Late Thoughts

"Down by the Riverside," the spiritual, is one of the best songs ever. I really like the blend of intellectual pursuit and plain talk in the line, "I ain't gonna study war no more." STUDY war no more. Of the half dozen or so more obvious verbs to use there, the writer(s) came up with "study." Great.

My ex-wife was wearing something kind of lowcut today and she bent over quite a few times, and I felt the first twinge of desire for her in a couple years. I think she's celebrating about a decade of totally-the-opposite, though.

Orange may be my favorite color, and there's no fucking way I can express that in the clothes I wear.

Some funny names I noticed this week in my line of work: Clay Bitterlich and Harold Sincock. You can interchange the syllables and make even better names, or it would be a good name for a law firm specializing in cases involving crimes by self-hating gays.

I've received like 8 emails from Overstock.com about some event this weekend. Must be really important. I think they've got a clearance of typhoid-ridden 600 thread count sateen sheets they need to unload. Damn, out of California King! Why did California get to come up with their own mattress size, anyway? Does this have anything to do with the Lee Marvin/Michelle Triola palimony case in the '70s?

Finished Paul Auster's The Brooklyn Follies and it's quite excellent. He builds this momentum not out of plot but just a tumble of compelling thoughts. Actually, there is one anecdote in there that's priceless on its own. I'm not doing it justice, but a character tells an apparently true story about Kafka, who, though in poor health, found love in his final year or two with a young woman. One day they were walking through the park as they often did, and found a young girl, crying. Kafka asked her what was wrong and she said her dolly was missing. Kafka, thinking quickly, said that the doll wasn't missing, she went away. She loved the girl, but she had to go out into the world and meet other people and learn things and have adventures. The girl asked Kafka how he knew this, and Kafka replied that the doll had given him a letter to give to the girl. She asked for it, and he said that he left it at home but would bring it the following day. That night he composed the letter and gave it to her the next day. He read it, as she was too young to read. Then, every day over the next couple months, the dying author devoted his failing gifts and enduring genius to composing a new letter to read to the girl, in which the doll saw other parts of the world, went to school, etc. Kafka knew his health was failing and he had to bring the story to its end, so the doll found love and married. By this point, the girl was no longer sad about her doll. Rather, she was enraptured in this fantasy world created for her by Kafka.

Going to have to poop soon.

A friend from work loaned me The Book of Bad Taste, a small but thick, British-published volume of strange facts. It's sort of fascinating and sort of hideous at the same time. Like, I was reading this chapter about cannibalism, and they give you a paragraph like this:

The Tartar hordes who swept over Europe in 1242 were particularly fond of girls. Appetizing young maidens were issued as rations to army officers, while common soldiers chewed on the tough flesh of older women. Breast meat was regarded as the finest titbit and was reserved for the prince's table.

(Please note this is British and I don't think they used "titbit" as a double-entendre.)

And, yeah, that's interesting, but nine more such anecdotes get a little wearying, as does a couple of pages on various restaurants caught serving human flesh, and other things people have put in food, and on and on. What's happened to famous penises, blah blah blah. It's kind of a good reference, but a little goes a long way.

I think there's a barely hidden epidemic of depression in this nation, and it's one of the key reasons for Starbucks' success. I don't feel like explaining that. You're either with me or not.

A woman at work I can't stand was thrown a baby shower today. It's weird how people get behind stuff like that, when I don't think that many people really like her. Is it hypocritical that I signed her card, if the sentiments I wrote were intentionally illegible gibberish that started out kind of looking like "Congrats" and then becoming no real words at all? Is that bad?

It's hard to know just how much of a dick to be. I have the instincts but am a little too nice for the follow-through. Second example: a recruiter called me yesterday, asking if I knew anybody interested in a marketing position in Sacramento, which is pretty much in another state as far as someone from San Diego is concerned. I said I don't know anyone there, and no, and no I wasn't interested myself. Well, he said, will you take down this number just in case I do? I laughed, "In case I meet someone from Sacramento in the next two weeks?" He said yes, so what the hell. I wrote down the number, not just pretending to write it down. And then threw it away 24 hours later.