Friday, July 20, 2007

I'm no expert on deep-fried snack products

But the deep-fried Oreo cookie is the best one I've ever sampled.

Yes, I did a quick lap through the Street Fair yesterday, ate some food (one of my favorite hobbies), and purchased some realistic-looking plastic vinery to give my porch that down-home hoodoo vibe that everyone is striving for.

And not to harp on a theme (ha ha, like that'll ever happen), but I just realized the other day which building is being renovated into the new "Lofts on Roberts" project downtown. I go by it every day, and just didn't put two and two together. It seems rather amusing to upscale a building that's next door to a temporary labor agency and across the street from the Salvation Army. It's one thing for dive bars and used bookstores to get driven out by quasi-gentrification, but I don't think the Salvation Army is going anywhere. Two words: bad publicity. Then I mentioned something about, well, they managed to sell all those expensive condos on the old skid row, so I guess the rich like looking down on the poor.

When I heard that come out of my mouth, I added, "Not that that's news." It's not usually quite so literally, though.

So this morning: I'm always amused when ads pop up for the "What Celebrity Am I?" quiz. They ask "Are you Johnny Depp?" a lot, and it makes me ponder. Wouldn't I know if I were Johnny Depp? I shouldn't need an online test score to tell me. And how weird would it be if Johnny Depp were bored some night decided to check out MySpace. Would he think his computer was talking to him, like he was suddenly in The Matrix? Oddly, today when I logged in, the ad was asking me if I'm Joan of Arc. Well, now that you mention it...But I'm trying to be incognito here, people.

And I see that "tension is building" and "controversy swirling" over Harry Potter leaks. A media obsession with security is a sure way to preserve the sense of innocence and "unspoiled" wonder, right? A few copies get sold early by mistake every time. Little kids who don't want spoilers won't be trolling the Interweb for them. I'll spend my twenty bucks and read the book, and nobody's going to bang my door down to tell me the ending. And millions of books are still going to get sold, and they'll all make billions of dollars. I like to think that if I made a billion dollars on my writing, I'd try not to be too churlish about it. Although I guess I'm unlikely to test that hypothesis.

Possibly more on this and similar subjects after Potter Day...

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