The Monkey King's Used Primate Emporium and Book Reviews

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Ethan and Joel Coen, �The Big Lebowski � the screenplay�

Started July 11 � Finished July 13, 2005; 151 pages. Posted 29 August 2005

Wow. These are a lot more fun to type out when I�m at home with a bottle of whiskey and it�s three in the morning. Since my computer still hasn�t arrived, I have to write these at the lab at school. The funny thing is I think I�m less lucid when I�m sober. Case in point�

So what the hell am I doing here, anyway?

It�s gotten to the point that I�ve forgotten who I told this story to. I�m pretty sure I didn�t really go into my reasoning for applying to the University of Hawaii on this site. There are more than a couple of reasons, but the majority of them are boring. It comes down to one main factor: I was running.

That�s where it branches out into different areas. I was running because I didn�t have any direction. I was running because no one else in my surroundings had any either, thus making it that hard to be inspired, or to put up or shut up. And I�m not good and the latter, so I went with the former.

And I was running because these reasons, and more than a few others, made me sad.

Then it came down to where to run. Going to England for school on my own taught me I could survive without the luxury of having friends in close contact. And I did more than survive; I got the internship at a magazine in England pretty much on my own accord and then I got a book out of my experience there.

All pretty exciting, but then I came back. I had no choice � I was out of money. I finished with my schooling, got my degree with initials that sound rather randy, and went back to work at the used bookstore I had left when I went to England.

Then school finished. And the bookstore was all I had.

Not that this was some horrible fate. I quite liked it. But it was also keeping me comfortable, and comfortable does not necessarily mean content.

I did mention this once but it was back in December, so an update: A while back, the owner of the bookstore asked in all seriousness if I would like to give up my designs of becoming a reporter with the goal of exposing a corporation and/or government and then being assassinated by same said government. Instead, he offered for me to take on the managerial aspect of the store, eventually to become a partner.

I considered it. I was honored that he offered it. But what it came down to was that the bookstore wasn�t mine, no matter how much of me I put into it. I wanted to do something that was mine.

I explained that to him, and apparently did quite the job convincing him because he never offered again, though other people secretly told me that he wished I would somehow change my mind. He should have tried harder.

And so, when the sadness I was feeling around me felt too much to bear, I started applying to schools again. I originally planned to go to Columbia, but gave that up. Too much time had passed since I was in school. I had some published clips, but they were for the so-called alternative press. Plus I didn�t have any money, and I don�t like weather.

So that left the rest of the country. Hawaii seemed like a good pick because I actually lived here when I was a kid for about a year, and visited on and off after that. I wouldn�t be walking in totally blind, even though it�s been probably 15 years since I set foot on Oahu.

And dude, come on � it�s Hawaii.

But I actually started to think about how this would work and not just be some sort of midlife crisis alternative because I was too sad to get motivated about anything. And one of the selling points was the dichotomy between going to a respected journalism school � Columbia, where I would have to fight the top journalists in the country for internships, instructor space, and attention. Hawaii is not known for their journalism programs. Hawaii is not known for their journalism. Hawaii is a place where the large papers think terms like �First Annual� are acceptable AP Style, which they are not.

I�m not a great writer, but I manage. Actually, sometimes I can do pretty well. Therefore, this is a chance for me to shine above the mediocre. Besides, everybody has to start out on a small shitty paper before they can expose corporations. Why not do it surrounded by beaches and a derogatory word that rhymes with beaches?

Why not indeed?

The arrangements were made, the car and my clothes were shipped over along with way too many books that I don�t need. I tried to be brutal with what to bring. Hell, I was brutal. I got rid of books by nearly all of my favorites. Steinbeck, Vonnegut, Bukowski, Tom Robbins? I took some, but left others behind that I figured I�d be able to find again. About the only author that escaped unscathed was Hunter S. Thompson, and that�s because they�re all hardbacks.

But I still brought probably more than I needed. It was the same way with music � I shipped over three boxes full of LP�s, but I got rid of two additional boxes. And then there was the miscellaneous stuff. I sold my drum set to Baby�s Momma. I was going to send my Swamp Thing board game to this freak but forgot. I also ran out on all my furniture and an overdue electric bill.

Then there was the final show for my old bands. I think this was the perfect example on why it was good for me to get out of California. There were a lot of people there. The alternative weekly listed the show in the hot picks of the week with the weirdest promotion for my band that I had ever seen, starting the first sentence with �This ought to be interesting.�

It also said we were �San Jose�s most notorious gutter punks,� who �created all kinds of chaos back in the day.� Yes, mother, these are compliments.

Despite seeing a lot of people who I hadn�t seen in a long time, a reunion of sorts, there were much more people who I thought would be there, people who live close to the area, who didn�t bother. I�ve mentioned this frustration with people in my town in previous entries as well, but what the hell � I�m on a roll. It�s been incredibly frustrating to watch people lose their interest in anything around them, only to plop themselves in front of hours of reality television. To realize that some people who live mere blocks away from the club that we were playing somehow couldn�t motivate themselves to see a final reunion show or to say goodbye to me was disheartening, to say the least.

Plus, if you didn�t go, that�s seven more bucks I would�ve had right now and since I�m broke, I could have used that money. I say you mail it to me.

So now I�m here, and I�m glad for that. There are feelings of nostalgia, little yellow gumdrop ball-sized regrets of things I left behind. I�m coping with that.

I got here a week before classes started and cruised around the campus. I went into the journalism building and my first act was to put a copyedit mark on the promotional poster for a communication class that read �The Daily Show�s John [sic] Stewart is not a real journalist.�

I�ve been doing things like this long before that Eats Shoots and Leaves woman, by the way.

Then I opened the school paper. There it was: �First Annual.� At least it�s consistent throughout the island.

So the shining above the mediocre has already started. In fact, I look like I have post-sex afterglow.


Rating: Worth working in a used bookstore and getting for cheap.

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