Observations from the bookstore:

Check out the new Rolling Stone. The spawn of famous rock stars grace the cover. Pretty much the most ho-hum cover spread ever—with one exception: Art Garfunkel's kid, so cute and awkward, as opposed to Keith Richards' sullen, vampy looking offspring. Unmistakably Garfunkel.

Speaking of awkward youth, a tween was buying an American Girls book on what middle school is like. I shudder to think back on the junior high years. Talk about a bad case of the squirms.

There's a new regular at the store who I affectionately call the superhero alter ego guy. He's got that Clark Kent/Peter Parker freshly scrubbed dork look. He wears glasses, but not in a geeky chic, Gideon Yago kind of way. They are ill-fitting and of the Coke bottle variety. And I think I noticed a Members Only jacket being sported without a trace of irony. Any minute I expect him to dash out of the elevator in a cape. I'd like to sic Kyan Douglas on him.

Doesn't everyone own a copy of The Da Vinci Code by now? Don't people share/trade books any more? I would have been ticked if I had paid for that book. I still crack up when I think of Daniel Hoffman's suggestion of a drive-through Dan Brown store. Tom Hanks is the worst choice ever for the movie. How about Colin Firth?

Other Stuff:

I found out there is an all girl Wilco cover band called Wilca.

Tonite's Arrested Development was the Zach Braff-iest.

Sorry for this one. I got nothing. I'm bored and have a subpar medical drama to watch.

Eagerly anticipating the new Amie Barnett designed elaboratelies.