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mallorys_cameraWell, let’s see. Last night I watched Godfather 2 for the 43rd time. There was a moment when I felt like I had entered a new dimension of sight and sound – Batista’s gold telephone! I’d never seen that before! And I thought wouldn’t it be wonderful if “smart agents” were attached to movies that added new scenes according to the viewer’s disposition and experience – well, maybe not wonderful but it would make a good sci fi plot, no? Especially because you’d never have to explain exactly how the “smart agents” worked.
But no – it turned out that I’d merely taken bathroom breaks at that point during the previous forty-two viewings.
But that in itself – a remarkable confluence, no? Forty-two times in a row I’d had to pee during the gold telephone scene. Forty-two random moments in my life that heretofore had no connection, now strung together on the gossamer strand of Francis Ford Coppola’s gangster fantasies and my own fears of incontinence.
I tell you, life she is complex!
Then this morning I watched a wonderful movie whose name I can’t remember starring Ashton Kuchner and the girl with the teeth Aaron Sorkin had a crush on and so cast as an intellectual heavyweight – supposed to be Jamie Tarses, and whatever happened to Jamie Tarses anyway? – in his ill-fated deconstruction of Saturday Night Live. Ashton Kuchner is a very beautiful young man, but all I could think of while watching this movie was Ashton Kuchner’s fraternal twin brother – who looks nothing like Ashton Kuchner, who has a job sweeping floors in a General Motors plant, who sells his story to the National Enquirer every couple of years – We live in poverty while Ashton flosses with diamond toothpicks – all right, bad made up headline because you don’t exactly floss with toothpicks, you pick with toothpicks but see, if I’d said “pick” then I would be using “pick” twice in the same sentence which is bad writing, but anyway… I think life has passed me by. What do you think Ashton Kuchner’s fraternal twin brother thinks, huh?
Also God visited me in the Little Store yesterday.
If I hadn’t already decided to close it, I would have made that decision yesterday. Big holiday weekend and we made no sales. Well. We made a few sales. But no sales considering this is a Big Holiday weekend and we’re supposed to be raking in the dough.
Throughout the day I sat behind the cash register anesthetized, making the ha-ha funny jokes meant to entice people into parting with their cash. They still work when people have cash.
Towards evening, God walked in. He is as you’d imagined a middle-aged white guy in an expensive raincoat. He’s married or at least keeping company with an attractive middle-aged woman whose bling was tastefully unostentatious.
“Can you recommend something for baby back ribs?” God asked.
And off I went, extolling the virtues of Bad Daddy’s, Pappy’s White Lightin’ and Bone Suckin’ Sauce.
“But you know, you shouldn’t use sauce on ribs before you cook them,” I said finally.
God laughed. “I know that. But I was waiting for you to know that. So what rub would you recommend?”
Friends, God bought six canisters of Bad Byron’s Butt Rub! Next time you’re invited to a barbecue in heaven, guess what you’ll be tasting?
“You have a great store here,” said God. “Sorry all this is happening to you. But you know after they spring the big bucks for the Aquarium – over-rated aquarium, by the way – and they have to eat so they go to one of those bad, overpriced restaurants – they have no money left over. It’s a damn shame.”
Then God leaned back and smiled. “And it’s only gonna get worse. But I think you’ll be okay. You’re plucky.”
If one more person or supernatural entity calls me “plucky,” I think I’m going to scream. I look nothing like Sally Fields.
But no – it turned out that I’d merely taken bathroom breaks at that point during the previous forty-two viewings.
But that in itself – a remarkable confluence, no? Forty-two times in a row I’d had to pee during the gold telephone scene. Forty-two random moments in my life that heretofore had no connection, now strung together on the gossamer strand of Francis Ford Coppola’s gangster fantasies and my own fears of incontinence.
I tell you, life she is complex!
Then this morning I watched a wonderful movie whose name I can’t remember starring Ashton Kuchner and the girl with the teeth Aaron Sorkin had a crush on and so cast as an intellectual heavyweight – supposed to be Jamie Tarses, and whatever happened to Jamie Tarses anyway? – in his ill-fated deconstruction of Saturday Night Live. Ashton Kuchner is a very beautiful young man, but all I could think of while watching this movie was Ashton Kuchner’s fraternal twin brother – who looks nothing like Ashton Kuchner, who has a job sweeping floors in a General Motors plant, who sells his story to the National Enquirer every couple of years – We live in poverty while Ashton flosses with diamond toothpicks – all right, bad made up headline because you don’t exactly floss with toothpicks, you pick with toothpicks but see, if I’d said “pick” then I would be using “pick” twice in the same sentence which is bad writing, but anyway… I think life has passed me by. What do you think Ashton Kuchner’s fraternal twin brother thinks, huh?
Also God visited me in the Little Store yesterday.
If I hadn’t already decided to close it, I would have made that decision yesterday. Big holiday weekend and we made no sales. Well. We made a few sales. But no sales considering this is a Big Holiday weekend and we’re supposed to be raking in the dough.
Throughout the day I sat behind the cash register anesthetized, making the ha-ha funny jokes meant to entice people into parting with their cash. They still work when people have cash.
Towards evening, God walked in. He is as you’d imagined a middle-aged white guy in an expensive raincoat. He’s married or at least keeping company with an attractive middle-aged woman whose bling was tastefully unostentatious.
“Can you recommend something for baby back ribs?” God asked.
And off I went, extolling the virtues of Bad Daddy’s, Pappy’s White Lightin’ and Bone Suckin’ Sauce.
“But you know, you shouldn’t use sauce on ribs before you cook them,” I said finally.
God laughed. “I know that. But I was waiting for you to know that. So what rub would you recommend?”
Friends, God bought six canisters of Bad Byron’s Butt Rub! Next time you’re invited to a barbecue in heaven, guess what you’ll be tasting?
“You have a great store here,” said God. “Sorry all this is happening to you. But you know after they spring the big bucks for the Aquarium – over-rated aquarium, by the way – and they have to eat so they go to one of those bad, overpriced restaurants – they have no money left over. It’s a damn shame.”
Then God leaned back and smiled. “And it’s only gonna get worse. But I think you’ll be okay. You’re plucky.”
If one more person or supernatural entity calls me “plucky,” I think I’m going to scream. I look nothing like Sally Fields.
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no subject
Date: 2009-02-16 10:05 am (UTC)And God shops in your store... COOL!
Sorry to hear that you have made the decision to close. I won't use the P word, I think it would make me smack people around the head too.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-19 05:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-17 07:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-19 05:39 pm (UTC)Yeah, I had a moderately successful career as a freelance writer a dozen or so years ago. I write well. I just can't market myself, y'know? Which is certainly odd 'cause I'm a dynamo at marketing other people.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-19 07:25 pm (UTC)