Monday, bloody Monday

The other day I was at Barnes and Noble Booksellers waiting for one of my friends to arrive as we were going to attend a feature film (the cinema is right next to this book store).  My friend was running a bit late which left me with ample time to peruse the shelves.  I was in the sci-fi/fantasy section when I noticed two gentlemen walking in from the mall entrance.  They were easy to notice because they were speaking rather loud, voicing their displeasure over the store.  “So this is a bookstore?” one of them said.  “I guess this is what passes for a bookstore around here,” was the reply.  Physically, they were unremarkable.  They were both tall and bespectacled.  One of them was quite lanky and wore very tight clothing which consisted of a pink button down shirt, faded jeans and brown dress shoes.  The other man matched him in height but had more weight, including a gut that hung over the waistline of his pants.  He was dressed in a much sloppier fashion.  I cannot be certain but I had the impression from their body language that they were a couple. 

They happened upon a nearby table on which sat stacks of Barnes and Noble edition books.  There were many titles in this collection, from classics like 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea to the modern like Jurassic Park.  The only unifying factor was the popularity of these titles and the deluxe, hardcover treatment the store chain gave them.  These two men seemed to view these stacks as a personal affront.  “Look at this: Shakespeare next to Neil Gaiman (mispronouncing the last name).  The Holy Bible next to Jane Austen and Gray’s Anatomy, whatever that even is.   Literature next to trash.”  Their combined pretentiousness, arrogance and ignorance were as stunning as they were repellant. 

They then began speaking to a lovely sales clerk – a kind and beautiful woman whom I have spoken to several times while there, often asking for help when I do not require it – and they treated her with a predictable air of strong condescension.  It seemed they wished to buy a gift for a friend and asked questions like “We’re looking for something by Dante?  Would you even know where a book like that would be?” or “Maybe he’d like a book of ancient Chinese history.  I don’t think he’s read anything like that.  You probably don’t have a decent history section here though, do you?” 

Her answers were frequently interrupted with more questions and snide laughs at the responses she was able to get out as they continued attempting to show off their basic Lit. 101 education.  She showed a tremendous amount of patience and courtesy which speaks volumes about her character as a person and professionalism as a worker.   All the while I was biting my tongue to the point of drawing blood in order to resist the logical and near overpowering urge to remove the fine point BIC pen from my jeans pocket (nothing writes like a BIC) and promptly gouge out their eyes, thus rendering Barnes and Noble Booksellers – and indeed, most bookstores – utterly useless to them.  I wondered if they would be rude to this woman or try to prove some false intellectual superiority to anyone if they did not have any eyes.  Forced optic removal and a complete elimination of one of the five classic senses must be a humbling experience on some level I reasoned. 

After having her take them around the store and finally concluding the “pathetic selection” was not yielding any results they left.  I considered following them – knowing that I would have to make no effort to conceal myself as it was certain they would not notice – but I ultimately decided against this action.  There were several reasons but chief among them was that I did not want to miss the movie.  All things considered it was a refreshing moment.  It is incredibly rare to find someone more detestable than myself but to find two people and at the same time must surely be considered something of a miracle.  Neil Gaiman has a new book coming out tomorrow if memory serves.  I plan to purchase and then read this book though first I want to read a couple Isaac Asimov books. 

I spent the other night with a maniacal grin on my face, wearing a black business suit, red cape and an animal mask and pouring champagne down the backs of naked concubines.  My colleagues were in similar attire as I and after a while it became impossible to tell if they were human.  Their faces were twisted and beastly distortions and as the concubines did their work and everything became sticky their former cries of human ecstasy sounded more like twisted and horrifying moans from another world.   

Soundtracks are a tricky thing.  I have many in my vast, eclectic and undeniably impressive music collection.  Over time I noticed a connection between my favorite movies and the soundtracks I own.  Further investigation and applying the rules of causation and correlation revealed to me that my love of the soundtracks was not caused by my initial love of the films but rather that the films I love are all of such high quality (since my taste in movies is also impeccable) that the soundtracks are all excellent.  Music is incredibly important in a movie and often directs the audience as to what emotion they should be feeling.  It can elevate scenes and in many ways act as a character unto itself.  Great filmmakers recognize this and in turn elect great composers to add their own vision to the film.  In the end the movie and the soundtrack become complimentary pieces, with bold providing their own unique flavor of enjoyment.  An exception is The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (the American, David Fincher version) which has a soundtrack I feel is far superior the movie.  It is a soundtrack I adore.    

Along these lines, the past few days my ears have been treated to Hans Zimmer’s elegant Man of Steel soundtrack (the deluxe 2 disc version) and I am repeatedly stunned by not only its beauty and power but how complete it feels.  Even many of the best soundtracks still sometimes have less compelling moments of more ambient sounds or comparably minor themes (minor in the impactful sense) meant to bridge between the more major pieces .  Yet every piece of this soundtrack stands proudly on its own while also coming together to create a sweeping work evoking equal measures of tears and triumph.  In particular, the deceptively simple main piano theme is somehow capable of inspiring both these emotions at the same time.  Would I dare say something as intense (and in some circles blasphemous) as this work being superior to John Williams’ iconic soundtrack to the first Christopher Reeve Superman movie?  Only time and repeated listens will tell. 

My high school senior year AP Government teacher taught me one of the most important things about writing I ever learned.  He taught this to me in less than a minute yet it always stayed with me and always proves effective.  I will not reveal this nugget of wisdom but rather hoard it selfishly, metaphorically clinging it tightly to my bosom and only willing to relinquish the secret after a vicious and well deserved physical beating.  I spoke with a dear friend on the telephone yesterday and after a few minutes I heard concern in her voice and she asked me “Are you okay?”  I comically replied, “What’s the matter?  Don’t I look okay?” 

I played mini-golf sometime in the past few days.  After getting in 18 holes I stopped by the club house and ate a sausage dog.  I put on too much sauerkraut and had to remove some to make the dish more palatable.  I feel like at some point in my life I was buried in an avalanche with some friends and we were forced to eat one another in order to survive but I cannot remember when this happened or who made it out okay.  I do think there was a woman there name Sonja (or was it Sonya, or perhaps Sonia?) and she was quite beautiful and I am almost positive she made it out unscathed because I remember later on hearing rumors from peers that she had her own scandalous website and I immediately broke out in a hot sweat and desperately asked everyone I came into contact with for the URL.  No one provided me with this information and to this day when I am not questioning the reality of these events I am questioning whether they did not give me the URL because they did not know it or whether they did not want me to have it.

 “If you’re that afraid, you should call the police.”  How many times have I uttered those words in the past week?