Adventures Among Stacks of Compressed and Bleached Wood Pulp

The impending arrival of September points to that one thing I wish to avoid: college admissions. But there can no more procrastinating, so I holed up in Barnes & Nobles for 45 minutes of quality time with a college guide. Bored as I was of statistics and numbers, I picked up a guide claiming to be written entirely by students at their respective college.

If you picked three random students to describe AB, I bet their responses would be nothing like the AB I know and both love and hate. So I took their descriptions with a pinch of salt, but one recurring theme showed up profile after profile: alcohol. Every student devoted substantial space and ink to the school’s campus alcohol policy and student drinking habits. Dear little sheltered me, I know they down alcohol like water on college campuses, but I never expected the attitude to be so blasé. The most disheartening thing is, I expect I will also be a barely lucid drunk throwing up into dorms two years from now. Damn if my parents read this.

The rest of the time at my beloved if overpriced B&N was spent reading a library copy of Absurdistan, a satirical portrait of a fat Russian Jew cum wannabe American. Yes, I read library books in bookstores. Despite knowing I can borrow pretty much any book I wanted from a library, I still have that overwhelming urge to blind buy books for the sake of collecting. Given my meager resources, I only ended up affording a $2.97 copy of The Age of Innocence. When will I finally read this book? Probably when I’m jobless and broke 5 years from now.

Speaking of libraries, I also spent some more time among book stacks at the Lexington library. Whenever I walk in a library or bookstore, I always pause for a moment and breath in awe, as if by simply breathing, I could soak in some molecules of knowledge from this vast depository of information. I originally came to sing the praises of Lexington’s lib, but once the novelty wore off, I realized it’s not that much better than Acton’s. Or maybe it’s just my Actonian superiority complex kicking in. But I must admit, Lexington has a kick-ass nonfiction and audiovisual collection.

After browsing through the upper-floor, which is entirely devoted to nonfiction, I made a beeline to the shelves of DVDs. The first thing I encountered was a special ledge labeled “Foreign Films,” which caused a snicker to escape from my lips. Snooty? Yes, but it’s my pet peeve when “foreign” is labeled as a genre, since the parameters for tagging a foreign film are determined arbitrarily by geography anyways. However, since Lexington seems to have its share of cinephiles, perhaps the label caters to those who endure subtitled fare to stoke their psuedo-intellectual egos. (Like me.) In any case, the collection was rather meager despite containing a few Criterions, most likely because the majority of DVDs had been checked out. The VHS collection, however, was an embarrassment of gems. I now have a stack of ratty old VHSs, labels wearing off but proudly displaying the titles The Rules of the Game, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, and Two English Girls. Seriously, I should quit Netflix and just rely on the free resources of my public libraries.

The last leg of my Saturday afternoon sojourn was Costco—the haven of large families, small businesses, and cheapskates of all sizes. Other than the free samples, my favorite part of Costco has always been the book section. Maybe I’ve just grown too inured to satisfaction, but Costco seems to now only carry chick lit and cheap Da Vinci Code knock-offs. Nothing wrong with that…but get back to your quality bestsellers. I want to at least pretend I read worthwhile books. If the literature section was lacking, a real DVD bargain sure got my pulse racing again. Eternal Sunshine + Lost in Translation = ONLY $8.99! I may not be much of a clothing shopper, but I certainly can smell out a good DVD or book bargain. Never mind that I already own a Lost in Translation DVD…must make plans to sell some movies I don’t love.

The Costco food court, site of a dozen quick lunches and dinners, was also the chosen place of my brother’s huge tantrum. Despite my reasoning that veggie pizza is cheese pizza because it still contains cheese, my brother screamed and stomped for real cheese pizza. Silly boy, he needs to eat his vegetables.

This has been way longer than I expected, but I guess that compensates for slacking off all of August.