This Week's Remainders

The woman who transported a shelf of China and Honk Kong travel guides to the Cafe, where she took copious notes for hours without purchasing so much as a cup of coffee? I curse her to have a spectacular mishap on her travels, perhaps something involving being sucked into one of the Mid-levels Escalators in HK thus providing mealtime entertainment for onlookers in noodle shops. I have spoken.

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Readers of Vibe, Urb, XXL, Murder Dog and Don Diva magazines: please stop covering up the magazines with covers of rappers you don't like with magazines with covers of rappers you do like. Nobody cares. Really.

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Calendar update: It's not too late to get your Celine Dion, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy or Guardian Angels calendar. We've still got plenty. Also, lots of calendars for potheads: Cannabis 2005, Big Buds, and High Times are all languishing. Apparently, other than people who work at Big Bookstore, nobody in this area smokes pot.

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I almost made a child cry today. She was maybe five-years old, barrelling full-tilt through the Vortex of Evil ™ and not looking where she was going. I was looking where I was going, but you know, I had the fucking right of way, dammit. Of course she plowed right into me and then fell backwards on her ass. I just looked down at her with the Basilisk Stare (which scares my cow-workers let alone small children). Her mother was standing a scant three feet away pretending not to notice. The child was this close to bursting into tears. I feel certain that had I offered any sympathy whatsoever she would have done so. But she looked up at my stony face, and then at her mother, and seeing no joy there either, she shut her piehole. I looked at the mother and said: "She ran right into me. Sorry." Then I walked away. La la la.