No matter what presidential candidate you choose to vote for, I’ll respect your opinion … as long as it’s an informed one, shaped by research and thought, rather than face-value belief of false e-mails forwarded to you by your racist, hillbilly friends.
Throughout high school and some of college, I worked for a public library. While the hours were flexible and the rules lax (sleeping downstairs was a personal work habit of mine), it was during this time that I came to learn just what a travesty of public funding libraries really are – what antiquated hovels they’ve become.
You have to take two tests to get a driver’s license. You can’t drink alcohol until you’re 21. Hell, it takes a credit card and eight other forms of I.D. to get a Blockbuster card. But all you need to get a library card is your signature and a pulse — and even then, sometimes that’s not necessary. Yep, libraries are required to take in anyone and everyone, and it’s due to these ultra-easy membership guidelines that I started to hate the library. Loathe the library. Fear the library.
When our editor recently published his list of the nine most annoying bookstore patrons, it reminded me of my tour of duty at the library and why only very rarely, in the most extreme of cases, have I used them since. Unlike bookstores, which can refuse service to anyone because they are a business, libraries don’t have the same luxury, and here are the five kinds that ruin it for everyone:
THE HOMELESS
Let’s be honest: Even just walking down the street, the homeless are an eyesore. You do everything possible to avoid making eye contact with them, trying your best to avoid their dry-heave-inducing scent. But hey, it’s a city street and they have every right to drink themselves into a deathly stupor there. More power to them!
But given those free, wide-open concrete beddings, why must they filthy up my local library? And even worse, why have we becomes such a bleeding-heart, politically correct society that refuses to call the cops and throw those bums out as soon as they walk in through the automatic sliding doors? I don’t care if it’s freezing cold or sweltering hot – libraries are not shelters!
Libraries smell bad enough already, don’t they? The moldy books, the musty air-conditioner, the Fritos corn-chip-like stench that seems to emanate from every children’s section – add to that a dirty hobo who just shit his pants and I’m ready to take my money from that bond issue back! I would much rather spend that cash to construct a shanty-town of sorts, on the outskirts of town, surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards, allowing the homeless to form their own community, possibly with their own libraries. I’ve got a garage full of Readers’ Digest Condensed Books that I’d be more than happy to donate.
THE PERVERTED
I originally wanted to title this category “The Single Guys,” but really, who’s more single than the sexually perverted elderly man who hangs out in stacks all day long, hoping to catch a quick upskirt? They are usually easy to spot, with many either looking like Spider-Man’s nemesis The Vulture or, even worse, character actor Pruitt Taylor Vince.
They always act like they are “looking” for a hard-to-find book, but more often than not are instead peering through the shelves at their masturbatorial prey. They stalk, they hunt and, when caught, they quickly look the other way, as if to appear inconspicuous. But we all know what they’re doing.
And if this all weren’t bad enough, then they stay in the bathroom for long periods of time. I know that our esteemed editor is against “dumping” at the bookstore, but when you are working on a time-consuming project at the library, sometimes a dump is inescapable. But, instead, you have to keel over and squirm with poop-cramps in your chair as the pervo locks himself in the stall and has no intention of coming out. Not even the not-so-subtle, loud throat-clearing will drive this creep out of his makeshift sexual habitat.
Here’s a tip, though: I have found that if you pretend to talk on your cell phone in the restroom, saying things like, “Yeah, there’s this creepy pedophile dude walking around. … I think I might use the Internet to look up the local sex offender registry,” they clear out pretty quickly. Just wipe down the seat.
THE MOTHERS
We live in a day and age where too many mothers have become lazy, aging tweens, unwilling to take care of their own kids if it infringes upon their “me time.” Now, I can only imagine what their “me time” exactly entails, but I do know that it involves dropping the poor lil’ bastards off in the children’s section and leaving them there for hours on end. Sure, I’m all for children’s storytimes – a little Curious George and a Styrofoam cup of apple juice is good for the kiddie soul – but don’t desert them for six hours before the thing. How irresponsible are you? Oh, yeah: Very.
The bigger question is why, if your “me time” is so important, do you even bother to have children? Are they the human equivalent of Paris Hilton’s chihuahua? Are they nothing more than an accessory that you have to clothe and feed? Not to sound like an old fuddy-duddy, but I remember a time when not only did moms (or gay single dads, for you liberals) sit and enjoy reading time with their tots, but before and after, they also read with them themselves. It was fun family “us time.”
But, in this era of parental selfishness, those days are dead, and it is really showing, as more and more children are growing up to be “guyliner”-wearing emo assholes who wear extremely tight pants and cut themselves. Thanks, Mom!
THE MOVIE-RENTERS
I won’t hold back on this one: If you use the library exclusively to rent movies, you are human garbage. No other library patron causes me more anger than those who use the public library as their own personal Blockbuster. It has always infuriated me that libraries have video rentals to begin with; what better way to make sure people won’t read than to give them the movie instead?
When libraries started to carry videos, they opened up a whole new clientele to the system that guaranteed I’d never go back: white trash. They are so eager to get their tapes – just watch their grubby little, puke-stained brats run from the entrance right to the movies, stumbling and tripping over each other. “Y’all only get five moobies each now, you hear!” their extremely obese mother calls out as she walks to the counter to return her (of course, overdue) movies, upon which during checkout, she’ll fight the charges with every ounce of strength in her KFC Famous Bowl-covered heart.
What’s worse is that for a library to carry a movie, they no longer have to have any literary merit at all. In the past, all most libraries had was the complete 27-volume BRIDESHEAD REVISITED miniseries and maybe a couple of documentaries about traveling to Belgium. Now, most libraries do away with the education factor, instead stocking movies like THE MATRIX RELOADED, WILD WILD WEST, or, in the case of my local library, NATIONAL LAMPOON’S DORM DAZE 2. I shit you not. I say get rid of all VHS and DVD from public libraries and spend that money on better, more up-to-date books and reading programs.
Besides, poor people, we already have a library for those types of media: It’s called fucking Blockbuster Video! Sell some food stamps if you need a movie that bad.
(NOTE: This also goes for people who use the library exclusively for the Internet as well.)
THE MANNISH, BITTER 65-YEAR-OLD LIBRARIAN
Everyone – well, most dudes, at least – have this fantasy of the repressed-yet-ultimately sexually voracious librarian, who, once her hair comes down from its bun, is a Dewey Decimalized sex machine. Too bad this could not be further from the truth, regardless of what the Suicide Girls’ bios’ say.
No, most librarians are very bitter, very mannish 65-year-olds who hate you for your unwasted youth and vitality, and show it by acting completely resentful when you ask them to do some semblance of work. Like postal workers, I’m sure they got into library sciences for a cool summertime gig, but, when life continued to pass them by like out of a scene in George Pal’s THE TIME MACHINE (picture it!), they found themselves on the brink of death and have nothing better in their lives than to take it out on you. It’s like living in a waking nightmare, I’m sure.
Luckily, in the next 20 to 30 years, through the use of computers, we’ll happily phase out the librarian and their sourpuss mugs. Electronic search systems will help us find the book, and, much like in many grocery stores now, you’ll self-checkout the book. Yes, at least in this respect, the future of your local library just got a little bit brighter.
But, like I said, that’s still a good two or three decades out. So while you wait, exclusively shop at local bookstores, buying the books you want. If you want them at cheap prices, order them from Amazon’s marketplace. The next time there’s a vote to increase funding for public libraries, vote against it! It’s up to you to shut these dens of literary inequity down. After all, they did bring it upon themselves. –Louis Fowler
Few things are as peaceful or enjoyable to me as just hanging out at the bookstore for a while. Unless you’re there. And by “you,” I mean one of the nine groups of people on this list, increasingly driving me toward Amazon. You are, in no particular order of annoyance …
COFFEE DRINKERS
Who goes for a bookstore just to get coffee? Isn’t that like going to an AutoZone for a Coke? I don’t do the java, so I’m more than a little put off by how fucking noisily you drink it. But, hey, at least you’re buying something to compensate for all those magazines you hauled over to your table to read while you suck down the joe. Just please stop smacking after every slurp. And since coffee moves the bowels, something tells me you’re part of the next group, too.
DUMPERS
If I’m going to be browsing at a bookstore for a bit, I’ll run into the restroom to pee so I’m not dancing around the aisles uncomfortably. But every damn time, you’re there sitting in the stall, voiding your bowels, offending my nose, ears and very being. Unless there’s some stomach virus epidemic, isn’t this something that could wait for the privacy of your own home? Did you have to have the Grand Slam Breakfast just before coming over? It’d be one thing if you’d just get your business done and get out, but instead, you smuggled in newspapers, magazines and even entire books to read as you poo leisurely, as if you were under your own roof. Once you’re done wiping, who will want to buy those things you touched? Answer: nobody. (I’m bringing my own LumaLight.)
OVERLY EAGER EMPLOYEES
No, I don’t need your help, but thanks. (Five minutes pass.) No, I still don’t need your help. I mean, you’re still shelving books in alphabetical order, right? However, I think there’s a first-timer coming in the doors now that probably only reads books recommended by Oprah. What’s a first-timer, you ask? Easy …
FIRST-TIMERS
Hey, you who stormed in. Have you really never been to a bookstore before, or do you just enjoy drawing attention? You remind me of the old people I see at the post office who make buying a roll of stamps a 10-minute process of discovery and indecision. You gaze around in faux confusion for a moment before making a beeline for the help desk – or, aggravatingly to those of us waiting patiently in line, the checkout counter – and half-angrily ask, “Where’s (insert title here)?” as if you just arrived at the hospital emergency room and were looking for your trauma-victim daughter. Hey, Magellan, see those big signs hanging from the ceiling that point out the subject sections? That’s where you’ll find it. You’re in a nicely organized bookstore, not a vast warehouse of a Sam’s Club or Costco.
AISLE SITTERS
I’d love to look at those books on that shelf right there, but you’re sitting in front of it, your back leaning against it, reading material in your hand, making yourself perfectly comfortable. Odds are, your coat and purse/backpack and whatever else you can litter about your person are. Can’t you at least be like our next group and get out of the way?
COUCH SITTERS
But don’t think you’re immune to my ire, all of you who plop your fat ass on a couch, next to a pile of stuff – often manga, for some reason – you have every intention of reading and no intention of buying. This isn’t a library.
STUDY GROUPS
Didn’t you hear me? I said this isn’t a library! How can you study any way when all you’re doing is talking? Shouldn’t you buy something to make nice for that free wifi you’re using and all the space you’re taking up for hours and hours?
HALITOSIS CHECKOUT GUY
Dude, you really gotta do something about that. They have books on it, you know. You could get one cheap with your employee discount.
OL’ WHISTLENOSE
What’s wrong with your honker, old man? I can hear air literally whistling in and out of it as you breathe. The first time I heard you, it was so ominous as your two-note snout song grew ever so closer to me as you proceeded aisle by aisle. Now, I can’t escape you, because no matter where I am in the place, your repetitive nostril ballad follows. Please, at least work up a chorus. –Rod Lott
Writer/director M. Night Shyamalan’s latest film, LADY IN THE WATER, opens today and – with any luck – will tank. Because if there’s anyone in this world who needs an ego check, it is this intensely overrated and self-absorbed filmmaker.
“Night,” as he goes by, hit it big with THE SIXTH SENSE, which landed on the all-time top 10 grossing movies list and garnered a few Academy Award nominations. But is it that good a movie? Watch it once to see the twist, watch it twice to see if all the clues are there, and there’s no need to ever watch it again. (And actually, I stopped at one viewing, since the post-twist flashback montage shows you that all the clues were there, thus sparing you another two hours.)
His follow-up, UNBREAKABLE, was better. But that’s when Night’s giant ego really took flight. Because UNBREAKABLE was the first of a planned trilogy until its “failure” made Night rethink his plans and tell the press, “I didn’t feel the love.” Translation: “It didn’t break box-office records and I didn’t get an Oscar nod.” Things have gone downhill ever since, because he fails to realize that he’s a good director, but not necessarily a good writer, and definitely not a good actor, yet he insists on doing all three. And these films, plus the subsequent SIGNS and THE VILLAGE, all made money.
Why? SEX MACHINE director Chris Sharpe once told me the single-best theory I’ve yet heard on Night’s baffling popularity (though waning it may be), and I paraphrase: “His films are so slow that when something finally happens in them, people are just so glad something happened that they trick themselves into thinking the movies are brilliant.” (Hell, Night has tricked himself into the same thing!)
SIGNS is an excellent example of this. Lots of buildup with no real payoff. There’s a genuinely freaky scene in the middle of film, but the whole third act proved Night wrote himself into a corner and couldn’t find a way out. We don’t even need to recount how execrable THE VILLAGE was, because everyone knows it by now, and gave Night a deserving “one-trick pony” rep.
He’s got a lot riding on LADY IN THE WATER, and it’s going to be a rough fall. He brags in the latest issue of Time how even if it fails, he’ll still be shooting at 80 percent, suggesting that his “four” other films have been hits. Actually, Night, if it fails, you’ll be shooting at 60 percent, because you continue to rewrite your filmography to deny the existence of WIDE AWAKE, your pre-SIXTH SENSE film starring Rosie O’Donnell. And 60 percent is a failing grade. (And I’m being kind, because I didn’t even count his first film, PRAYING WITH ANGER, which few people outside of India have even seen.)
WIDE AWAKE was a huge bomb, deemed unworthy of wide release by Miramax. It made $258,212 nationwide on a budget of $7 million. Yet Night has been quoted as saying, “All of my movies have made money.” But even all the DVD-hungry lesbians in the world aren’t going to make up that $6,741,788.
Send me an e-mail like the one I received below that:
1. Isn’t proofread in the slightest.
2. Gives me no information as to even the type of music in question.
3. Leaves it in my hands.
“Hello my name is XXXX XXXXXXX andi am CEO of 3way Productions. I am very interested in having you guys reviewing one of my artists cd’s. Please contact me ASAP on this matter.”
We must be on some MySpace list or something, because lately, the ol’ Hitch P.O. box has been flooded with homemade, self-produced CDs seeking a review. Which would be all fine and good if they: a) were familiar enough with the magazine to know what kinds of music we do and do not review, and b) were any good.
Thus, I present the first in an assuredly ongoing series of what won’t get you a review in Hitch. (It should go without saying that bragging about your MySpace following is top on that list.) So here goes. If your press sheet includes any of the following phrases/sentences, just forget it:
• “The ballads are echoes of lost love and broken relationships.”
• “Pulse pounding tribute to the victims/heroes of hurricane Katrina.”
• “Rock-A-Messiah!”
• “Crank it! and get ready to meet your maker.”
• “The title track taps into the very consciousness of self discovery and invites us all to take a closer look at our lives and priorities. Influences include REO, Metalica, Ratt, Lincoln Park and Three Doors Down.”
I just slammed my right index finger in the door going out to the garage. Holymuthafukkajeezusshitthathurts!
Next week, Universal releases Hollywood’s first movie about the horrific events of 9/11: the hijacking drama UNITED 93. This one’s about the plane that didn’t crash into any landmark or kill anybody (except those on board).
There seems to be some controversy surrounding this one, and not just because it’s a 9/11 film. Nope, some are up in arms because there are three different views about what exactly happened on the plane that led to its descent and subsequent crash. Now I’m not up on my conspiracy theories, so I can’t recount them here, but apparently the three stories are quite different, and everyone wants their own ending to be represented.
Well, Rod is here to solve that problem. Seeing as how a theatrical 9/11 film is already a risky box-office proposition, why not let Universal protect their multimillion-dollar and appease all three groups of theorists by going the CLUE route? If you’ll recall, Paramount milked quite a bit of publicity in 1985 when it released its board-game whodunit comedy CLUE with three separate endings. You had to check the newspaper to see which theater was playing Ending A, Ending B or Ending C!
Wouldn’t it make sense to do the same for UNITED 93? Since no one truly knows what went down in that winged tan can, let’s be true to all sides! In one, the “Let’s roll” guy can be the hero. In another, the scum hijackers overtake everyone. And in another, Martin Mull – entranced by Colleen Camp’s magnificent bosom – can trip on the carpet and spill something on his pants.
The house directly behind mine has been abandoned for about a year now, after the people who lived there – bickering old couple with their allegedly drug-dealing daughter and shot-her-boyfriend-in-the-face granddaughter – moved out. Whoever’s bought it has sloooowly been renovating it, with an intent to then flip it and make a little profit.
Apparently, part of this renovation entailed draining some rain water out of the swimming pool in an entirely ridiculous way, because yesterday, shortly after lunch, I was working in my home office and heard this loud, annoying buzz. I thought certainly it would cease after a few minutes, but it kept going and going. It got so bad I could not work anymore. After dinner, I peered over the fence to see what was what; they had a shop vac at the poolside, its hose hanging in the now-empty pool. Because no one lives there, they just left it going all these hours.
So I called the police with a noise complaint. They said they’d send an officer out, but no action was taken, and this morning (thank God my bedroom is at the opposite end of the house) the damn thing was still going. I couldn’t stand another workday of it, so after dropping the kids off from school, I parked at their curb, went in the backyard and yanked the damn cord out of the wall. It felt good. Trespassing? Sure, but when the cops don’t take action, I seek vigilante justice.
Now eight hours after I killed their project, they still haven’t returned, so who knows how long those boneheads (who paints a house pink anyways?) were going to leave it running. My dad says if they do it again, I should chunk the vac over to our side of the fence and put it in my garage. “Then they won’t do it anymore,” he said. Father knows best.
Last night, with less than two hours’ notice, a friend called an offered me his second ticket to that night’s Coldplay concert. I didn’t hesitate in accepting once my wife gave me the go-ahead. I don’t attend many concerts, so it was nice to see an act I liked for free, especially when I had decided against buying tickets earlier since they started around $75.
Fiona Apple opened for them, miserably. Talented though she may be, she is a crazed, twitching, emotional mess with zero stage presence, and I couldn’t wait for her to finish her set. In marked contrast, Coldplay’s non-stop, two-hour performance was animated, highly visual, dynamic and – if you’ll excuse the term – rocking. Judging from that show, they’re well on their way to being the next U2.
But here’s my whole reason for writing: Why spend that much money if you’re just going to text-message your friends the whole time? Because that’s what all the young’uns around me were doing. At least when they weren’t taking blurry photos of the stage with their camera phones. And of course, I had the grand luck to be seated behind The Girl Who Knows All the Words and Wants to Let Everybody Know about It, Especially Chris Martin. Kids, I know you’re excited to be out on a school night away from Mom and Dad so you can smoke and share a beer, but this is Coldplay. It’s not exactly cutting-edge hipster material.
Good Lord, I am old!
I have never needed and will never buy “OEM software” and/or Corel Draw. Thank you.