Bookstores
Well, we all know my Bitterness towards Barnes and Noble, but nevertheless it is there, right across from the Union, so I ended up there today.
I feel a little guilty heading straight for the scifi/fantasy or the mystery section. I'll usually come in the front door and walk around through the cafe on the left side (the checkout and information counters are both on the right, and I feel it is rather prudent that I not become a familiar sight to the staff). I'll give a cursory glance over to the stuff for sale on the tables as I walk. There is NEVER anything good. (This is Barnes and Noble we are talking about, after all.) Perhaps some shiny wrapping paper will catch my eye long enough for me to brush it with my fingers. Then I'll go down the escalator and STAND STILL the whole time. It invariably gives me such a thrill when I have the opportunity to stand still on escalators or moving sidewalks. (Yes, I know it's slightly pathetic.) Upon stepping off the escalator, I will promptly get lost.
...
I SWEAR. I know my lack of a sense of direction is somewhat infamous, and now you all know just how far it goes: I GET LOST IN A LARGE RECTANGULAR ROOM.
Anyway. I'll walk in circles for a while until I figure out which way is up, and then I usually find myself approaching the manga section. I try not to linger. I will glance to see if there is a new Kenshin. (There never is, because this is BARNES AND NOBLE.) I always worry that someone will see me standing for too long by the manga section. I am always terrified to pick up manga that I don't know in bookstores and see what it is about, for fear that it is something terrible or possibly mildly pornographic and someone else who knows what the series actually is like will see me. And be shocked and scandalized.
Er.
So then I'll walk past all the study guides and the books about picking a major over to the learning foriegn language section. I'll toy with the idea of learning Russian, or Mandarin Chinese, or Hindi or Greek or whatever. (There is never anything between Arabic and Chinese. If you want to learn Bulgarian in the hope of someday falling into Harry Potter and getting a chance to meet Viktor Krum and convincing him to immediately apparate to England and win back Hermione because he is obviously SO much better for her than Ron, long sail the good ship Viktory, then you are just screwed because this is BARNES AND NOBLE. Not that I'm bitter, or that I would ever actually devote the time and work of actually learning a language so that I can hold conversations with a fictional character. Um. *cough*)
Moving on.
Then I'll weave in and out of the fiction/literature section, more out of a sense of duty and shame than actual interest. I'll wend my way through the sci-fi and fantasy sections. I know what my eventual target is. It's the next Stephanie Plum book. But Stephanie Plum books are my guilty pleasure. And so I wander around and around the more sophisticated sections of the bookstore.
It's like I'm one of those rather strange pseudo-religious types that, every time they want to do something bad, they look up at the sky and say something like "Okay, God, I'm going to throw this rock at my neighbor's window now! If I shouldn't do this, God, if you don't want me to do this, then send me a sign!" And then they will stand there and tap their foot and count to ten, and if they're not struck by lighting after that they go "Right! Guess it's okay with you then, since I gave you a chance to stop me, and you didn't!" and throw the rock.
That is exactly what I am like. I wander around the languages, the fiction/literature, the sci-fi and fantasy, calling out to the God of Bookstores. "Okay, God, I'm going to go read a Stephanie Plum book! If you don't want me to do that, you know, if you think it's a bad thing, than send me a sign!" And then if I wander all through and nothing happens, I go "Right! I gave all you other more sophisticated books a chance to get my attention, and you didn't! Mystery/Romance/Humor novels, here I come!" And I hide in the poetry section to read.
Sometimes I get my sign. I re-read To Kill a Mockingbird about a month or two ago, simply because the new cover caught my eye and so I stopped to poke at the annoyingly uncut edges and find my favorite passage, and then that beautiful passage made me so nostalgic that I had to drop everything and read it. I actually cried. It's not often that I cry in a bookstore, but I really did. I was surprised, really surprised, to find myself in tears over Mrs. Dubose. That part of the story had never really had much effect on me at all, when I read it in ninth grade. (Tenth grade? When did we read TKAM? Ohhh Eru, my essay for that book was so bad.) I was so glad I re-read it when I did. I understood so much more. I don't know what I must have thought, back when I read it, because now I see that I had missed about half of that book. Completely.
Today I got my sign again, much in the same way. Passing by between the fiction/literature and the scifi/fantasy shelves, my eye was caught by Farenheit 451, and its new weird-looking cover. (I disapprove of the cover. It's a man dressed in plate armor made of newspapers that all say "FIRE," and he is bald, and holding a pirate hat also made of newspaper. WTF.) I ran my hands over the front, remarking to myself, "I remember this book." And then I opened it and Guy Montag was being sickened by the "handyman" doctor talking so casually about the poison in Mildred's blood killing her brain. I didn't recognize the part. I only read a line or two and thought that he might have been on the subway when he's saying Lilies of the field, or possibly yelling at the women in his parlor that come to visit Mildred. Anyway, the print looked large and it seemed shorter than I remembered, so I went over to my little nook in the poetry section, where few ever venture, and where, WHOOPEE, there was a chair, for once. I re-read Farenheit 451. It took me about two hours.
Again, how did I miss half that book when I first read it? Honestly. I kept finding quotes that I'd used in my essay. I have no idea what that essay was even about, but I could tell which quotes I'd used, and even how I'd altered them, and perhaps the sentence in which they appeared. But don't ask me what the heck my thesis was, because I'm sure I don't know.
But now that Verzwyvelt (it was tenth grade, right? Maybe it was earlier. Maybe it was seventh grade, with Mrs. Cesar? No, I think it was eighth grade, with Mrs. Sullivan. All of my blonde teachers have run together in my mind, how terrible!) isn't forcing me to read it, I actually liked it. And I think that if I were to make a movie, I would cast Paul Bettany as Captain Beatty, and not just because they both have double t's in their names. At first I thought Clarisse would be Kaylee Jewel Staite, but I don't think Kaylee is delicate enough to play the Clarisse in my mind. The person is niggling at my mind but I do not know who they are, and it drives me a little bit crazy, like the picture of Ginny that I *know* I have seen of someone else who is not Ginny.
Like in orchestra today I was wandering through a daydream and opening closet doors in an imaginary hallway and then this ghoul-woman waving a sword leapt out of one as I opened the door and chased me for a while, and it took my ten minutes before I realized she was actually from Fruits Basket- the ill woman who runs the onsen that Yuki, Kyo, and Momiji take Tohru to for White Day.
(I heart Momiji! Heart heart heart! Especially when he wears the girls' uniform simply because he knows that he looks irrisistably adorable in it.)
OT much?
Yeah, so anyway, for a couple of hours afterwards my mind was still thinking in short, strange Bradbury-sentences. I felt a lot more disposed to like, or at least sympathise with, Montag this time around. Also, heart Faber, also because I was like, "hey, his name is Faber! Like Faber-Castell pencils!" and then in the A/N at the end Ray Bradbury was like "yeah, dude, I named Montag after the paper company and Faber after the pencil company and I didn't even NOTICE, how weird is that?" and I felt smart. I also felt smart for being able to place so many more of the allusions to random literature, like Macbeth. I found that this time, I had a much easier time visualizing what was going on the whole time, and what the settings were like. The first time I read it I was in a constant state of confusion of WHERE ARE THEY WHAT IS GOING ON, but now I get it.
I have also discovered my bitter hatred for the movie. I had not realized just how badly they slaughtered the book until now. I realize that they were still all "Germans are the only scary people that can ever be," but dude, no, they're obviously American, yet Clarisse is in her twenties and British? And all the firemen are German? And Mildred is Linda, because it was a more popular American name at the time? And lots of other much worse things, but I'm not going to turn this into movie!rant.
It was supposed to really be talking a lot more about the book, but just in case it has escaped your notice, I am extremely easily distracted.
Ooo! Chewy hairclip!
Goodbye.
I feel a little guilty heading straight for the scifi/fantasy or the mystery section. I'll usually come in the front door and walk around through the cafe on the left side (the checkout and information counters are both on the right, and I feel it is rather prudent that I not become a familiar sight to the staff). I'll give a cursory glance over to the stuff for sale on the tables as I walk. There is NEVER anything good. (This is Barnes and Noble we are talking about, after all.) Perhaps some shiny wrapping paper will catch my eye long enough for me to brush it with my fingers. Then I'll go down the escalator and STAND STILL the whole time. It invariably gives me such a thrill when I have the opportunity to stand still on escalators or moving sidewalks. (Yes, I know it's slightly pathetic.) Upon stepping off the escalator, I will promptly get lost.
...
I SWEAR. I know my lack of a sense of direction is somewhat infamous, and now you all know just how far it goes: I GET LOST IN A LARGE RECTANGULAR ROOM.
Anyway. I'll walk in circles for a while until I figure out which way is up, and then I usually find myself approaching the manga section. I try not to linger. I will glance to see if there is a new Kenshin. (There never is, because this is BARNES AND NOBLE.) I always worry that someone will see me standing for too long by the manga section. I am always terrified to pick up manga that I don't know in bookstores and see what it is about, for fear that it is something terrible or possibly mildly pornographic and someone else who knows what the series actually is like will see me. And be shocked and scandalized.
Er.
So then I'll walk past all the study guides and the books about picking a major over to the learning foriegn language section. I'll toy with the idea of learning Russian, or Mandarin Chinese, or Hindi or Greek or whatever. (There is never anything between Arabic and Chinese. If you want to learn Bulgarian in the hope of someday falling into Harry Potter and getting a chance to meet Viktor Krum and convincing him to immediately apparate to England and win back Hermione because he is obviously SO much better for her than Ron, long sail the good ship Viktory, then you are just screwed because this is BARNES AND NOBLE. Not that I'm bitter, or that I would ever actually devote the time and work of actually learning a language so that I can hold conversations with a fictional character. Um. *cough*)
Moving on.
Then I'll weave in and out of the fiction/literature section, more out of a sense of duty and shame than actual interest. I'll wend my way through the sci-fi and fantasy sections. I know what my eventual target is. It's the next Stephanie Plum book. But Stephanie Plum books are my guilty pleasure. And so I wander around and around the more sophisticated sections of the bookstore.
It's like I'm one of those rather strange pseudo-religious types that, every time they want to do something bad, they look up at the sky and say something like "Okay, God, I'm going to throw this rock at my neighbor's window now! If I shouldn't do this, God, if you don't want me to do this, then send me a sign!" And then they will stand there and tap their foot and count to ten, and if they're not struck by lighting after that they go "Right! Guess it's okay with you then, since I gave you a chance to stop me, and you didn't!" and throw the rock.
That is exactly what I am like. I wander around the languages, the fiction/literature, the sci-fi and fantasy, calling out to the God of Bookstores. "Okay, God, I'm going to go read a Stephanie Plum book! If you don't want me to do that, you know, if you think it's a bad thing, than send me a sign!" And then if I wander all through and nothing happens, I go "Right! I gave all you other more sophisticated books a chance to get my attention, and you didn't! Mystery/Romance/Humor novels, here I come!" And I hide in the poetry section to read.
Sometimes I get my sign. I re-read To Kill a Mockingbird about a month or two ago, simply because the new cover caught my eye and so I stopped to poke at the annoyingly uncut edges and find my favorite passage, and then that beautiful passage made me so nostalgic that I had to drop everything and read it. I actually cried. It's not often that I cry in a bookstore, but I really did. I was surprised, really surprised, to find myself in tears over Mrs. Dubose. That part of the story had never really had much effect on me at all, when I read it in ninth grade. (Tenth grade? When did we read TKAM? Ohhh Eru, my essay for that book was so bad.) I was so glad I re-read it when I did. I understood so much more. I don't know what I must have thought, back when I read it, because now I see that I had missed about half of that book. Completely.
Today I got my sign again, much in the same way. Passing by between the fiction/literature and the scifi/fantasy shelves, my eye was caught by Farenheit 451, and its new weird-looking cover. (I disapprove of the cover. It's a man dressed in plate armor made of newspapers that all say "FIRE," and he is bald, and holding a pirate hat also made of newspaper. WTF.) I ran my hands over the front, remarking to myself, "I remember this book." And then I opened it and Guy Montag was being sickened by the "handyman" doctor talking so casually about the poison in Mildred's blood killing her brain. I didn't recognize the part. I only read a line or two and thought that he might have been on the subway when he's saying Lilies of the field, or possibly yelling at the women in his parlor that come to visit Mildred. Anyway, the print looked large and it seemed shorter than I remembered, so I went over to my little nook in the poetry section, where few ever venture, and where, WHOOPEE, there was a chair, for once. I re-read Farenheit 451. It took me about two hours.
Again, how did I miss half that book when I first read it? Honestly. I kept finding quotes that I'd used in my essay. I have no idea what that essay was even about, but I could tell which quotes I'd used, and even how I'd altered them, and perhaps the sentence in which they appeared. But don't ask me what the heck my thesis was, because I'm sure I don't know.
But now that Verzwyvelt (it was tenth grade, right? Maybe it was earlier. Maybe it was seventh grade, with Mrs. Cesar? No, I think it was eighth grade, with Mrs. Sullivan. All of my blonde teachers have run together in my mind, how terrible!) isn't forcing me to read it, I actually liked it. And I think that if I were to make a movie, I would cast Paul Bettany as Captain Beatty, and not just because they both have double t's in their names. At first I thought Clarisse would be Kaylee Jewel Staite, but I don't think Kaylee is delicate enough to play the Clarisse in my mind. The person is niggling at my mind but I do not know who they are, and it drives me a little bit crazy, like the picture of Ginny that I *know* I have seen of someone else who is not Ginny.
Like in orchestra today I was wandering through a daydream and opening closet doors in an imaginary hallway and then this ghoul-woman waving a sword leapt out of one as I opened the door and chased me for a while, and it took my ten minutes before I realized she was actually from Fruits Basket- the ill woman who runs the onsen that Yuki, Kyo, and Momiji take Tohru to for White Day.
(I heart Momiji! Heart heart heart! Especially when he wears the girls' uniform simply because he knows that he looks irrisistably adorable in it.)
OT much?
Yeah, so anyway, for a couple of hours afterwards my mind was still thinking in short, strange Bradbury-sentences. I felt a lot more disposed to like, or at least sympathise with, Montag this time around. Also, heart Faber, also because I was like, "hey, his name is Faber! Like Faber-Castell pencils!" and then in the A/N at the end Ray Bradbury was like "yeah, dude, I named Montag after the paper company and Faber after the pencil company and I didn't even NOTICE, how weird is that?" and I felt smart. I also felt smart for being able to place so many more of the allusions to random literature, like Macbeth. I found that this time, I had a much easier time visualizing what was going on the whole time, and what the settings were like. The first time I read it I was in a constant state of confusion of WHERE ARE THEY WHAT IS GOING ON, but now I get it.
I have also discovered my bitter hatred for the movie. I had not realized just how badly they slaughtered the book until now. I realize that they were still all "Germans are the only scary people that can ever be," but dude, no, they're obviously American, yet Clarisse is in her twenties and British? And all the firemen are German? And Mildred is Linda, because it was a more popular American name at the time? And lots of other much worse things, but I'm not going to turn this into movie!rant.
It was supposed to really be talking a lot more about the book, but just in case it has escaped your notice, I am extremely easily distracted.
Ooo! Chewy hairclip!
Goodbye.