Ruminations about Saturday's Lunch; Thoughts on Raymond Chandler's Books; Comments on Sunday's Lunch, an Antiques Show, a Garage Sale, and a Comic Book Collection

I just now realized that my prior entry was done at 12:30 am Saturday, so it really did not cover anything about Saturday.

My day continued several hours beyond 12:30, for it was one of those nights when I could not sleep. I think I went to sleep around 5. Some how I managed to get really upset about reality Friday; so by that evening, my brain was in loop mode. I kept leaping from one anxiety producing topic to the next.

I was also bothered by the noise level. When I first starting going there, I don't remember a problem. But I think that over the years, they have added more and more seating, so that it has become more and more noisy. Of course, I don't know if it possible to go to a restaurant that is not noisy.

It would be great to find a place with decent food that was fairly quiet where I could sit and read "The New Yorker" in peace. And the people who came in would talk about something other than football, deer hunting or politics. And the wait staff were unerringly nice and preternaturally cute. No one who drives a Hummer or an SUV would be allowed in. The only way you would know about the place is by word of mouth.

Incidentally, I have scientific proof that the size of a male owner's SUV is inversely proportional to the dimensions of said owner's genitalia.

Once upon a time, I had a copy of Chandler's "Murder in the Rain" which was a collection of his early short stories for "Black Mask" and other crime magazines. The detective had yet to be named Marlowe. But Chandler cannibalized the stories and used them in his later novels. I didn't think to look for that, but I will next time.

When I first read "Murder in the Rain," it was like finding yourself in an alternate universe. Events seem familiar but slightly altered.

Although there were crowds of people waiting, we were able to hit the first-come-first-serve booths at the bar that everyone seems to forget about.

Later, we moseyed off to an antique show. One that made me very nervous because the aisles were so narrow. I knew that just as I got to the crystal section I was going to trip and wipe out a 19th century collection of brandy decanters. Fortunately, I was able to stay vertical, so no damage was done.

I did want to cry when I came to a section of "Wizard of Oz" books. (There were 40+ books in the series with "Wizard" being only the first.) I used to have a splendid collection of 20 or more, many with color plates, that I sold for some ridiculous price at a gargage sale. Now, I'm sure they would be worth hundreds of dollars.

This fucking gargage sale haunts my psyche. I got rid of a hugh collection of juvenile books from the 30s and 40s; the aforementioned "Oz" books; rare 60s rock albums; an assortment of glass paperweights; and a set of geometric solids carved from marble. There will be a pause while I indulge in primal screaming.

Crap! I wish I'd lived in one place where I could have kept everything. I'm now realizing that I threw out some items in the latest move that I wish I'd kept. What's that British expression? Oh, I remember: "Idiot Boy."

The good news is that I have managed to hang on to my fairly extensive comic book collection. My specialty was the Disney ducks, Donald, Huey, Dewey and Louie and Uncle Scrooge. I have no idea what it is worth. But I do know I have some rare copies.

PAX!