Notes from the Underground

Harpo, you're going to love this story to death.

So I'm working at Caliban Books this afternoon, and with all the summer bumpkins strolling along the Craig Street promenade, it's like a quiet but steady flow of traffic into the place. At some point this total beefneck clyde rolls in, looks at me sideways beneath his backward Kappa Delta baseball hat, and asks me, "Hey, bro, do you guys have any books by Frederick Neetchee?" And I say, "Yeah, in the philosophy section, fifth row, alphabetical by author," like right off the top of my head because I'm just that good. Then I watch him stare at the spines for about five minutes, and then he lumbers back up to the counter with four or five books in his hand. "Hey, I found a couple. This one is an anthology of his writings, which might be cool, like a sampler, ya know? This one is called The Gay Science, which must be like an indie experimental work, and I'd prefer something major. The Birth of Tragedy, now this one kind of strikes my interest. Do you have any suggestions, dude?" And I just flip my shit at the guy. I practically scream, "The Birth of Tragedy??? Are you serious? Nietzsche's Romanticism in that book was obsolete even when it was first published! He spent the rest of his life trying to subvert the philosophical assumptions underlying that work! No one should read this!" And I grabbed it and tossed it on the clearance rack. The guy was pretty flustered at first, but then became really pissed, and was like, "It's because of asshole snobs like you that people don't get interested in philosophy and literature," and then bolted out the door and probably went home to watch the NFL network, haha.

~Chez