"Lieutenant Dan, Ice Cream!"

Now what in the name of St. Hades does that have to do with anything? you ask. Well, the answer is quite simple actually. I just ate a popsicle. While I was eating the popsicle, I kept thinking, "This is a really good popsicle, but it's all of a sudden giving me a hankering for an ice cream cone." Consequently, I put that line from Forrest Gump as the title to commemorate the craving, even though it has practically nothing to do with the subsequent subject matter contained in this post. And "that's all I got to say about that" (from the film Forrest Gump).

During these last few of days, I have been clearing out some space in my room. Why, you ask, would I, such an untidy, unkempt, and otherwise disorganized sort of chap suddenly decide to become a practicing adherent to the "cleanliness is next to godliness" cult (Note: By the way, that phrase is not found in Proverbs, so don't let anyone tell you differently). I will explain the source for my sudden desire for neatness in my personal ambience.

When I was substitute teaching the other day, I sat at the teacher's desk and wondered how such a disorganized person could function as a professional of any kind, let alone a teacher. Papers were scattered willy-nilly over the entire surface area of the desk; pencils and pens and assignment sheets arranged in piles on top of piles on top of piles on top of who knows what. Then I realized the similarity between the mess which cluttered this desk and the one on my desk at home. Not to mention the one under my bed, the one on my bookshelves, the one in my clothes closet, the one in the dresser beside the bed, and the other one in my closet.

Consequently, I grew ashamed of myself and decided I would go home and junk out my hell-hole of a clutterbox before it grew legs and swallowed me in the middle of the night, perhaps while I was dreaming of becoming a virtual character in Mortal Kombat (Note: I would be Lord Raiden or Liu Kang) and holding hands with Audrey Hepburn on a bridge somewhere in Firenze, listening to her say "Non capito" in her very poor Italian accent (see film Roman Holiday), eating cannoli and focaccia, and singing to tune of La Vie en Rose with a gondola full of accordion players and organ grinders, complete with dancing simians and their clashing cymbals and tiny tambourines, as they sail on the Tiber as it flows beneath our feet (Note: To date, I have not actually dreamed such a dream, but I imagine it would be about as trippy as listening to a Pink Floyd album backwards).

Anyway, I cleaned my room the very next day. And the next day. And the next and so on. Finally, yesterday I finished the project. Not only is my room clean but I also found six videocassettes, eighteen cassette tapes, nineteen books, and one board game to contribute to Deseret Industries. Now, I call that productive.

On a side note, a rather lengthy one, today, because I was going to DI anyway with my old things, I went in the store to see if they had anything I wanted. Nada. I went across the street to Savers. Nothing. At that point, I said to myself, "Well, maybe you could go all the way down to the St. Vincent de Paul's on State Street ande see if they have anything you want." To which I replied, "Why not?" (Note: I do talk to myself often; I find it fascinating to hear what I have to say about things in general, and I always listen with much interest to such an intriguing perspective and eager anticipation). So, I filled up the car with gas and made my way down to that store. Not overly hopeful, considering the places I had just left, I really was not expecting to find much there.

Well, I walked in, and the place was quite nearly humming. I went over to the book section and began to rummage. And scrounge. And sift. And winnow. Finally, I poured the water from my proverbial pan and stared at the gravel within my gold-catching receptacle. Do you know what I saw? Of course you don't; that's why I'm going to tell you. Eventually. There was no sparkle of metallic dust, no flake of shining ore, polished smooth by the clear-running streams of "many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore" (from Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven"). No, indeed. What I beheld was perhaps a sight to make a grown man weep, though I could not allow such odd show of emotion to emerge in public for fear of embarassing myself in front of all those other bargain-hunting treasure-seekers. I...

Enough already! you cry. Tell us what it was! Stop being so dramatic! Sorry, but I felt that merely telling you what I found might be slightly anti-climactic. Remember, "peace be in the journey" (from the film Cool Runnings). However, now the pump is completely primed, the cup runneth over with anticipation, and you are ready for me to relate what I found.

Well, it was a set of Dickens, if you must know. Is that all? you ask, somewhat disappointed by this abrupt ending. You certainly built that up more than you had to. No, no, you obviously do not understand. I found Dickens; all of him. Every last major novel or essay or short story he wrote, I found. A 15 volume set of the complete works of Charles Dickens from around the turn of the century in very good condition. Some of the books have yet to be cracked for the first time. (Note: I found this out when I perused the contents of The Old Curiosity Shop) And how much did I pay for this nugget, this shining vein, this mother-lode, this strike to end all strikes? you ask. Well, "that's my secret" (from Edmond Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac). Suffice it to say though, the cost was minimal to me in light of its perceived antiquity (Note: I use the word perceived because the volumes carry no sign nor indication of the copyright year; however, their external and internal makeup indicates quite clearly that they are at least 80-90 years old if not a bit more) and intrinsic value, not to mention my joy at finding them complete and with only a certain amount of wear due to age and other factors.

Therefore, the most important things is, I bought the books and I say, "God bless it!" (from Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol). In fact, "God bless us all, every one!" (Ibid.). D--- it, Tiny Tim, I still want an ice cream cone. Lieutenant Dan, ice cream!