Nowadays you can get your punk books at Borders or Amazon and find every other off-the-wall book you ever wanted on ABEBooks so I hadn't darkened the door of this particular physical bookstore in prolly over a decade. It wasn't all that great of a visit, unfortunately. Some homeless guy was hanging around in front and after pestering the store managers for change, he decided to come in and look at the books. Which would have been OK except he smelled. At least, being homeless, he had a bit of an excuse compared to a lot of other smelly people one runs afoul of in bookstores, but it didn't make it any more pleasant to browse with him around. After he finally left, I had to put up with all the store clerks and managers socializing loudly in the front of the joint, yakking it up about their college courses, their upcoming vacations and other subjects that I could do without hearing about, esp in a bookstore, which to me is an atmosphere similar to a library, and if you're gonna talk loud at least be having a heated discussion of anarchy or European history or something, not bemoaning the fact that you still have to take a language course and don't know which one to take cuz they all suck.
Despite all the distraction I looked at some art books of Fillmore posters and one on that Joseph guy who made boxes (I want to say Joseph Cotton but that was some actor) and one on some gay artist also called "Joe" who was a contemporary of O'Hara (who I am still wending my way through the book about that I bought from Rafeeq at the Madbunny show years back) and who (Joe I mean) was apparently fly enuf in his day that his pal published a bio of him after he died, but who I had never heard of and I suspect most of the rest of the world hadn't either. I read a little of the new Dean Wareham book, Black Postcards, before deciding Dean Wareham is a pretentious arse (I can't stand men who have difficulty choosing between their wife and their gf anyway, either make a decision or just date 'em both until one drops out) and I'll just wait till his tome comes out in paperback and then buy one used. Or hell, maybe a used hardback, they're cheaper. Then I wandered to the back of the store and saw a book entitled in capital letters "ANTS HAVE SEX IN YOUR BEER" and really, that was just about Enuf on an Easter afternoon, so I cruised right on out of there and of course got accosted by the same homeless dude who was hanging around outside. He'd been eyeing me in the store too and I don't kid myself it's cuz I look so good, it's cuz they think an older lady who's not dressed up like a rich bich or like Powersuit Barbie is gonna be an easy mark for their sob story. NO, esp since I just saw the booksto' dudes giving you a handout.
I did see the obit of the supposedly "last" user of a secret Chinese women's code, the newspaper version of this article, which had been cut out of the paper in 2004 when it first ran and taped to the side of a bookshelf, way in the back of the store. That yellowing newspaper article was about the coolest thing in the joint.
oh, and I saw this on the way back to work. this camera fone picture I took just shouts "Easter" to me.
life is a lot more pleasant when you weed out all the annoying distractions and just keep the nifty ones, like bink pikes with pink foam cubes in their baskets stuck full of big purple sunflowers.