Reading Bounty!

Apparently bitey.

At the last second before leaving, I darted back inside to make sure there were no strange messages attached to my library card. I had paid a real-money fine sometime in 2014 (DVDs, with their $1-a-day-late fee always dangerous for me) but was the card still good? Had it expired? This is how long it has been. Prior to this past year, with every job held in downtown Ann Arbor, I have regularly skulked off to the library over lunchtimes of despair.

La Nuit (Miro), granted 3.5 stars!...heh

For me, libraries have always been similar to thrift stores (also beading, fabric stores): joy is held in their potential. Maybe that exact thing you want is not there, missing, or spoken for -- an occasion for grousing -- but almost every time, something else presents itself that you didn't know to ask for. And if you hadn't slowed down your day, you wouldn't have noticed it. It is often better than what you asked for initially. And so, if you are like me, you have to wander. Stroll down a side stack and pull out something random. Look at artwork you maybe wouldn't buy and contemplate for the nth time how cool it would be, if you were to reserve one space on your wall, and swap out temporary library-framed artwork in that space, you could challenge your reactions to it over a few weeks (just long enough to prevent its presence from fading into the background).

In short, it takes me outside of myself, reminds me of all the talent and insight out there, of which I am ignorant. And while the interwebs also does this, and can suspend time while you discover something new and fascinating, I find it way too easy to return to myself again. Why is that? Is it to do with the intellectual search running parallel to the physical search? It seems we have ventured past the initial dismissal of online living as one bereft of bona fide social engagement, so maybe it's along the lines of studies indicating the brain processes differently a book read on a Kindle and one read in the traditional fashion.

In any case, library visits have now acquired a luxurious sheen, and I was most excited to scamper off. I am told that once baby is mobile, I will lose the opportunity to read, but with nursing, I am still able to do so regularly. A certain haziness does impact reading comprehension at times, wherein my brain sagely nods over phrases like "Manlisted for the Short Booker Prize," before backtracking; even less fortunately, characters are sometimes mashed together, which in turn bungs up plots. Alas, gotta work with where you are! Today's two-bag haul included fiction from the browsing section, a Matisse art book snagged from a to-be-shelved cart, plus a couple handfuls of CDs. I passed on the theremin (seriously! Ann Arbor library has a music section!), leaving the moog accessories to the youngsters slouching between the rows of equipment.

Of note:

"When the secret Service agents climbed up into the large oak tress lining the perimeter of the yard, Alice Townley thought they looked like giant tarsiers. She had seen tarsiers in her picture book about wild animals Do You Know What's Out There? According to the book, tarsiers looked like teddy bears, but they were mean and would eat you if you startled them." Garden for the Blind by Kelly Fordon

"A third of the way through the half-mile walk from the landlord's house to his hut, Nitai Das's feet began to sway. Or maybe it is the head-spin again. He sits down on the lifeless field he has to cross before he can reach his hut. There isn't a thread of shade anywhere. The May sun is an unforgiving fire; it burns his blood dry." The Lives of Others*, Neel Mukherjee

• also, great epigraph "How can we imagine what our lives should be without the illumination of the lives of others?" James Salter, Light Years
• *manlisted

We Are Pirates, by Daniel Handler, of which Neil Gaiman said: "The strangest, most brilliant offering yet from the mind behind Lemony Snicket": Sold.

"In the face of calamity, the Colliers' first impulse was to overspend at the bookstore." A reasonable way to combat anxiety. You Could Be Home by Now, by Tracy Manaster

*****

Listening to an old Devotchka favorite, drinking tea and waiting for the rain to fall on our field of dandelion ghost blossoms. Armed for the week ahead!

Pinot, Picture Books, Chocolate Cake. I Need Lots of Things Like a Hole in the Head

Well, this is probably a bad idea. Pretentious, to say the least. I've hopped onto some free wireless in the cute Red Brick bar/restaurant in Dexter, MI because I wandered out this way to visit my favorite frame shop and ostensibly be productive there, which didn't really happen. Instead I drank tea and eventually ordered what's going to be a gorgeous frame for a Frida Kahlo photo that has been tucked into the side of a bookshelf in my kitchen for the past several years. I tried to find the photo for you, it's great: she has a silver bowl on her head, traditional embroidered Mexican blouse and dangling puffy earrings. The best part is her sideways glance: a secret, a sly joke, barely suppressed impatience?  It's from a battered exhibit program from the Philadelphia Museum of Art, from 2006(?). I desperately wanted to go to the show, but did not make it; Mom being Mom sent me the exhibit handout (along, most likely with a newsletter The Galloping Ghost from my high school, which I never read, but probably still have in some envelope or other).

[Update: the fried pickles at Red Brick are very good, nice and crisp. I feel less pretentious. Life tip --> fried pickles make you feel less pretentious. Tuck it in your hat!]

Last night I went to the grand ole Michigan Theater to hear the glorious and quirky Maira Kalman, who if you are not already familiar has written (/blogged/painted) a ton for The New Yorker, published numerous children's books (including! a book about mobile/sculptor Alexander Calder's circus! I had no idea! Love him and love her even more now!); has designed umbrellas and fabric for Isaac Mizrahi; and more recently has collaborated with Daniel Handler (of Lemony Snicket fame -- have yet to read any of those, but assume I'll really love 'em).

The book I own from her is In Pursuit of Happiness ; it's a celebration of democracy, as shown through lavish, free paintings, accompanied by cool, hand-written details on every blessed page of the satisfyingly heavy book. She explores D.C., its public institutions; interviews Ruth Bader Ginsburg and basically writes [/paints] mash-notes to George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Ben Franklin, etc. Her adoration of Matisse comes through the fluid lines, bright color palette and breezy style. The other fantastic thing about this book -- and any of her work -- is her investigation of and engagement with any given subject through appreciation of evocative, random detail. I think this is the same way my brain operates, so naturally I love it. She paints Lincoln and his favorite cake; memorial grave sites and the red, painted-on eyebrows of a guard.     

[there's a crush of people by the front door. I asked my waiter if he would like me to give up my table, but he was blase about it. Perhaps the crush is annoyed, but they don't know me. Two little blond girls with ringlets are having a meltdown around the corner. Intermittent wailing, in competition with Florence & the Machine (yay!)/Alanis Morisette (ugh)/Jackson Five (hey!) Wailing has transitioned to NO!! NO!! NOooooooOOOOOOooOOOo!!]

SO anyhow, she and Daniel Handler appeared together and OMG if you EVER get the chance to witness them even in the same room, MAKE IT HAPPEN. They were their own little comedy team. His wife would probably say otherwise, but judging from his appearance last night, it's impossible for him NOT to be funny. They started their slideshow with a painting of fish and warned us it would end with a painting of onion ring stains on a table cloth [/tea towel]. Earlier in their friendship, she would send him totally random vintage photos and he would write vignettes in reply. They read some of those, which were awesome [I was going to embed a photo in this spirit, but googling vintage photo/cross dressing was a.)too distracting b.)brought up way too much c.)this borrowed internet connection is sllllooooow). They eventually read from their new illustrated young adult book about failed romance Why We Broke Up. I can't wait to pour over this! In order to establish a starting point for their project, they started tooling around all of her collections and making a list of things that held appeal for both of them to write about and paint. Then (at least Handler) was thinking about the weight that things acquire in connection with romance -- > and these objects all became signifiers of an ended romance, dumped on the front door of the dumpee. Neat!

A few minutes in, Daniel Handler paused: "Now. There IS a concern, since this is a youth book-" [and I should say here that there were clearly some college students assigned to be there by teachers, though they were quite enthusiastic] "-that young people will read this book and DO EVERYTHING THAT IS FOUND IN THIS BOOK. Because that's what people do. That's what adults do. They read Macbeth, take up witchcraft and murder the King of Scotland. This ALWAYS happens. This has NEVER NOT HAPPENED. So." This led to a warnings against drinking beer and kissing.

[And now the blond girls have miraculously recovered and are seated with their parents right by me. I really thought their restaurant time was done, as the weeping had devolved into Exorcist-sounding screaming and muttering, but now we have become more civil and happy about straws and are using our mini-Care Bear to mop the table. The older one turned her attention to me, to admonish: "It's DINNER time, it's TIME to eat dinner." I now have chocolate cake and pinot noir. "I already had dinner."* She frowned at me. "WHY do you have a computer with you?" I shrugged cartoonishly. Girl-child, you aren't the boss of me.]

 *Lies. Fried pickles aren't dinner.

So, his disclaimer was pretty much indicative of the evening. They were funny and smart and random the whole way through. I want to have cocktails with them. They gave a True/False quiz at the end to help us determine whether we are romantics. Statements included:

• "I would have so much fun if I lived in the 1920s that I wouldn't care there were no antibiotics."
• "You know what's a good birthday present? A doll with real hair."**
• "Dive bars are full of beautiful dreamers."

**= FALSE FALSE FALSE FALSE

[The younger blond one is finding it quite difficult to eat while steadfastly holding her red balloon. But she is unwilling to put it aside. She lifts strands of spaghetti individually, between thumb and forefinger, to drop each into her mouth.]

I decide I will get my book signed and maybe foist a couple of my little woodblock moo business cards on her (what with her being quirky and a HUGE fan of cake). The line is even longer than it seems and snakes *through* the empty screening room, where we seem to stand still most of the time. The young, cool couple behind me seems strangely familiar, though I know I haven't spoken with them before. A woman comes through sticking post-it notes of our first names in our books; at this point my hands are shaky and I realize oooooh, silliness, dinner have should have happened before this reading. She asks the first names of the couple and I suddenly put two and two together: they are the joint creators of A Sick Day for Amos McGee! I have an interview of them posted on the wall of my study, which I tell them and which maybe strikes them as stalker-y. Especially because I then ask them lots of questions before settling down. But, honestly, I think we were all bored and a little cranky by that point. I think the line took an hour and a half. Though it was lovely to have Maira Kalman sign my book; she looked so tired at that point, poor (fabulously talented) woman. And she has a few moo cards, whatever she may choose to do with them. If they even make her happy for a moment, that's kind of cool, hey. 

So that's that. Favorite customer quotes from the week:

• "I need your print like a hole in the head. But I couldn't stop laughing, so I had to buy it." (The Geese Suspect You Are Withholding)
• Enthusiastic Etsy feedback with began," Oh, my goodness! I think you must be the spokesmodel for marauding geese. Why can't we see your little fat face in the picture you sent with the print? The goose print is the cutest darn thing I have seen in a long while and I smile everytime I look at it. I especially like the goose that is craning his neck to the side to see what's going on." (geese, natch)

Well, it's a tiny business card. Hard to fit a fat little face on there! I suppose I should leave this place. The crush is no longer a crush, the chocolate cake was QUITE lovely. Oh! And I'll be back tomorrow, about the Llama giveaway! Happy Friday night.