On Bookstores

At this very moment do you want a glass of wine or a glass of water? Don’t answer straight away! Take a moment and think about your personal tastes. Maybe the situation will play a bigger factor than your tastes. If you are at work, it might not be the best time for a glass of wine. If you are eating a well prepared, succulent rack of lamb, maybe water is not the best choice. Mark Twain once quipped, “My books are like water; those of the great geniuses are wine. (Fortunately) everybody drinks water.”

The experience of choosing a bookstore contains fundamentally the same question; it’s a matter of tastes and circumstances. I am going to compare a big chain book store with my favorite small independent “Mom and Pop” book store. I think each has its own place and value but they are fundamentally different experiences, much like water and wine.

I will start the comparison with my impressions of the Barnes & Noble at my local mall. Walking in, you are immediately hit with marketing, and lots of it. This is the lease attractive aspect of one of my favorite pastimes. I am already a fan of spending time in book stores so I don’t really need the extra sell. Walking in the door, one almost trips over the “Nook” help desk. They really, really—really— want you to buy one. E-book readers are the new front lines for big corporate booksellers. It is a sign of the changing times.

Once past the e-book stand you see a few tables set up to catch your eye. Unmistakably, they are placed smack dab in the middle of the walkway. There is no chance to get where you were headed without walking around a table. This was most definitely planned, but I don’t want to imply it was done so by some unseen evil mogul intent on my downfall. The table I walked around was neatly stacked with books about money, markets, and finances, one of my favorite subjects. I was happy to see many of the newest books written on the subject. It was as easy to find a book that would occupy my time as it is to find a refreshing glass of water.

For a completely different experience I will share with you another bookstore. If you travel north to the town of Auburn, Washington you find my home town and my favorite book store, Comstock’s Bindery and Book Store. It is a cozy little store on Main St. owned by a husband and wife pair. When you open the door, be sure not to let the cats out. This will likely not be much of a problem as they most often just stare at you somewhat lazily. The first impression you get, caused by the narrow walkways crowded with high bookshelves, is one of near claustrophobia. A strong feeling of history also permeates the quiet atmosphere; it is actually hard to find a new book in the store.

I enjoy this uniqueness and as I came of age in this town, I loved finding books no longer in print to add to my library. The sections on science fiction and military history were vast expanses of literary adventure for a young man eager to grow up. The bookstore not only taught me history, it became a part of my history.

At the end of the agonizing chore of choosing out only the books I could afford and replacing the rest on the shelves, I always enjoyed good conversation with the owner as he (or more often his wife) operated the old cash register. The outgoing books they logged in a paper notebook that somehow kept order to the flow of their inventory. A fair warning though: when you walked up to the counter, you often had to cough or make some other ruckus, as the owner was often oblivious to your presence, absorbed in the work of repairing old bindings and unloved books. Like old wine refined by time, Comstock’s is an acquired taste for a well developed palette.

So back to my original question: do you want water or wine? Do you want the easy convenience of a quick-stop bookshop, stylishly packed with every new thing, or do you want to spend some time exploring the deep rich and somewhat dusty history of literature? Both stores have their places; both serve a purpose. Water or wine, man needs to drink.

On Media

If you look out across the American social landscape, one distinction is clear—we are consumers. Consumption has replaced the old American dream. In 1865 a Frenchman named Jules Verne accurately predicted America would be the first nation to put men on the moon because, as he said, “The Yankees, the world’s best mechanics, are engineers the way Italians are musicians and Germans are metaphysicians: by birth.” Sadly, our dreams are no longer of putting men on the moon, and boldly going where no man has gone before; no, our dreams are filled with who Tiger Woods shagged and Team Edward vs Team Jacob.

If one consumes massive amounts of alcohol, we call them a drunk. If one consumes massive amounts of indiscriminate sex, we call them a deviant. If one consumes massive amounts of drugs, we call them an addict. If one consumes massive amounts of media, what do we call them? Informed, relevant, hip, popular? Like the eighteen year old who has never been taught how to drink responsibly, we consume our mass media and then get behind the wheel and expect the car to drive itself. It’s not surprising then we find our beloved America in a ditch and, make no mistake, it is we who have crashed the car. Just because we are too drunk to feel the effects now does not mean the consciences won’t be there tomorrow.

The last two days I have compiled a media log of all my personal consumption in the realm of mass media. While I don’t consider myself a drunk yet, there is definitely some bingeing I am not so proud of. Of late, I have been giving much thought to how, economically, I can move from a consumer to a producer. My internet usage reflects this quite accurately. On April 12^th I checked my stocks three times, and my wife’s book ranking four times; all during a twelve hour school day. At first glance I could say I spend most of my time working on the internet and be proud of myself; I am afraid you might be smarter then that. Is it really a productive use of my time to check my stocks three times a day? Would not my time be best spent reading a book that could teach me better ways to invests in stocks? What about checking book sales that I have no control over? Above my desk sits a sign that reads, “Don’t waste time.” It has proven a flimsy dam against the currents of mass media entertainment and only I am to blame.

Checking stock prices and book ranking is a form of entertainment to me; as boring as that sounds, it’s true. Ironically, the more conventional entertainment listed on my log—watching “Chuck” on Hulu—I am more proud of than I am of my work. When I watched “Chuck” it was with my wife. I watched the show not simply for the merits of the show but because it was an event to share with my wife. Thinking long term, we are both adamant that our children will not be raised by television, Wii, or i-anything. It is not that they are bad in and of themselves (I love my iPhone), it is more that we desire our entertainment to be a family event, something that brings us together as a whole. We will teach our children how to drink responsibly when they come of age, just as we will teach them how to watch TV responsibly. We might even read a book or two to them.

In conclusion, I have found keeping a media log very helpful and a bit damning at the same time. Just like when my wife made me start keeping a budget, I found I am not as well off as my pride leads me to believe. I sit here as a consumer. This consumer though has started to swim against the current. I am no longer floating by on a river of ignorance believing that what I consume does not matter; don’t look for me to partake in that drunken revelry.

Media Log

April 12^th – April 13^th.

April 12^th

7:05-7:15am Checked stocks/ book sales/ e-mail/ news, on personal computer.

8:04-8:37am Printed Oregon Constitution/ checked stocks/ e-mail/ book rankings at Vet Center.

11:20-11:50am Checked stocks/ e-mail/ read Oregonian online at Vet Center.

1:30-2:00pm Read the Wall St. Journal before class in class room.

7:35-7:42pm Checked e-mail on iPhone while waiting for ride home from classes.

7:46-8:00pm Listened to radio in the car on ride home.

8:55-9:12pm Checked book rankings/ Facebook on home computer.

April 13^th

6:30-6:48am Checked stocks/ book sales/ e-mail/ news, on personal computer.

7:43-8:23am Listened to radio in the car on ride to school/ read Wall St. Journal in

car.

11:30-12:22am Listened to radio in the car on ride home.

1:31-2:20pm Checked stocks/ book sales/ e-mail/ searched for book blogs on

personal computer.

4:03-5:30pm Listened to radio on Pandora (internet radio) at home/ read text book.

5:30-6:15pm Watched “Chuck” on Hulu.com on personal computer.

6:12-9:09pm Listened to radio on Pandora on personal computer.

9:09-10:00pm. Posted Media Log on personal blog/ checked email.

On 061020

061020—that is the numerical expression of modern democracy.

The other night I bravely ignored my growing backlog of homework and left the comforts of my wife’s company to witness our American democracy in action. Senator Jeff Merkley was holding a town hall meeting at Clackamas Community College. I eagerly journeyed across town unsure of what to expect. I have taken every class available to me on the subject of politics, but I have rarely been an actor in the process myself. It was exciting to be taking the next step. It was exciting to be part of a bigger conversation.

I arrived early and started signing the guest log. It was the old habits of a combat veteran that made me case the room. I first noticed the security guard standing prominently by the way. He looked in good shape to run about seven or eight paces before his heart burst from the effort. He looked about as bloated as our national debt. If I were a more devious soul, I knew I would be safe from any consequences. The guard would never catch me or any other without at least a year of Dr. Atkins’ help.

It was easy to see the guard was just a show piece, but that made me really start thinking; why is our democracy’s first impression one of force? Was I really in any danger? Did a simple town hall meeting need a guard? I was not even halfway through signing my name and I already had a sinking feeling about the evening and the health of our democracy.

The next surprise came as I was asked if I wanted to ask any questions of the Senator. I was a bit taken back--I had not really thought of any great questions yet, having just only signed my name to the guest log. I had naively assumed I would sit and listened before deciding if I wanted to voice any questions. Not that night; I was pleasantly informed by a man in a suit that questions were by lottery. If I wanted to ask a question, I would have to have a raffle ticket. I was given the sage advice of, “Better safe than sorry, might as well take a ticket.” My raffle number was 061020.

I took my seat early and was rewarded with a good view halfway up and in the middle. The setting was absolutely Shakespearean. The meeting was being held in the school’s theater of all places. The soft lighting, raised seating, and modern stage, all silently witnessed to the fact I was about to watch theatrics, not democracy. The smooth jazz playing even set a relaxing mood as we waited.

I looked around the room as a slow trickle of participants filtered in. The most disheartening fact of the whole evening was the sea of gray hair. I could have counted the people under thirty with out using any toes. The majority of the crowd looked over fifty and a handful looked like they had flown with Eddie Rickenbacker. Where was my generation? Do they even care? Modern Warfare 2 has a pause button I think. I did, in the end, recognize a few of my fellow students of politics. The reason was not extra credit but they, like me, have been shocked into concern by a slightly combative political science teacher who, to his credit, is a voice that breaks through the clutter and make one actually think in college.

To get on with the evening though, Sen. Merkley was nicely introduced by our town mayor. I must admit I enjoyed watching him speak. It was the same feeling as watching a great ballplayer hit it out of the park or seeing Pete Townshend windmill on his guitar. I was watching a professional in action; he only misquoted the US Constitution once. He worked the crowed with a soft delivery and easy smile. He deflected anger smoothly and turned every question into a speaking point for his cause. He was the most articulate person in the room; the poor souls who went up to ask questions never really stood a chance no matter how upset they were.

True to my family’s luck, my number was never called. I had thought up many questions to ask while Sen. Merkley talked, but my chance never came. 061020 was just an unlucky number I guess. My evening started out with excitement, but ended being more like a crap shoot. What I witnessed of democracy made me think more of the time my dad took me to a casino than anything else. It only lacked a good Elvis impersonator. Democracy was reduced to a Powerball ticket. I left that evening thinking more and more about how my teacher describes our democracy as having a cancer. I also thought a lot about my desire to become a surgeon.