a pal beset a plaid couch in the middle of the living room with an axe and a machete, respectively. At the conclusion of the number they hurled the dismembered pieces out a window onto the sidewalk.
We all benefited from structured releases of energy, and regular impromptu dance parties were primary safety valves. Someone would come home in the right frame of mind, hit the strobe light in the corner of the living room and off we'd all go. The strobing was a bug light for locals, who'd drop in for the festivites. One memorable evening we rocked so hard a mircroclimate was created in the living room, condensation from the ceiling raining down on us.
There aren't many other memories I'd trade the spirit of a really good dance party for.
Footnote:
Another contender for defining track
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Great Moments in Netflix AI
Like: Jersey Shore Season 2
I mean, sure, they're both scathing satires on the follies of the haute bourgeoisie...but I look at the Renoir and think hey, where's the bronzer?
I mean, sure, they're both scathing satires on the follies of the haute bourgeoisie...but I look at the Renoir and think hey, where's the bronzer?
more reasons to like KCPR
My fave drive-time show is The Psychedelic Gospel, which consistently delivers the trippy, fuzzed out goods and the DJ of which has an expansive view of what constitutes 'psychedelic', both thematically and chronologically. It's never a less than compelling listen. This is my favorite new band find from the show, doing it live on some foreign teevee show:
And one morning last week, another DJ turned me on to the greatest 80's tune I'd somehow never heard, which is unbelievable. I mean I'm not a huge P-Furs fan or anything, but COME ON NOW, this tune is so epic I can't believe not one of my friends made me listen to it at some point in the last thirty-whatever years.
album version first
then a kickass contemporary live performance
I'm American...ha ha ha!
when I'm dictator that's our new National Anthem.
And one morning last week, another DJ turned me on to the greatest 80's tune I'd somehow never heard, which is unbelievable. I mean I'm not a huge P-Furs fan or anything, but COME ON NOW, this tune is so epic I can't believe not one of my friends made me listen to it at some point in the last thirty-whatever years.
album version first
then a kickass contemporary live performance
I'm American...ha ha ha!
when I'm dictator that's our new National Anthem.
Evening Conversation
the wife: Okay, do you want a bath, or do you want books?
Fuss, taking to his heels and diving into the pantry closet: Ma hide!
the wife (to closed pantry door): So, do you want a bath, or do you want books?
Fuss, voice muffled: Ma hide! Ma hide!
Fuss, taking to his heels and diving into the pantry closet: Ma hide!
the wife (to closed pantry door): So, do you want a bath, or do you want books?
Fuss, voice muffled: Ma hide! Ma hide!
30 Day Song Challenge Day Eight: A Song That You Know All the Words To
I could probably do the the whole album from memory even though it's been decades since I've heard it end to end. That tape lived in my walkman.
Back in the day deciphering Kate's lyrics was a labor of love- no lyric sheets, no internet lookup, just endless repetition and the intensely neurotic focus an alienated teenager could devote to the pursuit of minor revelation.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
True Customer Tales: Randy Redux
He came back for his papers and ended up buying a copy of Totem and Taboo by Freud and an old Guardians of the Galaxy comic.
hey look, here's the comic- thanks, Internet!
I was supposed to only spend my money on groceries, but that went out the door! Happy holidays! At least...at least St Patrick's Day and Easter!
hey look, here's the comic- thanks, Internet!
True Customer Tales: RANDY RETURNS
He's rocking a full, white CRAZY DUDE beard now- I guess it's been a while since his last vist.
Brings a Marilyn Monroe calendar up and begins frenziedly taking notes on a wadded up envelope which he smooths out on the counter.
Now he's gone, leaving behind a small pile of papers covered with illegible scrawl, including the envelope that was supposed to remind him of Marilyn.
Brings a Marilyn Monroe calendar up and begins frenziedly taking notes on a wadded up envelope which he smooths out on the counter.
How...How much are these running? Because I need every red cent for food right now, I gotta SHINGLE my SHANGLE, you know? But I need to remember this one so I can come back and get it.
Now he's gone, leaving behind a small pile of papers covered with illegible scrawl, including the envelope that was supposed to remind him of Marilyn.
True Customer Sightings
A greazy, beardy dude sporting a jaunty leather hat, gray-green with grime, adorned with a shredded, dilapidated peacock feather just bought a couple of dollar books.
It looks like he mugged a wandering minstrel from the Ren Faire for that hat back in about '83 and hasn't taken it off since.
Won't someone think of the children?
It looks like he mugged a wandering minstrel from the Ren Faire for that hat back in about '83 and hasn't taken it off since.
Won't someone think of the children?
30 Day Song Challenge Day Seven: A Song That Reminds You of a Certain Event
Song:
King of the Hill Theme Song
Certain Event:
Every time he hears it, Fuss leaps to his feet and starts doing a crazy punk rock mosh pit pogo-dance around the living room.
King of the Hill Theme Song
Certain Event:
Every time he hears it, Fuss leaps to his feet and starts doing a crazy punk rock mosh pit pogo-dance around the living room.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Life with Fuss
Twenty minutes ago:
NO! No bath, no bath mama! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!
Two minutes ago:
Don't wanna get out mama, DON'T WANNA GET OUT! Don't wanna get out mama! AAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAA!!!
NO! No bath, no bath mama! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!
Two minutes ago:
Don't wanna get out mama, DON'T WANNA GET OUT! Don't wanna get out mama! AAAAAAAAAH! AAAAAAAAAA!!!
On the Non-Book
Non-Book is a house term we use for a title that looks like you'd want it in the store- usually on an interesting (or at least salable) topic. They're usually larger format books with color illustrations, what are sometimes called 'coffee table books'. And they are almost completely bereft of value. You can flip through one without receiving a single nugget of insight or coming across any meaningful information or striking composition.
Anyone who's sifted through as many thousands upon thousands of books as I have can almost sense a non book, they way you can spot a book club edition by the cheap paper employed for the dust jacket, or the way the spine is just slightly too squared off to be 'real'. They're things that look like good books but aren't....Pod Books, in the vernacular of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Some concrete examples would be the cookbook long on splashy color (stock) photos but extremely short on (generic) recipes, or a craft book with plenty of nifty photos of finished projects that gives short shrift to processes and techniques you'd need to achieve the pictured results.
Basically, a non-book is any book that's trying to 'pass'. It's thrift store couture trying to sneak onto the runway, ground chuck pretending its Kobe beef.
Today, doing a big buy from one of our regular guys who stops by every few months with a big white van full of boxes, we came across the penultimate non-book....more of an anti-book really...Surf Girl Oahu.
Let's go down the checklist-
Surfing: one of the most salable things we see. Normally we buy anything even tangentially related to surfing without looking at it too hard.
Women Surfing: Even more salable than regular surfing. Very few books have been published on the subject so we hardly ever see them.
Hawaii: Very salable area. Again, we'd normally buy anything presentable that came across the counter on Hawaii.
This combination is like atomic catnip to book dealers- you couldn't come up with a more desirable subject for a book if you had a planet-sized AI crunching sales figures from the entire history of bookselling for your perusal.
And yet, who knows why, bookseller's intuition maybe...the boss gave it a quick flip-through.
And his buying rhythm faltered.
He went back through the book more slowly, pausing at various points.
Again, almost page by page.
Bemused, he handed me the book.
"What do you think?"
I repeated his process almost exactly, arriving at the same destination.
"It's....it's a non book," disbelieving. "I got 20 pages before I saw a surfboard, or water. It's like someone's snapshots of their girlfriends hanging out shopping a few blocks from the beach."
The boss nodded.
"Well...now we have to buy it, don't we? We've spent too much time figuring it out, now we have to buy it."
Which made me laugh.
And, proving that when it comes to books online nobody really knows anything, even two guys with a combined 70 years of professional experience who've been selling books online for most of a decade, this veritable archetype of the Non Book that was nearly rejected for being so slight and misleading is going for $40 on Amazon.
Hah!
Anyone who's sifted through as many thousands upon thousands of books as I have can almost sense a non book, they way you can spot a book club edition by the cheap paper employed for the dust jacket, or the way the spine is just slightly too squared off to be 'real'. They're things that look like good books but aren't....Pod Books, in the vernacular of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Some concrete examples would be the cookbook long on splashy color (stock) photos but extremely short on (generic) recipes, or a craft book with plenty of nifty photos of finished projects that gives short shrift to processes and techniques you'd need to achieve the pictured results.
Basically, a non-book is any book that's trying to 'pass'. It's thrift store couture trying to sneak onto the runway, ground chuck pretending its Kobe beef.
Today, doing a big buy from one of our regular guys who stops by every few months with a big white van full of boxes, we came across the penultimate non-book....more of an anti-book really...Surf Girl Oahu.
Let's go down the checklist-
Surfing: one of the most salable things we see. Normally we buy anything even tangentially related to surfing without looking at it too hard.
Women Surfing: Even more salable than regular surfing. Very few books have been published on the subject so we hardly ever see them.
Hawaii: Very salable area. Again, we'd normally buy anything presentable that came across the counter on Hawaii.
This combination is like atomic catnip to book dealers- you couldn't come up with a more desirable subject for a book if you had a planet-sized AI crunching sales figures from the entire history of bookselling for your perusal.
And yet, who knows why, bookseller's intuition maybe...the boss gave it a quick flip-through.
And his buying rhythm faltered.
He went back through the book more slowly, pausing at various points.
Again, almost page by page.
Bemused, he handed me the book.
"What do you think?"
I repeated his process almost exactly, arriving at the same destination.
"It's....it's a non book," disbelieving. "I got 20 pages before I saw a surfboard, or water. It's like someone's snapshots of their girlfriends hanging out shopping a few blocks from the beach."
The boss nodded.
"Well...now we have to buy it, don't we? We've spent too much time figuring it out, now we have to buy it."
Which made me laugh.
And, proving that when it comes to books online nobody really knows anything, even two guys with a combined 70 years of professional experience who've been selling books online for most of a decade, this veritable archetype of the Non Book that was nearly rejected for being so slight and misleading is going for $40 on Amazon.
Hah!
30 Day Song Challenge Day 6: Song That Reminds You of Somewhere
A little tricky, as it has to be a song you still hear every once in a while to trigger a memory. I can think of many, many tunes that conjure very concrete memories of place, but it's stuff I'll never hear again. Pretty much anything by Test Dept. or Einstürzende Neubauten pounds me back onto the wretched sofa in the living room of Bobo & Zim's shared hovel on George Street. One of the neighbors was a fan of hair metal and when he got to sassy with the volume Bobo would retaliate by pointing his speakers out the open windows and spraying the neighborhood with aural napalm.
But it's not exactly the sort of music you chance across in your daily life, so the memories lie dormant.
I'll roll with this one from The Carpenters, who have a much higher cultural Q Factor than those Industrial pioneers.
Childhood visits to mom's parents meant spending plenty of time with grandma.
Grandad was a troubleshooter for an oil company and spent a fair amount of his career living on site at various remote locations. Sometimes I'd tag along to a rig out in the Santa Barbara Channel, or up in the hills between Ventura and Santa Barbara, but mostly he was just gone.
Granny spent tremendous amounts of time doing errands. Seemingly every day we'd head out and make the rounds, and often I'd end up waiting in the car, parked on sprawling acres of asphalt outside the Esplanade, or the Wagon Wheel, or some other department store or shopping center.
The first car I remember her having was a brown Ford Pinto hatchback, the ones that exploded when rear-ended. Entertainment was provided by a huge AM radio with a row of analog buttons for the station presets. It was a glorious day for parking lot idlers when she upgraded to a cream colored Mazda station wagon with a cassette tape deck.
She had three tapes in the glove box.
The Carpenters Greatest Hits, something from Tommy Dorsey (Stardust was 'their song') and some pap from the Perry Como school of crooning that even my child self realized was psychic poison. So I listened the ass out of the other two tapes.
Hearing the Carpenters whips me back directly to the hot, airless center of a blacktop parking lot in Ventura, lying back in a leatherette passenger seat fully reclined, sweating, waiting for Grandma to return from one of her innumerable 'ladies only' activities.
But it's not exactly the sort of music you chance across in your daily life, so the memories lie dormant.
I'll roll with this one from The Carpenters, who have a much higher cultural Q Factor than those Industrial pioneers.
Childhood visits to mom's parents meant spending plenty of time with grandma.
Grandad was a troubleshooter for an oil company and spent a fair amount of his career living on site at various remote locations. Sometimes I'd tag along to a rig out in the Santa Barbara Channel, or up in the hills between Ventura and Santa Barbara, but mostly he was just gone.
Granny spent tremendous amounts of time doing errands. Seemingly every day we'd head out and make the rounds, and often I'd end up waiting in the car, parked on sprawling acres of asphalt outside the Esplanade, or the Wagon Wheel, or some other department store or shopping center.
The first car I remember her having was a brown Ford Pinto hatchback, the ones that exploded when rear-ended. Entertainment was provided by a huge AM radio with a row of analog buttons for the station presets. It was a glorious day for parking lot idlers when she upgraded to a cream colored Mazda station wagon with a cassette tape deck.
She had three tapes in the glove box.
The Carpenters Greatest Hits, something from Tommy Dorsey (Stardust was 'their song') and some pap from the Perry Como school of crooning that even my child self realized was psychic poison. So I listened the ass out of the other two tapes.
Hearing the Carpenters whips me back directly to the hot, airless center of a blacktop parking lot in Ventura, lying back in a leatherette passenger seat fully reclined, sweating, waiting for Grandma to return from one of her innumerable 'ladies only' activities.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
true customer tales: books?
gal approaches counter.
"Where are your books?"
"Excuse me?"
"Books, where are your books?"
"Everywhere? Are you after anything in particular?"
"No....no, just books," turning on her heel and walking out.
"Where are your books?"
"Excuse me?"
"Books, where are your books?"
"Everywhere? Are you after anything in particular?"
"No....no, just books," turning on her heel and walking out.
Viva Burnt Dog radio
I have a bigger post on KCPR and terrestrial radio generally brewing, but I need to post this tidbit before I forget.
KCPR has been my choice during my daily commutes (except for mornings, when they tend to unspool Democracy Now and I tune out...nothing against Amy Goodman, she fights the good fight, but I've been over my limit for political outrage for a few years now), and I'm especially fond of the classical show Spot o' Class. The dichotomy between the traditionally staid presentation of classical music and the happy go lucky college bro-dude voice of the DJ doing the show intro over Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries always cheers me up.
Tonight the Ride came on and the DJ was in fine form with his 'best radio station in the world, and best radio SHOW in the world' patter when he busted this move on me.
"Hey....I probably don't have to tell you guys....but it's SHARK WEEK!"
Out of context, not that amazing...but delivered over Wagner's Ride during the intro to a classical music show...PURE GENIUS.
Here's to you, awesome college radio DJ guy! Tonight you redeemed and justified the existence of your entire industry, and made a tired, sullen bookseller very happy.
KCPR has been my choice during my daily commutes (except for mornings, when they tend to unspool Democracy Now and I tune out...nothing against Amy Goodman, she fights the good fight, but I've been over my limit for political outrage for a few years now), and I'm especially fond of the classical show Spot o' Class. The dichotomy between the traditionally staid presentation of classical music and the happy go lucky college bro-dude voice of the DJ doing the show intro over Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries always cheers me up.
Tonight the Ride came on and the DJ was in fine form with his 'best radio station in the world, and best radio SHOW in the world' patter when he busted this move on me.
"Hey....I probably don't have to tell you guys....but it's SHARK WEEK!"
Out of context, not that amazing...but delivered over Wagner's Ride during the intro to a classical music show...PURE GENIUS.
Here's to you, awesome college radio DJ guy! Tonight you redeemed and justified the existence of your entire industry, and made a tired, sullen bookseller very happy.
30 Day Song Challenge Day Five: A Song That Reminds You of Someone
70's Joni Mitchell reminds me of mom.
Clouds, Ladies of the Canyon, Blue, For the Roses, Court and Spark- if pressed I could draw a passable reproduction of those LP covers and any liner art from memory. After she died I found all those same albums, stored in the same orange crate, among numberless other talismans of my childhood and youth. She wasn't a hoarder exactly, but somehow every memorable object from our life in the other house trailed her to the new place. In much the same way, I discovered while excavating the garage, as every memorable object from my grandmother's and great grandmother's houses trailed her to the new place.
Family historian or family dump, there's not much leeway between them.
I'm sure she identified with the early Joni's freewheeling life and doomed, endless quest for the right guy. But the rootless bohemian gig is easier to pull off when you turn your baby over to the orphanage like Joni. Hitchiking and communes and free love didn't really jibe with parenting a toddler and mom eventually gave it up and crash-landed us at the the Los Osos house my grandfather bought cheap, uninsurable because it had no foundation.
I like to think she always wanted to take care of me, it was just the execution that tripped her up.
Joni eventually found another direction, teaming up with Jaco Pastorius and Charles Mingus in his final days, liberating herself from old expectations and pressures in the freedom of jazz. Hopefully mom did to, at the end.
Clouds, Ladies of the Canyon, Blue, For the Roses, Court and Spark- if pressed I could draw a passable reproduction of those LP covers and any liner art from memory. After she died I found all those same albums, stored in the same orange crate, among numberless other talismans of my childhood and youth. She wasn't a hoarder exactly, but somehow every memorable object from our life in the other house trailed her to the new place. In much the same way, I discovered while excavating the garage, as every memorable object from my grandmother's and great grandmother's houses trailed her to the new place.
Family historian or family dump, there's not much leeway between them.
I'm sure she identified with the early Joni's freewheeling life and doomed, endless quest for the right guy. But the rootless bohemian gig is easier to pull off when you turn your baby over to the orphanage like Joni. Hitchiking and communes and free love didn't really jibe with parenting a toddler and mom eventually gave it up and crash-landed us at the the Los Osos house my grandfather bought cheap, uninsurable because it had no foundation.
I like to think she always wanted to take care of me, it was just the execution that tripped her up.
Joni eventually found another direction, teaming up with Jaco Pastorius and Charles Mingus in his final days, liberating herself from old expectations and pressures in the freedom of jazz. Hopefully mom did to, at the end.
true customer tales: Moar Boo Boos
Older gal wearing a shawl:
"Uh excuse me...uh, where is the Boo Boo's Music Center?"
followed moments later by a different, distraught looking woman bustling up to the counter:
"HEY! Is Boo Boo's open on SUNDAY! The sign says they're open on Sunday! But the DOOR IS LOCKED!"
"I'm not sure what their hours are, sorry."
"BUT I NEED TICKETS!"
*runs out door*
"Uh excuse me...uh, where is the Boo Boo's Music Center?"
followed moments later by a different, distraught looking woman bustling up to the counter:
"HEY! Is Boo Boo's open on SUNDAY! The sign says they're open on Sunday! But the DOOR IS LOCKED!"
"I'm not sure what their hours are, sorry."
"BUT I NEED TICKETS!"
*runs out door*
This Week's Best Keywords
"blind pig finds a nut" in classic literature
and
"obsessed with totoro"
BONUS!
this week's most popular keyword is
congotronic
Which makes sense, because when I went poking around for info on the congotronic sensation it wasn't east to dig up.
and
"obsessed with totoro"
BONUS!
this week's most popular keyword is
congotronic
Which makes sense, because when I went poking around for info on the congotronic sensation it wasn't east to dig up.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
assorted links n' stuff
World's Most Awesome Kids Bedroom.
Although if that were in my house, Fuss would have to fight me for it...
An engaging article on the various reasons writers abandon novels.
I can't imagine it- I'm tortured when I abandon a blog post, and these things generally take all of five minutes to bang out.
An interesting Metal Blog for Inty!
A really cool looking webcomic.
Although 'webcomic' is hardly a sufficient descriptor of the graphic weight on display.
Here are a lot of people reviewing single panels by comic he-man Jack KING Kirby. Fascinating stuff. When I was young, I hated Kirby's art, preferring more 'realistic' guys like Neal Adams. As a grownup, I can see that Kirby is the fountainhead of all that is appealing and worthwhile in comics and that 'realists' like Adams are an evolutionary dead end (although I can still enjoy their work).
Although if that were in my house, Fuss would have to fight me for it...
An engaging article on the various reasons writers abandon novels.
I can't imagine it- I'm tortured when I abandon a blog post, and these things generally take all of five minutes to bang out.
An interesting Metal Blog for Inty!
A really cool looking webcomic.
Although 'webcomic' is hardly a sufficient descriptor of the graphic weight on display.
Here are a lot of people reviewing single panels by comic he-man Jack KING Kirby. Fascinating stuff. When I was young, I hated Kirby's art, preferring more 'realistic' guys like Neal Adams. As a grownup, I can see that Kirby is the fountainhead of all that is appealing and worthwhile in comics and that 'realists' like Adams are an evolutionary dead end (although I can still enjoy their work).
True Customer Tales: Drive By Crazy
wild eyed street dude stops in doorway and drops this gem in a loud monotone:
THIS BOOKSTORE IS NOW UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF FRED....UH FRED, FRED OWNS A BOOKSTORE IN SANTA BARBARA NOW HE'S RUNNING THIS ONE.....IN JESUS NAME AMEN!
A bemused customer who wandered up in the middle of the display said
"Huh, I think I've just been blessed?"
THIS BOOKSTORE IS NOW UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF FRED....UH FRED, FRED OWNS A BOOKSTORE IN SANTA BARBARA NOW HE'S RUNNING THIS ONE.....IN JESUS NAME AMEN!
A bemused customer who wandered up in the middle of the display said
"Huh, I think I've just been blessed?"
Days of Malick
Terrence Malick's latest looks incredible. Knowing my recalcitrant habits, I've issued orders that I be escorted to the theater at swordpoint for this one if more subtle persuasions prove futile. However excited I am about a future happening, when the moment arrives I almost invariably try to skip out. The necessity of strongarming myself into actions I know I'll enjoy is wearying.
The New World, his previous film, is an achievement so profound I mostly refuse to discuss it lest someone's stray negative comment tarnish my good opinion of them. I know exactly three people I'm positive would love it as much and in the same was as I do, and I'm married to one of them.
Like the time we wandered through an exhibition of DaVinci's drawings at the Louvre seeing it in the theater was an overwhelming, sublime, essentially indescribable experience. See it yourself is about the only meaningful commentary I can muster, although the reduction in scale from big screen to teevee makes me nervous. I've owned the dvd for years without viewing it, serving a more totemic than practical purpose.
My disinclination to examine the underpinnings of this wonder doesn't prevent others more critically talented from successfully venturing into the mystic.
Particularly,
Considering Malick as a poet seems by far the best approach to his work.
Happily the trailer strongly implies Tree of Life explores this same impressionistic terrain.
The New World, his previous film, is an achievement so profound I mostly refuse to discuss it lest someone's stray negative comment tarnish my good opinion of them. I know exactly three people I'm positive would love it as much and in the same was as I do, and I'm married to one of them.
Like the time we wandered through an exhibition of DaVinci's drawings at the Louvre seeing it in the theater was an overwhelming, sublime, essentially indescribable experience. See it yourself is about the only meaningful commentary I can muster, although the reduction in scale from big screen to teevee makes me nervous. I've owned the dvd for years without viewing it, serving a more totemic than practical purpose.
My disinclination to examine the underpinnings of this wonder doesn't prevent others more critically talented from successfully venturing into the mystic.
Particularly,
At its most avant-garde, it's a work created virtually without scenes, a prolonged montage analogous to the function of poetry, where impressions are generated in a fleeting manner and ultimately add up to something larger than the sum of the parts. Working in this manner allows Malick to whip up unlikely juxtapositions of images that wouldn’t fit into a traditional dramatic structure, the kind of formula Malick could easily embrace with his material but which he decidedly avoids.
Considering Malick as a poet seems by far the best approach to his work.
Happily the trailer strongly implies Tree of Life explores this same impressionistic terrain.
Downtown Merchant Alert!
The old dude with the blue and maroon striped polo shirt and white handlebar moustache that turns nicotine yellow over his liverish lips has, bar none, the WORST HALITOSIS I've ever been exposed to.
Forever more the phrase 'breath of the grave' will summon a vision of that awful mustache and tooth-grinding, nearly visible stench.
I need a shower...
Forever more the phrase 'breath of the grave' will summon a vision of that awful mustache and tooth-grinding, nearly visible stench.
I need a shower...
30 Day Song Challenge Day Four: A Song That Makes You Sad
Of course.
What other question could possibly follow the impenetrable depths exposed by yesterday's philosophical poser, A Song That Makes You Happy?
Again I'll rephrase- how about a song that inspires feelings of melancholy?
And when the subject turns to melancholy, the artist is obvious. The only question is which masterpiece? For me, there's one choice.
If George and Ira Gershwin were reincarnated as a single entity, they'd have been Elliot Smith.
What other question could possibly follow the impenetrable depths exposed by yesterday's philosophical poser, A Song That Makes You Happy?
Again I'll rephrase- how about a song that inspires feelings of melancholy?
And when the subject turns to melancholy, the artist is obvious. The only question is which masterpiece? For me, there's one choice.
If George and Ira Gershwin were reincarnated as a single entity, they'd have been Elliot Smith.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Thus Spake Zarathufuss
on the yellow split pea soup that had simmering in the crock pot all day:
"What's that? Hmm....looks orangey. Think mama will like it. It's real spicy!"
"What's that? Hmm....looks orangey. Think mama will like it. It's real spicy!"
Things You Can Count On
In this crazy, unpredictable, topsy-turvy life rocks guaranteed to withstand the surging tide of chaos and provide steadfast landmarks to navigate by are hard to come by.
One such granite headland (complete with overcharged lighthouse and wall of air-raid sirens) is this:
Any time you accidentally run into your completely deranged bi-polar mother in law out in the world, like when you're returning stuff to the library, you are guaranteed a visit from your decrepit father in law, who stopped bathing sometime last year. He will ring the doorbell during Fuss' nap, then when you don't answer because you peeked out the window and saw his disintegrating, rusted out jalopy idling at the curb, leave a grocery bag full of expired baked goods from the Thursday food bank handouts on your front porch.
I long ago gave up attempting to decipher the anti-logic of their rat's nest cooexistance, but I still wonder at the labyrinth the golden thread of that particular conversation must navigate to reach its inevitable conclusion.
One such granite headland (complete with overcharged lighthouse and wall of air-raid sirens) is this:
Any time you accidentally run into your completely deranged bi-polar mother in law out in the world, like when you're returning stuff to the library, you are guaranteed a visit from your decrepit father in law, who stopped bathing sometime last year. He will ring the doorbell during Fuss' nap, then when you don't answer because you peeked out the window and saw his disintegrating, rusted out jalopy idling at the curb, leave a grocery bag full of expired baked goods from the Thursday food bank handouts on your front porch.
I long ago gave up attempting to decipher the anti-logic of their rat's nest cooexistance, but I still wonder at the labyrinth the golden thread of that particular conversation must navigate to reach its inevitable conclusion.
The Fuss Variations
The Flying Game ('game' is sort of an arbitrary designation, it's just me zooming Fuss around the house making whooshing sounds) has been evolving lately.
First he wanted to flap his arms and fly like a bird, which necessitated switching up my grip so his arms were loose.
This morning Green Buenie got hung up on one of his feet during takeoff, so now "a-hold it with my peets!" is an integral part of the pre-flight checklist.
The games get more baroque over time until he loses interest.
Perhaps the sheer weight of ornament finally collapses his enthusiasm?
First he wanted to flap his arms and fly like a bird, which necessitated switching up my grip so his arms were loose.
This morning Green Buenie got hung up on one of his feet during takeoff, so now "a-hold it with my peets!" is an integral part of the pre-flight checklist.
The games get more baroque over time until he loses interest.
Perhaps the sheer weight of ornament finally collapses his enthusiasm?
30 Day Song Challenge Day Three: A Song That Makes You Happy
'A song that makes you happy'? Why would I listen to a song that didn't, on some level, make me happy? These aren't very interesting questions.
A better, more specific and much easier to answer question would be name a song that fills you with joy.
The official video is an insulting travesty- I like this high school art project version much better.
A better, more specific and much easier to answer question would be name a song that fills you with joy.
The official video is an insulting travesty- I like this high school art project version much better.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
true customer tales: fiction or nonfiction edition
gal: Can you help me find this book I'm looking for?
me: Sure, what are you after?
gal: It's called 'Columbine' by Dave...Dave, somebody?
me, checking internet for author: is that fiction or nonfiction?
gal: well it's fiction, but it's more nonfiction?
me: .....
me: Sure, what are you after?
gal: It's called 'Columbine' by Dave...Dave, somebody?
me, checking internet for author: is that fiction or nonfiction?
gal: well it's fiction, but it's more nonfiction?
me: .....
Some Music I Like Lately
I needed a palate cleanser after that last post.
Yuck: The Wall
stripped down lo-fi goodness.
Here We Go Magic: Collector
and here's their whole KCRW set
Bill Frisell: Keep Your Eyes Open
Brad Sucks: Making Me Nervous
Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Zero
late to the party here, but oh well- thanks Pandora!
Sleigh Bells: Rill Rill
Hey neat, they made a video for this one.
Yuck: The Wall
stripped down lo-fi goodness.
Here We Go Magic: Collector
and here's their whole KCRW set
Bill Frisell: Keep Your Eyes Open
Brad Sucks: Making Me Nervous
Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Zero
late to the party here, but oh well- thanks Pandora!
Sleigh Bells: Rill Rill
Hey neat, they made a video for this one.
30 Day Song Challenge Day Two: Least Favorite Song
The sort of vapid question that plague these lists.
I mean, unless you had some kind of Batman-esque formative experience and thugs gunned down your parents while Welcome to the Jungle poured from the rolled down windows of a nearby Pontiac GTO, how much can you really dislike an individual song? You listen to 30 seconds of a song, think "huh, this sucks" and never hear it again, unless it's playing in the grocery store or something.
So I'll present a group award here for my least favorite genre of music, soulless money-grubbing pop. Music that exists only because the performer wanted to be wealthy and famous, cynically guided to completion with Mass Market Acceptance as its north star.
Rather than provide a link, I'll just recommend throwing a dart at any Top 40 Singles list from the late 70's to early 90's. Chances are you'll land on a fine example of the genre.
Okay okay, that's cheating- how about I'll pick a year (say, 1985) and I'll link...hmm, how about Billboard's #10 single of the year.
Voila! My official Least Favorite Song!
*headbang*
I mean, unless you had some kind of Batman-esque formative experience and thugs gunned down your parents while Welcome to the Jungle poured from the rolled down windows of a nearby Pontiac GTO, how much can you really dislike an individual song? You listen to 30 seconds of a song, think "huh, this sucks" and never hear it again, unless it's playing in the grocery store or something.
So I'll present a group award here for my least favorite genre of music, soulless money-grubbing pop. Music that exists only because the performer wanted to be wealthy and famous, cynically guided to completion with Mass Market Acceptance as its north star.
Rather than provide a link, I'll just recommend throwing a dart at any Top 40 Singles list from the late 70's to early 90's. Chances are you'll land on a fine example of the genre.
Okay okay, that's cheating- how about I'll pick a year (say, 1985) and I'll link...hmm, how about Billboard's #10 single of the year.
Voila! My official Least Favorite Song!
*headbang*
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Restaurant review: Thai-riffic
The Central Coast's OG Thai option.
At some point Thai became the new Mexican and you couldn't swing a dead cat without upending a hot pot of Tom Kha Kai, but Thai-Riffic was the first (and for many years the sole) local option.
The wife got a wild hair for Thai on a recent Fuss free night out and neither of us felt like navigating the downtown 'scene' to hit our usual haunt, Thai Palace. Thai-Riffic was one of mom's favorites back in the day, but it'd been at least 20 years since my last visit. I should've been more appreciative of her efforts to expand my youthful culinary horizons, one of her few constructive impulses, but my interest in anything more challenging than pizza or burgers bloomed late.
I was immediately alienated by the startlingly bright lighting.
There were fixtures, but these did nothing to cut the glare from the array of clear incandescent bulbs. The resulting ambiance was redolent of Police Interrogation Room with an undercurrent of Hospital Operating Theater. The pleasantly throwback wood paneling fought valiantly but succumbed to the overwhelming wattage, as witness this diner photo from their Yelp page:
It's worse than it looks, all those little bulbs over the table are clear portals focusing the aggression of white hot filaments on innocent diners.
Not the vibe you'd expect any competent restaurantuer to embrace, and one easily corrected by installing a dimmer switch and investing in some frosted glass bulbs. Cutting the light pollution in half would make the dining room a thousand times more inviting.
I'll admit being more sensitive about this stuff than most, but there's really no excuse for a sit down restaurant to have worse lighting than your typical Carl's Jr. Hunger alone prevented me from recoiling back out into the the cool, dark evening.
Settling into our booth we ordered a hot pot of soup (the lemongrass/coconut milk/mushroom one, I never remember the name), fried rice with tofu, ginger beef ribs and Thai iced tea.
The soup and fried rice triggered another of my pet dining peeves, featuring GIANT CHUNKS of vegetables. The slabs of mushroom in the soup were too big for the spoons and the fried rice was more like sauteed vegetables with some rice added for bulk. Both tasted fine, and happily everything was cooked through (too often large chunks = underdone), but it's still lazy prepping and poor presentation.
The evening was very nearly redeemed by the spectacular ginger beef ribs. They had bone deep smoky flavor, chewy and totally satisfying. Devra was very lucky one survived to ride home with her leftovers.
Overall, not a success. The soup and rice were good, the ribs were excellent, but the prison yard lighting was inexcusable. Thai Palace retains its crown as 'our place' for Thai.
Although I'll definitely be back for those ribs, and it won't be another 20 years.
Take out, of course.
At some point Thai became the new Mexican and you couldn't swing a dead cat without upending a hot pot of Tom Kha Kai, but Thai-Riffic was the first (and for many years the sole) local option.
The wife got a wild hair for Thai on a recent Fuss free night out and neither of us felt like navigating the downtown 'scene' to hit our usual haunt, Thai Palace. Thai-Riffic was one of mom's favorites back in the day, but it'd been at least 20 years since my last visit. I should've been more appreciative of her efforts to expand my youthful culinary horizons, one of her few constructive impulses, but my interest in anything more challenging than pizza or burgers bloomed late.
I was immediately alienated by the startlingly bright lighting.
There were fixtures, but these did nothing to cut the glare from the array of clear incandescent bulbs. The resulting ambiance was redolent of Police Interrogation Room with an undercurrent of Hospital Operating Theater. The pleasantly throwback wood paneling fought valiantly but succumbed to the overwhelming wattage, as witness this diner photo from their Yelp page:
Not the vibe you'd expect any competent restaurantuer to embrace, and one easily corrected by installing a dimmer switch and investing in some frosted glass bulbs. Cutting the light pollution in half would make the dining room a thousand times more inviting.
I'll admit being more sensitive about this stuff than most, but there's really no excuse for a sit down restaurant to have worse lighting than your typical Carl's Jr. Hunger alone prevented me from recoiling back out into the the cool, dark evening.
Settling into our booth we ordered a hot pot of soup (the lemongrass/coconut milk/mushroom one, I never remember the name), fried rice with tofu, ginger beef ribs and Thai iced tea.
The soup and fried rice triggered another of my pet dining peeves, featuring GIANT CHUNKS of vegetables. The slabs of mushroom in the soup were too big for the spoons and the fried rice was more like sauteed vegetables with some rice added for bulk. Both tasted fine, and happily everything was cooked through (too often large chunks = underdone), but it's still lazy prepping and poor presentation.
The evening was very nearly redeemed by the spectacular ginger beef ribs. They had bone deep smoky flavor, chewy and totally satisfying. Devra was very lucky one survived to ride home with her leftovers.
Overall, not a success. The soup and rice were good, the ribs were excellent, but the prison yard lighting was inexcusable. Thai Palace retains its crown as 'our place' for Thai.
Although I'll definitely be back for those ribs, and it won't be another 20 years.
Take out, of course.
Thirty Day Song Challenge 1: Favorite Song
An arbitrary classification- ask me again in a few hours and it'll have changed.
I'll steal a phrase from Gawker and call this Best Song Ever Of Today:
Nobody beats the Gershwins, nobody beats Ella. Together they are an unstoppable Voltron of melody.
This is supposed to be a Facebook meme, but Mark Z can bite me.
I'll steal a phrase from Gawker and call this Best Song Ever Of Today:
Nobody beats the Gershwins, nobody beats Ella. Together they are an unstoppable Voltron of melody.
This is supposed to be a Facebook meme, but Mark Z can bite me.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Fuss Deficit
So between Devra babysitting last night and Fuss sleeping in shockingly late this morning (until eight AM) I'm left without a funny/heartwarming/satirical/inspirational anecdote to share.
I read him some books before bed, then skipped out to hook up the replacement Roku box before passing out. I spent my bonus morning making coffee neatly and efficiently minus Fuss' traditional contributions, likewise with the toast, then settling in at the computer for a few minutes of blissfully uninterrupted browsing.
Eventually he came thumping down the hall, bursting into the living room cheeks flushed and hair tousled.
He was (predictably) upset that I'd made coffee without him and I had to stage a reenactment, perfect in every detail save the alchemy of boiling water. After breakfast (a few bites of toast, a dab of cottage cheese, an apple he abandoned after peeling off the 'organic produce' sticker all by himself) he sat on my lap on the couch, narrating an episode of Wonder Pets.
Then it was time to send him charging down the hall to wake up mama and for me to go to work.
I read him some books before bed, then skipped out to hook up the replacement Roku box before passing out. I spent my bonus morning making coffee neatly and efficiently minus Fuss' traditional contributions, likewise with the toast, then settling in at the computer for a few minutes of blissfully uninterrupted browsing.
Eventually he came thumping down the hall, bursting into the living room cheeks flushed and hair tousled.
He was (predictably) upset that I'd made coffee without him and I had to stage a reenactment, perfect in every detail save the alchemy of boiling water. After breakfast (a few bites of toast, a dab of cottage cheese, an apple he abandoned after peeling off the 'organic produce' sticker all by himself) he sat on my lap on the couch, narrating an episode of Wonder Pets.
Then it was time to send him charging down the hall to wake up mama and for me to go to work.
true customer tales: Boo Boo Edition
guy: Uh hey, did Brian come in here?
me: If he did he didn't check in with me.
guy: His name's Brian? He's in a wheelchair?
me: Haven't seen a wheelchair, haven't seen a Brian, sorry.
guy, staring at me: That's funny, he said he was coming here.
me: Well if he did I haven't seen him.
guy, agitated: He said he was going to Boo Boo Records!
me: This isn't Boo Boo Records, maybe that's your problem- they're one door down.
guy: oh.
me: If he did he didn't check in with me.
guy: His name's Brian? He's in a wheelchair?
me: Haven't seen a wheelchair, haven't seen a Brian, sorry.
guy, staring at me: That's funny, he said he was coming here.
me: Well if he did I haven't seen him.
guy, agitated: He said he was going to Boo Boo Records!
me: This isn't Boo Boo Records, maybe that's your problem- they're one door down.
guy: oh.
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