Periodical Pain

(That may be my worst title yet for a blog.)

OK, first of all:

1. I not only finally shredded all the bill remnants that were lying on the Almost Comfy Couch, but I also shredded all the bill remnants for the past months and months that'd been building up in my purple bill holder.

2. My purple bill holder is, in fact, not really purple. It's more of an aubergine.

Now. Last night I went to band practice, of course. I left right from work, didn't stop by the Pod on the way, and hauled ass (without speeding, of course, learned my lesson there) out of town so I could make a quick stop at Barnes and Noble on the way. I'd learned that a bunch of Eddie Izzard's stuff had officially been put into general release in the US, and I went on the offchance of finding the one show I don't have - and have been desperate for - "The Definite Article."

I got there in good time, headed right back to the music/movie section, and after a long search - where do you look for Eddie? - found his section without having to ask a staffperson. And there it was, "The Definite Article." Boy, was I excited. So excited, in fact, that as I was walking towards the counter, I saw a cd in the kids' section of The Animaniacs (poor Wakko - he's still laying under a box in my office). I thought, "Oooh, neat, I've always liked their little songs," and picked the cd up, only to see that one of the songs on it was ... "The Schnitzelbank!" Well, I immediately snatched it up and went to the counter. An impulse buy if ever there was.

Anyway, still heady over my purchases and with a few minutes to spare yet before getting to band, I decided to go peruse the magazine section. Now, I need to tell you that I really don't buy magazines anymore. I just don't buy them. At all. I have a subscription to everyone's favorite, Barbie Bazaar, and as a way to hook some more money out of me when I went to Clarinetfest this summer, I had to get a subscription to Clarinet magazine. Now there's a read that'll cure insomnia.

But I just don't buy magazines. At all. Did I mention that?

So, I found two magazines that really interested me. One was Q, a music mag, and one was Games, a magazine I used to subscribe to (and be addicted to), and honestly thought it had gone toe up - again, it's gone under about three times in its existence. But there it was, still with its "Best Games for Christmas Issue," the "pencilwise" section and everything.

So I, who have no time to read magazines or work crossword puzzles, picked up both magazines and pranced myself to the counter.

Well, I didn't actually prance. The person writing this is physically incapable of prancing.

I went to the counter, laid down my two magazines, and got out a $10 bill. The man behind the counter said, "That'll be $15.44."

I was sure he was wrong. But because I didn't look at the price of either, and I'm such a weenie, I didn't say anything. I just looked at my ten thoughtfully and said, like it was a spur-of-the-moment decision, "Hmmm, let me give you a twenty." I'll bet he saw through me and was thinking, "Yes, bimbo, if you want the magazines, you'd damn well better give me a twenty."

Of course, the first thing I did when I got out to the car was look at my receipt. And there it was. The Games was $5.95, and the Q was a whopping $8.75. It may have come from Britain, but damn, it didn't have to buy a first-class airline ticket.

See, that's what happens when you don't buy magazines. At all. (Did I mention I don't buy magazines at all?) They go sky-high on you. I thought magazines were about $3.75, $4.00. Well, boy is my face red.

Anyway, this afternoon we had a blissfully slow afternoon at TheCompanyIWorkFor. I mean, there's slow where you get all your work caught up, and there's slow where you don't talk to nary a soul all afternoon. It was one of those. So I walked up to The Bumble, got a large coffee, came back to the office and got out my Q. And read it cover to cover. I wasn't going to miss a word, at those prices.

I found out that Michael Stipe's a smartass, Pink Floyd is supposedly "the biggest band of all time," the British press really hates Robbie Williams, and that there are a hell of a lot of bands I've never heard of.

Betland's Olympic Update:
* I had an interesting occurrence the other day. San, Kath, and myself were walking down the street coming back from lunch, and walked past the snooty-ass expensive interiors shop up from the office. They had, sitting on a table, the most hideous bowl I've ever seen. The bowl was fancy china, shaped like a bunch of bananas lined together to make a bowl. And there on the rim of the bowl were two glass monkeys. Sitting there having a good old time. I can't impart upon you enough how awful this was. I, who was about a step behind the other two, said quite aloud to them, "That is one ugly ass bowl in there." And happened to notice that I was walking right into a man standing outside waiting for the barber shop to open up. He wanted to laugh, but didn't. He was nice and pretended like he didn't hear, but he was smiling.