I'm always writing about the library

Indianapolis is a fairly large city, so you'd think that my girlfriend leaving for the weekend wouldn't be cause for the complete destruction for any sort of social or activity-based plan I could come up with. But because (4 and 1/2 years in now) I still haven't developed any new and/or meaningful relationships with anyone (apart from my boss, I guess), a weekend alone is a recipe for complete livestyle anarchy.

Friday evening I celebrated my freedom by spending 65 minutes on the elliptical trainer at my gym. 65 minutes is a long time to spend pretend-cross-country-skiing, even at the masochistic (and probably unhealthy) rate I tend to extend myself physically.

That's all well and good, and I felt like I had really accomplished something by burning off half my daily calorie intake. But now I had at least 4 more hours to kill, and I've recently become really bored by video games. So now what?

The perfect answer was "go watch a kung fu movie at the dollar theater".

So I drove over to the theater and found out that I'd have an hour to kill before the movie started. I pondered sitting in my car listening to talk radio for an hour, but that seemed even more pathetic than saying "One for House of Flying Daggers".

A good way to kill an hour, regardless of if my girlfriend is in town or not, is a trip to Borders to buy a travel or health related magazine.

I've pretty much subscribed to every magazine available at this point (the list: GQ, Esquire, Car and Driver, National Geographic, National Geographic Adventure, Conde Nast Traveler, Dwell, KING (yes, KING), and Blender. I'm sure I'm forgetting something.) except for Men's Health, which I have a newfound need for, now that I'm all manly and healthy. And the latest issue had Albert Pujhols on the cover (an aside: In the local sporting goods store, they have a finely chiseled mannequin chest wearing Nike's new workout apparel. Next to this mannequin is a picture of Albert Pujhols wearing the same shirt. I wonder if I am alone in wondering if the mannequin is an accurate representation of Albert Pujhols' chest? And is wondering about mannequin chests homoerotic?) so I just had to have it.

Having picked up my issue of Men's Health (conversation at the counter: "Are you on our email list?" "No. And I don't want to be." "Well I only ask because we don't sell your email address and we send out coupons. I usually don't ask the regulars, if I recognize them." "Ok.") I headed back to the theater to watch House of Flying Daggers and low and behold (vs. Low and Behad) there's a bunch of high school kids with the 3 foreign exchange students (2 Japanese, 1 Chinese) talking about the words they know in the language and the girl that knows Latin and Japanese and something else can't shut the hell up.

Oh goddamn it.

Anyway, the movie starts and everyone shut up. And the movie is ok. It's very vivid. And the plot is stupid, and the fight scenes are ok, and it's about 80% through the movie that the stupid girls (about my age, I guess) decide that they can't handle the stupid plot and it's time to guffaw at everything.

Nothing can make a partially bad movie worse than a group of stupid bitches making noise over the top of it. My girlfriend has a problem with controlling her opinion of folks that talk or make noise through a film; I prefer to sit and stew (and not start a fight).

Anyway, the movie ended. Blaaaaahhhhhhhh.

* * * * * (TM Debbie)

Fucking hell this is a long entry. I promise I didn't mean for that to happen.

* * * * *

Saturday, after awaking late and visiting the gym again, I made a trip down to the downtown library to pick up books about Japan and Southwestern America (my next two vacation destinations). I found the books easy enough after a small bout with retardation.

Having found my books, I advanced the self checkout and began to scan my card. That went well enough.

But the books didn't want to scan. None of them. Four books, no scanning.

I suppose the average person would only be slightly (if at all) embarrassed by my predicament, but I'm the sort of person who, when in the self checkout line at the grocery store, likes to figure out cruel and unusual ways to murder the old people who don't know what they're doing in front of me.

So I gave up, and joined the regular que.

Just then the other librarian, and young fella about my age, came back and asked for the next person in line.

"Couldn't get the self-checkout to work?"

(Knowing he thinks I'm a fucking idiot) "It didn't seem to want to cooperate."

"Sometimes people have trouble."

* * * * *

That evening I watched 3 episodes of six feet under, and finished watching Kurosawa's Ran (BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH).

Sunday I went to the gym and cooked (I cook a lot. I'm a fantastic cook.)

Then I went to target and some huge supermarket (spending 1 hour buying 6 items. A true story.)

* * * * *

Oh, by the way. YOU FUCKERS.