Quote of the day

"If one’s body is a temple, my god has long since died."

~ AnonymousCoworker

Yeah, what happened?

Sorry, this is not a book review but, rather, a cri de coeur: Stupid publisher, why do you promote your stupid book to death, then fail to print enough copies to even begin to meet demand? Where are our 20 copies, stupid publisher, as well as our 40 other copies, stupid wholesaler? How can you live with yourselves?

Playing catch-up

Sorry to have been so absent in my postings lately, but I've been kind of overwhelmed at work. Starting today, the Los Angeles bookselling world will be dominated by Book Expo America, or BEA, the industry's enormous annual convention and trade show, for most of the coming week. We expect a lot of out-of-town booksellers and publishers to pass through our doors in the next few days, so for the last month the orders from on high have been to clean, tidy, freshen and generally spiff the place up. I, as I may have mentioned, am the "visual merchandising manager," meaning I'm in charge of merchandising and displays as well as all the store's signage. I have been hit, and hit hard, with numerous requests for signs and posters. Here are some of the things I have produced in the last week:

Making these boxy display signs is a pain in the ass, but the store manager loves 'em so I foresee many more in my future. "Living Green" is a newish section of the store that I pushed to create, full of recycled and environmentally friendly products.

Somebody told me to make this sign so I did. I don't know what "Summer Starts Here!" means. It's hard to tell, but this sign is really big -- something like 3 x 5 feet. Our facilities manager, who is stuck with the unpleasant job of having to hang all my creations, had to go buy extra chain to support this poster. This is one of my cut-and-paste jobs: this poster was made with recycled gatorboard, paper, glue and double-stick tape. I'm pretty old school in my art techniques.

Another cut-and-paste job, but this one includes a garland!

Banners: probably my least favorite type of signage to make. Great font, though.

I didn't really make this sign -- I did the lettering and then let the cashiers do all the work while I "supervised" (i.e., checked in with them when it was all done and confirmed that they'd done a good job).

Finally, we needed some polite but honest new signs for the stalls in the ladies' room, so I came up with these. Like most of the signs and posters I make at work, these were created in Word 97; even my technology is old school. I've had several compliments on these little guys.

This morning my to-do list was much shorter and more manageable than it's been in weeks. I got to work shortly before 7 a.m. and started in with my tasks. At 8:15 the book department manager's voice came on the intercom and said, "Will all employees please evacuate the building immediately." Turns out the plumber, who had been cleaning the roots out of our sewage lines this morning, had nicked a gas line and there was now a pretty severe gas leak. A bunch of us employees milled around the store parking lot for about two hours, when the fire department finally said it was safe to re-enter the building. It was a mini vacation for most of us, but the store manager was freaking out because she was planning to give several guided tours to publishing execs from New York; fortunately, although the gas company had to tear up the sidewalk in front of the store to patch the gas line, things were more or less back to normal before any of the publishing bigwigs showed up.

I'm so tired from all the hard work I've put in during the past couple of weeks that I have decided to forgo all the educational workshops and industry seminars at BEA and instead just attend the book trade show on Saturday. All I'll need is a comfy pair of shoes and a tote bag in which to stash my free books; although I will be representing my bookstore and probably talking to publishers about future display opportunities, it will seem like a vacation after all the work I've put in lately.

BEA is always a good place to meet authors and celebrities. Among the many, many people who will be signing books this weekend are Dionne Warwick, Kevin Nealon, Dr. Ruth Westheimer, Philippa Gregory, Tommy Chong, Kirk Cameron, Salman Rushdie, Dave "Reuben Kincaid" Madden, Ernest Borgnine, Jamie Lee Curtis, Ray Bradbury, and Alec Baldwin. I made a little list of authors I definitely want to see, and I was a little embarrassed to realize that I have two Star Trek stars on that list: William Shatner, who'll be signing his autobiography Up Till Now, and Leonard Nimoy, signing The Full Body Project, described in the show program as "interpretive nude photographic studies of full-bodied women." It's embarrassing because, honestly, I really don't care at all about Star Trek and I don't want to be mistaken for a trekkie. Curtis, if you're reading this, I'm going to try to get those books for you.

Flushed with pride

Behold, the Champion 4! Low water consumption, mold- and mildew-resistant, patented flush system, and chair-height bowl. It is the newest resident of our lavatory, and Sean and I (with an assist from Curtis) installed it yesterday afternoon after the patented flush system in our old commode gave up the ghost. What could be more American than undertaking a home improvement project this glorious holiday weekend? How better to memorialize those who have served this country than to install an American Standard fixture (made in Mexico) in our not-about-to-be-repossessed home? Perhaps the only better way I could prove what a true patriot I am would be to shell out $$$ to see the latest Indiana Jones installment on its opening weekend -- if that's the case, than I am a true blue American! (Indy assessment: eh.)

Paint it black

Film noir is the perfect antidote to a cold, gray Saturday afternoon. It's also well-suited to hot summer nights, which is why I have "programmed" a week's worth of great noirs for early July. Here's the schedule:

Monday, June 30
The Petrified Forest (1936)
Proto-noir! With Leslie Howard, Bette Davis & Humphrey Bogart. 83 minutes.

Tuesday, July 1
The House on Telegraph Hill (1951)
Deception, greed & murder! With Richard Basehart & Valentina Cortesa. 93 minutes.

Wednesday, July 2
TBA - Norman, guest programmer
Painstakingly selected for your viewing pleasure & probably under 75 minutes.

Thursday, July 3
Kiss of Death (1947)
His past won't let him go! Victor Mature, Brian Donlevy & Richard Widmark. 98 minutes.

Friday, July 4
Scarlet Street (1945)
Marriage is hell! With Edward G. Robinson, Joan Bennett & Dan Duryea. 103 minutes.

Saturday, July 5
Leave Her to Heaven (1945)
Film noir isn't all black & white! Gene Tierney, Cornel Wilde & Vincent Price. 110 minutes.

Sunday, July 6
The Stranger (1946)
Nazi noir! With Edward G. Robinson, Loretta Young & Orson Welles. 95 minutes.

All showings will take place at our home, The Shambles, and will begin promptly at 8 p.m. If you're in the area and feel like catching a great movie or two or seven, let me know.

5/19/08 UPDATE
How very cool! The always entertaining Noir of the Week has listed this post in its Film Noir News. Thanks, Steve-o!

Distractingly cute book cover of the week

Awww, man, how am I supposed to get any work done with this little guy staring at me? In October, HarperCollins is publishing a book called Grandma's Dead with an equally adorable beagle puppy on the cover in a similar pose; it's a book of postcards, and the subtitle is Breaking Bad News with Baby Animals.

Book of the week

For some reason, seeing this book on a cart of new releases just made me really happy. What made me even happier was taking a collection of sports writing off a display and replacing it with this book. Fair and balanced, y'know?

Mother's Day

This is my mom, my older brother John, and me, circa late 1966. Mom died in 1996 so I can't wish her a happy Mother's Day, but I think about her every day and often reflect that she did a pretty good job raising us, especially considering she had four kids between 1964 and 1967. I don't know how she did it without losing her mind -- that alone probably qualifies her for sainthood, let alone mother of the year.

I don't have anything profound to say about her. I just miss her and wish she were around to talk to.

Thinking about TV

I love BBC America. Yes, they show far too many episodes of Doctor Who and Robin Hood, but they also have introduced me to the fine art of British insults. The Brits know how to cut people down to size like no one else on earth. Yesterday, for instance, I got to hear the ever-charming Gordon Ramsay call a loud, argumentative woman "fucking Shrek in a frock." And a couple of days ago, on my new favorite show, How Clean Is Your House?, hosts Kim and Aggie described a house with a tidy front yard but potentially disastrous interior as a "fur coat with no knickers." For less clever but nonstop abuse, I recommend You Are What You Eat, on which host Gillian McKeith simply cannot say enough rude, insensitive things to her overweight and out of shape "guests." Man, I thought Gordon Ramsay was mean!

***********

I felt pretty bad about myself this morning, watching a rerun of Pet Sematary on Cinemax at 5:15 a.m. Really, how desperately low can a person be to sit through this movie? (By the way, I know that no one is aching for a critique of Pet Sematary at this late date, but I must commend the performance of 2-year-old Miko Hughes as the doomed baby, Gage Creed. His bloody rampage during the film's climax, not to mention his [SPOILER!!!] hilarious death scene, are the best things about the movie.) But as I sat through to the bitter end, I realized that there are people who should feel even worse about themselves than I do when it comes to this movie. Those people are The Ramones, who sing the title song over the closing credits (sample lyrics: "I don't want to be buried in a pet sematary/ I don't want to live my life again"). For shame, boys.

Nobody wants him. He just stares at the world, planning his vengeance that he will soon unfurl.

On Saturday Norman and I met Lucy and her friend Heidi for a matinee of Iron Man. While Norman hung out in the theatre lobby playing Ms. Pac Man and poor Heidi wandered from theatre to theatre in the multiplex, trying to find us, Lucy and I parked outselves in some excellent seats and took a good look at the crowd around us.

"I think we're the only girls here," said Lucy.

I took another look, then said, "We may not be the only girls, but we're definitely the only women."

Ladies, don't be put off by the second-tier comic book subject matter. Iron Man is thoroughly enjoyable, fast and funny, and Robert Downey, Jr. is delightful. (Of course, I had awfully low expectations for this flick, so maybe I'm mistaking "not terrible" for "pretty darn good.") Also, don't be like us and leave before the end titles are through: I hear we missed a nice little post-credit stinger.

Cranky

"Cranky" is what my mom used to call me when I needed but refused to take a nap. All day long I have been overwhelmed by weariness, by a simple need to lay my head down and close my eyes and check out of this world for a couple of hours; yet I have been forced to, you know, work and earn a paycheck and, worst of all, interact with my fellow human beings. If it were a different time of month I might suspect PMS (though that's not something I'm prone to), but it appears to be just honest-to-goodness, I-need-a-nap crankiness.

Yesterday was the end of my employer's fiscal year, which means that last night was our annual inventory. The bookstore in which I work is big enough that we have to hire an outside inventory company to come in to do most of the work. While I am sure that some people who work for these inventory firms are hardworking, go-getting types, my experience over the last twenty-plus years is that the vast majority of them either 1) are idiots or 2) don't give a shit. I suspect that most of these folks are a combination of #1 and #2. They took the job because it doesn't conflict with their school schedule or the babysitter's availability, they're tired and cranky themselves, and they walk into my workplace, thinking, "Oh, a bookstore. Lots of simple rectangles to count," then see the 80,000+ books plus all the tchochkes scattered around on every flat surface of the store and revise that thought to, "Damn. Get me outta here."

Which means I have my work cut out for me the day after inventory. As visual merchandising manager, I'm in charge of making the store look good, and that's a great deal of work after a team of more than fifty uncaring individuals has swept through the place, dismantling my displays, turning books upside down or backwards, leaving merchandise piled on the floor in one spot while dumping a slew of display stands in another. I started my cleanup shortly after seven this morning, and employees were still tidying when I left at nearly four. This year was not the messiest state in which I'd seen the store, but it was far worse than it has been the past four or five years. I was expecting, shall we say, an increased work load today, but the volume of effort required by not only me but also everyone else on the sales floor left a sour taste in my mouth.

Then, at lunchtime, I went up to the breakroom to eat my paltry lunch: half a pita stuffed with lettuce and tuna salad, and a carton of yogurt. I had put them in the butter container on the door of the fridge when I got to work this morning. At 1:20, they weren't there. I couldn't find the yogurt at all, so I have to assume someone ate it, but I finally found my poor sandwich shoved under the crisper on the bottom shelf. I could see before I touched it that the pita had ripped in two; when I pulled it out, it was heavy and soggy. Water (or some other clear liquid) dripped from the plastic wrap, and I could see that the pita bread was waterlogged. WTF??? I have no idea what befell my poor sandwich -- perhaps a run in with a tipsy water bottle. By that point, all the leftover pizza and pasta salad from the night before had been eaten by co-workers who went to lunch earlier than I did, so I couldn't even make do with that stuff and had to go buy a salad -- a truly terrible, tasteless salad -- from Famima. And there weren't any peanut butter M&Ms left in the vending machine so I was unable to medicate myself. I was beyond relieved when the clock hit 3:30 and I could go home.

I am taking five days off starting a week from today. Right now I have no plans and don't intend to make much in the way of plans. I want to rest, to finally shake this cold, to read and watch old movies on TCM and maybe crochet a bit, and to work in my garden. I want to sleep. Most of all, I want to shake this crankiness and get back to being my old, only sorta-cranky self.