I know I shouldn't revel in the misfortune of others, but a part of me just can't help it.
At the bookstore, we have started developing our own vernacular. Most of it is acronyms designed so we can communicate with each other without upsetting the fragile sensibilities of our clientele. Some of the choice phrases include:
-D.B: short for douchebag. Douchebag has become the standard insult of choice, replacing asshole, which just lacks the sting and nastiness douchebag brings to the table.
-Cash'n'prizes: meaning one's genitals. You'd be amazed at how versatile this phrase is in casual conversation.
-U.H.: stands for "Useless Hippie". Originally coined to describe one customer, but has evolved now to cover anyone who seems to be 1) useless and 2) a hippie.
Going back to the misfortune and revelry I mentioned here: something bad happened to the original U.H. the other day, and while a part of me feels bad for the guy, another part of me is busy hi-fiving anyone in sight.
A little background on U.H: the guy comes in practically every night, usually around 7 pm (we close at 10). He gets to the store on a bike, which he leaves in front of the store, unlocked. The guy is tall, tanned to the point of looking like a suitcase, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail, a thick borderline Jerry Garcia beard, and a huge backpack I'm fairly sure he lives out of. He speedwalks through the store, grabs a magazine or two and a couple of books, and then pulls up a chair and camps out in our Art/Photography section (which is pointing directly towards the entrance of our store). He then proceeds to read bits and pieces of his assembled horde, looking up from his text of the moment every 1 minute and a half to make sure his bike is still there. He will keep doing this until about 10 minutes before we close. Once we make the closing announcements (which usually falls to me, because when prompted, I can do a pitch-perfect airline captain voice over the phone), the guy gets up, puts the books back, and leaves. HE NEVER BUYS ANYTHING. He has been doing this for 2 weeks straight. We don't say anything because although he is annoying (he chimes in with his opinions about the music we play at inopportune moments, completely unprompted AND he can stare a hole into your head if you make eye contact with him), he's harmless, mostly keeps to himself, and my bosses are optimistic that one blessed day, U.H. will actually buy something. Speaking from experience, I doubt this: I used to spend at least an hour a week at Borders, reading the new issues of Time and Newsweek, and I never bought a single magazine from them (although I did buy quite a few Criterion DVDs from them, because they were reasonably priced and I felt guilty about not buying any magazines).
So the other day karma woke up on the wrong side of the bed and decided to smack U.H. upside the head. As the sun starts to set, he wheels his bike over to our store, gets off his bike, leans it on the usual wall, and walks in. A minute after he walks in, a pickup truck pulls up in front of the store, a guy gets out of the passenger seat, grabs U.H.'s bike, and tosses it in the back. Less than 30 seconds pass, and the truck and U.H.'s bike is gone. U.H. dashes out of the store, freaking. He doesn't come back in.
Now, I can feel for the guy. In the last seven years, I've had 4 bikes stolen living in Arizona. With the exception of my first bike, all of them had sturdy locks, and the bastards still got to them. The reason why my sympathy, like milk, quickly curdles into spite and contempt for the man is this: anyone living in Arizona who doesn't keep their mode of transport, gas powered or not, under lock and key deserves to have it snatched out from under them. Vehicular theft is out of control in this state, bikes get snatched left and right. Hell, geography is playing against this guy: the Paradise Valley mall area where my store is in is tweaker central. Every day we have methheads coming in trying to pawn off books they fished out of our dumpsters the night before. Tweakers will jump on an unattended bike like a mongoose on a sedated snake: it ain't a pretty sight. And yet despite all this, he still decides not to lock up his bike. Well, tough shit, old bean, this sort of thing happens when one leaves a gift-wrapped fence-able good lying around in broad daylight.
Ah, Phoenix: we've really grown. We're long past the days of po-dunk-dom, a one-horse town no longer. Part of the reason is our crime is slowly turning into big city crime. Hell, we don't have one, no, we have TWO serial killers on the loose in our fair city right now. We're coming up in the world!
In Other News:
-Finished reading Christopher Moore's Lamb. I've read almost of all his books at this point, save for Practical Demonkeeping. Currently reading We Regret To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families by Philip Gourevitch, a history of the Rwanda genocide (very, very well-written).
-Jams I've been rocking steady: the new TV On The Radio, Massive Attack's "Protection", Blood Brothers, Morphine, Curve, XTC, Misfits, and I can't stop listening to The Knife's "Heartbeat". That song has taken root in my senses like a weed.
-Saw Clerks II last week. I thought it was going to be terrible, but I came away from it having a better time at the movies than I have since seeing "Brick" and "A Scanner Darkly".
-Also saw "Pirates II"... ugh. Its like the first one with 80% of the fun sucked out of it. The best part of the film is the ending: they end with a great twist, one I can't wait to see how they play with it in the next film (then again, I'm a sucker for "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" type stories).
Aside from that, no significant developments in ye olde personal life. Just scraping by, having good times, and staying three steps ahead of being totally broke.
At the bookstore, we have started developing our own vernacular. Most of it is acronyms designed so we can communicate with each other without upsetting the fragile sensibilities of our clientele. Some of the choice phrases include:
-D.B: short for douchebag. Douchebag has become the standard insult of choice, replacing asshole, which just lacks the sting and nastiness douchebag brings to the table.
-Cash'n'prizes: meaning one's genitals. You'd be amazed at how versatile this phrase is in casual conversation.
-U.H.: stands for "Useless Hippie". Originally coined to describe one customer, but has evolved now to cover anyone who seems to be 1) useless and 2) a hippie.
Going back to the misfortune and revelry I mentioned here: something bad happened to the original U.H. the other day, and while a part of me feels bad for the guy, another part of me is busy hi-fiving anyone in sight.
A little background on U.H: the guy comes in practically every night, usually around 7 pm (we close at 10). He gets to the store on a bike, which he leaves in front of the store, unlocked. The guy is tall, tanned to the point of looking like a suitcase, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a ponytail, a thick borderline Jerry Garcia beard, and a huge backpack I'm fairly sure he lives out of. He speedwalks through the store, grabs a magazine or two and a couple of books, and then pulls up a chair and camps out in our Art/Photography section (which is pointing directly towards the entrance of our store). He then proceeds to read bits and pieces of his assembled horde, looking up from his text of the moment every 1 minute and a half to make sure his bike is still there. He will keep doing this until about 10 minutes before we close. Once we make the closing announcements (which usually falls to me, because when prompted, I can do a pitch-perfect airline captain voice over the phone), the guy gets up, puts the books back, and leaves. HE NEVER BUYS ANYTHING. He has been doing this for 2 weeks straight. We don't say anything because although he is annoying (he chimes in with his opinions about the music we play at inopportune moments, completely unprompted AND he can stare a hole into your head if you make eye contact with him), he's harmless, mostly keeps to himself, and my bosses are optimistic that one blessed day, U.H. will actually buy something. Speaking from experience, I doubt this: I used to spend at least an hour a week at Borders, reading the new issues of Time and Newsweek, and I never bought a single magazine from them (although I did buy quite a few Criterion DVDs from them, because they were reasonably priced and I felt guilty about not buying any magazines).
So the other day karma woke up on the wrong side of the bed and decided to smack U.H. upside the head. As the sun starts to set, he wheels his bike over to our store, gets off his bike, leans it on the usual wall, and walks in. A minute after he walks in, a pickup truck pulls up in front of the store, a guy gets out of the passenger seat, grabs U.H.'s bike, and tosses it in the back. Less than 30 seconds pass, and the truck and U.H.'s bike is gone. U.H. dashes out of the store, freaking. He doesn't come back in.
Now, I can feel for the guy. In the last seven years, I've had 4 bikes stolen living in Arizona. With the exception of my first bike, all of them had sturdy locks, and the bastards still got to them. The reason why my sympathy, like milk, quickly curdles into spite and contempt for the man is this: anyone living in Arizona who doesn't keep their mode of transport, gas powered or not, under lock and key deserves to have it snatched out from under them. Vehicular theft is out of control in this state, bikes get snatched left and right. Hell, geography is playing against this guy: the Paradise Valley mall area where my store is in is tweaker central. Every day we have methheads coming in trying to pawn off books they fished out of our dumpsters the night before. Tweakers will jump on an unattended bike like a mongoose on a sedated snake: it ain't a pretty sight. And yet despite all this, he still decides not to lock up his bike. Well, tough shit, old bean, this sort of thing happens when one leaves a gift-wrapped fence-able good lying around in broad daylight.
Ah, Phoenix: we've really grown. We're long past the days of po-dunk-dom, a one-horse town no longer. Part of the reason is our crime is slowly turning into big city crime. Hell, we don't have one, no, we have TWO serial killers on the loose in our fair city right now. We're coming up in the world!
In Other News:
-Finished reading Christopher Moore's Lamb. I've read almost of all his books at this point, save for Practical Demonkeeping. Currently reading We Regret To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families by Philip Gourevitch, a history of the Rwanda genocide (very, very well-written).
-Jams I've been rocking steady: the new TV On The Radio, Massive Attack's "Protection", Blood Brothers, Morphine, Curve, XTC, Misfits, and I can't stop listening to The Knife's "Heartbeat". That song has taken root in my senses like a weed.
-Saw Clerks II last week. I thought it was going to be terrible, but I came away from it having a better time at the movies than I have since seeing "Brick" and "A Scanner Darkly".
-Also saw "Pirates II"... ugh. Its like the first one with 80% of the fun sucked out of it. The best part of the film is the ending: they end with a great twist, one I can't wait to see how they play with it in the next film (then again, I'm a sucker for "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" type stories).
Aside from that, no significant developments in ye olde personal life. Just scraping by, having good times, and staying three steps ahead of being totally broke.
I like you already.
Check out Kooks and Strange Creations by Donna Kossy. I've read nearly the entire FH catalog, and those two are my all-time favorites.