Saturday, April 22, 2006

Please Don't Ever Let Me Publish...

Was just at a big, corporate bookstore getting a birthday present for a friend. There was a very bored-looking man sitting behind a table full of books written by himself. He wrote a book on The Angels. Not the kind with wings, but the team that hit a ball with a bat. He checked the time on his cell phone. I felt sorry for him. I kind of wanted to talk to him out of pity, but his fucking book was about baseball - what the hell am I supposed to do? I couldn't even properly feign interest in the subject matter. Nothing for me to ask, nothing for me to roll with, so I bought my book and left the store. I was thinking about how crappy the guy must've felt - I mean, nobody was paying attention to him. When I got home I realized that the friend of mine that I had just spent thirty dollars on, on an Orson Scott Card book was a HUGE Angels fan and probably would've LOVED a signed book by the author. I'll tell my friend this later. He'll ask me whom the author was. I'll tell him I don't remember. I kind of suck. There's a moral in here somewhere. Oh, wait - maybe that was it...

5 comments:

Lisa said...

That last part made me snort-laugh. Just a little snort...

You are SUCH a dumbass. Truly.

However.

You are too (D2) going to publish a book. And there will be a line out the door.

(oh crap. I just remembered that fucking weird comment I left the other day about stalking you. shit. I'm leaving now.)

Lisa said...

Oh!! It worked!! nevermind. I'm not embarassed anymore.



Thank you for doing that...I know you're busy, and personally I fucking hate messing with my template.

Grampa said...

If you ever publish, I'll personally fly from Hawaii to LA to buy your book.

I'll be the guy standing behind you about to hit you in the head with a shovel.

Fat Free Milk said...

I will sign your shovel for a small fee.

Grampa said...

Just mark it 'X'.

I can't read.