A PLAY IN THREE ACTS

Act I:

Scene 1:
Our hero stirs and awakens on the couch to the sound of "gentle pulses embedded into an ambient musical soundtrack". It is 10 am. He languishes as a cool wind whispers through an open window. Thinks: "I love days off!"
Scene 2:
Feeds the cat, takes vitamins, eats boiled eggs and toast. Decides to go for a hike at the Arbor Hills Nature Preserve (see picture). He has never been there before, but has heard a lot about it. Pays bills online, checks to see if blog buddies have written anything new (they haven't). Begins documenting his day in a unique blog format (i.e. like a play). Lets cat outside to romp, cleans up, and showers.
Scene 3:
Before showering, looks at self in mirror. Thinks: "Almost forty years old and I've still got a body to die for!" While showering, he opens small window to peer out into side yard to see if cat is cavorting there. Sees little children, atop play fort in yard next door, peering back at him over top of fence. Hurriedly closes shower window! Tries not to laugh.
Scene 4:
Gathers up walking staff and other supplies. Entertains silly Bilbo Baggins fantasy of leaving Bag End on an adventure.
Act II
Scene 1:
In which our hero drives across Plano to the Arbor Hills Nature Preserve. Stops along the way, to get gas. Annoyed by high prices. Opines: "The trouble with so many Americans is that they all want to be cool and beautiful, which they equate with extravagance. So they pretend to be wealthy (even if they're not) to the ridiculous point of supporting leaders dedictated to serving only a very exclusive club of the rich and powerful. Whereby, ironically, these Americans all fuck themselves. Their real selves."
Scene 2:
Arrives at the nature preserve to find it overrun by hordes of yuppies and their kids. A stereotype of a man (with a haircut from a magazine, a cell phone addiction, and his shadow/wife pulling his strings) shields his God-fearing kids from the strange fellow with a hiking stick and evil, satanic Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix baseball cap. Our hero leans on his staff and smiles serenely at the man and his yuppie brood as they file by. Thinks: "It's eerie how yuppies all look exactly alike .. intentionally"
The trail turns out to be a concrete path through bushes and a few trees. Our disappointed hero walks it in less than half an hour. Grumbles to himself for much of the time, things like: "Goddamn cookie cutter, conformists, yuppie bastard scumbags!" He consciously has to cheer himself up as he walks back to his car. Vows never to return.
Scene 3:
Drives back across Plano (wasting precious gas) to Bob Woodruff Park. Familiar turf. Hikes a circuitous route covering most of the large park, including woods, a lake, and several bridges. Thinks: "This is more like it!" He arrives, finally, in a glade where stands the famous "bicentennial oak", planted in 1787. Thinks: "This is where Jordan and Amanda got married." Has a good time hiking here. The day is saved!
Act III:
Scene 1:
He goes to Kroger and buys butterbeer supplies (see previous entry Geek Mythology @ http://magicalmissives.blogspot.com/2005/09/geek-mythology.html). Comes home and makes the butterbeer. The brown sugar tends to clump up quite a bit and stick to the bottom. Not sure if he used enough butter. However ... it tastes delicious; a nice combination of apple, spices, and cream. Tart, sweet, and buttery. And when he first pours the apple cider over the ice cream and other ingredients, it has a smooth, frothy texture. (Awfully rich, though.) He'll have to practice until he figures out how to de-lump the brown sugar.

Scene 2:
Our hero decides to spend the rest of his evening working out, running off the butterbeer, and relaxing.
Scene 3:
In which he decides never to write about himself in the third person ever again, being that it is so completely pretentious ... and Ben doesn't like it, either!

THE END

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY, TOO, YEAH!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOEL!

AMOR Y PAS

P.S. Note the name hovering over your left shoulder. Spooky, huh?

COOCOO FOR COCOA PUFFS!

Well ..................... Jerry L. is leaving. He's moving to Florida to run another store in Jacksonville. He's been a real mentor for me. I'll miss him. I hope we don't get some horrible monster in his place. That's what happened at B&N, as anybody who lived through the reign of "Dolores Umbridge" can tell you. What a nightmare! Sometimes I look back and wonder if that little chapter in my life was for real. It was so Orwellian. I'll wait and see what happens at the new job. Maybe it'll work in my favor. Change can be good. I'm still feeling happy, personally. Blogging, exercising, vitamin E. All these things do a body good. Rerun LOVES her catnip! I swear, it's like some kind of drug for her. Bring it anywhere close to her and she goes coocoo for cocoa puffs!

ONE DAY AT A TIME

Blogging everyday generates a surprsing ability, within the blogger, to live life one day at a time.

Today was no different. Got the catnip and the little witch hat. Finally screwed the wooden top to the table that's laid dormant in the TV room for so long. Chris met me at Borders and we picked up a couch they're giving away, and that I've been meaning to bring home. (Don't worry, Jordan. I'll enlist you next time. And you know you can count on me, too.) Jerry L. was in his office, with the doors locked, meeting with Jerry S., Diana, and Danny. Came home, ate Chinese food and watched a movie with Chris. Avoided working out or running, because muscles need a day of rest, from time to time, to heal and grow.

I'm still planning ahead.

Friday night will be the maiden voyage of the butterbeer!

IT'S A MAD, MAD, MAD, MAD WORLD!

Whew! What a day! It seems that everybody at work has gone crazy! First of all, Jerry L, the big boss, is out of town on vacation until tomorrow (one week total). Time for all the underlings to go insane with power, inability to cope, selfishness, laziness, pettiness, or some combination of all of these. There's this guy named Danny, really high strung, who thinks he's going to be the new CSR (Corporate Sales Rep), even though it's just a possibility. He's already trying to take over the position, bossing people around, sticking his nose in everybody's business, etc. He handles everything so badly, and he's so intense, hyperactive, and demanding that he's driving everyone in the office insane (and really scaring and confusing customers, too)! Poor Denise (our part-time events coordinator, and my friend) came in today to work on an event we're having with Rick Steves (the travel writer) and Danny went berserk about how things are being handled. He was such a nut that Denise started crying (after she let him have it so bad that he left for the day smoldering with anger). And then ... and then .. and then ... and I can't believe this is happening! ... Margaret (my chum, who really holds the office together and knows everything about every clerical procedure in the place) started typing up her resignation letter. She is citing Danny's craziness, Diana's selfishness, Jerry S.'s laziness and Tabitha's joint manipulation of the schedule and coercive power gluttony as reasons. I told her, if she left, I would hang myself from the rafters in the stock room with a note that says only "Margaret Don't Go!" taped to my chest! I was exaggerating, of course, but, seriously, our office will turn into Shite Swamp without her. She is, afterall, the office supervisor! I asked her if I was any part of the reason, and she said "No. You're great, Ben. I love you." And, afterall, I got her back for covering for me with that incident on the phone, because a very similar thing happened to her last week and, this time, I took care of it. We're even-Steven, in her book (and mine). But, yes, Borders has officially gone bonkers! This time, I'm the one who is cool and calm and collected and just trying to get the job done. Everyone else is going nuts and, frankly, in spite of it all, I'm in a pretty good mood! And I, for one, am going to Jerry L. and suggesting, with careful words, that Danny can't handle power, or deal with people, and that he just isn't ready for the position of CSR. Poor Jerry L. is going to have a lot on his plate when he gets back from vacation. Also, in two weeks, Margaret's notice will have taken effect and she'll be gone, Jerry and Tabitha are taking that week off to move in together, and now Diana is demanding that she get the week off, too, for something that she suddenly wants to do. I'm going to tell the boss that if he's offering overtime in the absence of all these people, then I'm his man. Work me to the max, and PAY me for it!!!!! On a lighter note, I found out today, from Tabitha (who, like Jerry, S. is someone I like, when she isn't playing games at work) that they have little witch hats for cats at Petco. I'm getting one for Rerun for the party. Also, I discovered a folk group called The Wyrd Sisters and Megan (our SPO -or Special Orders - person) and I have ordered some of their CDs and are going to cheat and listen to them at work and see if they're worth buying for the party. (For anyone who doesn't know, The Weird {or Wyrd} Sisters are a rock group who play at the dances and parties at Hogwarts}. I know, I'm a geek. But I like it!) NOTE: Will buy catnip tomorrow (my day OFF). Also, I'm not a vegetarian, afterall (see previous entries). Meat has worked its way back into my diet (starting with lasagne at Aunt Sally's) and, frankly, I don't mind.

GEEK MYTHOLOGY

Geekily beginning to prepare for "Hogwarts, A Halloween" party. Making lists:

For Butterbeer:
butter
brown sugar
powdered- sugar
nutmeg
cinnamon
vanilla ice cream
rum (or rum extract) (or both)
apple cider

Instead of Pumpkin Juice:
cinnamon-pumpkin spiced chai (from Borders). Mmmm. Can be served hot or cold.

Bangers and Mash or Shepherd's Pie?

OR perhaps!

A good old fashioned stew fixed in a large cauldron (or pot)
- beef (steak, hamburger, or meat balls?), carrots, potatoes, corn, green beans, cabbage, stewed tomatoes (or Rotell) --- served with steaming breads and lots of butter and condiments.

Or I could just serve up a big smorgus board.

NO, NO, NO steak and kidney pie! Several people have advised me against it.

Other people are bringing scones and pumpkin pasties (so far). Who knows what else!

3 large sketch books from Borders to be converted once again into Gilderoy's publications, only this time I'll decorate the spines as well as the fronts.. These will be posed casually on my bookshelf, spine out --- I'll see if anyone notices!

There are some large lollipops at Allivan's with owls in their center!

"Ogden's Old Fire Whiskey" labels to put on any bottles of booze I may have at the party. Beers and wine can be renamed "Hagrid's Brew", "Hogsmeade Select", "Polyjuice", "Elf Wine", etc. All of these can be created on my PC.

I already have costumes, wands, etc. Thinking of putting a witch hat on Rerun, so she can be Professor McGonagall.

I have all the house banners (from work), and a "Flourish and Blots" sign, a "Defense Against the Dark Arts" sign, a "Leaky Cauldron Sign", etc. Floating candles, too.

GAMES:
HP trivia. Pin the pigtail on Dudley Dursley (extra fun for those who drink!). Wizard's chess? I have a chess board, but it isn't quite so ... graphic. Still, somebody might want to play a nice game of muggle chess.

I've still got my dementor and fog machine.

I'd like to get a fireplace video to play on the TV for effect. I think they can be cheaply rented. Or I could just put on the HP movies. I already have those, and besides ...

... I can make a real fire in the real fireplace.

I already have the HP soundtracks for music, but people may get tired of those ... which is OK, there are lots of other CD's to choose from.

I wish I knew a band called the Weird Sisters!

HAPPY ENCHILADA

I feel very relaxed and at ease. Today was a decent day at work; the way the days used to be. The power went out, for a time, which was fun and frantic. We all handled it well. We were short-staffed for much of the day (people called in sick like an epidemic), and I was the lone manager for hours. Finally, "help" arrived in the form of Jerry S., but all he did all day was sit in the back. He never answered any back-up calls and, even when the power went out, he didn't move a muscle. Oh well, at least I'm not alone in noticing this. I think everybody else in the store commented on his absence and his laziness. The dreaded hurricane fallout was nothing like expected. In fact, I came home and took a nice long run in the park. It was windy as all get-out, and kind of exciting, but no rain. People were walking their dogs and riding their bikes. Not bad at all. After that, I worked out, called the folks, took a nap, and now I'm just tuning in to say "hello".

SEASON OF CHANGE

Today, I finally retired the greatest pair of shoes ever worn by anyone, any place at any time in the history of footwear. Actually, they're hiking boots, not shoes, but I wear (or wore) them all the time. In fact, I've worn them for five long years. We've been through it all: uphill treks in the no-man's land of mountain lions and grizzlies; moonlit, ankle deep waters as coyotes howled and yipped on the trail behind us; sunfried desert marches in the endless sagebrush and rocky arroyos of old Indian lands; and long days of toil and enslavement, heaving books and boxes amidst secretive, poorly carpeted complexes of tall shelving and in sweaty, machismo-filled stockrooms.
What adventures we've had! And it never mattered that those old shoes were becoming more worn and less presentable with each passing season. They were still sturdy and solid as ever, and the most comfortable and perfect fit I have ever known. They were like an extension of my foot. Almost like a part of me. But, as of a few days ago, they had simply reached such a state of deterioration that I was forced, finally and painfully, to part with them...
I'll never go to anybody but Doc Marten's ever again for hiking boots!
The new pair (Docs, of course) are alright. They fit well. I like them. But they just aren't like my old buddies. Not yet, anyway. I had to try on several pairs before I got one I liked. In fact, it was the cheapest pair that fit, felt, and (I think) looked the best. The guy who sold them to me had a stutter. He was a nice guy. I felt a little sorry for him, because the receipt printer wouldn't work and I could tell he didn't know what to do, and his stutter started getting worse. I explained that I work in retail, too, and not to worry; I wasn't going to act like an ass about it. He got his boss, who made me a handwritten receipt and said that, should I decide to bring them back, bring the box, too. It has a unique barcode, he said, which documents the sale in their system.
So I've been wearing the newbies all day, and so far, I'm suitably impressed. As for the old faithfuls? I plan to retire them in a worthy fashion. I could keep them around for dirty work, but they've earned an esteemed place in shoe history, so they'll probably get special treatment. Or who knows? Maybe I'll find them, someday, buried deep in a closet, and all those old memories will come flooding back into my mind. "Hey!" I'll exclaim. "I remember these!" And maybe I'll even try them on again. One last time for all the old times ...

rrrrrrrr....

Today (or yesterday, actually) was the kind of day when all the other drivers on the road seemed adversarial; I kept having to tell myself "Stop!" so that I would cease thinking curmudgeonly thoughts; and everybody but me seemed like an idiot, a jerk, or a creep. Probably not enough sleep. Made it through work and Aunt Sally's, but I was listless all day. Couldn't come up with anything clever to say, and I felt competitive with and resentful towards everyone around me.

ON THE BRIGHT SIDE:
I made it through with no real damage done.

And Mara visited Borders today, which is always a treat!

A LONG EXPECTED PARTY (AND PARENTHESES)

BE IT KNOWN that on this date in the year 3001 of the Third Age of Middle Earth (S.R. 1401 {that's Shire Reckoning 1401 (we always subtract 1600 from the common calendar to get hobbit years)}, anyway, where was I? Oh, yes ...) ... in the year 3001 of the Third Age of Middle Earth, Bilbo Baggins, a hobbit of Bag End (in Hobbiton {in the Shire (in Middle Earth)}) threw a big ol' beer bash out in the aptly named Party Field (down The Hill {as they call the hill} from Bag End {in Hobbiton (in the Shire {in Middle Earth})}) to celebrate both his and his nephew Frodo (actually his first and second cousin {once removed}) Baggins' birthdays in grand hobbit style. This meant lots of ale, mushrooms, and pipe smoking (sort of like college!), and, being that Bilbo was a most eccentric (and downright weird) hobbit (or halfling), it also meant that, besides every other hobbit (or halfling) in Hobbiton (in the Shire {in Middle Earth}) including those annoying Sackville-Bagginses (long story), there would also be, in attendance, any number of dwarves, travelers, and even a wandering wizard called Gandalf the Grey (that's grey {with an e} in the British sense, not gray {with an a} in the American style) also called Mithrandir (or Olorin {or the Grey Pilgrim}) who was actually an ancient Istari (or Maiar {in a broader sense (like Galadriel, Elrond, and Tom Bombadil {also called Earwain Ben-Adar (whose part was cut from the movies)})} where was I? ... oh, yes ...) ... Gandalf (etc.) was (more precisely) an Istari, or Wizard, like his fraternity brothers Saruman {who went bad} and Radagast {who loved birds (though not in the British sense {meaning young women}). There were others of this ilk, but they never made it to Middle Earth (or, more broadly, Arda), because, rather than deal with all that "reality", they stayed up in heaven (or the Timeless Halls, as they say) like a bunch of pansies, singing the praises of Iluvitar (or Eru {also called The One (or the Flying Spaghetti Monster)}). ANYWAY...

... back to THE PARTY!

It so happened that old Bilbo (being 111 {or eleventy-one}) was in possession of a most important and unsual ring. Not a nose ring or a toe ring or even a ring for the naughty bits (although Gollum spent a lot of time alone with it in a cave, so who knows?); no, none of these! It was a simple finger ring. Did I say simple?! What I meant to say was that it was plain and ordinairy, but only in its physical shape and size. In every other possible sense of the word (Britsh, American, and otherwise) this ring was simply MAGICAL! (Sort of like this missive.) Now, we all know in our hearts that there are two kinds of magic: the good kind (exemplified by Gandalf, Harry Potter, the Good Witch of the North {or was it the East?}) and the bad kind (characterized by Sauron {the Dark Lord of the Rings}, Lord Voldemort {also called You-Know-Who}, and, that old stand-by, the Wicked Witch of the West) . Bilbo, being a mere hobbit (or halfling) had no reason to suspect that his magical ring was evil. All The Ring (as they call the ring) ever did was allow him to turn invisible whenever those nosey old Sackville-Bagginses (really long story) came snooping around. He had owned it for decades and hadn't aged one iota since the day he found it in a cave beneath the faraway Misty Mountains ("where the spirts go now/over the hills where the spirits fly" {see Led Zeppelin}) and won it in a suspicious game of riddles (at which hobbits never cheat, but Bilbo, out of desperation, did) with a sad, hungry, wild-eyed, slimy, scary, pale, scaly, skeletal, Atkins-dieting old hermit called Gollum (once known as Smeagol when long ago, he, too was a hobbit {or halfling}--before being transformed into an unrecognizable, murdering, anti-social, physically decaying, Dick Cheney-like slave to The Ring). So Bilbo rather liked The Ring (as they call the ring). He found it useful, but only because he had no idea that it was actually The Ring. Yes, THAT Ring! The very same Ring that Sauron (the Dark Lord) forged, all those ages ago, in the fires of Mount Doom (in Mordor {in Middle Earth}). So, when Bilbo chose the occasion of his eleventy-first birthday to leave all of Bag End (in Hobbiton {in the Shire (in Middle Earth)}) to his young first-and-second-cousin-once-removed (or nephew), Frodo Baggins (who was coming of age at 33 - as hobbits {or halflings} do), he (Bilbo) chose, as well, to leave his magical ring (The Ring) in the care of the young man he considered the most trustworthy of all the hobbits (or halflings) in the Shire (that being Frodo). Sort of like a present with responsibility attached. Like when your folks buy you your first car. "It was forged in the fires of Mount Zoom," they say. "In far away Motown (in Michigan {in America (on planet Earth)})! Or in Japan." But, anyway, that Frodo was one bad mother - Shut your mouth! Hey! I'm talkin' about Frodo! Er, um ... where was I? Oh yes, Frodo and the ring (or Ring)! You see, no ring (or Ring), no matter how evil and powerful, could possibly convert him into a murderous, obsessive, monomanical, emaciated runway model like Gollum! No way! Not with Sam Gamgee by his side. Ah, Sam! (Another long story.) Frodo's trusty sidekick. He went to sidekick school along with Robin, Dr. Watson, Kato, Tonto, and most of my freinds.

But, anyway, back to ...

THE PARTY!

It seems that, despite his eccentricity, Bilbo could still pack them in (like fat Elvis in his crazy last days) if ale, mushrooms, and pipe weed were plentiful, which they were (just like in college). Added to that were the fantastic fireworks provided by none other than Gandalf, himself (who was, as you are aware, known by many other names, and well-respected even in places as high and mighty as the Timeless Halls {full of pansies and Flying Spaghetti}).

It was a night to remember!

Bilbo's farewell speech had the place in stitches until he put on his magic ring (or Ring) and vanished in a puff of smoke (provided for effect by Gandalf/Olorin/Mithrandir/the Grey Pilgrim, but cut from the movies, like Tom Bombadil {that jolly fellow}). The hobbit (or halfling) crowd went into shock! This time, crazy old Baggins had gone too far! But, soon, they all went back to college (I mean to the ale and the mushrooms and the pipe smoking) thinking it was just a silly parlour trick (even though they were in a field).

But Bilbo, meanwhile, slipped out the back, Jack (made a new plan, Stan) and, leaving his ring (The Ring) in an envelope (in Bag End {in Hobbiton ... oh, get on with it!}) and, after a moment of doubt in which Gandalf (known by many names) nudged him in the right direction (by scaring his socks off, which explains the bare feet), Bilbo left Bag End forever. The old hobbit (or halfling) took up his staff and his pack and rambled on ("Now's the time! The time is now!" {see Led Zeppelin}) across fields and forests towards Rivendell, where the elves live. Ah, the elves. The stuck-up, prissy, prancing elves, so beloved by Tolkien who shows obvious preference for them to their hard-working, hard-drinking rivals, the dwarves. But if Tolkien favored (or favoured, if you're English) the erudite elves (which isn't surprising for an Oxford scholar and professor), we here in the States (or colonies, if you're British), clearly prefer the gold-digging, beer-swilling dwarves (or National Hockey League).

Put simply, Elves are snobs, and Dwarves are slobs.

ANYWAY ... BACK TO THE PARTY!

And so it was that Bilbo bequeathed his home at Bag End (under The Hill {as they call the hill}) and The Ring (as they call the ring) to his nephew (or first and second cousin {once removed}), Frodo Baggins. And so ended The Hobbit (or There and Back Again) and began The Lord of the Rings.

(And now, at last, THE POINT of all this:)

So today, my friends, as you venture out into the world and go about yor daily tasks, remember those brave little hobbits (or halflings), those snobby elves, and those slobby dwarves. And remember Bilbo Baggins who (in case I haven't made it clear) on this date in the year 3001 of the Third Age of Middle Earth (S.R. 1401) left Bag End (in Hobbiton {in the Shire (and so on)}), his wealth (from a dragon won), and, of course, the terrible legacy of The Ring (as they call the ring) to his beloved nephew (or first and second cousin {once removed}), Frodo Baggins...

And not to those awful (long story) Sackville-Bagginses.

YOU SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY!

FOR MISTERPHER CHRISTOPHER

(THE POPE)

We met way back in 1979 (before many of my readers were even born!). It was in Mr. Seitz's history class in an upstairs room overlooking the courtyard of a little brick church called Churchill Way Presbyterian. It was home to a school called Lutheran High. Neither of us was Lutheran or Presbyterian. Figure that one out! Instantly, we began to argue about whose influence was greater - Bob Dylan or the Beatles? And then about who was the better quarterback - Namath or Staubach? And then about who was the best pop/rock act of the seventies - Elton John or Led Zeppelin? And then about which was the better sport - hockey or football? And then about ... well, you get the picture! Obviously, there weren't any right answers to these questions. But that didn't stop us from arguing! But there were things we agreed upon. Disco - to coin a phrase - sucked! Little did we know that these adolescent beginnings would lead to decades of misadventures (including a near drowning incident {while both of us were still in my car}, near fatal cat scratchings, nearly getting lost forever in the desert {"Dude, where are we?"}, nearly getting permanently lost in piney east Texas, nearly getting hit by an oncoming train on the way to a Paul McCartney concert ... that we nearly got to see ... ). Luckily, we survived! And now ... we're old men. But I still think the Beatles were better!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BUDDY!

HUCKLEBERRY BEN

The most remarkable event of this day was that a refugee from Katrina came into the store and asked for directions back to New Orleans. He didn't know how to read a map, so he asked me to write out detailed instructions on a piece of paper. This meant I had to go over to the map section and study a road atlas. 635 turns into I-20. Follow it east for most of the way, until you hit Shreveport. Then it's I-49 south to Baton Rouge. Then, from there, stay the course on I-10 until it leads you to New Orelans.
I asked the guy, "Are you sure you don't want to wait a bit before you go back?" He explained that he was from Jefferson, a suburb of New Orleans (from what I could make out), and that his area wasn't that bad. He seemed like an extremely nice, polite fellow, and was very grateful for what I was doing. I hope my directions don't get him lost. He also bought a large stack of CD's, presumably to play on the journey. This made me very pleased. At least he bought something! That's better than I can say for a lot of directionless direction seekers we get at Borders (or myself sometimes).
I felt a little angry, after that, at some people who send me emails, occasionally (none of whom are reading this), and have put out some pretty negative stuff, recently, saying that "all the right people died" or "that town needed an enema" or "why didn't all those dummies just leave when they were told to?" or "it was God's judgement ... just like the tsunami" or (my big fave) "why are there so many black people on the TV coverage and not more whites?".
So ... I sort of imagined that nice Louisianan and myself as Jim and Huck, rafting down the Mississippi, laughing at the Duke and the Dauphin, and all the other stupid white people we meet along the way...

POOR, POOR PITIFUL ME

What a weird day. It seemed like all the women at work were hitting on me! Maybe it's just my ego, or maybe my body is producing some kind of crazy pheremones, but I swear, they were all over me like craters on the moon! Tara, a voloptuous type who attracts a lot of unwanted attention from male customers, flirted with me all day, and Brian (the guitar guy) told me that she had said I looked like one of those muscle guys on the covers of romance novels. Whatever! I am NOT a bullet-headed Fabio-type. No way! Then Margaret, our office supervisor (cute as a button), linked her arm in mine and walked with me all the way across the store, cooing and sighing. And then Diana, our merchandising manager, who I thought was gay, kept touching me on the small of the back and remarking that I was really hot (meaning my body temperature), but still ... the innuendo!!
I'm not bragging (much). I'm just kind of freaked out! Must resist hubris!
Sans the Lockhart outfit, I'm not used to this kind of attention!
Anyway, I drove home tonight directly into the biggest, roundest full moon imaginable! Maybe that's got something to do with it!!!!!

DOG SLOBBER AND CATNIP

Okay, so --- yeah! I'm planning for this whole Harry Potter Halloween thing and I'm thinking of writing to-do lists, because I like making lists, and because they're bloody useful, and because I love that feeling of accomplishment when I get to mark off something that I've finished. Thing is, there's already plenty of stuff left over from the HP shindig at Borders (courtesy of my friend, Denise, the events coordinator), so I've got to take stock and see what's available. Obviously, I've already got the costume. I've been doing the Gilderoy Lockhart act for so long now, that it's become second nature. I'm debating whether to invite Professor Snape. We'll see ... there zare some unique issues with him/her (yep: pre-op transexual) that make it difficult for me to create a guest list for these kinds of things. I, personally, don't have a problem. Others do. A wise man once sang: "You can't please everyone/so you got to please yourself". But this ain't no "Garden Party" and I ain't no Ricky Nelson. Hmmmm .... managing friends. It can be a real bitch.
Last night was great. I visited Jordan and Amanda at their new apartment (which is as large as a small house, and beautifully decorated). It feels like home the second you walk in. I had some beers, which, looking back, I kind of regret. It would have been better to do things Amanda-style and just drink some tea. But it was Guiness. And I love Guiness. Makes me feel like I'm in jolly olde England. Anyway, their apartment complex is covered with trees and wide grassy areas, and their patio is large and surrounded by plants. Their dog, Trouble, kept jumping on me, licking me and slobbering on me; really making me feel welcome! In a dog sort of way. They also have three cats, and two fish tanks. The place was full of life! I brought them a bottle of wine, sort of like a housewarming gift, but they didn't have a corkscrew. I tried to force the cork down inside the bottle (with a knife), so Amanda could have a glass. It worked, but it caused the wine to spurt up out of the bottle like Ol' Faithful, hitting me square in the face and pushing my hair back like a man in a wind tunnel. We all laughed hysterically! Meanwhile, I showed Jordan my E-chord on guitar (I"m so proud!!) and he showed me all about bar chords and played a little of "Highway to Hell" and "Back in Black", which means he must be reading my blogs. Thanks, Jordo!
Today was fun, too. I love days off!!!! I mowed the yard (which I actually enjoy doing) and weed-wacked the entire property. It looks beautiful. I had to go out to buy a new air filter for the mower and some new cord for the weed eater, but I also wanted to get catnip to start my garden in honor of Rerun. Now ... it took me all of five minutes to go out and buy the lawn equipment. Knew where to go, what to do. Walked straight into O'Reilly's auto-parts, right to the spot where they keep the things I needed, didn't have to ask for help, bought my stuff and boogied on out of there. No problem. Then came the catnip. I sat there in my car and thought, " Now where does one go, in this concrete maze, to buy catnip?" Tried the supermarket. Kroger. Nope. "Outta seeds!" said the lady. Tried Home Depot. They have a huge gardening department. But "no catnip," said the lady. I guess it's not the season for starting a garden ... that's fine. Once upon a time, I didn't know anything about mowing lawns, either. By late winter or early spring, I'll start my garden. Until then, maybe I'll practice on some indoor plants. Also, I work in a bookstore which means I can check out all the gardening books I want ... for FREE!

SHORT AND SWEET

Just a short note to say everything is OK. Work is good. Jerry L. the general manager and everybody's boss (50 years old half Italian/ half Jewish, very sharp and worldly, but a gentle soul, deep down) still wants to make me a manager. Rerun (my cat, for anyone who doesn't know or hasn't guessed) is both fat and bossy. As for me, I'm still being healthy and eating vegetarian (more on this later). Reading a lot. Need a haircut, to mow the lawn, and to have some fun. The upcoming Halloween/ Harry Potter party is starting to take shape in my mind. I've worked up an evite, and I'm thinking of serving foods from Harry's world, recipes for which can be found at http://www.floo-network.org. The butterbeer sounds delish!

CHAOS AND CREATION

A swell day. Still on my health kick. Accidentally becoming a vegetarian. More on this later. Lots going on at work. Mostly good news. I still have "T-Rex" buzzing around in my brain; a generally pleasant sensation. Speaking of such, Paul McCartney's new album came out today and it is an instore play. I kinda like it, and I'm usually pretty hard on old Paulie, because of the colossal past he has to live up to.. The new one is unusually slow, introspective, and sad for him. Not his normal pop pep. His voice is still sweet and sugary, though. I wonder how long it will be before all the young moshpitters at work start complaining about it.
I started taking Vitamin E.

Feeling tired (which is good at this hour). Feeling happier. And more confident. Planning for Halloween. This could be a year to remember! Point of interest: everyday for the last week or so, somebody, somewhere has recognized me as Gilderoy Lockhart from Borders! People have been very complimentary, and they remark on how different I am as Lockhart's mild-mannered alter-ego, Ben. I feel like a celebrity.
This weekend should be fun. I've got Friday and Saturday off (thanks to Jerry the schedule-maker). And I get to hang out with Jordan and Amanda (and Gus, too)! Yippeee!

ALIVE AND WELL (AND "STILL THINKIN' ")

Here I am, alive and well... about to embark on a health kick! Again. I've gained a lot of weight over the last month or so, but I know I can lose it, if I exercise and watch what I eat. Also, there's so much I want to do around the house, but there's just never enough money. It seems, sometimes, like MY life doesn't matter - at least that's the way they make me feel at work. I'm supposed to be "Mr. Team Spirit", so that other people can be lazy and get all the stuff they want. The hypocrisy of it all is starting to piss me off and I just want to kick everybody's ass in the whole place! My review stated that I was the "ideal" customer service representative and I got "exceeds expectations" for everything I do out on the book floor. They knew they couldn't get me there. Now I'm supposed to run the inventory department single-handedly, too? I guess I'll have to help all the customers, take all the back-up calls, do all the meaningless paperwork to keep the corporate zombies happy, and make sure the new books hit the shelves and the old and unwanted books get returned. I'm starting to feel pretty frustrated, and I don't like being criticized. What really irks me is that some of the areas where they say I needed work are for real. I tend to be a little scatter-brained and forgetful. For instance, I lost my store key on Harry Potter night (among all the insanity) which meant we had to change out all the locks in the store and get new keys for all the supervisors and managers. Things like this can ruin a person's reputation! I also hate rudeness and I tend to get combative when someone is crappy to me ... which is actually a pretty self-righteous way to be. If I was truly a humble person, I would recognize that the other person was having issues, and simply let them have them. Which is also a form of cold sadism disguised as humility and patience. But, trust me, cold sadism is what some customers richly deserve!
Speaking of sadists, Brent from the Barnes and Noble days came into the store. Just like he always has, he became agitated and paranoid about some random guy in the store who gave him a "bad vibe". Weird, weird, weird. Then he made his usual negative remarks about some of our mutual friends (well they're MY friends, anyway), talking them down in a competetive keeping-up-with-the-Joneses kind of way. Then he told me how much he was making at his new job and asked me what I was making. I lied and told him less than I actually do. He told me he'd get me a job where he works, but "it's very high pressure," he said. "I'm not sure you could handle it." Then he wrote down his phone number and email for me, and he left. I lost the paper with his info on it.
But on a more pleasant note...
What I really want right now is about a week off and about $5000 extra money to do the things that I want to do around the house. I want to plant a garden. I'm thinking I'll start with catnip so that Rerun will have something to play around in... I also want to go to England. Don't know if I ever will, though, because I rarely end up doing the things I dream about, and what most people consider routine life tasks (work, travel, relationships, buying houses and cars, having a real career) are, for me, sort of like bench pressing Mount Rushmore.
Incidentally, I went over to see Brian last night and listen to him and his brother play jazz and funk. Groove music. They're good, but their snobbery towards any kind of conventional song form only reinforced in in me that, even after all these years, I'm still a Rocker. Thank GOD! And all I wanted to do, for some reason, was come home and listen to old T-Rex:
"Meanwhile, I'm still thinkin' ... "
And, for anyone to whom this matters, I'll be working from 8am to 4pm on Thursday ...

PRACTICE

Okay, I just wanted to practice inserting images into my blog. I found this odd picture and thought it was kind of interesting. It's just weird modern art in a park somewhere, but I like to imagine a silver giant buried beneath the ground except for its hand. Either that, or this hand is shrapnel from an exploding metal colossus; all that's left. Use your imagination. That said, I'm now going to pratice adding a link: http://bigsilverhand.com. This is a meaningless link (I believe), but I just wanted to practice.

GODZILLA, THE CAP'N, ZEN, HARRY, TIME TRAVEL, AND PENCILS

The last two days have been much better than the previous one. Sleep helps. I even got into another tense situation with a customer, and I handled it with aplomb. But enough about work!
I'm on to bigger things. My friend, Kellum, and I got into an involved email discussion about the history and evolution of Godzilla. I know that sounds kooky, but I've always been a fan of the big green guy from Japan. As a boy, I used to force my parents to take me to whatever remote movie theater in town happened to be playing a 'Zilla flick. My folks were good natured about driving me to such distant places as Casa Linda (on the far side of White Rock Lake) to sit, with their feet stuck to the soda-coated floor, in a crowd of screaming, popcorn-tossing kids. The movie theaters were literally trashed after all those young Godzilla fans were through with them.
I can remember watching "Godzilla vs.the Smog Monster" at Preston Center Theater, way back in the seventies. My dad said, "That Smog Monster is so ugly, he makes Godzilla look like Miss America!" My brother kept blowing radiation at me (carbon dioxide, actually), until I told him that his breath stinked and to cut it out!
Back in those days, we didn't have home video, so if we wanted to see an old movie we had to wait for a theater to bring it back around. We could still see vintage sci-fi like "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea" and "Mysterious Island" on the big screen. We didn't, automatically, get to watch whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted, like you spoiled kids do today. Anwyay, I was always scanning the cinema guide in the paper for monster movies! Today, with those good memories very much in mind, I visted Wikipedia (the free online encyclopedia; highly recommended), and discovered just how diverse and labyrinthine Godzilla's alternate universe really is. For every monster he battled there is an equally complex and very unique movie history, and each of these histories cross paths and intermingle in dozens of different ways. Yep, it's six degrees of Godzilla! Of course, I was outgeeked (as usual) by Kellum (or "Lum" as everyone calls him) who recently did massive research and produced an in-depth report on the world, characters, life, and times of Cap'n Crunch (yep, the cereal guy) and discovered a mythology as rich and full as Tolkien's Middle Earth. Amazing. He's planning a similar treatise on Godzilla. I can hardly wait!
So..... tonight was Thursday and that meant I headed out to Aunt Sally's for dinner and a mystery. Joel (a wise old hippy dude, who is very Zen) was there, as usual, and we got into some interesting conversations about religion (I'm frustrated with literalism and fundamentalism!) and, believe it or not, the time travel aspects in some of the Harry Potter stories. I'd go into it right now, but talk of time travel always boggles my mind. It may or may not be a scientific impossibility, but we were discussing the purely "magical" concept of traveling backwards on the time continuum and the disruption it would cause... Star Trek fans have had this debate forever. Now, thanks to Hermione Granger and her "time turner", the Potter crowd has taken the baton (the phaser, the snitch, whatever!) and is off and running! Anyway, Sally was cleaning out her study and she gave me a pencil sharpener and three large jars filled with pencils. Now I have more pencils than any of my friends ...

I am king!

ANGER MANAGEMENT

Had a horrible day at work. The worst. Came home feeling tired and depressed. I just wanted to die. It seemed like every customer was in a bad mood. They all had something to grumble about. And my co-workers are so needy, it's aggravating. So much political crap. And I snapped at a rude customer on the phone. She started going off on me, asking what kind of bookstore are we running, etc. I was trying to be polite and helpful until she said "Maybe I should take my business somewhere else!" So I said, "Why don't you?" and hung up. She called back, pissed, and talked to Margaret, our office manager, who diffused the situation, but it turned out she was with some corporate account who spend thousands of dollars at our store every year. We have some personell changes in that department and no-one has been answering her emails.. I kept telling her that I don't have access to other people's email accounts and that the parties in question were out of the store at the moment. Of course, that's not what she wanted to hear. Anyway, everything is OK for now, because she couldn't remember my name when she talked to Margaret. Whew! (Margaret knew it was me, though, but she seemed to understand.) But I hate it when I handle situations badly. I was just working on too little sleep and seven days in a row of Borders enslavement. I suffer from horrible insomnia and, sometimes, I stay up all night waiting for sleep to take over. It really is hard when I have to go in early. Anyway, it felt like the worst day of my life (which it wasn't, really), so I drove around for a while and tried to sort out my thoughts. But gas is too expensive for joyriding, so I came home and here I sit, still awake, pounding away on the keyboard. Just one more day. One more day and I can exhale!

AFRAID

In the midst of seven consecutive days of work! It's okay, though, because today is Labor Day and I'm getting paid extra.
Meanwhile, last night I felt really scared. I don't know why. When I got home from work I just felt frightened. I don't mean fear of something immediate and tangible (or blood curdling); like a 400 pound homicidal maniac with a bloody, dripping machete creeping around outside my house, jiggling the door knobs or standing silhouetted in the windows while I huddle, shivering, beneath my blankets. No, no. Not that type of fear. Just massive apprehrension about life in general. Fear of failure (and/or success). Fear of everything that lies ahead - yeah, fear of the future. Fear, even, of myself - my own little demons and how they (I) can screw things up from time to time. Fear, in a way, of the past. Not of water that's gone under the bridge, because it's bygone, so who cares? But have I learned from it what I should? I swear, sometimes I feel like life has to pound me in the head with the proverbial sledgehammer before I get the message! Anyway, I relaxed a little and watched a dvd called "Sin City"; very dark noir with violence, sex and not a ray of sunshine. Nobody ever smiles except for the bad guys, who laugh maniacally. But it was also very entertaining and even funny (especially Benicio Del Toro whose severed head keeps on blabbing, obnoxiously, even post-decapitation). I was riveted from the first second to the last. Bruce Willis was in it, too, and, though we're not political soulmates, I love him in movies and consider him one of the greatest macho-type film stars of all time. I don't think he's ever disappointed me in a film. Of course, all that bleak death and destruction didn't help to allay my fears, but seeing those tough guys (and women) on the screen made me want to be tough, too. So, eventually, I went to bed (with the light OFF and no teddy bears).

MYSTERIES IN THE ARMS OF MORPHEUS

Tired tonight, but I'm going to tough it out and go for a nice jog and a workout. I've been sleeping well and working hard. Went to Aunt Sally's last night for Thursday dinner (as I have, regularly, since 1988). It was a delicious chicken dish with broccoli and rice. I mean it was good! I stuffed myself, then I fell asleep while everybody else watched a British mystery ... Inspector Limey or something ... er, no ... Lindley. I think that was it. Inspector Lindley. Or was it Lindsey? I dunno... I passed out. I liked what little I saw, though. Somebody was killing people and the inspector was trying to figure out whodunnit. Eventually, and with the help of his game sidekick, he deduced the identity of the murderer and solved the case. The end.
Same as every other week, only they threw in twists: his mother and brother were involved. Did they do it? If so, which would come first, his family or the law? Or what if someone was killing people for sympathetic reasons? Or what if it was the the yeti?
Anyway, Thursday nights are always a hoot. I'm really thankful for them, even if I spend the latter half snoring on the couch while everyone else watches tensely as yet another Brit goes psycho on his/her countrymen. I love the BBC. They're all so bloody polite: "Pardon me, terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to murder you."
"Oh, blast! And I was so looking forward to cricket tomorrow!"
"Very well, then. Tea and biscuits first, then I'll kill you."
(For visuals, see Eddie Izzard's Dress to Kill.)
Acually, British TV is something I love. Most of the mysteries, comedies and other programmes outclass their American counterparts by a mile. I think it's all the Shakespeare and the reading and picture galleries that does it for them. (I only fall asleep, because I'm so tired from work, and British TV, while excellent, is often a very sedate affair.)
And Sally is a great hostess.

I hope to start making more meaningful entries, soon. For now, though, I am content. I just want to go for a nice long run on a warm evening, then come home and read a good book.