δεν έχει νόημα.

(My blog is telling me that my last publish date was 11.06.08, and that entry can hardly be qualified as an entry. Indeed, it looks as though no ‘typical for me’ entry has been dropped since 10.23.08. There is a moral and I am getting to it…here it is; a proper entry is due, and I am setting about to do it. (Maybe not quite typical (so to speak), but something beyond a few photos and a rant.) With all qualifiers out of the way, I now venture into the unknown…and I only brought one pair of slacks…Oh, dear me.)

The intention was to get up at 7a. Getting up at or prior to 7a is reserved for special occasions; going on a trip, going fly-fishing which I did once…that sort of thing. I did not get up at 7a. I think I rolled out of bed nearer to 8a, which is still remarkably early for me, especially on a Saturday. I suppose going to bed at 6.30p could have assisted in my early morning exuberance for an otherwise gray winter day, but that is neither here nor there. Regardless of reasons, there I was, alive and awake at 8.

A vague list was percolating in my mind as to what was required of me for the day. The weather was not all together horrific, but there have been nicer days if you take my meaning. My car started which was no great surprise, yet I am often taken aback by the magic of a running engine. FAHHHHH, to those who claim it is simple physics… As Sam and I headed northwards toward our first stop I decided a list was in order that I presently put together and entered into my small, white, electron-pumping pocket device.

I completed the first stop with only minor issue. It was a business related situation and it was between me and someone who’s faith does not support business transactions on Saturday mornings… I debated with myself regarding how to actually go about it, a compromise was met and the deal was done in a mutually agreeable fashion.

Following this I ventured further northward, deposited my paycheck then went into a shoppe that is, on occasion, pure bliss. Today was ‘on occasion’. Generally, I am not much of a shopper; my methodology is usually, get in and get out while holding your breath or as close to it as one can. The growing climate of holiday cheer or some other devilry must have gotten into my feet because I found myself a shopping fool. There were a handful of shoes that simple dominated the scene…several of the retro new balance family…and a few more in of the leather, saddle colored, square-ish toed variety. Between the shoes and the men’s wear I passed through the women’s handbag section. I would have lingered longer here had my little sisters not just landed the illin’-est purses in Mexico… The men’s jeans were slightly disappointing when compared to the usual samplings, but the winter wear made up for denim’s shortcomings. I found great delight in four jackets as well as a smattering of knits. In the end I walked out empty-handed feeling accomplished for besting a deadly foe. (AKA, I am waiting for the jackets to go on sale)

The next shoppe was the usual, I bought my small merchandise, the proprietor was a jerk and all was well.

The next shoppe was closed. (Yes, I was saddened by this; it generally has great books. They must assume that people who read don’t rise to go book shopping at 10a on Saturday mornings…So, yeah, noted.)

The next shoppe, The Armadillo’s Pillow, was open. The blast of incense and the ringing bell were in order upon my entry; this is always encouraging while simultaneously slightly noxious. This book shoppe is of the ilt (type) of shoppe where their products smell of old ink, older paper and incense for a long while after purchase and subsequent removal. The air is pungent inside the Armadillo; when one buys a volume they are issued a small amount of pungence whether they wish it or not. Picking through my usual sections I found nothing of interest. The sole employee directed me to the ‘foreign language’ section upon my request. It was during this interchange that I noticed something that froze my blood. (Not really, and yes that is too big a word for this usage (sorry Jack), but I just used it so deal!) Her head was down when I first asked the question, which is not uncommonly the case of employees in these sorts of establishments. As I rounded the register to address her more formally regarding said texts it immediately became clear that she was not reading a book, she was in fact reading a Sony Digital Reader Book. It was horrifying. My mind is still struggling for a proper metaphor but it must be along the line of a pregnant nun or the wedding of siblings…something upon this scale.

In the end I bought four books, three of them on dead languages and one on Italian. I thought that I would be able to keep a lid on my simmering pot of thoughts regarding a used bookstore clerk reading a digital book but seemingly I overestimated myself, surprise-surprise. “Isn’t it sort of sacrilegious of you to be reading on that thing?” I probed while she swiped my cc. “I am trying to save trees…” she replied in a manner that seemed very hollow and thin. I let the thought hang in the air and held her gaze a few milliseconds longer than required but not so long as to generate great discomfort. (You sit here day in and day out surrounded by thousands of already dead, pulpified trees, yet you go to your digital deity and claim to be crunchy.?.? I forgot, that that ‘book’ is powered by happy thoughts and granola. Absolutely not fossil fuel or coal is burned to generate the electricity required to charge that little pocket monster…you’re right, I am not sure where I get off thinking that this is a shade logically misguided.) I left without further adieu or the lambastement that I felt was appropriate.

For 2 hours I poured over an alphabet that made little more sense to me than sony girl, then took a three hour nap.



djmase

11.22.08