or, Why I Rarely Leave My House
Loveschach's Journal, April 8
(BTW, my alter ego Loveschach wears a mask similar to the much tougher ((but shorter)) Rorschach, except mine looks like the inside of a lava lamp with red lava, and it bubbles asymmetrically just like a real lava lamp. And instead of a trench coat, Loveschach sports a full length velour smoking jacket with fake fur trim. PS: Neither he or I actually smoke)
Drove to nearest chain bookstore to ensure new GD paperback prominently displayed. Long drive. Flurries. Last gasp of winter for angry gray sky, flakes turned to water on impact with windshield. Listened to Sandinista! by the Clash. Sometimes cheerful proto-dub music undercut by remembrance of Strummer, gone now some years.
Parking lot empty, first to arrive. Allow band to finish Police On My Back before exiting vehicle. Bargain books in carts in front of the store, cold to the touch. Some bear the marks of rough handling; torn covers, bent edges. What the call distressed I call atrocity.
Sidetracked by Cultural Studies section, discover three books. Necessary for secret project. Write off? Must call accountant. Flow like liquid into YA section, clerks busily scanning, shelving. Check new paperback table, no GD in evidence. Scan new release shelf with same result. Find two hardcovers under "W", rearrange to face out.
Pleasant woman at info desks, asks if she can help. Help Loveschach? Unlikely.
Ask when she expects paperback of Generation Dead. Much typing. "Generation what?" she asks. "Dead." "What?" "Dead." This is actually quite a common experience. Finally understands after spelling "Dead". More typing. "We don't have it," she says. "We have eight copies on order."
Thank her. Turn to go but she isn't finished yet.
"It says that it came out yesterday, but those aren't usually solid dates, except for popular books."
Let her live. Going soft? Gnashing of teeth heard all the way back in back where the pet books are. Thank her for providing exceptional customer service, walk to cash wrap to pay for books.
Console self with delicious early lunch at Panera. Tuna salad on sesame semolina, with Swiss cheese. Don't carry provolone, or beans. Favorite soda brand; free refills. Brought notebook--the fiction one--to work on secret project, but restaurant is mobbed even at eleven, people trudging inside in constant, twisting stream. Give up seat to hungry young mother with stroller, round-faced tot strapped securely within upscale stroller. Finish pickle first. Walk to car.
Universe has no order save that for which we impose. Heated bubbles lengthen and rise, only to cool upon nearing the top, and in cooling, sink to the bottom and pool once again, seeking warmth. Sometimes bubbles resemble animals, or funny celebrity charicatures. Sometimes big round frowny face.
Will try again next week.