Smelly Books for Sale!

This place had a book fair the other day, only $1 a book.
But wait, that's not all!
Get there in the last hour, like I did, and you can get as many books as fit in a box for just $5!

Combing random piles of books to determine whether they are worth a dollar is a rigorous mental process. "Might someone else benefit from reading this? Do I need the extra clutter? Will I actually read this?"

But when volunteers begin barking "$5 a box," the criteria slacken a hair:
"Will this fit in the box? Does it have words and/or pictures on the pages? When the End Times come, how long will this burn, providing me warmth and light?"

When all was said and done, I think finding the Bridge to Terabithia was worth the $5. But I'm all set if I ever decide to visit Atlanta, Sicily, or Thailand, refinish some furniture, or need inspirational quotes for teachers or lawyers. Or if I can't sleep.

Variation on a Theme

"You can't fire me, I quit!"
or
"You can fire me, but when you realize what an asshole you are and offer to 'let' me come back, I will say to you: Thanks but No Thanks! [Asshole!]"

Speaking of themes, it's not unusual for me to be among the most diligent and competent workers at a company and simultaneously be the least paid/appreciated/respected. Honesty, reason, and an unwavering willingness to help out will get you nowhere at a lot of jobs, but I'm sure I'll find one where that's not the case.

The silver lining in this case is that there are a dozen people in the office who completely back me up, and are as sad to see me go as I am to leave. And I find that I am still capable of making difficult decisions based on principle. So it could be worse.

Yesterday -

Saw a kid stealing mouthwash from the corner store - my new credit score is 804 - returning desire to paint the 4th, white wall of my otherwise green room

Who I am

I am a condescending hypocrite with a big brain*, bigger heart, and a slew of abrasive defense mechanisms that, when balled up together, are bigger than 12 of those brains and 9 of those hearts put together. (Laid end to end they circle the earth 47 times, but I never thought that kind of visualization was very useful.)

I was born to have hairy legs, weird thumbs, and freckles - but also to have nice eyes, tall...ness, and, well, freckles.

I often blame my circumstances on...my circumstances, but I'm not afraid to take responsibility for my life.

I sometimes trick people into thinking I can really juggle by juggling for a few seconds, then acting like I don't feel like juggling anymore, when really if I tried to jug- one more -gle, I'd drop everything but I usually explain to those people that I've just tried to trick them into thinking I can juggle.

I write in a blog I know my family and a very few friends read, often revealing my innermost thoughts, but I don't write every day, week, month, or season. So what?**


((*I say to this to mean both that people often think I'm smart (I think they're wrong) and that I have a big head. Serious. Human hats don't fit on it. No lie. Send me a hat, I'll send you a picture of it not fitting on my head.))


Now, you have me at a disadvantage!
Who are you?
**and how was your summer?

There's this guy Paul,

and I am nearby when he tells this story, showing off a framed print of this comic book page, the intellectual property of Frank Miller:

"So I give it to the Kinko's girl to scan, and she says 'I can't do that sir, it's copyrighted material.' So I go, 'I'm Frank Miller." [Here, storytelling Paul freezes every facial muscle in what is no doubt a flawless recreation of his excellent poker-face deadpan.]

"Then she started to argue with me, so I cut her off - I'm Frank Miller."

It becomes obvious to me that his story is that he cleverly manipulated a Kinko's employee...but wait a minute. Would a Kinko's employee care? Would they go that far and not bother to check his ID? Above all else, why would a successful and published comic book artist need to go to freakin' Kinko's to get a medium-quality print of their own work??

So I call bullshit!

"Bullshit Paul! You did not tell the Kinko's girl you were Frank Miller."

"Yeah I did, buddy."

"You are such a liar."

Paul is already walking away, but turns to deliver this gem before shutting himself in his office:

"I don't lie Joe. It's not worth it."



(For those who are slow like me, I would point out that Paul is not Frank Miller)