"All this happened, more or less." - Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

Last Wednesday I found myself unexpectedly free.  I had no meetings scheduled, no conference calls, no time booked at the studio, no ad campaigns to be drafted, no family obligations, not even a full load of laundry to shackle me to productive adulthood.  So I bolted for my favorite me-time playground: the mall.  Any good mall is just as socially schizophrenic as I am.  I can bounce from a salon to a Sports Fan Attic, breeze into an accessory store to grab a new pair of earrings (I like shiny things) before heading to FYE to pick up another Tarantino DVD (I like confusing things).  I always save my favorite stop for last: Books-A-Million.

As I walked around in search of a new good read, I realized that outside of recommendations from friends I don’t really have a trusted source for finding new books.  I don’t read reviews based on the notion that if I want to have an opinion about something I should probably check it out for myself first.  Crazy, I know.  And I don’t read book blogs or keep an eye on the New York Bestseller list.  And above all, fuck Oprah’s book club.

Stepping on toes of the hipster gestapo

The only downside I’ve ever encountered to being spontaneous is that I’m often times ill prepared for whatever adventure I embark on at a moment’s notice.  This happened last Friday when I found myself at the Orpheum in Ybor for a metal show. My younger sister invited me last minute, so after veering off I-4 in a relatively unsafe manner, I made my way to one of my favorite local music venues.  Even if the show sucked (it was ok, check out Stick to Your Guns here) I could definitely use a beer.