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| Moes' Bookstore on Telegraph Avenue |
Walked to Moe’s Bookstore. Took me just under half an hour. Looked for a copy of Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez ( you probably just said what my wife did when I told her what I’d looked for, “I know who wrote Love in the Time of Cholera." You may also, as she did, have said, “you haven’t read it yet?” No, I haven’t.) Moe’s had two used copies but neither met my exacting standards for decent used paperbacks. They did not boast a new copy. So I browsed. Me and bookstore browsing get along like water and ducks. No, make that fish and ducks. I mean fish and water, not fish and ducks. But to say me and bookstores get along like fish and water is too extreme. After all, fish live in water and I don’t live in a bookstore (wouldn’t mind, though). By the way, I like fish, ducks and water just as I like bookstores and of course books. In different ways. Water is in the category of a necessity. Then again I could argue that, for me, books are a necessity. End digression. My browsing didn’t last long because I soon found a sale copy of Dave Eggers’ Heroes of the Frontier. I've wanted it for awhile now. I did a wee bit of gratuitous browsing (who can resist? Not I.). Before “checking out.”
I did not require a bag but took the receipt. I like receipts in books. They are historical records of when I bought a book. I was also given a complimentary Moe’s bookmark. I love bookmarks. I have many from many different places. I like it when museums sell bookmarks. I like it when bookstores have bookmarks with their names and other pertinent information on it. I am a bit of bookmark connoisseur. Are you?
Having completed my business at Moe’s I walked home. The weather here is temperate today (I’m ready for more rain, myself). Of all things, we had a tsunami warning today. People in the marina area were evacuated. Imagine that. In Berkeley! I think the only real danger was for anyone standing near the water who risked being swept out to sea, or actually, bay — but then again if your swept out to bay you might make it all the way to sea. I’m not altogether sure how being swept away works. Except I very well know what it’s like to be swept away by a woman as I was when I met my wife. Well, she wasn’t my wife when I met her. Imagine! She was initially a stranger, then an acquaintance and then a date and soon a crush which was followed by girlfriend before she was afforded (or saddled with) the position of wife. Thirty-four years and counting. Color me lucky.
Where was I? That’s right, walking home in temperate weather. I arrived home and shortly after I did the aforementioned wife departed the premises. Not, presumably to get away from me, although truth to tell we’ve been cooped up together a lot these past two years. Who could blame her for timing her departure for shortly after my return? She got the dump to herself for awhile and then I did. We’ll still end up having spent the better part of the day together which will include dining and enjoying our Saturday night movie. We watch a movie together every Saturday night, a tradition that began shortly after the pandemic came along. I hope the tradition outlasts the pandemic. In fact, I’m damn ready for the pandemic to vanish, or at least begin fading away or receding into the background.
What I’ve done since coming home hasn’t been all that interesting (not that what I did on my little outing was all that fascinating). For example the making and consumption of toast is not typically the stuff of great literature and I understand that many of you probably said: nothing this joker writes is the stuff of great literature. Very funny. Maybe my third novel (currently in the works) will change some minds. I’m sure putting considerable time and effort into it. I’m also enjoying the process immensely.
Can I change the subject?
Thanks.
Ever asked the following question: “how are you today?”
Why the “today?” When you ask someone how they are it is assumed that you mean at present. If someone merely asks, “how are you?” Do you ever answer with a question such as, “you mean yesterday? Or right now?”
Then again maybe in appending the “today” you’re asking the person to be succinct and not detail how they’ve been over the last few days, weeks, months or years. Could get contemplated.
When checking out a store you might be asked (as I have been on occasion). “Will that be all today?” Again I’m confused about the seemingly superfluous "today." More than that the question itself seems silly. If there were to be anything else, surely the customer would not keep it to herself.
Perhaps I’m all wrong, maybe people check out wanting something else but decide not to confide in the checker. I can see it if they want condoms and are the shy type.
Speaking of asking someone how they are, people often respond with, “not bad” or “not too bad” or “not bad at all.” Really underselling it. I guess it breaks up the monotony of always saying, “fine” but it’s not very convincing. I had a friend who always used to say “I’m hanging in there.” Sounded dire. His response always made me worry that he was close to ruin.
I have a more serious complaint. I hate the following: “be careful what you wish for, you might get it.” People who say or write that can fuck all the way off. What a negative, cynical world view. I wish for my children’s health, would it be dreadful if that wish were answered? No. I wish that my third book would be a success. I wish my favorite teams win championships. I wish for rain. I wish for an end to the pandemic. Do I really need to worry getting that particular wish? It's a horseshit thing to say.
I’ve got one more thing to complain about. If you’re on twitter you’ve no doubt seen a tweet of a meme or photo or quote and under it the tweeter has written, “that’s it, that’s the tweet.” WE CAN FUCKING WELL SEE THAT! YOU DON’T NEED TO TELL US. NONE OF US LOOK AT THAT TWEET AND WONDER, HMMM, IS THERE ANYTHING MORE TO IT THAT I’M SOMEHOW MISSING?
Imagine if under one of his paintings, Van Gogh had written, that’s it, that’s the painting. Or if at the of The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald had written, that’s it, that’s the novel.
I’ve said my piece.
Now I gotta get ready for Saturday Movie Night with the missus.
Hey, thanks for reading.
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