Behold, the beach bums.

__2004-09-07 @ 9:43 p.m._______ Since the last time I posted, I've actually had much better luck. The follow up to the thievery shift was actually quite nice...probably the best time I had at work yet. I reorganized the used punk/indie section and was told to "use my own judgment," as to what titles should be featured. Very cool. Pretty much spent about four hours doing that, and to most this might be a tedious task. But I must say that I enjoyed the fuck out of it and the time flew by. Then, the next day I was able to watch my first televised Cubs game in over a month, and finally, I picked up a couple of discs with my record store discount. Morrissey's My Early Burglary Years and The Long Winters' When I Pretend to Fall, which I have already owned and lost. It has cheered me up a bit. Although honestly, all I need to do is go up into the Oakland Hills and take a look at the view- that's enough of a temporary fix to get me though any day. Jill and I are becoming beach bums, much to our delight. I want to go every weekend in September and drink Coronas and think about how I'm not on vacation and read sad and funny books and call friends and hopefully make them jealous and let the cold ocean cool my feet after walking through the hot sand and watch dogs do funny things along the beach and listen to the different sounds the ocean makes as I sit down, lay down, and stand up and watch people try to surf in the pacific even though the waves are not nearly big enough and wipe sand from my feet as I get back on to the beach blanket and eat cheese popcorn from whole foods and watch the fog erase the sun's rays back and then forth while I fall in and out of consciousness. Our goal is to eventually move over to San Fran for at least six months or so before we decide our time is up here. All is wonderful here except for the friends factor...I love my friends and I miss them dearly- Give me some love! I keep on saying that I miss you- that means give me a call or write me. I'm not trying to be cryptic here. BTW, still working on Story of My Life. I have to say that as funny as it is, its brilliance lies in the sad and pathetic lives these characters lead. I would never be able to hack it as a character inside of this book. Something I'm very proud of...like Ellis or Holmes or any other smarmy asshole that write these types of novels or stories, the lives of these characters seem exciting at first and even inviting to a part of you...seems interesting at first. Yet the further you get into the depths of the characters, you realize that these people are just bored and aren't any more alive or interesting than yourself, in most cases less interesting. And in the end, you just end up laughing at them. Everybody loves a sad story, but the big hook in Story of My Life is the ability to make you laugh at its absurdity and almost endearing characters...mostly because as ridiculous as they may be, you still have a small identification with the core of the characters. But mostly, it's fucking funny shit. << | >>