Jøhnny Fävòrítê (johnnyfavorite) wrote,
Jøhnny Fävòrítê

the hole in the paper

These days I think Stephen King is a dreadful pretentious hack. But back in the eighties I fell for his particular brand of snake oil. At one point I'd read all his books, including the ones written under pseudonyms, back when the total was about 25 or so.

By and large I'm sorry I wasted my time reading those books instead of better ones. There's one phrase of his that has stuck with me, though. I think it was in the book where the crazy lady kidnaps her favorite author and forces him to write a book in an earlier style that he had previously abandoned. The author-character in that book would refer to particularly fruitful writing sessions as "falling through the hole in the paper." Yes, I can relate to that. It happens almost every time I sit down in front of my delightfully gorgeous Macintosh G4 and fire up TextEdit on its sprawling 22-inch flat-screen Cinema Display. This is the most satisfying computer I've ever owned, and I've owned a lot of them. Apple is the only tech company in the world that can imbue their machines with real personality.

Despite the ease with which the hole beckons me in, I'm always a little anxious as to what I'm going to write about. I feel like I have certain standards to uphold. I don't want to fall into one of the usual boring blog cliches.

This was Day Two of shopping for clothes to wear to my sister's wedding. I had forgotten that, given the right circumstances, I don't mind clothes-shopping at all! I found a decent men's store and achieved exactly those ideal circumstances. A guy who grew up in Wichita, the same town where I spent 15 years of my life, waited on me hand and foot for an hour and a half. He'd lay out three or four choices for everything and I'd point to the one I wanted. Insert stereotypical observation about men being get-in-buy-get-out shoppers, as opposed to women, who like to browse.

Michael was a really nice guy. I had to endure only one slightly embarrassing "upsell moment," where he tried to get me interested in a blazer. I quickly turned him down, in a very different tone of voice than I'd been using before. The look on his face was so sad, like I'd just slapped him. I could see it in his body language: "Ahh geez, this is what it's come to, hasn't it. This guy is already on the hook for almost a thousand bucks' worth of clothes and I have to try to cram stuff down his throat that he doesn't want. I hate my job sometimes." I felt bad about that. I have to remember that I am no longer Mister Overreacting Guy. He was doing a great job, I'm sure he has to try to "upsell" me, failing to do so is probably a firing offense. I want to be nice, too.

I bought my first-ever pair of cuff-links. Me! Cuff-links! I thought that was a little extravagant, I was about to insist on some shirts with regular buttons, but I was kind of enjoying going all out. As usual, Michael set out four or five pairs for me to look at. I like being catered to. I picked a pair that was simple, black, and inexpensive.

I'm ready to go on "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" now.

In case I haven't made it obvious before now, I am largely taking a break from life. I wasn't very good at it, I needed a time out. Now I am getting out of practice. I am startled by everyday things that I expect I would have taken for granted before I stopped interacting with the public.

While wandering through a department store today I discovered that there is a new dual-gender fragrance called 'fcuk'. Oooh, clever! The advertising materials are full of blatant single entendres, like "sent to the bedroom" printed over a picture of a ripped couple in their underwear. They sell this stuff in supposedly upscale stores without a whiff of irony. Boy, I surely do love PRODUCTS! Perhaps if I buy some of them, I will become cooler.

Then I came home and sat on the back porch, drinking coffee. It's hot and humid, since it's been raining fitfully. The view from out there sure doesn't look like suburbia, since we are right on the edge of a forest. The rhythms of nature are so much more pleasant than what you find in human-infested environments.

My heart goes out to my hummingbirds. They are curious about me, I know it. I've lost count of the number of times they have buzzed to within four or five feet and just hung there motionless, trying to figure me out.

The males are a lot more cautious than the females. I'm sure that's why I've seen fewer of them. Formerly I could only identify them by their red throats, but now I see they give themselves away in lots of details. The girls are brownish and fuzzy, the boys are blackish and smooth. The girls are in a hurry, the boys are slower and more determined. The girls like to fight. The boys will sometimes fight with the girls, if they are provoked, but they never initiate it.

Oh, this is so dumb. I don't care what I did today. I want to hear about political_punk's second day of school! Has she started teaching that other kid to play the banjo? Why didn't I get to go to a fun school like that? I guess I should have "screwed" "up" more, like she did. Now I learn these things, some twenty-five years too late. I need to hurry up and get out of here so I can get some more kids in my life, and stop vampiring off of her childhood.
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