No Ordinary Skeleton

"While I do appreciate your enthusiasm I regret to inform you that the "Punjab Lasso" is not a dirty sexual proverb involving a length of rope and Scandinavian girls with pretty singing voices." - Gaston Leroux, in response to A Letter from T.O. Hob

The following phone conversation ensued upon my return from my first route this morning...

Caller: Hi, yes. I'm calling about Kenneth Jr.
(Now of course I assume that Kenneth Jr. is a kid on one of my buses. There are about a thousand of the little buggers so I'm more impressed when I recognize a name then I am surprised when I don't)
Me: What bus is Kenneth on?
Slightly Confused Caller: Bus?
Me: Yes sir. I can't help you without a bus or route number.
More Confused Caller: Uh...
Me: A school name? Kenneth's last name?
Duh Caller: I don't think Ken is on a bus.
Me: This is a school bus company sir. I think maybe you have the wrong number.
His Turn To Confuse Me Caller: Is this Julie's husband?
(This question caught me particularly offguard because it was the third assumption of my status today and it was only 9:04 A.M. The other two were more easily answered, "How many children do you have?" (No, I was busy, I graduated just last May). or "I have the perfect guy for you!" (Not even close skippy...) but this one wasn't so easily deflected. It bothered me, but thrilled me as well...the idea that I could be somebody's husband.)
Me: No sir.
Again Caller: Can I just talk to Benjamin?
Me: No, sir, I don't think you understand. You have the wrong number.
I Want To Fucking Kill Him Caller: Can I at least talk to Kenneth Sr.?

At this point I hang-up, because it's 9:06 A.M. I haven't slept in days and things just aren't getting any better.

"Are you trying to grow a beard?" - Them
"I'm not trying not to grow a beard." - Me

Bookshopping. One of my few joys. So last night I visited Barnes and Nobles in an attempt to not end up watching The Phantom of the Opera again. It worked, but I couldn't find a book I wanted to read. This induced the following panic attack narrative moment:

Maybe they have a new Laymon book. Don't be stupid. Of course they don't. The man's been dead for three years. Fuck. What am I going to read? Maybe something serious. But not too serious. I don't feel too serious. Maybe something funny. But I don't really want funny. I want substance. Not too pretentious. Not popular. No DaVinci Code. No Nicholas Sparks. Something classical. Proust? No, Proust will make me want to throw myself under a train. Maybe I'll just read Phantom of the Opera again...or Good Omens. No! Marlowe. That's it! Let's find Marlowe. Where's Marlowe? No? M'am where's Shakespeare? No. I don't want to read Shakespeare I want to read Marlowe but I can't find Marlowe and I thought that maybe Marlowe would be near Shakespeare. M'am? M'am? Ok. Keep walking. Keep looking. No ethnic books. No books with niche audiences. No books written for women. No Jane Austen. I'm just not in the mood. Hey, that looks good, but no I've read that already. Orwell's Animal Farm with illustrations by Ralph Steadman!?!? Wow. $35! Fuck. If I were to quit my job I wouldn't be able to waste money on things like that so I shouldn't just to practice. Hey. I don't like that feeling. Not buying something to conserve money. Ugh. Oh shit, I better not walk past that aisle again, that girl's going to think I'm stalking her or something. It must look pretty funny an ape in a trenchcoat walking up and down every aisle while carrying on a one sided conversation on his cellphone...

Because yes ladies and gentleman this is when I realized I was talking to myself...and recording it all onto my phones voice recorder. And I still hadn't found a book until...

Oh, hey. That one looks nice maybe I'll read that, except...you never judge a book by it's cover.

And so I gave up...and hurried out of the store with a glimmer of madness in my eyes.

"What do you have? An idea? Don't be a fool. What good is an idea when you don't have a world to work it on?" - T.O. Hob

And finally...I fought the urge again. I didn't spend a Knightbeat free Tuesday watching The Phantom of the Opera alone, instead I finished my thirteen hour work day by sitting home watching television...with the intention of catching the Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson because...wait for it...Emmy Rossum was on!

Until I realized that, being a complete moron, I misunderstood the schedule. Emmy was on the Late Late Show on January 11th...which was technically this morning. See the Late Late Show is really on early early, at 12:35 A.M. So the show that followed last night's Letterman was today's Ferguson. Which means I missed Emmy...again, because I completely forgot she was on Leno last night. Which means...wait for it...I've now destroyed all three of my recent minor obsessions. No more Phantom for now, no more musicals (how I miss Maurice Chevalier), and I completely missed Emmy twice. So no more obsessions...what do I do now?

Start looking for new ones I suppose. Any suggestions?

"To be good, I needed only to be loved." - Erik, The Phantom of the Opera