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!