Quotidiana

Auteur without a premise

2012-02-05T09:49:00.004-07:00

Hilarity ensues. Or not.

I have written before about how many of our local authors call their works spoofs as a precaution against criticism from readers who might otherwise say, "This is pointless, dull, and really, really dumb." "Well," the authors reply, "it's a spoof of Melville, Oates, Asimov, or Hemingway [but they'd better be damned good]. It's funny!" To which the critic, reverting to the dynamics of a kindergarten recess, replies, "Ha ha. It's so funny I forgot to laugh."

Now Ina, who has long fancied herself the next incarnation of her favorite author, has assumed a new mantle: that of the next great female auteur, Jane Campion (I was going to say Leni Riefenstahl, but the ick factor in her documentaries is way over the top). Ina has created a "humorous" yet unenthralling movie trailer to test the waters for funding, casting, or producing a movie based on her most famous novel. Watch it yourself. Did it lead to a certain level of mirth, but for all the wrong reasons? For me it was the kind of thing, like a bullfight, that I'm glad I saw—but never want to experience again.

She recently entered the trailer into a contest in Santa Fe, where her main competition was high school film students. The winner, to be determined by the votes of the audience, would get a bunch of cool video equipment to further his or her career. Naturally Ina rounded up all her friends, who voted for her trailer, won the contest, and made scores of much more talented, deserving, and needy young filmmakers angry and resentful. But all is fair in auteurism and war, so, as they say, neener neener neener.

Is you is or is you ain't my agent?

Ina has been shopping her books to various literary agents in the hopes that they might be picked up by a major publisher, and incidentally, get all those cases of unsold books out of the living room. She told me that she's heard from only one agent, who said, "None of your books has any premise." So here's what she said she's going to do. She's going to rework her books by adding a character named Premise into each.

To be fair, which is not my intent, I admire Ina for her self-confidence, her obliviousness to her lack of talent, her relentless self-promotion, and her belief in a loving God, a servant heart, and a senior discount.

The willing suspension of disbelief? But why? It's all true.

2012-01-28T12:19:00.008-07:00

In justifying the the use of fantastic or nonrealistic elements in literary works of fiction, Coleridge wrote in Biographica Literaria ". . . my endeavours should be directed to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic, yet so as to transfer from our inward nature a human interest and a semblance of truth sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith."

The willing suspension of disbelief? We don't need no stinking willing suspension of disbelief in the book biz.

*****

We always get requests for donations to various worthy causes and projects. The latest was for some books that could be offered at a silent auction for a school fund-raiser. Ellen, the children's book buyer, and I pulled some books off the shelves and bagged them up for the requester, who came in the next day to pick them up. After giving effusive thanks to Ellen, the requester said, "Could you write a couple sentences about each book for me? That way I can tell people what they're about without having to read them." Ellen, for whom sweetness and light do ever reign, said, "You can probably come up with some sentences yourself by reading the dustjackets and back covers."

*****

At Christmastime, a scruffy guy with a bad eye came shambling into the store looking for a job. He was obviously what Northern New Mexicans call an inocente. He wanted to take out the garbage, sweep, vacuum, whatever we needed done. I told him that I would call him if we needed extra help in those areas. He said he didn't have a phone, but I could write to him in Española. I took down his contact information, and he left. He came into the store last week and again asked for work while filling his pockets with the cookies left over from the previous night's signing. I said again that we'd be in touch. He asked for Sundays off. I told him we'd never ask him to come in on a Sunday.

Yesterday he came in again. I gave him a broom and asked him to clean out the rubber walk-off mat outside the door, because it was full of sand, dirt, and junk. He set to the job. I looked up and a cloud of dust was billowing in front of the store, and suddenly Geronimo, our landlord's maintenance foreman, emerged from the cloud. I asked him whether they were hiring. Geronimo said they might have something in the spring.

Meanwhile, the dust outside had settled, and I saw that the handy guy was vigorously sweeping up the parking lot, so I went out and asked him to sweep the sidewalk instead. He took his broom and started sweeping eastward. I figured that if I hadn't stopped him, all of Central Avenue to the intersection with Canyon Road would be spotless. When he came in to return the broom and dustpan, I gave him $10 for his efforts. He bought a handful of Tootsie Pops, shook my hand, and assured me that he would do anything for me.

I hope Geronimo can use him.

*****

Shortly after Christmas a young man—let's call him Fred—came in to return a purchase, a high-end model of a helicopter. I saw on the receipt that a credit card had been used for the transaction, so I asked him for the card so we could credit the account. He gave me the card and went off to browse while our notoriously slow returns system churned away.

When he came back I gave him the receipt for the return, and he said that he wanted cash. I told him that our point-of-sales system wasn't set up that way, and to reduce fraud, it allowed us only to credit his card. He asked, "Well then, I don't want to return the helicopter. Can I have it back?" I said, "I'm sorry. No. You just returned it. If you'd like to buy it, I'll need your credit card again." He said, "It's not my card."

Oh, boy.

It turned out that his friend—let's call him Bill—bought the helicopter using Bill's own card, then gave Fred the card to make the return. I explained to Fred that using someone else's card, even if you're friends with him, could be interpreted as fraud in many quarters and I was merely looking out for his interests and those of Bill. He left in a huff.

A few minutes later, Fred's mother called and asked what I was trying to pull. Her son was honest as the day is long, and Bill likewise was of virtue unimpeachable. I said that I understood, but I didn't know either of them, and the rules is rules when it comes to protecting our customers and ourselves from fraud. She asked what I was going to do about getting Fred the helicopter back. I suggested that Bill call the store with his credit card number and buy the helicopter. "But Bill is out of the country and will be back in school in Durango!" she howled. I said, "I'm sure Bill and Fred can work out something together. I'll hold the helicopter for Fred so that nobody else buys it."

After about 15 minutes of variations on a theme of "You should have known Fred's a teenager and isn't aware of money issues!" and "This is now an issue between Fred and Bill," the mother calmed down and said she'd talk to her son about how credit cards work. The helicopter is still waiting for Fred.

I miss Fred.

Street fund and books 2012

2012-01-01T12:31:00.006-07:00

Here's my annual summary of my street fund, money I found on the streets, in parking lots, and on floors, and of the books I read in 2011.

Street fund

In 2011 I found 70 pennies, 14 nickels, 18 dimes, 11 quarters, and a 5-dollar bill, for a total of $10.95, which brings my total for the past 15 years to $336.47. I am going to invest it in steel mills when I retire.

Books

In 2011, I read 108 books in the following genres

3 biographies,
10 children's books,
1 epic,
8 collections of essays,
28 graphic novels,
12 histories,
14 memoirs,
22 novels,
4 plays and
6 books for young adults

These are my favorites for 2011.

A Prayer for the Dying (novel) by Stewart O'Nan
Fire Season (memoir) by Philip Connors
Lost and Found (graphic novel) by Shaun Tan
The Tiger's Wife (novel) by Téa Obhreht*
Ghost World (graphic novel) by Daniel Clowes
The Iliad (epic) by Homer, tr. Stephen Mitchell
The Sense of an Ending (novel) by Julian Barnes*

*My top favies

A professional photographer and "Cormac McCarthy"

2011-12-28T20:07:00.006-07:00

Last month we hired a professional photographer to take some pictures of Michele and me for publicity photos and a media page. What do you think?

Minesh, the photographer, says this one makes me look like Cormac McCarthy. I see a lot of Gram and Dad.

Christmas through the innocent eyes of children

2011-12-06T14:40:00.004-07:00

It seems that we adults try hard to recapture the feeling of excitement and anticipation of Christmases long ago. I find that the more I try to experience those feelings of childhood, the slipperier and more muddled they become, so I am thankful to be in retail during the holiday season, when I can see the season through the innocent eyes of children. Here are some conversations I've had with some of our wide-eyed, apple-cheeked little customers.

*****

A 10-year-old customer: "I have enough money to buy 70 grams of liquid mercury."

Me: "That's pretty dangerous stuff. Did you talk to your parents about asking Santa for it?"

Kid: "Yeah. They won't let me get it." [expectant pause]

Me: "I won't get it for you either."

Kid: "That's what my parents said you'd say."

*****

A 4-year-old customer: "How come you have wrinkles?"

Me: "Because I'm a crusty old fart."

Kid: "AH-hahahahahahahah! You're a grownup, and you said fart!"

*****

A 6-year-old customer making a pin-back button: "This is fun!"

Me: "You have a really good design!"

Kid: "If I make the designs, you can put the buttons together and then we can have . . . what do you call it when you have jobs?"

Me: "A business."

Kid: "Yeah! You and me can have a business!"

*****

A 6-year-old customer: "How do you make a Kleenex dance?"

Me: "I don't know. How do you make a Kleenex dance?"

Kid: "You put a boogie in it!"

Me: [on the floor cracking up]

Kid (pretending to pick his nose): "Here. I picked this just for you."

*****

Another 10-year-old customer: "Do you sell ammonium nitrate?"

Me: "I don't really want to know why you're asking, do I, Patrick."

Kid: "Probably not.

Lookin' out my front door

2011-10-08T09:58:00.004-06:00

We had a good rain last night. Here's what I saw this morning from our living room windows--snow in the higher elevations.

A little bit later, the regular visitors to the neighborhood came by to nibble on Mr. Mac's trees.

Imported straight out of a Texas Applebee's

2011-09-20T19:41:00.005-06:00

You know how you develop a sixth sense about people, particularly about folks who may be Trouble? Everyone in the store seems to have that sense, so when they see such a customer coming in the door, they vault over the counter and dive into the workroom, where they may be found deep inside cartons, locked in the bathroom, crouched under the microwave, or announcing loudly that they're going to the bank and does anybody need anything.

And so it was today. The entire staff suddenly disappeared, and I found myself alone on the floor. In the door came a woman. She was the very spit of Anna Nicole Smith—may she rest in peace—from her dinners hangin' out like a whore's to the collagen-plumped lips that looked like a sectional sofa.

Our customer: a reasonable facsimile

The perfume in which she had marinated herself was without nuance; if it were music, it would be like Lawrence Welk's "Baby Elephant Walk" played at 16 rpm so it sounds like Soviet disco. She spoke with a whine but ver-rrr-rrry slowwww-wwwly, as if she were a Mormon on Xanax.

"Do yew have a T-shirt that says 'Atomic City'?" she asked.

"We do indeed," I said. "Come this way." She rooted through the T-shirts and whined, "They said yew'd have T-shirts that say 'Atomic City' and yew don't! Why don't yew have T-shirts that say 'Atomic City'? I need an atomic city T-shirt! And I don't have much time, because I have to go to the dog park!"

I held up a shirt featuring a mushroom cloud and bearing the legend "Atomic City." "How about this?" I asked.

"No! I need one for a tall, skinny girl. My granddaughter is tall and skinny, and that would not work at all." She regarded it thoughtfully for a moment. "This might work for my grandson, though. But yew don't have any mediums!"

I tried to soften her disappointment. "But maybe you could get a large, and your grandson could use it for jammies (heh heh heh)."

Her eyes lit up. "This is a set of jammies? A complete set of jammies?"

"No, I'm sorry. I was trying to make a joke. I said that he could use the shirt to sleep in."

"Well, where could I get atomic city jammies? And I need some more gifts for my grandchildren. Do yew have anything about space?" I showed her the telescope cards, planispheres, books, models, and activity kits. "Oh, I don't know anything about space. I just know that my grandson likes it." She rooted through all the stuff about space and finally decided on a telescope card.

"Now I need something for myself. Do yew have anything about the history of this place? My husband has been coming here for years and never told me that this is the place where they built the atomic bomb."

So we moved to the atomic history section. Now I could hear the moist, muffled sounds of unsuccessfully stifled nose laughs coming from the workroom. Arlene, who is quiet and unflappable, was making pom-poms at the counter. Her shoulders were shaking, her eyes watering. Alan must have been really tickled, because I could hear his quacking laugh: "Henk henk henk!" Ellen came out to shelve some kids' books. "Oy," she murmured as she passed.

"Now what is this book?" She hefted Richard Rhodes's The Making of the Atomic Bomb. I told her that it was the seminal work on the history of the Manhattan Project. "Now they dropped the atomic bomb on Japan, and"—she picked up Dark Sun: the Making of the Hydrogen Bomb—"then they dropped the hydrogen bomb on Japan a few days later?"

"No. We haven't used the hydrogen bomb as a weapon."

"Well, will this book be too hard for me?"

"No," I said. "You don't need to be a scientist to appreciate it. Both books are accessible to an educated lay reader like you."

"HENK HENK HENK!"

She brought her purchases, including some T-shirts to the counter. "Now where can I get some more atomic city T-shirts?"

I told her that CB Fox was half a block up the street.

"Up which street?"

"Up this street. Central Avenue. The street you're on now."

"Can I drive there?"

"It's half a block. You can walk there."

"But I have my dog! Can I park in front of the store?"

"Probably not. But you can park behind it."

"Well, where is it?"

I said, "Come outside and I'll show you." So we went outside, and I pointed out CB Fox.

"And they have atomic city T-shirts?"

"And socks. And underwear. And sweatshirts." We came back into the store, and I rang up her purchases.

"What's the name of that store where the atomic city T-shirts are? Where is it again?"

I really need to practice vaulting over the counter.

Not mental, despite what a fear of cornflakes, the color orange, and potato eyes might indicate

2011-09-19T18:45:00.003-06:00

I've written previously about the loonies, lovable eccentrics, and assorted nutjobs that have come to the store. Two recent interactions may not be the nuttiest ones I've had, but they're certainly on the charts.

Last week a woman was browsing in the science section. "May I help you find something?" I asked. She said that she was interested in the work of Erwin Schrödinger and in quantum mechanics, specifically the science of perception.

Wow! I thought to myself, that's tough stuff. So I showed her the books by and about Schrödinger and the books on quantum mechanics, and she said, "Oh, I know all about Schrödinger and that cat. I'm more interested in observation and perception, and how observation of a thing can change that thing." I told her that our books about the topics were highly technical but that she might enjoy browsing through them; I figured if she knew "all about" quantum mechanics, the books would be just pie for her. But no. She wanted a book only on perception. Was there such a thing? I told her we'd probably have to do a special order.

I asked her whether she worked at the national laboratory here. She said she didn't have a job; she just moved here. I asked what she had done before she moved to Los Alamos. She said that she operated a gymnastics school for the children of the rich and famous in Hollywood. Well, I thought, she could certainly be a polymath, a Renaissance woman as it were, with an interest in both front pike somersaults and wave function. But then she said, "Yes, perception and the higher consciousness. That's what I'm interested in. How can I co-create reality?"

Co-create reality? I was about to direct her to the New Age shelf when she asked, "Do you know what your store needs? You need to sell Kindles!"

I said that Kindles were proprietary to the Great Satan, a company that is working diligently to put us and other brick-and-mortar independent businesses out of business. "Well, maybe you could just talk to Amazon and see if they'd let you sell Kindles."

Before I could even inhale to respond, she said, "You know what Los Alamos needs? I have this great idea, and you're the first person I've told. This is such a great idea and would bring people to Los Alamos from all over the county! Have you ever been to the Monterey Bay Aquarium? Well, about 2 million people a year visit it! Think of what 2 million people a year in Los Alamos would do for the economy. Los Alamos needs an aquarium just like the one in Monterey!"

Well, except for the fact that we're a thousand miles inland and in the high desert, and have no space to build anything, I guess we could have an aquarium.

*****

I've never laid eyes on the writer of this email. We carry his book, which is his proof of the Grand Unified Theory as it relates to spirituality, because he's local, and we support our local authors, regardless of their race, gender, religion, veteran's status, political affiliation, or psychological state.

I mentioned to you that I never had a book signing but I didn't mention that I've sent people into your store only to have your staff turn them away empty handed. Amazon did help them. From the viewpoint of a local author, my local bookstore has done about as bad a job as possible in helping me promote my book. But the past can't be changed and now the movie about my work is finally progressing. We have secured over $5,000 of the $10,000 we need with a substantial contribution coming from my Muslim friend in Iran. Obviously if we win big at Sundance or one of the other film festivals, I will sell a lot of local books. Even though I make much more by selling them myself, I would prefer to send everyone to you. To make up for all past "sins" please make at least a $10 or more pledge at [website] to help finish the film, help us actively to promote our film and book by displaying a poster and keeping the book in stock as we move to a release of the film next spring. I know I'm the worst writer in Los Alamos but I'm the best philosopher as I've offered concepts yet considered by humanity.

I forwarded the email to the cops—just in case.

First completed oil painting

2011-08-30T20:20:00.003-06:00

I completed my first painting today. I could noodle around with it forever, I guess, but sometimes it's good to quit while I'm ahead.

Indian Market 2011

2011-08-23T12:56:00.021-06:00

Michele and I went to Indian Market 2011 on Saturday. We got to Tia Sophia's just as it opened and enjoyed breakfast burritos by the window. With our engines stoked, we hit the Plaza, not necessarily to buy anything but to visit with some of our favorite vendors and to observe the passing scene. Walk along with us, won't you?

"I'm in the middle of the square in Santa Fe! There seems to be some sort of fair going on. I wonder if I can find one of them dawgs lookin' up."

A sash is always a nice accessory in the Southwest.

The early morning was overcast, and if you don't have an umbrella, a hat will protect you and most of the crowd from rain or sun.

Let's talk about the scale of the jewelry in proportion to your size.

This woman was sitting by the Institute of American Indian Arts. She was reading. She was snacking. In the middle of Indian Market. I do not get it.

Here are some colorful folks.

And the winner in the Best Boots, Nontraditional Overlay Subcategory, is . . . .

A beribboned shirt is de rigueur for the man about town.

And a fringed skirt is always appropriate for the ladies.

"F*ck me" shoes are great if you can spend only a few comfortable minutes at the market.

Hey, that bird has a woman on its ass!

We were on Old Santa Fe Trail when Michele gave me an elbow in the ribs and said, "Check out the woman with her dinners hangin' out like a whore's." By the time I got the lens cap off, she had turned around.

So we went to the middle of the street in front of Packard's and, in a diversionary maneuver, Michele pointed at the top of a building down the street. But she moved out of the way of the picture and a person with a hat blocked the area of interest.

We continued the quest. She was turned away from us again. Dash it, woman, will you just stand still? We gave it up as a bad job.

But then we saw her again later in the morning. Success!

Oil painting without happy trees

2011-08-16T18:38:00.005-06:00

In the oil painting class I continued to build up the masses of color in the landscape and add some detail. Here is what I did this weekend. I used a fan brush to add some yellow highlights. Big mistake. I got "happy trees," so I reworked them.

Today I started on the water in the stream and continued with adding detail.

Painting a landscape

2011-08-07T12:04:00.006-06:00

Last week in the oil-painting class we worked on a landscape based on a photograph. I chose a river scene near San Jose, New Mexico, that I photographed in August 2008.

Using pigment thinned with Turpenoid, an odorless paint thinner, I first sketched in the basic shapes. I didn't have a camera with me, but you can see below part of the sketch of the river.

Then we blocked in the masses of color.

The next part is to work on building the masses of shapes and adding detail.

P-doobie takes oil painting

2011-07-26T19:39:00.003-06:00

I am taking an 8-week oil painting class for three hours every Tuesday. In the first session we painted a lemon. I was happy because it was recognizable as one of the edibilia. We also made a color chart. Last week we did a still life with geraniums, and the less said about that, the better.

This week we did a value study, a study of the lightness and darkness of a color independent of its hue and colorfulness.

Our first step was to do a thumbnail sketch with charcoal to show the areas of light, dark, and in between. Here is my thumbnail sketch of the still life with three plums, teapot, and vase.

Then we used the thumbnail and transferred it to the canvas with charcoal. When you make a mistake, it's easy to rub it out. Do not blow away the crumbs, because the whole drawing will disappear; I learned that the hard way. When the drawing was on the canvas, I sprayed it with fixative.

Next I used burnt umber: pure pigment and mixed with white in several tints. Then, working from the thumbnail and the still life itself, I worked on a monochromatic value study. It's a work in progress, and I haven't finished it.

I have also discovered that I paint like dad used to eat red chile. "Dad, you have chile on your neck." Even wearing gloves and an apron, I manage to get paint on my elbows.

Oil painting is hard work.

Please stay on the line. Your call is very important. I'll be back in three weeks.

2011-07-11T20:01:00.005-06:00

After we were "repopulated" from the Las Conchas Fire, we learned that we could get short-term, interest-free loans from our local banks (well, there's interest, but the Los Alamos Commerce and Development Corporation will pick it up). I went to our local bank this morning to find out how to get my paws on some cash, because in any retail operation, and particularly in the bookselling biz, an 8-day closure and a crummy economy are a dangerous cocktail.

I went to the customer service desk at the bank and was directed to the second floor. A sweet young thing on the second floor asked if she could help me, and I asked about the loans. She said, "Yes, I'm going to give you the phone number and email of Ernie Feckless [not his real name], who is the loan officer for the short-term loans. Let me get his phone number for you." She pecked away at her keyboard and stared intently at the monitor. She fished a card out of her desk and carefully copied what was on the screen to the card, looking back and forth from the screen to the card between each character. I wondered whether there was a psychotropic reason for her ability to go for more than five minutes without blinking. Her eyes were red, after all. Of course everyone's eyes are red from the smoke. But still.

"Now this is his phone number at the downtown office."

"Is this not the downtown office?" I asked.

"No," she explained. "This is the Los Alamos office. The downtown office is in Santa Fe." Oh. The bank has the words "Los Alamos" in its name, so I guess that's why I was confused.

I asked, "Is there someone here in the Los Alamos office who could help me?"

She said, "No, Ernie Feckless is the only one who is authorized to handle these loans. You'll have to call him at the downtown office and make an appointment."

I said, "You have only one person who is taking care of all these special loans for business losses in Los Alamos, and he's in Santa Fe? That doesn't make a great deal of sense."

She gave me the card and an I-just-work-here look. Fortunately, I was not heavily armed, and in possession of superior impulse control.

So I went back to the bookstore and called Ernie. I got his voicemail. "This is Ernie Feckless. I will be out of the office for two weeks, from July 11 through July 25." At that point I was ready to get a two-by-four, find the bank president, and commence to beatin'.

But I hung up, took some deep, cleansing breaths, and tried again. "If you need help, leave a message or send me an email. I'll check both occasionally." The word occasionally did not bode well for me. I hung up again. A brisk walk around the building and I was ready to call again. "If you need help right away, call my assistant Vangie Hapless at the following number."

So I called Vangie. She was out of the office or on another line, but my call was very important to her. I left her a message.

Trying to salvage the morning, I decided to call our insurance agent, who is handling the claim for losses from a business interruption. I got her voicemail.

Some days it's best just to cut your losses and go to lunch.

Why the bookseller drinketh

2011-06-09T19:34:00.003-06:00

1 Now it came to pass in those days that there were no men of sense in all the land, but everyone walked to the imagination of his own heart.

2 And the people said to one another, “We will get our learning from the merchant who taketh its name from the mighty river of South America and who hath a presence, like the LORD, from the borders of the Great Lakes northward, till it cometh to the plains and swamplands of the South, which abound with oranges, pomegranates, and figs. And from that merchant we will purchase Bibles enough for the children at the preschool, from whence they will graduate.”

3 And, lo, the mighty merchant told the people that the Bible which they desired was out of print. And they waxed exceedingly wroth. And yea, some acted as if they were lunatick, and others suffered the palsy and other divers torments, and they could not be healed.

4 And it came to pass that they went to the merchant named for a travelers’ place of sojourn, and talked there with the owner.

5 Now P-Doobie was the daughter of Margaret, who was the daughter of Nora Belle, who was the daughter of E. Lucy. And the years of P-Doobie were three score and one. And she greeted the people, saying, “How mayest I help you?”

6 And the people said, “We have gone to the great merchant who taketh its name from the mighty river of South America, and it telleth us that the Bible which we desire is out of print. The school needeth the Bibles for the children at the preschool by Tuesday, and it is six days before the Festival of Graduation. We are sore afraid, for we should have come to you ere now; nay, we should have come unto you first.”

7 And P-Doobie thought unto herself, “You haveth that right, Barney. Good LORD.”

8 And the people continued, “The school needeth Bibles for the children. They must be illustrated and have a presentation page and have a zipper closure and be bound in Leatherflex of many colors and must have the words of the LORD written in red letters.”

9 And P-Doobie asked, “What version?”

10 And the people asked, “What versions dost thou have available?”

11 To which P-Doobie replied, “Our distributor provideth the 20th Century Bible, Alba House Gospels, American Standard Version, American Translation, Amplified Bible, Basic English Bible, Biblia de las Americas, Contemporary English Version, Douay-Rheims, Emphasized Bible, English Standard Version, English Version for the Deaf, Geneva Bible New Testament, God's Word, Good News Version, Hebrew Names Version of World English Bible, Holman Christian Standard Bible, J. B. Phillips New Testament, Jerusalem Bible, Jewish New Testament, King James Version, Lamsa Bible, Living Bible, Modern King James Version, Modern Language Bible, Moffatt Bible, Montgomery New Testament, New American Bible, New American Standard, New Century Version, New English Bible, New International Readers Editions, New International Version, New Jerusalem Bible, New King James Version, New Living Translation, New Revised Standard Version, Plain English Bible, Revised Standard Version, Richmond Lattimore Translation of the New Testament, The Living Bible, The Message, The Message, Translator's NT, World English Bible, Young's Literal Translation, New International Readers' Version, New Jerusalem Bible, New Jewish Translation, New King James Version, New Life Bible, New Living Translation, New Revised Standard Version, J. B. Phillips' New Testament in Modern English, Reina Valera, Revised English Bible, Revised Standard Version, Simple English Bible, The Schocken Bible Volume 1: The Five Books of Moses, Twenty-first Century King James Version, Tyndale New Testament, Weymouth New Testament, Worrell New Testament, Wuest Expanded Translation New Testament, Young's Literal Translation.”

12 And the people asked, “Canst thou repeat that list again?”

13 And P-Doobie thought unto herself yet again, “Good LORD on a bicycle.”

14 Now the people conferred among themselves and, lo, they agreed to order a children’s Bible that was illustrated and had a presentation page and had a zipper closure and was bound in Leatherflex of many colors and had the words of the LORD written in red letters.

15 “Will the Bibles arrive before the Festival of Graduation?” the people asked, and P-Doobie replied, “It will be close.”

16 And the people asked, “Canst request expedited shipping so that they will arrive tomorrow?” and P-Doobie replied, “If thou wouldst pay five shekels of silver per book, we can do that.”

17 And the people said, “Forgetteth that. Go with regular shipping, for we have but two mites.”

18 And so it came to pass that P-Doobie ordered the Bibles, and they arrived the morning of the festival, and she called the pre-school and said, “Thy Bibles are here. Wouldst thou pick them up?”

19 And the representative of the people said, “Nay, for the Festival of Graduation hath started, and the children look so comely in their raiment of crepe paper. Thy service unto us has been lacking, and we are sore annoyed.”

20 And P-Doobie began weeping and wailing and rending her garments and taking the name of the LORD in vain and calling down curses upon the people and their offspring, even unto the seventh generation. But she opened the vessel that shewed the Maker’s Mark and gave herself drink, and it was good upon her tongue.

Erin graduates, world put on alert

2011-06-05T11:23:00.008-06:00

We were so happy to drive out to Santa Barbara for Erin's high school graduation. As usual, Shoe had planned everything so that the festivities would go smoothly.

On Wednesday night after dinner, we went back to the house for cake. Trish arrived just in time for dinner.

We toasted the graduate with champagne and sparkling cider. Grammie enjoyed her drink and the company.

Thursday afternoon, the last, for which the first was made: Erin and the other students march into the stadium for their last event as DP Chargers.

Proud parents of a proud graduate!

And here we have the youngest child (center) of the youngest child (right) of the youngest child (left).

I'm looking forward to following Erin's career. Will she be the successor to Annie Leibovitz? Will she apprentice as a techie at the Santa Fe Opera and then succeed Raymond Menard at the Metropolitan Opera? Become the president of the International Alliance of Theatrical Stage Employees, Moving Picture Technicians, Artists and Allied Crafts of the United States, Its Territories and Canada? Whatever she sets her hand to, she'll be a success!

Oh, deer!

2011-05-14T08:20:00.008-06:00

Our flowering crabapple tree in the back yard put on a beautiful display of color this spring. The blossoms drew lots of bees, and Michele liked to stand under the boughs and listen to the "murmuring of innumerable bees."

Bees weren't the only ones who favored the tree. A band of six deer hangs out in our neighborhood, and one guy came into the yard to have a little nosh.

"Who you lookin' at?"

"I can't eat when I'm under this kind of scrutiny!"

Busman's Holiday, Part 4: Mesa Verde

2011-05-01T10:56:00.012-06:00

When I was a kid, it seemed that all the kids in my class got to a) eat enchiladas every Wednesday at the S-Site cafeteria and b) go to Mesa Verde National Park. The Hansons seemed to go regularly, and the kids at school would say, "Oh, we went to Mesa Verde for the weekend." "We camped at Mesa Verde." "We always go to Mesa Verde."

I never ate at the S-Site Cafeteria until I a team leader at the lab, and I had never been to Mesa Verde. But on our way back home from Salt Lake City, we stopped and visited Mesa Verde National Park. Woo-HOO!

The Spruce Tree House is visible from the visitors' center, and you can tour the ruins without a guide.

The Cliff Palace, on the other hand, is off limits unless you have a ticket for a guided tour with a ranger.

People tossed coins onto a ledge by the Cliff Palace. Maybe they were making wishes.

"I wish I will stay on solid ground and not fall into the canyon."

It was hard to bring in the groceries at the Cliff Palace.

You can see the results of two lightning-caused fires from 2000.

I just liked this.

Nature bats last.

Busman's Holiday, Part 3: Southern Utah

2011-04-24T11:01:00.019-06:00

John Steinbeck, in Travels with Charley, said that Yellowstone National Park is "a wonderland of nature gone nuts." So is southern Utah. Click on an image to enlarge it.

Church Rock, north of Monticello, Utah, features three divisions of Entrada sandstone: the uppermost Moab tongue caps a thick Slickrock member, with the Dewey Bridge member as the base.

We spent a day at Arches National Park. According to an "artist in the park," whom Michele characterized as "a bumptious lass," a photograph of the Three Gossips is a requirement of all who enter. We did not want to be arrested or sent home, so we took a picture.

Michele and Frankey enjoyed the scenery.

Here's an arch in the making.

A balanced rock.

Sandstone formations with the La Sal Mountains in the background.

A Shoe and Kev Special.

One of more than 2000 arches in the park.

More arches. Click to enlarge and see the people.

Delicate Arch is the most famous formation in the park. We couldn't go on the trail to it with Frankey, so we just enjoyed the view from below.

A cliff wall and desert varnish at Park Avenue.

Busman's Holiday, Part 2: Traveling with Frankey

2011-04-17T09:46:00.014-06:00

Traveling with Frankey can be fraught with excitement. She's an enthusiastic, bouncing passenger. She can lower the rear windows by stepping on the window buttons, which is a real heart-stopper if you're driving over Glorieta Pass at 75 mph. She can also activate the hazard lights when you drive down Central Avenue; the flashing lights tend to alarm the pedestrians and alert members of the LAPD, who eat downtown to sustain the slender thread of life. And she can knock the car out of gear when you're backing out of the driveway.

However, having finally shed the shackles of reason, we decided that it would be a good idea to take her on the road trip to Utah. To keep her safe in the back seat, I bought her a harness that buckles around her; just feed the seatbelt through a loop on the harness and latch it, and Frankey is confined to the back seat but can still see out the windows and comment on what's going on in the front seat. She rode in it very nicely from the pet store to home, a distance of a good 2 miles.

When we set out for Utah, we didn't use the harness. In Española, she decided that sitting on Michele's lap would afford her a better view, not to mention a closer barking proximity to large trucks and motorcycles, all drivers of which are known to be packing heat. Once we reached highway speeds on the way to Chama, she calmed down, things were peaceful once again, and our ears stopped ringing. Until a motorcyclist appeared behind us and followed us into Abiquiu. Frankey stood on the back seat and barked through the rear window until the cyclist passed us.

Dogs prefer to ride shotgun.

When we got to Chama and switched drivers, I told Michele that for safety's sake and the sake of our sanity and hearing, I was going to put Frankey in the harness. As Michele pulled out of the parking lot at the visitors center and headed west toward Pagosa Springs, Frankey joined me in the front seat. Our little Houdoggi had slipped out of the harness within seconds.

From then on, she was free to move about the cabin. She was pretty quiet on the highways, but whenever we slowed to go through a town, she came into the front seat and sat on the passenger, or stood on the center console, one foot on the driver's shoulder, and peered intently ahead. When we left Cortez, Colorado, on the way home, she fell asleep with her head on Michele's shoulder. That was really cute.

A travel break at Dove Creek, the Bean Capital of Colorado

We took nice walks every morning and evening, and most of the shops we visited were dog friendly. Maria's Bookshop in Durango had cookies for their dog visitors, and Frankey got lots of pets from the staff of The King's English in Salt Lake City.

Frankey enjoyed the broad streets and sidewalks of Salt Lake City and the grassy spots around downtown. She didn't bark at the trucks on the street—unless they were near our hotel, in which case they were intruders and needed to be warned off. She barked at only one person, a street guy who was teasing her.

Frankey liked the pet-friendly accommodations we booked. The Doubletree in Durango provides a water dish, mat, and bag of dog cookies, and the staff of the Hotel Monaco in Salt Lake City always greeted her warmly after our jaunts around town. She didn't seem to be bothered by noises outside and slept peacefully on her blankie every night.

The view from our room in Durango

Ike had always disliked elevators, but Frankey didn't mind them. We were on the 11th floor of the Hotel Monaco, and Frankey always stepped into the "zoom room" with no hesitation. When we got to our floor, she marched right down the hall to our room.

Frankey at the Hotel Monaco after a day of urban hiking

We visited Arches and Mesa Verde National Parks and obeyed the pet rules: dog on leash, clean up wastes, and go only where a car can go. Frankey really liked all the new smells, and we didn't feel constrained at all.

Mom iz not constrained. Mommie Shelbert iz not constrained. I iz constrained.

Now that we all understand how we travel, what we like to do, and where we like to sit, the three of us will take another road trip.

Busman's holiday: part 1

2011-04-10T11:05:00.004-06:00

Every year we go to the annual conference of the Mountains and Plains Independent Booksellers Association and get together with our fellow booksellers to discuss business, exchange ideas, learn what's hot, and talk books. Every year we say that we're going to visit our colleagues' stores. And this year we did.

Last week Michele, Frankey, and I went on a busman's holiday to southern Colorado and Utah to visit Maria's Bookshop in Durango, Colorado; Arches Book Company in Moab, Utah; and Sam Weller's Bookstore, The King's English Bookshop, and Ken Sanders Rare Books in Salt Lake City, Utah.

The wonderful thing about independent bookstores is that they reflect the spirit and interests of their area. You won't see the homogenized, strip-mined selections that you find in the big chains. Instead, you'll find a carefully curated selection of general books and specialties, and attentive staff members who actually read. And you'll probably come home with a carload of books you didn't know about that some passionate booksellers recommended to you. (So Sophie was resting on the axle on the way home. Big deal. That's why we got the heavy-duty suspension.)

Maria's, for example, features books on railroadiana and regional archaeology, history, and culture. If you want everything Edward Abbey, guides to the gnarly activities in southeastern Utah, geology of the Colorado Plateau, and Native cultures, the Arches Book Company is your store. Sam Weller's has purt neart everything; Shoe and Kev would love the bottom floor, which is filled with maps and geology books, including rare and out-of-print books. You want Mormon history? They have more Mormon history than I ever imagined. The King's English is passionate about their local and regional authors. At Anne's recommendation, I got a copy of Curious Masonry: Three Translations from the Anglo-Saxon by Christopher Patton; it's a gorgeous little book with an embossed cover and the text, in Anglo-Saxon and modern English on facing pages, printed on laid paper. And at Ken Sanders Rare Books, I unearthed a first edition of Witter Bynner's Grenstone Poems with his bookplate, which was designed by Kahlil Gibran.

Coming next: Traveling with Frankey, or How Did She Slip out of Her Harness? I Thought She Was Fastened to the Seatbelt

"That is not what I meant at all. / That is not it, at all."

2011-03-18T17:38:00.009-06:00

When I was teaching, I assigned a weekly essay on a specific topic in each of my classes, and the most common complaint from the students was, "I can't think of anything to write about!"

I'd suggest A. "No," the student would say, "I don't know anything about A."

How about B? "No, I hate B."

C? "I've written about C a million times. I'm bored with C."

After about 15 minutes of offering suggestions that the student dismissed, I'd give up. The lack of a subject for writing then became my problem, because I wasn't creative enough to think of a perfect, interesting, inspiring subject for the kid.

And so it is with bookselling. Only worse. Instead of a single topic in expository writing, I'm faced with millions of books--and the loonies.

Earlier this week a customer came in and bought a book. Before she left, she told the staffer that she wanted to talk with the owner.

"Hi, I'm P-doobie, the owner," I said. "How may I help you?"

"Do you read U. S. News and World Report?" she asked. I told her I didn't. "Well, you should," she replied. I asked her why. "I'm not going to tell you, because you should already know. You should just buy a copy and find out." I thanked her warmly for the tip and started to go back to the office. She said, "You should read it because it has those lists of books."

I turned back. "A best-seller list?"

"Yes. You should have a best-seller list." She was standing in front of the best-seller shelves.

I said, "We do have a best-seller list, and it's published every Thursday in the Monitor. And here," I said gesturing to the books, "are the best-sellers in independent bookstores throughout the country."

She said, "I know that. I don't like those books [gesturing at the shelves], and there's nothing on the Monitor list that I want to read. Too sciencey."

"We also publish a monthly best-seller list in our email newsletter. Would you like to subscribe?" I asked.

"No," she said. "I hate email, and I don't want your list. I want a list like the one in U. S. News and World Report."

"What makes it different and special to you?" I asked.

"I'm not going to tell you. You should just buy a copy and find out for yourself."

I thanked her again and turned to head back to the office.

"It has a list of books and one line about each one."

I returned to the counter and said, "When someone on our staff reads a book they like, they write a note about it and put the note in the book. See?" I showed her many of the best-sellers and all the staff-picks section with shelf-talkers.

"I don't want to read those," she said. "They're too long. I don't want to read a lot."

"'Looks like war, Miss Scarlett.' 'Fiddle-dee-dee!' 'BOOM!' Now this is Gone with the Wind as it should have been written!"

Ina—and a new loonie!

2011-03-06T14:12:00.010-07:00

Ina came in recently to announce that due to popular demand she is working on a sequel to her most popular novel. This time, she said, she's going to include epigraphs for each chapter not only from her favorite author but also from contemporary authors. But there's a problem. She doesn't know whether she has to get permission from the authors to include quotations from their books in her book. "Will you research copyright law for me and let me know what I can and can't quote?" she asked. I said, "No."

She is also shopping around for a producer for a film version of her most popular novel and has posted fliers with those little tabs with her phone number on them. I don't think that most film producers go looking in the local bank for ideas, but you never know.

*****

Pierce, a new loonie, is a playwright I've mentioned before and a major pinch-penny. He called to ask whether there were any books of humor, jokes, or anecdotes about things nuclear or atomic. I scrounged around and told him that most of what I found was political cartoons and The Far Side, but there didn't seem to be any specific book devoted specifically to atomic yocks. (I half-expected him to say, "Will you write one for me?") I suggested that he go online and do a Google search. He said that he already done that and got hundred of thousands of results, but he didn't want to sift through them, nor did he want to browse through books in search of atomic prosechuckles. And, he said, he certainly doesn't want to pay anyone do it for him. It appears that his project may die aborning.

The escape of Prince the Bulldog

2011-02-09T16:59:00.013-07:00

When we were kids, a family (let's call them the Smiths) moved into the quad across the street. Rumor had it that they chose the unit because it was next to the canyon, where they could let their vicious German Shepherd dogs run loose. The rumor proved groundless, and the dogs remained in the yard.

There were three kids, all of playmate age, so that was cool. The father was a mostly quiet man. The mother was more flamboyant, wearing a down parka even in the summer, sporting a hairstyle that should have been hanging from an Indian's belt, and favoring virulent shades of lipstick, which she applied by the impasto technique so that her lips always looked like a crimson sectional sofa.

After a few years they got a bulldog, which they named Prince. Prince used the front yard, because, Mrs. Smith said, he would attack the other dogs in the back yard and slaughter them. In addition to his purported killer instinct, Prince had another quirk: he would not, as Mom used to say, "do him's numbers" unless someone were there with him to encourage him while he piddled.

It was no trouble to attend to Prince when the family was home, but what with jobs and school, the family was away from home for six or eight hours at a time. We read the stories of John Wayne and Elvis Presley having 40-60 pounds of impacted fecal matter in their colons at their deaths. Although these stories are only rumors, they are nevertheless cautionary tales: colorectal health is as important to dogs as it is to humans. And so Mrs. Smith's father was enlisted to doggysit Prince during the day and make sure he did him's numbers.

Thus it was that on the afternoon of September 29, 1981, while I was living with Mom and searching for a job, I heard a thin, high voice crying, ^{"Pree-ince! Pree-ince!"}Perhaps the grandfather left the gate open. Perhaps the screen didn't close securely. Maybe the grandfather looked the other way. But the truth was inescapable: Prince had hightailed it.

I went outside to pretend to read.

Soon Mrs. Smith roared to the curb in a spray of gravel and raced into the house. From the lawn, where I was "reading," I could hear her muffled sobs. And then the screen door slammed, and Mrs. Smith strode up the service road toward Burnt Mountain, followed by her father, who called, ^{"Pree-ince! Pree-ince!"} Mrs. Smith's sobs were no longer muffled but deep, throaty, throbbing, like "Vesti la giubba" sung by a Russian liturgical bass. "We have to find him before nightfall," she wept. "Oh, I feel so helpless!" ^{"Pree-ince! Pree-ince!"}

After a brief, fruitless search of the woods, she cantered back down the service road, plunged into the house and called the cops. Then she slammed back outside, and she and her father continued calling the dog. "Here, Baby Bull! Come here, baby!" ^{"Pree-ince! Pree-ince!"}

The phone rang! Mrs. Smith hurled herself back into the house. Apparently she had some good tidings from Los Alamos's Finest. She and her father jumped into the car and drove down the street calling the dog. "Here, Baby Bull! Come here, baby!" ^{"Pree-ince! Pree-ince!"}

After a few minutes, they pulled onto the parking pad. Prince, who had apparently been visiting a friend down on 47th Street, was in the back seat. From inside the car, the guilt and recrimination began. What if Prince had been hit by a car? What if he were stolen? What if he attacked someone? What if he killed that dog he was playing with? What if Pete from the Pound had caught him? What if, God forbid, the coyotes or bears— No. It was too horrible to contemplate.

Mrs. Smith and her father got out of the car, and she began crying again. "I'm sick about all this! I'm just sick! I could have had a heart attack if anything happened to Baby Bull," she told her father. "Oh, this was a near-terrible tragedy!"

Her father offered a solution to prevent another near-terrible tragedy: ^{"Let's lock Pree-ince in the bedroom whenever I have to leave the house. It's better to have a messy floor than a missing dog."}

Mrs. Smith agreed. But it was time to get Prince back into the house. "Make sure his collar is tight," she told her father. "We don't want it to slip off." The father reached into the back seat to extract the dog. ^{"He won't come out! Pree-ince! Pree-ince! Come out!"}

Mrs. Smith roared, "Well, grab his collar and drag the little son-of-a-bitch out!"

Crasher alert

2011-01-30T19:19:00.006-07:00

I liked Shoe's pictures of dinner and BobBIE's boss machine. Somebody kept crashing the party, though.

"I can haz sopaipillas?

I can haz tacos?

Play teh radio!

Civics, Geography, and Use of the Globes

2011-01-29T11:29:00.006-07:00

One of the problems with road atlases is that you sometimes don't get a sense of the distances involved, particularly in the West.

For example, Wyoming looks like a little state, occupying as it does only one page on the typical atlas, whereas little New Jersey gets a double-page spread. I read a novel by an author from Massachusetts who had a character drive from Cody, Wyoming, down to Cheyenne and back for a little errand one afternoon. It's about a 12-hour round trip, sort of like my driving to Las Cruces to pick up some chicken for tonight's dinner. When C. J. Box visited the store several years ago, his New York publicist had him flying from Cheyenne to Denver (93 miles), then allowed him three hours to drive from Los Alamos to Phoenix (375 miles). "Daddy, who's that driving at Mach 2 with his hair on fire?" "That, son, is the mystery writer C. J. Box on his way to Arizona."

Earlier this week a couple came in soon after the store opened. They wandered around with interest, but, judging from their quizzical looks, I figured that something was amiss for them. "May I help you find something, answer a question, or make a suggestion?" I asked. The woman said, "Where's Roswell?" I said, "It's about 200 miles south of here on US 285. Just go east on New Mexico 502, turn right at Pojoaque, and follow US 285 south to Roswell. It's about a 4-hour drive."

An "oh shit" look passed across her face. They were in the wrong place. There are no aliens in Los Alamos! (Okay, maybe the guys in the Theoretical Physics Division at LANL. But you didn't hear that from me.) She exchanged a few fraught whispers with her husband, and they smiled wanly at us, hurried out to their car, and headed east.

******

At least once a summer a visitor asks, "So where up here did they test the atomic bomb? We'd like to get a shot of the crater." We tell them that if the Manhattan Project boys had tested the bomb here, the place would have been uninhabitable, then tell them about Trinity Site. "It's about 200 miles south of here," we tell them. "And it's open only twice a year, the first Saturday in April and the first Saturday in October." And at least once a summer, an "oh shit" look passes over the visitor's face. Then we console them by selling them a piece of Trinitite and a copy of The Green Glass Sea and sending them next door to the museum.

"It's not far from Farmington to El Paso. They're only one Life-Saver and a hairpin apart!"

Concerto for piano and derder

2011-01-16T14:40:00.008-07:00

Gene's plea: Don't take the heart out of toilet paper
by
Gene Weingarten, Washington Post, January 16, 2011

As a credentialed member of the liberal media elite, I bow to no one in my support for lunatic environmental causes. Shut down a cancer-medicine factory to save the habitat of an endangered worm? Sure, why not! But every once in a while, something comes up that makes me say: Enough is enough.

Take Kimberly-Clark's new eco-friendly "Scott Naturals" toilet paper. It's like any other toilet paper roll but without the cardboard tube at the center. When you get to the end, the paper simply slides off your spool. This product rollout (haha) was accompanied by an analogy-intensive advertising campaign pointing out, for example, that the number of cardboard tubes consumed annually "weighs more than 250 Boeing 747 airliners." But there's one thing it didn't point out.

I'm on the phone with Doug Daniels, Kimberly-Clark brand manager, and Joey Mooring, a company PR guy.

Me: Can you explain why this allegedly "improved" product is not just another insidious assault on traditional American family values?

Doug: Well, because it's the right thing to do. American consumers discard 17 billion tubes a year, and the majority of them are tossed immediately into the garbage. It's enough to fill the Empire State building twice. Laid end to end, these tubes could reach to the moon and back, twice.

Me: Noted! Are you aware of the special, cherished place that the "derder" holds as a source of wholesome family entertainment?

Doug: The what?

Me: My God.

Doug:

Me: You are the brand manager for a leading American toilet-paper manufacturer and you do not know what a derder is?

Doug: No.

Joey: I do!

Me: Swell. Doug, a derder is an impromptu kazoo-like musical instrument fashioned by placing one's mouth on the end of a toilet paper tube and tunefully going "der-der-der" into it. This cheap and innocent toy has delighted children of all ethnicities and socioeconomic strata since the invention of the toilet paper roll in 1877. That is what you are throwing out as though it were garbage. That is this thing you never heard of! How old are you, Doug?

Doug: Uh, 36.

Joey: I'm older.

Me: See, there's the problem. It's generational. The derder is an endangered species. Like Yiddish, or good penmanship, we have been slowly losing it to cultural indifference. The very concept of "fun" has become commercialized; its no longer a spontaneous product of individual ingenuity, but a commodity to be purchased in the form of, say, "apps." My 20something friend Caitlin knew what a derder was but not how it got its name. That is because when she was growing up, her mom used it not as a musical instrument, but as a humane yet effective way to discipline the family dog, Gretel. Such is the enduring, versatile magic of the derder. Would Kimberly-Clark prefer that dogs be punished with ball-peen hammers?

Doug:

Joey: Okay, I'm going to jump in here. The launch of this product is a great opportunity to reduce waste.

Me: So, can we agree that your company advocates abusing animals and is philosophically opposed to nurturing imagination in little children?

Joey: It's good for society and good for the environment.

Me: Boy, you guys know how to stay on message!

Joey: At end of the day, from a sustainability standpoint, taking steps to reduce our carbon footprint is the right thing to do.

So that was that. I didn't budge them an inch. I think they may not have understood that I was a serious journalist, making a serious point. Or, possibly, they may just be too focused on, you know, the bottom line, such as moving Scott's market position in toilet paper from number two to number one.

Sunset, moonrise, and alpenglow

2011-01-15T09:32:00.008-07:00

Back in the summer of 1980, P and I went to Oregon to visit his brother and sister-in-law. We took several day trips with them, including a drive to one of the state's rocky beaches in the south. We stayed for the sunset there, and scores of other folks sat on the rocks or stood on the shore watching as the sun set. The only sound was that of the waters of the Pacific. And as "the last lights off the black West went," the people dispersed in utter silence.

Another time P and I were driving back on US 64 from Cimarron after an evening of high-school basketball. The moon was rising over the plains, and the conditions that night made the moon appear red. We pulled over to watch. As we stood on the side of the road, other cars pulled over, and the occupants got out to watch. No one spoke or exclaimed.

The afternoon of New Year's Day, Michele and I took our cameras to the Anderson Overlook. It had snowed on the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, and alpenglow was the draw for us. As we stood taking photographs, about six other carloads of folks stopped, and they took pictures too, or just stood looking at the spectacular view.

Here are some of my images. Click to enlarge.

I really like this one.

I cherish these times when I and people I love and perfect strangers stand together in silence to appreciate the beauty around us.

Street fund and books, 2010

2011-01-01T11:32:00.004-07:00

Here's my annual summary of my street fund of the money I found and the list of books I read in 2010.

Street fund total $25.01

101 pennies

10 nickels

40 dimes

14 quarters

6 $1 bills

1 $10 bill

1 diez centavos coin from Mexico, which I will put at Dad's grave

Books

In 2010 I read 129 books. I began the year with Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar and ended with James Barrie's Peter Pan. Peter Pan creeped me out of existence, and Pan is a mean-spirited, narcissistic little snot. I think that, to protect young readers, we need to keep Peter Pan, The Wizard of Oz, and Alice's Adventures in Wonderland out of the hands of us adults, who are more easily traumatized than kids.

Some of the cool books I read in 2010 include these.

Let the Great World Spin, Colum McCann. I loved the beautiful structure and language in this novel.
Confederates in the Attic, Tony Horwitz. Horwitz revisits the Civil War in the unvanquished South (although I kept saying to myself, "You lost. Get over it.")
The Evolution of Calpurnia Tate, Jacqueline Kelly. This is a very funny coming-of-age story in which Calpurnia struggles against gender roles in 1899.
Skippy Dies, Paul Murray. Skippy dies five pages into the book, and the rest of the story is told in flashback. Among the topics the kids are concerned with are time travel, M-theory, bungee jumping, and the true meaning of Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken."
Room, Emma Donaghue. This is my favorite book of the year. It knocked my socks off. Izzy, you should read it!
It Was the War of the Trenches, Jacques Tardi. I love the graphic genre. This account of daily life in the trenches in World War I is very affecting.

Liō

2010-12-26T11:08:00.005-07:00

One of my great pleasures is reading comics, cartoons, and other graphics. I have a whole bookcase devoted to this genre: everything from the Fantagraphics set of the complete Peanuts (the series is now up to 1978) to Doonesbury, from the graphic novels of Lynd Ward and Milt Gross to a graphic treatment of World War I by Jacques Tardi. I love political cartoons.

Here's a picture of part of my graphics bookcase.

Chuckbert introduced me to Liō. We carry the Liō books in the store and can't keep them in stock. They've become a great favorite of kids and adults alike.

When I opened Chuckbert's Christmas gift, a framed Liō print, I did a little happy dance around the living room. Thanks, Chuckbert!

Our old neighbor David Jones passed away

2010-12-21T10:06:00.002-07:00

David Jones, who lived across the street from us next to the Black Path, died recently. I used to babysit him, and he was a little scamp. Later he was on my team at LANL, and he was a little scamp then, too. Here is the article from the Los Alamos Monitor.

David Lance Jones of Pipersville, Pennsylvania, died peacefully at his residence on Sunday, November 7, 2010 following a two year battle with Melanoma. He was born October 10, 1956, in Los Alamos, N.M. where he was raised.

He is survived by two children, Mary-Carol Jones and Cody Jones, both of Denver, C.O. He is also survived by his two sisters Sandra Worth and Phyllis Mcloed and brother Clifford Craig Jones.

David, a dedicated security professional who has devoted his life towards the protection and preservation of National Security interests, most recently worked for URS Washington Division in Princeton, N.J. where he was employed as the Deputy Director of Corporate Security. Throughout his life and career, Dave had held numerous positions in security and intelligence where his talents and expertise had proven most beneficial in securing both domestic and international interests in the private and governmental sectors. Prior to joining URS, Dave had also worked with the Los Alamos National Laboratory where he was instrumental in safeguarding nuclear materials and projects of concern for a number of years. He was also an honorably discharged U.S. Veteran from the United States Army and National Guard, having served as a security specialist and as a Russian linguist and translator. He was a member in good standing of numerous professional security and intelligence societies and organizations and will truly be missed amongst the league of specialists. Dave’s devotion towards his profession was second only to his commitment as a father, however, as his true adoration was for his loving children.

He enjoyed many outdoor sports as hobbies, including hunting, fishing, and sport shooting. He also enjoyed motorcycles, cars, billiards, and reading.

Memorial services will be held at Fuller Lodge in Los Alamos, NM on Saturday, December 18th, 2010 starting at 2:00 PM with food and drinks following.

Deck the halls with vials of Prozac

2010-12-19T08:32:00.004-07:00

We're in the home stretch of the holiday ~~seizure~~ season and at peak season for the odd requests and comments.

". . . with E. Power Biggs at the Hammond Organ."

Perry, one of our staffers, is most excellent at and delights in pulling customers' legs by taking their requests literally. Unfortunately he wasn't there when a customer asked whether we carried organs. I'm sure Perry would have said yes, we all carry organs, including heart, liver, lungs, and pancreas, right there inside us. Then, after the dust had settled, he would have led the customer over to the display of the 3-D anatomic models to show them the little hearts, livers, lungs, and pancreata.

I, however, was less creative. The customer asked me whether we carried organs. I said, "No. This is a bookstore." She said, "Well, I thought that since you carry science toys, you'd also carry musical instruments." She sighed with obvious disappointment. "Well, do you think the Hallmark store carries organs?"

"We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand."—Randy Pausch

A customer told me that she had read The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch and loved it. I said that the book is very popular with our customers and has changed a lot of lives. She asked, "Did he write anything after that? I'd love to read the sequel!" I told her that Dr. Pausch died of pancreatic cancer in 2008 and the book was published shortly after his death. She said, "Oh. I didn't know that."

How to play teh banjo

2010-12-11T09:18:00.008-07:00

FLICKER!

Oh, hai. Today I tell u how to play teh banjo. First, u must find a comfy place to play teh banjo. Mommie Michele haz left a banjo on teh table. Are u comfy? I am!

Tehn u must get someone to ask, "Iz u in voice, Winstead?" Tehn u say, "I believe Im in voice." LOL!

Tehn u can scrape ur teeth across teh stringz or pat tehm with ur pawz. Oh, how pretteh iz teh banjo music!

Lien to the left! Lien to the right! Stand up, sit down, fight, fight, fight!

2010-12-06T16:30:00.004-07:00

I've shared on Facebook some of the odd questions we've been asked at the store.

Phone customer: "Do you sell covers for the Kindle?"
Me: "Um . . . no. Kindle and its corporate masters are our competition and working actively to put us out of business."
Customer: "Oh. Yeah. Well, do you know where I can get one?"

Customer: "Do you carry fingerprint ink?"
Me: "Um . . . no. This is a bookstore."
Customer: "Well do you know where I can get it?"
Me: "How about the cop shop or a forensic supply dealer?"
Customer: "I don't want to go to the police. Are you sure you don't have fingerprint ink?"

Customer: "Do you carry baby clothes?"
Me: "No, this is a bookstore."
Customer (looking around): "Ohhhhh."

Today I got another query. A woman came in and was searching vigorously through the calendar display. I asked, "May I help you find something?"

She said, "I'm the treasurer of our neighborhood homeowners' association." She didn't say anything more, and I really didn't know how to respond. My first impulse was to say, "We don't carry homeowners' association calendars, but let me check my inventory to be sure." Then I thought I could have said, "Oh, you poor dear," but maybe she liked the job. Saying, "So what?" would have been rude. Should I have said, "Atta girl!"? Everything seemed inadequate.

So I just waited. She looked at me. I looked at her. Finally she said, "We're putting a lien on two properties." Again she didn't say anything more, and again I didn't know how to respond. We just looked at each other. After several awkward seconds, she said, "Where's your stationery?"

I said, "We don't carry stationery. We do have some nice holiday cards, though."

She said, "No, I need property lien forms."

"I'm sorry," I said, "but we don't carry legal forms."

"I was told you carry them."

"We don't have any legal forms. We're a bookstore."

"But I was told you have them. I need property lien forms. Don't you have any in the back?"

"No, ma'am. As I said before, we don't carry legal forms."

"Well," she said, "how are we going to place a lien on the properties without the forms?"

She had me there.

How to stay warm at teh concert

2010-11-21T11:08:00.005-07:00

FLICKER!

Oh, hai. Im FLICKER! I haz told u how to stay warm in teh winter and how to go to teh concert. Now I will tell u how to stay warm at teh concert.

First, u must make sure teh coast is clear.

Good. No Frankey. Go to teh concert room. In teh winter, teh balcony is too cold. U must sit in teh orchestra to stay warm when u haz a concert of Mommie Michele's guitar music. Teh Frankey cooties from teh previous concert haz died, so it is safe to sit in teh orchestra seat. Be sure ur tummeh is warm.

Oh, how pretty is teh music!

Plot there was none, and laughter less

2010-11-11T09:53:00.008-07:00

At the recent trade show of the Mountains and Plains Independent Booksellers Association, we attended an education session called "Independent Publishers and Independent Booksellers: Can We Talk?" From my posts about interactions with Minty and Ina, particularly Ina, you know that I attended in the session.

It was volatile. Booksellers were lunging over the tables toward the moderator, an independent author who called independent booksellers "you people" in the way a patriotic Frenchman might have said "Nazi" during the Occupation. Authors were lunging at booksellers, who, they said, couldn't sell a personal memoir priced to move at $39.95 if our lives depended on it. Independent publishers lunged at authors and booksellers, because have you ever tried to make a living in publishing in this economy? With authors and booksellers acting like thugs? Well, trying to work with you guys is pointless, just pointless.

By the time we were ready to talk productively, the session ended and we were all spent and panting.

******

It's been a great season for interactions with independent authors at the store.

A customer came in and recommended a self-published memoir that she was going to give members of her book group. The author would be in town for a talk with the book group, and the customer asked whether we'd be interested in hosting a signing before the talk. I told her I'd get in touch with the author and perhaps arrange a brief event before the afternoon's book discussion.

The author was amenable to a little lunch before a signing, and then an hour of meet-and-greet-and-sign before the event. I told her that we'd sell her books on consignment.

"How many books should I bring?" she asked.

I told her that 20 would probably be enough.

"Yes, but I've been selling only about five or ten at other events. If I don't sell all the books, I'll have to ship them back, and the cost will be more than that of the books."

"Well, then," I replied, "bring ten."

"But I get a bigger discount if I buy 20," she said. "Why don't I bring 20?"

"That's fine. Bring 20," I said.

She said, "But if I don't sell them all, I'll have to ship them back and the cost . . . . " I figured we could have gone on all day that way. We finally settled on ten.

We sold two.

******

An independent author I met at Mountains and Plains gave me an inscribed copy of his first book and assured me that it would rival Gone with the Wind as The Great American Historical Novel. I told him I'd read it and get back to him. Meh. It's not to my taste, but as Lincoln once said, people who like that sort of thing will find that it is the sort of thing they'll like. (See also the title of this post.)

But I digress. The author launched the book on amazon.com last month and said that the demand for it was so great that the amazon server crashed for nine hours. (Now I begrudge no man his fantasies. We are all poets at heart. But if amazon had crashed for nine hours, it would have made national news.) I sent him a note saying that folks could easily get the book from their local independent bookseller instead of the Great Satan. He responded with the following note explaining why using amazon ultimately helps independent booksellers.

You and I concur on Amazon, Amazon is an impersonal, incompetent behemoth. On the other hand, Independent Booksellers are warm, personable and eyeball-to-eyeball. And that's my style too! Because I am much different than most authors, my eye is always to making the huge bulk of my sales through book stores. Unlike most authors, I do my ebook first, work out the kinks, begin to get my reviews, reader comments and set up a platform for the printed book. This leads to greatly increased media exposure of all types.

Let's face it, your job is alot easier with a book that is known, has great reviews and comments, which has some media exposure, and has some sales laurels. The only way to get that on the very first printing of the book is with Amazon, Barnes and Nobel, Ipad or a combination. All that sets up the platform for the 90% part of the program, the bookstores.

For instance, with [title of book], you the Independent Booksellers now have the benefit of all of the above, not to mention six or seven thousand who are now reading the book and another 700,000 who are familiar with it through our marketing including emails, Facebook and points of influence. Another 500,000 know of our books through our web advertising on special targeted sites and the book being named book of the month on three large women's sites.

So now your bookstore and staff have a product that you can say is widely known, being read by many, is getting good press, has received truly exceptional reviews, comments and endorsements from big names and can be counted as the top selling "paper only" [genre] - not to mention #1 Mover and Shaker and #82 Hottest New Release on Amazon.

I'm glad we could clear that up.

Peacherine Rag

2010-11-02T19:10:00.002-06:00

Presenting the St. Luke's Bottle Band, St. Luke's Lutheran Church, Park Ridge, Illinois, and "The Peacherine Rag" by Scott Joplin.

Frankey's big adventures

2010-10-17T08:56:00.010-06:00

Frankey has had some big adventures this weekend.

On Friday, I wanted to go down to get a pamphlet from the Pajarito Environmental Education Center (PEEC) at the old Little Valley School behind LAHS. As we were crossing Diamond Drive at around 3:30, the latch on Frankey's leash failed, and she was loose with all the high school kids leaving the parking lot. My heart was in my throat. If I run after her, she thinks we're playing and runs faster. So she trotted off into the Denver Steels, with me trotting on her heels, and after about 30 minutes, she heard a motorcycle--motorcycles freak her out--and she finally came to me.

Frankey's path through the Denver Steels

Then as we were just standing in PEEC, the leash failed again. Needless to say I got her a new leash that just cinches.

Frankey's pretty new leash with reflective strands as an added safety feature.

Using the new leash, I took her for a walk Saturday morning, and she staggered along and made strangling sounds with her tongue out, mostly for the benefit of the neighbors, but she quickly became used to it and walked nicely.

On Saturday we went over to Las Vegas for a nice long walk. We started at Carnegie Park, then went down to 911 3rd Street, which has an elliptical trainer in the glassed-in porch. We continued to Baca Avenue, then turned west to the campus of New Mexico Highlands University. The Cowboys were playing football, and one of the banks had free food. I got Frankey a bottle of water, and I snagged a cookie. We had our treats in Melody Park.

We strolled around campus, most of which is covered with Astroturf. The high-rise dorm, Ford Hall, and the lecture hall next to the former SUB have been demolished. There's a lot of construction going on. I tried to feel sentimental about the demolitions and nothing being the same as it was when I was there, but without success.

We drove over to West Las Vegas to Tome on the Range Bookstore. Frankey got many pets and smooches from the patrons, and I got a calendar, a magnet, and a bumper sticker. Then we drove up and down 8th Street and saw three houses where I used to live. The MacFarlands' restored Victorian is for sale.

Frankey's walk

We had a nice time. Frankey sacked out on the front seat and snoozed all the way home.

Heard and overheard

2010-10-08T17:31:00.002-06:00

A long-time local customer came in and asked for a specific issue of a New Mexico art magazine that she really, really wanted. We have never carried magazines. I said, "I'm sure the issue you want is available at the Downtown Subscription in Santa Fe." She said, "Well, I don't go down to Santa Fe very often, and I wondered if you would go down and pick up the magazine for me." I said, "Sure. Will you pay me mileage down and back and $30.00 an hour for my time?" She said, "I don't want it that bad."

******

Staffer, after checking our inventory for a book the customer requested: "I'm sorry, but we don't have that book in stock. May I order it for you? It will be here in about three business days."

Customer: "Would it be more convenient for you if I ordered it from Amazon?"

******

"I'm looking for a book about Los Alamos. We have it at home, but I don't know what it's about."

******

Mei, to her friend at the Fun"d" Run: "This is my aunt. She owns Otowi Station. Have you been there? We have all kinds of great stuff. We have books. We have Pokemon cards. We have stuffed animals. We have manga books. You'll probably have to get permission from your mom to read manga, because sometimes they're kind of bloody. We have all kinds of toys."

Absolute-LEE!

2010-09-29T20:08:00.002-06:00

Thanks, BobBIE, for posting the Dickey Lee tune.

When I was little, I thought the singers on the radio were singing live down at KRSN. Normally as tranquil as a September morn, I remember going to pieces one day when I heard Peggy Lee singing, because if we didn't get downtown really fast, she'd be gone.

Years later, P and I went to Opryland and saw Brenda Lee. I remember seeing her on TV and being enchanted by her voice and the fact that she was only a few years older than I. Her show in Opryland was fabulous.

And who can forget Eugene "Porky" Lee of the Little Rascals?

"On the roof, it's peaceful as can be / And there the world below can't bother me"

2010-09-09T17:43:00.008-06:00

The title of this post is fraught with irony.

The sounds from the roof include

metallic scraping,
drilling,
pneumatic hammering,
raucous singing,
pounding, and
a radio favoring most of Western Area with hits from Mexico.

They're the sounds of progress.

The tongue and groove ceiling is also the decking for the roof in the living room and dining room. You could see daylight yesterday. Pumice sifting through and landing on everything sounds like a very gentle rain when it's falling, and when you walk on the grit, it sounds like you're crunching along in spilled sugar.

Here are the guys. Yesterday when it rained, they covered everything and, instead of calling it a day, hung out in the carport and ate Pringles and candy until it cleared up. Then they started working again and didn't quit until about 7:30 that evening.

I forgot to mention the sound of motorized equipment.

A new roof

2010-09-07T08:35:00.006-06:00

Last summer's epic hailstorm injured Sophie the Honda and damaged the roof. My insurance company reminded me that I have a deadline by which to start repairs on the roof, so earlier this summer I got estimates.

My neighbor recommended a buddy of his who was not licensed but worked cheap. The guy gave me his estimate written in a barbed and illiterate hand on a piece of scribble paper: "Fix roof," with a total that would keep him in beer for months.

The neighbor's ex-wife recommended a guy who is indeed a licensed roofer and maintains office hours at the bar at the VFW.

A friend recommended the guy who fixed her roof. He showed up six hours later than his appointed time, got up on the roof and walked around for a minute in a vague, desultory, poetic manner, promised an estimate by the end of the week, and disappeared. That was mid May.

Finally, I called my neighbor, who is a licensed contractor, and said, "Stan, I need a roofer. I need a reliable roofer. Don't argue with me." So he gave me the name and number of the guy he uses.

Ian showed up at the appointed second, gave me a sample of the material he proposed to use, gave me a detailed description of the structure and a potential problems with Original Western Area roofs, gave me a list of references, drew a diagram of what he proposed to do, got up on the roof and measured and took a core sample (I have two roofs, one of which contains pumice, which absorbs water), and gave me an estimate a couple days later.

Today I came home for lunch to see workers swarming all over the yard and roof and the materials staged in the driveway. And now, after work, they have already removed part of the roof over the bedroom. It sounds as if they're coming right into the house because the sound carries so well down the chimney.

The odor of 20-year-old waterlogged pumice is very sour, like vomit.

Here is the roofing material staged on the lawn. You can see a corner of the roof in the upper right.

Even when she's not here, she's here

2010-08-31T15:08:00.006-06:00

We're planning the sequel to last year's very successful AuthorFest. I sent out invitations to all the local authors for this year's event, which we'll have in early November, and gladsome acceptances have been coming in. Except for Ina.

She can't make it on the date we've set. She came in yesterday and gave me a list of alternate dates that the 30+ other folks could work around. I told her that the date was firm, and we can't try to reschedule everyone else just for her. She was undeterred. "How about if I send someone with a suitcase full of my books? That person could sell them for me. I'd sign them beforehand, of course," she reassured me. I said that would be fine. But she wasn't finished.

"Now did I tell you about that woman from Magdalena who wrote a memoir about her life in the convent? Maybe you should invite her, too." (I'm not sure how that would go over with Minty, who defines "local author" as someone who lives within a five-mile radius of the store.) "I know that she'd love to sell my books for me, because I bought one of hers and she signed it. Here, you can read it." She thrust it into my hands.

Barreling on, she said, "You're probably thinking that people would be confused about who's selling my books if the Magdalena author were here. Well, I thought it all out. I have a manikin of myself about this tall that can sit in the chair, and people will know it's me."

Ina and her doppelgänger: it's just too much to contemplate.

Indian Market 2010

2010-08-21T16:32:00.019-06:00

Today we left at 6:00 a.m. to go to Santa Fe for Indian Market. It's not that we're passionate collectors who camp out in front of our favorite vendor's booth to get the piece that won Best in Show. It's that we want to get to Tia Sophia's when it opens for breakfast at 7:00.

After we finished our breakfast, the line to get in wasn't too long. Waiting isn't a pain if you have the newspaper with the lists of winners.

We visited some of our favorite vendors, including Tony Padilla, a Santa Clara sculptor with whom I used to work, and Randall Chitto, whose work Chuckbert collects (image taken with my cell phone).

The merchants on the Plaza said that the crowds were a little smaller this year. Looking south along Lincoln Avenue, I thought the crowds were pretty big.

We rested on the curb on West Palace Avenue and watched the passing scene.

The west side of the Palace of the Governors was a popular place to rest in the shade.

Of course, the big draw for us is finding the visitor dressed most excessively but without a shred of irony. Thus we can eliminate such get-ups as the T-shirts once sported by the staff at the Ore House: "Ya-tah-hey, ya-tah-ho! Eat that fry bread! Go, go, go!"

This woman was dressed festively.

Nothing says Indian Market better than hot pants, a massive belt, and "f--k me" shoes.

Does camera gear count as Indian Market raiment?

How about this ~~breastplate~~ bolo tie?

No special clothing, but her hair is big. The higher the hair, the closer to God.

Hat? Check. Jewelry? Check. Fringed bag? Check. Fiesta skirt? Check. Boots? Check!

A beribboned shirt and a concho belt that cost more than my car are always worth a look.

A cool and breezy look for an August morning.

Clamdiggers draw this ensemble together.

We didn't buy anything, but a barbecued-rib appetizer and a Margarita at Maria's completed a perfect day at Indian Market.

How to listen to teh concert

2010-08-07T09:24:00.006-06:00

FLICKER!

Oh, hai. Im FLICKER! Today I show u how to listen to teh concert. First u must find a concert. Mommie Michele plays her guitar, so u haz found a concert.

For teh best view and acoustics, u must sit in teh balcony.

Oh, how pretty is teh music!

If u do not laik teh balcony, tehn u can sit in teh orchestra, right up front.

Do not sit in teh guitar case, even if u are clean from a bath. When teh audience sits in teh guitar case, my tummeh is rigid with disgust.

I'm not a peasant, but I play one on TV

2010-08-01T18:54:00.006-06:00

The Santa Fe Opera presented the world premiere of Life Is a Dream by Lewis Spratlan, and we're seeing it this Friday. To prepare myself and to revisit a play that I read as an undergraduate (but which I have absolutely no memory of), I bought a copy of Life Is a Dream (La vida es sueño) by Pedro Calderón de la Barca and translated by Gregary Racz.

Gregary Racz's translation of La vida es sueño is, as Racz explains in a note on his translation, "the first attempt to render the drama entirely in analogous meter and rhyme since 1853, when both Denis Florence MacCarthy and Edward FitzGerald, with varying degrees of success, contemporaneously produced full-length English language versions of the play." A reviewer of Racz's translation wrote, "With Calderón utilizing 'a variety of metrical and rhyming patterns,' Racz's attempt to mirror that in the English is particularly noteworthy. Obviously, a bilingual edition, with the Spanish text facing the English one, would be the ideal solution, but fortunately the Spanish text of the play can readily be found on the Internet, and Racz's version does effectively give a sense of the sound and feel of the original for those who want to focus solely on an English text."

Well, that's pretty cool! As I read, I noticed that most of the verse was iambic tetrameter.

What's life? A frenzied, blurry haze.
What's life? Not anything it seems.
A shadow. Fiction filling reams.
All we possess on earth means nil,
For life's a dream, think what you will,
And even all our dreams are dreams.

And as I kept reading, I thought, "Why is this making me nuts? The translation is acclaimed, and Racz seems to have captured the sound and feel of Spanish. Is it me?"

Then I answered my own question: "Yes, you peasant, it is indeed you. You keep thinking about a certain poem by Longfellow, which is also written in iambic tetrameter, and at the end of every speech in Life Is a Dream, you want to say, 'Excelsior!'"

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!

JJ

2010-07-21T16:22:00.003-06:00

I've written a lot about why booksellers drink--crazed or clueless customers, local authors, odd requests for information, strange phone calls, etc., etc. Earlier this week we had an interaction of a different sort.

One of our good customers, JJ, is a crusty old fart with a brusque manner, but for months I've been greeting her warmly, giving her lots of personal attention and the occasional hug (which always seems to catch her off-guard), taking her special orders. And now when she comes into the store, she smiles and seems at ease.

Monday I returned from an errand to find her at the counter with Alan. I asked how she was, and she said, "I have a big problem here." I thought, "Uh-oh. What did we do?" Practically in tears, she told us that an old friend of hers had moved to Trinidad, Colorado, several years ago, and JJ hadn't heard from her in a long time. She had tried calling her friend, but the voicemail on her cell phone was full and the friend didn't have a landline. Letters to her had gone unanswered. JJ was afraid that the friend had died, and had no way of finding out.

Alan had been using Google to find the name but without success. I asked JJ whether she knew the friend's address, so that perhaps we could use an address finder to locate a neighbor, who might be able to tell her about her friend. She had the address, and I found the names and phone numbers of some neighbors. JJ said she'd call them.

The touching thing for me is that when JJ was at a loss about how to proceed, she came to us.

"The best things in life are free." "No, they're not. You forgot about shipping, handling, and tax."

2010-07-20T16:00:00.002-06:00

Back in May, a father came into the store and said that he had a win-win proposition for me. If we would hire his daughter full-time for the summer, he would reimburse us 100%. He wanted to do this because having a job would show the kid the value of money earned by the sweat of one's brow. He assured me that the kid had initiative and was a self-starter. Lost on him was the irony of the kid's not having the initiative to come to the store to apply for a summer job and that Dad was surreptitiously paying her salary to teach her the value of a dollar.

I sent a note to our bookkeeper explaining the proposal, and she wrote back that it was indeed legit, except, "You need to make sure and add up all the cost to you. Your state unemployment tax rate is .03%, your federal unemployment tax rate is .8%, and the employer’s part of FICA is .765%. You will also need to add in the workers' comp insurance cost." Simple!

Michele, Alan, and I discussed the matter for about three minutes and confirmed that we wouldn't accept the offer. We were fully staffed for the summer with three self-starting students who had come in person to pick up applications and applied in January.

*****

Today a customer came in to pick up a playscript that he had special-ordered. He was sore because it was cheaper online from the source he gave us and because he had to pay the County gross receipts tax on it. He did not want to hear about the playscript company's not discounting to the trade, shipping charges, or the capitalist system.

*****

Today a woman presented her unsigned credit card for a purchase. "May I see your ID please?" I asked automatically. She said, "Absolutely not! I don't need to go through a background check just to buy these books from you. I don't sign my credit cards, because if I did, somebody could forge my signature. [Not to mention the possibility that a crook who gets his hands on her signature-free card could just sign it in front of a clerk, thereby making the card appear valid, while also ensuring that the signature on the card will now match the crook's own signature on the receipt.] Here! Here's cash. I resent giving you cash, because I know you make more money from cash transactions." I thanked her warmly and gave her her change. "Do you take local checks without a background check?" she asked. Before I could answer, she turned on her heel and stomped out.

It's been One of Those Days. Fortunately I have a song in my heart to chase them naughty blues away!

I will give you the cash that would otherwise go to support my aged parents back on the farm. Satisfied?

Skate park!

2010-07-18T19:14:00.010-06:00

Before Izzy, Kevin, and Erin left to go back to California, we visited the skate park.

Kevin shows off his moves.

Mei can really scoot on her scooter.

Xian wears her protective gear--for drinking Vitamin Water?

Bobbie takes pictures of the action.

Kevin catches some air.

Um, Mei? You're supposed to use a scooter on that feature.

Xin roars by.

Using her best Miss America wave--elbow elbow wrist wrist--Erin greets the crowd.

Happy birthday! Now call the fire department.

2010-07-10T17:23:00.005-06:00

It seemed like a good idea at the time: putting sparklers on Mom's birthday cheesecake. The only problem is that you can't blow out sparklers. And you have pyrotechnic residue on the cake. And if you try to catch the residue by covering the surface of the cake with waxed paper, you'll have a waxed-paper fire right there on the birthday table.

Dinner at Gabriel's

2010-07-09T18:09:00.011-06:00

For Mom's birthday dinner, we all went to Gabriel's Restaurant between Los Alamos and Santa Fe.

Here's the Birthday Mom.

To commemorate the event, Chuckbert took a picture of Mom's dinner.

And then Chuckbert took a picture of P-doobie taking a picture of Chuckbert while Mombert and Bobbert cracked up.

Bobbie and Izzy posed nicely with some bunny ears.

Bobbie picked up the check. Seeing her distress, I snapped my fingers to summon a waiter and said, "¡Garçon! El desfibrilador, por favor!" He brought us a parachute and some dried apricots.

A birthday present!

2010-07-05T17:20:00.013-06:00

This weekend we celebrated our mother's big 9-0 with family, friends, and relatives. The first order of business on any birthday is, of course, presents!

The present was wrapped in fabric that was pinned together. Something this big and cool deserved more than the Sunday comics pages that our dad favored.

L to R. Mei, P, Bobbie (back to camera), Chuckbert, Mom, Xian.

As Erin used to say, "I'm so exciting!"

We decided to replace Mom's ~~boat anchor~~ old computer with an Averatec all-in-one PC with a 25.5-inch screen and wireless keyboard and mouse.

It took only a minute to set up.

L to R. Chuckbert, Mei, P, Xin, Mom.

It looked great!

L to R. Izzy, Mei (back to camera), Chuckbert, Mom, Xin (back to camera).

Mom took it out for a spin.

And she wins her first game of Spider Solitaire!

L to R. Xin, Erin, Xian, Bobbie, Mei, Mom's head, Chuckbert, Izzy.

TA-DA!

Sedona

2010-06-27T14:01:00.012-06:00

We spent the last two days of our vacation in Sedona at the Canyon Wren Cabins bed and breakfast. The Canyon Wren is six miles up Oak Creek Canyon from Sedona. It's very cool, and you should go. We stayed in the Morning Glory, one of the four cabins on the property.

Here's the living room, with its wood-burning fireplace. In the 90°+ heat, we didn't need a fire.

The stairs go up to the sleeping loft. You can see the air conditioner opposite the skis. We love air conditioning, baton twirling, liking people, and living in America.

Here's the little kitchen, with the patio visible through the doors. Every day the proprietors left chocolate brownies with peanut butter and caramel in them on the counter.

Here's the sleeping loft.

A balcony is right off the loft.

The area around Sedona is famous for the red rock monoliths and formations and for the red dirt.

After our hike to one of the energy vortexes, the soles of my sneakers were stained by the red dirt. Even after washing, the soles are still reddish brown. Vortical coincidence? I think not.

The most colorful place in the world in black and white

2010-06-23T16:58:00.006-06:00

Here are some images of the Grand Canyon that I saved as black and white. I really like the last one.

Hero pictures and visitors

2010-06-20T13:02:00.018-06:00

"One goes, not so much to see but to tell afterward."--John Steinbeck. These images prove that we went on vacation.

Michele at the Painted Desert

P-Doobie, ditto.

Here I am at Newspaper Rock. I was tickled by the visitors who were there with us.

Our companions at Newspaper Rock were some folks from France. I wish this image included sound, because they were all making gladsome noises and talking rapidly at once.

There's a reason for the guard rails, friend. Nice socks.

Here's Michele standin' on the corner in Winslow, Arizona. She's gonna Take It Easy.

We met our friends Jean and James, who flew in from New Jersey (and boy! were their arms tired!) at the Grand Canyon. We walked part of the Rim Trail together.

Michele and I went to the eastern part of the Park and sat for a while at a viewing area we now call Michael's Point. A young mom and her son, Michael, who had a developmental disability, stopped and asked us to take their picture. Michael's heart's desire was to see Meteor Crater, and the mom wanted to know whether they could see the crater, the Painted Desert, and Petrified Forest before they caught their 8:30 flight from Phoenix that evening. I hope that Michael got to see the crater. Here I am at Michael's Point.

We went on to Grandview Point, where a group of visitors from Japan used good teamwork to take pictures and stay out of the sun.

Michele took a break from the sun in Sedona.

Michele and I enjoyed the gentle hike along Oak Creek outside Sedona with Jean and James. We were near one of the energy vortexes.

Did you see Uranus?

2010-06-18T18:33:00.014-06:00

After the Grand Canyon, Michele and I spent a couple days in Flagstaff; ever since she was little, Michele had always wanted to see the Lowell Observatory. We took the Pluto Tour. First stop for us was the Clark Telescope Dome, where Percival Lowell seached for Planet X. Here is the 24-inch Alvan Clark telescope that Lowell used.

The dome is constructed with wooden beams. It originally turned on a system of iron wheels and rails developed by two bicycle repairmen. In the mid 1950s pickup tires, complete with shiny hubcaps, replaced the worn-out wheels. Occasionally a tire will blow out or have a flat, and the observatory must order special reproductions.

Percival Lowell's chair sits on a special platform so he could comfortably use the telescope.

Lowell's mausoleum is right next to the Clark dome.

Here is the blink comparator that Clyde Tombaugh used to find Planet X, which was afterwards named Pluto. The blink comparator is a microscope that optically superimposes two photographic plates, "blinking" between them so rapidly that the two plates look like one. This device allowed Tombaugh to compare the plates and look for any discrepancies between them. It is way cool.

Here's what Tombaugh saw.

This is an early computing machine.

Tombaugh used photographic plates exposed for three hours. He'd make two photographs taken a couple days apart, then compare the images on the blink comparator. You can also see the clock drive that keeps the star or planet from drifting out of the field of view.

The roof of this little observatory slides onto the framework in the foreground. To the left is another small observatory used mostly for observing Titan, one of the moons of Saturn.

You should go. The Lowell Observatory is awesome!

Chapel of the Holy Cross in Sedona

2010-06-15T18:28:00.011-06:00

We visited the Chapel of the Holy Cross in Sedona. It was designed by one of Frank Lloyd Wright's students and built on the red sandstone that immediately identifies the area. I think the website for the chapel is cool because it focuses more on all the worldly gifts you can buy than on any spiritual gifts you might get.

Our friend James was in his camp counselor mode, so he urged me to walk with him down the road to take a picture of the chapel from below. I am always ready to oblige for a photo op.

Then we drove up to the parking lot. The walk up to the chapel was lined with cacti and other desert wildflowers.

We were told that a guy who developed LASIK surgery lives in the mansion below the chapel. I remembered traveling with our friends from Leeds to a stately home in Yorkshire, and Veda, our hostess, said of the home, "It cost a few quid, and I wouldn't mind living there. I can see myself with all those servants. I can hear them now: 'Veda! 'Elp me wit' t' weeds!'"

'E 'as a gardner to 'elp 'im wit' t' weeds.

Some critters

2010-06-13T18:21:00.011-06:00

We enjoyed watching the wildlife on our trip. Click on the images to enlarge them.

At breakfast in Sedona, an acorn woodpecker checked us out.

It was also breakfast time for the lesser goldfinches.

Another resident of the Canyon Wren Bed and Breakfast is Frankie, a red-eared slider turtle. She is with turtlets, but the proprietors didn't know how far along she is.

When we hiked in Sedona, we saw a turtle basking on a rock in Oak Creek.

This was as close as we got to a mountain lion at the Grand Canyon.

This cliff chipmunk was on Rim Trail.

One of the highlights of the whole trip was seeing two California condors gliding above us. If you enlarge the [blurry] image, you can see the tags on their left wings.

Lizard smackdown!

2010-06-11T16:15:00.011-06:00

In the Crystal Forest we saw a collared lizard basking on a piece of petrified wood. He was doing his push-ups to show us he wasn't to be trifled with. Click on an image to enlarge it.

When we went to the Rainbow Forest, we saw two male collared lizards grappling, apparently for territory. The lizard in the background has clamped his jaws on the other lizard.

They tumble over in the rocks.

The dominant lizard pursues his rival.

Finally both raced away on their hind legs. They can really cover a lot of territory.

Desert wildflowers

2010-06-11T13:52:00.012-06:00

Michele and I got back from our vacation to northern Arizona--Painted Desert, Petrified Forest, Grand Canyon, and Sedona--on Wednesday. We had a great time visiting with Jean and James, who flew in from Newark (and boy! were their arms tired!). I'll post images from our trip over the next several days. Okay, starting with loading the car in the driveway. (Ju-uuuu-uust kidding.)

Wednesday, the first day of our trip, we drove to Holbrook, Arizona. Thursday we went to the Painted Desert and the Petrified Forest, pulling over frequently to admire the view and to walk the Painted Desert Rim Trail. It was unseasonably hot for the time of year, we learned, so it wasn't surprising that we were going through so much water. Although the land appears lifeless and barren, it is teeming with critters and plants. Here are some of the wildflowers we saw. I need help identifying some.

Golden mariposa lily

Astragalus family

Desert plume

Cliff rose

Pale trumpets with desert globemallow

Desert globemallow

Springtime sights and smells

2010-05-26T19:17:00.009-06:00

I've been walking to work several times a week, and every day there's something new to see. One of the first flowers of spring is the pasque flower. It was lining the bank above the sidewalk on Canyon Road. (I didn't take this image. I don't normally schlep a camera around. )

The pasque flowers have given way to the yellow peas blooming along the pathway through the woods that parallels Canyon Road. (I didn't take this one either.)

Michele and I saw some mule deer along the path one morning. They were browsing on the bushes in the woods. Here's one of their cousins we saw on the trail in Bandelier National Monument.

Today I was walking past the Bradbury Science Museum and saw that the Class of 2010 had probably struck. Someone had filled the fountain with detergent, and the whole block smelled springtime fresh.

Pen Wednesday--affordable pens

2010-05-05T18:19:00.003-06:00

These pens were all less than $30.00 and are perfect for everyday use.

L to R. Pilot, Aurora, an Italian pen with no brand name on it, Tombow, Yafa, and Rotring.

Pen Wednesday--two really elegant pens

2010-04-25T09:35:00.006-06:00

Top: a Monteverde Regatta rollerball pen with alternating sections of resins and diamond-cut rings.

Bottom: the Nettuno Barracuda fountain pen. The square cap and barrel have rounded edges and a patented closing system, eight magnets in the cap and barrel snap perfectly together. The body is turned from a solid bar of transparent resin that is polished to a crystal sheen. The rhodium-plated clip is triangular. The Barracuda fountain pen has an 18K gold nib and features cartridges or converter filling system. I'm afraid to use it.

Ina at the movies

2010-04-24T09:32:00.006-06:00

Last week Ina came skulking into the store. She whispered hoarsely from the counter, "P-Doobie, I need to talk with you. In private." She beckoned me over to the young adult section, and, her eyes darting as if she were a spy who had momentarily forgotten where the drop point was, checked for CIA agents in cooking and home improvement. We sat down. "I have a great idea," she whispered, "and I want you to be the first person I talked to about it. It's brilliant."

I knew immediately that the idea had something to do with promoting Ina and her books. She had talked with the folks at the movie theater about running a 30-second ad promoting local authors. The production costs for a video are only $400, she said, and then only $300 per month to show the video before each of the four films, so it would cost the store a mere $4000 to produce and run for a year, not to mention having the everlasting devotion of the local authors because we footed the bill.

At that point I felt as if I were slumping to the floor.

"And I have a skit all planned," she said. "I'd get all the local authors, and we'd each take one of our books off a shelf and pass the book to the next author while we each talked about our books. Doesn't that sound hilarious?" My lips did not unpurse. She said, as an afterthought, "Of course we'd say that our books are available at your store."

I told her I'd take the idea to Michele, who is the chancellor of the exchequer, and discuss it. Ina was agreeable, and, after checking to ensure that the trail guides behind us weren't bugged, she skulked out.

Michele and I talked about the idea for about two seconds and concluded that Ina was indeed still out of her tiny socks.

I sent Ina a note stating that our main concern is, of course, getting the most bang for our limited advertising bucks. If we were to advertise at the movie theater, we'd want to showcase all the books and the cool toys, not just one small sector.

Ina took that as a yes.

"Of course!" she wrote. "You'll be surprised at how much they can put in one of those ads. Individual actors, or a group of people together, could be on for less than five seconds. The total ad is 30 seconds, but we could ask for longer. Do we want to meet and discuss?"

Today I got another note from her asking whether we had been to the movies yet so we could watch the ads. Right now we don't want to spend twelve bucks each to sit through a flick about a high-school comic-book fan or a case of mistaken identity in which hi-jinx ensue just so we can watch the ad from the stationery store in which the owner's daughter emerges from the depths of a cardboard carton to announce that the store is a FedEx drop-off point.

Ina's dream: local authors rake in the big bucks, thanks to free advertising from our store

A rockin' day trip

2010-04-11T12:35:00.011-06:00

Friday I drove over to Maxwell to take Jean M. to lunch in Raton and to catch up on all the news. I decided to go through Taos Canyon to the Moreno Valley and through Cimarron Canyon instead of going up I-25.

There's still a lot of snow in Taos Canyon on the north-facing slopes. Some of the homes were still snowbound. Here's a fence in Taos Canyon.

I drove into Angel Fire, which is a bit of Aspen in northern New Mexico. It seems to have lost the funky charm it had when I lived in Maxwell and is now upscale and sort of precious. The ground throughout the Moreno Valley was saturated, as you can see from this image, which I took just north of Angel Fire.

I drove into Eagle Nest, which is still the way it's always been: a place to rent skis and gear for a lot less money than you'd pay in Angel Fire, get an inexpensive lunch, and poke around in little shops for tchotchkes and antiques. Izzy, I found that set of The Children's Hour in Eagle Nest.

Here are Eagle Nest Lake, which is beginning to thaw, and Wheeler Peak, which isn't. You can see the abandoned Eagle Nest Lodge at the lower right.

From Eagle Nest, you drop down into Cimarron Canyon. In the summer it's full of fishermen and campers, but Friday I met only one guy who was fishing. I stopped at the Palisades.

Here's the information marker for the geology geeks among us.

Maxwell continues to linger. Only 75 kids are in the whole school, kindergarten through 12th grade. My nemesis from my last year there, who was the office administrator and the superintendent's niece and who strutted around like a little cadet, is now the mayor. Many of my former students are grandparents. I drove by Fidel's Barber Shop, which is an 8 x 10 Morgan building. Fidel was sitting in there with the door open. When I drove by last year, he was sitting in there with the door open. When he asks you how you want your hair cut, he means, "Do you want it cut fast or slow?"

If you want good northern New Mexican food, Raton isn't the place to get it. There's nothing like a good chicken burrito, and what I had was nothing like a good chicken burrito.

The good news is that NM 505 is paved all the way to Colfax.

View Larger Map

Pen Wednesday--Monteverde pens

2010-04-07T19:11:00.003-06:00

My Monteverde pens have many layers of lacquer or carbon fiber. They're elegant and very pleasing to the eye and hand.

Mr. Spence passed away

2010-04-07T09:43:00.002-06:00

Our junior-high-school principal, Edward Spence, passed away. He was strict and brooked no nonsense. Here is the obituary from the Monitor.

Ed died on March 22, 2010 at age 97 in Chandler, AZ, where he lived with his wife of 73 years, Leona. Born in Liverpool, Eng, Ed came to the U.S. as a child, grew up in South Dakota, and became an educator. He moved to Los Alamos, NM, where he taught and was a school administrator for 30 years. He was an accomplished musician, singing and playing brass instruments, serving as the director of the Youth choir of the United Church of Los Alamos, where they were charter members. He was active in the community and in professional organizations. Following retirement, he lived in Albuquerque, and more recently in Chandler. Leona, their 4 children, and many grand and great-grands survive him. A memorial service will be at Chandler Presbyterian, 1500 W. Germann Rd, Chandler, AZ 85286 on April 10. Memorial gifts may be given to the church for a youth scholarship in Ed’s name. Bueler Mortuary of Chandler is handling arrangements.

I think I get it now

2010-04-04T11:03:00.009-06:00

Last night, Michele and I watched The Ten Commandments ("Mo-zhus! Mo-zhus!") up until the Israelites were set free, and then we got sleepy and turned it off.

The fifties classic put me in mind of other films, and I remembered reading, as a kid, the movie posters that said no one would be seated during the last 30 minutes of the film. I thought it was pretty odd that the audience would have to stand up for 30 minutes.

("Notice! No one seated during the last, lethal five minutes of the picture!")

And that thought led to another. I remember gumball machines placed by the Lions, and the label read "For needy children." I never bought a gumball from them, because I didn't want anyone to think that I was a needy child.

Pen Wednesday--ACME pens

2010-03-31T16:02:00.004-06:00

ACME pens are designed by some of the world's most famous designers, including Leonardo da Vinci, Frank Lloyd Wright, Charles and Ray Eames, and Antoni Gaudi. The pens have a nice heft and are well balanced. I bought "Punctuation" at the Santa Fe Pen Fair earlier this month.

Left to right, "Writing," designed by Jerry Leibowitz; "Quote," designed by Laurinda Speer; "Punctuation," designed by Harry Allen; and "Crystal," designed by Marcel Wanders.

One, two, button my shoe. Okay, wait. I'll do it myself.

2010-03-24T17:11:00.004-06:00

Yesterday I gathered up my Lunch Buddy and headed toward the nurse's office so she could get her blood sugar checked. As we headed toward the stairs, she sighed heavily and said, "Alexander really hoped he could play with us today." I explained to her that she and Alexander could play together every day but that she and I could hang out only once a week. She nodded but then whispered, "Poor Alexander. He really, really wanted to play today. I hope he doesn't cry."

Well, we can't have a sobbing little kid. So we turned around and headed to the jungle gym for a game of Grizzly Bear with Alexander and all the other crazed five-year-olds.

This time, as I was being fed the imaginary bear treats, I felt my shoelaces loosen. I looked down and saw two little guys untying my shoes. "Okay, sharks," I said, "untied shoes can make you trip. Tie my shoes back up!"

I forgot they were kindergarteners.

"Okay, first you make an X with the laces."

"That's not what my mom said. She said that you make two bunnies that are looking at each other."

"I think you make a loop."

"Yeah! But you got to make a loop out of each string!"

"No. That's not right."

"I've never seen shoe strings like these. Have you ever seen shoe strings like these?"

"Wait. I think you cross the bunny ears over each other."

"Look! I made a knot in one string!"

"When does the bunny run around the tree?"

"I have Velcro on my shoes. Look."

"Who ever heard of a bunny running around a tree? My mom says you just make a loop. See? I made a loop."

"Um . . . guys . . . I can tie my own shoes if you'd like." But they didn't hear me. I had half a dozen little boys squatting around my feet, intent on their work and debating the merits of various methods and metaphors.

Actually, it was very peaceful standing there during recess.

Pen Wednesday--some gifts

2010-03-24T08:03:00.002-06:00

Here are some pens I've received as gifts. The top one is an engraved fountain pen from Dad. In the middle is a hand-carved Waterford pen from Mr. Bears. Izzy gave me the chubby little pocket pen, which looks as if it would be very difficult to hold, but when it's open and the cap posted, it's very comfortable and well balanced.

Pen Wednesday

2010-03-17T16:34:00.005-06:00

Michele and I went to the Santa Fe Pen Show on Sunday and picked up a few things. For the next several Wednesdays, I will show you some of my pens. First up are the Retro 1951 rollerball pens, which have stainless steel barrels and a high-gloss lacquer overlay. They're affordable, nicely balanced, and feel good in the hand.

Pens and a couple pencils for everyday use. I haven't had too much luck with the pencils, which is probably just as well because I seldom use them.

Here are some Retro special editions.

L to R, patterned stainless steel, cork, flag, bamboo, custom engraved, acrylic, postage stamps, Dream Catcher glow in the dark, acrylic, brushed stainless steel numbered edition, leather, acrylic, Retro Double 8, Retro Double 8 acrylic, Retro Double 8 fountain pen, Woody, and acrylic.

"You can get it for me wholesale." "No, we can't. Now leave."

2010-03-03T16:02:00.006-07:00

At Otowi Station Bookstore, we pride ourselves on fulfilling special orders and requests for obscure out-of-print books. We pride ourselves on our hospitality model of doing business and our willingness to do whatever it takes to make our customers happy. People feel at home in the store and love that the staff is characterized by heroism and camaraderie and everyone supporting each other in times of book-related hardship.

However, we have our limits.

Today a woman--let's call her Carabosse--came in with a catalog from Edmund Scientific and asked Terry, our toy buyer, to order a large quantity of a particular item from the catalog. Terry explained that Edmund doesn't wholesale and that we'd have to get the item at the price listed in the catalog. Carabosse said that Terry should just order the items at the list price and then sell them at the list price to her. Terry explained that capitalism doesn't work that way.

Carabosse said that the previous owner of the store always ordered things for her and didn't mind not making a cent on the transactions. Terry said, "That was then. This is now."

The rest of the staff started edging toward the counter to eavesdrop because a) the situation was becoming more absurd by the second and b) it's always interesting to watch a train wreck.

Then Terry asked Carabosse why she just didn't order from the catalog herself. She replied, "Because I don't have a credit card. Besides, I wanted to give you the business."

Carabosse then asked if she could use the phone to call Edmund Scientific. Terry asked her why she didn't use her own phone, because we needed to keep our lines free for actual business. Carabosse said that she didn't have a cell phone, and she wasn't allowed to make personal calls at work. Besides, the order wouldn't take but a minute.

So, against our better judgment, we let her use the phone. Well, naturally, when you call Edmund Scientific, you have to tell how and where you came upon the catalog and what other items caught your eye, and ask questions about whether the solar battery requires batteries to work, where neodymium comes from, whether you're pronouncing neodymium correctly, and whether digital calipers can be used as a C-clamp in an emergency.

During the conversation, Carabosse was draped over the counter and blocking one register, and refused to move. Meanwhile, the only other phone line was ringing constantly, and customers were stacked up at the one available register like flights over O'Hare.

At this juncture I interposed and said loudly, "We need that phone to conduct business. We need this register. Move. Get off the phone. Now. Please."

But Carabosse was ordering her item. She wouldn't be but a minute. Then she had to explain to the helper at Edmund that she didn't have a credit card or a checking account, but would a money order be okay?

I was poised to grab the phone out of her hand, but she speedily concluded her transaction, picked up her catalog, and left without a backward glance or a word of thanks.

I think we could have set a retail record for having the largest number of customers and staff actively hoping for another customer to have an acute myocardial infarction.

I'm going to call Otowi Station and see whether they'll order some military-surplus desiccant for me.

How sharper than a serpent's tooth . . .

2010-02-19T08:13:00.005-07:00

Yesterday at Lunch Buddies, my kindergarten buddy said, "My friends would like us to play with them." So instead of eating lunch first and drawing afterwards, we played "Scary Monster." In this game, which we have played before, I am the scary monster (or the grizzly bear) and try to catch the various bats and werewolves who attack from all angles on the playground equipment. My little pink-and-white, ruffledy-puffledy buddy informed me, "I'm the mom werewolf." In that capacity she gets to make up the rules.

The little folks got all wound up, and I had kids leaping onto my back, grabbing my arms, and tugging at my jacket. I had to remonstrate with a couple kids for head-butts. There was also a little fellow on his tummy with his hands around my ankle; I dragged him around for a bit.

In the midst of the scrum, however, I felt a sharp pain in my calf. "Hey!" I yelled. "Who's biting?" I looked down, and two werewolves had their mouths full of my pant legs. "No biting!" I said. The lunch cop came over and said that my buddy had to go to the nurse's office to get her blood sugar checked, and the game was over.

After lunch I detoured to the house to inspect my calf. My jeans weren't torn, but when I examined my leg, I found that although the werewolf didn't break the skin, but he did pinch a dandy blood blister into my calf. I cleaned it up with alcohol, put antibiotic ointment on it, and covered it with a Band-Aid. I'm watching it closely. And I'm going to keep my eye on those werewolves and bats.

Ash Wednesday

2010-02-17T16:04:00.005-07:00

On Ash Wednesday, the nuns would herd their catechism classes in double file--boys in one line and girls in the other, with at least a foot of space in between for the Holy Spirit--from the parish hall to the church so that we could get ashes daubed on our foreheads. "Remember, man, that thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return," Father Shuler would mutter as he made the Sign of the Cross on our foreheads with his thumb. After a few minutes of prayer and reflection--preferably an Act of Contrition but more likely "Oh, man, I am so happy I don't have to spend 40 days fasting in the desert"--we'd hit the road and go back to class.

Back at the parish hall, one of the smart-ass boys would invariably ask Sister Mary Europeandasia, "Is it true what Father Shuler said? That we are dust and to dust we shall return?" And Sister Mary Europeandasia would say that it was true. Then the smart-ass would say, "Well, there's somebody under my bed either comin' or goin'!"

To the sound of muffled but moist and explosive nose laughs, Sister would escort the offender to sit with the girls, leaving a foot of space for the Holy Spirit between the perp and the girl next to him.

Then we'd have to stand up and tell what we were giving up or doing for Lent, what we were sacrificing to make up for the other 325 days of sinfulness. "I'm giving up homework!" one of the boys would say, and, without being told, we girls would scoot down the row so the little felon and the Holy Spirit could sit with us.

The lamest sacrifices were things like "I'm going to say extra prayers for the poor souls in Purgatory" or "I'm going to study my catechism harder." How will people know when you've slipped up? Saying that you're giving up watermelon or persimmons was just asking for it. And, of course, Sister's pets would say things like, "I'm going to go to daily Mass" or "I'm going to visit the elderly neighbor with the colostomy bag every day after school."

When I was a freshman in college, my friend Kris and I did indeed go to daily Mass during Lent at the St. Paul Newman Center (that is, the Newman Center dedicated to St. Paul, not the center dedicated to the star of Hud and Cool Hand Luke, who really is a saint, if you ask me). Every day Kris would push me through the swinging doors so that I hurtled into the sanctuary and looked more eager to attend Mass than I actually was.

We kept it up, though, and didn't miss a day, and on Easter Sunday, we could feel those halos just a-shinin' on our heads.

Ina and Minty, winning friends and influencing booksellers

2010-01-26T16:36:00.012-07:00

Ina, who has long held the American record for uninterrupted monotonic exposition in the novel, has just published a new book, yet another homage to her favorite author.

The latest practice among some of our local self-published authors, including Ina, is not selling their books in bookstores but holding day-long signings in the ice cream store; teaming up with each other in the bagel restaurant, where Ina snags diners who naively thought they could have a peaceful coffee and a nosh without fear of being accosted, and drags them by the wrists to meet the author; and sitting together in the wintry lobby of the Smith's supermarket in White Rock, among the stacks of ice melt, bales of firewood, and cranky, frozen shoppers who just want to pick up the eggs and get the hell back home to the fire and some hot cocoa before the storm hits.

You may sell some books that way and get to keep all the profits. But eventually you're going to come to the realization that people aren't going to say, "Hey, I just heard about the new Elizabeth Gilbert. What say we head down to the fro-yo parlor and pick up a copy?" You're going to have to go to a place that sells books as its primary commodity. You're going to have to go to a bookstore.

So Ina came into the store to discuss arrangements for her signing. Actually, she came in to tell me when, where, and how she'd be signing in my store, and she said that she'd be happy to invite her friend Minty as well.

Minty, another member of the writers' group, had written a children's book about 120 pages long and had it published by one of the companies that does printing on-demand and self-publishing. It's a beautiful paperbound book, physically much larger than the usual trade paperback, and priced to move at $34.00.

We had told Minty that the book wouldn't sell at that price except in her immediate circle of friends but that we'd buy copies from her at the standard industry discount. She blanched and clutched her head. "I spent six months of my life on that book! You can't ask for such a discount! I won't make a penny on it!"

I told her them's the breaks.

She sold a few in the fall. Eventually Minty had her publisher change the dimensions of the book from gargantuan to something that could be held in one hand, eliminated the 4-color cover and illustrations in favor of black and white, and changed the price to something that wouldn't require a reader to scrimp and save. Then she and Ina hit the ice cream store and the supermarket.

So, Ina told me, even though Minty had already done a signing at the store with the original version of the book, technically she wrote a new book because it was reformatted and cheaper. I said that Minty's book was not new, and that I was in charge of signings. No Minty.

Unfazed, Ina said that she'd take care of the press release and all the publicity for the event, and assured me warmly that she'd bring in some posters that we could display throughout the store. As usual, before she left, she turned all the copies of her books face out.

A few days later Minty came in. She stared balefully at the display of books by local authors and asked, "Where's my book then? I'm a local author."

I checked the inventory and told her that we were sold out. She said, "How can that be? I brought you a book in December."

She returned her gaze to the display. "I see that you classify this woman as a local author. I know for a fact that she lives in Santa Fe. Well, I guess your definition of local is quite, quite liberal then." She turned to me. "So why isn't Michael McGarrity here? He's from Santa Fe. And John Nichols is from Taos. I suppose you'd classify him as 'local,' too, then. Why didn't you put his books here?" She sighed. "It's a shame that books by true local authors aren't displayed here, isn't it?"

I'm looking forward to the return of Margaret Coel and Richard Rhodes to the store. They're really nice.

Minty and Ina hoping to sell their books on public transportation

Thanks, Ike

2010-01-05T13:59:00.010-07:00

Ike was a smiley dog.

He liked being with kids in the Lunch Buddies Program . . .

. . . and in Reading to Dogs.

Lynn (center) showed him in three shows, and he took best of breed in all three.

He liked to hop on the bed and sit on Michele.

Bobbie and I stepped out in the Dog Jog with our pups.

And for one brief moment at the geographical center of the contiguous United States, he was the center of the country.

Ike. July 2, 1994-January 5, 2010

The Victory Bar

2010-01-03T08:35:00.008-07:00

Yesterday I took a leisurely drive over to Las Vegas, New Mexico, on the old highway. I stopped at the little village of San Jose to look at the Plaza, then drove to the end of the road to look at the frozen Pecos River. Some calves thought I was going to feed them and ambled over to the fence to look pitiful and bawl.

I can haz kow treetz?

Las Vegas was pretty quiet. I drove around the neighborhoods where we used to live--911 Third Street, the houses on 8th Street, Melody Hall, Archuleta Hall--and I enjoyed a bus man's holiday at Tome on the Range, then walked up to the antique store on the Plaza to poke around a bit. A lunch of carne adovada, papitas, frijolitos pintos, and a tortilla at Estella's Cafe on Bridge Street made the day complete.

On the way back I stopped in Rowe and took some pictures of the Victory Bar.

"It's LUCKY when you live in America."

Late afternoon shadows on the door.

Peg's images of old door frames and door knobs. Collect 'em all!

Street fund and books, 2009

2010-01-01T09:33:00.005-07:00

You probably recall that I keep track of the money I find on the streets and the number of new books I read every year. Here's the summary for 2009.

Street fund

105 pennies
10 nickels
31 dimes
12 quarters

That's a cool $7.66. I didn't find any folding money, though. Nor did I find any Canadian coins; Marion, I can't take you for some ice cream. The grand total, 1997-2009, is $300.51.

Books

In 2009 I read 102 new books. I usually surpass my pre-owning-a-bookstore goal of 25 new books a year in mid April. I resolved in 2009 to read more literature in translation, and I accomplished that goal with eight books (my faves in blue):

Novels in Three Lines (Félix Fénéon), The Man Who Watched Trains Go By (Georges Simenon), and Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress (Dai Sijie), translated from French;
Club Dumas (Arturo Pérez-Reverte), The House of Bernarda Alba (Federico García Lorca), and The Angel's Game (Carlos Ruiz Zafón), translated from Spanish;
The Housekeeper and the Professor (Yoko Ogawa) and A-bomb Drawings by Survivors (Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum), translated from Japanese.

The best books I read in 2009 are

Arrival, by Shaun Tan, a beautiful wordless book about the immigrant experience;
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, by Jonathan Safran Foer, about the World Trade Center disaster and the search for family;
Watchmen, a richly textured and sophisticated graphic novel by Alan Moore;
Columbine, by Dave Cullen, about the Columbine High School shootings;
The Book of Genesis Illustrated, by R. Crumb; and
Suttree, by Cormac McCarthy; the first three pages are so beautifully written that I had to walk away from the book for a while.

What is the first book you'll read in 2010?

Where is human nature so weak as in the bookstore?--Henry Ward Beecher

Bagels and silliness

2009-12-25T12:26:00.004-07:00

Michele and I have breakfast at Ruby K's a couple times a week, and when we were in there earlier this week, we decided to get something sweet. I ordered one of their cinnamon rolls and brought it to the table, and the little guy (3 or 4 years old) next to us said, "That looks really good. You should dig in!" I said, "Your bagel looks really good, too." His mom said it was a chocolate chip bagel. I said, "Chocolate chip bagels rule!"

The little guy, whose name is Torson, said, "You're silly!" I told him that I wasn't silly and that I approached life with all the dignity and decorum that I could muster. He looked at me as if I didn't have mirrors in the house and reiterated his opinion that I'm silly. I said, "I'm not silly. You're silly. Aggle aggle aggle phthhhh bonka bonka bonka!" That confirmed my silliness to him. He leaped up and gave me a big hug.

Then he told me he had to go to the doctor to get a shot, but he wasn't scared, and afterwards, he was going to have some chocolate ice cream. "Whenever I have to get a shot, I get chocolate ice cream after the shot. That's the deal I worked out with my mom."

I said that it was a really good deal. He told me that he wasn't going to the doctor just to get a shot, either. He was going to to get his breathing checked. "I'm breathing really well now," he said, and, to show me, inhaled so deeply that his nostrils were little vertical slits. I invited him to come to the store after ice cream, and he gave me another big hug.

I like little kids. They're so at ease in the world, and they crack me up.

How to stay warm in teh winter

2009-12-13T10:32:00.007-07:00

by
FLICKER!

Oh, hai. Im FLICKER!

I tell u how to stay warm in teh winter. First, u must put u tummeh on 1 radiator. Put u pawz on teh other radiator. See? Itz easy.

Then if u wants to watch teh birdz and still have warm pawz and tummeh, u rests u chin on teh windowsill. U can also haz a nap!

Now u try.

My friends have new cameras

2009-12-07T16:41:00.004-07:00

My friends have new cameras.

Alan took a picture of me with his new iPhone. I was just watching him play with it and didn't know that he was taking a picture.

Our friend Katy took this picture of us with our new T-shirts on Saturday.

Cormac McCarthy's typewriter

2009-12-02T16:04:00.006-07:00

Cormac McCarthy is my favorite modern author. One of the happiest days of my life was August 26, 2005, when Michele and I saw him in the Border's bookstore in Santa Fe, and I approached him and introduced myself to him. We talked for about 10 minutes.

I've read all his books, and I think Blood Meridian and Suttree are masterpieces. The first three pages of Suttree are absolutely breathtaking. What would be cooler than owning his typewriter?

Christie's is auctioning his typewriter on Friday, and I've placed an absentee bid. I won't win it, of course, but it's fun to dream.

Cormac McCarthy is god.

Happy Thanksgiving!

2009-11-26T15:20:00.003-07:00

Happy Thanksgiving! I am thankful for my family and friends.

I'd like an elegant Shiraz that would complement a meal of mice, bugs, and a lizard

2009-11-22T13:07:00.010-07:00

Yesterday I went into Kelly Liquors on Juan Tabo in Albuquerque to look at the wine selection. As I turned the corner by the beer coolers, I saw a roadrunner calmly marching down the aisle, then stopping and looking with evident interest at the beer. It was very calm and seemed at home, so I asked the guy at the counter if the bird were a pet or a mascot. He misunderstood and said, "Yes, we have Roadrunner wine. Come this way." I said, "No, it's a real roadrunner. He's looking at the beer."

The whole staff surged over to the coolers, and the counter guy started whistling and saying, "Come here, birdie. Come on, let's go. Let's go, birdie." The woman at the counter and I whipped out our cell phones to take pictures. The roadrunner hopped up on the display of mixers. The counter guy asked, "How did he get in?" I said, "Your door is open. He walked in." The guy started whistling again at the roadrunner, which hopped off the display and walked down the aisle toward me. The woman with the cell phone started herding him toward the door, and the roadrunner went home without getting what he came in for.

"I'm not seeing any Shiraz from here."

"The beers look pretty tempting."

"Maybe a nice Chardonnay . . . ."

Official performance and procedural requirements for grain-weighing equipment and related grain-handling systems

2009-11-15T17:00:00.007-07:00

That is the name of a section of Title 7 of the Code of Federal Regulations, Agriculture. It is more fun to read than other things I could name.

You may remember that Ina asked me for a cover blurb for her latest novella. She brought me a manuscript to read, and I did indeed read about 20 pages before I had to take an antacid.

The book is going to press, and Ina needed the blurb. I knew that it had to be truthful and kind but that it couldn't make me complicit in her efforts. Here's what I came up with.

"Ina's intense love for Jane Austen shines on every page."

National security level is metallic green with hand-stitching and bamboo detail

2009-10-24T17:02:00.009-06:00

You know that I have always valued the safety of my colleagues and customers. And when I worked at a prestigious national laboratory, I took my job as the safety officer for my group seriously.

When I became the division environment, safety, and health officer, however, I was thrust into the rarefied world of Bureaucracy Safety, which bears no resemblance to reality as most of us experience it. That the Manhattan Project scientists did not have a formal safety program and relied on common sense had no bearing on present-day operations at the prestigious laboratory. It was enough to know back in 1944 that if you put your lips on a sphere of plutonium, you were asking for trouble, and if you were carrying the business end of a bomb, you'd go carefully with it if you loved your arms and legs.

As the division environmental officer, for example, I attended meeting after meeting on how our administrative operation could reduce its carbon footprint. The meetings were always held downtown, which necessitated using a vehicle, and we had reams of paper to read, reams of paper to write our environmental plans on, reams of paper with notes about our reams of paper. We had to explain in great detail why our administrative operations did not use solvents for removing aircraft hydraulic fluid. Irony was lost on the leaders of the meetings.

We had safety procedures for every imaginable operation. Need to change out the carboy in the water cooler? We had a procedure. Need to insert earplugs when the custodian was vacuuming? We had a procedure ("Do not insert the earplugs into your nostrils."). Need to dispose of a blade used to cut foam core? We had a procedure. Need to use some correction fluid? We had a procedure and a material safety data sheet. No trivial, everyday, ordinary act was so insignificant that the Powers That Be could not throw common sense out the window and create a thorough, detailed, multi-page procedure for doing it in a vain attempt to protect us from ourselves. Naturally, the people actually doing the jobs resented the procedures, and human nature being what it is, they looked for loopholes.

It put me in mind of when I was the municipal judge in Maxwell and had to enforce an ordinance that forbade tying your horse to anything that the horse could nibble on. "No horse shall be tethered, tied, fastened, bound, or trussed to any bush, shrub, tree, sapling, or sprout in such a way that the horse may feed on, eat, masticate, manducate, nibble, or chew on said bush, shrub, tree, sapling, or sprout." So if a person were hauled into municipal court because he tied up his horse at the mercantile and it ate the lilacs out front, he could get off without a fine because he could say he "lashed" his horse to the lilac, and it was "noshing" on the leaves. So the village council would revise the ordinance to include lashing and noshing and hoped that no one would "hitch" a horse in such a way that the horse could "munch." Things could get out of hand pretty quickly.

But I digress. After the attacks of September 11, the prestigious national laboratory instituted a policy to ensure that all bags, briefcases, luggage, purses, backpacks, and lunch buckets were affixed with ID tags with the owner's name and phone number on them. See, in addition to hating freedom, terrorists do not tag their bags. The bomb boys were afterwards regularly dispatched to "disrupt" somebody's untagged lunch bucket. (And yet when the casing of Fat Man was on a flat bed truck in our parking lot, did it turn anyone's head? Nooo-oooo-ooo.)

We had to evacuate a month or so ago because the County guys who were working on the roof of the museum next door had left an untagged cooler in front of the building. The street was cordoned off, the cops told us to evacuate the store, and the bomb boys were called. We were very excited about the prospect of watching them blow up--er, disrupt--the cooler, even though several people were hollering at the cops, "It's the County guys' soda! They're still on the roof. Ask 'em!" After standing out on the sidewalk for 45 minutes or so and explaining to our bemused visitors about laboratory safety, we were allowed to resume business. The bomb boys never showed, much to the disappointment of those of us who were anticipating an appearance by the little bomb-disrupting robot.

On Columbus Day, one of the folks from the museum next door came cantering into the store and said that they had a suspicious package and were evacuating the building. I asked what the package was. He replied, "It's a green purse in the ladies' room! You should evacuate!" I told him that purses left in restrooms aren't really so uncommon and that I'd evacuate when the cops or bomb boys told us to, but in the meantime, I wasn't closing because some visitor left her purse in the john.

Again the cops cordoned off the streets. Again the bomb boys didn't show. The museum guy came in to ask whether we knew the phone numbers of the museum director and safety guy, because nobody knew how to get hold of them. Meanwhile, the cops apparently opened the purse, found the owner's cell phone, called her husband, and made the world safe for democracy.

The museum visitors spent the whole time in the store, and we did land-office business for about an hour and a half.

Have you tagged your evening bag, m'dear?

Our invisible books are so popular that we've been out of them for a week.

2009-10-19T17:58:00.010-06:00

Saturday afternoon near closing time a visitor was wandering around in the graphic novels. I asked, "May I help you find something?"

She said, "I had a book on the history of Los Alamos, but I lost it. Do you have any books on Los Alamos?" I led her over to the atomic history section, which has garnered much praise from historians and scientists as one of the most extensive and complete collections on the topic in the country.

She stared at it moodily. "Is this all you have?" our visitor asked.

I told her, "No store can carry every single book that's ever been printed, but perhaps I can make a suggestion."

"Well, I had this book on the history of Los Alamos. Do you have any books on the history of Los Alamos."

I made a sweeping gesture. She was unimpressed. "Don't you have any books you don't have?"

I mulled that one over for a few seconds, and figured that trying to make sense of it would require some cold rags for the back of my neck. "Do you know the title or the author?"

"Well, it had the word history in the title, I think. And maybe the. Like The History of Los Alamos or something like that. You know the one?"

"I'm sorry, but I need more information than that."

She began to talk to me very slowly and loudly to make sure that I understood her. "I. WANT. A. BOOK. ABOUT. THE. HISTORY. OF. LOS. ALAMOS. AND. THE. HISTORY. OF. THE. SCIENTISTS! IT'S. A. BOOK. THAT. I. LOST. DO. YOU. KNOW. THE. ONE. I'M. TALKING. ABOUT?"

So I went back to the cash register and pulled up the inventory of books about Los Alamos with the word history in the title. Lots of books. I named the top five or so, but nothing rang a bell with her. "No," she said, "I think the book may have had the word Los Alamos in the title. Or maybe not. It was all about the history of Los Alamos and the history of the scientists, I know that for sure. Do you have any books on the history of the scientists?"

Another sweeping gesture at the biographies. "Do you remember the author?" I asked.

"No. But I think the book was about this big a-square," she said, holding out a copy of Standing by and Making Do so I could calibrate her request. "Do you have any books about this big a-square? About the history of Los Alamos? It had the history of the scientists, too, I'm pretty sure."

When in doubt, go to the cash register and check the inventory. "The closest I can come right now is Jon Hunner's Inventing Los Alamos. But we're out of stock right now."

"Oh, that's wonderful! Where is it?"

"Out of stock. I'd be pleased to order it for you."

"Is it about this big a-square?"

"Yes. It has a bluish-green cover."

"No, no, this book had a different color, I think. Or maybe not. Are you sure you don't have any books you don't have?"

No, this isn't the book I want. It's not this big a-square.

lagniappe, n. lăn'yəp: an extra or unexpected gift or benefit

2009-10-09T16:07:00.013-06:00

Last week I ordered a random original comic strip art from one of my faves, Barkeater Lake. It came yesterday.

And I got a lagniappe: enclosed in the package was a free pair of Toby, Robot Satan, socks, size men's 10-13. I can wear them on those cold winter nights.

And I'm still not finished

2009-10-05T14:05:00.016-06:00

Here are some images of the facelift of my home office. Fortunately, I don't have a "before" picture, because I would have sunk through the floor with embarrassment.

First I packed up everything in the office and staged it in the living room.

When the bookcases were empty, I cleaned them and staged them in the carport so that Fernando from Mountain School could come get them in his truck. Bookcases are a hot commodity in the public schools, and Fernando told me later that they disappeared immediately from his truck and then reappeared in the classrooms.

Here is the almost-empty room. The walls were off-white, and the ceiling was sort of beige.

I chose Valspar's "Ice Storm" for the ceiling and walls and "Capri Coast" for the accent walls. (I fixed the "holidays," so there's complete coverage.)

I think this is a more accurate representation of the colors.

I chose rustic Mexican iron for the closets and cupboards.

Here are two full bookcases. I put the inscribed books from various signings up on the top because I probably won't read them any time soon. Harry Potter is up there, too, because he takes up a lot of room, and I don't reread those frequently.

Years ago I picked up a cute iron bird in Madrid. It's made of pieces of farm implements. The rustic Mexican lamp has a "piña" design. The little cupboard is made from salvaged teak from the 2004 tsunami in the Indian Ocean.

Here is my bespoke rustic desk.

I also have kinetic sculpture in the room.

Radio Slack

2009-09-21T16:13:00.013-06:00

The laser printer in the office at the store has been jamming with increasing frequency. Last week Perry and I cleared a major jam by removing many key parts of the printer and fishing out the accordion-pleated paper, and yesterday Michele and I cleared another jam and found a scorched mailing label in its innards. This morning Alan was trying to print the replenishment report, and the printer seized up again, so I got out my handy screwdrivers and tongs, cleared the jam, tried to print a test page, and watched as the printer jammed again.

I gave it up as a bad job and decided to call the local computer place (you'd recognize the name immediately, because rhymes with "radio slack"). A sweet little dollie answered the phone.

"Hello, this is Radio Slack."

"Hi. This is P-doobie from Otowi Station Bookstore up the street. Do you repair laser printers?"

"I don't know."

"Well, perhaps you can check?"

"Yeah, hold on." After a long hold, a guy with that fascinating husky voice that's just short of asthma answered. "Hello?"

"Do you repair laser printers?"

"Yeah."

"This is P-doobie from Otowi Station Bookstore. Our printer keeps jamming, possibly because a scorched self-adhesive label may be in there. May I bring ours down so you can take a look at it?"

Heavy sigh. "Well, I don't have any time today, but if you bring it down right now, I'll look at it."

So I gathered up the printer, drove the two blocks to Radio Slack, wrestled the printer out of the back seat, and, carrying the printer in both hands, approached the door. Two workers inside watched as I tried to open the door. When I finally got inside by dint of some intricate footwork, kicking, and using my elbows, one of them said, "May I help you?"

"Well, not anymore." The comment was lost on him. "I called a few minutes ago about getting my printer repaired."

"Who did you talk to?"

"He didn't identify himself."

"Well, it wasn't me."

I thought, "Three people are working in the store. You say I didn't speak to you, and the dollie is out of the running because she's female, so maybe, just maybe, the guy standing in the back is the person I talked to. And we really need to talk about whether you were ever dropped on your head as a child." Meanwhile, my fingers were cramping and the printer wasn't getting any lighter. The guy pointed to the back. "Go talk to Joe," he said, and walked away.

I heaved the printer onto the counter and Joe shuffled over. "I spoke to you a few minutes ago about repairing a laser printer."

"Did you call?"

"Yes, I did. I told you that my laser printer keeps jamming."

"When did you call?"

"This morning. About five minutes ago."

"I don't repair printers."

"Then why—"

He tried to lift the top off by tugging hard on the output bin. Nothing happened, so he tried harder, then asked, "How did you get the top off?" I told him that we didn't take the top off; we worked from the back. "Oh," he said. "Well, you should go to Santa Fe. Maybe somebody down there can help." He shuffled back to his work bench.

I hope nobody comes in and asks for help today.

Ina rides again or "Oh, lord, what have I done?"

2009-09-14T16:15:00.005-06:00

I have written previously about my interactions with the always impressively bonkers Ina, the local author and relentless self-promoter.

Last month she seemed to be unclear on the concept of authorship; she is, however, absolutely clear on the concept of chutzpah. Indeed, she redefines it. She was in the store before the signing with Rick Rickman, the Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer and author of the book The Wonder Years: Portraits of Athletes Who Never Slow Down, and leafed through the book with evident interest. "I don't see my picture in here," she said. "I'm a senior athlete, and my picture isn't in here." I told her that most of the athletes were from California, where Rickman lives. "Well, I'll give him a picture of me from one of my races, and he can put it in his next book."

One of the things I've learned from reading authors' manuscripts is that ~~I often have to lie down and apply cold rags to my head afterwards~~ if the authors can't maintain a consistent tone, point of view, plot, characterizations, chronology, etc., they call their work a "spoof," even though the work is neither parody nor satire. Or funny.

And so it is with Ina, the Jane Austen fan. She has "spoofed" Persuasion, and her latest is a novella "spoofing" Northanger Abbey. She was in the store last week and asked, in hushed, conspiratorial tones, if I'd do her a favor. I replied, against my better judgment, that I'd do my best. She told me about her newest book and wants me to write a cover blurb (!!!!!) for it because a) I'm a published author myself and b) I'm a noted bookseller. I thought, "This is gonna take more than cold rags." I said, "Let me see the book, and I'll let you know." I thought, "Dear God, what have I done?!"

That evening she came to the store with the manuscript taped securely in an opaque plastic bag and asked the evening staffers to make sure I got it. The next morning she called and asked, "Have you read it yet?" I said that I had just come into the office, so of course I hadn't read it. "Oh. Well. No hurry, no hurry." She calls once a day, asks whether I've read it, and always assures me that she's in no hurry.

I have learned a lesson from all this. I will no longer read manuscripts, especially if they're "spoofs." If I even think about doing so, I'll call you, and you can come over with a two-by-four and commence to beatin'. I'd do the same for you.