duck-shaped pain

Where I Randomly Snipe At Things

Random notes:

My friend S. told me the other day that he's been going through this period of extreme non-attachment to material things. Things can come, things can go it's all the same to him. To prove his point, he (also motivated by cash flow) sold his copy of Daydrean Nation. After all, he pointed out, he can recall it mentally, almost note for note. And, you know, it's one of those things that really should be owned on vinyl instead just like Marquee Moon, another CD he's sold in a fit of poverty (cue the part in the conversation where he does an uncanny impression of the first ten seconds of each song on Marquee Moon except for "Venus.," which gets twenty seconds). Freedom from owning things is all well and good, but I kept thinking that if he were really commited to the idea of non-attachment, he would have sold his copy of Sister.

The bagel shop ended its brave experiment with being open "late" on Fridays and Saturdays, and went from closing at 7:30 p.m. to the current 5:30 p.m.. Which is interesting, because it always seemed to be very busy during the early evening. Still, 5:30 is a clear improvement for this town. I went there this afternoon after I left work, because nothing starts the weekend better than an enormous glass of chai. I sat there for awhile, wrote in the paper journal, read the Canyon Country Zephyr [1], and watched other people. There was a guy there who I see regularly, both there and at the Big Chain Bookstore. He's always reading a worn-out copy of some Wittgenstein treatise covered in pencil marks and intensely thought-out marginal notes. [2] What distinguishes him from other readers is that he always brings a book stand with him to keep his book away from his coffee and his food. Using a book stand implies a higher commitment to reading than us ordinary prole readers have, I must say.

If I was "hip" and "with it" like the students at our local accept-anyone-with-a-face college, I would have gone to see 311 tonight. They're actually playing here. Here, where no one ever plays. The local paper, not knowing how to appropriately cover a visit by 311 (the proper way would have been to say nothing whatsoever), called them "Omaha tricksters." I have no idea what that means, but it sounds like the name of a union to me. The International Brotherhood of Omaha Tricksters organizing snowboard instructors around the world.

[1] The alternative paper that should put all other alternative papers to shame even though the web site is sort of lame.

[2] I realize that this is mostly a fantasy of mine. For all I know, he could be writing his grocery lists in there or helpful notes to himself such as "DON'T FORGET: The dog in your backyard is friendly and belongs to you."

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