Chaos Bean and I went to the used book store, which is one
step away from going to the library, but still as wasteful as going to a
traditional book store. While
there I sold them three books, one of which was a book written by my mother’s
brother and was total crap. I am
surprised that they gave me money for it.
I know what you’re thinking, “you should be ashamed for selling your
uncle’s book!” I should be
ashamed, you’re right: I should be ashamed for taking their money.
I found a copy of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead. I was initially worried that it would sound like the young woman on our debate squad who won the national championship. She used words that were so big I am surprised they fit in my ears or my tiny brain. I’m not saying that she was like that guy in high school or at work using words incorrectly but thinks they sound smart because they can pronounce, “commiserate,” she would use eccentric words with the same ease that I order fries with that. I hate to reflect on this person because while she was nice to me, most of humanity regards her as unpleasant and/or rude. I look back at university with all the fondness most people use when they look back to middle school and was as much fun to spend time with while I was there as a coven of vipers. Imagine someone beating it over your head that they are smarter than you while pretending to be humble about it: that was my fear about this book. Fortunately, Chaos Bean doesn’t suffer fools gladly and would never recommend a book if it were like that.
Besides that, the book was the fattest one and since J.K. Rowling isn’t going to write another book for me to read I am going to have to read established, adult books on intelligent themes. I didn’t pick this one up to appear smart or fill a gap in my library. I picked this one up because it was fat and inexpensive. So far this is how I’ve picked all the books I’ve read from this store and it has been a success. I would have asked Valerie what she thinks I should read but I think she’s reading books about Vampires and I could care less about vampires.
While we were checking out of the store Chaos Bean noticed that they sold a machine that allowed you to use your iPod as a karaoke machine. It is not difficult for Chaos Bean and I to become indignant in public about things big or small and most of them wouldn’t bother the normal population. Most of you have never burned down a McDonald’s because they put mustard on your cheeseburger or initiated a letter-writing campaign to a small town in Kentucky because they spelled, “Y’all” incorrectly on their water tower but most of you have hobbies like basket weaving, sewing, or throwing horseshoes. Our hobby is randomly getting indignant and then working to change the situation or make someone feel bad that it happened.
Chaos Bean picked it up, as if it were a sneaker with dog poop on the bottoms and said, “do you see this?” in the same voice she’d admonish our dearly departed dog when he did something naughty, and presented it to the clerk. I was horrified by it myself and I said, “You should be ashamed of yourself for selling that filth in your store. The only thing worse than karaoke is competitive karaoke. I might stop shopping here.”
The sales clerk chuckled; this is a very bad idea when Chaos Bean and I are not joking. Karaoke is something that, when performed in seriousness and sober, is something that should inspire shame in a person and a family. For many reasons, I have not spent time with my mother’s family in nearly ten years: one of those reasons is karaoke. It can be cute and funny when you are intoxicated or being ridiculous but there is no excuse for it when you are sober and with your family. We have cousins who travel around with their karaoke machine and set it up in your living room in case people feel spontaneous and want to be lame.
Sure, it’s dorky that my father’s family will break out Scrabble and worse that I have cousins mad at me that I inherited Grandma’s Scrabble set when she died. It's wholesome and different that Valerie and her kids sing together like they’re the von Trapp family of the desert1. It is a conscious decision that Kathy and I don’t teach in the same facility because we’ll sing ballads from the 80s into hairbrushes for people. Having a karaoke machine that travels with you all the time is so ridiculous it makes Queen Elizabeth bringing her toilet seat around with her places seem commonplace. I no longer complain when people have their dogs at the dentist or car dealership because as inconsiderate as that is, I could be enduring a ginger kid serenading me with Islands in the Stream.
1 Valerie and her kids are actually all normal, except for
the one being trained for the circus, but as his irresponsibility mentor I
can’t help but he proud of that.
I’d rather someone ride a unicycle while juggling than juggle
homework. I like to unfairly pick on Valerie because secretly I am a part of her family, whether she likes it or not. Seriously, have I let other children into my car?
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