A Bibliophile's Dilemma

I have a problem. It’s something that’s been an issue throughout my whole life and I can’t seem to stop. It’s cost me thousands of dollars, untold hours, and at times, left me isolated and alone.

I’m speaking, of course, about reading.

More specifically, about reading too fast.

You see, I read really fast. I’m not being immodest, it’s just what it is. It’s been a handy trait at many points in my life, especially college, but it’s also been kind of a pain in the butt. I buy a book, go home, and then start reading. Four or five hours later, I’m done. Books just don’t last for me and it’s kind of irritating.

Just last Friday I got a box of two books I ordered online and about four hours later, I’d finished the first one and was reaching for the second. I stopped myself and now the unread book sits by my chair, taunting me. Yet I know, if I pick it up, I’ll just read through the whole thing and then be sans books yet again.

When I was a kid, I used to buy two and three books a week. I had a part-time job and no expenses, so I could buy books. There was an independent bookstore near my work (Books & Books) so I would often browse through it before/after work. The owner had a reputation among my friends for being mean, but he loved me and once gave me a slightly damaged bikini calendar.  Of course, I was buying probably forty-bucks worth of merchandise a month.

In college, my dorm-mate read at a glacial pace. He spent an entire semester reading a Star Trek novel, while I went through a couple a week. Being an English major, it wasn’t bad, as I always had something to read for class. Now, I kind of envy Vince. He got like three-months enjoyment out of one book. 

Yes, libraries do exist, but I have a thing about keeping books. It’s not the smartest choice I could make, the fourteen-odd boxes of books in storage testament to that, but it’s what I do. Kindle/Nooks/Tablets are also an option, but I don’t really like reading on those. A book is a physical presence with a feel and a heft and a smell. Tablets are just kind of sterile, I guess.

Now, if they could make a tablet that smelled like a book, I’d be all over it. Which begs the question: could you get ‘book-smell’ air fresheners for your car? Or book-smell deodorant? These are things I would buy.

Cheers,

-Jason

It's All About the Lines

To the surprise of absolutely no one who knows me, I am a bit of a slob. Not a ‘half-empty cans of Coke everywhere’ kind of guy, but more like a ‘why is there a sock in the refrigerator’ kind of guy. I do clean my apartment on a regular schedule, but I confess that I’m just not very good at it.

You see, as a lad, I worked with my dad a lot. He was a contractor and I basically grew up on construction sites. I could literally build a deck when I was twelve. I also learned to swear and had strong opinions about trucks and tools, as well as a plethora of confusing ideas regarding women, divorce, the government, France, and women (again). This is what happens when you leave an eight-year-old alone with construction workers for extended periods of time. 

NOTE: I am in no way demeaning construction workers. I’m sure that I’d grown up surrounded by investment bankers, I’d have gotten equally weird information.

The upshot of this is that I never really learned to clean. My duties around the house consisted of dusting, cleaning up dog poop/vomit, and vacuuming. The vacuuming took the longest amount of time, but I learned to get the lines right.

Fast forward a long time and here I am, living on my own and in charge of an entire apartment. I do clean regularly (the vacuum lines are PERFECT!), but I’m at a bit of a loss when cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms. I spray a lot of stuff that has ‘BLEACH’ in bold letters on the bottle and then wipe it off. Despite my best efforts, the kitchen and bathroom still look like a yeti sneezed on every surface and then wiped it off with its underwear. Yes, I am assuming Yeti wear underwear. Prove me wrong.

Imagine my surprise and delight then, when my apartment complex ran a special in conjunction with a maid service. They would come in and clean for half-price and your email address, so they could market at you for the rest of time.

I went for it.

One week later, two middle aged ladies and one younger one showed up at my door. I showed them around, told them not to pull the cord on the cobra trap, pointed out the stake-lined pit, then went into my office to work on something. They came in for a few minutes, to vacuum (decent lines, not great) and dust, then left me alone. They finished in about forty-minutes and left. I stumbled out of the office a bit later and beheld a strange sight.

My kitchen gleamed like a disco ball in a tanning booth. I could actually see my reflection on the stove clearly enough to recoil in horror. My bathroom was much the same. Part of me now wants to chase down those ladies and with an offering of latex gloves, learn the ways of the master.

However, there is a downside. Not wanting to ruin the perfection that my kitchen now had, I built a fire pit in my living room and now only cook there. Chicken is pretty easy, but you have to be careful shoving a skewer through a Pop-Tart.

Don’t ask how I’m getting around not using the bathroom.

Cheers,

-Jason

Staples

I found myself standing in front of a large row of pens and other writing implements seriously wondering if I should buy a red pen. One part of my brain kept insisting that I don’t need a red pen, but then another part would point out that in the event that I did need a red pen, it would be better to have one ready. You know, just in case some zombies attacked and the only way to defeat them would be correcting their homework.

No, I didn’t get so far as to figure out why zombies would have homework, much less why correcting it would defeat them.

I decided that I really, really didn’t need a red pen, zombies or not, as I already had a mace. I started to walk away only to be distracted by a selection of highlighters. It was then I realized I was totally hooked on Staples.

Oh, it started innocently enough. I would go into the local Staples with an actual need, such as the sorter I bought a couple/three weeks ago. I needed that to sort stuff. The argument can be made that you can also sort stuff with a mace, but it’s not as tidy.

And then I found myself going in to look at file folders. I don’t really need any file folders, but when I bought the sorter, I passed the file folders and thought ‘maybe I should get some of those, too.’

It escalated from there.

I decided I really needed to look at some labels. And since I was there, I should probably check out the envelopes. And laser pointers. You never know when you might need to point at something.

I mean, I might be in a restaurant when zombies attack. I’ll shout ‘Look out, zombies!’ and the other patrons will say ‘Where?’ and I’ll whip out my laser pointer and put the dot right on a zombie’s forehead and say ‘There!’

And then we’ll beat up the zombies with chairs and plastic trays and I’d be a hero and the cute cashier might give me a coupon for a free burger.

No, my ambitions are not lofty.

Staples just has all these things that I can convince myself that I might need. I don’t have this problem in toy stores. Oh, I want everything, I just don’t need everything. Staples is different. They have real grown-up things that I can show to an adult and say ‘this is a thing I need’ and they would agree.

Now, if the zombies were in high-school, they could, conceivably have been zombified before they turned in their homework, so they might still have it on them. And if I gave them ‘F’s, they might be so dejected they would forget about eating what little brain I have. Then I could hit them with my mace.

Huh, guess I’m going back to Stables for that red pen.

Cheers,

-Jason

ECC 2014: After Action Report

Wind whipped across the parking lot, driving the rain almost horizontally across the asphalt. Two men stood facing one another by a black sedan, the water dripping from them disappearing into the puddle at their feet.

“What now?” the taller of the two asked, the dull light from the cloudy sky shining in his glasses.

“You know,” said the other as he curled his hands into fists.

“We really going to do this?”

“There’s no other choice.”

The tall man rolled his neck and then swung his arms across his body as he hopped from foot to foot, pausing to shake out each leg.

The other man looked up and let the rain wash over his face for a moment, before settling into a crouch, left foot forward, hands up.

The taller man began to shuffle, firing quick jabs with both hands. He settled into a boxing stance, shoulders forward, chin down. “On three,” he said.

“Right.”

A car horn blared in the distance, reverberating off the brick buildings around them.

“One.”

A woman walked by, her head down against the wind and rain. She never noticed them.

“Two.”

The remnants of a plastic bag fluttered past.

“Three.”

Hands flashed on both sides and there was sudden stillness, punctuated by the sound of rain hitting the car.

“Poop,” said the shorter man. His outstretched hand showed scissors.

“Ha!” said the other, his hand showing rock. “You have to carry the big box!”

The preceding was a dramatic interpretation of how we figured out who had to carry the heavy stuff in a parking lot near the Seattle Convention Center. Actually, we parked in the underground lot, so it wasn’t really wet. And we had dollies. And, frankly, everything was heavy.

It’s probably best to just forget that first part.

Anyway, Leigh, my brother Rick and I survived ECC 2014 intact. There were a lot of early mornings, as the parking lot is full by 9 am, but we persevered and managed to get decent parking all three days. Jason Raines, the penciler on Capes & Heels showed up later and had to park almost 7,001 kilometers away, which is something like 3 blocks.

Yes, I’m a bit hazy on the whole metrics thing.

To sum up the con: fun, costumes, nerds, hot-dogs, pictures, more fun, many con-buddies, fans new and old, finishing with sleeping and then doing the whole thing over again. It was like attending a party for three days with comics and intermittent alcohol.

We saw a lot of con buddies and friends alike. To our left was David Ketcherside. Across the aisle were the Scottish Ninjas and to our left was Sam Wood. Our con buddies Jason Metcalf was in attendance, as was Quentin Shaw of QED Publishing, Jason Martin, Randy ‘Rantz’ Kintz, and Beth Guizzetti of ZB Publications.

Overall, a great time was had. Drinks were drunk. Hot dogs were consumed. Comics were . . . comicked.

Next up for us is the Salt Lake FaneXperience on April 17-19^th. Come by, say ‘hi,’ and check out some of our new projects.

Cheers,

-Jason