dijous, de febrer 21, 2008
A little story about books, New York, bookstores, purchases, being criticised, freeloaders, etc
This story is actually a rerun of something I posted on another site, which I forgot to post here. The plot isn't tied to any given point in time, therefore I figure it can still be enjoyed today.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The carpet is plush, the wood dark, the whites are a bit off, and gold trimmings abound in all obvious places, yet these ingredients combine into something quite common. After all this is only a book store, a four story one at that, but a nationwide chain purveyor of books (plus cd's, pastries, writing tools, coffee goods, and various types of knick knacks).
The crowd of shoppers ambling about seem divided into two groups, one dead set on making a purchase, and another consisting of quieter folks who have a lot of time on their hands but little cash. Fortunately for them, chairs are provided, uncomfortable chairs, but ass perches nonetheless. The more courageous (and tenured) of the strapped for cash group lie about lazily on the floor, staking claim to columns and shelf space, as if they received an exclusive memo announcing that certain authors or genres would pique no interest on this day. The one thing unifying these two groups is the desire to avoid talking to one another, resulting in mumbled "um excuse me" and sass-filled eyes, as the brave floormongerer is surprised to learn that their section had not been closed for the day.
Fortunately for me, the author I want is on the top shelf. Unfortunately for the reader on the floor this section is not closed to the public today, but if it is any consolation prize there is a nice view for him to enjoy as my crotch saunters about at his (i.e. the reader on the floor) eye level. Although reading in the bookstore may seem like a very affordable activity, this squatter is learning that sometimes the price is paid in different ways. Sure, the words 'excuse me' are uttered, but I make sure to take my time deciding whether the predetermined title is what is best for me. Time probably drags for the person sitting at my feet, but my mind can not help but wonder if this whole situation is awkward, and that it could be much worse if I had worn shorts or not washed as 14% of the city's inhabitants tend to do.
Down towards the cash register, through the multiple escalators, past the magazine minions and the macchiato multitude, I make my way, doing my best to overhear conversations without being critical. At the end of the line my education and common knowledge meets the end of commercial America on the tip of an epiphany that this chain of bookstores must have paid some good money to an idea extortioner (i.e. consultant), who in turn suggested that wait times would decrease, and customer satisfaction thus increase, if all consumers were made to wait in one line for the multiple cashiers. But, as with many cattle tactics applied to humans, this advice does not completely translate to the real world due to good old fashioned human incompetence.
What seems as another mildly interesting conversation, that is not including me (once again), going on, off to my right, turns out to actually be two cashiers doing their best to prove that a certain range of work ethic (i.e. none to low) qualifies adults for low waged retail jobs. One of the more motivated cashiers points them out to me and the other customers, leading to my interaction with the reluctant book hawker. Thankfully the need for him to press his fingers against an object, wave a book in front of a screen, and swipe a card (in a preset order) does not cramp his mood, and a small conversation breaks out. The exchange goes along the lines of him saying "David Foster Wallace? Are you serious?" while cycling through various eyebrow contortions. As thoughts about the high level of pretentiousness present in the New York retail population run through my head, the cashier attempts to atone for his berate by suggesting other titles from the same author (also proving his memory is fully functional). Perhaps the cashiers do not ever exchange responsibilities with the other workers who stock the shelves, yet the fact that books by the same author are grouped together has always seemed common knowledge to me. I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt (I've always imagined there are people who just grab anything off the shelf because they just love reading that much, and maybe, just maybe, this cashier makes sure to cater to those types). After hearing about how much he dislikes books by the author I have, now shamefully, chosen to purchase I am allowed to take my receipt and leave. At least now I know not to tell anyone which author I am reading nowadays.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The carpet is plush, the wood dark, the whites are a bit off, and gold trimmings abound in all obvious places, yet these ingredients combine into something quite common. After all this is only a book store, a four story one at that, but a nationwide chain purveyor of books (plus cd's, pastries, writing tools, coffee goods, and various types of knick knacks).
The crowd of shoppers ambling about seem divided into two groups, one dead set on making a purchase, and another consisting of quieter folks who have a lot of time on their hands but little cash. Fortunately for them, chairs are provided, uncomfortable chairs, but ass perches nonetheless. The more courageous (and tenured) of the strapped for cash group lie about lazily on the floor, staking claim to columns and shelf space, as if they received an exclusive memo announcing that certain authors or genres would pique no interest on this day. The one thing unifying these two groups is the desire to avoid talking to one another, resulting in mumbled "um excuse me" and sass-filled eyes, as the brave floormongerer is surprised to learn that their section had not been closed for the day.
Fortunately for me, the author I want is on the top shelf. Unfortunately for the reader on the floor this section is not closed to the public today, but if it is any consolation prize there is a nice view for him to enjoy as my crotch saunters about at his (i.e. the reader on the floor) eye level. Although reading in the bookstore may seem like a very affordable activity, this squatter is learning that sometimes the price is paid in different ways. Sure, the words 'excuse me' are uttered, but I make sure to take my time deciding whether the predetermined title is what is best for me. Time probably drags for the person sitting at my feet, but my mind can not help but wonder if this whole situation is awkward, and that it could be much worse if I had worn shorts or not washed as 14% of the city's inhabitants tend to do.
Down towards the cash register, through the multiple escalators, past the magazine minions and the macchiato multitude, I make my way, doing my best to overhear conversations without being critical. At the end of the line my education and common knowledge meets the end of commercial America on the tip of an epiphany that this chain of bookstores must have paid some good money to an idea extortioner (i.e. consultant), who in turn suggested that wait times would decrease, and customer satisfaction thus increase, if all consumers were made to wait in one line for the multiple cashiers. But, as with many cattle tactics applied to humans, this advice does not completely translate to the real world due to good old fashioned human incompetence.
What seems as another mildly interesting conversation, that is not including me (once again), going on, off to my right, turns out to actually be two cashiers doing their best to prove that a certain range of work ethic (i.e. none to low) qualifies adults for low waged retail jobs. One of the more motivated cashiers points them out to me and the other customers, leading to my interaction with the reluctant book hawker. Thankfully the need for him to press his fingers against an object, wave a book in front of a screen, and swipe a card (in a preset order) does not cramp his mood, and a small conversation breaks out. The exchange goes along the lines of him saying "David Foster Wallace? Are you serious?" while cycling through various eyebrow contortions. As thoughts about the high level of pretentiousness present in the New York retail population run through my head, the cashier attempts to atone for his berate by suggesting other titles from the same author (also proving his memory is fully functional). Perhaps the cashiers do not ever exchange responsibilities with the other workers who stock the shelves, yet the fact that books by the same author are grouped together has always seemed common knowledge to me. I am willing to give him the benefit of the doubt (I've always imagined there are people who just grab anything off the shelf because they just love reading that much, and maybe, just maybe, this cashier makes sure to cater to those types). After hearing about how much he dislikes books by the author I have, now shamefully, chosen to purchase I am allowed to take my receipt and leave. At least now I know not to tell anyone which author I am reading nowadays.
Music Relay
Here's a fun new song I've been enjoying:
Tapes 'n Tapes - Hang Them All
T'nT is a young band from Minneapolis, Minnesota. Their sound fluctuates from country tinged pop to instrumental techno tainted rock. If I had to give a crude comparison of styles I would say that most of the time they sound like a Northern industrialized version of My Morning Jacket, but don't do the down tempo anywhere near as often. There is also plenty of instances where they veer from this comparison, therefore you can consider the past 3 sentences worthless (including this one). They haven't really broken through the top of the indie music scene, but have bumped up right against it. Their last album featured the semi-popular "Cowbell," which is actually how I found out about them. That song doesn't reveal their twangy roots, (or their large vocab) but I'm not one to say a band needs to stick with one style. You can listen to, and even download with their blessing, a few of their other songs here.
These dudes have a new album dropping some time later this year, probably late spring/early summer. They will be performing at the SXSW festival next month so there could be a chance that some record exec will try to pick them up and eventually force them down our collective throats (i.e. ear canal).
More later, off to work for now.
Tapes 'n Tapes - Hang Them All
T'nT is a young band from Minneapolis, Minnesota. Their sound fluctuates from country tinged pop to instrumental techno tainted rock. If I had to give a crude comparison of styles I would say that most of the time they sound like a Northern industrialized version of My Morning Jacket, but don't do the down tempo anywhere near as often. There is also plenty of instances where they veer from this comparison, therefore you can consider the past 3 sentences worthless (including this one). They haven't really broken through the top of the indie music scene, but have bumped up right against it. Their last album featured the semi-popular "Cowbell," which is actually how I found out about them. That song doesn't reveal their twangy roots, (or their large vocab) but I'm not one to say a band needs to stick with one style. You can listen to, and even download with their blessing, a few of their other songs here.These dudes have a new album dropping some time later this year, probably late spring/early summer. They will be performing at the SXSW festival next month so there could be a chance that some record exec will try to pick them up and eventually force them down our collective throats (i.e. ear canal).
More later, off to work for now.
Etiquetes de comentaris: free download, music, tapes n' tapes
dimecres, de febrer 20, 2008
Paprika and other words that start with P
Such as perseverance, persistence, patience, passion, priority, and promotion. Each one as relevant as the first 'p' word, and just as important in the grand scheme of things concerning yours truly. This post didn't really start with a theme, (and I'm not one to proofread things that aren't tied to pay) but rather the ideas began with the name of a spice then flowed from there. It makes me question the interconnectivity of my cognitive paths but I fear I lose you (the reader) two words down that direction.Thus another question will suffice at a time like this- Why am I writing again? (or rather why am I writing again here of all places, and to no one in particular- actually that one can probably be easily interpreted by the end of this passage). The answer isn't because I haven't been delving back into David Foster Wallace, although the hacking of parenthesis proliferation would beg otherwise. My best guess as to what the best answer is two fold- I was reminded that I enjoyed writing and I found a bit of time.
On the surface this idea of writing, once again, through a medium that is more knee jerk than any other associated with digital diction seems like a bad idea. To be honest I am only saying "on the surface" because I am hoping somewhere in the sum of the surrounding words there will be some greater benefit realized. Either way I know there is at least a negative aspect to it because I made the mistake of revealing this repository's existence to someone who's opinion is running high in value (in my mind, not in some marketplace, but if you (the reader) know of anywhere that is compensating people for their opinions regarding amateur writing please let me know immediately).
It would probably have been easier to say "No, actually it's probably better for this relationship if you never knew of my aspirations as a wordsmith" to the request to "Read something of yours (i.e. mine)." Yet somewhere I got the idea that leaving oneself (e.g. me) as open as possible to judgment would lead to more fruitful relationships, non-platonic or otherwise. I also read the wrong books on writing, ones intended for people who knew all the rules and therefore be capable of holding interest while still breaking said rules. I think I just try to break the few rules I know so it looks like I'm in charge of what my fingers are pressing together (this is a poor reference to keyboard typing).
But I'll start trying to hold interest right now. That lead set of paragraphs has to be ridiculously boring. This is what is going on right now for me.
Today marked the one year anniversary of my time at my current job. Sticking to the topic of a job I was promoted today. This was the most unceremonious promotion I have heard of during my short span in the force (i.e. work force). Apparently the biggest news for me in a while was reserved to an undiscussed bullet point present on a slide which was used at a meeting I chose to not attend. I am not sure what this promotion means. Sure, I've achieved promotions before but usually the announcement is tied to some increase in salary, which is what I care about. It was obvious to me that I could move up if I worked hard, and this title change (i.e. promotion) is basically an opportunity to do more challenging work. The thing about challenges is that they are taken for the reward. Hopefully there's a financial reward at some point, but I work in a weird place. The most analogous entity would be a family of famous authors that are all blind, deaf, and mute. They can all express moving prose, yet not to each other. That comparison probably only makes sense to me.
Another thing that is currently going on is the retirement of Nicholas Gurewitch, creator of PBF Comics, and one of the living
humorists I hold in high regards. I won't get into his work since it's linked in the sidebar, but I will admit that I am sad about the news. He recently published a hardcover collection of his strips, which I purchased. The popularity of the book seems to have been a catalyst for his semi-retirement, and I feel partly responsible, but mostly empathetic. When I work hard it's for the sole reason of making more money so that I won't have to work so hard. I am not sure where this cycle ends, but I can see how it takes a break when a book one has authored does unexpectedly well. Good for Nicholas, I applaud his decision to move on, if only partly, to other desires and not exploit his fame at a time when it would be most profitable.This whole passage seems overly melancholic and I am not sure what that is a function of but I'll take a stab since I am supposed to be the expert on the 'why' and 'how' regarding myself. I've been thinking lately about burning bridges, and I probably mean burnt
bridges, but I am holding out from calling it that for the sake of not admitting that the bridges are burnt or that I am not continuing to burn them. There isn't a clear reason for if or why I participate in such relational pyromania, but this is probably all born from the fact that most everyone who congratulated me on my promotion made some mention of 'celebrating it with your (i.e. my) friends." I guess I've done a good job of perpetuating myself as some social person who has friends ready and waiting for me to call the time on happy hour. That isn't the case. I definitely have friends but not those types of friends, the type that is around all the time. I think I forgot to make the friend thing a priority for a while and am now dealing with it.Either way, I have many good and a few great things happening in my life, therefore none of this should be seen as a complaint. More like an airing of recent past, which I'll try to pick more cohesive episodes to delve into. Consider this post a stretching of a writing muscle that is in obvious need of rehab.
Etiquetes de comentaris: musings, ramblings
dimarts, de novembre 13, 2007
Movie Machete: No Country for Old Men
This past weekend, for the first time in a long time, I made a concerted effort to go watch a certain movie. The whole theatre experience was more of a backup, nothing-to-do, kind of deal that I had (justifiably) neglected for months if not years. The thing is that I had caught some trailers for the Coen brothers’ new movie No Country for Old Men and I wanted to get a 2 hour dose of what that snippet had made me feel. Any movie that can play off the greater society’s cynicism in subtle and startling tones is going to inevitably pique my interest, but the “made by the Coen brothers” stamp was enough for me to forsake patience and $11.50.
I’ll be forthcoming and elaborate a little on my admitted admiration of the Coen brothers. Not everything they’ve done ranks high on my lists, but the greater body of work is undeniably superb. This would usually be where I the other Coen brother movies I’ve enjoy, but instead I’ll just say there are about 3 or 4 of them. Those other movies have nothing to do with No Country for Old Men other than being projects that helped Joel and Ethan grow to the point where they could helm the adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s neo-western novel into a stunning masterpiece.
The muted colors that populate backwoods Texan expanses and the warm tones in ubiquitous hotel rooms typify the attention to detail evident throughout the movie. This heightened awareness by the filmmakers goes a long in way in creating a cohesive world that reminds you of the world you live in fear of. Years of perusing tragic story after epic catastrophe over a plate of eggs and toast is a common scenario that begins to tell the complex story behind the inherent Western notion that we are simultaneously well removed yet well aware of that which is most dangerous.
Overall the movie is meant to be enlightening experience at best where emotions and questions were mentally raised, then verbally qualified. The movie has something to say about the materialistic culture in America but I am not able to put my finger quite on it. The most prevalent point to me is that from each generation further corrupts the American dream for the following generation, leading to a point where one’s ideals are extinct or bastardized once old age has been reached.
This type of gritty drama wrapped in home cooking is something the Coen brothers have done well with in the past, and some of the same setups used in those movies are evident here (you’ll have to trust me and look for them). By the end you will swear that Javier Bardem went to Hell to research Satan for his role as Anton Cigurh. Josh Brolin’s turn as Llewelyn Moss, a cowboy with the biggest balls this side of the Mississippi, will leave you forgiving him for all his prior celluloid sins (see: Hollow Man, or Thrashin’). From end to end the movie is packed with suspense, thrilling action, and enthralling characters. Submitting oneself to the drama that unfolds in No Country for Old Men is anything but a waste a time.
I’ll be forthcoming and elaborate a little on my admitted admiration of the Coen brothers. Not everything they’ve done ranks high on my lists, but the greater body of work is undeniably superb. This would usually be where I the other Coen brother movies I’ve enjoy, but instead I’ll just say there are about 3 or 4 of them. Those other movies have nothing to do with No Country for Old Men other than being projects that helped Joel and Ethan grow to the point where they could helm the adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s neo-western novel into a stunning masterpiece.The muted colors that populate backwoods Texan expanses and the warm tones in ubiquitous hotel rooms typify the attention to detail evident throughout the movie. This heightened awareness by the filmmakers goes a long in way in creating a cohesive world that reminds you of the world you live in fear of. Years of perusing tragic story after epic catastrophe over a plate of eggs and toast is a common scenario that begins to tell the complex story behind the inherent Western notion that we are simultaneously well removed yet well aware of that which is most dangerous.
Overall the movie is meant to be enlightening experience at best where emotions and questions were mentally raised, then verbally qualified. The movie has something to say about the materialistic culture in America but I am not able to put my finger quite on it. The most prevalent point to me is that from each generation further corrupts the American dream for the following generation, leading to a point where one’s ideals are extinct or bastardized once old age has been reached.
This type of gritty drama wrapped in home cooking is something the Coen brothers have done well with in the past, and some of the same setups used in those movies are evident here (you’ll have to trust me and look for them). By the end you will swear that Javier Bardem went to Hell to research Satan for his role as Anton Cigurh. Josh Brolin’s turn as Llewelyn Moss, a cowboy with the biggest balls this side of the Mississippi, will leave you forgiving him for all his prior celluloid sins (see: Hollow Man, or Thrashin’). From end to end the movie is packed with suspense, thrilling action, and enthralling characters. Submitting oneself to the drama that unfolds in No Country for Old Men is anything but a waste a time.