I awoke yesterday to the knocking of the UPS man.

In a fit of self-indulgence, I went on a shopping spree at Amazon.com, buying two hardcover books, a DVD and two cds, though thanks to free shipping and a promo code, it cost me only a little over $30. As I've said before (I think), I was a sad gay boy with a credit card, and the only solution is retail therapy. And, since it was 3 in the morning on a Sunday at the time, the only stores available to me were WalMart and a 24-hour grocery store.

I suppose that the previous list is a bit misleading, since the DVD was a live disc coupled with a limited edition version of the new Sleater Kinney album, but still. The hardcover books alone cost $35. It was a sweet deal.

While I still have doubts about the new Sleater Kinney cd, the other cd I bought, a live recording of a David Sedaris reading, is excellent, as is Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation. I should mention that the 2 AM repeat of her CSPAN book reading was one of the highlights of my attempted cohabitation with Heart, and is what probably inspired me to purchase the book. (As the child of a librarian, the concept of buying books, owning them and placing them on a bookshelf, is foreign.)

The other hardcover book was a lovely book of haiku by a dashing young man who has never, ever been in the same room as this man, and is not nearly as good looking, as handsome, or as talented. The genius of the haiku author, however, has already been mentioned in multiple places, and so I won't bore you with any fawning praise I may have for the man who is most assuredly not him, on whom I've had an occasional cybercrush, off and on, for the past few years.

Being the lazy hedonist that I am, I spend yesterday reading one book, and then the other, and then listening to my new cds, and all in all not accomplishing anything. I left the books near the computer as I went and grabbed something to eat, was my mom came back from work and went online to check her email.

She notices the book, and is skimming through it as I return from the kitchen.

Oh, my.

She had read the preface, and mentioned her amusement of the story about the hexagonal torte and the heroin addict, and then proceded to flip through the pages in the book, skimming the haiku. My sister walks in, and asks what she's reading. She mentions the name of the book, and, in a move that is sure to result in years of therapy and erectile dysfunction, she reads aloud in her children's librarian/storytime voice the haiku on the open page.

Yes, this feels quite good.
Still, could you pick up the pace?
Golden Girls is on.

She turns the page.

Give it to me good--
Oh yeah, yeah, do it, daddy."
How Embarrassing.

She then said "You know? I kind of like this guy, except he seems too...."

Her voice trailed off, and I was afraid to finish her sentence for her.

"Persnickety?"

"Yeah, that's a good word to use. Persnickety."

Not that I think that the author is overly persnickety, mind you, but I didn't want to mention any of the other words I was thinking of in front of my mother.