I just finished up another nice weekend in my ever-evolving life. No drama, or minor calamities. No rushing about in search of some inner purpose. Instead I watched some movies at home, and spent some much needed time cleaning and organizing my office. I will admit that I didn't read any of Homicide this weekend. I'm not going to feel guilty about it either. In fact, I may just set the David Simon book aside for a bit, and read something lighter, literally and figuratively.
I got up this morning in time to do some banking, and stop at the library. I had three CDs awaiting me at the library: Tom Waits' "Rain Dogs," Smog's "Knock Knock," and a boxed set from Rhino called "Rockin' Bones: 1950's Punk & Rockabilly." If I remember correctly, the artist Charlie Feathers is what prompted me to check out the rockabilly collection. Currently I'm listening to Francis Dunnery, an under appreciated singer/songwriter/guitarist from England. Way back when he was the lead singer for a band named It Bites, who I actually saw open for Jethro Tull once. Dunnery has fallen off the mainstream map a bit, but he's still producing music. In fact, he was here in Seattle a couple of years ago, filming a live concert DVD at the Triple Door. I'm still a bit sorrowful for missing that show.
Actually, I don't get too bummed out anymore when I end up missing some live music show in the area. Life these days is filled with enough little pleasantries, that I don't find myself beating myself up for missing the latest and greatest. I still buy books like I'm trying to bury some dark mood of mine, but only goes to prove that I'll buy books whether I'm happy or sad. I can buy books in an effort to cheer myself up, or I can purchase a few titles just because I'm in a celebratory mood. One doesn't really need an overwhelming reason to buy a good book. Now to buy a shitty book you need a really good reason in my humble opinion. There was a gentleman in the bookstore a few nights ago, who inquired about the Karl Rove memoir, and whether we had sold any. (We were only carrying one copy, and it had not sold.) He seemed elated that we had sold any, but then he went ahead and bought it. Clearly the bearded, drooling man was insane.
I'm hoping that no more insane closet Republicans will come into the store tonight, looking for a copy of the new book by John Yoo, or some other war criminal. I may just have to show the ignorant sod the pavement just outside our door.