Yesterday

Square Books called yesterday to let me know that my Peter Falk memoir had come in: it's the next selection in the Megan book club! Well, I had a doctor's appointment later that afternoon, so I moseyed to town a little early and ran into Shadan on the sidwalk... she's one of the excellent booksellers at Square Books, and let me emphasize that she wasn't even at work. She was just on the sidewalk in the middle of town, and she stopped to remind me that she and I like a lot of the same books, to which I replied that indeed we do. So she told me about a book she thought I would really enjoy: THE BLIND OWL by Sadegh Hedayat, and she even described in detail where I would find it in the shop, like a human GPS! This was just a friendly gesture on her part, I had caught her outside of work - now, that's what I call a bookseller! And she didn't even know about my owl problem. So I went to the bookstore, and the book was just where she had said it would be, and I read on the back cover that it is "a haunting tale of loss and spiritual degradation," or, as I call it, "The Bill Boyle Seal of Approval." In fact, if I knew anything about Venn diagrams, or what they are, I could show you how a certain subset of books perfectly overlaps in the preferences of Bill, Shadan, and myself. But the adventures of the day were just beginning! Off I went to the doctor. The nurse who took my blood pressure recorded the results on a piece of paper, and as she did so, she said, "Wow, this pen is great. I wonder where I stole it from." That's an exact quotation! So I said, "What kind of pen is it? I'm always on the lookout for a good pen!" And she looked at the side of the pen and read from it the brand name "EnerGel." And that is what is so damn weird, I tell you! Just ONE DAY EARLIER, I had "posted" a chapter of my serialzed novel SOUR BLUEBERRIES, in which one of the protagonists similarly uses a pen that does not belong to him, is amazed by its high quality, and discovers that it goes by the brand name EnerGel! WHAT! I conclude by assuring you that I am no paid shill for the EnerGel corporation, it is just a weird thing that happened.

McNeil Special

Typing "McNeil Special" made me hungry for a J.J. Special, ha ha, good times, that allusion is only for me, not to mention which, it is the truth. Very similarly, and much like the time Public Enemy and Jerry Lewis appeared on the same episode of The Tonight Show, this "post" is only for McNeil. I am sure you will recall - because you are McNeil - McNeil's interest in the generational ubiquity of the "Globe Illustrated Shakespeare." That is why I snapped this photo of it (above) during a recent viewing of a film entitled MARRIED TO IT. For those who are not McNeil, if any, it is the chunky red number on the top visible shelf over Cybill Shepherd's head, characteristically daubed with gilt - the book, that is, not Cybill Shepherd's head, which is in need of no such embellishment.

Looking

Look, I don't "blog" anymore unless it's really important, and I just saw a Dairy Queen commercial I needed to tell you about. I'm the first to say I don't know a darn thing about Dairy Queen, except for what I wrote in Chapter 84 ("click" here) of my acclaimed alphabetized serialzed novel SOUR BLUEBERRIES, but, that being said, in this Dairy Queen commercial, the announcer brags of a "tasty-looking burger" served at nationwide Dairy Queen establishments. Tasty LOOKING. He seemingly can't bring himself to say it tastes good! And he's the announcer in the commercial, reading from a script that has been prepared for him especially for the occasion!

The Waiter's Secret

Well, there was a piece in the online version of today's New York Times where the fancy big shots who work there extolled in hushed, reverent awe the incomparable virtues of Skippy brand peanut butter, and that reminded me of a time when Dr. Theresa (before she was a Dr.) and I used to go to this restaurant in Atlanta, where we really enjoyed the peanut butter pie. One night, the waiter asked us if we knew why it was so good, and we said no, and he leaned in close, over the table, and said, behind his hand, from the side of his mouth, in a funny, conspiratorial voice, which we have imitated for all these years since, a single word: "Skippy." Just think of all the time we have spent, Dr. Theresa and I, saying "Skippy" to each other in a funny voice, never knowing that the waiter who said "Skippy" would one day be validated by the wonderful Gray Lady in all her glory. Anyway, Dr. Theresa is downstairs trying to work as I type these words, and I went down and asked her what the name of the restaurant was, but neither of us could remember. It didn't last too long. It was behind the post office.