There may not be a lot on which one may still count in the book business nowadays. Terms change. Publishers merge. Books go out of print. That first customer of the day? Just came in to use the phone. Ain’t always easy, pushing literature. That’s why, I suspect so many of us still cling to …
You know how it’s okay to make fat jokes if—and only if—one is fat? Well, I’m fat. I also sport a relatively long white beard. Santa Claus references will happen. I get that. One gets you a pass. Two, I start to get a little testy. Three and I’m going to use the wart on …
We’re always going on about the unique virtues and contributions of Independent Bookstores: how socially responsible we are, how community-based we are, how committed to books and literacy, tradition and innovation and on and on. True, if we weren’t around anymore—perish the thought—our customers would be without a major cultural resource, without a convivial, if …
If I had to say what I do for a living, I’d say I buy and sell books–though it’s calendars mostly at the moment. Anyway, I’m proud to have the word “bookseller” after my name on various forms and documents. Mine’s an honorable occupation, and I’m part of a long and largely respectable tradition. It’s …
My very dear immediate supervisor, regretting the imminent departure of a coworker for greener pastures, rather hilariously suggested in front me—of all people—that when she goes, there will be no one left on staff who, like said, very dear immediate supervisor, occasionally lets slip that best old English word for sexual congress. (You know the …
“I love this unique and delightful little book, illustrated and handwritten by longtime bookseller Brad Craft. A is for Auden, printed on University Book Store’s Espresso Book Machine, is truly a conversation starter. Full of wit and intellect, it’s an alphabet book for the literature lover!”—Anna, University Book Store, Seattle. Buy A is for Auden from …
I’m a primitive. Now, in my case, you could take that more than one way. There’s my redneck pedigree, my preference for white socks, the caveman beard. I like steak, prefer 19th Century novels to 21st Century anything, and when I think I’m being flirtatious, the husband asks if I’m hungry, or angry or . …
I’m remembering my grandmother’s vacation purse. You know the one, embroidered straw, maybe a palm tree, or a red lobster on one side and a blue crab on the other, maybe “Hawaiian” flowers. There was nothing to say Grandma had been anywhere much, but even if that purse was only from a summer road-trip, it …
I just don’t believe in the End of the World anymore. How many times has that been just around the corner? Never happens. I’m not saying it never will, but I don’t think it’s something on which anyone should still be counting. That gloomy Spenglerian habit of foreseeing The Decline of the West, The End …
