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Wednesday, Jul. 31, 2002 / 11:42 a.m. ~Madonna, Bookstore Memories, and Having Fun With My Cynical Side~ Someone really needs to look into the cost-effectiveness of paying me to sit here reading Entertainment Weekly and listening to Madonna�s �Music�. Are they getting their money�s worth? When the phone rings, I suppose. But in general? They could stand to trim. Just a bit. Yesterday, end of day, the �new� old Site Manager came around, said he wanted to see how busy we were� hmmmm� kinda makes one wonder. He hadn�t paid a visit since his re-taking of the throne. Isn�t there a word for �taking the throne�? My vocabulary fails me this moment. Ascension? Okay, since his �ascension to the throne�. Madonna is cool, you can�t deny that. This is a good album � so is �Erotica�� and �Bedtime Stories�. I don�t care much for �early� Madonna, but around 1993 or so she became really cool in my book. I think it was all the softcore D&S, or S&M, or whatever she was trying to project. The attempt to be really wild. I was working at the bookstore when her book came out, Sex, isn�t that the name of it? It came wrapped in a mylar covering. I bought two copies, one to open, one to keep under wraps. I don�t even know if it�s still in print, or if it comes in the mylar anymore. It�s a fun book though, not much to it, just sexy fun. I�m rambling, I�ve got nothing to say, but I sit and type anyway. It�s deathly quiet here at work, and that�s nice for a change. I�ve taken three calls in an hour and a half. Processed three documents. I�ve read a couple articles in EW, listened to Jeff Buckley�s �Grace�, inserted fresh batteries into the Walkman, and now it�s �Music�, Madonna. I�m still having a hard time typing, particularly when I�m composing for my diary. I hit all the wrong keys, backspace over and over. The Computer Dude came by with a new keyboard for me yesterday, but it was an old keyboard, just as clunky as this one. So I switched it back. Fascinating. I know. More about the mylar wrapped Sex book� the day it was released was BIG, oh yeah, we had a local TV crew at the store and everything. Everything. Lines of people. As employees we got first crack, mainly because we took it. First crack. We grabbed copies for ourselves. Those who were interested anyway, which wasn�t everyone, just the gay men, a few of the lesbians, and me. The general straight bookstore employee population couldn�t have cared less. I miss the bookstore. I miss answering stupid book questions all day� �What�s that new book, oh, you know, it�s red?� And the challenges, the people looking for books they thought didn�t even exist � I LOVED that! I�d search Books in Print, find what they were looking for, order it, and then hope they�d actually buy it. If they didn�t, we�d shelve it. We didn�t care. Oh, the stories� three years ten months at that one store. The relationships forged, the people who met and married, the ones who came out of their closets, the sex in the bathrooms, the semen on the display table, the condom on my desk, the crazy people who�d come to browse and never leave. The crushes. Oh, the stories. We all said we�d write books about it, but no one has yet, to my knowledge. It�s something else now, last time I drove by, that store. Gone. �It�s Amazing�, by Madonna. Very groovy, retro beat. I give it a 9 out of 10, I could dance to it. In other rambling news� Listerine is always sick. Have I mentioned that? I think she has no immune system at all. Fuck me, I am so bored. Oh, get this, I took the object of my affection, my obsession, down a notch on the boards last night. The reason is so silly. I won�t write it here. But my cynical side emerged, and I went with it, I ran with it - my cynical side and I got in a Lamborghini and rode off into the night, at top speed, the wind blowing our hair all out of proportion. It was crazy wicked fun. I like my cynical side � we have fun together. And I�m sorry. Really, I am. But come on, I can only stick with the blind adoration for so long before I back up and say a loud and resounding, �HUH?! What the fuck am I doing?!� But should I really have called Moby�s message boards �jerk-off fodder�? Hey, I can picture him in his little room on the tour bus, after the show, tired, but wired, unable to sleep, his little laptop on the bed, tuned in to the message boards, reading all the gushy posts about how wonderful he is, how we want to know him, have sex with him, how that one�s life is now complete because she met him, and that one only wishes she could, that one was so inspired he became a musician, and that one over there� that one is crazy as a loon. I see him dash off a little journal entry about how great we all are, we board members� And then, while one hand scrolls with its fingers, the other hand busies itself with Mr. Happy. Come on! You don�t see it?! In your mind�s eye, you know, the sincere eye? Sure, he does it. I would if I were him. And if I had a Mr. Happy. But Ms. Happy would be enjoying the lazy stroking as I read away, if people were gushing about me all over the place. He�s called himself �narcissistic� and a �megalomaniac�, with �low self-esteem�, recognizing the contradiction. He knows who he is, and I think I do too, to the extent allowed. It�s one of those situations Sydney Omarr likes to reiterate in his daily horoscopes: �Today a relationship becomes too hot not to cool down�. Actually, he wrote that as my horoscope for the day after I met Moby, or was it the same day? Not that I put any stock at all in that silly daily horoscope book, but, well, I read it anyway, um, it�s fun, yeah, that�s it. So, I�ve cooled down. I was too hot not to cool down. These things happen. I�m okay with it. But maybe I should back off from the boards too? Crap, I have actual work to do now. 11:31 a.m., cubicle time. Cost of the War in Iraq
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