BEING FOR THE BENEFIT OF MISTER POTTER!

The magical night has finally come and gone. The Hogwarts Express has made its rounds, and everyone is safe and sound (well, not really) back in the muggle world. Meanwhile, on Friday ... there were dementors and witches, badly dressed muggles, a Snape, a Lockhart, a Hermione, a Tonks, a McGonogall, a Quidditch player, a Hogwarts arts professor (name unknown), lots of pirates (?), several gypsies, a number of traveling musicians (with guitars), and even a fat tortoise shell Crookshanks. I now have more candy, brownies, pumpkin pasties, and beer, beer, beer, than I'll ever need, so I'm going to give it all away; candy and cakes to the store, beer to anybody who wants it - which should be easy. The butterbeer didn't really work out. Somebody said, "All that work and all you made was eggnog!" People, however, seemed to have a good time.
The pirates sang randy drinking songs that offended a couple of prudes. Dan "Latte Thunder" (from Borders cafe') put the moves on a slender witch in a short skirt. Someone broke the coffee maker, but Lee (my old housemate who appeared out of nowhere! like magic -and to my great joy!) located an old coffee maker which he remebered he had hidden in a cubby hole somewhere in the house during his stay. And it WORKED! Then Lee put the moves on the slender witch in the short skirt. Brian the jazz snob (who hates it when I call him that), amazed everybody with his guitar playing (even staunch players like Jordan and Gus). I warned "Latte Thunder" to keep his mits off the slender witch in the short skirt. Then I put the moves on the slender witch in the short skirt. Apparently, Hermione's dementor date decided that all the weirdos from the bookstore were good folk, and that he wouldn't give us the Dementor's Kiss. He did not, however, put any moves on the slender witch in the short skirt. People came and people went. Severus "the pre-op transexual" Snape arrived early (in boy mode) with a beautiful date (who was a natural-born woman). However, the potions master left early telling me that (s)he was going to a Halloween party on Sunday night, full of decadence, drugs, and various kinds of sexuality. Sorry I'll miss it.

EPILOGUE:
The slender witch in the short skirt spent the night on my couch (but nothing happened!). We had lunch the next day at a Thai restaurant where it took well over an hour for our food to arrive. There was so much screaming and fighting in the kitchen area (in an angry Asian dialect) that we knew something was terribly awry. I had to call work on the slender witch's cell phone and tell them I was going to be late, because our service was so bad! Even when we wanted to pay our bill we had to go to the kitchen doorway and call inside for them to come out and give us our check. We were told, "I already gave it to you". Wrong. But no apology. Then they refused to give us more than 15% off. The slender witch wanted to pay, because I let her sleep over, but she refused to give what they were asking. So, as the indecipherable hollering continued in the kitchen, she dropped a pittance on the table and we scurried out the door. Gutsy lass!

A weird and interesting epilogue to Hogwarts, a Halloween.

I was ten minutes late to work even though lunch had started a full hour and forty five minutes before I had to be there!

So, the party was fun. Most everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. And the house was left almost perfect except for some minor clean-up and a broken coffee maker. Thanks, Denise, for helping with the set-up, and to everyone who brought anything or just showed up.

Happy Halloween, Harry.

SEQUEL?

Next year (September 22ndish) I'm thinking I'll try to have a Long Expected Party in a field somewhere and make it an authentic Middle Earth experience! (Unless someone talks me out of it.) If I start working on it now, it'll be easier to get it ready when the time comes ... Anybody own any land around here? Or we could do it at Bob Woodruff park -- no booze allowed, though. Which might be OK. Hmmm, how to make Bilbo disappear? And I wonder if I could persuade one very groovy old hippy dude to play Gandalf?

NO ANGRY BLOGGING, NO SEXISM, NO RANDOM BABY CLUBBING, NO WORD SALAD, NO JABS AT DRIVE-BY BLOGGERS, NO APOLOGIES, JUST A FINE, FINE DAY

Indeed, even with all of its problems and obstacles, this has turned into a pretty great day. I was scheduled to work at 7Am (got there by 6:45) where I worked alone with Scott (our hearing-impaired dynamo of an employee) until the rest of the crew started to arrive. Danny (poor Danny) called in sick; said he'd had an episode; fell, and hit his head or something. He'd have a doctor's note, he promised. (I didn't ask). This meant I had to work his job and mine for the first few hours. It also meant I had to cover all of his stations, all day long, which meant that I didn't get (or have) to do any of my own work. This was kind of nice. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed being a simple bookseller. And how easy it is.

Anyway, my favorite customer came in and we had lunch together at the Macaroni Grill. I tried a new pizza they were pushing and, soon, it seemed like every emplyoee in the place came over to ask me how it tasted. The manager even asked me to fill out a survey regarding the new dish. And I have to say - it was one of the best pizzas I've ever had. The Macaroni Grill's pesto chicken pizza. Benny sez check it out! Add to that the conversation and company of an intelligent and beautiful woman, and it was a heavenly luncheon.

The rest of the day went swimmingly. An interesting character called "Terry the Bookstore Guy" came into Borders. He has a total of about three teeth, I think, and wears a t-shirt advertising a different sports franchise every day. He must have closests full of team t-shirts. He also, apparently, has rooms full of books in his house. He knows every inch of our store better than some of the employees. Terry is famous in the bookstores around town. He frequents every Borders, B&N, Half-price, and Waldens in the area, goes to all the book-signings, and sometimes spends hours chatting with the staff. Rumour sez that he won the lottery and/or he's a slum lord. Either way, he's loaded, and has homes in New York, Chicago, Texas, and Florida. In 2004, he made his Florida home his official residence (though he lives mostly here and in Chicago). He wanted to make his vote count in the last election. For whom, I don't know. Terry always tells me I should try for Jerry L's vacant position. He says he's been shopping bookstores for ages and that I'm one of the best booksellers he's ever seen. He even mentions the other managers for Borders and B&N by name and says "You're better than those bozos." He tells me not to sell myself short. He even wrote a letter recomending me to Holly, our regional manager. I keep telling him I'm not ready yet, but he thinks I am.

Sometimes he brings his wife in the store. A very nice lady. I think she has maybe a tooth or two more than he does.

Anyway, it is now 5:18 PM, I'm at home, blogging my heart out and getting ready for dinner at Aunt Sally's - with English mysteries, tales of old Loo High, and the entish musings of one groovy old hippy dude. Ok, that last bit was pretty obscure. But, hey, I'm working on about two hours of sleep. I doubt I'll stay awake through tonight's BBC mystery.

Tomorrow is the big Halloween/Harry Potter shindig. I'm almost ready. The house if full of Hogwarts house banners, hippogriffs, dementors, dragons, and much more! I can't wait!

STREAM OF SEMI-CONSCIOUSNESS

Well it's up to a twist of fate and a bottle of cognac as to where the next missle will land. Maybe in your backyard. Maybe in an elephant's ass. I know only that the men of the ocean are coming to crucify goblins and have mad affairs with limbless trees. But headless though they are, their breath still stinks. So it's time to tear the glove apart, I say, and leave it in the snow. The red snow. The worst kind. You can find rivers of it in places where the sun used to shine. I haven't been there for quite a while, myself, but maybe you have read about it. I'm looking forward to unnatural winters that will freeze them all, the boys and girls, except for a few, to keep life spicy and feed the vultures. I'd rather run my world, than run to them. I hate them for what they make me do. I care nothing for their laws and morals, but I fear their punishments. If only I were wicked enough to get away with everything, I would! I'd rob them blind! I'd eat their souls. I'd suck their hearts out through their fingers. I'd club their children to death. I'd give the world back to the trees. I'd send them back to the caves to fear the moon and play with fire. I'm not one of them anymore. I'm just looking for a few good pilgrims who feel the same way. We'll run a secret network and be cozy in our homes, while the lords of this world overlook us, sleeping all night and working all day, and dying of boredom. Meanwhile, we'll smoke ourselves visionary in the atrium, and whisper around the basement table with candles and coffee. We'll steal expensive rugs and jugs and tables with glee. We'll commune with the gods of old, forgotten by the stupid. We'll sneak out at night, without punchcards or paychecks, and dance slavishly, happily, sensually, naked in what's left of the forests. I'm through with this game and all these insects who run the machines.

THE TEARS OF A CLOWN

Well, it's official. I've been waiting a long, long time for something like this to happen and now that it looks like it's in the making, all I can say is, "It's about bloody time!" The late Keith Moon of the Who (pictured on the right) is finally getting an entire biopic all to his crazed, hotel-trashing, drumkit smashing, deeply sweet, funny, often triumphant, sometimes abusive, ultimately pathetic self. There have been thousands of drummers in thousands of bands (rock, jazz, you name it) over the years, and while we generally admire the techincal prowess of practiced percussionsts, there was only one (okay, two if you count Ringo) whose great talent was that they made the drums sound funny. On a technical level, Moon was, well, completely non-technical. Maniac is the word most often used to describe him as a drummer. He, basically, played whatever he wanted and let the rest of the band make sense of it. But, in those tumbling rolls of thunder and lightning cymbal crashes, a great comedian was at work. I still marvel at the way he follows Pete Towshend's lyric "If I swallow anything evil/put your finger down my throat" with a gurgle-gurgle-gurgle across his drums which - I swear - mimics the sound of someone swallowing. He was equally as fun and fascinating to watch as he was on record. Whereas other drummers show off by tossing their sticks into the air and catching them in a variety of smooth, slick ways, Moon would throw the audience by hurling his sticks into the ether, allowing them to clatter to the floor, then pumping his fist in mock-disappointment; "Damn! I missed!" . Of course, there were times when he really was too out-of-it to catch the sticks, but that's part of his pathos, I guess.
So, with his antics in mind, it's appropriate, I think, that the actor cast to play him is, in fact, a comedian. I had always imagined Mike Myers (shown left, above) as a good candidate to play Moon the Loon (as Keith was known) ever since I saw him in Austin Powers, International Man of Mystery. Apparently, Roger Daltrey, the Who's lead singer, felt the same way and is now producing a movie featuring Myers in the role of rock's funniest, saddest percussionist. Daltrey, known for his swaggering, macho image is famed for the theatrics of twirling his microphone on the end of its cord while strutting around the stage in a display of alpha-masculinity. Moon used to joke that the only reason Roger spun his mike around that way was to fend off the rotten eggs and tomatoes thrown by the people who didn't like his singing.
I'm a bit concerned that Myers might concentrate his portrayl of Moon too much on the crazy, hotel destroying side of the drummer's personality. Keith was also a very funny, sad, and intriguing man. He once gave away his treasured gold plated cigarette lighter (presented to him by Jimi Hendrix) to a bum who was admiring it. Moon must have thought "There but for the grace of God, and the Who, go I". On another occasion, the Who played a show that feaured some of rock's heavier acts as well as, mysteriously, the lightweight folkie, Melanie. The poor girl was mercilessly booed and abused by the rowdy rock 'n' roll crowd. She wept miserably backstage, despite everyone's attempts to cheer her up. But when Keith appeared, dressed up as giant bumble bee, all he had to do was stand there and say "bzzzz", and poor Melanie started laughing hysterically.
Of course, Moon's antics weren't always endearing. Once, when John Lennon and Yoko Ono were having a quiet dinner together at a posh London resaurant, Keith made a grand entrance. Spotting the performance-artist and the Beatle, he leapt onto their table, and began an impromtu striptease. Lennon glared at him, murderously, and with Yoko, beat a hasty retreat out the door. Guitarist Jeff Beck remembers spending a bizarre weekend at Keith's remote estate where Moon took him for a near-suicidal ride in his private hovercraft. Adjourning to the bathroom to vomit, Beck was surprised to find a young woman huddled in a corner. She ran to him, embraced him and begged, "Please take me away with you when you leave. Get me out of here. That guy is crazy!"
Apparently, if Keith Moon had been a geographical location, he would have been a fun place to visit, but a terrible place to live.
It should also be noted that all three of the other members of the Who were known to have belted, smacked, punched, cold-cocked, and poleaxed Keith any number of times. He was brilliantly, maniacally hyperactive and spent a lot of time seeing psychiatrists. His long-suffering ex-wife Kim said, "He ate them alive." She also said that when he wasn't drunk or on drugs, he was a sweet, sensitive, witty, and loveable man. It was only when he started partying, which was most of the time, that "all these other Keiths would come out. He wore so many masks, I never knew who he would be from one minute to the next."
In 1978, Keith tried to clean up his act. Roger Daltrey forced him to go to a health farm. And Keith began taking medicine to combat his alcoholism. On a September night, after a dinner date with Paul and Linda McCartney, Moon died, ironically, of an overdose of the drug that might have saved him. He passed away in the same flat (and even the very same bed) where Mama Cass Elliot had died some years before.
He was only 32 years old. Mike Myers is currently 42.
After writing this, I'm starting to wonder why I should be interested in such a weird, tragic life. I guess there's just this feeling that, while he was alive, he seemed invincible. At least he thought so, as did a lot of the hangers-on and sycophants who reveled in his self-destruction. It's a sad story, and he was nobody's role model. Just a crazy bloke. But somewhere, in my mind's eye, I still see the Who in all their old, forgotten glory, exploding in fire and light, challenging the powers that be, while mad Moon attacks his massive battery of drums with the energy and conviction of a fanatic.


Jim Henson created the character "Animal", the wild and crazy puppet who plays drums for the Muppet band, based on Moon the Loon.

The Monty Python movie, "The Life of Brian", is dedicated to Keith Moon.

Keith invented the name Led Zeppelin.

TODAY'S QUOTE:
"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet
Are of imagination all compact."
--- Shakespeare

THINGS I DID TODAY:

1) Had an interesting breakfast (boiled egg whites & rotell tomatoes w/green chiles - all mashed together {surprisingly good!}, and toast).

2) Mowed the lawn, edged the lawn, sat back & admired the lawn.

3) Let Rerun out to play in the freshly cut backyard.

4) Surfed the net. Read a lot about prostate cancer, since I'm almost forty and shouldn't be eating eggs and even tomatoes and onions all the time! I knew about white bread and red meat, but tomatoes? Onions? But I still can have all the chicken, fish, whole wheat bread, non-tomato/non-onion veggies and fruits that I want.

5) Worked out, big time.

6) Called Jerry S. at work, to catch up on things (and show that I care).

7) Majorly rearranged my bedroom furniture. Still a work in progress. Hoping for the best.

8) Got a call from Patricia (an old B&N co-worker) who invited me out to have beers with her, her husband Tom (a nice old guy in a wheel chair), and Mike (a mutual friend who was visiting from New York). Didn't want to drink, so I said I'd meet them at their house when they got back.

9) Went over to Pat's.. Said "Hi" to Mike who looked healthy and happy. Said "Hi" to David, who lives with them. She (formerly "he") has legally changed his (now "her") name to Dani (long story). She (of the budding boobies and lingering, dangling ding-a-ling) was in an affectionate, good (but not manic) mood. Almost ... mature. So was I. Case in point: I resisted all temptations of the cold-and-frosty-made-of-hops-and-barley variety, no matter how much my mouth watered. However, I devoured the spicy chicken wings they offered me, and drank apple juice as if it were beer.

10) Ran five miles on the Chisolm Trail, in the cool night air. Got a mild runner's high. It's like running on the clouds; silent, still, and beautiful. The trail winds through an open area where there are soccer fields. Sometimes the whole plain is covered with a ground fog. Running through there at night, with the lights of houses twinkling in the distance, can be a sublime experience. Better than any drug. Marvelous.

11) Stopped by the store and got skim milk, bottled water, and cat food.

12) Came home, read other's blogs, started writing my own. Thought a lot about my project. No amount of criticism will ever make me quit. Creating names of places: Tristan Hollow, the Buy-n-Bye Convenience Store, Lake Wollunga, Whiskey Dick's Tavern (where Jake Paul and the Sreaming Weenies have been known to perform), Antenna Hill, and more...

I love days like this.

QUOTE OF THE DAY:
"You never know what was imprinted upon the earth before we laid down our concrete."
--- Chelsea Laine

BEAUTIFUL WORLD

My my my it's a beautiful world.
I like swimming in the sea.
I like to go out beyond the white breakers
Where a man can still be free
(or a woman, if you are one).
I like swimming in the sea.

My my my it's a beautiful world.
I like drinking Irish tea
with a little bit of lapsang souchong.
I like making my own tea.

My my my it's a beautiful world.
I like driving in my car,
roll the top down, sometimes I travel quite far.
Drive to the ocean, stare up at the stars.
I like driving in my car.

All around is anger, automatic guns.
It's death in large numbers,
no respect for women or our little ones.
I tried talking to Jesus, but he just put me on hold.
Said he'd been swamped by calls this week
and he couldn't shake his cold.

And still this emptiness persists.
Perhaps this is good as it gets
when you've given up the drink
and those nasty cigarettes.
Now I leave the party early.
At least I leave with no regrets.
I watch the sun as it comes up.
I watch it as it sets.
Yeah, this is as good as it gets.

My my my it's a beautiful world.
I like sleeping with Marie.
She is one sexy girl, full of mystery.
She says she doesn't love me,
but she likes my company.
For now that's good enough for me.

My my my it's a beautiful world.
I like swimming in the sea.
I like to go out beyond the white breakers
Where a man can still be free
(or a woman, if you are one).
I like swimming in the sea.

--- Colin Hay

My friend, Chris, burned a highlight CD of Colin Hay's music for me recently. I like every song on it, and I've been spinning it regularly ever since I brought it home. If I were a music critic, and it were a proper album, I'd give it a solid A. If you don't already know, Colin used to be in a group called Men at Work, who were big news for a brief period way back in the early-to-mid eighties. Their most famous song claims they came "from the land down under", but I think Colin is, actually, from Scotland. (Chris would know better than I.) Hay's solo music is more introspective, mature, and organic than his old band (who were zany and synthetic). The song above has a great feeling, I think, and says something interesting about life here on the third rock out. (I've printed the lyrics only because I can't reproduce the song, itself, on my blog.) Colin's work is a bit obscure, but he has a track on the Garden State soundtrack. His Transcendental Highway CD and his best-of, Man at Work, are available for order any number of places.

I'm plugging Colin Hay's music for him , so I hope it's okay that I used his image and lyrics on my blog.

BEING FOR THE BENEFIT OF MISTER KITE!

Well, today is John Lennon's birthday. I thought I would celebrate with a brief write-up about one of his and the Beatles more obscure songs (if there is such a thing as an obscure Beatles song).

One of my favorite Beatle tunes is a lesser known track from the Sgt. Pepper album called "Being for the Benefit of Mister Kite!" It's a 19th century circus advertisement, in song form, in which the atmosphere of that time and place is re-created in lurid psychadelic style. Calliopes hoot and swirl about in a vortex, Ringo Starr's drums mimic the oom-pah-pah of a waltz, and John Lennon trills his terminal d's with the avarice and panache of a Dickensian ringmaster (ex. "challenge the worl-dah!"). I have always found the song eerie and delightful. And, what's more -- I love the story behind it.

The song's secret is that it was, in fact, stolen almost verbatim, from an antique circus poster.

Lennon found the old advert while shopping in Sevenoaks, Kent where the Beatles were making a vintage music video for "Strawberry Fields Forever". All the characters and events, and much of the language, can be found in the promotion for a show that took place in Lancashire in 1843.

Below are the lyrics and the poster.


For the benefit of Mister Kite
There will be a show tonight on trampoline.
The Hendersons will all be there
Late of Pablo Fanque's Fair - what a scene!

Over men and horses, hoops and garters,
lastly through a hogshead of real fire!
In this way, Mister K will challenge the world!

The celebrated Mister K
performs his feat on Saturday at Bishopsgate.
The Hendersons will dance and sing
as Mister Kite flies through the ring - don't be late!

Messrs. K and H assure the public
their production will be second to none,
and, of course, Henry the Horse dances the waltz!

The band begins at ten to six
when Mister K performs his tricks without a sound.
And Mister H will demonstrate,
ten summersets he'll undertake on solid ground.

Having been some days in preparation,
a splendid time is guaranteed for all.
And tonight Mister Kite is topping the bill!


Pictured at left is the real Pablo Fanque, Britain's first circus owner of African descent. He is just one of the many intriguing and seemingly arcane characters that Lennon lifted from the ring top ad. Click on the poster image (above) to get a larger view. (For a readable reproduction, without all the fancy script, try this: Read The Poster .) You'll recognize Mister Kite, the Hendersons, and the rest; all of whom were real people. There is, however, nothing about Henry the waltzing horse, but rather a Zanthus, whose dancing skills are not mentioned. Apparently, Henry was Lennon's embellishment. (And Mister H's somersets, Lennon calls summersets.)

"I wasn't very proud of that," said John of the song in 1980. "There was no real work. I was just going through the motions, because we needed a new song for the Sgt. Pepper album at that moment. I had to write it quick, because otherwise, I wouldn't have been on the album. Later, there were all kinds of stories about Henry the Horse being heroin. I had never even seen heroin in that period."

In a different interview, John called the song "cosmically beautiful".

Editorially speaking, I'm as ambivalent about Lennon's larceny as he is. One might call it cheating, but then again, inspiration can come from anywhere. Afterall, he wrote "A Day in the Life" based on stories in a newspaper!

To read all about Pablo Fanque, Mister Kite, the Hendersons, et al -- go here:
http://www.beatlesagain.com/bkite.html

Happy Birthday John! Thanks for the music.

URBAN EXPLORATION

I'm currently doing research for my project. I've discovered a fascinating subculture which is likely to be a part of the story. It's something called "urban exploration" (Urbex or UE). These are modern day spelunkers (aka "reality hackers"). Many of these groups are formed by teenagers or college students (though some are older), and the phenomenon came largely into being in the 2000's. They are known for exploring areas of modern civilization that are usually hidden or forbidden. These include urban tunnels and storm sewer systems; steam tunnels beneath college campuses and hospitals; abandoned shopping malls, amusement parks, asylums, and missile silos; cemeteries; hotels; airports; and subways. (There's also a fringe element who go into sanitary sewer systems; a fringe of a fringe - whew!) Urban explorers maintain an almost sacrosanct respect for the "beauty" of these places. Even sites of graffiti and vandalism are viewed as part of the overall effect. Some spelunkers leave their own graffiti, but this is typically just a small, personal symbol to indicate that they've been there or as a guide for future explorers. They have a remarkable set of rules that vary, slightly, from group to group. Some adhere to the Sierra Club motto of "take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints". Others condone taking small souvenirs. Some leave "guest books" for others to sign when they reach the same depth of exploration. The most notorious (and, apparently, well organized) of these are a group called The Cave Clan who operate out of Australia. Many believe they are responsible for the proliferation of "This is a Heavy Object" stickers in subways and sewer systems all over the world; another strange phenomenon. So, yeah, this is really interesting material, and I think I can work it into the tale. We'll see. Just an update.
You can read all about urban explorers here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Urban_exploration

ALL WORK AND NO PLAY ...

I'm beginning to feel the slightest bit managerial at work. Very interesting. My favorite part of this is in communicating with people. Of course, with some employees, this is not the easiest thing to do. And with some managers, it's even worse. For instance, Diana, the merchandising manager, consistently hogs all the help for her projects, even when mine are more pressing. Jerry L. told me that if I confronted her, calmly and fairly, she would back down. Easy for him to say; he's her boss! I found her to be selfish and condescending. (She's an only child, you know.) On a positive note, I've finally mastered the complex science of communicating with Jerry S. I have to get all my thoughts organized (to the point of writing them down on a timeline on a calendar) and then force him to schedule time to have a discussion. By God, it works! And I feel as if we might actually have something of an understanding. He's even making appearances on the book floor now. Whoooopeeee!!!! Ironically, the best communicator of the bunch is a deaf employee named Scott. I don't know sign language, so we spend a lot of time writing each other notes. Sometimes he jots down jokes on the little pad of paper he carries everywhere with him. Many of these are quite scandalous, which surprises me, because he seems so harmless and meek! Once he even scribbled an angry message to me : "You stole my favorite parking place today!" When he speaks, he sounds like Mickey Mouse, and I have trouble understanding, so we usually end up writing each other notes. It's either that or use a lot of expressive hand motioning and succint speech (for lip reading). Once, after a really huge delivery, Scott motioned to the massive mountain of boxes, then mimed lighting a match and throwing it into the sea of cardboard: "Let's burn 'em all and save ourselves some blood, sweat, and tears!" Ha ha ha! So, yeah ... that's work ... At home, today, I had to put all my chemical wastes (paint, and an old car battery) in a big cardboard box, fittingly marked "Chemicals", and put it all out by the curb for pick up tomorrow. I had to call the city and schedule it. The box was so big and heavy that I couldn't carry it all the way to the street, so I heaved it into my car trunk with a herculean effort, and drove it down the driveway to the curb. The trunk would not close all the way, if that gives you any idea! Pretty exravagant doings for a simple task, but I don't own a dolly. Next week all the bulk trash will go (two couches, etc.). And, after that, my old car. Poor old Kenny! So now I am tired, so I think I'll relax and go to bed.

QUOTE OF THE DAY: "Life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about."
--- Oscar Wilde

ANOTHER DAY

Today (Oct. 2, Sunday) was almost a carbon copy of yesterday. Worked, worked out, ran. The usual frustrations at work. Happy at home. Maybe tomorrow will be more inspired.

QUOTE OF THE DAY: "Life isn't a matter of milestones, but of moments."
--- Rose Kennedy

GOOD NIGHT

Sent out the Hogwarts, a Halloween party evites! Everybody (related in any way to Borders or B&N, that is) might want to check your email! Long day at work. Not much to say about it. Holidays coming. People quitting. Got our work cut out for us. Still feel strong and healthy. Want to share that feeling with EVERYBODY! Thus the party! All you need is love. I'm going for a late night run in the park (Chisolm Trail) by my house. Always fun and adventurous! I'll write more tomorrow. For now - goodnight, everybody. Everybody, everywhere ... even conformist, cell-phone-addicted yuppie scumbags. Good night.