There’s a story by Jack London that ends with a man who commits suicide by swimming out and drowning himself in the ocean. I can’t remember what it’s called and google isn’t helping me right now. Wait– it’s called ‘Martin Eden’. Having had asthma since I was a child, I have always been terrified of dying by suffocation. The haunting description of the character’s drowning has always stayed with me, even though I clearly don’t remember much else about the book. I have always remembered the last line, which was, “And at the instant he knew, he ceased to know.”
Man, I used to love Jack London. I remember reading Call of the Wild and White Fang, which were more or less age-appropriate at the time (I was ten or eleven). But then I went on to read The Sea Wolf, which involved murder, attempted rape, horrible wasting diseases and keel-hauling (from what I can recall), and John Barleycorn, which I now know is the story of Jack London’s alcoholism from a very young age; at the time I had absolutely NO idea what it was about. Really. I didn’t even know it involved alcohol. I was a naive kid. In fact I even remember writing a book report on John Barleycorn. It was probably not a very good book report, because I probably thought the book was the story of John Barleycorn’s life, as told to Jack London by John Barleycorn. This is untrue.
I also loved the story “To Build A Fire”, about a man who freezes to death in the fridgid wilderness (of Alaska?) after his matches go out and he can’t make a fire to warm himself. As a desperate last resort, he tries to kill the dog he is traveling with, so he can stick his hands in its insides to warm himself. I remember thinking that was pretty cool. As naive as I was, I was still a ten year old.
From: ‘Molly Schoemann’
Sent: Friday, December 28, 2007 2:04 PM
To: ‘Dave’
Subject: Redwall Books
Hi Dave,
Below are the titles from the NINETEEN Redwall books, by Brian Jacques. I think I read about 3 of them back in the day. For each title, if it’s possible to also know how many copies were produced, and what we billed for the job, that would be great.
Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to make the search easier? Thank you!
-Molly
Redwall
Mossflower
Mattimeo
Mariel of Redwall
Salamandastron
Martin the Warrior
The Bellmaker
Outcast of Redwall: A Tale from Redwall
Pearls of Lutra: A Tale from Redwall
The Long Patrol: A Tale from Redwall
Marlfox: A Tale from Redwall
The Legend of Luke
Lord Brocktree: A Tale from Redwall
Taggerung
Triss
Loamhedge: A Tale from Redwall
Rakkety Tam: A Tale from Redwall
High Rhulain
Eulalia
Brian Jacques Needs a New Condo in Bermuda: A Tale from Redwall
(Ok, I made that last one up.)
Yesterday Brian replaced our light bulbs with fancy new ‘Daylight’ bulbs. They are allegedly the same wattage as our old bulbs. The first time I walked in the bedroom they seared my delicate retinal membranes like tuna steaks.
“OW!” I said, and at the same time Brian said, “Isn’t it great?”
While it is true I have mourned the absence of daylight for the last few winter months, I do not miss it in my bedroom at 11pm. And this was no ordinary daylight. The aggressive, blazing blue-whiteness of these bulbs seemed to radiate from the very air molecules around me. It was the kind of nuclear glow in which you worry that you are about to see how your bones are looking these days.
I could see Brian’s fair Irish skin beginning to freckle as he lay peacefully reading in bed.
Realizing that his intentions were good, I decided to withhold judgment for a few minutes, at least until my eyes adjusted, or bled, whichever came first. I sat down on the bed and squinted around. The walls, which Brian had painted a cheerful yellow when he’d moved in a year ago, had a sudden manic intensity from the glare. Every crack and painted-over hair stood out in sharp relief.
“Hey Brian,” I mused. “These walls– did you use a base coat? They just look so patchy. I never noticed before….so many imperfections…”
I went into the bathroom, and confronted my own mug shot. I had aged twenty years. The face in the mirror looked like it had two children and three open warrants. That was it.
I got into bed with my sunglasses on. Brian pretended not to notice. Relationships are all about compromise.
I used to think that part of what was great about walking the dog was that it gave me a chance to think, to muse, to mull over my day and ponder life in general.
I have learned that the only thing I ponder while out walking the dog, is walking the dog.
We come from different places, he and I, and we’re into very different things. Reality shows don’t interest him, he doesn’t care about music, and books leave him cold. I am ambivalent about tennis balls and I dislike sleeping on the floor. It’s surprising that we get along as well as we do.
Come to think of it though, we both love to eat my food, and find his food vaguely distasteful.
Below, in alphabetical order, are exact phrases I have searched for in the last few weeks. What can I say? I have a lot to learn.
…What are some of yours? Come on. I bet they’re weird too.
A
A & W Root Beer
Anti-cancer machine
B
Bea Arthur
Beer Can House
C
Cheap flight Iceland
Chola
D
Dark and Stormy
Dumplings and Wine
Dutty wine dance
E
EA-350
Eliza
F
Flexitarian
Free valentine ecard
Fucking Ben Affleck
Furminator
G
Gauche
Green Acres Lyrics
George Romero
H
Health Code Violations Reporting Boston
Honesty
I
Inappropriate Touching
Indigo child
J
John Mayer
Jpeg Bundy
K
Kern
Kitten in a boot
L
Labeler
Loren Wilson
M
Mario Party
Mara Maples
N
Naked cowboy M&M
Nico: These Days
O
Obama’s speech IA
Otherside Café
P
Paneer
Pathos
Paula Abdul Video
Personal assistant for hire
Plastic toy food
Q
R
Redemption song
Roberto Gonzales
Rhythm method
S
Spats
Sprockets Dieter
Straight talk express
T
Tiger attack
Tooth pain
Tom brady left girlfriend
U
V
Verizon schedule
Vitamin C prevent pregnancy
W
Wario
Whatever happened to baby jane
White russian
X
Xbox
Y
Z
Ziploc bags
I flew on a tiny airline this weekend. The stewardesses wore T-shirts. A small bottle of water was $2, and according to Brian they didn’t allow you to bring any food on board with you. I disobeyed this rule and smuggled a Twix bar in my carryon, worrying that the delicious caramel would interfere with radio and navigation frequencies.
I ate the Twix fearfully, in secret. I imagine that the stewardesses, upon discovering contraband Outside Food items, snatch them away and eat them immediately, right in front of you. “Mmmm!” they say exaggeratedly, with their mouths full. “This tastes like homemade! Thanks a lot.”
Things They Should Have, Addendum:
Bullion Sport! For when you crave that meaty taste and need that extra boost of sodium. Available in Chicken and Beef flavors.
Maybe my list of Things They Should Have ought to become a list of ‘Things That Should Have a Sport! Version”.
I have decided to plumb the depths of my ancient Livejournal for magical moments from one of my favorite jobs: working behind the counter at the Bird Watcher’s General Store. We sold birdseed, bird feeders, bird stuffed animals, you name it, we sold it. The following incidents occurred during a typical workday in the Birdstore during the summer and fall after I graduated from college. Here they are, in no particular order:
Today at work I hit the boss in the chest with a stuffed chicken and told him it was the only chick who would ever throw herself at him.
I like work. Except when there are fruit flies everywhere. Yesterday they were even in the microwave. Apparently you can microwave fruit flies and nothing happens to them. That should be the message on one of those “The More You Know” spots on TV.
The following exchange should have gotten me fired anywhere else. (Mike is my boss.)
Erin: ‘Don’t you like the sound my sexy plastic pants make when I walk?’ (they’re board shorts)
Mike: My kid made that noise when he walked for the first five years of his life.
Me: And you’re going to make that noise when you walk for the next twenty.
Mike: I’m going to tear your bones out.
Jill asked her sister to buy her a pair of jeans like the ones I was wearing, and asked me to show her my pants. I started dancing around, indicating my pants and posing. Eventually I started doing the running man and singing, “Jill wants to get in my pants.” A customer with a young daughter noticed her staring at me, and ushered her away with a curt “Come along, honey”.
Other than that, it was a pretty typical day. Except for this exchange:
Jill: “What did that woman say she had in her bush?”
Mike: “A woodcock.”
Me: “……”
Jobs I have had since then have certainly had their moments. But nothing beats the Birdstore.
Products I think they should make:
SportPeeps: For when you need that extra burst of energy and fat. With sugar sweatbands around their little peepy heads.
Caffienated Scotch: Because regular scotch makes you sleepy in the mornings, and regular coffee makes you sober.
That about covers it for now.
This morning I awoke with a start and the unsettling realization that I’d had strange dreams. I tried to recall them before they faded and poked Brian, who was already awake. Immediately telling someone about my scary dreams tends to help dispel any lingering feelings of unease.
“I had weird dreams,” I said. “My best friend from high-school had had a daughter through artificial insemination, and the kid was somehow five. She’d named her Scotch.”
Brian said, “Strange,” and I went on.
“Then I had another dream where I was a younger member of this huge family, and I had to hide around the house, because if they found me they might hurt me. I was just scared all the time.”
“That’s upsetting,” Brian said soothingly. “Last night I dreamed we rented snowmobiles. We were snowmobiling everywhere. It was great!”
He added, “Vvvvvroooom-vroom! Weee!”
“Wow, that’s nice,” I said sourly. “My dreams are full of disturbing subtexts and free-floating anxiety, and your dream was all ‘We have snowmobiles! High-five!’ ”
“Well, the only one I could remember was.”
“Right. Probably the other ones were full of serial-killers, but you forgot them.”
I Heard Tell 