Archive for the ‘Bean Books (Mis)Adventures’ Category

A response posted on Wednesday Afternoon at the Bean (three guesses on the mysterious author… and don’t let the ‘brains’ reference throw you):

“You’re possibly the worst person ever! DEAL WITH IT! Caleb sounds like a wonderful person and has a lot to offer the arts here in Saint John. The fact that he throws a spear is a bonus! He likes to have a very balanced life. I heard a rumor that all the paintings at bean books were all painted by her brother. However Caleb would never voluntarily give his paintings to Sarah. I heard that she has him locked in the basement and forced to paint or he will receive no food or water. Once Sarah found out that people would buy Caleb’s paintings she took away all of his food and then provided him with sharpened spoons in order to hunt down mice for nutrition, he also has to collect water from the fog and rain that trickles into the basement (dungeon). He remains alive because of an episode of Man VS Wild that he viewed a week earlier before his confinement. However I believe he is digging his way to freedom, trying to reach the River! Also he can’t use the spoons that he hunts with because Sarah has only provided him with 3 and they are getting dull. In that episode of Man Vs Wild he witnessed how Bear (possibly the coolest guy ever….after Caleb) would attach the teeth of the mice to his own fingers. This is his method of escaping the wrath of Sarah Jones. I believe he is only a few meters from the reversing falls. I imagine Caleb will want revenge…possibly has something to do with Spoons to the heart! Sarah better watch out!




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Sarah's mugIt’s not my fault that Pledge looks remarkably like dish soap.

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blackberriesConfession: I opened the store this morning, then I was bored, then I scarfed down an entire box of blackberries. Now I feel sick.

You know those scenarios in your life where no matter how often you muck up, you make the same mistake over and over again? Case-in-point. Berry over-indulgence.  A problem I have had since I was three years old. I need a bloody support group.

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Wednesday, August 5. 2:13 pm: My brother parades through the door, launches his gym bag behind the counter (go ahead, make yourself at home), and proceeds to work on his handstands in the middle of the store. ‘Knock it off,’ I say, ‘a customer might come in.’

2:15 pm: Customer walks in. I groan. Takes one look at the 6ft2 upside down teenager balancing precariously in front of her, and hastily backs out through the door.

2:21 pm: I realize I’m out of red paint. ‘Caleb,’ I say, ‘watch the store for me. I have go do a couple errands.’  He groans. ‘Fine, so long as you bring me something.’

2:23 pm: Text from Caleb. ‘i’m bored,’ it reads. I roll my eyes.

2:25 pm: Text from Caleb. ‘where the heck are you. hurry up.’  I left four minutes ago. Brilliant.  My brother obviously has problems with the concept of time and space.

2:26 pm: I am purchasing some art supplies at Eastward Sales on Union, and remember my brother’s request to bring him something, so I look around for the cheapest thing in the store. I settle on a $.60 carpenter’s pencil.

Caleb's drawing2:35 pm: I arrive back at the store. Caleb immediately peels.

2:37 pm: I discover his work of art on the computer’s paint program, which he has unhelpfully set as the desktop. Sheer genius, right there. I make a mental note to forgo any further $.60 gifts in the future.

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My brother in the TJFact: The Telegraph Journal loves my brother. Obsessively. Every second day there is an article with an eight-inch colour photo – and javelin javelin javelin. Come on, don’t they know I’m way more photogenic?

So, like a good sister, I posted the newspaper clippings on the wall behind the counter at the store. Until, one day last week, my brother squawks:

‘How come your articles are all laminated and framed and nice? Mine are just pasted on the wall! They’re fading! You should have them framed.’

(Did I mention he was the baby of the family?)

My highly mature response:

‘Bite me.’

TreeAnd in another highly mature move, specifically designed to irritate my beloved sibling, I moved his articles behind the tree. See photo. Yup. Take that.

But the problem is that now I have to drag the tree away whenever I want to brag about him (or threaten someone – ‘yeah don’t mess with me or I call him, that guy with the spear’).


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PaintingsSarah’s thought for the day: any attempt at proactiveness usually ends in disaster. Correction: any of Sarah’s attempts at proactiveness always end in disaster/fits of rage.

Case-in-point. I decided last week to set up an easel in the store so I could paint while I was here. And in a moment of nauseatingly peppy advanced planning, I primed a bunch of 6×6 canvases at home which I would then transport (wet) to the store for painting. Bad bad idea.  I stumbled out of the door yesterday on my way to the shop, five canvases laid out on a box cover in one hand, a stack of books under that arm, swim bag over the one shoulder and the other hand tentatively gripping both my lunch and scooter helmet.  ‘What chump needs to make two trips to the vehicle,’ I arrogantly chortled to myself, way too pleased with my elegant Cirque de Soleil-esque balancing technique.

So yeah, obviously I trip.  All five canvases fly magnificently through the air, and land, of course, paint side down on the driveway. The neighbours then saw five white projectiles being launched (with curses) over the garage roof.

Brilliant. I spent yesterday picking dirt out of wet paint. I thought momentarily that I might leave the dirt on the canvas – texture and all that – but decided that was a dumb (and slightly too lazy) idea. Moral of the story/what I learned from this experience: karma hates my guts.

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P6260037Dear Globe and Mail: You’re a pain to me. Sincerely, The Bean.

I am developing a love-hate relationship with the Globe. I love the paper itself, but I have some serious delivery issues. It’s like Bean Books is a delivery dead-zone, a netherworld for paper carriers where the mail slot is hazily out of reach or just really un-findable.

And so over the past two months I’ve become an expert at navigating the Globe’s automated phone system as I call to report my (latest) missing paper:

G&M Voice Recording: Welcome to the Globe and Mail. I am an automated voice-activated system. You can tell me your answers. Ok, let’s begin. To schedule –


G&M Voice Recording: I’m sorry, I did not understand. Could you repeat y-


G&M Voice Recording: Let me transfer your call to an agent.

And every time I get an agent, they always tell me the same thing: my request has been escalated. So in my reckoning, they have escalated my request so many times that God himself must be aware of my delivery problems.

The local agent follows up with me too, and she always manages to ask me – ‘What? You didn’t receive a paper today?’ – with the same irritating blend of incredulity and naivete. ‘You asked me that three times already this week! Why do you sound so surprised?! NOIDIDNOTRECEIVEAPAPER.’

Here’s my theory though: they found out about my (mis)treatment of their Report on Business, and in an effort to get at me for smearing bug guts on their financials, they have ordered the seemingly random misplacement of my paper. Just a theory.

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