vituperation

December 30, 2003

Many thanks to reader Sean for sending me Last Breath from my Amazon wish list, it it most appreciated. Sean, if you’ll email me so I can thank you properly (plus, there’s something I want to talk to you about), I’d be obliged.

Many thanks to reader Nancy for sending me Longaberger, which she sent to me because she thought I’d enjoy it. Nancy, if you would, please email me so’s I can give you a proper thanks.

The CBS Early Show producer called yesterday, and said, “Fred, because of things going on in the news we’ve had to move your story from tomorrow to Friday.”

“I didn’t know it was going to be on tomorrow. No one ever told me.”

“Oh.” Long pause. “Well, it should be on Friday, unless something big happens.”

And get this: I just found out that my super crappy local CBS affiliate preempts the first 47 minutes of the Early Show with their own stuff, so I might not even get to see/tape it when it’s on. Whatabunchafucks.

Fortunately I emailed Andy, the producer, and he said they’d send me a tape. He also said they’d turned a teaser clip over to the promotions folks, so it’s possible you’ll see me on CBS sometime Thursday, in promos.

I stopped by Barnes and Noble yesterday to drop off 20 more books they ordered. (Note: if you’re waiting to see my book in a store, you can stop. It appears that my distributor isn’t going to ever order any for stores. Besides, it’s cheaper directly from me.) The manager was behind the counter, and looked up when I approached. His face brightened.

“Hey!” he said, “I was flipping through Men’s Health the other day, and…”

And you know the rest.

I stopped at Publix on the way home from work yesterday to pick up a bottle of Eau de Pancreas at the pharmacy. The pharmacist’s assistant was behind the counter, and looked up when I approached. His face brightened.

“Hey!” he said, “I was standing in line at Barnes and Noble the other day, and picked up a copy of Men’s Health, and…”

And you know the rest.

Fame. It’s a bitch.

I stopped by the vet’s office yesterday for some more medicine to fight the epidemic of ringworm running rampant in our kitties. Ducking my head to the wind and rain, I fought my way out of the storm and into a situation.

The woman standing at the far counter, waiting for the nurse to run her credit card, was openly crying. She looked up at me through her tears when I entered. Behind her, her husband glanced over at me with haunted eyes before returning his gaze to something out of sight below the counter.

Immediately understanding what was going on, I dropped my head and clasped my hands together at my waist.

“Do you want to be in the room with him?” the nurse asked.

The woman, unable to speak, shook her head. The man continued to look down through raw red eyes.

“Do you want to keep his leash or collar?”

A nod this time, and the nurse handed them over. The vet’s assistant stepped out of an exam room and walked into the area where I stood to retrieve one of the numerous leashes hanging there. She walked back into the hallway and knelt in front of the man. The woman began to sob, and stepped back toward her husband. I saw that she was very pregnant.

“It’s the right thing to do,” the vet said, exiting the exam room, “sometimes you have to think of yourself, and especially of the baby.”

The assistant stood, and began walking away from the others. She was struggling against something pulling toward the couple.

“I know,” the man said. A freshet of new tears fell from his wife’s eyes.

The assistant passed the edge of the counter, crossing the doorway in front of me. She was dragging a big gangly-legged bubba dog that was no more than an oversized puppy. When he caught site of the doorway he leapt through it, straining toward me. I noticed that a large section of his face was raw and hairless, as well as several large patches on his flanks.

With a mighty grunt, the assistant pulled the dog back through the doorway and out of my sight. Over the sound of the woman sobbing I could hear his nails scraping the hard floor as he was dragged away. And then, then my cell phone rang, overpowering all other sound in the room with the strains of Offenbach’s Can Can.

Time froze as the woman, the man, the vet, and the nurse turned as one to look at me. I was mortified.

Red-faced, I dove out the front door and back into the storm to answer the phone.

“Hello?”

“How you doing?” The man’s voice was smooth, mellifluous, and totally unfamiliar to me.

“I’m great, thanks. How are you?”

“Good. I’m calling about the car you have for sale?”

“Um, I think you have the wrong number,” I said.

He hung up, ending the call, but I stood in the rain and pretended to talk on the phone until I saw the couple leave through the other door.

Over the weekend, I went to Circuit City and bought a new digital camera, which means more picture goodness. I got a Sony DSC V1, along with a 256 mb memory stick. The new camera has 5.0 megapixels, with 14-bit color processing and night vision (insert Tim Allen grunt here). Our old camera had 2.1 megapixels.

Just how awesome are 5.0 megapixel pictures?

Pretty damn awesome. It takes nice pictures like this one I took Saturday, which Robyn posted on her site:

But what’s really awesome is the original image, which Robyn didn’t post. Now THAT’s a picture.

Happy New Year, and all that.