Hot fun in the Summer of Love

I grow reflective at this time of year. The beginning of fall feels more like New Year’s to me than, well, New Year’s. The air seems to lend itself to introspection; maybe it’s the whistling of the breeze in my ears.  But before my  short-term memory goes the way of the highlights in my hair, here are a few of the more noteworthy moments of Summer 2010:

 The heat. You know it’s bad when veteran marathoners cut their runs short after just three miles. Exercise induced asthma, chills in 90 degree temperatures, dizziness. Yes, it was good times for all–runners and non-runners (who had the good sense to stay inside where it was air conditioned)–this summer. Hmmm, wonder if 110 degree heat indexes changed the minds of those who insist that there is no such thing as climate change? 

Nah.

 

The Return of Mad Men. Thank God for Don Draper and the gang for saving us from Hollywood box office crap like Eat, Pray, Love (yeah, yeah, Javier Bardem is hot but mugging is not acting), Eclipse (a teenaged vampire who looks like a Backstreet Boy, his virgin girlfriend and no sex. What kind of fun is that?), and The Switch (Jennifer Aniston continues to non-act her way through another romantic comedy about as exciting as tepid tea). Mad Men is a dramatic TV series for adults. I can’t remember the last time I saw an American film that catered to an adult audience (real adults—Adam Sandler/Steve Carrell movies don’t count). When a couple of movie tickets cost about the same as monthly cable, and I can find superior storytelling on television, I’m staying home.

And still more Mad Men.  Unfortunately, these aren’t fictional characters but real men—and women. You can see them every evening on CNN, FOX, or MSNBC. Bill O’Reilly and Keith Olbermann rail against the left and right, respectively. 

O’Reilly hates liberals and frankly, anyone who dares to disagree with him about anything. Olbermann hates O’Reilly, Sarah Palin and pretty much anyone on the right. O’Reilly has a cadre of near hysteric blondes who “inform” him about the left’s latest political shenanigans while Olbermann has his “Worst Person in the World, “segment during which he takes down anyone, usually O’Reilly or other right-leaning figures, who has ticked him off that day. Granted, Olbermann calls out some pretty bad behavior but “worst person in the world?” Shouldn’t that label be reserved for terrorists and serial killers? Oh, right it’s tongue and cheek, I get it, wink wink.

  Except it isn’t, not really. We live in a climate of political hatred not seen since the Watergate disaster of the early 1970s. But we didn’t have a 24 hour news cycle then that gave pundits the chance to scream at each other in unison. Nor was it typical for news anchors to show their bias in interviews. Oh, how the times they have changed. Take for example, Megyn Kelly’s recent FOX “interview” with Kirsten Powers of the NY Post over whether members of the New Black Panthers intimidated Pennsylvania voters on November 4, 2008.

You can see the full exchange on You Tube but I think you’ll find that it really doesn’t matter what they are arguing about. Once Kelly begins shouting at Powers, the “cat fight,” takes center stage, jettisoning any possibility of clarifying the issue. It’s a shameful moment, and not just due to the obvious lack of professional objectivity. Here you have an anchor threatening to cut the microphone of a disagreeable guest when the anchor shouldn’t have a public position in the first place. In this case, FOX news is the culprit but it could just as easily be MSNBC, the left’s answer to “fair and balanced.”

I realize I’m far from being alone in my frustration about the current state of “civil discourse” in America. But screaming and shouting, finger pointing and buck passing are now the norm on our cable news shows. No doubt, it’s all a reflection of what goes on in the U.S. Capitol whenever Congress is in session.

One additional note about the Summer of Love 2010–Facebook has become another great outlet for spewing hatred. People who don’t even know each other feel comfortable making ad hominem attacks—you’re a jerk, typical a-hole liberal, idiot Tea bagger, and on and on, ad nauseum. It’s like a Cyberspace Civil War. I wonder, would these cyber soldiers feel as comfortable blowing their political stacks in face to face confrontations?

I didn’t think so.

 The Deepwater Horizon, aka, BP Oil Spill. It was hard to visit the beach this summer without thinking of the plumes of oil filling the Gulf of Mexico. BP finally capped the spill three months after the drilling rig exploded. By that time, the BP disaster had become the largest accidental marine oil spill in the history of the petroleum industry. Talk about feeling helpless. What could you do? Pray that the engineers fixing the problem knew what the heck they were doing. But BP’s head honcho Tony Hayward didn’t exactly inspire confidence:

Poor Tony. It was all about him. Forget the fishermen who make their livelihoods off the Louisiana coast, the wildlife and delicate ecosystem, or hey, the 11 platform workers who were killed when the rig exploded. Another rich CEO was having a bad day. Priorities, people, priorities!

Not long after Mr.. Hayward appeared before an angry group of U.S. Congressmen and women, BP announced he was stepping down. It’s going to take a lot more than a cheap PR move to rectify the mess the oil company left in its wake.

The Rapture of Glenn Beck. The never understated talk host decided it was time to “restore America’s honor.” Hallelujah brother! On August 28th Beck held a rally at the Lincoln Memorial, the site of Martin Luther King, Jr’s “I have a dream” speech, forty seven years earlier to the day. Thousands of tea partiers showed up. Sarah Palin called on the crowd to “restore America and  restore her honor.” Who took America’s honor? How do we go about restoring it? Then the prophet, er, Beck appeared. “Something beyond imagination is happening,” Beck proclaimed. “America today begins to turn back to God.” Had all of the Christians, Jews, and Muslims in America looked away, en masse? How the hell did that happen?

Oh, I remember now. It happened when America elected its first black president. You know, the one from Kenya, the socialist, fascist commie radical, the guy who wasn’t even born in America and is, in fact, a Muslim!!!

Yes, folks. We have to “restore [America’s] honor.” It all went down the tubes the day Barack Obama raised his right hand, placed his left hand on the bible and swore to “preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.” Ever since then, it’s been a world of misery.

And perhaps it has for many who detest our nation’s 44th president. Not everyone agrees with his health care reform plan, economic or foreign policies. Certainly, there are legitimate criticisms.

There are also giant posters of Obama in whiteface that show up at various Tea Party rallies, and protestors who spit on and hurl racial epithets at African American congressmen. And don’t forget Rush Limbaugh’s little ditty, “Barack the Magic Negro.”  

Apparently at Beck’s urging, those attending the“Restoring Honor” rally left their  signs and posters at home and Beck has since expressed regrets for accusing the president of a “deep-seated hatred against white people.” But when I hear Beck, Palin, and their ilk vow that they are going to “take back America,” there is little doubt to whom they want to return it.

Life Underground. Perhaps we could all take a lesson in how to get along with others from the 33 miners who have been stuck  nearly 2,300 feet below the earth’s surface after the roof of a Chilean gold mine collapsed on August 5th. While engineers continue to work on an escape route, the miners are reportedly striving to keep busy and remain calm. One of the men writes poetry. Another serves as the crew’s medic, and another, the group’s spiritual leader. The miners recite prayers. They talk to their families via a fiber-optics line.  They exercise and share food. Each is faced with the task of survival and somehow, with the help of one another, and of family members and doctors above ground, they are staying alive.

I remember reading about the first note the miners sent up after being trapped for more than two weeks. “All 33 of us are well inside the shelter,” it read. Maybe it’s time, now that this hot, sweaty, politically hostile summer has passed, that those of us lucky enough to be above-ground focus on staying well, too.

Buy the book (part two in a series)

This is the second installment about the trials and tribulations of working at an independent bookstore. You’ll notice liquid refreshment plays a rather significant role in this anecdote. On second thought, I’ll make it a double! Read on…

A relaxing Sunday afternoon. I’m sitting in our café area, delighting in the major perk of working at a bookstore–reading.  When I look up, a young woman is standing at the counter. How long has she been there? She must have tip-toed in wearing ballet slippers. She peers at me through wire-rimmed glasses. Her dark hair is pulled back in a pony tail so tight that it makes her face look like a stretched canvas. Ouch.

“My boyfriend is out there,” she says and studies the menu on the wall. I’m not sure why she’s offered the whereabouts of her boyfriend but whatever works. After what seems like an interminable  amount of time, she asks, ”Do you have any coffee?” (That’s it?)

“Sure.”

“Do you have hazelnut coffee?”

“Sorry, no.”

“How about decaf hazelnut?”

“No. No hazelnut anything.”

“Oh. “

She reaches back and tightens the rubber band on her pony tail. Oh god, it hurts to watch. I can barely stand it. How can she???

“Do you have any Sanka?”

I tell her I’m sorry, that we only have regular decaf coffee. No instant. 

“No hazelnut decaf?”

What is it with this woman?

I point to the two coffee pots.”Okay, I’ve got regular or decaf coffee. Those are the choices.” She stares at me as if from a faraway distance.

“Never mind,” she says. “I think I’ll just go to the grocery next door and get some coffee there.”

Suits me fine!

Later, I see her walk by with her boyfriend, sans coffee. Guess they didn’t have hazelnut either.

***

An October evening  and the downtown streets are filling up with people celebrating the cooler weather, the coming of Friday and the weekend. I’m busy scanning the ISBNs of new books into the computer. I look up when the front door jangles open, and a woman wearing a floor-length purple skirt and impossibly steep high heels practically runs to the counter.

“I’m meeting a friend for dinner,” she pants. “I’m in a hurry.”

“Okay. How can I help you?”

Once she catches her breath, she doesn’t so much as answer as enunciate. It sounds something like this:

“Gen-ah-swa. Gen-ah-swa. I want to know what gen-ah-swa means.”

She must have stopped for cocktails before her dinner date because I get a whiff of her wine breath*.

*It’s been my experience that people who frequent bookstores have two favorite drinks: Coffee and wine, usually decaf and preferably red.

“Gen-ah-swa. Gen-ah-swa. Don’t you have a French dictionary?”

We stock about five dictionaries, unfortunately for her (and me) they are all in English or Spanish.

You can tell she’s in love with her newfound French word (she thinks it’s a word anyway) because she continues to repeat it as she floats around the store, no longer in such a rush.

Being the nice gal that I (usually) am, I offer to look it up on the internet for her.

“Well, let me know when you find it,” she says and with that directive, goes back to browsing.

Gen-ah-swa.  Is this really a word? I don’t speak French but it sounds a bit off.  While I’m hunting around on the Web, a co-worker returns from her dinner break. When I explain my word search, she rolls her eyes. “She means je ne sais quoi.”

Duh! I should have known that. Je ne sais quoi meaning a “certain something, an intangible quality.”  Thanking my co-worker (who has bested me yet again—grrrrrr), I set off to find Madame, spotting her in the children’s section flipping through a Fancy Nancy book.

“Excuse me, I think I’ve found what you’re looking for.”

“Gen-ah-swa,” she informs me.

“Well, it’s actually a phrase–je ne sais quoi. It means—“

“That’s not it. Let me pronounce it again for you. Gen-ah-swa. See?”

Oh yes, I see. And the color is starting to turn red. I’ve spent over an hour with this silly woman.

“No, I mean, I understand that it sounds similar but it’s really…” And I repeat the phrase. “It basically means ‘an intangible quality.’ Is that how you meant it?”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I just like the way it sounds.” She puts away Fancy Nancy and picks up her purse. “Gen-ah-swa!” she proclaims.

And with that (no doubt she really meant au revoir), she turns and flounces out of the bookstore.

Gen-ah-swa. I guess to Madame, it has a certain something.

Buy the book (part one in a series)

Writing a novel? Acting in a play? If you need story ideas or glimpses into human behavior, a bookstore is a great place to linger. I’ve been lucky enough to have jobs at a couple of independent (and one corporately owned) bookstores through the years. The money is lousy (you don’t work at a bookstore to make payments on your McMansion) but where else can you get paid to read?

 Generally, the people who hang out at bookstores are interested, curious types who respect the human intellect and imagination (in other words, you’ll see few politicians browsing the shelves). Many are writers (aspiring or otherwise) and in love with  language and wordplay. As a result, the job is more fun than, say, working at a big soulless department store. I mean you get to talk about books and ideas for a living! What could be better than that (I realize some of you may not agree but humor me).

As with any customer service job, there are times when you want to throttle the customer, no matter how big a Stieg Larsson fan s/he is. And it makes no difference what you’re selling, when you work in retail, you encounter a wide spectrum of personality types–pushy, paranoid, gracious, and grumpy.   I’ve decided to occasionally share some of these encounters on my blog. Ah, memories…

It’s a dull, slow Wednesday afternoon so I’m glad when a  fortysomething, slightly drunk woman walks in with her rumpled looking boyfriend.  Rumple heads to the history section while Ms. Malbec (I figure her for a red wine drinker) tells me she’s looking for a book she’s heard about from a friend. “She really knows how to pick em,” she tells me.  I ask her for the book’s title.

“I don’t know. Something “surge.”

Not much to go on but it’s a start.  “Do you know the name of the author?”

“I don’t know but I’ve got to have something to read on the plane. My friend says it’s really good.”

“I’ll be happy to look but I can also show you some new books we just got–”

“No! I want this one!”

Okaaayyy. ”Well, is it fiction? Nonfiction…”

“I think nonfiction. Surge. Something, something, surge. I can’t fly without a good book to read!”

“I understand. Did your friend tell you what the book is about?”

“Oh, I can’t remember. But she says it’s good. Have you typed in “surge” yet?”

I google for a while and come up with a number of titles about the surge in the war in Iraq. Could this be what she is looking for?

“Well, that sounds familiar…no, wait. I don’t think it’s surge. Try this–”shoals.” Type in shoals!”

As in shoals meaning sandbar? Or Muscle Shoals, Alabama? The famous recording studio? Wha???

 Say what you will, Ms. Malbec is consistent: she doesn’t remember. Back to the internet.  Of course “shoals,” or a combo platter of ”shoals + surge,” doesn’t bring us any closer to identifying the book and I start feeling the agitation associated with losing one’s patience, never a good thing in retail or, well, ever. What is it with customers  who want you to find a book but can’t tell you its title, author, or even subject? Remember Jerry’s friend, George, the bald chucklehead from Seinfeld? This is something George would have done.

“Waitwaitwait,” Ms. Malbec cries. ”I know! I remember now. It’s, ‘The Seasons,’ something…something seasons, seasons something…”

Hmmm, and there are how many books with the word “seasons” in the title?

I try again. “Are you sure you don’t remember what the book is about?”

“Nooooo…just that it’s supposed to be really, really good. Never mind. Look up Infidel. That is a great book. I want that one! I have about four copies of it.”

Huh?

Whoever it was who said the “customer is always right,” forgot to add “and usually crazy.”I play along and look up Infidel and it turns out we own it but are out of stock. Would she like me to order her (another) copy?

“Never mind. (Sighs heavily, looks around for Rumple.) Have you tried typing ’seasons…plus shoals?’”

Okay, that’s it.  I tell her I need more information. She says she’ll talk to her friend who knows how to pick em’ and get back with me. Oh, and she’ll get a Glamour magazine for her plane ride and don’t worry, she doesn’t mind reading that instead. (Gee, thanks!)

 On her way out the door, I hear her whisper to Rumple, “I didn’t think they’d be able to find that book.” 

 Lady, that is the most perceptive thing you’ve probably said all day.

***

To be continued.