Thursday, July 14, 2005

Knowledge is Power

OK, so at lunch today I broke my rule of avoiding bookstores and decided to go to one. I had to get out of the office because the gentlemen on the loading dock below me have apparently been removing items from trucks and then hurling them into the vending machines. The noise has made it very difficult for me to sleep.
So I went to the bookstore which always makes me sleepy. They also always makes me...um...have the urge to watch "Seabiscuit", if you know what I'm saying. I don't know why they have anti-theft detectors at the door to the bathroom but nowhere else in the store. There's no way I'm going to sit in their little "We're Trying to Look Close Enough to Starbucks to Avoid Copyright-Infringement" cafe reading 9 pages of The Historian, pretending I'm going to buy it but really just spilling nutmeg and biscotti crumbs inside it while I thumb through looking for the dirty parts. BUT, I will take a book into the restroom and test it out, see how it feels on my lap, how well it rests on the back of the toilet tank, etc. Why? Because my home is cafe and barista-free but I do have a bathroom...a bathroom where I will be reading. I should be writing this shit on the comment cards...

Anyway, after reading Uncle Conor's page, I was inspired enough by the Amazon synopsis to also want to read "A Million Little Pieces". I thought I'd pick that up, along with the new Vibe magazine ("The Sexy Issue"). While I was there, I realized that it can be fun to read pharmaceutical descriptions out loud from the Physician's Desk Reference, and commently loudly about whether or not you actually got that side effect. "Huh-uh, I took twice that much and never got dry mouth, impotence, or thrush. These guys suck." Then, politely hold out the pages that show pictures of pills, remove something from your pocket and ask passersby if they think yours looks like the one in the picture. You may want to mutter something about not being able to remember if you're eating Xanax or Nerds candies.

As I walked to the counter with my book about, uh, a guy's battle with drug addiction, I caught a glimpse of myself in the window. Last night I was at Goodnight's, but didn't get to go onstage because there were several comics from out of town or some shit like that. Short synopsis- one guy backed into and shattered the neon "Goodnight's" sign and another looked like a miniature Martin Sheen, like if you were ever going to make a "West Wing" snow globe you could place him inside behind a tiny desk and it would be quite the collectible. Anyway, since I didn't have to be funny, there was a fair amount of alcohol consumption and about 19 minutes of sleep. Also, I drove back from Raleigh this a.m. after staying at Runtie's and was wearing the same jeans I wore to the club (which have the distinctive 'cigarettes and bitterness' scent that results from an evening with other comics) and a Ramones t-shirt. This is practically erotica. I am one sexy beast.

Side note on hereditary drunken tendencies- I just get insanely chatty, rivaling the verbal skills of Blossom's sidekick Six, portrayed by Jenna von Oy on the brilliant sitcom "Blossom". My sister, Runtie, gets mean in a slapstick way. She hits people with her purse--or in the case of last night--launches a 24 oz. sorority tumbler across the living room where it lodged directly in my skull. I have a knot on my head so large it looks like I'm growing a horn. Our mother tends to combine both traits when she's had too much (read: one mai-tai) and blurts out silly things about her friends like "Linda's really 54, not 52! I saw her passport!" or "Diana cheats on Atkins! She hides bread in her car!" or "Barbara doesn't love her husband! And she never did! Hehehehe!"

Anyway, I realized that today--when I have bags under my eyes large enough to hold pomeranians, a knot the size of a sugar maple growing out of my forehead, and a shirt featuring notorious drug abusers--I probably shouldn't buy a book about junkies, regardless of how much of it I read in the bathroom.

Author's Note- While in the above paragraphs, I reference my experience with prescription drugs, it is purely for comedic purposes, very similar to the way those miniature woodgrain roulette wheels at Marshall Field's are just for entertainment purposes. I have very limited experience with drugs due to the terror ingrained in me by Sergeant Mitchell who led my D.A.R.E. class in 5th grade. He taught me that pot smells like burning rope, that users never win and winners never use, and that if your drugs are confiscated by the police department they will hot glue them onto pieces of plywood and show them to elementary schoolers. Again, I'm not into the whole drug scene, unless someone would like to take a hit from my asthma inhaler. I will never bogart the Ventolin.

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