THBBM - Bhrigu's Foot

Bhrigu's Foot
Every time I comb my hair, thoughts of you get in my eyes...
7-31

Did you ever get the feeling that you're the only one left on the planet that reads at all?
: Every part of your life a Venn diagram, some chaos iteration. Every different place you inhabit a different universe. Every circle coinciding with a different circle. Crossing, intermixing.
Secondhand soul.
: I live in this part of the experience where having an open book in front of you is viewed as some strange, alien ritual. Opening up my novel on a recent lunch break brought out the sort of reaction from my peers that I would have expected to see if I'd opened a beer can in front of my boss, or started eating insects with chopsticks. People looked at me like my head was on fire.
: I can't tell you how many times I've actually been faced with the question,
"Reading a book, huh?"
: It's happened to you. You know it has. Tell me this: When you come into contact with a question such as this, why is "yes" the absolute last answer you think will helpful at all to the other person?
: Do you ever get the feeling that you're the only one left on the planet who really should be reading at all?
: Yet somehow I'm beginning to think that I may need something like this in my life. Not so much as some form of nourishment or whatever - but more as some sort of buoy. Validation.
If there's one thing the stupid can always be counted on for... it's letting you know where they are.
She was up on the chimney-piece while she said this, though she hardly knew how she had got there. And certainly the glass WAS beginning to melt away, just like a bright silvery mist...
: You find yourself in this world full of grails. Each chalice carefully organized in an oracle database, displayed individually or as part of larger groups on a website that you log into sometimes when you're trying to find a gift for your favorite aunt. The color scheme is yellow and blue, with orderly text in tight but somehow casual typefaces.
: Username: Ophion.
Password: ykcowrebbaj

(if you don't remember, you can click this link to answer the secret question)

The website is enormous, perhaps daunting in its singularity. But it's careful not to appear so. Your name, birthdate, and starsign have been logged and considered. Your previous quests, jousts, and duels are all fed into a relational model (along with every cookie on your drive that includes the words "hot" and "willing").
: The engine interfaces seamlessly with the data and makes sure that your catalog only shows images of a pre-celebrity Sharon Stone (she's actually working for rekall and married to Richter, but those sorts of details don't seem to make as much difference to you right now as they probably should).
: You navigate aimlessly. You came here looking for something, but there's always some sidebar shouting out information about things you're also interested in, so you find yourself taking the scenic route. Quests you want to take but can't seem to afford yourself at the moment. You even have a wish list of self-discoveries that you'd like to make. What's great about this feature is that your friends and family can view this list any time you like, saving you the trouble of having to subtlety reveal your longings to them through traditional methods.
: Oh I'm sorry, it's not a wish list...
it's an I'd wish you'd notice list.

My bad...
Jeez, I'm so stupid sometimes...

Finally you enter the keyword you originally came to see.

The grail you seek.

The page slowly loads. Advertisements for other things appear while you're still waiting for the system to retrieve your desired muse. Weight loss. Virility. Financial Independence. Bonzi Buddy...
: And then there it is. Your quest. Your meaning. Your sword in the water.
Reading.
: You're admiring the look of it even as you start to scan the text. Over the years, you found that you sometimes felt almost... noble for taking an interest in this. Of course you do it for enlightenment and pleasure, but there's no harm in taking the spoils if they're available, right?
: This is the age of blipverts and television without scripts. A time where every meaningful pop song is made from the melody of a pop song that used to mean something. This is the time when the sounds emanating from the Broadway halls are all revivals of... movies. This is the time when the man who sang "A bottle of white, a bottle of red.." just got out of rehab. This is the age of Chris Kattan.
And you want to read a book.
: It feels good. Why shouldn't it?
: Then from the corner of your eye you notice a brightly-colored icon next to the picture of your grail. The icon is a shape adorned with a smiling face. Curious, you click. A message appears.
4 out of 5 stars, based on 595 reader reviews.
: People read.
: People read a lot of shit.. But they read.
: People read books they don't want to admit to reading. People read books and then get rid of them later. People forget what books they've read. People can't remember what those books were even about.
But these people, the people around you ...read.
Go and tell your master that he can join us in our quest for the Holy Grail. Well, I'll ask him, but I don't think he'll be very keen. He's already got one.
: What if women were really good at football?
What if homosexuals made really great soldiers?
What if the Janitor at MIT was a genius?
Hey, Kool Thing, come here, sit down there's something I got to ask you. I just wanna know, what are you gonna do for me? I mean, are you gonna liberate us girls from male white corporate oppression?
: Call me whatever you want, but I'm guessing it would sort of suck to not be a woman or a Homo.
...I just want to know that we can still be friends
: What I'm getting at here is not so much that my world is crumbling around me now that I'm suddenly aware that Cletus two cubicle rows over has read more science fiction than I could ever fathom, or that Oprah Winfrey and I like many of the same authors. I mean yeah, I kinda liked the feeling of being the erudite.. but it's not like I don't know people who read stuff I can't even start to get my head around.
: What I'm getting at is this sense of insulation that I sort of put around myself.
Not to keep the cold out, mind you - to keep the warmth in.
: A whole life being made to feel like Graham Chapman on the cross for enjoying the company of a good book, volumes of memory where you didn't hear the term "nerd" as much as you sensed it being draped over you.
: And actually feeling bad about it.
: Then as you realize the taunts were coming from standpoints of naiveté, you found that it wasn't something you kept hidden - but something that set you apart. Something good.
: Then maybe sometimes it becomes something better than the rest of you backassward bumpkins I have to deal with every day. Not a good thing.
: Not a good thing.
: But it happens. And I stoke the flames. When people say they liked a certain movie, it's almost knee-jerk for me to tell them that the book was better.
I'm that guy.
: I don't mean to be.. Sometimes the book is better. Most of the time the book is better. But who the hell wanted to know what I thought anyways?
: It's almost as if I figuratively walk up to people around me and say,
"Not reading a book, huh?"