- ah, back to work. It was okay for the first 30 minutes and then my chipper attitude (coffee, baby) came crashing down around my toes. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder, as long as customers insist on being, um, can we say, "creative?"

Setting: The Customer Service Desk at a large, bland corporate bookstore.

FIERCELY EARNEST and URGENT ODD WOMAN (brandishing large book in SARAH's face): Excuse me -- I bought this at [toy store]. Is it a children's dictionary?

(SARAH glances at cover of book, not difficult because it is mere inches from her nose, sees that title of book in question reads CHILDREN'S DICTIONARY in bright primary colors.)

SARAH (v. confused but attempting jovialness): ...well, that's what the cover says!

FEaOW: Yes, but my son's teacher said they are supposed to get a children's dictionary. It is supposed to have pictures. (pause) I didn't pay much for this one.

SARAH takes book and opens it.

SARAH: Yes, well, it has pictures.

FEaOW: But is it all right for my son?

SARAH: Um, I don't know what his teacher wanted specifically...what grade is he in?

FEaOW: First, but he reads at a second grade level and is very smart. [BTW: ALL parents tell me this about their children. All except the ones coming in for CliffsNotes.]

FEaOW: [Blah blah blah - lots of other irrevelant comments and repeats of information all ready given -- Blah.]

SARAH: How about I show you what we have?

FEaOW: Okay.

SARAH leads FEaOW to Children's Dictionary Section.

SARAH: These shelves hold all the dictionaries we have for kids.

FEaOW stares and mumbles. Two children wrestle and scream on the floor behind her.

SARAH (holding out a book): Here is a pretty good children's dictionary. Or, this DK one looks alright. Or we have picture dictionaries -- is that what you want?

FEaOW: I want one he can take to school and one to keep at home. I want one that will last all through his schooling.

SARAH: Well, picture dictionaries are more for kindergarteners and children learning to read. They are very simple.

FEaOW: My son is in first grade but he's very smart and reads at a second grade level.

SARAH: Hmm, yes...a regular children's dictionary will probably work until fourth grade or so; kids deal with more complex words after that. Here is a Primary Dictionary -- that would work for first grade. Then a Student or Intermediate Dictionary would be the next step up.

FEaOW: I want a dictionary that will last through first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth.

SARAH: I think you'd need a regular dictionary for that.

FEaOW: Where are those? Are they good for kids?

SARAH: No, they are more for adults.

FEaOW: He's an advanced reader.

SARAH (surreptitiously glancing at watch): I think it might be too hard.

FEaOW: Oh, well, his teacher said to get a children's dictionary with pictures.

SARAH: ...

FEaOW: ...hmmm.

SARAH: If I were you, I'd just get this one. If the teacher wants something else, you can return it, no problem.

FEaOW: You pick one out.

SARAH (thrusts the first book she found at FEaOW): You're welcome.

- for me, at least, that a place never feels even vaguely like HOME until one returns from a significant absence. (Sig. absence defined as at least a week, preferably longer) So I can now claim the Alabama house (not Alabama as a whole, just the house) as HOME. This means it felt good to walk through the door and see my stuff and switch Modes. You see, last night I switched from Daughter Mode back to Individual Mode. Individual Mode includes such perks as Not Dependent on Others for Transportation and Own Bathroom, but also cons: Working for Very Little Money and Buy/Cook Own Food.

I took 83 photos on my trip and will eventually get the decent ones up, but here's a shot from the coast. Amazing amazing amazing -- I missed it so much. Most of my visit was spent vigorously inhaling the salty air.

I'm back in Oregon for a short while and it is lovely. Well, the part about my luggage not making the connection at Atlanta was not lovely, but other than that, I've no complaints. I spent part of my first day here on Hawthorne and lunched at Bread and Ink and headed down to Global Exchange and picked up a couple pounds of Nossa Familia coffee, stopped in for a quick browse at Powell's (I limited myself to ONE book) and finished up at Pastaworks for some fancy beer and chocolate. It had to be a quick trip, skipping several shoppes, for the benefit of my bank account, but it was satisfying. Plus I'm going back later.

Saturday, I told my parents I'd make them dinner – as long as they popped for the ingredients. The menu included such delights as my White Bean Dip with Crostini, Roasted Sesame Pork Tenderloin, spinach salad (with bacon!), sticky rice, vegetable stir fry, and an Amity Vineyards Willamette Valley Oregon Pinot Blanc. Very tasty.

It reveals maybe too much about my personality that Saturday's activities consisted of a visit to my local library. I've ranted about the poor quality of my Alabama library here before, so it was with great joy that I was set free upon a Well-Funded and Admirably Stocked Library System, reemerging with an overflowing armful of books! Hooray!

Wow. I thought I'd heard poor requests before ("I'm looking for a book, it is light green"). I was incorrect.

ACTUAL ALABAMA BOOKSTORE PHONE CALL

ME: Happy holidays from [ugly nameless corporate bookstore]! Can I help you?

NEVER SEEN the INSIDE of a BOOKSTORE (jolly): I sure hope so! I need to get a book for my daughter for Christmas. It's fiction.

ME (hands poised over keyboard): All right, what's the title?

NStIoaB: I need the new fiction book.

ME: ....okay, do you know who wrote it?

NStIoaB: It's the new fiction book, everyone wants to read it. It has a lot of syllables in the title. I know the author's last book was a thousand pages or something. It had a lot of syllables, too.

ME: Do you know part of the title?

NStIoaB: No, see, it's the new fiction book. My daughter said any big bookstore should have it and it would be out in front because it's really popular. On a display, maybe.

ME: Okay, do you know anything about the author?

NStIoaB: No, but there are a lot of syllables in the title and the author's last book was over a thousand pages.

ME: Well, ma'am, I really need a title or author to find the book. We have a lot of books.

NStIoaB: Oh.

ME: Thousands of books are published every year...I need some sort of information to find a particular one.

NStIoaB (disappointed): Well, shoot. I'll just have to ask her.

ME: Sorry about that -

NStIoaB: Thank you. Bye-bye.

ME: Good luck.

In other news, yes, we accept Capital One cards (well, sir, we accept the little MasterCard on the corner of your card) we don't have an airplane section, and we cannot give you sixty gift cards with $1.00 on each for your daycare kids no matter how cute it would be for them all to spend a dollar at the bookstore, as it is below the minimum for a card and we don't have anything that costs a buck or less anyhow. Sorry.

And YES, if you are rude and make a big stink because the bookstore doesn't carry all of Robert Silverberg's sci-fi books ("It's ANNOYING!" stomp stomp stomp out the door), the entire staff will discuss and rate your bitchiness on a scale of 1-10 and at your age, (late 30s) you should exhibit better manners, lady.

I'm glad I had a They Might Be Giants podcast to listen to, as it restored my sanity. Who can go wrong with "Turtle Songs of North America?" Soooo hysterical.

(D -- the Tudlow turtle reminds me of the twins. Dirt?"

The last few days have been the sort where I never feel caught up with the world whirling around me. Work is sucking all all my juices and leaving me deflated...I'm so glad to be heading to Oregon soon. A chain of quiet, uninterrupted hours on a plane sounds very attractive right now.

However, a recent email made me laugh and reminded me that I do have options:

I’m sorry to hear that your work at the bookstore is uninspiring. Get the hell out of there. Haven’t you gotten your teaching license yet? Get your ass on the sub list where ever you can and tell those [insert bookstore name here] sons of bitches where they can stick it. If all else fails take heart from Bono and “don’t let the bastards drag you down.”

Thanks, Brian.

This is what we wore to the Holiday Party. We were more dressed up than almost anyone else there -- some people even wore sweatshirts and tennis shoes.

The food was good, Bruce won a $400 gift certificate in a party-wide scavenger hunt during which a woman ran into him and fell smack down on her back and I managed to go the whole evening without snagging my stockings...except a little when I put them on, but luckily they didn't run.
I also got to wear my sparkly bracelet that I bought in Boston and have NOT worn ever! Yay!

I'll post photos of me in the dress this weekend, but here is detail of the beaded purse; the inset is from my dress -- it's alternating layers of shiny and matte silk.

Don't know if I'm going to wear a choker or long beads.

Today I went out in search of a dress for a Holiday Party Bruce is taking me to -- at his place of employ. There's a 20s theme and the second dress I tried on went home with me. Also found a small beaded clutch and will craft a manner of headdress this week. I may also chop off my hair to fit the era.

I made tandoori-marinated wild snapper for dinner, paired with brown basmati rice and a cucumber raita. T'was delicious.

Too bad I moved away from everyone before I had much time for cooking and found out I really like it.

All I want for Christmas is a spring form pan, a spring form pan, a spring form pan...


...and a mortar, as my pestle has been alone for years now. How does one lose a big carven chunk of marble?

Okay, I want everything Princeton Architectural Press has out right now.

Would also settle for these or these (ooh, free shipping!), seen here in real life.

Sigh.

I spent a little time today helping a college-age guy with some Dostoevsky. He wanted the "best" translation of Crime and Punishment so I gave him my spiel on that topic and he said it helped. About 15 minutes later he asked me where the language books were. I showed him and he said thank you, then asked where I was from.

"Oregon."

"Oh. I thought you were an Eastern European."

Was it how I said "Dostoevsky?" Was it my serious demeanor? My stricken, pain-filled eyes? My stark black clothing? My severe, low-to-the-nape ponytail? I do not know.

Furthermore, I even threw in a vaguely British phrase about "popping back in for an exchange if needed." Pip pip.

Or perhaps that's just what PNW'ers sound like to Alabama natives.

До свидания!!

Starting in January, Stanford is serializing Sherlock Holmes as the stories originally appeared in The Strand Magazine. Kristin told me about this last year, when they were doing Dickens, but I didn't subscribe in time to get hardcopies. Today's MobyLives Radio mentioned the new program.

It hit me the other day that there are no hippies here.

Does that seem odd? It shouldn't, but I never thought of it before. Earthy types certainly don't fit in with a typical vision of The South.

But discounting your full-fledged hippies, there are no granola-y or outdoorsy types. No roof racks on cars, no bike racks, no kayaks, no I'm-outside-every-weekend-rain-or-shine people. No rainbows on cars (plenty of Bush stickers, though), no Gore-Tex, no fleece vests.

I saw a (white) guy with dreadlocks at the indie coffeeshop one time. That's all. I wanted to go up and ask him where he bought his organic wine and TVP but I didn't.

Bass boats, yes. Big-ass RVs, all the time. Both with college football flags and magnets and stickers covering all surfaces.

There was a bit on the radio about a granola group from the West Coast who opened up a free food kitchen down in Mississippi for hurricane people. The locals ate gladly, but it took a while to accept The Hippies. There's a sound bite from a mom:

"Yeeeah, ain't it neat? They're so cute! My kids'll be lookin' and everything and I'll just like, well, baby, that't just the way it, they do. They're from...California over there and they're out here helping the public. And they say, yes ma'am."

Q: Who visits a big-box corporate bookstore on Thanksgiving Day?

A: Everybody and their dog. And their screaming crying running all over children on cell phones who make messes and throw things on the floor but of course the parents don't clean it up; they are too busy reading People and Maxim and The Idiot's Guide to Sex, all of which get left on the floor or stuffed in next to Curious George Goes to the Hospital.

They came not so much for the books as to buy coffee and use the bathroom and ask stupid questions, like, "Where are the Jane Austen books? Why are there so many different versions of Pride and Prejudice? Which one is best?"

This job is seriously making me hate the general public. I admit -- I was naive; I thought the majority of adults had a basic understanding of books, or at least could tell fiction from non. Hell, all the students I taught came out of my class knowing the basics, like how books are shelved according to the author's last name and what a genre is. Hell, my Boston students learned the difference between mass market and trade paperbacks. I told them to flaunt that knowledge at a bookstore, asking if a particular book was available in a trade paperback instead of mass market or hardcover, whatever, and freak out the employees. They are the few, the well-read, the knowledeable.

Here -- and I don't know how much is due to this being The South; I do find some of the stereotypes hold some truth -- I encounter so many unbelievably lazy/dull people trying to get as much as possible for as little as possible -- and thinking they deserve it all with a tireless smile from me. Treating the store like a crappy-ass library and browsing stacks of books then leaving everything out on the tables, floor, wrong section, etc. (mostly this is real estate & business books, comics and manga, and then marathoners; I don't know why runners don't buy their damn books) (I wish the books had call numbers; it would make reshelving so much faster) or getting pissed off when the store doesn't have the books they NEED for their paper/research project/whatever-the-hell-it's-due-TOMORROW!!! or because they can't use the computer to search for books. This isn't a reference desk. I had a woman walk away in the middle of my explanation when we didn't have some obscure books about a supreme court justice (and I know how to search the database) because I said she could not come behind the counter and search herself.

I've lost count of the times I've advised people to use the library -- it is free! You don't have to complain about the prices of the books! You CAN read the newspaper without buying it and the employees won't hate you! They have LOTS of stuff! It's easy! I either get a blank look or they say, "I never thought of that! Okay!" And this insults me as a former librarian and obsessive weekly patron, that people think libraries are only for children, moms and the elderly. And the creepy men who use them for watching porn online, but that's another issue. Those same creepy men come in and read for hours in the Sexuality section and buy eight porno mags at a time on bright Sunday mornings.

Speaking of moms, (a ways back now) yesterday I saw a woman bite her child's hand when the 5-year-old touched something on the checkout counter. In the middle of paying for her books, she snatched up his hand and chomped down on it until he cried. I hope that kid gets rabies or something from her filthy mouth.

I'm tired of the loud and endless cell phone coversations and the Nextel walkie-talkie exchanges and the levels of rudeness people dump on me because I have an apron on with a store name embroidered across the front -- which some people think I wear for style reasons and not because I work there. "Do you work here?" P a u s e. "Yeeees, I do." I cannot decide if that is worse than people snapping their fingers and/or whistling for my attention or not.

To continue my rant, if I spend five minutes making your 20oz chocolate caramel latte to your exact & anal specifications, it would be nice for some change to hit the bottom of the tip jar.

So.

I got to work the closing shift today. No holiday pay or bonus because I'm under 30 hrs/wk (I'm at a regular 29). The store closed at 9pm (instead of the regular 11pm) but no one took this seriously and we had to go around to the people who were selectively hearing the announcements and tell them MULTIPLE TIMES that the store was closed and they had to leave. Leave now. Why are you even here? Go digest your turkey and watch some football. GO HOME.

My first turkey-less Thanksgiving. Wonderful.

P.S. -- So as not to end this on a wholly negative note, you know who my favorite customers are? The four or five gay men who come in once a week or so (not together -- these are separate customers) to get their magazines and a book or two. They are all polite and intelligent. The younger ones will say something sassy to me sometimes. They never piss me off or make me feel like shit. I love them.

I decided to try out the brownie recipe in my CHOW magazine today. A complete and utter success; I don't give them more than two days before the entire pan is devoured.

Click on the photo for delightful NOTES. Pay no attention to the gin in the upper right hand corner. I was drinking hot spiced cider interspersed with shots of espresso today.

Final delectable image found here.

I've not been blogging because I've been reading and trying to get a handle on the various paperwork piles currently threatening my desk and the floor of my room. The past year has been one where I never really got on top of things and have always been trailing behind, chasing after my goals &/or desires and flailing my arms about, crying, "Wait for me! Wait for me!"

The result of such living is always feeling rushed and never accomplished. So I need to slow down and take stock of where I am and what I am doing. Revamp some things and toss others.

I sincerely thought I'd have more going for me at 28.

Bruce's photo of me taking this photo.

Keaton cannot bear not to know what is going on around him. This is especially a problem in the kitchen because he can't see the counters. At the Nebrasky house, this problem was solved by having a tall bar chair available for his viewing pleasure. The kitchen here isn't quite arranged for such things. He usually sits in the middle of the kitchen floor and yowls; he best likes to be carried as I go about my food business, getting an up close and personal view of the show, but not all acts are meant to be done single-handedly and cat hair can be a problem.

It makes me laugh when he gives up and just takes a seat on one of the counter chairs to watch, as in the above photo, just his little head peeking over. I half expect him to ask me to fry two and let the sun shine and how about a cuppa joe?

TODAY:
I drove behind a vinegar tank truck.

I recommended that great chicken piccata recipe to a librarian (if she doesn't like it, I may lose library privileges).

I filled up my tank for $2.09/gal.

I bought Home Movies Season Three. (!!!)

And I discovered I have more Diana Wynne Jones books than anyone else on LibraryThing.

***Hm. On that page, it says I have 41 books. My personal library page says I own 60, and another page lists 55. I think my duplicate copies have something to do with it. How I love her. Ah.

Alabama's foliage has very little to compare to Massachusetts -- or Oregon, for that matter. The trees fall (ha ha) into two categories: dead brown leaves or a dark dull red.

Bruce and I drove to Lake Martin (reservoir) on Friday to see what was there. It's a great place for fishing but didn't have much in the hiking or wildlife area. We saw a turtle swim out from under the dock and a whole lotta baby fish, but no birds except a crow.

It's still warm, but I was able to turn off the air conditioning. Windows are open.

Home Movies Season Three is out this week!!

Oy!, originally uploaded by arahsae.

Man, he has pretty eyes.

I forgot to mention how wonderfully that Italian dinner I embarked on turned out: shockingly good, like, I couldn't believe it came from my kitchen.

The white bean dip was incredible. The chicken piccata, utterly delectable and the smashed parmesan potatoes a lovely backdrop.

I'll share my version of the white bean dip here -- we had it with crostini (fancy lingo for toasted baguette slices).

In a food processor (or blender, which takes forever but works) toss the following:

1 can drained and rinsed cannellini beans
1/4 cup fresh parsley leaves
2 T fresh lemon juice
1 large garlic clove
1/2 t salt
1/4 t pepper

Blend away until somewhat smooth, then add 1/3 cup of olive oil and puree until creamy.

Garnish with a sprig or two of parsley and some more salt and pepper.

This is a filling appetizer and mmmm so good.

Off to work -- ick.

I hate hate hate Wal-Mart and refuse to shop there (something many people back in Nebraska and here in Alabama don't really understand) and now there's a movie about it -- The High Cost of Low Price.

Wait a minute -- I have to take some of that back, as there are a bunch of screenings here. Yay!

I seem to have lost my cookie sheets in one of my three moves of the past couple years.

That's sad -- it means I haven't made cookies since Boston.

I do have my muffin tin, but come on -- even Bruce has a muffin tin. (I don't know why. He doesn't like muffins or cupcakes nor has he ever made any.) Also he has a loaf pan. That's okay; he does lots of loafing about, ha ha.

In truth, Bruce has better and more kitchen equipment than anyone else I know except my mom and he doesn't cook anything unless it has cheese and/or tomato sauce in and takes less than five minutes. He also overcooked and burned everything (witness poor condition of Calphalon cookware) until I showed him The Way. Now he makes kickass (read: not reduced to basic carbon structure) bacon.

My former goal at 43 Things, try a new recipe once a month (worth doing!) had a big effect on my cooking (not baking -- I'll have to work on that). Last night was a Nepalese curry that required twenty minutes of dicing potatoes (five cups) but turned out delicious. I adore curry.

I picked up Everyday Italian at the library yesterday (randomly. what, you think I have cable?) and will attempt the following menu for tomorrow night:

+ White Bean Dip with Pita Chips (an appetizer?! wowee!)
+ Smashed Parmesan Potatoes (the smashing is the fun part, and I get bonus points for using up the bag of potatoes from last night's dish; I never buy potatoes)
+ Chicken Piccata (a main dish with meat! yowza!)

Three items is rather ambitious, and I know they won't be ready at the same time, but they are simple and as long as I have a glass of shiraz I should be fine. It just means we'll be eating at 8.30 even though I'll shoot for 7.30.

I miss the Boston dinner parties Dana and I had. Flaming cabbages. Dana's apple tart. Susan's real hash browns. The great taste in alcohol all our friends had. Mmm -- D's ginger martinis. I need to craft a batch of those.

PS - Cool new food magazine: CHOW. They advertised in my beloved ReadyMade and after picking up the current issue for $3.95 (they have Cuban recipes, Dana; you should get it) I'm probably going to subscribe. It's so hipster yummy delicious and I learned the whys and hows about salting water for pasta; you SHOULD. Now if someone can just explain salted vs non-salted butter to me, I'm set.

PPS - This was sposed to be a short and quippy entry about cookie sheets.

Oh yeah -- I thought of a Talent (see below)!!! Sally (here and here, too) and I can do our dance routine complete with around the waist spins! (Keaton doesn't like to dance with me, though he'll watch for five minutes or so.)

If cats aren't allowed, I'd have to pull some sort of Haley Mills/Parent Trap hologram thing and learn guitar. I can sing that song, yay yay yay.

Red Earth, originally uploaded by arahsae.

The ground here really is red -- some places look almost bloody. Yet another item to add to my Alabama is Weird list.

I realized yesterday that I never posted about the Junior Miss Pageant (they call it a PROGRAM, but really, who are they fooling?). I'm sure this has kept you awake at night, but you were just too polite to complain. So let me enlighten you.

When Bruce suggested going, I first thought he was joking. I'm against pageants as a rule, for all the standard reasons about how they objectify women/girls etc. Frankly, instead of all the parading, dancing, gymnastics, singing and elocution, I'd rather see the girls duke it out for the scholarship money. Natural selection and all, with the smartest and strongest winning.

That's not what happened, though there was lots of crying and yelling. And hugging, ever so much hugging.

Bruce wasn't too keen on going himself, but he wanted to be supportive of one of his friends whose daughter had entered. I figured it would be cruel of me to make him go solo and I could treat it as part of my Southern Education.

We drove to the local high school and were met at the door by a smiling lady in fancy dress clutching programs ($5) and tickets ($10 per person).

"TEN BUCKS?!" I exclaimed to Bruce. "That's criminal!" No honey, that's showbiz, said the look in the lady's eye. He paid and, determined not to feel bad about my basic jeans and sweater (I'd talked Bruce out of wearing slacks and a dress shirt), we entered the gym/auditorium.

Hand-painted butcher paper posters crowded the walls, advertising support for Leann and Mercedes and Katie Ann (of course there were an equal number of posters for each contestant to prevent hard feelings). Parents and students milled around. Bruce found his friend's family and we sat down. He borrowed a program and so began the dialog of sarcastic comments that flowed from our mouths all evening long.

Of the eleven girls competing, only one wanted to go to an out-of-state college. That one was also the only contestant that didn't have a Glamour Shot photo nor typos in her summary nor syrupy sweet "advertisements" from Sissy or Mom and Daddy in the back (Luv you baby girl! [insert bible quote about love here]). She was Our Girl, Bruce's friend's daughter, and the only person I gave actual applause to. Also, she was not an Alabama native, having grown up in a number of places as an Air Force brat. She blew everyone else away, literally high-kicking their asses into the wings. (Bruce didn't see her as the type that would go for such things, being a nice, intelligent, REAL person, but hey -- if you can dupe the locals for free money...)

Before the actual show started, twenty (!) minutes were devoted to outlining the lives of the judges in detail, from their Junior Miss backgrounds, prior judging experience, business ventures (present and of olde), dancing skills and husbands' career choices. Then their children had to stand up and wave.

The curtain finally lifted and, among sparkly stars taped to the backdrop, the contestants did a little song and dance and introduced themselves in loud, confident voices. The sound system sucked, so it was kind of sad looking. The whole thing tended toward the pathetic instead of glamorous, despite the shiny and/or ruffled dresses and moderately high heels. Come on -- it's a high school gym, cold and drafty and full of folding chairs. This isn't the Sydney Opera House.

Now the categories, the meat of the pageant, began:

+ Poise (15% of overall score) -- Judges evaluate a contestant's demeanor, sense of style and speaking ability.

The most painful part of the show, first because obviously the Junior Miss Pageant tries to redeem itself with a Question of Merit that shows Support of Women and then because three of the girls choked.

The Question (that they got two hours before showtime):
Women today face a lot of pressure from the media about their looks. In your opinion, are dieting and extensive plastic surgery okay or not?

Oh, I wonder what the "right" answer is! What would a true Baptist Southern Belle say?

One failure of the program is that the contestants do a rehearsal of each section of the show -- this means answers get stolen. This happened to Our Girl, who had the sense to reserve a completely different answer for the real show. Everyone else's answer (those who didn't stand gaping at the microphone like deer in a redneck's high beams, I mean) either quoted the bible (the exact same quote) or said, "God made us in His image and we should love ourselves." All except the first girl, whose answer was, "Both."

+ Talent (25% of overall score) -- Judges evaluate a contestant's performing arts talent presented on stage in front of an audience.

This was interesting. Had several poor singers trying to do Mariah Carey songs, a dramatic monologue that lacked drama, rather fun clogging, a crappy hip-hop dance with a chair, a ballet-ish display choreographed by the girl's grandma, and a jazz routine that made every other contestant look like a hillbilly. Real dancing! Yay!

+ Fitness (15% of overall score) -- Judges evaluate a contestant's overall conditioning during a choreographed aerobic routine.

Something of a dance/aerobics bit to music with pushups and high knees and lots of smiling and arm pumping.

Two categories are decided before the pageant:
+ Scholastics (20% of overall score) -- Judges evaluate a contestant's high school academic record.

Apparently grades used to be worth a higher percentage, but people complained.

+ Interview (25% of overall score - done before pageant) -- Judges evaluate a contestant's personality, how she may react in new situations, her maturity, and her ability to express herself.

After much deliberation in a back room, during which the emcee shared the great and wonderful history of the Junior Miss Pageant, the judges came out and awarded five of six categories (there were some awards for Best Exhibitor of the Junior Miss Spirit and such) to Our Girl, including the Title, and there was much rejoicing. I even got to hold the pewter plates for a moment while she was whisked to the back for an interview with the newspaper and a talking-to about What It Means to Be a Junior Miss County Winner (no other competitions, no naked photos, etc.)

Bruce and I agreed that one of the creepiest parts of the show was watching the dads watch their daughters (and other teenage girls) up on stage in sexy dresses and skimpy costumes, prancing around and smiling to show how worthy they are of Poise! and Talent! and Fitness! points! Look at me, look at me!

Having just read Lolita a few weeks ago...it was most uncomfortable.

Whew! And I didn't even mention the Little Sisters, high school juniors whose sole duties are to scream encouragement for their Junior Miss Competitor Big Sister ("I love you Annie Mae! You are awesome!") and zip up their dresses. Oh, they also made the posters I mentioned in the beginning and are expected to compete in the pageant next year.

Our Girl gave us the skinny on another girl getting yelled at by her coach for flubbing the Poise portion ("Poise is EVERYTHING, DAMMIT!!!"). She burst into tears and ruined her makeup.

If you've seen Drop Dead Gorgeous, you know exactly what it was like. Just substitute Southern accents for the Minnesotan ones.

I've gotten sucked in. I'm hopeless. I cannot but give in and catalog all my books.

I tried Bibliophil, but found it wanting. Too many bugs, rotten format.

But LibraryThing, ah! Lots of cool things with that: easily searchable indices, lots of importing options, tagging, recommendations based on other people's libraries, writing and reading reviews, the ability to borrow entry info from worldwide libraries and Amazon. It is better than All Consuming as far as completeness goes, though I wish both sites had some sort of easy rating system. Unlike All Consuming, there is space to ask questions of other users.

So here I sit, typing in ISBNs to my heart's desire. Check out my library so far. I'm finishing up the C's and haven't done much in the tagging department.

There are decisions to be made, however. Do I go with Library of Congress versions whenever possible? Those only mark first editions, of which most of my books are NOT. What about books without recognized book numbers? -- the paperbacks of olde, like my ancient Tarzan of the Apes? And for others, do I go with the photo that matches my cover, even if the ISBN is different? What about paperback vs hardcover listings?

Really, I don't think I need to worry about correct ISBNs except for my small press and signed first editions. For everything else, I'd rather have a matching cover image than the exact year & publishing info. That can be faulty, too -- all my Collier paperbacks are coming up as SimonPulse, nevermind that SimonPulse was not around in 1986 when the paperbacks were published.

An imperfect science, I spose.

One more thing -- what to do about story collections? Catalog by title (which I think is Right, but I hate that) or by editor (which I do on my own bookshelves)? Comments?

Off to slave for the corporate giant --

I got in trouble tonight with a customer for not lying about what kind of day I was having.

It was the first time I wanted to take someone outside and physically maim them. Okay, okay -- the first time at this job.

More tomorrow - I'm beat.

I picked up a quirky little book at a library book sale a while ago, Good Handwriting & How to Acquire It. I paged through it today and found an answer to a question that has always bothered me -- where did lower-case letters come from? Especially in the case (ha ha) of D, where the smaller one faces the opposite direction from the capital, causing widespread confusion for schoolchildren everywhere?

And who knew the question mark evolved from the capital Q? That's fascinating!

Again, I'm a dork; I know.

If you haven't read Anansi Boys yet, go beg, buy or borrow a copy now. You can read the first chapter on Neil's site or listen to it here.

So good.
Made my top five of the year easily.
Ah.

I was primed for getting outside and enjoying the Real Fall Weather on Saturday, to the point where I woke up early and couldn't go back to sleep. Careful consideration in the Hiking Alabama book led me to choose a trail that ended at the Flagg Mountain Lookout Tower. The book listed it as moderate in difficulty, taking about three hours for a 6.4 mile round trip jaunt. Perfect! I bought some trail mix, filled the CamelBak and scoped the drive out on a map.

Bruce navigated us through land populated with Baptist churches but very few signs of civilization beyond the occasional trailer. We have yet to discover who attended all these churches; I like to think the people creep out of the hills on Saturday nights, bringing potluck and singing songs, but that's my Northern stereotyped self showing.

We eventually found ourselves winding through an old farming community, replete with run-down sheds and rusty tractors. The guidebook explained we would cross a one-lane bridge. We did, noting that it didn't always keep the water at bay as good bridges should.

Over the bridge and around a hairpin turn, past a field, a brick house and another trailer, we encountered three scruffy teenaged youths in camo pants lurking right at the old logging road that signified the trailhead. They edged aside, slowly, peering into the car (don't make eye contact, don't make eye contact) (I'm such an unsociable city girl) and we continued down the narrow road. The road narrowed further, practically disappearing under fallen leaves.

"You think that was the trail back there?" I asked Bruce.

"Yes."

"Mmmm."

I kept driving.

Maybe they were just drinking beer in the woods, I thought, and now they're going to go into the house and play computer games until lunchtime. Plus, it isn't like my car has anything of value in it -- the stereo's for crap -- and I'd take my iPod and wallet with me. I had visions of parking, loading up for the hike and walking away, only for the three guys to materialize and circle the car like vultures as soon as Bruce and I turned the first bend, all set on terrorizing my poor car.

The road was so very narrow by then it took a four-point turn to get back going the other way. I drove slowly, giving my hillbilly hoodlums time to vacate. They were gone! -- but gone gone? Bruce refused to leave after driving all this way (did I mention he's not really an outdoor type?) and I refused to let my exaggerated anxiety ruin the day for me, so we pulled over and set out.

We didn't bring the book.

Bruce asked -- I said no -- that was my bad. And in the end, it didn't make that much of a difference.

When the hiking book said the trail started on an old logging road, I (naturally) imagined the one behind the orchard at my parents' -- an overgrown dirt path with tire treads down the middle, encroached on by surrounding forest. In a word, pleasant. Alas, such was not to be found on the Flagg Mountail trail, which instead exhibited chunky orange gravel seeded with weeds and decorated on all sides by beer cans, bottles and general rubbish, the last courtesy of the hunting club that ravages the surrounding area. Ick. Nevertheless, we forged ahead.

After maybe 3/4 of a mile uphill, a separate road took off to the left. I remembered the book stating such an occurence and instructing the eager hiker to go left; we went left.

The path deteriorated. Hmm. After much debate, we went back to the car. (I was happy to see it was intact.) Fetch book. Retrace steps. Determine this is probably not the correct path, not quite matching the distance described, and keep to the main road. So far, so good. After a little while, we come to a Y that matches the text and bear left. Yay! What fun! Keep on keeping on, pretty certain that everything is all right. Oh look! There's a gate, just like the book says! Go right here!

Logically, I'm thinking we are on the right path, but doubt still lurks in my mind. The book did not mention that first road, and the elevation changes did not match up. Also, the book said we'd see Beautiful Views and we hadn't gotten high enough to see over or between the trees even once. Approximately seven minutes of walking on the gated path and we are going DOWNHILL. Lookout towers are on top of hills. Something is wrong.

We turn around.

We backtrack, going further in, back out, what about that first path, turning here, no more trail, no luck and gah, give up and trudge back to the car, not having caught a GLIMPSE of the tower. Dammit!

I poked around online once we got home (something I should have done more of BEFORE the trip) and found that we should have kept going on the gated trail.

I think.
I mean, I'm pretty sure.

Good parts -- the monster grasshopper Bruce found, breathing fresh air, not getting shot by drunken hunters, and finding the car, unmolested, back at the "trailhead."

Later that day, we went to a local county Junior Miss competition. Oh my.

One of the good parts of this weekend's hike.

The bad part was never getting to the final destination atop Flagg Mountain, if you can call a rise just over 1000 feet high a mountain.

Yesterday was, in a word, interesting.

The hike was less than satisfactory, mainly for the reason the book I used sucked.

Saturday night was spent attending (not participating!) the Junior
Miss County competition. I kid you not.

More on both topics later, as I have to go to my sucky place of employment.

It is 82 degrees outside now. It is sposed to get to 84. Tomorrow, however, the high is to be 70 degrees! Hooray!

I have tomorrow off and want to get outside and get my heart rate up and take some photos. I'm thinking hiking, viewing waterfalls and hearing birds, or, as this is The South, I'd settle for touring an antebellum mansion or Other Historical Site. Bruce is not an outdoorsy person, but I've bullied him into GETTING OUT, dammit. He can count it as exercise. Unlike Nebrasky, Alabama does have some elevation changes. I really miss mountains. When I taught is SE Portland, I saw Mt Hood every morning on my way to work, straight down Glisan. Now, I'm lucky if I see some fog over the golf course from the freeway.

There isn't a shortage of ideas, as long as one is willing to drive a little bit. Alabama has a very nice State Park System and website, and I've got Falcon's Hiking Alabama at my elbow, bursting at the seams with potential activities that do not include NASCAR, college football, bass fishing or grits.

I'll let you know what happens.

Today will be my last of seven working days in a row, my penance for getting last weekend off. The last five days have been closing shifts, meaning I don't get home until midnight or so. I was told day shifts would again be mine once they hired some new people. That's good, as working 4-11.30pm means I don't see Bruce at all, but it also gives me the feeling that I should be moving on to a(nother) better job, not being the newbie anymore.

I did jot down this drink before leaving work last night. It sounds delicious.

ABBEY ROAD

6 mint leaves
1 piece candied ginger
1/2 measure fresh lemon juice
2 measures gin
1 measure apple juice

Muddle mint, ginger and lemon juice in a cocktail shaker. Add gin and apple juice with ice and shake. Strain over crushed ice in a rocks glass and garnish with a lemon wedge.

I believe the book I found it in was Around the World in 80 Cocktails.

Finished reading Cloud Atlas last night and count it among the best books I've read this year. I loved it -- the genre mix, the six stories "chevron-ed" together, the delightful characters -- especially wicked Frobisher -- and trying to hold all the plots and connections together in my head at the same time. Five hundred pages of bliss.

How to classify this book? Fiction, generally, yes, but beyond that? Mitchell writes in multiple genres -- historical or period fiction, mystery/detective novel, science fiction, experimental (due to structure), dystopian fiction...I would place it in speculative fiction, which in my mind, incorporates all of the above and emphasizes one of the overall messages I got from the book, a 'ware the future, ye corporate consumers! sort of thing. Neil Gaiman has said a lot about genre labels (most recently in a great Salon.com interview (with Susanna Clarke, of Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell fame)). Or maybe just fantastic fiction and leave it at that.

Cloud Atlas could very well be shelved in SF/F, but because genre books are poo-poohed by normals, it's in Literature. That doesn't guarantee good company; so is The Nanny Diaries and Marry Your Baby Daddy in Lit.

Back to the book -- I kept a dictionary handy, not knowing the meaning of words like amanuensis off the top of my head. (It means one who is employed to take dictation or to copy manuscript; isn't that beautiful?) I discovered dendroglyphs really are found in the Chatham Islands, I used my Latin dictionary once and wished I had a French one. Also added "pong" to my list of favorite words.

This week I've sold the following items:

+ Star Wars Force FX Lightsaber (Darth Vader Model)
+ Motion Sensor Dancing and Singing Santa
+ Jelly Belly Lip Balm
+ Feather Pens
+ Jesus Poker Chips (see below)
+ Shakespeare Nodder
+ Miscellaneous Hello Kitty Paraphernalia

Yes, I work in a BOOKSTORE!

Actually, the bobblehead is pretty cool, though I liked the Edgar Allen Poe ones better.

[Damn you, university library, for not hiring me and keeping me a corporate retail slave!]

It is October 14th.
It is supposed to get up to 84 degrees today.
I am wearing a tank top.
This is not right.

New book, just in with today's shipment, and dear Lawrence greeting me as I left.

I was just on BoingBoing and saw a link to these (please please read the description - they're "ultra-cool!"). Oh yeah. I've sold quite a few of those at work. People say, "What the hell? God and gambling?" and I respond, "Yeah, I don't get it, either." Other people exclaim, "Oh, these would be great for my church group! I'll take one of each!" and I nod very very slowly.

We also sell plastic bible keychains that scream the Hallelujah chorus from Handel's Messiah. I hear it an average of 6.34 times a day, sometimes more if a kid grabs one and hits the button over and over. Handel now incites violence in my demeanor.

Only in Alabama.

I also washed the kitchen floor with a vinegar + water solution this morning and it smells so good.

Bruce took his brother Eric (who surprise visited for the weekend due to Bruce's birthday) and I on a tour of the base. As you can see, there is a prison AND a golf course available.

The weather! It's cool! I'm in shock!

This photo courtesy of Meera, who sent it to me and I enjoyed very much. I also enjoyed the DanaBox that arrived yesterday. Good mail is very cheering!

There was some bad mail today. It's nice that just to be sure, the library sent me ANOTHER Thank You But The Position Is Filled letter; that makes one from the librarians, one from HR; maybe I'll be hearing from the dean next.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Another stellar day at work! Actually, it wasn't too bad. Except for the woman who wanted Cliff's Notes for the Harry Potter books.

Something embarrassing:
Whenever I see Gore Vidal's name, I think about Al Gore. And Vidal Sassoon.

She was awkward on the phone because the letters had already gone out and she was not comfortable telling me no.

I've been at this shitty job for two months now. To get Christmas time off to go home I'll probably have to quit. If I'm still there by December - I will be so disappointed in myself.

fuck

I love this sequence. It's like a Goofus and Gallant cartoon.

PHOTO ONE: Susie uses the dryer carefully, combing Sarah's hair into a nice style.

PHOTO TWO: Sarah tries to blow Susie away, creating a whirlwind and insuring an embarrassing hairdo. Poor Susie!

- - - - - - - - - - -

I've been scanning some old negatives and may post auld photos over the next few days.

I'm confused.

This happens; it isn't a RARE thing, as many of you know. Okay, ALL of
you know that.

I just got off the phone with the library. After my interview--the
week before last--they said they'd let me know next week. That was
last week. Are you confused now?

As my documentation below shows, I never heard a peep regarding
potential employment. They are busy people, and understaffed, I
know. Things take longer. I can handle that.

I call this morning, deciding all of a sudden to do so, so I don't
talk myself out of it for fear of rejection. A particularly crappy
stint at work yesterday (the sort of day when the phrase "hell is
other people" oft passed through my mind) necessitates a release from
the retail world.

There is still no word, as background checks have to be made,
something she didn't know before. Checks add about five days to the
process. This means I am not the only person in the running, and she
didn't sound very excited to talk to me.

To-day, I shall do some more job-searching; if I get the no-go on the
above job (can you believe I applied Aug 24th and have been a tension
wire of apprehension ever since?) it will help to have other
prospects. Also want to take some photos today.

PS - I've had a succession of violent dreams the past few nights. The
other morning I awoke not only agitated but wistful because I'd taken
some great Holga shots in my dream and, being dream-work, I'd never
get to see how they turned out. I'll just have to dream up a little
photo lab.

PPS - Tomorrow's my birthday!

RE: JOB
ACTION TAKEN: RANG CONTACT.
RESULT: PHONE RANG.
AND RANG.
AND RANG.
NO ANSWER.
NO MESSAGE SERVICE.
JOB STATUS: UNKNOWN
SARAH STATUS: UNSETTLED

Was sposed to hear this week, yet I hear not.

This is awesome, but it is only for Windows machines! I was all set to listen to The Amazing Adentures of Kavalier and Clay!

Today was spastic.

I got up, meandered around the house, fretted a lot, decided on a menu item to cook for dinner: Indian Skillet Black-Eyed Peas over Rice and topped with Yogurt.

Purchased required ingredients (all except tamarind paste; substitute: lemon juice), only to come down with a killer headache/pseudo migraine (due, methinks, to lack of caffeine intake). After much coddling, the headache is coaxed away, but recovery is interrupted by a phone call from work: where are you, Sarah?

Due to my oversight on a schedule change, I arrive at work an hour late. Gah.

But I bought a bottle of Orangina! I love Orangina! It made my day!

I found this at work last week. It looks like Korean to me. I wish I knew what it said.

Yesterday was the first Saturday I've had off since starting my icky job. Wow - I've been there almost two months now. Of course, yesterday was also the day chosen to have the 7am All Employee Meeting, so I got to drag myself out of bed to sit in a dingy cafe and be told that hours are going to be cut back. Yay.

Bruce and I drove up to Birmingham for the rest of the day, as I was under the impression that the bookstore environment was substantially better there. It was better than Montgomery, but with the crappy selection around here (barring Capitol Books and News, of course), that isn't much of an accomplishment.

The Alabama Booksmith was the first stop, and it was small but delightful. Lots of Alabama & Southern authors and a nice fiction section. A little bit of everything in the non-fiction arenas.

Lunch was SUPPOSED to be at The Irondale Cafe, the inspiration for Fannie Flagg's book (and subsequent movie) Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe. They were CLOSED! And will continue to be closed on Saturdays throughout the Fall; Bruce says the owners are probably BAMA football fans. This was a major disappointment, as we were both in the mood for some "country cookin," as in Bruce's grease meter was low and I just wanted a decent sandwich.

So here we are starving and in an unknown area and the used bookstore on the same block as the cafe is also closed.

The day kinda went downhill from there. It is hardest to find a place to eat when one is starving. It took us half an hour of driving into and around downtown Birmingham (dead on the weekends, apparently) before coming upon the neat little Safari Cup Coffee, where they messed up our orders but it was delicious and did I mention we were starving?

Bruce had better luck at the two remaining bookstores than I did; they had lots of old dusty stuff.

I took a handful of Holgas but no digital shots. I wanted to get some of Vulcan, the world's largest cast-iron statue, but that whole hunger thing discourages pleasant sightseeing.

But I did get two cool books at the Alabama Booksmith. The day was not in vain.

The interview went very well -- lasted 65 minutes and was pleasant in itself. The two interviewers complimented my cover letter (apparently not all applicants wrote one) (?) and my experience/resume and called me an intelligent young woman. They'll contact me next week with the news, so here's hoping.

Anansi Boys came in the mail, a signed first edition, so regardless of the outcome of the interview, today was an excellent day.

I also just finished watching Frida -- what an amazing movie! Wow. I added a few books about her to my Amazon wishlist; if I get this job, I can check them out at the university library; my local city library doesn't have anything on her, maybe because she doesn't fit the Southern Ideal of what a woman should be.

I love semicolons.

PS - Today's customer ha-ha:

OBVIOUSLY VERY BUSY AND IMPORTANT WOMAN (she exudes this from her very pores): [shoves school book list across counter and points] I need two copies each of these FIVE books. Do you have them?

SARAH (OUR HEROINE): Let's take a look!

OVB&IW: ...

SARAH: [peruses list, sees one of the texts is Antigone] Is there a particular translation you need?

OVB&IW: [blank stare]

SARAH: ?

OVB&IW: Well, English...!

SARAH: Ah, oh, yes. Ahem. [to self] You mean your kids aren't reading them in the original Greek? What do they teach in schools these days?

OVB&IW: [turns to passer-by and grunts, grudgingly] Oh. Stephanie. How are you?

SARAH: [to self] Oh you are obviously so short on time and of such importance that I will seek out your books on my own!

OVB&IW: Blah blah blah. Busy blah blah. Sigh blah blah.

STEPHANIE: Blah BLAH blah! Blah! Blah!

[SARAH snags two copies of The Natural, two Animal Farms, two Julius Caesars, one Cry, the Beloved Country, and no Antigones. Approaches OVB&IW who is still chatting with her pal.]

OVB&IW: Oh, good. Is that all of them?

SARAH: No Sophocles and only one copy of Cry, the Beloved Country.

OVB&IW: [disappointed] Oh. [sigh] You gotta pen? I gotta write that down so I know what I have.

SARAH: [in ancient Greek] Sure! It must be hard to remember the titles of two books when you have so many important things to do, you busy busy important woman!

Like lightning striking my cortex, I just realized another reason I really want this job:

Faculty and staff may borrow up to 100 items at a time for up to 90 days.

Imagine the possibilities.

I'm such a dork.

Oh, my. Look at all those non-fiction titles I am reading right now (sidebar)! This from a person who is lucky if she reads two/three in a year! Granted, the photography book is a coffee table book, and the Palahniuk has short short essays, making it very accessible. The fairy tale book I'm about to give up on -- I've had it since Dana's birthday celebration two years ago when we went to that fabulous seafood restaurant in New Hampshire and I got in trouble with the chef for not eating the skin of my fish. Bruce brought How Soccer Explains the World: An Unlikely Theory of Globalization as a gift from his Powell's trip and I'm enjoying it so far.

No tragic tales from work to relate, except the guy who came in trying to get me to do his college homework for him. I don't research; this is not a library; if it was, I'd gladly help. Go away.

I really really really hope to give my two weeks' notice soon. Do you have to give two weeks? I'd rather just leave.

Must practice interviewing smile and handshake.

Dear [Wonderfully Amazing Librarian Person],

Yes, I am definitely interested in the position! Would it be better
for me to call to set up an interview or email? I look forward to
meeting with you.

Thank you,
[Very Qualified Future Librarian]

PS - Save me from my corporate bookstore job hell!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Phone call -

Interview Thursday, 5pm.

Oh yeah.

Sarahsponda @ Etsy.com. The header is from the detail of one of my photos.

I'm also going to post some envelopes I made.

A man came in yesterday asking for a book on Katrina.

Without hesitation, I responded, "Um, there aren't any, not yet."

"How do you know?" [aggressively]

Because the whole thing happened only a couple weeks ago, you idiot! This is not the internet!

But one is coming out soon -- soon by publishing standards, which means next year. Like all the news magazines with Katrina cover stories aren't enough. People come in, buy every one they can get their hands on and explain to me that they are making scrapbooks.

That's nice. I heard Hobby Lobby has some great giant-wave edging scissors to give your paper that storm surge look and some cute puddle stickers. Don't forget the e. coli stamps!

I got major points with a British woman the other day for knowing about the Lang Fairy Tale books -- not that we carry any, but I'd bet big bucks that I was the only person on staff who'd read (or even heard about) them. I owe that to the delightful library system of my hometown, in the far away land of Oregon. Yes, I am snarky & stuck up. It's all I have going for me right now.

Today's most challenging interaction was my effort to convince a 70-year-old man that the L. M. Montgomery Anne books (all eight) are a series even though each book does not say THE ANNE OF GREEN GABLES SERIES - BOOK ONE, TWO, THREE...etc. on it (though they were numbered). After that piece of information had sifted through the grey matter it was another obstacle to overcome in understanding they are NOT available in ONE GIANT BOOK. And no, sir, you don't have to worry about "inappropriate topics," as the books were written before even you were born; he wanted them for his granddaughter.

Book and bed.

A shot from the not-really-fun moving road trip earlier this summer. I spent most of the time screaming at Bruce over the walkie-talkies to slow down dammit! We'd discussed speed and figured 10 mph over the limit as a constant. This didn't happen -- so here is my little 4-cyl. Honda, packed to the gills with worldly goods including cat and betta, a/c chugging along, chasing after Bruce's 90 mph Explorer, which was later (weeks) discovered to have a speedometer tweak, marking speed at 5 mph too slow.

Bruce is back from 10 days in Oregon, so the house isn't empty anymore. He went to Powell's (sigh) and The Alibi for karaoke. I miss Portland!

oh
!

i just put a load of clothes in the washing machine -

the pile of towels on the floor,
in front of the washer

i moved away with my foot . . .

(!)
. . . giant cockroach - wider than my thumb

scuttles out

eee!

bruce's tennis shoe close by

[blat]

no more laundry tonight

Another shot from my Bamboo Forest Adventure! I count six mosquito bites for my troubles.

Didja know you can roast your own coffee beans in a hot air popcorn popper? I need to take a trip to Goodwill and track one down.

Now this is a strange thing.

There is indeed a large bamboo grove right in the middle of Alabama. Within Prattville city limits, in Wilderness Park, a half-mile path wanders through hundreds and hundreds of tall bamboo plants. The place is poorly maintained; the blacktop path was covered with leaves and falling apart in chunks. A boggy stream runs under the pictured bridge and many of the poles have keeled over on the ground, some blocking the trail. People have carved words on the bamboo. In one area the plants were a sickly shade of yellowy-green.

In many ways, it was depressing, but the anachronistic existence of the place was fascinating. Plus I kept thinking of the kung-fu movies they film in bamboo forests and having a run about the upper storeys myself.

I found a place that will develop my holga film -- here's one of my latest, taken at the Shakespeare Garden.

Today is my Friday, as in I have the next two days off. Sucks not to have people to hang out with, esp as the weather has been cooling off some. Really, I should say warming off; there's very little cool. Just a slightly less intense heat.

Regardless, I want to get outside. There is some sort of freakish bamboo forest & olfactory garden here that bears investigation. If that fails, I can pop on over to Cooters Pond Park*** for the

See, Pick and Eat Nut Grove
This grove was planted by the Prattville Tree Commission so that citizens, particularly children, could learn about the various types of nut-producing trees and experience the satisfaction of sampling the nuts. This nut grove is located in Cooters Pond Park on the banks of the beautiful Alabama River.

Having grown up next to walnut and filbert orchards and earning the wisdom that bestowes, we'll see about "satisfaction."

***Yes, you read that right, Cooter's Pond. As in this guy and southern slang for turtle, which I'm guessing is where the name of the pond is from, but it just makes me think of these.

I invented this. I call it PEANUTTY RICE & PORK WRAPS!

MARINADE:
1/4 c tamari
1/8 c sugar
1 T sesame oil
splash of rice vinegar

Combine and stir until most of sugar is dissolved. Slice up a pound of pork or whatever meat is on hand. If you want to make more than four servings, use two pounds of meat and double the marinade. Pour marinade over meat and leave in fridge for an hour or two. Or overnight; whatever works for you.

When ready to eat, stir-fry the pork.

OTHER INGREDIENTS:
lots of cooked rice (NOT INSTANT!!! MAKE REAL RICE!)
large tortillas (10- or 12-inch)
romaine lettuce
shredded carrot
peanut sauce (you can make your own or buy a pouch and mix with coconut milk, like I did)

ASSEMBLY:
Warm tortilla in a pan.
Lay on plate, drizzle with peanut sauce and line with a leaf or two of romaine.
Pile rice down the center.
Sprinkle shredded carrot on rice.
Add your meat and top with peanut sauce.
Fold the bottom of the tortilla up and over the filling, then fold sides over.
Eat.

I dug Bruce's old desktop out and hooked it up -- so I can at least get online.

I worked today and we had several groups of refugees come in, most from Mississippi, families who had lost their entire homes and came in for the a/c and to find something to read.

The hotels here are full of people from down south. Churches and businesses are offering free shelter and food. A car dealership is holding a barbeque lunch for 2,000 people tomorrow. They say there are upwards of 6,000 people here now.

There are long lines at the gas stations. It's $3.11/gal on the corner. I've got just under half a tank left.

My computer's backlight went out -- I'm thinking the wire wore through at the hinge -- and I don't know what exactly to do at this point, so regular updates may not be so regular.

NWAnews.com :: Northwest Arkansas' News Source: "Rogers Public Library celebrates new Wal-Mart Children’s Library"

I feel ill.

Had my second worst headache ever on Saturday. Above and behind my left eye, complete with utter intolerance of light and sound with a BONUS! Vomiting!

You know how hard it is to drive home from work under those conditions?

The only good part of my nasty tension/migraine/cluster headaches is how happy I feel when the pain has passed. It's like greeting the sunrise on a fabulous new day without the grogginess that accompanies my standard sunrise-viewing. Handel's Messiah and everything.

I was rather gleeful Friday night, after I placed my pre-order for Neil Gaiman's new book, Anansi Boys and threw in a couple of spoken word CDs to boot (what a storyteller, what a voice). The best source for any Neil Gaiman paraphernalia is DreamHaven Books & Comics, where they have their own Neil Gaiman Online Store and you can get anything signed, as Mr. Gaiman drops in regularly (he lives near Minneapolis). In about a month, I will be in literary bliss...

Best combo of my last few days at work?

A 40-something couple sets one book upon the counter:


And then another (see below), and the woman asks, "Are we getting this one, honey?"


[pause...pause...pause] "...yes," replies the man, solemnly.

And I manage to look SO businesslike and professional, whilst particular thoughts whirl through my mind.

There's a pattern emerging -- women tend to buy how-to BOOKS about improving their sex lives (I sold a copy of The Sex-Starved Marriage: A Couple's Guide to Boosting Their Marriage Libido a couple weeks ago) and the men just buy nekkid pictures. Two very different kinds of self-help, there.

Say SHATTERED.

Now say SHADOWED.

Now do both in your best southern accent and see if there is ANY DISCERNABLE AUDITORY DIFFERENCE. Can you find the correct book title in the computer?

I'm taking a slate and some chalk to work and only accepting title requests in writing from now on.

And Lolita is fab-u-lous.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Take a look at The Art of Retouching. It shows before and after Photoshopping images for magazines.

"John, her butt is too small."

"No problem -- I'll just click on the +ASS button."

"Thanks."

As of today, my blog is one year old. I wish I had the know-how to do
an overhaul and give it a shiny new face. Thanks for reading it!

To bed.

JOBS CAREERBUILDER.COM THINKS I SHOULD
APPLY FOR BASED ON MY
BACKGROUND AND EDUCATION

Talent Search Recruiter, Director of Adult Edu.

Police Officer

Collector I-Bilingual

Materials Handler Instructor

Flight Instructor Sr

Foster Parent

Border Patrol Agent

628614

Management Training - Infantryman

Lecturer

Appointment Preseller

X-MART VIDEO STORE is looking for Clerks

Professional Appt. Setter/Telemarketer

Get Paid To SHOP *Mystery Shoppers* Wanted

Because the BIG CORPORATE BOOKSTORE I presently (hopefully also temporarily) work at has no consideration for its employees, I am in the position of not being able to access my pay without giving part of it to a BIG CORPORATE BANK.

Here's the deal. I show up for work on my first day. As the whole system is paperless, from the job application to the W-4 form, so are the pay methods. I have two pay options: direct deposit, which I love, and something I've never heard of but that arises suspicion, a Bank of America PayCard.

Having just moved here, and just now finding a job, I have not opened up an account at my local credit union. Being a modern sort of person, I've left my checkbook for my really awesome Oregon credit union that I've kept for years despite not living in Oregon anymore, at home. (***Who the hell writes checks anyway?) I cannot set up direct deposit.

"What's this PayCard thing?" I ask my new 22-year old boss who just bought a house. "It is going to cost me money to use it?"

"Yes."

"Can't I just get a paper check until I get my bank account set up?" I ask -- you do need MONEY to open an account, you know, and one usually needs a job for that.

"No...they don't do that."

So yippie-dah-doo, I get stuck with a piece of plastic on my payday. It took $4.00 to set up the account and I have all sorts of limitations on use. I get one ATM use per week or have to pay $1.25 for each additional. They charge me $3.50 a month for "maintenance fees." It will even cost me $15.00 to close the account.

None of this was explained to me when I signed up. If I'd known, I would have driven back home to get my checkbook and signed up for direct deposit immediately.

I did tell my boss to switch me to direct deposit last week, but for now, my sad $120.34 is stuck on that card. My bright idea? To go to a Bank of America ATM and withdraw everything, give the cash to Bruce so he could write me checks so I can pay my student loans, and tell my stupid employer to close the stupid account.

PROBLEM! The closest Bank of America ATM is 82 miles away in Birmingham. The next closest is in Pensacola, Florida, a mere four hours away.

This means I will have to pay ATM fees to some OTHER bank in addition to B of A! Wow! I'm so glad I got a job so these faceless companies can take my money away from me.

[This is SO very different from payday in Nebraska, where direct deposit was not an option because the small town I worked for employed maybe 20 people, tops. On payday, the clerk who wrote up our checks drove down the street to our library and handed us our checks. Here, despite being paperless, there's a weeklong lag between the end of the pay period and actual pay.]

*** I would swear on great and important things that I NEVER saw anyone write a check in a store the whole time I was in Boston. Checks are for rent and bills you can't pay online. But who writes checks anymore? Every single woman over the age of 25 in the state of Alabama. Except me.

Championship Sod!

There are a couple areas in my life that I feel particularly successful at, right now. Okay, really, only one, but still. It is the arena of The Book. I'm going through books at a level I've not been at since 1999-2000, after I'd finished undergrad and spent my time substitute teaching (making pretty good money & paying off loans) while living with my parents.

I think I said this before, but one of my New Year's Readolutions was to read the short story collections I own. I buy them, and love the idea of reading them, but they tend to get shoved aside. One of the Chicklit members said she was going to have a short story collection going at the same time as her regular books and read a bit from it each day. That's been working well for me. Thanks to Dana, I'm presently reading Arranged Marriage by Chitra Divakaruni and enjoying it very much. That's my ninth collection this year.

I mentioned a while back that I was going to get Lolita at my library. I did, an old hardback, but after getting it home I realized it had some blotches on the cover, stains, one might say, and I thought it would be better if I just bought my own copy. A trip to Capitol Book & News Company yielded a new Lolita, in addition to copies of A Great and Terrible Beauty and Cloud Atlas, which I've been wanting to read for ages.

So my method has been to be reading a short story collection, a YA/children's lit book, an "adult" book and an audiobook going in the car all at the same time. I love being inundated with words.

Sigh.

If I could just get paid for reading, I'd be set.

Nothing of note happened today except work kinda sucked and I finished watching the third season of Coupling. This means there is only one season left and I am sad.
- Bookstore News - We don't carry the following, people of Alabama,
so stop calling and asking me.

-- Books on movies (after questioning, this was clarified not to mean books about movies, but books on DVD, such as MOVIES)
-- The book Hurgs, by an author she doesn't know. I swear she said and spelled HURGS but I cannot claim to easily decipher the English spoken here.
-- Software
-- Used books
-- And this is a repeat, but we do not carry college textbooks. Where could you get some? Ma'am, (and I do have to say ma'am here) I'd try a COLLEGE BOOKSTORE. But do give me a call if you're taking a Danielle Steele class. We can help you there.

Blast and damnation. Tomorrow I'm working on that library application.

I think I figured out how to keep the spambots away and still allow anonymous comments (so Andy can comment), so let's see what happens.

Yesterday I found out many things, such as, outside of the assistant managers, I am the oldest person working at the bookstore. Ages range from 19 to 25, with me clocking in at a ripe old 27. The general manager is 22. This may explain why the specifics of the job (hours, benefits, wage) were not really made clear during my interview.

Best transaction yesterday? A Dirty Old Man (not the same one, methinks) came up to the register with a book and asked if we carried Penthouse Letters. I said yes and dug a copy out of the nekkid mags drawer. The book he purchased? My Secret Life: An Erotic Diary of Victorian London, by Anonymous.

Ooh la la!

Today, for the very first time, someone -- while staring at my apron that has BIG CORPORATE BOOKSTORE embroidered across the front -- asked me, "Do you work here?"

"Nah, I'm not a bookseller, but I play one on TV!"

I know that's often used as a line to open discussion, and I have used it before, but I cannot say I've asked that question of a person who is shrouded in a big, black apron, and is kneeling on the floor moving mass quantities of books, besides.

Though between that and the woman who keeps calling about the phlebotomy textbook (no title, no author, no publisher), that her professor TOLD her she'd find at BIG CORPORATE BOOKSTORE, even though we don't carry textbooks because we are not a college bookstore, I don't know who to pick.

Everybody wants textbooks -- I spoke to a dad on the phone the other day who was calling to see if we had the Fourth Grade Math Book. That's the title he gave me. Dude, go Google it and see if you have any luck. I can't help you.

This week's most mangled title? 100 People Who Are Screwing Up America by Goldberg. No one can remember that -- all they know is, "That book about 100 people who messed up? America? What?" Everyone wants that and the nipples book.

It is going to take some effort on my behalf to keep this from becoming a slam blog. I apologize in advance.

Gah!

I do have a lead on a library job at a university, however...oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.

PS - If you have some time to kill, try this out.