Jas N's Guide to Thursday June 7, 2001

Today I bought a new book for the first time in a long time. I just haven't been near a bookstore recently. For a while, when I first moved to Atlanta I was buying a book about every week or so, but lately I haven't had the time or notion. I went to CNN Center for a little while and while I was there I browsed the racks seeing if anything caught my eye. Well, something did. A couple somethings did actually, but I only had enough money to get the most fetching of the bunch.

I forgot how perfect a new book can be. I love getting a new book. For real, I adore getting a new book. I guess in some ways it is like a map to a treasure. You don't know what the treasure will be or if it's even worth hunting, but on the journey you set. But maybe more than a map, it's like getting a letter from a friend. One of those really good thick letters, where the envelope is puffy from the many pages inside and as soon as it is in your hand you know that you will spend serious time with it, pouring over it, devouring the details of it over and over...that's what a new book is like for me. It is really amazing how much I enjoy reading.

Did you ever write notes in Jr High or High School, where you folded the note all up in odd ways and made little tabs to tuck? "To: Jas N From: Robyn" I miss that. There's never any call for notes anymore. I especially loved getting them all decorated with faces and doodles...little "For Your Eyes Only!!" and "Private!!" notices on the outside, like somehow that would do anything but entice other people to read it. I used to have a stack of notes that I got from a girlfriend I had in the 6th grade. She loved writing 'em and I loved getting them. She would make really elaborate fold/tuck constructions that I often could not recreate. It makes you feel cool to get something that someone has spent such time and effort on. This person devoted at least a small amount of their life to not only writing to you, but also to folding and tucking this missive in order to show that they think you are worthy of attention. How great is that? What better testimonial could you ever hope to receive? I can't imagine it.

So anyway, today I got a new fat letter by one of my favorite authors, Nick Hornby (the guy who wrote "High Fidelity"). He didn't actually write the whole thing, he was the editor, but that's ok. It's a collection of short stories written by the hippest of the hip British pop-authors. The girl that wrote the "Bridgette Jones Diaries"; the guy that wrote "Midnight in the Garden of Evel Knievel" and the guy that wrote "Trainspotting." Proceeds from the book benefit education for children with autism, which I didn't know at the time I bought it, but now it makes me love the book even more. It's called Speaking With the Angel.

The stories are all really, really wonderful. They are all written in the first person, which anyone with any wrinkles on their library card will tell you is the best kind of short story. So far I can't figure out if they have a theme, but that may just be because there isn't one.

My mom and dad (two of my all-time favorite people) had a layover in Atlanta on their way to my brother's graduation from Basic Training. I went to go meet them and hopefully spend some real time with them, because I miss them dearly. I got to the airport about 2 hours before they were due to arrive (because I am bad at scheduling), so I eased into a chair by the giant windows and read my book while occaisonally glancing at the planes taking off.

Well, once they landed they missed their connection and had a nice big three or four hour layover. We got some vouchers from the airline and went to a bar. It felt really cool to hang out with my parents having a beer at a bar. I felt really grown-up. I got to hear stories about what was going on with my family and friends. My friend Chris recently became a priest and everytime he says mass Jill, his sister and my high school pal, starts crying. Ha! I miss them, too. My dad said that Chris is getting a little annoyed with his sister bawling through Sunday Mass every week.

Eventually they got on a plane to Virginia and I headed back to my apartment on the MARTA. While I was reading my wonderful new book the train stopped. A couple seconds later it started back up, but when we got to the next station we stopped for a long time. After a couple minutes the operator announced over the intercom that we had a medical emergency in one of the cars and were waiting for paramedics, et al.

I shrugged it off and got back to my reading, finding solace in the thought that I had avoided getting on that car. I very nearly got on that car, but at the last second noticed a cute girl on a different car so I went there to get a better look at her. I imagine there was a scuffle and someone got hurt or maybe it was a seizure or something else, but whatever it was, I doubt I would have the medical knowledge to offer up anything but a pat on the back or an "Oh, shit!"

This girl behind me started saying to no one in particular "Why don't they just move him off the damn train?! Why are we waiting?! Jesus!" It really struck me that this person, beyond not being concerned, was calling for the movement of this person in distress for the sake of her convenience. I hope I never reach the point where I am that callous.

Eventually, of course, we resumed our trek through the city. When I got home, some of my neighbors were sitting on their porch. "Hey, man, come here! This guy is from Mississippi, too!" I made a little small talk with the fellow magnolia stater..."Ever been to such and such?...Where did you go to school?...blah blah blah" Eventually somehow the state falg came up, I don't know how, but it did. That is one of my least favorite topics to discuss, especially with someone I met only moments before, but before long we started going at it. I don't like having rebel flags on anything official; I don't like the implied endorsement.

This guy, however, was very much a fan of the flag and states' rights and it all went downhill. Eventually he was telling me that slaves had it better than factory workers or indentured servants and that the Civil Rights movement in the 60's was unneccesary because the South was fine and it was just Northerners starting trouble. *Heavy sigh* I don't yell very often, I just don't raise my voice in anger, but this guy was forcing me. I didn't yell, but I was getting loud. It got really ugly. great. So then I just left, I just couldn't take it anymore and we were making ZERO progress and it drained me.

Ah...now I am at home, in my own space, with no people to bother me...I can just write and read and be happy. Much better. I got a new CD today, Dolly Parton's Little Sparrow...it's really gorgeous. I wanted it for a while, but I finally traded some CDs in for it today. It's very sweet and bluegrass and acoustic. I adore it. The perfect end for a pretty good day, all things considered.
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Looking at the name Evel Knievel makes me wish my name rhymed. How cool would that be? Jason Mason or Mark Stark or something like that. *sigh* no rhyming here...