We Won't Burn it. Yet.

Irreligiliuous (sic) progeny captured irony on a cell phone. Barnes and Nobel has about 20% of its shelves filled with Christian books in subcategories like Inspiration, Bibles, and God/Self Help.

J overheard a staffer training a new staffer explain that the biggest problem in re-shelving universe is that the Christians go to the modest 30 inch shelf of books labeled Gay/Lesbian, and they turn the books around so others can’t read the titles.

Not believing in the whole vengeance is Mine thing, J promptly moved some books from the section labeled Bibles to the section labeled Religious Fiction.

I asked a staffer to help me locate Jeff Sharlet’s “The Family” and was told they didn’t have it but would let me know if they obtained a copy. Not that they’d order me a copy. I suspected it was another Christian Conspiracy, but put that down to my paranoia, coupled with my understanding of why the Internet is killing bookstores (or at least mega corporate ones) like any other self-interested big corporate enterprise in our fascist state.

Then I got this email:

Dear ____,

Thank you for your order. Despite our best efforts, we were unable to fill your order for:

1 copy of Family: The Secret Fundamentalism at the Heart of American Power, 0060560053

We are sorry that we were unable to complete this order and apologize for any inconvenience this has caused.

If you would like to place a new order for this item, you are welcome to call us at the number below. Please reference the order number indicated above.

Sincerely,

The Booksellers at Barnes + Noble Booksellers #2733

5500 Grossmont Ctr Dr Suite 331

La Mesa, CA 91942

619-667-2870

This e-mail was generated by an automated process. Please do not reply to it.

A bookstore that is “unable” to order a book for a customer, and I have no need to know why. I ordered it on Amazon during a commercial in the Maddow show. This email is, I now believe, one step away from burning our books. So that’s the last time I darken Barnes and Ignoble’s door, and you should too.

Better Late Than...

DOB: … I don’t want to be a burden….

UCC: (stricken speechless)

WISIMH: Ok, let’s put 20 seconds on the clock and see what I can make of this
Too late, sweetie!
Approximately twenty years too late, you cow.
Then try holding your breath until you fall over.
And you’re going to avoid that how? By doing your own laundry, cleaning your own room, cooking your own food, doing your own shopping, running your own errands, ordering your own meds, keeping your own doctors appointments, taking out your own trash. I could go on.
Then consider taking a bath or shower every day. And here’s an idea: use soap and maybe even some deodorant. And try changing your clothes more than twice a week.
And I don’t want to be a bitch, but here we are.

Dogs and Longevity

TCG: Hey. There’s a neat statistic.

UCC: (Not wearing hearing aids) What?

TCG: You live an average of 3 years longer if you have a dog.

UCC: No kidding?

WISIMH: So TCB will live until approximately the twelfth day of never. And with so many loveable characteristics. To name a few: the patience of an untrained circus monkey; the paranoia of a tweaking meth-head; the reasoning skills of a 2-year-old in need of a nap, the charm of a hungry alligator in a kiddie pool; one tooth; the personal hygiene practices of a homeless drunk, the conversation skills of a boiling kettle; the situational awareness of a comatose possum; the manners of a demented hag with one tooth. Not to mention, the fragrance of a dumpster during a garbage strike.

Those Flowers

DOB: (Waving her hand in the general direction of the front yard) What are those flowers?
UCC: (Trying to figure out what the fuck she’s pointed at) You must be looking at the red bottlebrush flowers.
DOB: I don’t know. What do they look like?
UCC: They’re red. And they’re shaped like bottlebrushes.
DOB: I don’t know.
WISIMH: Do you even pay attention to what comes out of your own mouth?

Again with the Blogging

TCG: Are you blogging again? Don’t you have anything else to do?
UCC: I do this one or two mornings a week, and I’m retired, so bite me.
TCG: But you go away when you’re at the computer, and I miss you.
UCC: Sometimes, I have to go away, but I always come back because I have a soft spot for you.
WISIMH: And because the soft spot is in the middle of a pit of quicksand. And because it’s hard to spend all my time in your stifling presence. If I tried, I’d probably be doing harder time within six months because I haven’t yet perfected the foolproof crime or the airtight alibi.

More (Approximately) Twenty Questions

One way to think of our brief lives is to consider our time here as the ultimate game of twenty questions. Our task is to find that “one true thing” (or twenty). Before we can answer what I’ll call the Big Twenty, we have to stop wasting time on answering questions that shouldn’t make the cut.

I offer below some of the questions I’ve answered only to realize they shouldn’t make the Big Twenty cut. By not wasting your time on these question, you could save years of time on detours in the journey of your life. You’ll thank me later.

#11. Will I ever outgrow my distrust of authority?
Not so far, but I begin to suspect that my intermittent distrust is replaced with chronic paranoia as I age. So, I’ve got that to look forward to.

#15. Are more people killed each year by runaway steam engines or malfunctioning jet packs?
This could actually be one of the Big Twenty, but I’m still conducting research and I’m no closer to an answer than I was at age 16.

#38. What collectible object will become the next new overpriced speculatory sensation?
Toast with pictures of saints burned into them. Papist toast!

#47. Do you promise never to use MSG when you cook?
If, by MSG, you mean monosodium glutamate then I’m on board. However, unexplained acronyms are misunderstandings waiting to happen. Don’t get me started about how my starter husband thought it meant Birth Control Pills, but I thought BCP meant Boston Cream Pie.

13. Do you ever wonder what would happen if you mixed Clorox with ammonia to clean the bathroom?
Nope. Already know.

18. What is your biggest regret?
Not knowing until it was too late that when dreams die, they make a sound like someone sitting on a whoopee cushion in a proctologist’s waiting room.

42. Why do elephants drink?
To forget.

1. Have you ever broken a bone?
Mine or somebody else’s?
Either.
Yes. That’s two questions.

9. Would you recommend that people with one glass eye consider replacing it with eye-shaped snow globes?
How moderately funny, but tasteless. So, sadly, no.

The Twenty Questions Game

9. Is this serotonin reuptake cycle never going to end?
Yes. You will achieve balance at the precise moment when you think your mental noise has diminished to a level just above a rather sinister silence preceding self-destructive behavior in public. Fear not. The moment will pass.

10. Will we ever be able to go back to that restaurant?
Not until our regular waitress retires due to a stress-related injury incurred during the early-bird special rush from 4:00 to 5:00 PM. Thus: soon.

11. What’s with the harsh-edged bitterness? Do you think it becomes you?
Do you think I care whether you think I think it becomes me to express my bitterness via the written word in lieu of, say, lead pipes in the conservatory? And that should count as two questions.

18. Does DOB make sense very often?
No, but she does impart a certain urine-scented je ne’sai quois to any conversation.

19. When pausing mid-sentence in a rambling mumble to search for the missing noun, who becomes more impatient, the speaker or the listeners?
There’s a question for the ages. It would take ages to list all the delightful examples of this phenomenon. However, in a sort of irony typical of the twisted universe I inhabit, one noun that always seems to fit in such instances is “werewolf”. Example:
DOB: Remember the road we used to take rides on? Where not many cars go?
TCG: Hertz Road?
DOB: No! You know, the ride in the old car, that car? The road where there were no other cars, near that place.
TCG: Werewolf Road?
DOB: No! The road near that factory, or whatever it was.
TCG: The American Cyanamid Plant?
DOB: Maybe…. Yes.
TCG: I’m so fucking good at this it’s scary.
WISIMH: Actually, what David Mitchell (Cloud Atlas) said it best: “Sometimes the fluffy bunny of incredulity zooms round the bend so rapidly that the greyhound of language is left, agog, in the starting cage.”