duck-shaped pain

My Halloween was unexciting by anyone else's standards, but I was pretty happy with it. I spent my day at work trying to get our new digital camera outfit to work (I have serious I WANT vibes going � it shoots in black and white), and then went out for a decent two-beer-and-fish-and-chips dinner after work.

We got no trick-or-treaters, as usual. You know, how in every neighborhood, there is one lone house where nobody appears to live, where the light is never on, where rumors fly around the neighborhood that ghosts/evil spirits/mean dogs/old ladies with cackly laughs and facial warts live there? Well, I live in that house (although there are none of those things residing here).

It was a Book Day: I went to the library first, to see if any of my holds were in ("We'll call you when they're in" my ass). The only one available now was Kitchen Confidential, which I wanted to read for awhile, then spaced it out, and was re-reminded by a recent Astrogirl entry. There's this one librarian that works there who I don't really like � she's always exhorting me to take the issues of Good Housekeeping from the free magazine rack (no, thanks), she constantly chews and smacks and chews her gum, and always makes weird comments on things I check out. Last night, it was "I want to read this, but I'm afraid to. I like eating." So, there you go -- one spectacular review.

Then I went to the bookstore, to get some coffee. I wore my Johnny Cash shirt today, the one with this picture on it (sans text), since it was Halloween at all. The barista and I were chatting slightly when she saw my shirt peeking out from beneath my coat. I showed it to her and when she realized what he was doing, exactly, she covered her face with her hands and said "No, no, no, no, no, no�" over and over.

I bought two books: Living in the Runaway West, a High Country News anthology and a copy of Roland Barthes' Mythologies. I only planned on going in to buy the latter, but I happened to chance upon the former and it's the sort of thing I would buy, you know?

The clerk at checkout kept asking me if I really liked Roberta Flack. I didn't have an answer for him.

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