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Friday, August 22, 2003

Of Rollins
It's a small bookstore--the kind that's family owned and operated for so many years that you wonder how inbred they've become. It's become smaller over the years, a change not due to wall space but how the books are set up. Covers are turned out instead of bindings, to mask the fact that inventory is low and times have been better. The two fattest cats I've ever seen inhabit this literary place, roaming around with bells on their collar to alert customers of their presence. Up front are bargain buys and desk calenders for 2004, behind is a front desk. An old woman is always there; always on the phone. Signs on the glass door are the only decoration : "PLEASE DO NOT LET MERRIAM OR WEBSTER OUT OF THE BUILDING. THANK YOU." and "HOURS OF OPERATION", which does not actually list the hours of operation.
Today, there was a new sign- "PLEASE EXCUSE OUR DUST. WE'RE MOVING, BUT STILL OPEN!"
I come here to buy books to make people laugh. I read other books too, you see, but I figure I can get the rest at the local library. The old lady frowns, perturbed at the fact that I want a Doonesbury anthology or a book of Bushisms instead of literary works of art. Or historical mysteries. The old lady loves historical mysteries. She does not know of my library habits.
The only time I ever bought something she approved of, ("The Orwell Reader"), I think she didn't believe it was for me.
Nothing humorous is ever in stock. The old lady knows me by name now, knowing that I want something laughable and I want it ordered now. So she pretends to look busy on the phone until I start leafing through the April 1998 copy of People that is perpetually on the counter. That's our signal.
"Yes?" she'll say, and tilt her glasses up.
"I'd like a copy of '750 Ways To Annoy People'". Noticing the slight wrinkle in her forehead that has been created, I add quickly, "It's a birthday present for my sister. Joke. Get it?"
The lady does not laugh, but orders the book and tells me it will be here in a week. It's always here in a week.
I thank her, and excusing the dust, I exit.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 3:03 PM

Wednesday, August 20, 2003

How Do I Despise Thee? Let Me Count The Ways
A dude named Kevin called little ole' me on Sunday. Kevin does not know me, nor do I know Kevin, but I do know this: Kevin has a sucky job. Kevin has the misfortune to be a telecommunications person who is doomed to call random people and ask if they would like to preview future sitcom shows and give their opinions. Kevin is also doomed to say this in a highly mockable (just condemn me to hell now) voice that sounds like a cross between Arnold Shwarzenegger and day-old Alabamy cornbread.
Well, of course I said yes.
NBC priority-shipped (whoo!) me a special tape on Tuesday that erases as it plays. Little did I know how valuable that little curiousity would become, for so bad was the material it contained.
The sitcom I was sent was tentatively titled "Dads". This was written over a tentative theme-song that sounded like, well, Kevin attempting the feel-good blues. I take that back. This was way worse than anything that Kevin could emit, cornbread or no. Cutesy, tentatively kid-drawn pictures of houses, playgrounds, mutants, etc, flashed.
{Ed Note: If all that was above and immediately below is not tentative, and somehow makes it upon your television screen in the near future, I suggest we start a commune in Siberia somewhere.}
I won't go into the minor details of the entire show (for both your sake and mine; I had to sign a contract), but picture this: Full House, 8 Simple Rules, and Mrs. Doubtfire had all been horribley mangled in the same accident, and emerged without any of the original freshness, comedy, or the acting chops of Robin Williams to be seen. Throw in a hot blonde divorcee damsel in distress (gag) and a Nazi nanny (Kevin's mother, I presume), and you've got "Dads".
Today I called by NBC again, asking for my reaction of the tape. Except I didn't get to tell them how I wanted to poke my eyeballs out with a spork when I saw their new sitcom. Why? The conversation went somewhat like this:
NBC (woman's voice): "Hi, may I please speak to Meredith Gag?"
Me: "Gage."
NBC: "Yeah, whatever."
Me: "Excuse me, but may I please speak to Kevin? I find you insulting."
NBC: "I'm Karen, and I just have to ask you a few questions. What brand of feminine hygiene product would you say you normally buy? Always, Kotex, Stayfree, Ob, another brand, or a store brand?"
Me: "Don't you want to know what I thought of Dads?"
Karen: "Just answer the question."
Long story short, I spent half an hour on the phone talking about Aunt Flo.
I find this doubly amusing considering the quality and characters in the Dads. Besides the blonde divorcee, there are no other female characters over age 6 and under age 60.
NBC, from my lucrative age group to yours: you suck.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 6:59 PM

Monday, August 18, 2003

No, It's Not Prosititution
The funniest/most idiotic fucking thing I've heard all day:
David: i was babysat 2day
Me: why?
David: tey wanted money
Me: LOL who paid them?
David: me
Me: you are insane
David: they are desparet for moneya nd i am desperate for haning out with a hott gilr.
Ahh, the dog days of summer.
This being my last Monday of freedom before l'ecole begins, I celebrated by sleeping in and answering yes or no questions only.

Fresh squeezed by melly at 8:30 PM