Why did the serial killer cross the road?

I don't know why it should, but it tickles me to see people buying random things at the supermarket. I am one of those people usually and this morning I had to buy some lemonade for a staff party and I realized that I needed mouthwash. The man in front of me was buying a case of Bud (at 8am on a Monday) and some Ajax powder (for the a.m. beer pukes?) and the woman behind me was buying a chocolate cake and package of hot dogs. I think the type of people who grocery shop at 8am on a Monday morning (me) have random tastes.

Also on my way to work this morning, and every morning actually, I pass by this tire place. About a year ago, I had to buy a tire from them in an emergency and while I waited, the mechanic working on it was talking to me and I got a very distinct serial killer vibe from him. He is about 7 feet tall with dirty, greasy hair. If his eye color were a paint hue, it would be accurately named "Sociopathic Blue" and his conversation consisted of him misusing and mispronouncing words including, but not limited to: "suppositated", "UNTerling" and "i'm going to chop you up and leave you in the woods." I may have made one of those up. Anyway, this morning he was standing in the middle of a narrow two way street, precisely on the yellow lines waving his left hand for everyone to stop so he could cross. In his right hand, he was carrying two garbage bags which could only have been filled with body parts. I mean, that is the only explanation I can think of in any rational way. So this morning consisted of weirdos at the supermarket and a serial killer crossing the street.

I did quite a bit this weekend, starting on Thursday so here are the highlights in a format that I wish had existed for the common student when I was in 8th grade and handed in my typewriter typed report about Andrew Lloyd Webber all slanty and discombobulated: bullet points. (Btw, I got about four points taken for not having any margins on that paper and the sentences being, you know, physically slanted.)

• This American Life broadcast a live show version of their regular radio broadcast throughout a bunch of movie theaters on Thursday. Kismet decided to follow me: I was off from work, had no obligations and was made aware that it was playing at my local movie theater. In case I had any doubts about dear Kismet, I picked up my ticket I turned around and saw a friend and coworker in line who was also attending the same movie. Instant company! Shouldn't all company be instant? The show was incredible. David Rakoff danced with a paralyzed arm and he brought me to tears. David Sedaris came out in clown makeup and related a story about waiting for coffee behind two very annoying people which hit close to home. Tig Notaro dueted with Taylor Dane. You just don't see these things every day.

•  Vivan Maier stumbled into my life, or vice versa, thanks to the show. I read her work was displayed here in NY back in January and was young and inexperienced back then; I just didn't know. Chagrin, commence. I visit her once a day now.

• On Friday, I found myself unbelievably at Webster Hall, that bastion of my late adolescence and a place I once boycotted for not letting me in the night after my high school prom, an event I did not attend. (I had tickets to see Nine Inch Nails and THAT was going to be my prom but it turns out you had to be 18 to get in there in 1994 and this remains true to this day. So I never got to spend the evening with Trent Reznor and whole room full of angsty, ripped fishnetted goths. I believe that night what we did instead was stroll through Washingston Square Park to buy drugs and two of our group took them on the train home. I was not one of those two.) Massive digression. I was there with my concert buddy/sister to see M. Ward. Needless to say, I got in this time since I don't look a day over 40. The concert was amazing and he played everything I wanted to hear and despite it not being in my favorite venue, the sound was kind of exceptional. During the encore, Conor Oberst appeared, long haired and tortured and tapping right into that emo part of my brain. Coincidentally and perhaps bringing us full circle, that part of my brain is still fishnetted.

• In keeping with the tradition of every single concert I've ever attended in a general admission/standing room only location the tallest man in the room makes a beeline to me or one of my companions, thus making this the view, every single time (and keep in mind the predominant theme of concerts in NYC seems to be "Do Not Move. If you move, it will destroy your beardy, indie boy facade.":

5/11/12, Webster Hall, Photo by LME

• I felt like rearranging my life on Saturday morning, been feeling kind of a wreck what with my life feeling like it is going nowhere. Unable to rearrange my entire life on a Saturday morning, I spent all day rearranging my closet. Not life changing, but doable in a day. An entire day, apparently. On my way out to the dumpster, I saw two ducks napping in the parking lot of my apartment complex. It was a sign. The sign read, come outside for a bit. Let your brain take a nap. On days when I'm not dragged by rusted iron chains and beaten into submission in order to be there, I enjoy going to the library. Being a library patron is better than being a librarian in the way that watching your favorite film as the director intended it without further explanation is better than six hours of commentary. What a pleasant place the library can be. I was researching Alzheimer's disease so when depression started to cloud my eyes a bit I walked over to the local coffee house and drank a green chai iced tea that I'm still thinking about today. I also went to a local DVD store called Mother's Movies where I finally bought the Three Colors trilogy and ordered a copy of Beginners. I love that I live near a store inside of which it is possible to discuss Kieslowski and the merits of buying a four movie box set, a box set I'm still thinking about today.

• I got a visit from my brother and sister at night, in town again for Mother's Day. I played them the two chords I learned on the ukulele and we watched the Mighty Boosh. It is impossible for me to type and then reread those two sentences without smiling.

• Mother's Day consisted of many things. Fortunately, most of them were love or flavored with love. I could say so many things about my mother but specifically to chronicle this particular mother's day I'll just say: 4 mimosas. Oh and that I love that woman.

• John Irving reading from his new novel In One Person at the 92nd St. Y in Manhattan rounded out the weekend. No one will ever accuse Mr. Irving of being a dynamo public speaker but that is okay since he spends the majority of his time blowing my fucking mind with his writing. Sadly he wasn't signing books last night (and I had brought along my weathered and mysteriously stained copy of "A Widow for One Year" which I have always envisioned him inscribing it with a personal invitation to play squash with him.) but I'm comforted that he will be at ALA this year and I may meet him yet. I'm in the middle of "In One Person" and I'm riveted. 

• On the way back into Queens, I was once again facing death inside a cab. Since I look everywhere but straight ahead inside a NYC taxi, I kept envisioning a brick wall dead ahead of every movement forward. Nancy pointed out how the 7 train sounds just like a roller coaster and I think we were all collectively disturbed by this notion. I picked up my car and drove back to this neverending island. I only consider it neverending because it never, ever ends, almost exactly like this blog post.