Chrisonomicon
Journal & Weblog Write to Save Your Life August 31, 2003

Booklog

Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs
My mother is standing in front of the bathroom mirror smelling polished and ready; like Jean Nate, Dippity Do and the waxy sweetness of lipstick.

East of Eden by John Steinbeck
The Salinas Valley is in Northern California.

The Straw Men by Michael Marshall
Palmerston is not a big town, nor one that can convincingly be said to be at the top of its game.

Vineland by Thomas Pynchon
Later than usual one summer morning in 1984, Zoyd Wheeler drifted awake in sunlight through a creeping fig that hung in the window, with a squadron of blue jays stomping around on the roof.

Collected Fictions by Jorge Luis Borges
In 1517, Fray Bartolomé de las Casas, feeling great pity for the Indians who grew worn and lean in the drudging infernos of the Antillean gold mines, proposed to Emperor Charles V that Negroes be brought to the isles of the Caribbean, so that they might grow worn and lean in the drudging infernos of the Antillean gold mines.

Finished

 
Howard Dean for President, 2004

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posted Friday, February 1, 2002

Airport Incident

"Do you take American Express?" She shook her head. "Mastercard? Visa?" She said no and smiled apologetically the way foreigners smile when they can't say anything more than "yes," "no," and "thank you." I glanced longingly at a bottle of orange juice in the cooler and thanked her for her smile. When you live off company money, you learn to purchase everything with a credit card because a paper-trail is easier to reimburse. I had just gotten it down pat and hadn't spent any cash all week.

I turned around and was face-to-face with a mustached man and moved to the side, initially annoyed that he was standing so close.

"Whaddaya want?" The question came out of the blue (or from under the mustache, rather) and, for a minute, I didn't think it was intended for me because the man never even glanced at me.

"Oh, I was just going to get some orange juice," I said cautiously.

"I've got it," he said, pulling out his wallet. "How much for the orange juice?"

"One-forty," the girl responded, her smile never fading. He pulled out two, dollar bills and handed them across the glass counter.

I felt a little weird accepting this purchase from a complete stranger in the airport, but at the same time, it was so offhanded and seemed so simply genuine that I accepted more out of speechlessness than being grateful I was being given a handout. I thanked him and returned to my gate a little surprised.

I know it sounds strangely Hollywood, but as I sat there sipping my OJ, I suddenly had an overwhelming desire to perform some similarly random act of kindness.

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