Tag: Barnes & Noble

Personal

More Time…

GuillermoLeave a comment

I spend a lot of time walking through bookstores. Well, just one bookstore. When Hastings closed several years ago, Barnes & Noble has been my one source for instant book gratification. Well, that and my Kindle. Most times I buy something. Sometimes it’s just therapeutic. Tonight I picked up J.R.R. Tolkien’s Beren and Lúthien even though I haven’t finished reading The Girl with All the Gifts nor have I started Michael Crichton’s Dragon Teeth. Lingering in my head as I made way down the aisles, scanning spines for titles that were familiar and new, was Shaun’s counseling session.

A few months ago, Jeanna and I agreed we’ve give child counseling a try. After all, we couldn’t explain Shaun’s sudden change in mood. Sure, part of it could be school. But his silent treatment and whispered conversation began to spread across non-school days. He no longer wanted to go to the movies because he feared the loud noises. He hated going to stores that weren’t Barnes & Noble for the same reason. We couldn’t figure out what exactly was going on with our child, so we looked for assistance. And today Shaun just wanted me to go into the room with him, while Jeanna waited in the lobby. A decision that I didn’t anticipate.

I won’t go over the details of the conversation, just the part that stuck in my head.

“Have you ever been to the beach?” his counselor asks. “Yes,” Shaun replies. “When was the last time you’ve been to the beach?” “A long time ago. But not too long ago.” “And who did you go with?” “Mommy and Marcos.” “Is Marcos another little boy?” “No.” “Who’s Marcos, Shaun?” she asks. He hesitates to answer, so she continues, “Is he Mommy’s friend?” She gives me a look, a pained smile across her face because maybe she’s uncertain if I knew about this possible interloper. “Yes.” “Is Marcos nice to Mommy?” she asks, and I understand that this is protocol. She’s not insinuating that the man who’s been planning secondary parent is abusive, but my intestines still clench with anxiety. “Yes,” he answers.

There was a time I saw Marcos as my competition, my adversary. It’s the first time I felt the bite of jealousy in my thoughts. This was before coming to terms that I was no longer in the running.

There are still times when I’m William Borgens “staring through the window into my ex-wife’s new life” and how seeing them together is “like turning on a familiar sitcom, and realizing they had replaced one of the lead actors with a stranger.” How the show remained the same but the actor who played Guillermo for nearly ten years was gone.

I close my eyes for a bit. The last night catching up with me this morning. I’m not a drinker, mind you; I’m just not as young as I once felt. The counselor pries a bit, but Shaun, like his father, holds back on discussing his feelings. Maybe when he learns to put his thoughts on the page, he’ll find a way through them. Until now, counseling sessions with this woman. After the session, she asks Shaun if he’s ready to visit her without one of us in the room. He wasn’t. Not just yet, anyway.

After eating and giving Jeanna the quick rundown on what was said about Marcos, I came into my room and just crashed onto my bed while Shaun played with his cousins. I placed my phone on the charger and started texting a girl. Someone who’s been on my mind a lot lately. Someone I’ll go out of my way to talk to, even when there’s nothing to discuss. Someone who’s like a better version of me.

Someone who’s found away to make me smile.

Me: So Shaun decided to give me the honor of going with him to the counselor’s room without Jeanna. It got awkward when Jeanna’s boyfriend was brought up.

Her: So, interesting day?

Me: Very. Because he doesn’t seem to understand what he is to her.

Her: Oh boy… Definitely awkward.

Me: And because I don’t interact with either of them (meaning counselor and Shaun) during the session, I just sat there dissecting everything in my head. The counselor just gave me this semi-pained smile.

Her: So, no reading?

Me: No reading. Just good old raw awkwardness.

Her: But no zombie apocalypse. I know it’s not much, but it’s kinda a bright side.

Me: It means a lot that you can put a positive spin on this.

Her: I try.

I’ve been transparent about my feelings without so much as voicing them. I’m uncertain about them just as much as scared of them. And while she’s met Shaun, he knows she’s just a friend. Not the same type of friend as Marcos is to Jeanna, but a friend. And I couldn’t ask for a better one during this second wave of uncertainty and existential crisis that a malevolent programmer might have set up in me.

Doldrums

New Comics, Ideas, King of the Nerds & the (Comic) Education of Angela (May Contain Spoilers)

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I sit here before laptop as I watch the season finale of King of the Nerds. And I’m pouting. Neither Brian or Katie made it to the final-two showdown. The only two contestants that sparked my interest this season, and neither of them were nerdy enough. So here I sit, pouting. Tears streaming down my face. I care for neither Kayla or Jack (even though he defeated Zack). I can’t let this little slip up ruin my day. I won’t let it. Nope. Moving on.

My Purchases
My Purchases

Yesterday (being Wednesday) was new comic book day. Much to my disappointment, I found myself at work rather at the new comic book table. But I closed with Angela and I prefer closing with Angela than closing without Angela. Something occurred to me during our few hours alone together. (If you can consider a library filled with kids basking in Spring Break glory alone together.) She doesn’t get a lot of my references because they’re comic book related. Angela doesn’t read comic books. In the spirit of evil mastermind, I swiveled in my chair. “I’m going to make you a list,” I said. “A list of the essential comic story arcs you need to have read. It’s okay. I can lend you a lot of these.” I’m starting her off with Batman. I’m starting her off with Year One, The Killing Joke, and The Dark Knight Returns. However, my library lacks two of those titles. Lucky for Angela (and me), Barnes and Noble had both titles. I bought them without a second guess. I took a gander at Knightfall (also on my list), but opted I’m better off not spending the extra $30. (Trades are expensive, yo!) Maybe next week, after I find it for less online.

This is the picture
This is the picture

To make up for missing new comic book day, I ventured out with my family (Shaun in tow) to Myth Adventures. This wasn’t before stopping at some thrift store near by the house first. Now this place bought out the late local comic book store (I forget its name), which closed a while ago. So the comic books I expected to see here were from my youth. And I was right. It broke my heart to see the mishandling of these books. In all fairness, these are books from the 90s. Most of these haven’t risen past cover price in worth. Still, the manhandling of these issues appalled me. Several issues shoved in a single bag. Some lacked proper boarding. And their only copy of The Uncanny X-Men: Day of Future Past (see photo) brought a tear to my eye. The owner further smashed my hopes of owning this book by stating that it wasn’t for sale. “I don’t know how it got there to begin with,” he muttered as he snatched it from my grip. That motherfucker. That mook. That schlump. I did walk out with X-Men issue #80 and Webspinners: Tales of Spider-Man issue #1. If worth anything, the nicks and dings diminish their value. Jay’s Discounter Emporium (not its real name, well, not the last word anyway) lost a costumer with me.

Skipping ahead, I took my niece to Myth Adventures to buy her first comic book. After much attempts to sway her vote toward The Powerpuff Girls, she chose a SpongeBob Square Pants comic. Me? I left with a killing. From IDW, I purchased The X-Files Conspiracy: The Crow, The Crow: Pestilence, and Monster & Madman. From Marvel Now, The Superior Spider-Man #29, Captain Marvel, Avengers Undercover and Secret Avengers. And the lone Antarctic Press book, Steampunk Red Riding Hood. Afterward, we went to Barnes & Noble where I bought The Killing Joke and Year One (the titles missing from my library).

My return to comic books is proving that I need another job. Or rather, a full-time job. Although, the past few days and idea has crawled into my head. Wouldn’t it be nice to open a business of my own? In fact, why not a business that amalgamated the things I treasure the most? An establishment that acts as a safe place for nerd, creative, and book fiend. It’s something that needs some looking into.

I finished Night of the Living Deadpool last night. But I surpassed seven hundred words already and I can feel your eyes growing heavy. Besides, I’m disappointed with the King of the Nerds finale. Not that I disliked the winner (no spoilers here, folks!), it’s neither Katie nor Brian (fuck, that’s a spoiler!). Until tomorrow.

I typed and edited this post with the Hemingway App.

Posts By Shaun

A Few Things

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Hello. This is Shaun speaking. Typing? Whatever. That’s me up there in the slideshow with my reporter face on. It’s cute, isn’t it? What can I say? I take my good looks from the good parts of my daddy and mommy and I have to say that I’m one awesomely, über-cute baby toddler big boy bad ass. I’ve taken over Dad’s computer because I can and he’s not around because he’s sitting in the corner, his legs up with a book lying his lap reading some book about a little person—someone who’s a little bigger than me, I’m told—with hairy feet and who wears a ring and fights a dragon. He tells me that he’ll read it to me when I’m older and can sit still longer than for a few minutes, but I’m all like, “Dad, I can type seventy-two words per minute. I’ll read books when I learn to read. Until then, lemme just get on the computer and blog my thoughts.”

And what thoughts does an almost-two-year-old me have? Well, first of all, I noticed that my feet are funny and cute and—supposedly, according to my father who gives them a sniff whenever he’s in the process of changing my diaper (I think because it makes him laugh that I laugh, but I only give him those chuckles because I know it means so much to him to hear me laugh)—stink.

Secondly, I’ve noticed that my dad has a lot of books. And I mean A LOT of books. Now most people think they have a lot of books when they fill up one shelf space. And that it’s over doing it when you fill up an entire shelf. Dad has more than that. More than three.

Your average almost-two-year-old might say a gazillion (actually, your average almost-two-year-old would just babble some nonsense, but whatever, but I give all my peers the benefit of the doubt) shelves, but it’s less than that. Way less than that. But, to be honest, I think my dad wants to hit that some day. He just might.

Now the word hoarder gets thrown around a lot these days, but that’s not too far from the truth with Dad. He  likes to call himself a book hunter—which is like a treasure hunter, but one who buys his booty rather than stealing it from other people. For instance, he heard that Barnes & Noble was having their red-dot sale where everything with a red dot is half price. He also knows that since it’s the end of the year, the calendars are also on sale.

He made off with three books from the red-dot sale—Blonde Bombshell by Tom Holt, whoever that is; Martin Sloane by some guy named Michael Redhill; and Along the Watchtower by Constance Squires—for only $1.79 each. Not a single one of them is about a fox or a monkey that makes friends with a walrus named Tiny Tamoo. At least none of them have tiny people with hairy feet in them, which is an upgrade for my dad.

Along with these books, he walked away with copies of Your True Home by some guy with a funny name (Dad says to be respectable of others, but the guy’s name is Thich Nhat Hanh; it reads like something I say when I’m just making noises with my mouth to entertain my parents) and a copy of The Upanishads, which he tells me is a holy book from some ancient religion, translated by another guy with a weird sounding name—Eknath Easwaran. I asked Dad about his non-religion and the fact that he has a lot of books from various religions, but he just rubbed my head, picked me up, and blew on my tummy so it sounds like my butt, which always makes me laugh.

He bought himself a Zombie wall calendar filled with a lot of awesome zombie drawings, which would scare most almost-two-year-olds, but not me because I’m a zombie slayer at heart and I laugh in the rotting faces of the undead. He bought a One Direction calendar for my cousin, Jaylene—sure she gets eye-candy as a calendar, but you ask for a calendar of 1950s pin-ups and  you’re told you’re too young (pfft! double standards)—as well as, a Smurfalicious bookmark. Nothing for me? Gee, thanks Dad.

Oh well, I think that’s about all I have to say tonight. Maybe, if I’m good enough (or if Dad’s reading that other book about more little people with hairy feet and rings), I’ll get to post soon enough.

For Chapin City Blues, this is Shaun Damien Corona signing off. And Happy New Year!!!

P.S. I should probably note (Dad told me to) that the sale price is in store only, as it seems. If you want to pay $1.79 for the red-dot books you’ll need to have a membership and actually visit the store. It seems the website is marked at a regular (and semi-discounted) price. However, as any good book hunter in training knows, Amazon has them for a fairly reasonable price, which is why I linked to those pages in most cases. Sorry. Continue on to my dad’s rather boring posts about being a boring adult.

Books

Solanin by Inio Asano

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I spent all day trying to figure out how to review this book. Two volumes published in one, Inio Asano not only tells a tale of a group of twentysomethings living through their final months of Peter Panism, he also does an excellent job of drawing it. As any author who’s master the skill, the pages of Solanin will have you laughing and crying as you grow to love the characters—you may even recognize a little bit of yourself in them.

Solanin by Inio AsanoThe only thing that kept me from enjoying the book on my first run was the publication error. The first copy I purchased at Barnes & Noble (in store), repeated the ending of chapter 12 and the entire chapters of 13 and 14, skipping chapter 15 and dropping me off at the end of chapter 16. I returned the book to the store (tweeted Viz Media who never got back to me, those assholes) and hunted down the last copy at another Barnes & Noble location which—huzzah!—wasn’t a bad copy. I also met a cute cashier(?) who handled my return at the first Barnes & Noble who detailed a tragic manga tale much like my own.

About the book (from the back cover): Meiko Inoue is a recent college grad working as an office lady in a job she hates. Her boyfriend Naruo is permanently crashing at her apartment because his job as a freelance illustrator doesn’t pay enough for rent. And her parents in the country keep sending her boxes of veggies that just rot in her fridge. Straddling the line between her years as a student and the rest of her life, Meiko struggles with the feeling that she’s just not cut out to be a part of the real world.

Solanin
by Inio Asano
Publisher: Viz Media, LLC (21 October 2008)
ISBN: 978-1421523217

Buy your copy of Solanin at Amazon or Barnes & Noble. An ebook edition is available for Nook.

Books

Two Posts, One Day Pt. 1 — Poetry

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I heard poetry was a dying art. Actually, what I heard was some saying he heard it was a dying art. This was before he started reading his own work. Poetry, a dying art that he only could muster the strength to save. Let’s ignore the room full of poets set to read their verses.

I haven’t touched a book of poetry since college. Various literary magazines have skidded through my life and slid out just as quickly. Poetry, the foundation of my writing interest, no longer interested me. If poetry is a dying art, it’s because of assholes like me.

Until Saturday, 27 July 2013, when I found myself with a stack of magazines in hand — current issues of Vanity Fair, Texas Monthly, the controversial issue of Rolling Stone, Scientific American, and GQ — standing in front of Barnes and Noble’s pathetic excuse for a poetry section. If poetry is a dying art, it’s because of corporate assholes like those who run Barnes and Nobles.

Two titles stood out as I stood there with my stack of bathroom and employee lounge fodder: Fancy Beasts by Alex Lemon and Life on Mars by Tracy K. Smith. I set the magazines down on the shelf and sat cross-legged on the floor, something that got my friends and me in trouble ten years earlier, and I read from each. Maybe it was Alex Lemon’s ability to crack a smile on my face with verses on society. Maybe it’s Tracy K. Smith’s references to David Bowie and my favorite science fiction novel. Maybe it was their cover art. Whatever the case, I was enjoying poetry for the first time since sitting in one of my English courses. I spent next to fifty dollars in the two books and magazines alone. Thank you membership discount!

Life On Mars by Tracy K. SmithA mixture of poetry and science with a splash of belief, love, and social criticism, Tracy K. Smith’s collection of poetry guides the reader into the deepest sense of emotion. In a way I can only describe as a religious experience — as religious as a man without one can get, anyway — the book hits every nerve I’ve kept hidden for a year. The intro poem, “The Weather in Space,” asks the human question—Is God being or pure force? Asking the unanswerable, the impossible.

What happens when we shrug this mortal coil? asks the poet in “The Speed of Belief.” “My father won’t lie still, though his legs are buried in trousers and socks./But where does all he knew—and all he must now know—walk?”

There is no denying that Smith has an uncanny ability to choose words and pauses perfectly in her verse. Any reader of poetry should have this collection on her shelf.

Fancy Beasts by Alex LemonI enjoyed Alex Lemon’s poetry from the get go. His wit. His ability to amuse me with serious social issues. His flow. His beats. And imagery. None of these am I even capable of describing as anything but great. The man has the ability to draw a reader into his world, our world, and hold a mirror up (is that too cliche?). But there was one line from “Modern Life” that hit close to home. “How do they keep at it like this? All that jabbering,/When just breathing the humid air feels like drowning./There are so many good things in life I’ve overlooked.” (emphasis mine). It’s enough to send a man wallowing in self pity into a fit of tears. So much so, I opened Twitter on my Tab and sought out Alex Lemon (@AlxLemon) and told him how much it hit close to home. It went as follows:

In short, if poetry is a dying art it’s only because we believe it is. Because if you just sit there, in front of the poetry shelf in a Barnes & Noble, you’d see that it’s still thriving. Just waiting for you to pick it up, again.

Purchase Life on Mars at Amazon or Barnes & Noble. Purchase Fancy Beasts at Amazon or Barnes & Noble. Fancy Beasts is also available for Kindle and Nook.

Books

“Before I sputter out”

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Life is good
And I feel great
’cause mother said I was
A great mistake

Novocaine for the soul
You’d better give me something
To fill the hole

Exhibit A: Two books by Brian Greene
Exhibit A: Two books by Brian Greene

I’ve a problem. I’m a book addict. I have hundreds of books in my house, and I’ve only read about a fourth of them. And I still buy books, even though I have several unread tomes here. Today I purchased two books (The Elegant Universe and The Fabric of the Cosmos both by Brian Greene) – coupled with the Steve Martin book I purchased yesterday, the text book I purchased over the weekend, the BDSM erotica novel I purchased the same day, a novelization, and the book by Michio Kaku I purchased this morning because carpe diem, librum venator (NOTE: I don’t know Latin; I used Google translator for the second half of that phrase). I’m a book addict and my addiction is worsen when my emotional control has been compromised, which it has been compromised for over a year now. And I don’t see a solution to my problem because the only solutions that are available aren’t solutions, really. So I return to filling the void in my heart by filling up my bookshelves, which are overflowing as it is.

Exhibit B: The Good Book
Exhibit B: The Good Book

Another book caught my attention at Barnes & Noble this afternoon – I find myself unable to muster the urge to come home to nothing these days. A.C. Grayling has compiled (written?) a book he called The Good Book: A Humanist Bible. But because the Brian Greene books aren’t for leisure, I put off purchasing the book until a later date (or when I succumb to my itch).

I love the smell of new books. And I love the smell of old books. There’s something intoxicating about the scent of books that eases me into a sort of high that makes me forget my problems if only for a second. I just know that if something doesn’t turn around for me, I’ll be blowing my paychecks (minus the money I put aside for Shaun) on books until they bury me alive.