The Book. As you know, if you hang out here, I have a new book just out: Ghosts & Legends of Colorado's Front Range. It's doing very well, by the way -- the second printing is almost sold out. It's only been a month!
The strangest thing happens, once I type the final words -- that piece of writing becomes the 'other Cindy Brick's' work, not mine. If someone praises it, great. If they ridicule it (which happens more than you think), it doesn't bother me as much.
The Brick knows I feel this way, and thinks it's hilarious. He is also the primary photographer for The Book. After we got copies in at the Brickworks offices, he looked one over carefully. Then he announced that the 'other David Brick' did a good job! (I just snickered.)
Other book-related items:
*I'm at one of the local Costcos. The table, for this pre-Halloween book signing, features a skeleton tablecover, orange skull cups, candy corn lights and a pumpkin.
So what's behind me? Boxes of ceramic Christmas villages that automatically belt out carols whenever anyone walks by, or picks up a box.
Talk about surreal.
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| See the red boxes on the right? Voila. |
*While I was signing books at another Costco, a passerby told me about his experience on Riverdale Road. This winding road is up in Thornton, north of Denver, and said to be extremely haunted. (Yes, it's in The Book.) This guy took a skeptical friend with him for a drive. Along the way:
*they saw ghosts trudging along the shoulder
*a column of swirling smoke suddenly appeared in the middle of the road
*someone (or something) left a child-sized handprint on the outside of the back window
*that same whatever-it-was said "Hi" to the passenger in the backseat.
"This really happened to you?" I said. He nodded -- and said that his friend was no longer a skeptic.
Figures.
*The Brick says I must be a 'ghostwriter,' now The Book's out.
When we lived in Ann Arbor, MI during college days, a local bookstore displayed remainders out front on big tables. We often stopped there, looking for bargains. (Hollander instinct.) One day, the Brick was pawing through the books when he noticed a man standing there, looking at passersby strangely. Since there were all sorts of mentally-challenged people in Ann Arbor to begin with, he didn't think much about it.
A dog was sitting nearby, tied up with a leash. It wasn't growling or even looking interested in the people around it -- just waiting for its owner to return.
Someone started to go into the bookstore. Strange Guy said, out of the corner of his mouth:
"That dog's gonna bite you."
Would-be customer looked startled. Strange Guy gazed up at the heavens, as if nothing had happened. Dog was snoozing in the sunshine.
Next person, same thing --
"That dog's gonna bite you."
This went on for half an hour, with Strange Guy (and the dog) totally innocent. But the Brick was having trouble not laughing out loud each time SG made his little announcement.
Why am I telling you this? Because now the Brick occasionally says to me, eyes looking elsewhere:
"That ghost is gonna bite you."
Silly man.
Other reports, out in the world:
A very funny fall garden sum-up, thanks to Get Me to the Country. If you enjoyed that:
Another funny farm-type sum-up, this one on chickens, from Hundred Dollars A Month. Ours may be gone now, but I still can't help myself.
The guy running for a city council position in Irvine, CA... who drops his elderly mom off to panhandle! One of the local businesspeople says they've been scamming sympathetic patrons for at least the past 12 years. Hey, at least he shows filial love by picking her up in a shiny new car.
(Update: he was dead last in the vote results. Guess Mom had better get out there and earn more cash.)
Tony Joe White died recently. You may not recognize his name, but this "swamp rock" musician wrote one of the Brick's favorite songs to tease me with: 'Poke Salad Annie.'
*A conversation Owen Wilson had with his two sons: Robert (Ford), age 7, & Finn, age 4.
Owen mused that "I'm already sort of seeing how they're gonna be as teenagers, where they're gonna be sort of ganging up on me."
"[Some years ago] we went to Sequoia National Park, and they have the biggest tree in the world. I'm like: 'Guys, this is the biggest tree in the world,' and Ford's like: 'I've seen bigger.'
And I'm like 'Well, no, Ford, actually you haven't seen bigger. This is -- this is the General Sherman tree. This is the biggest tree.' And he's like: 'If you say so.'
And I'm like: 'No, it's not if I say so! There's the plaque right here!'
And he's like: 'I can't read.'
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| Go see for yourself. Wow. (NPS photo) |
Some airport stories, from the recent trip:
*A large bag of apples is in my carry-on bag. (More in the suitcase. Hey, Michigan has the best apples!) Going through security at the Grand Rapids airport, the guy asks me if I have apples. (Does everybody, this time of year?) Then he asks me to send them through separately. When I ask why, he responds:
"Because they're too round... and freak the x-ray people out."
I'm still puzzled. They look like hand grenades? Bombs? Apples?
*I have a psychic experience in Chicago's O'Hare airport. Supper in the foodcourt. I'm having a Chicago dog, naturally. They're wonderful.
A lady comes up and asks if she can use the plug-in to recharge her phone. She asks me all sorts of questions: where I'm from, where I was at, why I was there, etc. etc. Before I can respond, she supplies the 'answer' each time.
She's 100% wrong.
After this barrage, I politely ask where she's going. Las Vegas, she says, to do some gambling and take a vacation with her daughters. She then hands me her business card:
The Psychic Boutique.
"I hope you can guess better there than you did here," I find myself muttering.
And finally:
Have a good weekend!
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