I see many pictures of Danielle Steel.

I think she writes the books only so she can wear ridiculous dresses and grimace.

“Oh, he’s in this movie? I might have to watch it, he’s one of my favorite actors.”

The patron responded, “Yeah, he’s creepy, he’s a bad guy cop.”

“Have you seen ‘Leon’? Or ‘The Professional,’ I don’t remember which is the American name.”

“Yes! My husband likes the girl who is in it, so we’ve seen a lot of her movies.”

“Natalie Portman? I like her too, she’s impressive in her versitility.”

“Yeah…but she’s dating some filmmaker now, so she’s been in some weird movies lately.”

“Have you seen ‘Hotel Chevalier?’ It’s a ten minute short film that comes before ‘Darjeeling Limited’…they’re very strange. I don’t know whether I liked them or not, I couldn’t tell whether they were funny.”

“Apparently her boyfriend is Indian -”

“That makes sense! These movies involved India.”

“And he’s weird. I guess you’re influenced by the people you love?”

After she left, I laughed to myself, “Ah yes, revelation, the people you love make you weird!”

~

Later L, one of my favorite people, asked me rhetorically whether I thought ‘Rocky Horror Picture Show’ was approprite for her twelve year old daughter.”

As her daughter behind her protested “Mom! Yea-uh!” I laughed and said, “Well, I think I saw it when I was twelve…”

L curled her face into a grimace.

I told her, “Aside from a few scenes, maybe…” remembering sexuality that shocked me when I saw the movie originally, and L said “I LOVE Tim Curry, but-”

I chuckled, “Right, not sure he’s the best influence on burgeoning, um, awareness!”

That’s what’s wrong with me, also: too much Tim Curry too early (and let me tell you about that time I heard the audiobook “Cry to Heaven” read by him…I was too embarrased to finish listening!).

I started reading them because everyone and their mother was – not in the way that Dan Brown was popular with the Da Vinci Code, but in the way that pre-teen and teenage girls told me how good the books are, and when women old enough to be their mothers checked them out, they said the same thing.

The first book was entertaining because of the abstinence-porn aspect – which I found pretty hot – and because I liked Edward’s little sparks of dominance. After every page of the second book I reiterated my (accurate) prediction, and mostly only read it for confirmation of my suspicions. Through the third book I simply tried to figure out what’s so interesting about Bella. Aside from the violence and drama defining her life, she seems pretty bland. Is Edward’s attraction really only because he can’t read her mind? Is she really throwing away everything she loves – she is described in the opening pages of the series as loving sunshine and cooking, and being disgusted by blood  to the point of fainting at a papercut – for a guy who only loves her because she is (perhaps only for the moment) unique?

Don’t we all want to believe that sort of love is unperishable? Especially when we’re fifteen, the supposed target audience?

I am reading these books because they both remind me of what I miss having – high-school relationships with people my own age, hanging out in bedrooms eating popcorn, taking off for irresponsible weekends, the companionable lure of drama – and what I didn’t have – the early stages of romance, when the thrill of maintaining virginity is more exciting than the habits we belabour after losing it.

I am reading the fourth book and finding smiling parallels with my own life:

“It wasn’t bright out – a typical drizzly day in Forks, Washington – but I still felt like a spotlight was trained on me, drawing attention to the delicate ring on my left hand…

I briefly contemplated my issues with words like fiance, wedding, husband, etc. I just couldn’t put it together in my head. On the one hand, I had been raised to cringe at the very thought of poofy white dresses and bouques. But more than that, I just couldn’t reconcile a staid, respectable dull concept like husband with my concept of Edward.”

Stephenie Meyer wrote on her website that she wasn’t uncomfortable with casting a nineteen year old girl as a young adult capable of deciding her own destiny, even when the decision culminates (SPOILER) not only in the end of her mortal life, but also marriage and pregnancy. I’m comforted that millions of people are reading an enjoying a series of novels whose central issue is something I wrestled with recently! Being pregnant and twenty and married, that is, and living with the weight of having made those choices so young; not the vampire deathwish.

The new fiction display is directly across from my position at the circulation desk, and for a few months I’ve been staring at the Escher-like tessellation of doves on the cover of Louise Erdrich’s latest novel. I didn’t take note of the author until a patron checked it out, then I exclaimed and promptly placed myself on the hold list. It was waiting for me in my cubby today.

My mother is more fond of Louise Erdrich than I am – but her characters still color our family history, like Mark Helprin’s and Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s. I checked out a novel a month ago because of the intereresting cover – bright turquoise, with gold scrollwork – and discovered a new author to add to our magical realism collection/obsession: Rabih Alameddine. “The Hakawati” is a beautiful layered portrait of a family and their mythologies – I need to read it again to figure out how it all fits together. I gave it to my mother when I finished reading it – and Fatima and the imps now inhabit our conversations.

After reading Stephenie Meyer’s “Eclipse” in an evening two nights ago, I suppose it’s time for another novel – books about gardening and compost, while eductional, aren’t terribly entertaining.

At the best times, people come in, we chat about their books, I am able to be punctual and polite. My job is simple enough to be familiar, but interesting enough to be thought-provoking. It is a diversion and a refuge, and I’ll miss it when I’m gone. My last day is October 25.

I want to remember talking to our resident crazyoldhippy artist. I want to remember her encouragement and insight. I want to remember my boss’ patience with my life plans and complications. I want to remember the satisfaction in organization, and the joy of new books. I want to remember how good it feels to hand my son to my fiance, put on my grown-up clothes and cute shoes, and go be (mostly) professional for a few hours.

This is the best job I’ve had – and that’s actually a tight comparison, considering a resume that goes, in chronological order: barista, dog shit shoveler, corporate bullshit up-with-putter, presumptive* graphic designer for small community college library, and public library circulation assistant.

I’m taking a couple of months off to pay attention to my son before he’s old enough for daycare, clean house, plant a garden. Hopefully I can snag a position in a library in our new town – there are numerous possibilties. This might become a keeping up with the family blog for books and babies and a garden – the original purpose, a record of books, hasn’t quite been served but is still relevant.

*presumption meant in the legal sense, “an assumption, often not fully established, that is taken for granted in some piece of reasoning,” not definition #8,”unwarrantable, unbecoming, or impertinent boldness.”

But by golly we have filters on the internet.

On the one hand, I don’t want to pick up porn from the printer and hand it to a guy whose thrill is magnified by my exposure to his print job. On the other, I think the reference librarians would be quite happy about seperate cubicles for each computer, isolated enough that the hobos could whack off in peace, as long as nobody had to clean up after them.

Before the GOVERNMENT mandated filters on our internets, says James the beatnick reference man, a woman and her seven year old child politely approached him to say, “Not to tattle or anything, but that man there is having cybersex with animals.” His reaction? “Well, you can ask him to stop if it bothers you.” And by the way, we have books on that.

My point? I don’t know. Something about the government. When I started working here I was all “What hey yes filter no porn please jeez!” and all bothered by M McM printing out porn – mostly because I had to hand the pages to him, and take his money, and I didn’t want to be nonconsensually involved in his fantasy.

But now that I realize that our population is primarily homeless folks wanting a bathroom and the mentally disabled who walk up the street from the group home…I still don’t want to be involved, but shouldn’t he have a right to privacy and the internet, as much as he’d have a right to rent pornographic literature?

Girl’s Guide to Pregnancy

Coping with Interracial Dating

Urban Tantra – Sacred Sex for the 21st Century

 I love these little insights into people’s lives…

Reading through the cookbook reminds me of a school friend - her family was Quaker, their house always smelled like old books and wool blankets, and the mother stayed at home while the father worked in some sort of brainy-person position for the local base of a major corporation. They tended toward the quirky, but effortlessly adopted an earth-friendly lifestyle and didn’t quite understand why the rest of us didn’t accumulate the last slivers of soap to make a recycled bar, or use cloth shopping bags before they became trendy. The last time I saw them they’d  recently taken on cheese-making as a bit of a silly experiment, turning out unexpectedly salty mozerella (we ate it anyway) and were happy. “Why buy it when it’s more fun making it?” was their attitude, and it’s one I’ve found myself with too (although my fiance thinks I’m frequently ridiculous - but that’s part of the joy).

I first heard David Sedaris at their house, and when their younger daughter and I were in middle school and they were planning sending her to private school, they took my opinion seriously when discussing the local public school system. They ate their meals together, respected one another’s privacy, and regardless of their problems (there are always problems) I’d rather be a family like they were than like I am with my parents. I’m drowning in inconsideration – but we’re moving out soon, this is temporary, and hopefully I’ll have a copy of this book to help me along.

If it’s sitting on my kitchen bookshelf beside Julia Child and the Joy of Cooking, it’ll guilt me into baking bread.

Don’t assume that a black patron is going to use a fake i.d., just because most of the trouble in the computer labs come from a local gang (we actually had someone arrested the other day! Exciting!). Don’t assume that an Indian patron is going to kick up  fuss, just because a majority of the patrons who are irritable about following policies are Indian.

Today I wanted to tell the new circulation assistant that that Indian family she was so condescending toward likely came here because they’re smarter and more educated than her.* The patron didn’t know we can’t use the library card number printed on his reciept to check books out to him, and stumbled when we asked for photo I.D. I stepped over, pretending to clear up the issue for her, and said “Oh, it’s okay, we can use that credit card since it has his photo and name on it, that’ll work.”

*This town’s economy used to thrive on being the I.T. headquarters for a national chain – we joke now that instead of outsourcing the jobs, they just moved the Indian folks here (whole families – I’d love to know how that worked, and that’s why I’d major in Sociology if I thought I’d do anything with it). I don’t know if that is accurate, or exactly what is happening, but I’d like to find out.

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