Warren Ellis, �Transmetropolitan� - Multiple Titles
- Lonely City (Started April 26 � Finished April 27, 2005; 144 pages)
- Gouge Away (Started April 26 � Finished April 27, 2005; 144 pages)
Hmmm. Going straight from a book about a writer who commits many excesses that�s filled with pictures to a picture book about a writer even more excessive. I�m quite obvious.
Jesus Christ driving a minivan and picking up drifters off the interstate, today was filled with the lowest of the mouth breeder variety. You would think that people who can�t read wouldn�t bother to go into a bookstore.
You would be wrong.
But let�s start this off positive. I had a couple of customers last week who ruled. One of them was a woman who, after searching around for a couple of hours, plopped down her stack of books on the counter. On the top of the stack was Nancy Friday�s My Secret Garden.
Since most of the people on my buddy list are women, I�m sure there are a lot of knowing smiles going around right about now. But for the few guys who are scratching their heads (and other spots), My Secret Garden was a groundbreaking book on female sexual fantasies because it showed that they actually had them, and not in a Penthouse Forum �I can�t believe this would happen to me� kind of way.
Anyway, the woman pointed at the book and told me that she had a copy as a teenager and her mother found it and freaked the fuck out. �So,� she explained, �I�m buying this for my daughter.�
�One of those, �I�m going to be more open and understanding than my mother was� kind of things?� I asked.
�No, my daughter is staying with my mom right now, so I�m gonna send it to her just to piss her off.�
My braying laughter was almost embarrassing. Almost.
No fun today, though. I showed up in a fairly good mood, despite the lack of time for coffee and reading beforehand. The place was really busy, and the phone wouldn�t stop ringing.
You know when you get that call? The call that just sucks the life out of you within the first five seconds, because you would say the person on the other line is as sharp as a wet sponge but that would give wet sponges a bad name? The kind of person that makes you wish more people would have auto-asphyxiation accidents but you know it will never happen because these slabs of meat can�t figure out which end of the plastic bag to open?
I had lots of those calls today.
�Uh, yeah. Uh. Can I ask you a question?�
�You just did.�
�Oh, uh, can I ask you another?�
�You just did.�
�Uh, I was wondering if you have a book?�
�I certainly do. Thanks for calling.�
�Oh. Uh. No, I was looking for a certain one.�
�Well I have certain books as well. Which one do you want?�
�Uh, it�s, uh, Ka-ron-a-coles, uh, kar-on-a-coles of uh, ah, a death...�
�Chronicles of a Death Foretold. Gabriel Garcia Marquez.�
�Uh, yeah! Do you have that?�
�Never heard of it.�
�Really?�
God, I hate wasting a good joke.
--
Ok, so does anybody have a connection or communication with Andrew or any of the management of Diaryland? �Cause I�m trying to update an older entry from May of last year, and while it saves in the edit file, the additional material won�t load to the page, and he won�t answer my inquires. Why am I trying to put new material onto an entry that�s a little over a year old? I�ll tell you, but first, you have a reading assignment.
First, read this entry.
Finished? Ok, now you have to go to this site, but scroll down to the bottom and then read the individual entries as you go up. Ready? Go here.
This is why I want to update the page. As you can probably guess, I�m more than a little annoyed by the lying windbag who decided to libel my name and character. I think it�s about time that he�s confronted with the truth, and a better writer. What I keep trying to insert in that first entry I directed you to says this:
- His name is Matthew Joseph Harrington. I know that, as he wrote a completely fictitious account of what happened in a listing for our store. For a guy who reads so much science fiction, he sure can�t write for shit. And since I�m sure he�s narcissistic enough to constantly Google his own name, let me just say �Hi Matthew! Nobody believes you, and like a random customer commented after your last slew of poorly written lies, you do come off as a blowhard.� But back to the story.
And I suppose putting this here is good enough, and he can probably find it now. By the way, Matthew, when you�re trying to lie it�s probably not a good idea to change your story about how many people left because it makes you lose credibility. Not to mention that there was another employee who witnessed the entire incident, and knew that nobody left except for you and your partner.
But whoo-baby, when I first read his newest response I was livid. The only reason I found out is the owner called while I was working, barely able to control his laughter as he read it to me over the phone. And it was almost funny, particularly the allusion to drug use. I did ask him directly in response to the officer�s question if he was on drugs, and Matthew did ask me if we ought not both be tested, though his actual response was simply, �are you?� He and I both left out the part with my response, which was, �go ahead, test my urine. In your case, we can make it a taste test.�
But at the same time, his new comments made me uncomfortable. It�s obvious what he�s trying to do � cast aspersions on my character. As well as I�m known and liked at my workplace, I get sensitive about accusations like this, because I�m the punk rock freak. It�s easy to point a finger of blame toward me, and it�s easy for others, especially those who don�t know me, to think the shoe fits simply because I�m obnoxious or have funny hair. When I worked at the restaurant, I learned quickly to not go to the employee work parties at private houses, because anything that went wrong, broken, or missing was blamed on me.
�Yeah, like I would really want to steal your Stone Temple Pilots and Springsteen albums,� I�d tell them after the rumors made their way back to me. �The only thing I would do with those would be to publicly humiliate your shitty taste in music.�
The host of the party would see my point, but I noticed I wasn�t invited to the next soir�e. Whatever.
Anyway, in my original transcription of the incident with Matthew Joseph Harrington, I left his name out of the entry. I took the high road. Even after his first pack of lies that he used a totally inappropriate public venue to launch a grudge-filled litany of lies, I still kept his name off. Hell, he�s even been back in the store and I was civil and helpful. Not because I had to, but because I figured if he could be well-behaved and didn't try to run me over, I could be courteous. The past is the past.
But you should never piss off a reporter, Matthew. That�s the general theme in this series of books. You�re pissing me off. And to quote Spider Jerusalem, the hero of these tales, �What? You think I�m one of the nutless freaks [...]? I�m a fucking journalist!�
You really don�t want to know what happens next, Matthew. In this series, or in life. I suggest you drop it.
