I am heading out
this week to purchase Steve Martin's new book The Pleasure of My Company. Steve
is one of my favorite actors-no one can match him wit for wit. My first attempt
at reading his work last summer, a novella, Shopgirl was skeptically purchased.
It was short and paperback, things twinned from a low cash supply. It was like
watching your child at his first band concert: squeaky, but great potential. I
realize that he has written plays and has had several satiric pieces published,
but as far I know (and let it be established now, it isn't much) this was his
first dramatic piece. He developed the characters well enough, but the ending
was too quick; too Hollywood; too...easy. I am hoping for better fair this go
round; no drive through finish. Now, a subject that is a bit more touchy: the
workout log. Cruising around checking out other blogs is a fabulous way to pass
the time, get ideas, etc. Hitting a blog where we get to see the bloggers
calorie count and number of sets and reps is a bit BORING! Accountability would
seem to work better with someone whom one frequently sees- someone who could
say, "Now then, you've eaten your bread poltus again, haven't you?" Am I
jealous? Maybe I would like to say that I "got a Pilates workout in, had 27
glasses of water and had two bacon, ham, egg, cheese, steak, chicken salads."
Does thinking I am above it all really make me so? [side bar: I am not knocking
"dieting," or it's neccesity, just reading about other's diets, o.k?] So, call
me out of the loop, but I have never listened to Coldplay. After reading Vanity
Fair's Gwyneth Paltrow interview, I decided that I would like to hear what all
the fuss is about. So, I headed out to my local discount mom and pop killer to
get a few things, possibly a Coldplay CD. I decided to deviate from my favored
low-end-of-the- dial and see what was playing up north. There is a new station
in town that apparently needed the first three people who applied. Being the
mocker/mimic that I am, I listened to a monotoned, syllablically challenged dj
tell me
"howcolditisandhowcolditisgoingtobeandhowthisisthebestjobsinceBurgerKing." I was
just about to hit scan, when music and a voice came on sounding very much like
U2 to me. It was so Bono sounding and yet not. I decided to listen the three
miles down the interstate hoping that "Monotone Me" would announce the artist.
Alas, the song ended and she went straight into a very convincing commercial for
a local pest control company. The best thing about going to Discount World at
night is the lack of screaming children and choice parking spots. I headed back
to the electronics department to quickly grab ink cartridges. When I got there,
I detoured over to the CD section. I love those little machines that allow a
person to preview before purchasing. I wish those were available in other
sections of the store: chocolate, fem needs, and anti-perspirant. Anyway, I
found the place Coldplay was hiding and grabbed three selections. Excitedly, I
flipped the package and slipped it under the scanning device of the pre-play
machine. Nothing. I turned around and found another. Nothing. I walked down to
the Latina/Jazz section and found one machine that sounded a little inebriated
in it's attempts to play the song. An associate (what a failed psychology there)
came over and it immediately sobered up for me. The song that was streaming
through was the one monotone forgot to announce. There with Selena and Frank
looking on, I was officialy introduced to Coldplay. And that turned out to be
the best part of the day for me yesterday. Some juvies had hit the store and
stolen all of the Lexmark Ink Cartridges that very afternoon, but that's o.k.
because it just made me 0 for 0 and at least I wasn't beaten, but tied for
defeat with myself. I drove home and went to bed. It had been a truly crappy
day, but at least I consistently struck out. One pleasant thing might have
thrown off my day's average.
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