We'll be in touch

Preparation. Some people say that if you prepare hard enough you can accomplish anything. In my experience in libraries, something is always waiting in the dark corner to destroy all your best laid plans. 

     Prepare for a dozen teens at a game night? Enter the 28-year-old man child who wants to get down on a Smash Tournament.

     Lovingly set out a movie night for a retirement home? Granma Gammy is gonna light into you because the main character said "fart."

     Try to do a job interview for a children's librarian? The candidate will come with a binder.

     "I've been looking around the library for the last two months, and I have some ideas," the second interviewee said.

     "Uh huh," the circulation librarian said.

      I said, "We have a few questions first, but if you would like to share at the end-" 

     The sentence crashed against a solid wall of enthusiasm. Second said, her red hair waving around like electrified copper, "First, you need a manga section. I know, you have a small collection of about a hundred, but I talked to the teens and you are missing some serious runs."

     "Uh huh," Circ said, looking over Second's application. From what I could tell she was on page four of six.

      Second said, "And the bookmobile! It's just sitting out there. Not once in two months has it moved."

     "Well, the alternator went out. And we think the interior lights are dead, and we need those to run it successfully," I said. "What do you think is your most desirable trait when working with people?"

     "I bet I can get my cousin to give you a good price on car repair. He might ask for something, but he's good for it," Second said.

     Circ sucked on her teeth. "You got your MLIS at University of Alabama?"

     "Roll tide," Second said.

     I decided to let Circ continue.

     She did. "Your mama Virginia?"

     "She is."

     "You know I grew up with Ginny. I probably shouldn't be in this interview. Didn't know you were Ginny's girl."

     "I'm not 'Ginny's girl.' Not since she went off."

     "You ever hear from her? You or your daddy?"

     "Don't care to."

     "What do you think of organizing nonfiction by subject?"

     "Good for a bookstore, bad for a library unless you got a robust circulation system. You don't, but you could get by on some more dynamic displays, end caps, and outfacing materials."

     Circ nodded. "You do funny voices?"

     "Yes, ma'am." Second peeled through a half dozen cartoon characters.

     Circ turned to me. Raised her eyebrows. 

     I said, "Great, well, this has been fun. Thank you very much for coming in, and we'll be in touch."

Light the Torch for the Library

The trick to interviewing is to make sure you are not being interviewed. Sitting there, the person on the other side of the table or screen wants to know why they should work with you. You, on the other hand, just want to fill a hole with the least incompetent person you can find.

     Someone who will not burn the building down at the first sign of stress.

     Our first applicant to the children's librarian position walked in with a torch already lit. 

     "It's my coping torch," he said sitting in the library conference room holding a flaming stick.

     The circulation librarian said, "That's about all I need to know."

     "We accept your need and hope you feel supported," I said. "Are you ready to begin?"

     "I've been waiting for an hour," First said.

     Circ looked at her watch. "It's early for the interview."

     "I was waiting," First said.

     "Let's get started," I said. "What do you feel you would bring to the position?"

     "I don't understand," First said.

     Circ said, "What the director means is, why are you here?"

     "I want a job."

     "Can you elaborate?" I said.

     "What does that mean?"

     "Just tell us about the torch," Circ said.

     First cleared his throat and looked to the burning flame. "When I was a boy, I found joy in the flames. The way they lick and spit. The way they dance in the darkness. My mother would hand me a torch every night and say, 'Edgar, don't you let this light go out or Satan will find us.' That was before she left. I would never let it go out as a boy. Then I grew up. Mother and sister and other sister left. But the torch. The fire. They stayed."

     "Well, shit," Circ said. 

     "Do you require the torch at all times?" I said.

     First said, "I do not."

     "Do you think you would be comfortable not having it while walking around the stacks?" I said.

     "The stacks?" First said.

     "The rows and rows of paper on hundred year old wooden shelves that would go up like kindling if you ate Flaming Hot Cheetos in them."

     "Oh, no, that sounds very stressful. I would need my torch among the books to scare away the snorts."

     "The snorts?" Circ said.

     "Satan's friends."

     "Of course. Well, I don't have any more questions. Director Harker?"

     I glanced at the list of six questions. We were supposed to each take three. By the light of the torch, they seemed so small and worthless. "I'm good. Thank you for coming in, Edgar."

     The torchbearer left us. 

     I said, "That was one of the emails."

     "Think he typed it one handed?"

Now Accepting Applications

How do you build a library? For some, the building of a library happens by accident one book at a time. For a town it comes from need. Space, knowledge, entertainment, a library solves these community issues. Of course, there is always one bastard that knows how to build a library better than others.

     "You need a children's librarian," the board member said.

     I said, "We are looking into hiring one."

     "Look harder. Kids need story time."

     I wanted to tell the man that story time had not left us. The circulation librarian had been doing as well as she could every Tuesday and Thursday and sometimes just when she wanted to. She would just sit down and start reading.

      The board member said, "I've heard complaints from others about how things are going."

      "What kind of complaints?" People always complained to the people with the will but without the power. 

     "Was there a story time about dressing up in costumes?" 

     "It was very popular," I said not knowing what he was talking about.

     "A real children's librarian would not have let that happen. Maybe a real director wouldn't either," he said and left, knowing a dramatic exit line when he said it.

     I made my way to where the Circ was slowly tearing pages from a book. Each page made a slow rasping that sent shivers up my spine. One page and another, a gentle destruction. Circ held a page in two fingers after relieving the book and blew on it. The paper danced.

     "What are you doing?" I asked.

     Circ dropped the page into the trash and said, "Weeding."

     "Huh. Did you do a story time about costumes?"

     "Yep. Day before last Tuesday sometime. We read 'The Emperor Is a Naked Bastard,' and I sang a song for the flesh. Then three members of the Endless Parade held the stage."

     "The burlesque troupe?"

     "Oh, ST, they were lovely."

     "Okay. Right. Have you heard from anyone for the children's librarian yet?"

     Circ said, "I emailed you two that came in online. Then one came in off the street and filled out a paper application. I left that on your desk. Another called, but he said we were too close to a school."

     "Will you be free next week to do interviews?"

     She looked me in the eye. "I am always free."

     Back in my office, I looked over the paper application. Our employment applications are standard four pages. First two pages are generic city forms with basic information: name, address, blood type, education, employment, and allergies. The other two pages go into your acceptance of  library work. Do you have customer service experience? Can you lift up to thirty pounds? Of what? What do you like best about lifting thirty pounds? Have you ever lifted up to thirty pounds while helping someone with a resume? Typing speed. What made this application different was the six single spaced handwritten pages that followed.

     I did not read it all. It began with the person's birth and continued. They spoke of love, laughter, and living. Then on page three the deaths began. I skipped to the end.

     A strange red stain blossomed on the sixth page. Before my eyes it spread until it covered all eight and one-half by eleven inches of the pulp. I dropped it to my desk where the wood began to absorb the liquid oozing ever outward.

     I grabbed the first page and reached for the phone. We had interviews to conduct.

Nope Nope Nope

     "You seen that Nope movie?" Freddy asked as we shelved nonfiction. We each had our own cart and neither had been sorted, so we kept crossing each other in the stacks.

     I said, "Yeah. Three times."

     "Three times?"

     "Yeah."

     "You scared?"

     "At the movie? Not really. There's some good jump scares and imagery, but I'm kinda used to all that."

     "I don't think so." Freddy walked down the cookbook aisle.

     I followed him with an armload of celebrity bullshit texts. "You don't think so?"

     "I think you were scared. So scared you kept going back to see it again. Make yourself feel alive."

     "Nah. My friends don't really like horror, so I went by myself then they decided to go, so I went again."

     Freddy shook his head. "What about the third time?"

     "Ashley worked on Saturday, so I went with her on Sunday."

     Freddy shook his head and shelved Matthew McConaughey's All Rice, All Rice, All Rice. "You were scared. Needed someone to hold your hand as you looked into your soul."

      "Sure. What did you think?"

      "Haven't seen it. Who's Ashley?"

      "You gonna see it?"

      "Nope. Way too scared. I don't fuck with aliens. Who's Ashley?"

      "What's wrong with aliens? I think it's kinda nice that we might not be alone in the universe," I said.

      Freddy put down the books he was carrying and turned to me. "Are you a genie or something? Do I have to ask you three times before I get an answer?"

      I smiled. "Tell me why you don't like aliens, and I'll tell you who Ashley is."

      He weighed it over then nodded. "Okay. One time, I'm watching this movie in college. And it's great. Space, laser swords, robots that are sassy, beautiful princess. Then the end comes. They all sit down to eat, when this guy starts convulsing. 'Get this man some Pepto Bismol,' his friend yells. The guy, he keels over, face all red and straining like he's taking a big crap. Then his shirt starts to move."

      Freddy put his hand under his shirt near his chest and started thrusting out before continuing.

      "Then, this little fucking alien thing all bloody and demonic, like a worm from an Arizona desert, pops out of the guy's chest. Looks all around. Then hops up with a little hat and cane and starts singing the scariest thing. I can hear it. 'Hello, my honey. Hello, my baby. Hello my ragtime gal.' Then, slide out and it's gone."

      Freddy stared into the distance. His eyes glistened and his shoulders shook. He turned to me. "Who's Ashley?"

     "Children's librarian," I said. "We watch movies together, me, her, and her husband. We were talking about making a library group. Would you come?"

      Freddy wiped his eyes with a sleeve. "Nope."

What happened to the cast of Home Improvement?

In the great year of nineteen hundred and ninety whatever, a little show called Home "Tool Time" Improvement graced our screens. It starred Timchael "Tim" Allen as a bumbling dad to three boys, husband to a grunt-hating wife, and some creeper in the backyard they kept behind a fence. What happened to all these people once the show ended? Let's find out.

Timchael "Tim" Allen

Tim kept on grunting his way into history by going to space. He had an adventure wherein he crash landed with his colony onto a planet. Desperate to get off, Tim tried to have sex with a cat, but it was a robot. Frustrated, Tim traveled in time to the point where everyone became assholes, including himself. Accepting his fate on this planet of assholes, he went on to act with Alan Rickman and Signorey Weaver to fight more aliens. They made a toy from him voiced by Chris Evans, who played Captain Britain, in the movie Up.

Patricia "Patio Pat" Taylor

Patricia ran like hell from the set of Tool Time to a great career as a lawn chair salesperson. Patricia formed a new kind of lawn chair company that exclusively deals with the terminally ill on a rental basis. Billions of dollars later, she took the name Patio Pat and stays out of the public eye. Rumor has it that she found love with an Australian named Bongo and they live on her yacht. Recently she fist-fought Captain Britain to a standstill in the newest Marvel movie, Avenging Your Mom.

Brad, The Oldest Son

The most active of the three boys, Brad has found himself playing multiple unlikeable douchebags in movies like Rage: Carry 2 Furious and some other shit. The level of "hey, it's Brad" has reached such levels that his personality has been replaced by two things: a certain "that smells" look and open disdain for Oreo cookies. We have no idea what any of that means.

Jay TeeTee, the Middle One

Remember floppy hair? Man, that hair was floppy, and he was so snarky! He now lives in northern California eating granola and talking about how much he loves his craft beer business. Mostly it hides an alcohol problem that really hides a miniature problem. People say, "When's Jay gonna make another movie and stop talking about beer?" Then other people say "I think he's got a drinking problem." And then yet more people say, "That's all bullshit. He's been building a model of the Home Improvement house to perfect scale. It's impressive." And you know what? We bet it is.

Mark, The Last One

To be honest, we heard this kid had problems. Like, twenty bucks tip, and he will get you extra hot sauce and stop for beer. That's right, he owns the rideshare company Beer Me, the only company that will stop and get you whatever, but only if you're cool. Are you cool? Bajillionaire.

Wilson

Sadly, Wilson passed away just after the show ended. In his will, he asked that his head be frozen. We do not know what the ultimate plan here was, but it could not have been good. His family decided the man's head should become a volleyball to honor his love of the sport. Even more sadly, it was lost when a FedEx shipment plane crashed. But! Tom Hanx was there, and they hung out for a while until Tom went for a swim, and Wilson's head floated away. The last time anyone saw the head volleyball, it was floating across Spanish waters, a shark fin close behind.

Elvis (2022) succeeds as a sideshow, fails as a movie

     It was hot in Seattle. Damn hot for a city that throughout history has not needed air conditioning. What we needed was a long movie for comfort. What we got was assaulted.

     This musical assault of a movie was happening in the Dolby theater of the local AMC. Big sound and reclining chairs. I could live there if they would only install a kitchenette.

     We sat down for Baz Luhrman's Elvis. My history with the director is pretty good. Romeo + Juliet was my high school crush, Moulin Rouge was a college fling, and Great Gatsby was the pretentious one that made me realize what I really wanted. I do not need all the flash and glamor, but it is fun to get a little crazy.

     After the first ten minutes, I leaned over to my friend and, talking to myself as well, asked if she was okay. She did not know. We had both been assaulted with a barrage of light and sound so potent and overwhelming I found my brain had skipped a beat or two. I could not tell you what happened. Only that it hurt. Not in an aggressive punk rock way, but in the way a family member yelling that all the good cereal was gone. Solid trauma.

     The film flows with vibrant and jarring sights and sounds for most of the run time. When the musical performances hit, they act like well done MTV at the height: visual representations of songs that illustrate moments in Elvis's life from church services to iconic spasm filled stage ballads. But the music does not stop. Rather than being punctuation, the music is the whole sentence. The relentless dumping of information through song drains all narrative flow. Yet the recreation and the emotions of iconic moments like the first pink suited wiggle and black leather clad special return to form are amazing. Too bad there's few moments to breathe.

     What does get a moment to breathe are the actors. Actors Austin and Hanks center the story and both are giving it their all. In recreating Elvis, we see hope and conflict as Elvis's mental and emotional capacities decline with Austin's subtle and solid performance. Yet Hanks steals the show in one of the more off putting performances of his career. Like a devil of folklore, Hanks's Parker is a weird, conniving, broken creature sent to suck the fight from Elvis by giving him everything he wants. Had the performance been more subtle it may have worked, but Hanks repulses more than invites. There is no redemption for this villain. No excuse why Elvs would be tempted by the man. Elvis is not a hero; he is the carnival sideshow Parker leeches for all he is worth. 

     Elvis in the end is the carnival attraction it told us it was. Bright and bombastic yet led by a life sucking swindler forming a grotesque affair more akin to Nightmare Alley than A Star is Born. The tragedy here is in the execution.

The High Bar

Picture this: A sixteen year old kid, lanky wearing a spiked bracelet and a shirt of the punk band Rancid, stands outside a college lecture hall. He's having a cigarette, waiting for the last possible moment to go inside where his friends are because he's awkward around lots of people. An old man with curly brown hair, some gray finding its way, stands off to the side with a group of stuffy academics. The old man walks to the punk kid and bums a cigarette, then moves back to the professors. The child goes inside to find his friends. A few minutes later, the lights go down and the old man walks onto the stage. The lecture does not change the boy's life, but it blew his damn mind.

     So that's how I met Kurt Vonnegut, albeit briefly. Seemed like a nice man.

     I've been thinking about that this week. Two people united by a bad habit passing in the night. One of them is an acclaimed author and humanitarian. The other a kid who wanted to write but did not know how. 

     That was my first time hearing a published author speak. High bar, right? His lecture on storytelling and the happiness of the characters rocked me, as did his books when I inhaled several of them. Hearing him speak, Vonnegut either loved or hated storytelling because those are the only emotions I can conceive that would produce the depth of thought on the subject. 

     Since then, I have heard many authors speak. In a small bookshop in Utah, I heard Dennis Lehane talk about his process. I drove all night and most of the next day from Mississippi to Arizona to get Christopher Moore to take a picture with my friend's lawn gnome. Just the other night, I saw Neil Gaiman read and speak in Seattle. 

     I love them all, but none will touch the first. The greatest of high bars. 

     Maybe I was too dumb to know better. 

     I do wonder why the hell he did not have a cigarette on him, though.

Villains Plan

What would the world look like if it was remade how the library saw fit? Probably fucked up. We tend to have issues with plans if we think too far ahead.

     A lot of stories are like that. The hero's journey is based on the fact that the hero is wrong about the way their life works out. They want something, like to get away from the humble dirt farm they grew up on, all the while the audience sees that they just need companionship and purpose. Stop trying to kill the Empire and hug your friends, Luke Skywalker.

     The tragic version of this comes out in movies like The Northman. Based on the story of Amleth that was the basis of Shakespeare's Hamlet, it's about a kid who has his dad killed and vows revenge. Where Hamlet's revenge comes in a slow poison death for all involved, the Northman ends with a naked volcano sword fight after a period of violent magic sword hackery. The journey of both heroes is the same, however, to learn that revenge is much more petty than tearing down the whole system. Sad to say that as a part of the system of betrayals and violence, the hero of those stories must also be torn down. The tortured hero cannot live in a utopia.

     Villains plan. By their nature, they create chaos by any means to get what they want. The majority of stories start with some evil nerd trying to get money or an evil stepmom trying to get the house cleaned. Then some hapless cop or poor dirty girl have to get involved, spending half the time reacting while the villain tears shit up until they gain the skills, equipment, and friends to start kicking ass. Or some random prince rolls in with a fancy shoe and kicks stepmom to the curb.

     What can we learn from all this? How can the library plan without becoming the villain? How can we react with any surety of the future? How can we learn from the stories we tell ourselves, we humans, that compassion and empathy give way to rich lives without sounding like assholes?

     Fuck, got lost in another rabbit hole.

     Come down to the library for story time this week. We're talking American Hippo by Sarah Gailey and how the world can be different sometimes based on how you look at it. Alternate histories abound in the forever fields of the human mind.