In my Chicago, the Chicago of alleys and side streets, it’s a balmy 39 with WCF out. The sky is as gray as an old washcloth, and the cold puddles of water gleam with rainbows of oil leaked out of cars. In the alleys the mattresses bloated with bedbugs sag against the chainlink fence that encloses the corridor of El train tracks that run street level. The tamalera is wearing her light parka. Dandelions push through cracks in the sidewalk, weeds to some they are flowers to me. It’s springtime.
People love to complain about the weather to me. They come up to me and say, “when will it be warm? When will the sun come out? When will it stop raining?” I just tell them that it’s always raining in my heart, and then they ask for towels, which I hand to them because they are damp and sad. To be fair that’s what all tourists look like to me at all times.
I finally got around to watching some footage of the Friday the 13th video game and it looks so cool! It’s a multiplayer based game where the players either play as camp counselors or, better yet, Jason fucking Voorhes. Playing as the counselors it’s up to the players to escape Camp Crystal Lake, call in for help, or stop Jason somehow. Playing as Jason lets the player hunt down everyone else like the scum they are. If it was up to me all I would do is play as Jason, he’s got some really cool abilities and who hasn’t fantazied of slaughtering camp counselors? Of course there was a previous Friday the 13th game for the venerable NES, but you only got to play as the victims, which led to me never playing it. The only game that ever let me live up my slasher villain/hero fantasy is Manhunt, but with that game I was like “wow, this is some fucked up shit.” So you know it’s fucked up. GOOD TIMES.
The most recent additions of Cast Into the Box of Books to (potentially) Sell for Beer/Lunch money are:
Paycheck, and other classic stories by Philip K. Dick, with a preface by PKD, foreword by Steven Owen Godersky, and introduction by Roger Zelazny. This is a big book with a lot of stories in it. If the other story collections in this ilk are anything like this then there’ll be PKD stories being made into movies for years and years.
Dreams of Terror and Death by H.P. Lovecraft, with an introduction by Neil Gaiman. This one has a sick cover painting by John Palencar. I’ve had this one for a long time, I might have gotten it for xmas from… someone? Me? Maybe I got a Borders gift card and that’s how I got it. Who knows.
The Road To Madness by H.P. Lovecraft, with an indroduction by Barbara Hambly. Another cool painting and some nice illustartions by J.P. Well H.P., you old rascist weirdo, off you go. I found a magnetic CTA transit card in this one, the card expired Jul 15 2003. Try and beat this opening line, “We were sitting on a dilapidated seventeenth-century tomb in the late afternoon of an autumn day at the old burying ground in Arkham, and speculating about the unnamable.”
Arguably by Christopher Hitchens. This is one of those books I found somewhere and had it sitting around for a while until recently. I gave it a shot, but I can’t deal with the smugness.
Family Values, a Sin City Yarn, by Frank Miller. Great striking artwork in this, but it’s kinda cheesy. I haven’t looked at this in years.
Bossypants by Tina Fey. I liked this, but this is one of those books I pulled out from a stack of free books from somewhere. The rule for those books is that I must get rid of them as soon as possible. There’s such melancholy in a stack of free books left somewhere, specially if they aren’t totally random, someone’s collection.