conspicuous consumption
Still in pain. Relaxing through, pretending that I made the deadline because I managed to get a postmark (ignoring the online failure that is even worse than Christian Slater ruining my chances like last year). Went out under the excuse of Free Comic Book Day, visited three comic book shops, spending about $50 at my favorite (Open-featured Bridge City Comics on Mississippi) and about $10 or $12 each at Excalibur (hohum, superheroes) and Future Dreams (I call it a flea market comic shop, Briana called the speakeasy of comic shops). So yeah, consumerism! That's right.
Bought a lot of actual issues, which is odd for me. I really should have forked out for a box at this point. Actual issues are hard to buy, to keep up with. As much as I love the medium, both its overblown superhero stuff (in moderation and when carefully chosen) and its indulgent geeky navel-gazing cousin (same) and all the weird interesting stuff that lies in between -- and I'm pretty sure there's a long rant building up inside me about the ways comics have versus have not grown up past the stunted adolescent mindset and reputation they bear -- whew, anyway, as much as I love comics, individual issues are so inconvenient for me that I have come to prefer the trade paper ("graphic novel") format by leaps and bounds. I guess that's not surprising: as much as television has regained my respect, I prefer DVD compilations of seasons to watching episode-by-episode.
So anyway, tonight there's a chance Jessie and/or Rachel will call me. If they don't, I may stay in with comics (and two back-episodes of Lost to catch up on) and if anything, I intend to dig into Every Room is Empty footage and pull some clips for Sabra's reel (and Jeff's if he wants it), then do the same to Open for Lauren's. But more likely I'll worry about that stuff tomorrow. Today might be my first willfully non-productive (non-road-trip, non-family, non-sick) day in months.
Sue me.