- Barry Lopez, Arctic Dreams  

Previously in Xenology: Emily scared easy. There needs to be a new library.

Ringu
Emily is dozing quietly in my bed, but I wanted to write. With her last conscious breath, she asked for a new entry. This brings us to right about here.
We had just gotten back from hanging out with Zack. The night was supposed to begin and end much differently than it has. Emily, Melissa, and I were to drive up to Sarah's twenty-first birthday party. However, Melissa had not arrived home until after seven in the morning, first from enjoying Harry Potter with M and me (more on that later) to being an immensely good friend to someone who does not deserve it. Then, once Emily arrived here from a tournament where she did not get to fight, we ruled that it was far too foul of weather to brave the drive to Sarah's. Despite knowing that she would be immensely displeased, I knew I had to cancel on her (though she was not home when I tried to cancel).

Happy birthday, Sarah dear

The problem then became, what were we to do? Emily has long held firm to the belief that one can only get Chinese food at buffets. Disabusing her of this notion seemed like an excellent way to begin the evening. As we hadn't seen Zack in at least a week and he was only a short drive from our destination, we absconded with him as well. On the drive to the buffet, Zack informed us that he not only had gone to the city to see an agency that seemed to adore him, but he was considering becoming a part owner in the market where he currently works. To this I cleverly retorted, "Zack is doing stuff. We're not doing stuff. That sucks. Stupid school." It does make one a little curious as to the actual purpose of school since my English degree will be worth very, very little. Every time I inform someone what my major is, they promptly inform me that I will need at least a Master's to get a job. I don't see why a degree I paid thousands of dollars for is shite. Zack, assuaging my fears and quickly shutting me up, informed Emily and me that he will be happy to help us out, should he ever come into a lucrative or influential position. I have absolutely no problem with that. My moral compass points to that S with the line through it.
When we arrived at the buffet, which did not sell any food from the Orient, the management had obviously stationed what they presumed to be the thin, attractive employees near the front, where one pays to enter. However, by "thin," they meant "in painfully tight black jeans." By "attractive," they clearly meant "not technically hell beasts." Most of the clientele of this eatery certainly qualified as hell beasts, which should not come off as a surprise. Wherever food can be procured by the pound, there the hell beasts shall congregate. We were just there to prove the ideological point that Asians do not hold the patent for buffet style eating. Emily asked if she was wrong in noting that we were likely the only attractive people in the vicinity and was this normal. We, by way of explanation, pointed out our surrounding and Zack sadly stated that the city is overrun with beautiful people. Evidently, one can only thrive in the city if one has excellent cheekbones.
After eating an amount of food that could better be weighed in ounces than pounds, we decided to see a movie. Though Zack was very interested, with immensely good reason, in seeing Harry Potter, we decided to see The Ring.

Zack and Emily

This was a bad idea. It was not that the film was creepy, though Emily felt the need to hide her face when there was even the slightest suggestion of horror. Nonetheless, I told her she was my brave little toaster for even endeavoring to see this travesty. It has plot holes bigger than wells, though nothing as deep. The young boy is clearly trying to be Haley Joel Osment, either in The Sixth Sense or AI, depending on the scene. You just want the female protagonist to die, repeatedly, because she is far too stupid to live. The characters fall for so many horror movie clichés that one almost hopes they are trying to be self-referential and ironic. But no, it was far too dull to be so droll. The ending is obvious from the very beginning, though they act as though it is a clever plot twist. I fail to see how there can be so many sequels of the Japanese movie that inspired this. Beyond wooden, high school play acting, the dialogue seems to be taken wholesale from R.L. Stine novels. None of the characters are much worth knowing, which is good because we never get the chance to know them. There is even a noxious love story tacked on because... it was one of the only contrived situations left in the "Make Your Own Screenplay" box.
On the car on the way home, Zack and Emily both seemed a bit on edge. Evidently they found the film a bit scarier than I did, though I attributed my power of snark. A movie's terrifying climax tends to lose its punch when I can point out why it makes no sense. This is not to disrespect their fright, merely to point out why I wasn't.
Zack also spoke to us of his current amorous associate. (I believe the proper term is "ummfriend," as in "Who is that?" "My... umm.. friend.") They met a few weeks ago, evidently, shortly after his estrangement from Veronica. Neither of them harbor the illusion that this is a relationship, per se. It is merely comforting and welcome for the moment. That moment, however, seems to be ending soon. Zack, owing to the fact that he does care for this woman, is wholly aware that nothing can come of this and a premature cessation is likely less painful than one that might occur a few weeks or months down the road. She is a handful of years older, but that handful is enough to cause a chasm between them. Zack wants to find his place in the world and bloom into his fate. She is seeking to settle down with her Mr. Right. Zack is also intuitive enough to know where these matters are going, so I trust that he will make the right decision, whatever it may be.

Masking
Owing to the mold at the library, I have taken to wearing a surgical mask while I work. Don't fret, I am not a freak. Most of the adult staff had been doing this for years. In fact, my supervisor was wearing one when I interviewed for the job. It stop me from sneezing and becoming decidedly unhappy while I am stuck behind the desk, so I see no harm.
Since I have started wearing the mask, numerous patrons seem decidedly off-put by my appearance. They ask why I am wearing a mask, is there danger? I explain that I have developed an allergy to the mold problem. They always shift their eyes, as though the mold is an attacker they can see and fend off. A few people have left after hearing this. A few others ask if there is anything that can be done. I have adopted the party line that they are more than welcome to write a letter to the board of directors, as they have power as members of the public. I am powerless, as I am a grunt.
Evidently, wearing a surgical mask is a form of protest.

Basilisk
As Friday was the opening night to Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, you knew Emily, Melissa, and I had to be the first in line to see it. None of Melissa's friends, Potter addicts though they were, would join us. Denise was going to the bars, Liz was cemented at home, and Angela, who is wholly to blame for Melissa's addiction, wanted to spend the night at home with her boyfriend, with whom she lives and works. Where are the priorities?
We were going to a late showing to avoid those darned children who would ruin our theater going experience, so Emily and I got a table at a nearby chain restaurant. Emily had been a little short with me since she arrived at my home today. I was concerned but assumed in a fit of male ignorance that it was owing to her impending period. She tearfully confessed that this was not the case. In fact, she was distraught because she feared that I was going to leave her for Kate or, to a much less degree, Sarah. I pressed further, finding this unbelievable, and she revealed that she had seen me typing a note to Kate that went as follows:

Kate and sheep

I think for much, much too long you and I have continually gotten off to a millipede's allotment of wrong feet. I want that to stop, because I really do love you. Part of why I occasionally act so atrociously toward you, and I know I certainly do, is that I have all this misplaced feeling toward you. Often it seems easier to act as through I am not fond of your company than that you are someone I care endlessly about. Then I see something like a picture of a happy, vibrant you shaking hands with a sheep or have a long conversation about you (Sarah is fascinated with you and would really like to someday sit down and talk with you, she thinks you and she share a lot in common) and I can't deny how I feel. After all the rusty emotional detritus of resentment, rejection, jealousy, and fear, there is so much love. I can't really forget how much you meant and mean to me, though it isn't always easy. You are my Katerbean. I want us to be friends when you get back. I hope you want the same?