I have at least one friend who has a magpie-in-a-jewelry-shop approach to life -- in short, she is constantly distracted by the new shiny. In her case, the new shiny ideas of what to do with her life. I suppose I cannot judge her, I am built similarly, although actually the new shiny is always a shiny I've already gazed into with my beady little eyes.
What is this in regards to? Why, the wayward recurring thought that if all else fails, I shall open a used bookstore! To which my friends say, you already ARE a used bookstore, and a few too many of those books are about the oral tradition. This little thought popped back in my head after visiting a used book store on my street -- a bad one. About ninety percent of the books in said bookstore were bought in a grocery store, which is to say it was jam-packed with romances and the like. It should have advertised itself as a romance novel exchange, because that's what it is. The romance section is large and lovingly maintained, itemized into historical romances and fantasy romances and, my personal favorite description, "Unusual Romance." I might go back just to satiate my curiosity on what, indeed, an Unusual Romance is. The Literature and Classics section is small and crowded onto one wee shelf, where I did find Claudius the God (follow up to I, Claudius) which I've been meaning to read for about four years now. A well-spent three dollars. And the checkout lady was so sweet and gracious about everything that I felt bad for judging her store. I mean, it was nice, it just isn't the kind of used bookstore I love.
My favorite used bookstores are the ones that seemed to have grown up around the person -- generally an over-educated clove-scented man with unkempt, greying hair, a propensity to wear flannel, and a severe case of the Misanthropies*. The shelves go higher than twice my height, and while the place is categorized and cared for, the owner can't be bothered to actually tell you where anything is. Also, while he is reading, he is also somehow always listening to college football. He doesn't care if you think it goes against his intellectual image because he doesn't care what you think. When he's not reading, he's following the Buckeyes and you can just go fuck yourself. And what are you trying to sell him, your old copy of "The Five People You Meet in Heaven?" Seriously, go fuck yourself twice and then write a self-aggrandizing memoir about the time you spent listening to a dying old man because it's all about you and GOD DAMN YOU MICHIGAN.
Yes, that's the kind of used bookstore I love.
* I know it is not a word, but why isn't it a band name? It's like The Violent Fancies -- should have been taken by now by someone with musical talent. I have none, and yet am a store of perfectly viable indie band names.
Pineapple and I just went to see 500 Days of Summer -- which I liked more than I disliked, so I would recommend it. It had a good soundtrack (although, as Anna said, all of the songs were about four years old) and an interesting way of telling the story -- but it was also pretty cliched. A pretty girl with a 60s aesthetic who likes the Smiths? Fall in love with her INSTANTER, my good fellow! But whatever, I still enjoyed the movie, and it's not really the subject of this post.
No, I want you to get the full impact of something I experienced in the previews. The order of the previews presented a sort of disconnect that struck me as, well... it struck me, is what. Here's the order of the trailers:
Trailer one: Precious
Make sure you watch this. I really want to see this one because I know it will make me weep like a baby and want to FIND all my old students and hug them, even the ones what bugged the SHIT out of me and say, "I am SORRY, I want this world to be better to you and it fucking ISN'T." I cried like that during Half-Nelson. I did start to cry during the preview. Because... I'm part of the human race.
But my tears had nary a chance to blur my vision before they went into Trailer Two: Love Happens.
Ummm... Ok. So, I won't be seeing this one, because we've seen it. Pretty people learning to looooove again. All you want is right in front of you, you just have to be braaaave enough to reeeeeach for it. WHYYY can't you just REEEEACH for LOOOOOVE?
So... I just want to know who decided the order of these trailers. Who decided to place "Heartbreaking story of a teen living in Harlem who faces more serious shit before seven am than most people do in a year" right before "Two pretty blond people just want to love again!" The disconnect is stunning, and I wonder who else in the theater noticed it. Don't get me wrong -- I don't hate romantic movies. Hell, I just came to SEE one. But it unsettled me. I wonder if it would have unsettled me three years ago?
