HUBBA!1! Call me a whoo-wer, but I would TOTALLY hit that. WAY before I would resort to screwing my shoes2.
She kinda rolled her eyes at this, as if to say Typical Public Library Philistinism. Then she asked if we had an obscure art cd-rom from some art museum in Philadelphia – “Because I think the library should have a copy”, she sniffed – which right away I suspected we wouldn’t have because it was pretty clear that it was the type of thing the museum sold in like its gift shop and it wouldn’t be available from the media vendors we use and, even if it were, the patron didn’t have a title for it, only the name of the museum whose holdings it was about; but I went through the motions anyway and searched the catalog by general keyword using the name of the museum in question and came up with bupkes, cd-rom-wise (though we did have some books about the museum and some of its holdings). I explained that if she had a title for the cd-rom, we could search our media vendor’s database to see if it were available; but she said she didn't know its title and she thought it was available only from the museum, anyway.
Then she’s like, “My daughter is writing her thesis and she needs a break, she says, so she asked me to see if you have this dreadful dvd called Legally Blonde.” She had to make it clear to me that she would never be asking for such an atrocity as Legally Blonde for herself – Heaven Forefend! – it was for her daughter, and even that only because the daughter needed a break from the sanctioned, non-eye-roll-inducing activity of thesis-writing. (Of course, we did have the dvd of Legally Blonde. Score one for low-brow art!)
Later, she came back and rolled her eyes while asking for the dvd of A Clockwork Orange for her son. She mentioned, unnecessarily, something about its starring “Roddy McDowall” and – I swear this was out of my mouth before I could help myself – I muttered “O, yes … A Clockwork Orange ... with Malcolm McDowell”; and she goes, “O, right. You got me.”
It was not my intent to get her. In fact, I kinda think my inadvertent correction of her actually rivals her general dickishness.
The proper and professional way to have handled this would have been to have waited till she left, turned to a colleague and whispered, "Can you believe she thought A Clockwork Orange starred Roddy McDowall! Yeah, and Planet of the Apes starred Holly Hunter!"
Then? An eye-roll.
I did not feel like running this morning but I knew I would have to because it's supposed to start snowing this afternoon and continue through tomorrow so who knows when it'll be safe to run again if I don't run today? And you might be thinking, Yo, G, you sure it's a good idea to run two days in a row on a hoited ankle? I appreciate your totally hypothetical concern, Reader, but the truth of the matter is this:
The ankle was never really all that bad; and after I fell, I took like five whole days off from running when it really should have been more like three, tops. But the weekend rolled around and I didn't feel like running in the cold so I told myself I was refraining from running for the ankle's sake, which was only partly true, maybe 25%; the other 75% being the fact that I'm a pussy. And so instead of running, I would exercise, do yoga and ride Morrissey.
Whenever I make that decision, I'm all YEAH!1! I get to stay indoors today becuase nothing is worse than running in the cold!1! Until you're doing exercise in a cold garage (you'll remember that's where my birthday exercise area is3) and you're riding Morrissey for like 20 minutes and you're all sweaty and bored and you're like, It would be sooo much better to be outside.
Of course, on the days you run outside, you're like, This TOTALLY blows!1! Why didn't I stay in and ride Morrissey? You especially think this during the first mile-and-a-half or so of your run, because you're quickly and frantically making and unmaking fists to get the blood to flow to your fingers, which, though gloved, are frozen, and even though you know they'll be warm by mile two, and sweaty by the end of the run, you're like What if they never warm up and I keep stupidly running and I lose all my fingers to frostbite? How will I break the awful, awful news to my n*ts@ck? Who will keep him warm? My fingerstubs? I AM FILLED WITH DUBIETY!1! I should turn back NOW ...
And so no matter what you choose to do — run or stay in and exercise — the grass is always greener ...
Anyroad, thanks to my fucking dog — who at like 1:30 a.m. sidled up to the bed and planted himself on the area rug on my side and, before deciding to lie down there, had to like scratch the fucking rug for TWO FULL FUCKING MINUTES, thereby waking me up, and I'm reaching down from the bed trying to HIT him to get him to stop but he's out of my reach and that just serves to make me even more fully awake and I never get back to sleep so it was easy, this morning, to be out on a run bu 4:50 a.m. But it was cold. Cold as in the laces to my hoodie sweater were frozen stiff with my sweat by the end of the run.
Which run was exactly 6.3 miles in 58 minutes for a spectacularly unspectacular 9:30 pace. But I didn't slip on any ice and get another boo-boo, so call it a win, overall.
1 (1880-1943) Who “[j]ourneyed to Germany to make a movie, but after completing it he was arrested by the Nazi authorities - apparently because his wife was Jewish and suspected of engaging in anti-Nazi activities in France - and tortured for information. He was eventually released, but was found dead shortly afterwards”; facts I know thanks to imdb where this information – his being tortured by the Nazis and then fucking killed, possibly also by the fucking Nazis – is listed under, I swear to Sweet Baby Jebus, “Trivia”.
So, here is AN ...
IMPORTANT, NON-TRIVIAL Fact About Harry Baur: He liked to play tiddlywinks.
2 If you get that joke, congratulations! Because you're either Diana or you have nothing better to do in life than read the comments on my old blog posts. If the latter, I would TOTALLY DO you On a BET till it HURTS as long as you put a Margaret Dumont wig and some pearls on. Because remember: You can't spell dowager without "ow", "wager" and "do".
3 I blogged about this back in May, but I am continuing my policy of not linking to my old posts because, as I noted in yesterday's post, none of you fuckers ever clicks through to the old posts, without why bother?