Costco Symbolism In Post-Modernist Literature

[mallorys_camera]

Been stuck on a description of CostCo for four days now. Who cares what Costco looks like? Everyone knows what Costco looks like. Costco looks like Walmart only with bigger stacks of toilet paper. The description should be a throw-away, roughly along the lines of:

Costco was the place where you bought in bulk – five thousand square feet of toilet paper, breakfast cereal and snare drums filled with pimento hearts.

But somehow I keep wanting to turn it into a mini-history of American consumerism. Gruber calls this disease "the longeurs."

Obviously this is nerves related to the bookstore stuff. I've reached the stage with the bookstore where I'm actively shopping for financing. Present owner is willing to carry the purchase loan but only if I meet his purchase price which I think is waaaaay too high. So I've started talking to loan broker types. And having panic attacks. I was up most of the night watching Imitation of Life on AMC. Tell me that isn't pathetic. Then when I finally fell back to sleep, I had a vivid dream of riding Amtrak, and pissing and shitting myself while commuters looked on in horror.

I'm sitting here now waiting for the phone to ring and my hands are shaking. I don't know why. Surely the mere sound of my voice on the phone sans credit history and tax returns is not enough to incite a guy in a suit and tie to gales of helpless laughter. And actually my credit history is good (though I don't own real estate) and I made in excess of 120 K for the past three years. So why do I feel like such an imposter?

Finally wrote the "What's up, Doc?" emails to the two extant agents who have Saturday Night in their slush piles. Eben Weiss at Vicinanza will reply – he's a nice guy, wrote me encouraging (though brief) emails while he was reading it. Passed but in a nice way: hot potatoed it to colleague. Bob Mecoy is from outer space so I doubt that I'll hear back from him. In either case, though, I have to get aggressive about shopping it again. It's a good novel, damn it. I'm a good writer. It deserves to be published.

Oh – and the pussycat returned. Wandered back after five days as cool as you please, not a cream-colored hair out of place. Whatever adventures she may have encountered did not involve physical hardship. We opened a can of fatted calf. She snootily deigned to eat. Absence has not improved her disposition.

Comments

Prodigal Feline Return

[wailaki.livejournal.com]

Frankly, I've been very worried about Kitty, and have checked my LiveJournal Friends' entries WAY too often in search of a happy ending.........or any ending. All my beloved cats, every damn one of them, just left. No note, no phone call, nothing. One day they were curled against the backs of my knees as we slept fetalwise, the next day.........gone. I hate that. So I am so glad she has had enough of catting around and come back to you.