She was taken aback by Curt’s cockeyed expression.
“What?” It was a wholly unprofessional response, but things had gotten rather unprofessional between them lately.
“I thought I told you to dress comfortably.” He glanced at Alpha to his right. “Didn’t I say that?”
Erica sighed. “This is comfortable.”
He raised an eyebrow. His expression said, I don’t see four inch heels as being all that practical. He said, “Suit yourself. You, ah, well, you do look fantastic.” He turned around quickly and headed up the steps into the waiting jet. Erica stood at the bottom of the steps looking after him, stunned and terrified.
She didn’t notice Alpha shake his white head and almost smile. She did notice when he finally cleared his throat.
“After you Ms. Glass.”
“Oh! Right. Yeah.” Her foot wobbled a little the first step, and she thought maybe she should have selected a nice flat instead.
I’ve missed my calling, Erica thought as she settled into the velvety smooth ivory leather armchair. I should have been an actress. I have no idea what I’m doing here! Of course, I might not be fooling anyone else either. Certainly not Alpha who never missed anything. And if Alpha didn’t miss it, Curt didn’t either. A moment later, a man materialized at her side.
“Good afternoon, Ms Glass. It’s a pleasure to have you with us today. My name is Michael, and I’ll be you’re an-assistant for the duration of our journey. The prince has asked me to let you know he has some phone calls to make, but he will be with you shortly, and to please make yourself at home.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I get you anything to drink, Ms Glass?”
Michael did not fit her idea of the profile for an assistant. Not exactly anyway. He looked the part with his wire rimed glasses and super starchy suit, but there was something about him that didn’t quite fit. Not having any idea of protocol in these situations, Erica decided to toss caution to the wind. “I’m fine, Michael, but do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”
“Not at all, ma’am.”
“Do you work for the prince himself, or do you just go with the airplane?”
Michael sighed and sat down in the chair across from her. “I work for the prince, Ms. Glass. No one gets on this plane who does not work for the prince.”
Erika nodded. “Except me, right? I’m a journalist. I’m objective. I was invited by the prince, but I don’t work for him.”
“Not yet.”
“Excuse me? Are you suggesting I would compromise my journalistic integrity for some prince of some country only people who read Vanity Fair have ever heard of?”
“Calm down Ms. Glass. You’ll see what I mean.”
“I’m a little incensed at the very notion.”
“At the…?”
“At the very notion. Never mind. It’s just something my grandmother used to say.”
“Ah! A colloquialism.”
“Right.”
“Can I ask you something else?”
“Yes, Ms. Glass?”
“Do you think I’m over dressed?”
Michael laughed. Then he snorted. Are assistants allowed to snort?
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
*A note from the author: In case you’re wondering if you missed something, it’s coming. We have a long flight ahead of us.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Volume 3
***If you would like to be updated via e-mail when the Attic is updated, please let me know!****
Erica did her best to appear nonplussed when the elevator opened to reveal an incredibly huge man with dark skin and white hair in a blacker than black three piece suit. She met his eyes, searing blue, as if she regularly greeted tremendously large body guards outside of elevators.
"This way, Ms. Glass." She practically had to jog to keep up with him on the short trek down the hall. The body guard led her into an opulently furnished hotel room, which was not a surprise. In fact, the room looked very much like every room she had ever conducted a high profile interview in. Except for the man leaning against the fireplace.
Erica had anticipated the Crown Prince to look at least sort of, well, princely. This guy--he can't be the prince. Maybe he's here to fix something? Is he smirking at me?
"You were expecting a throne?" The man asked.
He is smirking! Every rational thought flew out of her head. She should have been announced. They should have been introduced. He should have been drinking his water out of a golden goblet, not straight from the water bottle. Say something! She studied the smirk for a moment longer and took a deep breath. Sanity returned with the realization that he was enjoying her discomfort.
Erica pasted on her most engaging smile; the very one that got her this job. "Prince Curtis Hanun of Korah, I presume." Hours of research and practice in the bathroom mirror caused his name to fall off her tongue as if she had been speaking it her whole life. But something about the way it sounded coming out of her mouth in his presence seemed to make him uncomfortable. Before she had time to attempt his country's traditional courtesy in her rather snug skirt, he was in front of her, offering his hand in a more typical American greeting.
"And you are Erica Glass of the Daily News. Please have a seat." He gestured to the two wing backed chairs flanking a rich wooden coffee table. Erica knew it was probably called something other than a coffee table in such surroundings, but for the life of her she didn't know what. "They are more aesthetic than comfortable, I'm afraid," he said taking the seat on the left. She took the one on the right, perching carefully to arrange her legs in the most elegant yet business like fashion possible. She loved this skirt, and she looked fantastic in it--some things you don't even need to bother kidding yourself about--but it was impossible to move in it. "can i offer you something to drink?"
Erica glanced around. There were no beverages in sight nor did she see anyone to deliver said beverage. Intrigued, she accepted. "Coffee, please."
He nodded. Not more than three seconds later, a woman appeared at the door Erica had come though. She arranged a silver coffee service on the table between them without a word and disappeared as quickly as she came.
Everything about this man was out of place in this surrounding. Even as he poured two cups of coffee as though he'd been at it forever, it didn't seem to match up. He handed her a cup.
"Before we commence with the interview," the prince said, " I would appreciate it if you call me Curt. I have great reverence for my title as prince, but I prefer to emphasize that I am, indeed, a human being."
"I don't know if I can do that."
He smiled. "You can practice." She studied his face; for a moment longer than she should have probably. Just this side of attractive, and far from perfect features. Unless of course the muscled arms were any indication. If it were, some perfection lurked. But his smile was disarming. Charming, even.
There was no way she would ever convince herself it was OK to call the prince by his first name, so she decided the best course of action would be to not address him by name at all.
"May I ask you a few questions?"
"Certainly." Clearly he wanted to make a flippant remark, but he held his tongue. It was a pretty dumb first question. It was an interview after all. Might as well cut right to the chase.
"Why are you here?" His visit was controversial. His countrymen were in the process of trying to overturn his father's reign, yet he was in the United States on a fund raising tour attempting to raise money for hospitals in his country. Many felt he was fleeing his country or that his father had sent him away. She knew this was not a safe question and expected to be asked to leave immediately. It would still make a good story.
Instead, the prince smiled. "I admire the courage it took to ask that question, and I will answer it to the best of my ability. My people have rejected my father as their king. He still lives in the palace and holds the title to be sure, but his effectiveness is limited because his subjects do not understand him. Our people have been isolated and deceived by a traitor. His lies are persuasive. My father has sent many ambassadors to the people, but his enemy's lies are more powerful. For now. We have a plan. I could tell you every detail, but it wouldn't make any more sense to you than the story up until this point. My father and I love our people. We want only what is best for them."
"This 'traitor.' Why can't you just have him, um, removed?"
"And have the allegiance of our people because they are afraid they will also be 'removed' for disagreements? No. That kind of allegiance is not allegiance at all. We want them to choose."
"If your father is such a great king, how did this happen?"
"Do you want to know?"
"Of course I want to know."
"Alright then. I have a proposition for you."
Erica did her best to appear nonplussed when the elevator opened to reveal an incredibly huge man with dark skin and white hair in a blacker than black three piece suit. She met his eyes, searing blue, as if she regularly greeted tremendously large body guards outside of elevators.
"This way, Ms. Glass." She practically had to jog to keep up with him on the short trek down the hall. The body guard led her into an opulently furnished hotel room, which was not a surprise. In fact, the room looked very much like every room she had ever conducted a high profile interview in. Except for the man leaning against the fireplace.
Erica had anticipated the Crown Prince to look at least sort of, well, princely. This guy--he can't be the prince. Maybe he's here to fix something? Is he smirking at me?
"You were expecting a throne?" The man asked.
He is smirking! Every rational thought flew out of her head. She should have been announced. They should have been introduced. He should have been drinking his water out of a golden goblet, not straight from the water bottle. Say something! She studied the smirk for a moment longer and took a deep breath. Sanity returned with the realization that he was enjoying her discomfort.
Erica pasted on her most engaging smile; the very one that got her this job. "Prince Curtis Hanun of Korah, I presume." Hours of research and practice in the bathroom mirror caused his name to fall off her tongue as if she had been speaking it her whole life. But something about the way it sounded coming out of her mouth in his presence seemed to make him uncomfortable. Before she had time to attempt his country's traditional courtesy in her rather snug skirt, he was in front of her, offering his hand in a more typical American greeting.
"And you are Erica Glass of the Daily News. Please have a seat." He gestured to the two wing backed chairs flanking a rich wooden coffee table. Erica knew it was probably called something other than a coffee table in such surroundings, but for the life of her she didn't know what. "They are more aesthetic than comfortable, I'm afraid," he said taking the seat on the left. She took the one on the right, perching carefully to arrange her legs in the most elegant yet business like fashion possible. She loved this skirt, and she looked fantastic in it--some things you don't even need to bother kidding yourself about--but it was impossible to move in it. "can i offer you something to drink?"
Erica glanced around. There were no beverages in sight nor did she see anyone to deliver said beverage. Intrigued, she accepted. "Coffee, please."
He nodded. Not more than three seconds later, a woman appeared at the door Erica had come though. She arranged a silver coffee service on the table between them without a word and disappeared as quickly as she came.
Everything about this man was out of place in this surrounding. Even as he poured two cups of coffee as though he'd been at it forever, it didn't seem to match up. He handed her a cup.
"Before we commence with the interview," the prince said, " I would appreciate it if you call me Curt. I have great reverence for my title as prince, but I prefer to emphasize that I am, indeed, a human being."
"I don't know if I can do that."
He smiled. "You can practice." She studied his face; for a moment longer than she should have probably. Just this side of attractive, and far from perfect features. Unless of course the muscled arms were any indication. If it were, some perfection lurked. But his smile was disarming. Charming, even.
There was no way she would ever convince herself it was OK to call the prince by his first name, so she decided the best course of action would be to not address him by name at all.
"May I ask you a few questions?"
"Certainly." Clearly he wanted to make a flippant remark, but he held his tongue. It was a pretty dumb first question. It was an interview after all. Might as well cut right to the chase.
"Why are you here?" His visit was controversial. His countrymen were in the process of trying to overturn his father's reign, yet he was in the United States on a fund raising tour attempting to raise money for hospitals in his country. Many felt he was fleeing his country or that his father had sent him away. She knew this was not a safe question and expected to be asked to leave immediately. It would still make a good story.
Instead, the prince smiled. "I admire the courage it took to ask that question, and I will answer it to the best of my ability. My people have rejected my father as their king. He still lives in the palace and holds the title to be sure, but his effectiveness is limited because his subjects do not understand him. Our people have been isolated and deceived by a traitor. His lies are persuasive. My father has sent many ambassadors to the people, but his enemy's lies are more powerful. For now. We have a plan. I could tell you every detail, but it wouldn't make any more sense to you than the story up until this point. My father and I love our people. We want only what is best for them."
"This 'traitor.' Why can't you just have him, um, removed?"
"And have the allegiance of our people because they are afraid they will also be 'removed' for disagreements? No. That kind of allegiance is not allegiance at all. We want them to choose."
"If your father is such a great king, how did this happen?"
"Do you want to know?"
"Of course I want to know."
"Alright then. I have a proposition for you."
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Rough Draft Volume 2
Curt smirked as he watched the computer monitor in front of him. People were so much more real when they didn't know they were being watched. When she stepped onto the elevator, this one didn't seem any different than the hoard of others he had observed and spoken to over the course of the day. He continued to watch as she pushed the up button repeatedly. He smiled as she attempted to attach a press pass to her lapel with one hand while clutching a leather bag in the other. With that done, he watched her "nonchalantly" toss her hair then smooth it then fluff it then smooth it again. He laughed out loud when she noticed the camera not-so-subtly perched in the corner. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. She must have decided no one of consequence was watching, since her next move was to run her tongue over the front of her teeth then rub them with an index finger to make extra sure that long wearing lipstick stayed where it was supposed to.
"Well sir?" His right hand man asked from his post by the door.
"This one's funny, Alpha. I think I like her."
"Funny, sir?" Alpha was not paid to have a sense of humor. Or a real name. He had been with Curt's father from the beginning, hence the label. People assumed Curt was the liaison between themselves and the king, but in fact, Alpha's roll was generally underestimated and seldom utilized.
"You'll see, Alpha. She has your sense of humor. I'm sure of it."
She jumped, literally jumped, off her feet when the elevator arrived at his floor. Curt chuckled and assumed his most disinterested pose leaning against the hotel's finest faux fireplace. The door clicked open then closed as Alpha exited to escort Ms. Erica Glass of the Daily News for her interview with his majesty.
"Well sir?" His right hand man asked from his post by the door.
"This one's funny, Alpha. I think I like her."
"Funny, sir?" Alpha was not paid to have a sense of humor. Or a real name. He had been with Curt's father from the beginning, hence the label. People assumed Curt was the liaison between themselves and the king, but in fact, Alpha's roll was generally underestimated and seldom utilized.
"You'll see, Alpha. She has your sense of humor. I'm sure of it."
She jumped, literally jumped, off her feet when the elevator arrived at his floor. Curt chuckled and assumed his most disinterested pose leaning against the hotel's finest faux fireplace. The door clicked open then closed as Alpha exited to escort Ms. Erica Glass of the Daily News for her interview with his majesty.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Rough Draft
Over the coming weeks, I am going to do some thinly veiled allegorizing as I work through some stuff I’m learning about me and God. My goal is to twist Ephesians 6:10-20 and Song of Solomon (it always comes back to the love story) together to try and make some sense out of the combination. It’s an unlikely pairing, but I have pretty high hopes for the result. I’m working out rough ideas here, so don’t be too critical J but please share your feedback.
For reference purposes: Stand firm then with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, the breastplate of righteousness in place, and your feet fitted with the readiness that comes with the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. Eph. 6:14-17 NIV
“There is no such thing as Prince Charming.” Erica muttered to her friend Kendra who stood behind her in the mirror. Only it came out sounding more like “Ere ish o huch sin a rince arming” because she was fixing her lipstick at the time.
Kendra flopped dramatically into the chair behind her, because Kendra did everything dramatically. “What if there is! What if this is him?!”
“First of all,” Erica swiveled the colored wax back into it’s holder and snapped the lid in place with one hand, “there isn’t. And second, this is not him. I can't even pronounce the name of whatever country he’s supposed to be from. And even if he was, I’m not going to get a chance to find out.” She fidgeted with the scoop of her blouse. "I’m just going in there for 13 seconds to ask him whatever two questions his creepy government has authorized me to ask, then I get to go home to my computer and try to make it sound like he’s some sort of humanitarian superstar.”
“He is a humanitarian superstar though.”
Erica rolled her brown eyes within the frame of expertly mascara-ed lashes. “Sure he is.”
“Could you sound a little more skeptical?”
Erica turned toward her friend. “How do I look?”
“Perfect, as always, princess.”
Erica picked an imaginary piece of lint off black trousers. “It’s time.”
“Are you sure you don’t need anymore varnish for that façade of yours?”
Any other day, Erica's retort would have been swift, but not today. She was on her way to meet the prince.
For reference purposes: Stand firm then with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, the breastplate of righteousness in place, and your feet fitted with the readiness that comes with the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. Eph. 6:14-17 NIV
“There is no such thing as Prince Charming.” Erica muttered to her friend Kendra who stood behind her in the mirror. Only it came out sounding more like “Ere ish o huch sin a rince arming” because she was fixing her lipstick at the time.
Kendra flopped dramatically into the chair behind her, because Kendra did everything dramatically. “What if there is! What if this is him?!”
“First of all,” Erica swiveled the colored wax back into it’s holder and snapped the lid in place with one hand, “there isn’t. And second, this is not him. I can't even pronounce the name of whatever country he’s supposed to be from. And even if he was, I’m not going to get a chance to find out.” She fidgeted with the scoop of her blouse. "I’m just going in there for 13 seconds to ask him whatever two questions his creepy government has authorized me to ask, then I get to go home to my computer and try to make it sound like he’s some sort of humanitarian superstar.”
“He is a humanitarian superstar though.”
Erica rolled her brown eyes within the frame of expertly mascara-ed lashes. “Sure he is.”
“Could you sound a little more skeptical?”
Erica turned toward her friend. “How do I look?”
“Perfect, as always, princess.”
Erica picked an imaginary piece of lint off black trousers. “It’s time.”
“Are you sure you don’t need anymore varnish for that façade of yours?”
Any other day, Erica's retort would have been swift, but not today. She was on her way to meet the prince.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Love Came Down at Dinner Time
The green numbers on the oven read 5:22pm and the children are acting like it. One cries from his bed, one shouts from the living room. Mom stands with her hands in the dish water looking at the dirty window in front of her. She stares at the white index card taped to the glass with masking tape, the words acting simply as ink on paper as she mechanically moves the dish rag over the pot in the sink. She breathes in and reads the words: “Whoever drinks of this water will thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water I give him will become a fountain of water springing to everlasting life.”
I wonder what Living Water tastes like. The verse plays again in her mind. What does it taste like? Can you drown in Living Water? No. You don’t drown. You breathe it. You fill your lungs with Living Water when you inhale and Life pours out when you exhale. Even in real life, Father? Even with dinner on the stove and dishes in the sink? Even with screaming kids and broken down mini vans? Can I just have a taste, Lord? Just a taste of Living Water?
The soap bubbles dance in the sink like tiny diamonds. She lifts them to her mouth and puffs. They sparkle off her finger tips and bounce into the window. She plunges her hands back into the sink and rests her hands on the bottom. Diamond bubbles effervesce against her wrists. The water feels warm at the bottom and cool at the top, soft as silk and baby skin. A fountain begins to stir somewhere between her ribs and her spine. It feels all together wonderful and terrible. Her heart throbs with pleasure and aches with pain. Tears stream down her face as each breath comes, deeper and easier than seem natural.
A taste, the fountain whispers. What does it taste like, child?
Real life begins to intrude in the form of hungry kids and beeping timers. She shakes her head and squints back at the green numbers. 5:23. Tears still wet on her face, she remembers that movie line, “You can’t handle the truth.” Can I handle more than a taste? She gathers her son in her arms and kisses his head. She lifts him in one arm and picks up his little brother in the other. Lips brush against baby soft cheeks and the fountain bubbles. I want more than a taste of this love of Yours.
I wonder what Living Water tastes like. The verse plays again in her mind. What does it taste like? Can you drown in Living Water? No. You don’t drown. You breathe it. You fill your lungs with Living Water when you inhale and Life pours out when you exhale. Even in real life, Father? Even with dinner on the stove and dishes in the sink? Even with screaming kids and broken down mini vans? Can I just have a taste, Lord? Just a taste of Living Water?
The soap bubbles dance in the sink like tiny diamonds. She lifts them to her mouth and puffs. They sparkle off her finger tips and bounce into the window. She plunges her hands back into the sink and rests her hands on the bottom. Diamond bubbles effervesce against her wrists. The water feels warm at the bottom and cool at the top, soft as silk and baby skin. A fountain begins to stir somewhere between her ribs and her spine. It feels all together wonderful and terrible. Her heart throbs with pleasure and aches with pain. Tears stream down her face as each breath comes, deeper and easier than seem natural.
A taste, the fountain whispers. What does it taste like, child?
Real life begins to intrude in the form of hungry kids and beeping timers. She shakes her head and squints back at the green numbers. 5:23. Tears still wet on her face, she remembers that movie line, “You can’t handle the truth.” Can I handle more than a taste? She gathers her son in her arms and kisses his head. She lifts him in one arm and picks up his little brother in the other. Lips brush against baby soft cheeks and the fountain bubbles. I want more than a taste of this love of Yours.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Small hard things
I stole the following post from a blog called The Rebelution. I thought It was fantastic and a great reminder that little things matter. I do a million little things everyday without doing them "as unto the Lord." According to Junior Asperigus, "a thankful heart is a happy heart," so dishes done with thanksgiving, diapers changed out of love... All those small hard things mean something to God. Meanwhile, easy for Martin Luther to say! His "small thing" changed the landscape of organized religion for the rest of history!
It is not extremely difficult for us to convince ourselves that the faithful practice of doing small, hard things should be valued as vital preparation for future achievements. It is, however, much harder to view them as significant in and of themselves. Can we assign meaning to these simplest and humblest of acts?
Martin Luther King Jr. says we can. He wrote: “If a man is called a street-sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven composed music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, here lived a great street-sweeper who did his job well.”
This is the same purposefulness that the Apostle Paul shares when he writes, “Whatever you do work at it with all your heart as working for the Lord, not for men,” and “whatever you do, do all for the glory of God.”
As Christians we have an incredible sense of overall life purpose but we also believe that God assigns the specific everyday circumstances of our lives, the small things (Psalm 16). Our overall sense of purpose gives meaning and significance to every small thing we do in life; we view them joyfully and wholeheartedly as opportunities to live well and beautifully for our Creator.
With this biblical worldview, there is no basis for despising small or obscure things. It places no limits on our chances to make an impact or live for the glory of God. Like the street-sweeper your actions at home, at school, at church, and elsewhere in your community can bring great glory to God if you are willing to throw yourself into them 100% just because they are things that He has given you to do.
And because God is good, by doing whatever He has put before you with all your heart, regardless of whether it appears significant or not, you will find yourself benefited and strengthened, ready for next thing.
Monday, January 07, 2008
Of Phone Books and Fire Retardants
Today I stepped out my front door to find a new phone book waiting for me, all wrapped in plastic and presented as something I was supposed to be happy about. You may be wondering why I would be unhappy about receiving this most utilitarian gift for my own personal use absolutely free. Well, let me just tell you. I now have 4 phone books. 4. Four. Four! Why do I need FOUR PHONE BOOKS?!!!
I would like to have a chat with whoever decided it was necessary to bust up the Yellow Pages monopoly. Thanks to this genius, I now have in my living room the Yellow Book (2008-2009) Salem/Keizer, the Salem/Keizer 2008 Phone Directory (Area Code 503), Dex Plus Salem/Dallas use through June of 2008 (this one claims to be convenient and portable), and the Salem/Mid-Valley Verizon Yellow Pages. Verizon doesn't even provide land-line phone service in Salem/Mid-Valley.
For the life of me, I can't figure out why I need all of them, so I did a little research. Dex is the only one with a separate section designated to Fire Retardants rather than including it with Fire Extinguishers like the other three. I must appreciate the, as a retarded fire is very different from an extinguished one. Dex also kindly points out that in case of a fire emergency, one should dial 911. The Yellow Book does not have the letters of the alphabet conveniently accessible on the sides of the page, however it has a very nice "local zip codes" section. Dex came with a magnet. The 2008 Phone Directory has a handy reverse directory (so you can look up that mystery number that showed up on your caller ID).
Out of morbid curiosity, I looked up Advertising-Directory and Guide (phone book code for Phone Book). The 2008 Phone Directory had 6 listings, including all of the phone books in my collection. Verizon lists 3, but two of them are Verizon. Yellow Book also offers 3 listings, their own they dub "Yellow Book. Not the other Book." (As if I am supposed to confuse it with the Bible?) Dex only offers two, their own add being 1 3/4 pages in full color.
By now, you may have assumed I have too much time on my hands. Not so. I just would rather rant about the heinous waste of pulp used in producing superfluous advertising-directories and guides rather than make dinner or put away my Christmas decorations. But alas, my misplaced priorities I will save for another post.
I would like to have a chat with whoever decided it was necessary to bust up the Yellow Pages monopoly. Thanks to this genius, I now have in my living room the Yellow Book (2008-2009) Salem/Keizer, the Salem/Keizer 2008 Phone Directory (Area Code 503), Dex Plus Salem/Dallas use through June of 2008 (this one claims to be convenient and portable), and the Salem/Mid-Valley Verizon Yellow Pages. Verizon doesn't even provide land-line phone service in Salem/Mid-Valley.
For the life of me, I can't figure out why I need all of them, so I did a little research. Dex is the only one with a separate section designated to Fire Retardants rather than including it with Fire Extinguishers like the other three. I must appreciate the, as a retarded fire is very different from an extinguished one. Dex also kindly points out that in case of a fire emergency, one should dial 911. The Yellow Book does not have the letters of the alphabet conveniently accessible on the sides of the page, however it has a very nice "local zip codes" section. Dex came with a magnet. The 2008 Phone Directory has a handy reverse directory (so you can look up that mystery number that showed up on your caller ID).
Out of morbid curiosity, I looked up Advertising-Directory and Guide (phone book code for Phone Book). The 2008 Phone Directory had 6 listings, including all of the phone books in my collection. Verizon lists 3, but two of them are Verizon. Yellow Book also offers 3 listings, their own they dub "Yellow Book. Not the other Book." (As if I am supposed to confuse it with the Bible?) Dex only offers two, their own add being 1 3/4 pages in full color.
By now, you may have assumed I have too much time on my hands. Not so. I just would rather rant about the heinous waste of pulp used in producing superfluous advertising-directories and guides rather than make dinner or put away my Christmas decorations. But alas, my misplaced priorities I will save for another post.
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