Mother's Day, one of my least favorite days, passed without incident this year, "incident" in this case is understood to mean "bout of cripling depression" or "drinking alone." I took a walk to Park Slope because I had been there the day before with Der Man and it reminded me, oh yeah, Park Slope is kinda nice. So I crossed Flatbush to the land where children rule and adults trip all over themselves to appease the snot-nosed little darlings.
I went to Barnes and Noble and didn't leave until I had touched every book in the joint, like some kind of OCD adolescent. I probably picked up about 50 books from cookbooks to travel narratives to read the author's bio to note what and where the person had published before, his background, what he was doing now, in short tracing the way people build little careers for themselves. 'I could do this,' I thought. 'I should be doing this.'
I purchased three paperback books (two as gifts) and was surprised to hear the total was forty-seven dollars and change. I asked the clerk how much each book cost. Right, no error there; three paperback books really do cost nearly fifty bucks. Back to the BPL for me.
On the way home I stopped at Haagen Dazs because their light ice cream is delicious and therefore, I suspect, not very light. Little did I know that stepping inside the shop would be akin to falling inside a space time continuim. I was in the for ages, we all were, just standing there. There were three guys behind the counter and yet no one managed to get served. It was as if time had stopped, or was moving backwards. Everyone was doing something, you just couldn't quite put your finger on what it was, especially as nothing actually got done. Days passed, we waited. The ice cream was flowing in reverse, slowly reverting back to its individual ingredients, the milk being sucked back into the udder of a cow that had appeared in a corner.
Ironically, when I first moved to New York and was unemployed and broke I put in an application to work at that very Haagen Dazs and no one ever called me. At the time I thought it was because I was over-qualified, but I see now that it was because I am not skilled enough to manipulate the laws of quantum mechanics. Kudos to you, gentlemen. Back on Seventh Avenue time was moving at a normal pace but all of my peers seemed to be in the company of a middle-aged woman, some of them wearing corsages. Presumably this is that whole "tadpoling" trend we heard so much about years ago.
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5 comments:
I hear you were on Gakwer, awesome!
Yup, we've been gawked. Hence the 2,300 extra hits on Friday afternoon. Everyone, best behavior while our visitors are here.
I used to work at the Barnes and Noble. For like a month afterwards I couldn't be in a book store without straightening up any books which were askew, it was really, really weird.
You should also try the independent Park Slope book stores which are very nice, even if some of them smell a little funny. Well only one actually.
You know, I always feel like an asshole walking into a Barnes & Noble when there are independent booksellers around but in matters when I'm buying a gift for someone and I know what I want and I need to have it now (because I'm terrible at planning ahead) well, sometimes you have to go to the place that you know is going to have it. Although B&N pissed me off this weekend by only having one Calvin Trillin title in stock. As the kids say, WTF??
Also, I loved 7th Avenue Books when it was between 8th and 7th. Is it just me, or did it loose something when it moved further down the avenue?
I haven't been since it moved. I think Community Books or whatever it's called is also good. When in Park Slope, I try not to buy books from BN if possible, but I can't really fault people for going there, it does have a generally good selection.
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