My pal Vicky left me a message the other day and the call was coming from inside the sexy bastion of bulk known as Costco. While meandering through, she began to realize just how much being inside a Costco was like spending time (and money) at a casino.
There are no windows or clocks so you never know what time of day it is, the people wander about in varying stages of decay, some in their Sunday best while others favour buffet pants as they flirt with the food sample presenters. There are high stakes involved in figuring out which gamble will provide the biggest payout - the case of Vaseline Intensive Care or that sexy skid of hammers.
She kept me laughing for a good couple of minutes and I went back to work. Thankfully, a follow up message pulled me away from work again.
Having cut her losses after ponying up a couple of hundred bucks, she came to the realization that like a casino, at Costco 'the house always wins'.
The next time I need a 3 minute routine on anything, she'll be my first call. I hope she picks up.
Anybody who's ever bought something from Amazon is likely to receive communiques from them with helpful suggestions for new purchases based on past purchases.
Sometimes, they hit the mark and let me know for instance, there's a new Chuck Palahniuk book out that I need, yay! Other times, I'm just left scratching my head for other reasons than that I have lice.
Some recent gems from my 'Inbox' that have given me extra lice:
I just finished watching an oddball film courtesy of the mind of Charlie Kaufman: Synecdoche, New York. I can't say that I'd recommend it but I will say it made me laugh in some unexpected places and scratch my head. It had a lot of quirk going for it but not enough to be completely satisfying.
One of my favourite parts was when the priest character had this to say:
Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you'll never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce.
And they say there is no fate, but there is: it's what you create. Even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but doesn't really.
And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope for something good to come along. Something to make you feel connected, to make you feel whole, to make you feel loved. And the truth is I'm so angry and the truth is I'm so fucking sad, and the truth is I've been so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long have been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own, and their own is too overwhelming to allow them to listen to or care about mine. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.
While perhaps designed to lead me to the razor's edge, it had quite the opposite effect. It made me smirk and realize how true it is that we all shuffle around when maybe we should be out picking up speed and trying new experiences on for size. You know by speed, I meant the drug right?