tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72693837861929898412024-03-12T20:45:29.823-05:00Kaite's Book ShelfMusings, ramblings, profundities and inanities, i.e. something for everyone.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-45068753870340821992009-08-15T14:58:00.006-05:002009-08-16T08:10:47.071-05:00AcknowledgmentsI've been thinking about the above a lot lately. The book I'm editing with a great friend-editor-writer is almost complete. All we have left is a final pass through the entire manuscript, the introduction (my last bit), and the acknowledgments. I'm almost done with the final reading/editing and the introduction is outlined and ready to be attached, but the acknowledgments have me stymied.<br /><br />I'm of two minds about this form of the literary thank you. The most base reaction sounds like this in my head:<br /><br />"THANKS?! I'm supposed to give <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">thanks</span>?! You're joshing me, right? Because this book has eaten up a part of my soul. There's hours in this thing that I'm not getting back. Hours of temperate sunny weekends that had me curled up on my porch with this laptop in my face instead of tending to my new garden or walking in Loose Park. There's a couple of great books I didn't get to read last spring. I haven't kept up with our city government goings-on or the <span style="font-style: italic;">New York Times Book Review</span>. I've only seen ONE movie this summer and I'm pretty sure some of my friends have deleted my phone number from their speed-dials. I haven't cooked a meal in the last eight months and I have friends and family glaring at me on Facebook for missing messages, phone calls, parties, and concerts.<br /><br />And who did any of this work, anyway, besides me, Jessica, and the contributing writers? I don't see anyone else reading these chapters for me. No one wrote my chapter. I don't see anyone packing away my computer when I nod off over it. Or plugging it in when the battery runs down. No one corrected typos or formatted TOCs or researched citations but me."<br /><br />That's my Id there. Say hello to my Id. Hi, Id. You can take your selfish self back inside now. We appreciate your contributions.<br /><br />And the other half of my mind is frantic looking for the people to thank. I want to make sure I don't leave anyone out. I want to give everyone credit. But I'm not sure who they all are. Even my husband snorted and said, "I didn't do a damn thing to help you with this book. Don't thank me for anything."<br /><br />Yet, it occurs to me, I have <span style="font-style: italic;">plenty</span> of people to thank. Lots of folks contributed to this book's completion, although most of them don't know it. And I didn't realize it until I sat down in my favorite coffee shop to work a little bit.<br /><br />I want to thank the warm, welcoming, caffeine-friendly folks at <a href="http://www.onemorecupkc.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold;">One More Cup</span></a>. They learned my name, remembered my favorite drink and tried to save the table in the window for me on Saturday mornings. The atmosphere at OMC is the most conducive to writing I have ever been in.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.thelesbrarian.com/"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lesbrarian</span></a> deserves kudos for taking time out of her own editing to swap baldly honest emails about the banalities of writing. I always felt reinvigorated after trading complaints with her about our respective workloads.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.myspace.com/plbb"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The People's Liberation Big Band of Kansas City</span></a> could propel me to heights of concentration I could not otherwise reach without their beautiful cacophonous symphonies ringing in my ears on Sunday nights. The intricate rhythms and quixotic melodies provided the best background music I've ever had.<br /><br />My family and friends can never be repaid for all the times they dropped their guard and asked me, "Whattaya been doing?" and then listened to the details of the book's progress (without letting their eyes glaze over) and my hollow promises to "come up for air at the end of this month, I swear." They are a graciously impatient lot who did not wait for that to happen, but pried me from behind the computer to grab a meal or a drink, take a walk or visit a thrift shop and gently steered conversation away from the book. I'd go back to the work refreshed (albeit full of whopping guilt), but with an understanding that there's another life to go back to when this is over.<br /><br />Colleagues at work contributed in other ways, too. My boss gave me all the time off I needed (usually at the last minute) to write. Another colleague ably took over the department on those days so I never had a moment's worry about it. One work friend never said anything more than, "Boy, that's sumthin'. Yer writin' a book" whenever I hid in his office to grouse about it. I owe big plates of gratitude to my editors at <span style="font-style: italic;">Booklist</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">NoveList</span> who let me slide on all kinds of writing assignments to get this big one out of the way.<br /><br />While he thinks he didn't have "a damn thing to do with it," my husband is correct in a sense. There's nothing of him in this book. Just like there's nothing of me in any of his musical compositions. But someone had to do the cooking, keep the cars running, and guide me through the finer points of laptop computer purchasing for the duration. And most importantly, whenever I gave in to the little demons and despaired this thing would ever be done and who the hell did I think I was anyway to do a book, what am I crazy or something, I can't do this. He'd look at me calmly and say, "Yes, you can."<br /><br />I have to thank everyone above for being <span style="font-style: italic;">right</span>. This journey is almost over and I could not have made it without <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">any</span> of you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-10456511383868175212009-07-29T16:21:00.004-05:002009-08-02T08:11:44.082-05:00Three Rings<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/SnC_7O_jBiI/AAAAAAAAARk/9N2PpHky_pM/s1600-h/librarian3.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 128px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/SnC_7O_jBiI/AAAAAAAAARk/9N2PpHky_pM/s200/librarian3.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363998180556080674" border="0" /></a><br />Not to rule them all. Three rings as in circus.<br /><br />This morning has been spent in looking at all kinds of reports: self-check machine circulating reports, daily circ reports, hold reports, time sheet reports, ad infinitum.<br /><br />A patron requested a book that we don't have any longer and I was able to get a quick turnaround on an order for her. I had a phone call about a lost set of keys with a library card on the ring and was able to contact the patron who had lost the keys and let her know where they were.<br /><br />I found a second life for about 40 copies of a book I thought I had to weed and I'm very grateful for that. I didn't want all of them to wind up in landfill and now they are going to a good home.<br /><br />Our staff meeting today was very successful until it was interrupted by a parking snafu. Everyone on staff as well as some visiting staff members learned the difference between collection agencies, credit reporting bureaus, and bankruptcies.<br /><br />Housekeeping items included reviewing laptop problems, adjusting timesheets, and learning how to use a new staff Instant Messenger program. I also started a discussion with a co-worker about the future of e-readers in the Library. We've rainchecked it to continue at another time.<br /><br />And now, it's off to work the desk until closing tonight. I will try to compose a blog post for a friend, contact possible speakers for a series of programs, catch up on emails, and outline a plan for roving customer service for front line staff.<br /><br />This is the stuff they didn't teach you in library school.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-3191539688664916592009-07-28T20:03:00.003-05:002009-08-02T08:14:41.552-05:00Twofer TuesdayIt seemed like everything happened in pairs today. Double the interruptions, double the meetings, double the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">wackness</span>.<br /><br />Today I prepped for an early morning meeting that I hadn't prepped for yesterday and it went a little longer than expected. I confirmed plans for an OPAL presentation I will be giving at another library system and begged and pleaded with friends, colleagues, and complete strangers for names of folks who know more than a passing bit about the Bronte sisters.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/SnWRLhnwbAI/AAAAAAAAARs/-nAZ8LqXTHM/s1600-h/IMG_1176.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/SnWRLhnwbAI/AAAAAAAAARs/-nAZ8LqXTHM/s200/IMG_1176.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365354158271523842" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />I listen a lot at my job. When you listen a lot, you hear a lot of interesting things. I listened to a friend tell me how nutty things are in his department and then I listened to another friend tell me how loony things are in her department. I listened to a friend tell me how kooky things <span style="font-style: italic;">were</span> in his department when he was there. I am convinced I work in a gigantic fun house of psychiatric wonders and anxieties.<br /><br />I handled some bounced email and updated some collection agency accounts for a patron who should not have been contacted. I read about the new <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Kindlesque</span> device Apple is trying to roll out and consulted with a staff member about a volunteer who may be able to assist us with our computer classes.<br /><br />The nicest thing that happened today? While I was covering a break for another staff member, a patron called to tell me how wonderful this staff member had been to her. She gushed on and on and it was a delight to listen to her wax ecstatic about this staffer. Who is everything she said he is.<br /><br />At the end of the day I watched our beautiful Library get ready for a program that would be hosting 500 people. This is old hat for us and all the staff handle it like the consummate pros they are.<br /><br />But I was just too tired to stick around for this one.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-38573466720234689582009-07-27T17:22:00.006-05:002009-07-27T17:38:44.377-05:00To do equals mostly to done<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/Sm4sXsnAtfI/AAAAAAAAARM/cv3nhAh1i3M/s1600-h/brarian2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 119px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/Sm4sXsnAtfI/AAAAAAAAARM/cv3nhAh1i3M/s200/brarian2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363272991868237298" border="0" /></a><br />There are a few things left on the above, but for the most part, the day went as planned.<br /><br />While I was preparing the daily cash register amounts for today and next weekend, I received an update from a staff member about a patron who has been providing instructions to fellow bbs members about how to steal books from a library.<br /><br />Another staff member showed me an item that a patron brought into the library that he had not checked out. He was merely returning it for another patron who had also not checked out said item but had a habit of wandering into the first man's place of business and leaving behind library materials. The first man is gracious enough to recognize the rightful owner and return the property to the Library.<br /><br />As usual, there are small glitches with the circulating laptops. Laptop 11 is missing a key on the keyboard, the all import |\ key. Laptop 2 can't circulate without a charger, laptop 1 is still in for repairs and laptop 5 is just being ornery.<br /><br />I prepped for a meeting with a friend at the local paper regarding the book group we co-facilitate/organize. The best part of this meeting was having lunch in the pub across the street. The worst part was realizing we couldn't have a beer with lunch. We hammered out reading selections for the next year with some kibutzing from a fellow diner and feel we have a solid list that will appeal to men, women, seniors, teens, and folks who just think talking about reading is fun.<br /><br />I updated two ongoing lists of Street Fiction with new titles and reviewed and posted the schedule for next week. The staff meeting for Wednesday is planned and ready with one correction to a document that will be presented by another staff member. I will only have to provide cookies and take attendance.<br /><br />I still have to prepare for tomorrow's meeting and start drafting a training plan for a meeting next week. But on the whole, today has been okay and tomorrow will be better.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-73240364480485052122009-07-26T22:44:00.005-05:002009-07-26T23:57:23.451-05:00As the World Circs<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/Sm0ylv3bhOI/AAAAAAAAARE/kvyZDA0fBlY/s1600-h/brarian1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 271px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/Sm0ylv3bhOI/AAAAAAAAARE/kvyZDA0fBlY/s320/brarian1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362998355353634018" border="0" /></a><br />In preparation for the <a href="http://librarydayinthelife.pbworks.com/">Library Day in the Life</a> blog project that begins tomorrow, I thought I'd get a head start. Like I normally do before my work week begins.<br /><br />On Sunday nights, I empty out the messenger bag. I throw all the lunch containers in the dishwasher, pick out all the paperclips, spare change, and bits of paper that have fallen to the bottom. I arrange everything neatly, plug in all electronics (cell phone, laptop) to recharge batteries, and review calendar. I make a mental list of what needs to be done this week and try to remind myself that there will be <span style="font-style: italic;">at least</span> five fires that will require my attention before the end of tomorrow. I may have a plan, but it will be derailed.<br /><br />It took me three years to get right with that. It's always good to have a list of what needs to be done, but it's even better to understand that there will be unexpected and unnamed complications that will hinder the progress. A successful work week, for me, depends primarily on how I handle the disruptions and interruptions as they arise, since I won't be able to plan for them or schedule them.<br /><br />But right now, on the list of Monday's things to do:<br />1. Gather materials for a meeting on Tuesday morning<br />2. Prepare for a meeting at the Kansas City Star<br />3. Review and post next week's schedule. Send email informing of any anomalies in next week's schedule.<br />4. Make changes in next month's schedule.<br />5. Review and approve last week's time sheets.<br />6. Confirm coverage so staff can attend monthly department meeting.<br />7. Plan and promote next meetings of two book groups.<br />8. Write customer service plan for self-service initiative.<br />9. Post to Library blog.<br />10. Pull files on three staff members and begin preparations for annual reviews.<br />11. Pick up August bus pass.<br />12. Prepare cash register banks for three public service desks.<br /><br />I better make sure I do number 11. It's the most important on the list. Will pop back in tomorrow with an updated list of things to do, what <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> got done, what <span style="font-style: italic;">didn't</span> get done, and what the road blocks were.<br /><br />Anyone but me notice that shelving and reading <span style="font-style: italic;">didn't</span> make the list of things to do?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-61826593902998049162009-04-20T22:56:00.010-05:002009-04-20T23:11:31.426-05:00As seen on Shovers & Makers<div class="entry"> <p>whooooffft. Puh-puh-puh. Is this thing on? Can you HEAR{screeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeee} me?</p><p><br /></p> <p>Oh, sorry, everyone. I guess I got a little too close to the keyboard. Okay. So. I’m supposed to say a few words about me, who I am, what I do, why I’m here, and stuff like that, is that it?</p> <p><br /></p><p>You know, this <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.shoversandmakers.net/">Shovers & Makers</a> thing kinda feels like a job interview or that time I made the <strong><a href="http://www.libraryjournal.com/article/CA281680.html">Movers & Shakers</a></strong> list. All the interviewers wanted was to talk about me and you know what? I’m tired of talking about me. I’m not just the <strong style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Head of Readers’ Services</span> for </strong><a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://www.kclibrary.org/">Kansas City Public Library</a>. There’s way more to me than that. I’m already planning for my retirement. My second career is going to be heavy machinery operator. Yeah.</p> <p><br /></p><p>And I’m not just a <a href="http://www.booklistonline.com/default.aspx?page=show_product&pid=3433425">columnist</a> for <em style="font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://www.booklistonline.com/">Booklist</a></em><em style="font-weight: bold;"></em><span style="font-weight: bold;"> </span>or <strong>NoveList</strong>, either. I write thank you notes, too. And rude and quirky postcards to my friends. And pithy comments on bathroom walls about the weak drinks they serve at the Riot Room.</p> <p><br /></p><p>Yeah, I blog. I blog a lot at <a style="font-weight: bold;" href="http://bookgroupbuzz.booklistonline.com/">Book Group Buzz</a> and occasionally guest stint over at <a href="http://blog.booklistonline.com/"><strong>Likely Stories</strong></a>. I ride herd on <strong><a href="http://www.kclibrary.org/off-the-page">Off the Page</a></strong>, too. I’ve even been known to dash a few lines for my own blog, <strong><a href="http://www.kaitesbookshelf.blogspot.com/">Kaite’s Bookshelf</a></strong>.</p><b> </b><p><strong style="font-weight: normal;">Sure I was <span style="font-weight: bold;">KCMLIN Trainer of the Year</span></strong>. Big deal. Did anyone tell you about the time I spelled “cartilage” correctly for the Library’s Books ‘n Beer team in the city-wide spelling bee? No? That’s because they don’t think that’s im-por-tant.</p> <p><br /></p><p>So I was <b>Macmillan’s Librarian of the Month</b> last August. So what? I won a hula hoop contest that same month at Crosstown Saloon and no one wrote about that.<br /></p><b> </b><div id="attachment_684" class="wp-caption alignright" style="width: 220px;"><b><strong><strong><img class="size-medium wp-image-684" title="kaitemediatorestover1" src="http://www.shoversandmakers.net/wp-content/uploads/kaitemediatorestover1-300x225.jpg" alt="Kaite Mediatore Stover awaits the next cage match" height="158" width="210" /></strong></strong></b><p class="wp-caption-text"><b>Kaite Mediatore Stover awaits the next cage match</b></p></div><b> </b><p><br />No one ever asks me about the really important things. Like is it true I’m part owner of <b><a href="http://www.ebbsfleetunited.co.uk/">Ebbsfleet United</a></b>? Can I really tap dance and read tarot cards? And why don’t I just bake the cookie dough already and stop eating it out of the bowl? See? Those things are crucial. They are integral to my personality. But all anyone wants to know is when I’m going to get my rear in gear and get those two chapters submitted to Jessica and Mary K. and then finish my own book. I don’t know, okay? Stop nagging, already!</p><p><br /></p> <p>Look, are we done here? Because I’m seriously falling behind in my loafing and you’re not helping. If you want to get me out of this jam, pass me the sidewalk chalk and bubbles and let’s go outside and git ‘er done. C’mon. Whattayasay? Enough about me. Let’s talk about you. </p><b> </b></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-49147538602810053582009-01-02T15:49:00.006-06:002009-01-02T16:01:31.077-06:00Ten Websites that Turn My Brain to Porridge<span style="font-family:tahoma;"><p><br />1. <strong><a href="http://www.style.com/">Style</a></strong>—I don’t claim to be any kind of fashionista. I like to comb the racks at this site for inspiration that I then take to the thrift shops. It’s amazing what some designers think real people will wear and I like to view the runways and picture how the “look” could be adjusted for a woman with boobs, hips and a butt.<br /><br />2. <strong><a href="http://postsecret.blogspot.com/">Postsecret</a></strong>—This secret haven reminds me that no matter what I think is wrong with me or my life, there’s folks with bigger problems who will still help me get through mine.<br /><br />3.<strong> <a href="http://www.camcentral.com/listings.php?task=menu&item=category">Webcams</a></strong>—I love these things. I can waste hours watching pandas, the Seattle skyline, aurora borealis, construction sites, space weather, auto repair, you name it.<br /><br />4. <strong><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/">GoodReads Never Ending Book Quiz</a></strong>—positively addictive. Test your knowledge of books, authors, literary history, and more. How could any librarian NOT want to pit her wits?<br /><br /><strong>5. <a href="http://jerryandmartha.com/yourdailyart/">Your Daily Art</a></strong>—a little piece of art history almost every day. The way art should be viewed, one savory bit at a time.<br /><br />6.<strong> <a href="http://www.npr.org/">NPR</a></strong>—I find subjects I didn’t know I was interested in whenever I stop by this site. It’s an intellectual’s sinkhole.<br /><br />7. <strong><a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/">Urban Dictionary</a></strong>—Adding to my cocktail party vocabulary is always on my list of things to do.<br /><br />8.<strong> <a href="http://www.rockandrollconfidential.com/">Rock and Roll Confidential</a></strong>—I howl at the Hall of DBs. And I want a <em>Your Band Sucks</em> t-shirt.</p><p>9. <strong><a href="http://www.ebay.com/">eBay</a></strong>—I can’t stop looking for vintage beaded cardigan sweaters, Paden City pottery, antique mirrors, and body parts. Or any contraband.<br /><br />10.<strong> <a href="http://projectrungay.blogspot.com/">Project Rungay</a></strong>—the best fashion snark out there. Two fabulously witty and smart bloggers who took an obsession all the way to Bryant Park.<br /></p></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-54750469084778757612008-12-31T09:05:00.018-06:002008-12-31T09:30:31.151-06:00Ten Radio Programs That Will Make Me Donate Money1. <span style="font-family:arial;"><strong><a href="http://www.npr.org/programs/waitwait/">Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me</a></strong>—My favorite newsies are <strong>Roxanne Roberts</strong>, <strong>Adam Felber</strong>, and <strong>Charlie Pierce. </strong>It's an IQ show for eggheads. But funny.<br /><br />2. <strong><a href="http://www.onlyagame.org/">Only a Game</a></strong>—Did I mention <strong>Charlie Pierce</strong>? One of the funniest and most insightful sports commentators on radio today? And <strong>Bill Littlefield</strong>. It’s not just sports, it’s FUN! They covered the Library Book Cart competition in Anaheim. You can HEAR these guys smile.<br /><br />3. <strong><a href="http://www.kcur.org/uptodate.html">Up to Date</a></strong>—<strong>Steve Kraske</strong>’s gimlet-eyed view of all things Kansas City gives me something to think about every time he’s on the air. I like his thoughtful comments on his topics. He’s always prepared. Not like those clowns on…<br /><br />4. <strong><a href="http://www.kcur.org/waltbodine.html">The Walt Bodine Show</a>’s Book Doctors</strong> segment—I can say that because every once in a while the producer slips up and invites me on the air with some frighteningly smart reader/critics like <strong>Mark Luce</strong> and <strong>John Mark Eberhart</strong> and <strong>Steve Paul</strong>. Listen to the <a href="http://archive.kcur.org/kcurViewDirect.asp?PlayListID=5458">December 2007 </a>show for Mark, John Mark and me totally winging it and having a blast.<br /><br />5. <strong><a href="http://www.thisamericanlife.org/">This American Life</a></strong>—it’s like Twitter, but with more than 160 characters per post.<br /><br />6. <strong><a href="http://www.newletters.org/OnTheAir.asp">New Letters on the Air</a></strong>—<strong>Angela Elam</strong>’s voice sucks me into the program as much as the writers suck me into their work. I will always treasure her interview with <strong><a href="http://www.redroom.com/author/tom%C3%A1s-riley">Tomas Riley</a></strong>.<br /><br />7. <strong><a href="http://www.kcur.org/nighttides.html">Night Tides</a></strong>—soothing lullabies for adults.<br /><br />8. <strong><a href="http://www.kcur.org/kccurrents.html">KC Currents</a></strong>—I enjoying hearing the voices with the names in the news on the local front.<br /><br />9. <strong><a href="http://stardate.org/">StarDate</a></strong>—satisfies my inner science-geek without subjecting me to a long multi-syllabic lecture. Bite-sized astronomy; the Milky Way chocolate bar of radio.<br /><br />10. <strong><a href="http://thistleradio.com/">Thistle & Shamrock</a></strong>—I defy ANYONE not to attempt a jig while listening to this show.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:tahoma;"></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-11434841519982536622008-12-31T09:03:00.002-06:002008-12-31T09:05:31.836-06:00Rejuvenating Juvenile Games<strong>Ten Best</strong><br /><br />I used to play this game as a kid called “Ten Best”. I’d make lists of all kinds of things: Ten Best Foods to have in the House When the Power Goes Out; Ten Best People to go to the Carnival With; Ten Best Candies to get on Halloween; Ten Best Sugared Cereals My Mother Won’t Let me Eat.<br /><br />I’m going to try to revive that game this year. Please note that as I am a sporadic blogger, esoteric in taste, and probably downright wrong about some things, this won’t be a regular activity. But it’ll be fun while it lasts. For me, anyway.<br /><br />And it's Spyder's fault that I'm doing this. Her link is making me stay current with this blog.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-14705255382637560272008-09-20T08:20:00.005-05:002008-09-20T08:22:03.574-05:00The Goodbye Season<font="arial">I love summer and I love fall. Summer evenings on my porch, listening to the cicadian symphony accompanied by the occasional timpani yowl of a neighborhood cat, watching the dusk turn gently to night , I can feel time stopping to listen and watch along with me. Autumn mornings stir my blood. Walking quickly to the bus stop through the crispy cool air, breathing hard to watch the small clouds of steam, and avoiding dewy grass, I am almost fooled into thinking my bus will be yellow and not green when it finally pulls up.<br /><br />But like many of us, I don’t tolerate sudden change easily. For me, last week’s cold snap wasn’t a harbinger of more, but different, enjoyable weather. It reminded me that summer is coming to a close and I need to prepare for that, mentally, physically, spiritually. It was a forced period of transition and I balked. Those in-between days are my “goodbye season.” It didn’t last long, but I realized I wasn’t quite ready for summer to be over, even though I have many wonderful things in the fall to look forward to.<br /><br />I’m not ready to abandon my garden. Folks in my neighborhood already think I’ve abandoned it, but now that the beds are ready and I have some weekend time, I want to plant sweet alyssum and snap dragons and lambs’ ear and cone flowers. It’s too late for that, yet I always thought I’d have plenty of time whenever I walked past the bare plots.<br /><br />I’m not ready to say goodbye to my summer wardrobe. I don’t want to swap out my tank tops and flip flops for stockings and pumps. I don’t want to pull out all my jeans and fold up my shorts, or dig through drawers, ignoring cotton shortie pajamas and silky nighties, looking for flannel pants and thermal tops.<br /><br />I’m not ready to winterize my house by putting the crocheted afghans and Mexican striped throws on the couch and tucking away the tiny pillows. Or making a choice between flannel sheets and soft cotton ones. Replacing the colorful summer quilt with the heavy down comforter. I can’t bear to tell my plants they can no longer spend their days outside on the porch, sunbathing. They must now come inside and fight for window spots, dropping leaves in protest at being cooped up, and leaving water rings of disapproval on wooden table tops.<br /><br />I balk at taking leave of dining and drinking al fresco, easily my most favorite summer activity. I can’t bear to turn away from salads, popsicles, outdoor grilled catfish and red peppers, fresh vegetables from my neighbor’s garden, lazy beers on Venus’ deck, iced mochas on Muddy’s patio, brunch mimosas under Classic Cup umbrellas.<br /><br />I don’t know how I’ll pack up my summer reading. All those adrenaline-pumping thrillers, friendship-filled chick lit novels, baseball, NASCAR, and Olympic expose’s, the whimsical and escapist fantasy and science fiction, the chill-inducing horror (only read during the hottest days).<br /><br />I want my ballet, Shakespeare and baseball in the park. I want to hear the pulsing beat of the blues at a street festival, watch the buskers on the Plaza sidewalks, cheer the reckless drivers at the demolition derby, judge corn and pigs, and battle the exhilarating fear at the top of the ferris wheel at the county fair.<br /><br />How could I say goodbye to all that? But I will. If not graciously, then sulkily, but only for a moment. Until I warmly greet all the bounty and beauty that is autumn.</font>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-88290906487213874872008-09-14T16:12:00.004-05:002010-04-20T17:15:54.112-05:00Literary Lions Lost<div id="pBlogBody_432910340" class="blogContent"><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">It was a hard weekend in the book world. Two of its most respected and revered authors turned the last page.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Award-winning crime novelist, <b><a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3Lm55dGltZXMuY29tLzIwMDgvMDkvMTIvYm9va3MvMTJtY2RvbmFsZC5odG1sP3JlZj1ib29rcw==">George Mcdonald</a></b>, passed away Sunday. Mcdonald is the creator of the Edgar worthy <b>Fletch</b> novels which also made the successful leap to the movie screen. Mcdonald honed his appreciation for cynical and witty characters and outrageous situations at the Boston Globe as a reporter and editor. He took these experiences and crafted one of the first comic-mysteries with Fletch, an educated beach bum with a snappy comeback and reckless nature. These books are still popular with readers who are fans of the sardonic tarnished detective-knight who carefully guards the small piece of gold buried in his heart.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">A master of experimental fiction, <b><a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LmxhdGltZXMuY29tL25ld3Mvb2JpdHVhcmllcy9sYS1tZS13YWxsYWNlMTQtMjAwOHNlcDE0LDAsMjQ2MTU1LnN0b3J5">David Foster Wallace</a></b>, committed suicide Friday night. Wallace accumulated a cult following for his darkly comic and innovative novels and short stories. His first novel, <b><i>Broom of the System</i></b>, grew out of his senior thesis. Wallace is best known for his expansive, thought-provoking and occasionally frustrating novel, <b><i>Infinite Jest</i></b>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"><br /></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family:Tahoma;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family:Tahoma;">Oh, sure, there'll always be another wise-acre detective and some fresh kid pushing the boundaries of fiction, but it won't be the same without Mcdonald and Wallace, whose influence will live on.</span></p></div> <!--- blogger's current book/movie/music/games ---> <table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" width="600"><tbody><tr><td align="left" valign="top" width="60"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/High-Kings/dp/B0012OTVR6?SubscriptionId=10YFNG2YAAQ0VTNNR4R2&tag=myspace08-20&linkCode=xm2&camp=2025&creative=165953&creativeASIN=B0012OTVR6"><br /></a></td><td align="left" valign="top"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-58537868279854501832008-08-23T17:04:00.007-05:002010-04-20T17:20:49.113-05:00#9 in the Transit Epiphanies Series<p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">This is going to be a multi-ride pass of bus stories I never got around to blogging:</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><br /></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">1/20/2007</span>--the coldest day I ever waited for a bus. There's a wild snowstorm that attacked the city around 1 pm and the Library has closed early. I am very glad I had the foresight that morning to wear my boots to work, but I'm a little irked that I felt the need to wear a skirt. Like everyone else, I exodus to the bus at 5 pm, hoping to get out of downtown within a couple of hours, traffic and snow being what it is.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"> I'm waiting at the bus stop and the 55 never comes. A young, cheerful guy is waiting with me. Everyone else is cranky, cold and occasionally mustering up the energy to state the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">bloomin</span>' obvious, "the bus is late." It's been over 40 minutes and I begin to count the buses that go by. This is the second 38 I've seen, the third 24 and the third 71. I make a joke to my transit pal, "We're playing Texas <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Hold'em</span> with buses!" He laughs and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">sez</span>, "Yeah, we are! Check it out, I got two of a kind!" as a 71 whizzes past. We start taking serious note of the bus numbers. I'm up to two pair and he has five of a kind before a winner is declared. The winner is the person whose bus arrives first.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><br /></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">A couple of days later, I catch the last 55 heading south. We don't get more than three blocks when the bus stops abruptly in the middle of Main Street. No one pays any attention as we wait. But after about three minutes, passengers begin craning to see what the hold up is and we notice the bus driver getting agitated. Seems there's a car stopped in the middle of Main. And all the honking, yelling and obscene gestures can't get this blind, deaf, and idiotic auto-bovine to move.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><br /></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">Our bus driver angrily puts the bus in park and stomps off the bus. Those of us up front watch him walk to the driver's side of the stopped car and point angrily at the bus and then shake his finger in the driver's face. We watch our driver storm back to the bus, get back on and sit down heavily. He smacks his hands on the large steering wheel, then grips it tightly for a moment. His hands loosen on the wheel and the bus driver lets go. He quietly open the door again and steps off the bus. This time, he hails a cop, points to the obstinate driver and then returns to his bus.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><br /></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">The cop takes it from there. He saunters over to the reason for the by now cacophonous traffic jam and pleasantly addresses the driver. The driver still doesn't move. The cop leisurely pulls out his pad and issues the nuisance a ticket. The bus passengers cheer, the bus driver pastes a self-satisfied smile on his face and the inducer of road rage moves his car to the side of the road. Seems he's there to pick someone up from work and he's waiting for the person to arrive.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><br /></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">As the 55 starts making its way south, some of the passengers begin a conversation about evolution and road rage. I can't see the correlation myself, and go back to the book in my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">iPod</span>.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><br /></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">8/20/08</span>--I get the afternoon off for having worked a 14 hour day the night before. I'm boarding the 57 South Oak, which isn't a bad bus to ride and usually more interesting than the 55. Right after I board, a very strange, but nice enough man gets on. He's wearing a short sleeve shirt and khaki pants. Around his shin is tied a blue bandanna. It's a strange fashion statement, but, hey, could be seen on Project Runway next week.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><br /></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">The man sits down and greets the person next to him, a Metro bus driver on his way to pick up his next run, with, "Hey there Metro man, Metro Dan metro!". Loquacious <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Bandannaleg</span> starts digging through his belongings, "I know it's here, I know I have it. My transfer is in my pants. My transfer is in my box. I'm on my tenth cigarette. I sit right here next to the metro bus man." The resting driver doesn't even look at his seatmate who continues the running commentary on In Search of...Bus Transfers.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><br /></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">"Bless yer heart. It's here, it's right here. What? Yes, sir, kind man. I'll sit down and shut up. It's in my bag. It's in my pants. There's my cigarettes! Oh, here it is. Here you are, sir." It's about five stops since <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Bandannaleg</span> boarded and he holds out his bus pass to the driver and the driver points to the fare box. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Bandannaleg</span> gets up from his seat, clutching his pants and says, "Bless yer heart, man. Thank you. Thanks for your driving, Mr. Metro Driver Man, Driver Dan, Metro Man."</span></p><p><span style="font-family:Verdana;"><br /></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Verdana;">It's no wonder I'm not getting any reading done any more on the bus.</span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-40365654610393119252008-08-22T16:46:00.004-05:002010-04-20T17:24:08.821-05:00Bus du Freak<p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><strong>#78 in in the Transit Epiphanies</strong></span></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I've been riding the bus regularly, green girl that I am, but it's a very boring bus line. Nothing interesting happens on the 55. Everybody reads, though. I spend my rides craning my neck and straining my eyeballs trying to readsdrop on my fellow passengers.<br /></span></span></p><p><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But occasionally I have to take the Max. Last Tuesday, I had to pull an unexpected 14 hour day at <em>la libraire</em>. The work part doesn't suk, but the not-having-anything-to-gnosh-for-dinner and having-to-take-the-bus -home-at-9:30pm parts kinda do.</span></span></p><p><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I was dog tired when I climbed on the 9:22 Max at Petticoat Lane. And my mood didn't improve when I spotted the smart-mouthed <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vietnam</st1:place></st1:country-region> vet from a couple of bus rides ago. He's very chatty and a bit of a pushy wanker who wants to talk to everyone. He gives me the hairy eyeball and I glare back with my best "keep it to your effing self, slimebag" look.<br /></span></span></p><p><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">But one of my favorite passengers is on the bus. A very large and jolly African-American man who carries a pink boom box with him and at least three pieces of luggage. He's never any trouble. Just talks to himself or any rider who'll chat back. But it's obvious he's not having a good day today. He's sitting in the seat behind the bus driver and staring at his reflection in the window. He's saying, "Talk about food. Talk about chicks. Talk about the...Not today. Gotta go. Not on the phone. Not today." He shakes his finger at his reflection and says, "Not today. Gotta go."</span></span></p><p><br /><o:p></o:p></p> <p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The mouthy vet starts bitching about how hot it is on the bus. It's about 67 degrees outside and the driver, bless her, has turned off the AC. Having just come from the Arctically-temped library I'm not interested in the vet's kvetching. But he turns to me and sez, rudely, "Hey! Ainchu hot? Ain't it hot in here? How 'bout some AC, huh?" I say, loudly, "I'm not warm." No one else says anything. It's a crowded bus, but everyone is eerily quiet, as if they're waiting for something to surface. One of the downtown CID bike officers sits in the seat behind me.<br /></span></span></p><p><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Badday Jollyman continues to stare at his reflection in the window, saying, "Not today. Hey, fella. I gotta go." The vet keeps trying to start conversation with everyone on the bus, but no one's having any. He remarks on my cons, calls them PF flyers. Continues to stare. I stare back. I have perfected the blank, don'tfuckwithme stare. Anyone who wears contact lenses can do this. We stick shit in our eyes every day. We can stare down any badass on the bus.</span></span></p><p><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The Vet thinks the Badday Jollyman is talking to him since he's, well, TALKING<span style=""> </span>to somebody. And the Vet starts in, "Hey, man, you're freaking me out. Do not freak me out. I don't care how big you are, don't freak me out. I'll freak you up. I'm a <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Vietnam</st1:place></st1:country-region> vet. Don't freak me out. Don't like to be freaked out."</span></span></p><p><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This is what the other passengers were afraid would happen. It's just hot enough to annoy the shit out of everyone, but not so hot anyone will throw a punch or pull a switchblade.</span></span></p><p><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then the Badday Jollyman turns to the Vet and says something about Tina Turner and Luke Skywalker. He turns back to the window, points his finger at his reflection and says, "You keep that girl to yourself. Luke Skywalker was a rapper!" The Vet pipes up and says, "No, he's a producer!" Badday Jollyman replies, "Luke is nasty. Get back, Luke, that's nasty." To the window, "I said, keep back, that's nasty. Whoever you are, you have no business coming into QuickTrip."</span></span></p><p><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <span style="font-family:Arial;"><span style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The mugginess of the bus overtakes the Vet and the Jollyman and they fall silent. The CID officer gets off at <st1:street st="on"><st1:address st="on">39<sup>th</sup> Street</st1:address></st1:street> and says he'll see me tomorrow. He notices I've been scribbling furiously and grins. The Vet gets off at the Plaza. He leers once more at me and my notebook. I deadstare over his shoulder as he gets off the bus. Jollyman gets off at Il Centro. I miss him already.<br /><br /></span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-29908323058217300032008-05-16T16:40:00.003-05:002010-04-20T16:26:49.763-05:00But Will He Have a Bus Pass?<p><strong>#50 in the Transit Epiphany Series</strong></p> <p>This morning the first 55 Rockhill bus is early. It's always early. It's supposed to pick me up at 6:53 but if I'm not at the stop by 6:45, I'm SOL. The bus picks me up and I settle into a seat. Then the bus stops short. The guy in the seat in front of me calls out to the driver, "Sir?" and looks out the right side of the bus.</p><p><br /></p><p>I see a woman in a tan jacket, big gold hoop earrings and a perky caramel beret with fists full of crushed soda cans and plastic water bottles waving an arm at the bus. The driver stops and the woman strolls over to the door. She climbs the first two stairs and instead of feeding the fare box, leans into the bus, looks at all of us passengers and says, in a firm, optimistic voice, "Jesus sez there'll be murculls. Onct a month. If you claim 'em." She nods once at us, looks at the bus driver and nods again before hopping off the bus.</p><p><br /></p><p>The bus passengers are thoughtful for a moment, stunned by this cheery message. I replay what the woman said in my mind over and over and think, "Yes, she's correct. Jesus said there'd be miracles. We claim them, when we recognize them."</p><p><br /></p><p>I think, for a second, that woman is one of them.<br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-70715808921608765602008-05-02T11:50:00.000-05:002010-04-20T17:06:31.970-05:00Review 'em & Weep<div id="pBlogBody_389221961" class="blogContent"><p>The funniest piece of writing I have seen in a cat's age is right <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LmJvb2tsaXN0b25saW5lLmNvbS9kZWZhdWx0LmFzcHg/cGFnZT1zaG93X3Byb2R1Y3QmcGlkPTI2OTc0MjI=" target="_self">here</a>.</p><p><br /></p> <p>Don't waste any time. It's got a mystery, it's got heart, it's got a snooty secretary-type, a jaded-reviewer, a craggy editor, and a loveable guy dressed as Santa with all the answers.</p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-13001129176273094102008-04-25T08:25:00.001-05:002010-04-20T17:02:45.665-05:00Wanted: Dead or Alive<p>Well, they found me. I thought I'd be on the lam forever, hiding in plain sight. I sailed through airport security. Took some chances blowing through red lights, ignoring stop signs, making up my own speed limits. They didn't bat an eye. 'Cause they knew where I lived.</p><p><br /></p> <p>The auto g-men have my number. $38.50 to be exact. For a parking ticket I never paid. I have been informed by the City's attorneys that a warrant may have been issued for my arrest. They are wagging a paper-encrusted finger in my direction: pay your parking ticket, young lady!</p><p><br /></p> <p>I don't have any problem paying my debt to society. Especially since they waived the late fee. Check's in the mail, feebles!</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-16517184359382327322008-04-12T07:12:00.000-05:002010-04-20T17:05:06.827-05:00Librarian in the NewsCheck out <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3Lm15c3BhY2UuY29tL25vdG9yaW91c25pa2tp" target="_self">Nikki</a>'s profile in today's <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LmthbnNhc2NpdHkuY29tL2VudGVydGFpbm1lbnQvY29sdW1uaXN0cy9qZW5lZV9vc3RlcmhlbGR0Lw==" target="_self">Kansas City Star</a>!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-60275284809684843312008-04-09T12:18:00.010-05:002008-04-09T12:56:56.373-05:00Dealing them off the armMy mother always said have a backup skill in case those dreams of marrying wealthy and divorcing wealthier didn't work out. So I learned to type. Very fast. And typing was good.<a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v696/MarianLibertarian/waiter.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 209px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 292px" height="371" alt="" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v696/MarianLibertarian/waiter.jpg" border="0" /></a> It paid for a trip to Ireland in my senior year of college. I couldn't believe how lazy all these student were who hadn't learned to type.<br /><br />If one backup skill was good, two were better. So I became a waitress, which pays much better than typing and you get drinks at the end of the day. I used to regale my friends with "service industry" stories. Like the time I waited on 30 people on Mother's Day, couldn't take any other tables because this party kept dribbling in, growing larger and more demanding and ordering food every five minutes. After two hours, 45 goddam tossed salads with the dressing on the side, constant refills of Dr. Pepper, and a $300 check, one of the wives pressed a $5 dollar bill in my hand and thanked me for a lovely job. Her nephew was in the kitchen, cooking the day's food and she wanted to show her appreciation for his coworkers. For a brief moment I thought about beating her mightily around the head and face. But instead I laughed. I tipped my bartender with that fiver on my first drink of the evening.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.waiterrant.net/"><strong>The Waiter</strong></a> has felt my pain, joy and incredulity, and written about it in a book to be published this August, <em><strong>Waiter Rant</strong></em>. I harbor a secret obsession with any memoir about the restaurant business. I've spent too many years schlepping food and owe a great deal to the dining room managers who have given me a job at the lowest points of my life. I've read <strong><a href="http://www.debraginsberg.com/">Debra Ginsberg</a></strong>'s <em><strong>Waiting: True Confessions of a Waitress</strong></em> and <strong><em>Service Included</em></strong> by <strong><a href="http://www.phoebedamrosch.com/">Phoebe Damrosch</a></strong>. Those books are good. But The Waiter has perfectly captured what it is like to work the front of the house. The chapter alone on tipping and why the tip is so important to the server is priceless. I knew <em>exactly</em> how The Waiter's friend Allie felt after she'd delivered consummate service and was royally stiffed. It's not about the money. It's <em>never</em> about the money. Two tables from now, someone will over tip and make it all even for Allie. It's the insult. It's knowing that someone else has to assign a dollar value to your work and deemed it lacking when you know you turned in a top notch performance.<br /><br />The Waiter understands the emotional toll serving the public can take on a human being. No matter how much he dresses it up, he understands that people who work in food service are hired servants.<br /><br />With humor, wit, a liberal dose of snark and a soupcon of sentimentality, The Waiter brings the dining room into the reading room. Sometime in August, on a Monday night at the Pine Grove Inn or Tony's Villa Capri or the Airport Cafe or Friendly's or Domino's Pizza or New China or Racine's, the staff will share a drink, the tips and stories about their favorite Monday night customers--who are all in the food service industry. They will also share their impressions of <em>Waiter Rant </em>and none of them will find any part of the book to be lacking in verisimilitude<br /><br />They also serve, who wait.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-45559161691255370152008-04-03T10:04:00.001-06:002010-04-20T17:02:18.994-05:00Spelz lak teem spritz<p>You can call a Spelling Bee a nightlife. I lived through it and it happened at night! The <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LmJsdmRiZWVyLmNvbS9pbmRleC5jZm0=" target="_self">Boulevard Brewery</a>/<a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LmtjbGlicmFyeS5vcmcv" target="_self">KCPL</a> spelling team is so happy. We placed second last night in the city wide spelling bee for <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LmxpdGVyYWN5a2Mub3JnLw==" target="_self">LiteracyKC</a>. We had a blast and went out on ’axunge’. Yeah, you try spelling that one under hot lights in the 17th round.<br /></p><p><br /></p> <p>Assurant Employee Benefits won on ’hypnotherapeutic’ (yeah, that’s a no brainer word, everyone knew it). It was the "get this thing over or we’ll all need to get hotel rooms" word. But the Beer/Books team didn’t mind. We were just happy to be there. Finishing second far exceeded our expectations. If you know Bernard, Nancy or Erica, get them to tell you the ’cartilage’ story. Heh.</p><p><br /></p> <p>And just to cap off the night, Nikki, Matt and Erica convinced me our next stop should be the launch party of <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3Lmlua2tjLmNvbS8=" target="_self">INK</a> magazine in the <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vcG93ZXJhbmRsaWdodGRpc3RyaWN0LmNvbS9wdWJsaWMv" target="_self">Power & Light District</a>. Check <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3Lm15c3BhY2UuY29tL25vdG9yaW91c25pa2tp" target="_self">Nikki’s blog</a> for photos. After that, it was onto <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LmRhdmV5c3VwdG93bi5jb20v" target="_self">Davey</a>’s for some wild therapeutic theremin-infused jazz with <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3Lm15c3BhY2UuY29tL21ybWFyY29zdjc=" target="_self">Mr. Marco’s V7s</a>. And to pick up a new <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8va2NyaWdodHMuY29tLw==" target="_self">Vote No on 3</a> sign. Someone stole ours off our front lawn. Keep it up, clown. We got a million of ’em from Chris and Mokie.</p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-68313707011596229282008-03-23T09:03:00.003-06:002010-04-20T17:00:57.019-05:00Happy Marian dance<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/S84kEg0F7pI/AAAAAAAAASY/OuIYJwrB8Os/s1600/moyer.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 133px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/S84kEg0F7pI/AAAAAAAAASY/OuIYJwrB8Os/s200/moyer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462343057993494162" border="0" /></a><br /><p>Last year I wrote a chapter on RA and AV for a friend's book. I barely remember writing it! Yesterday's mail brought a copy of the book and I am Chapter 4!!</p><p><br /></p> <p>Check THAT off the "Life To-Do" list!</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-85126860533624717992008-01-06T10:49:00.001-06:002009-08-09T23:10:22.703-05:00Calling all Jane-iacs!You know who you are. If you're an academic, then you refer to yourself as a "Janeite." Those of us who are hip to Jane's trendster cred refer to ourselves as "Jane-iacs".<br /><br />Catch a whole month of Jane-inspired programming, events, movies, book discussions and author visits at <a href="http://www.kclibrary.org/"><strong>Kansas City Public Library</strong></a>'s month long <a href="http://www.kclibrary.org/rsvp/2008/janeausten/"><strong>Jane-uary </strong></a>celebration.<br /><a href="http://www.kclibrary.org/rsvp/2008/janeausten/"><br /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/R4ENPkv07VI/AAAAAAAAAKk/ewlImbTm4is/s1600-h/jane1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152414009902034258" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/R4ENPkv07VI/AAAAAAAAAKk/ewlImbTm4is/s320/jane1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Join the <a href="http://janeiac.wordpress.com/"><strong>Jane-iac blog</strong></a>, too.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-78841744319867521112007-12-10T19:21:00.001-06:002010-04-20T16:58:20.273-05:00It's okay to hate me. I hate me, too.<p>Right now I'm in Jacksonville, FL on a riverside balcony with a glass of white wine and 80 degree weather. I'm wearing a tank and flipflops. The sun has set and there are ducks fishing for dinner under my balcony. I can see all the stars because, apparently, they do not believe in street lights here in JAX. Even the guys at the bar next door are being civilized.</p><p><br /></p> <p>This morning when I left Kansas City at 6 am, it was 19. Degrees. I was a cranky wanker.</p><p><br /></p> <p>If I weren't enjoying myself so much, I'd kick my own ass. </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-36707287828438558162007-12-02T11:59:00.002-06:002010-04-20T16:57:21.523-05:00Twelve Days of Hellmas<div id="pBlogBody_334090281" class="blogContent"><p>Goddammit how I hate the holidays. In words I cannot begin to type without getting my ass thrown off the MySpace, I hate the holidays. I would enter the dockworkers' blue language hall of fame if I could write everything I feel about the gdngmfcspfsebl holidays. Use your imagination.</p><p><br /></p> <p>I hate the crass commercialism. I hate the blatant cheer. I hate the excessive consumerism. I hate the societal expectations, the stress, the disillusionment, and the countless additions to my already bloated task list. I hate traveling at the holidays with all the stupid amateurs who bitch when airport security rips open a package so they can make sure it isn't a dirty bomb. I hate all the fattening food. I can't frickin' stand "Jingle Bell Rock" or "Frosty the Snowman".</p><p><br /></p> <p>I do like the boozing, though. I can get behind getting drunk. It makes me forget the hellaciousness of the holidays.</p><p><br /></p> <p>I like going to church. Yes, I mean it. I am not blaspheming. And don't worry, that lightning bolt won't come anywhere near you. It's meant for me. I get one moment of serenity at the holidays. It's either at a holiday service or it's late at night, in the dark, with only a couple of candles to light the house.</p><p><br /></p> <p>December. What's to flippin' like? It's cold, it's dark, it's gloomy. It's ridden with holidays that interrupt the regular flow of life. July. THERE'S a month to get behind.</p><p><br /></p> <p>Every damn positive memory I have of this holiday comes with an equally negative one.<br /></p><p><br /></p> <p>If this holiday were outlawed I would not give a crap. Fuck the holidays. Fuck 'em hard.</p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-22457318972616376182007-11-10T06:59:00.001-06:002009-08-09T23:09:16.617-05:00And the Angels try to bar the Gates<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/RzWsuO5DEuI/AAAAAAAAAKc/VYOU6YSoZI4/s1600-h/norm.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9eNJOMJfdi0/RzWsuO5DEuI/AAAAAAAAAKc/VYOU6YSoZI4/s320/norm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131197260729881314" border="0" /></a><br />I have to put my grief someplace. We won't have Norman Mailer around anymore to epitomize the idea of a "man's writer." He was a macho, braying scoundrel, but I loved him anyway. A guy's guy. Guybrarian is probably mourning over a beer. Keir is staring blankly out the window of an El car. Bill is trying to compose a fitting Backpage.<br /><br />Norman was street before all those faux "gangstas" made it a lifestyle.<br /><br />Bye, <a href="http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/m/norman_mailer/index.html?inline=nyt-per">Norman</a>. And fug you for leaving us all behind.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7269383786192989841.post-36234168875292074142007-10-16T20:49:00.001-05:002009-08-09T23:11:40.707-05:00Is All Well?<div>The two sources I trust the most have finally weighed in on the Harry Potter phenomenon.</div><br /><div>On the front page of the <em>Book Review</em>, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/The%20two%20sources%20I%20trust%20the%20most%20have%20finally%20weighed%20in%20on%20the%20Harry%20Potter%20phenomenon.">The New York Time </a>printed a review that revealed no major spoilers (although if you're not aware of the ending by now, it's time to sublet that granite subterranean flat you've been living in). Reviewer Christopher Hitchens takes a few high brow swipes at the series as a whole and the final volume in particular, but I expected nothing less.</div><br /><div>The most anticipated <a href="http://www.ew.com/ew/article/0,,20044270_20044274_20050689,00.html">analysis</a> came from my Uncle Stevie over at the Bible of Popular Culture, commonly known as <a href="http://www.ew.com/">Entertainment Weekly</a>. Stephen King has been the most loyal reader and defender of Harry Potter , J.K. Rowling and their combined exploits. He is also one of the most astute commentators on the state of today's popular culture.</div><div><br />I'm still mulling over Hitchens' piece and his perceptive parallels drawn between Orwell, Dickens, Kipling, Conan Doyle, and Rowling. Your thoughts?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0