Titles, Inc.

Soccer To Me

Is there anything more adorable than seven year old girls playing soccer?  It's the beginning of the season so this was just a practice session.  But as I watched them, I can almost anticipate how the game will play out.  The two daddy/coaches put them through their paces. 

Already you can see the real player, aggressive and focused.  There are the other good players who do not radiate that special energy.  And the one little girl, flapping her arms, wriggling her body, picking up the ball to place it in a strategic spot after she had kicked it off center - despite the coach coaxing, "Kick it back into position, no hands."  She had a snazzy little outfit, and a designer cut to her blonde hair.  I turned around and easily found her tall, elegant, blonde mother. 

Last season, I had watched the little girls play.  They were only six years old then. Different team mates, different coaches.  They get scrambled every season.  Eight to a team, with four on the field alternating with four sitting out, so everyone gets a chance to run and kick. 

After I had missed the tournament last year, I asked our player, "Who won?"  And she replied with the mantra, "It's not about winning and losing.  It's about having fun."  They are brain-washed, I thought, do they really believe that? 

Then I remembered, when it was her turn to sit out, she watched her team floundering, and said, in exasperation, "They're nothing without me."  I realized she understands that winning is everything.  That's my girl.

Please, no letters.  I know it is politically incorrect, and they are just babies.  But I think that if you get into the game, you better play to win.  If you want to be on my team.

--Florence

Lost and Found

Why is it that some people have an unerring sense of direction, while others, like me, can't find east without a compass, and who carries a compass anyway.  I think this would make a great scientific study. 

Let's get to the end first.  We just bought a direction finder.  It is so popular, so successful, which only proves there are more of me than those who have the homing pigeon instinct.

Art is one of those who know where north is no matter where you drop him.  He would test me while driving.  "Which direction are we going?"  "How do I know," I grumble.  "The lake is east!" he says, as if that explains everything.  "But I can't see the lake," I keep from screaming.  He knows the direction because he knows which streets run east/west, and watching the addresses understands which way he is going. I marvel.

Patiently, he tried the Sun Rises in the East ruse.  "I can't look at the sky when I'm driving," I smartly retort.  He sighs, "Look at the shadows."  I always plotted my routes with a map.  I love maps.  I can picture where to turn when I check out the map.  But put a detour in the road, and I'm lost again.  Once, trying to get onto the expressway, I found the ramp closed.  Thank goodness for the cell phone.  "Art," I say, trying to keep calm, "They closed the ramp.  I can't get home."  He guided me to to next ramp,  and how to proceed until I reached recognizable road sites/sights. 

I love the direction finder.  Her pronunciation is somewhat blurred, but she gives enough warning so that you can figure it out.  I don't use it when I really know where I'm going.  When I left a house the other day, I asked the man how to get out to the main road.  "A right at the second stop sign, a left, and a left."  I got in the car and did exactly that.  But when I found myself passing his house again, I set the Garmin, and she got me back to the shop safely, bless her.

However, the word I hear most is, "Recalculating."  She says it impassively, uncritically.  It means that even with all her help, I've overshot the mark.  Again.

--Florence

Don't Talk, Darling, Just Smile

By now everyone has heard Miss South Carolina's answer to the question why does she think one-fifth of Americans can't find the United States on the map.  She answered very earnestly, and with a happy smile when she reached her conclusion. 

Somehow South Africa, Iraq and the U.S. figured into her one sentence long, non-sequitor answer.  I am reading the transcript now, and yes, it appears to be in English.  I give you one phrase: ..."and the Iraq, everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should, our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S...."  You say that it is taken out of context.  I am screaming, "There is no context."  A stand-up comedian would be hard pressed to do a double-talk routine so effectively.  Or to smile so delightedly afterwards.

I could picture the audience with chins dropped, in a stunned silence.  Reality tells me they were cheering wildly, not having heard a word she said, but responding to her astonishing beauty.  Why do they ask questions?  It's a beauty contest, for Pete's sake, and boy, is she a beauty! 

I've heard said, "She's so beautiful, until she open her mouth."  Let me tell you, this one's a beauty even after she opens her mouth, and drivel spills out.  Is this where we tear our hair, and wail, "What is this country coming to?"

-- Florence

Special Connections and Association Copies

This comment to my post, It's Who You Associate With, is far too informative and interesting to be buried with the asides.  Association copies is an issue far broader than I described.  Goddard expands on it.

"Harmony Junction" referred to in the article is Goddard Graves'  work in progress.

His compliments to me are embarrassing (a tiny bit - I love the flattery).

-- Florence

Comment:
For me to challenge Florence on anything bibliographic is a bit like a four-year old facing Roger Clemens in a real ball game. But full of the love which casts out fear, I must offer some constructive dissent-- or should I say "amendments"? -- to her discussion of association copies. While I hardly feel the need to cower behind other booksellers -- none of whom are worthy enough to sweep her front stoop -- I must say that the following remarks derive from decades of reading antiquarian book catalogues, & from many years likewise of buying & selling (albeit on a modest level). The definition as offered is simply too narrow, in actual practice. While it is inevitable that book-selling, like any other trade, should have its jargon, it is sad & unnecessary for that jargon to fly in the face of a straightforward, common sense understanding of a simple word like "association." To me, & to many others, an association copy is simply a book which establishes a special connection which might not otherwise exist without that particular volume.

Let me cite four examples which, completely without conventional autographs or inscriptions, seem fully qualified to be association copies.

In my own collection I have a history of the Paris Commune, a copy once owned by George Schilling, a once-famous but now forgotten labour militant who grew up in the historico-ideological backwash of that great movement, and for whom, I am convinced, this voume would have been a secular equivalent of what others might consider Holy Writ. For historians and/or radicals, this association would set this particular copy apart from others otherwise identical to it.

Second, in a university collection to which I will not call unfair attention, I found Aleister Crowley's copy of some book -- after forty years I cannot recall exactly what, though it doesn't really matter -- in which "The Great Beast" had marked a passage & made a marginal note comparing it to one of his own works. Isn't that an association fully as interesting as a simple autograph?

Third, how about the situation of an artist in one medium who has a book which s/he has used as the basis for another creative effort? Certainly the volumes from Thomas Hardy's library which found their way into the library of the great composer Gerald Finzi have a special association value because of Finzi's unsurpassed musical settings of these texts.

Finally, how about a book which might belong to somebody cited in the book, as distinct from its the author? In the forthcoming novel HARMONY JUNCTION, a collector has rounded-up some of the interview-subjects from one of Studs Terkel's many books, and had them sign a copy with their true names as well as the names behind which Terkel veiled them. If that isn't association, I'll change light-bulbs for you for the next decade, Florence -- not that I haven't already had the pleasure.

It is a delight and a privilege to be associated with you, dear Florence, in your blog, and in the love of books. -- Goddard Graves

Riiiinnngg

If you get only one phone call that day, it will surely come while you are under the shower. I leave the handset on the counter so I can stick out my hand – and head -  for it. Today I got two phone calls. One was from a service man to set up an appointment. I knew if I offered to call back we’d lose our place in his schedule (boy, are we cowed by service people who are, after all, our employees). It seemed inappropriate to tell the man that we were having this conversation while I was stark naked.  The second call was an invitation for breakfast if I could get out right away. I was too wet.

 

Other phone calls, but during the day. “I need this book. I’ll tell you why. It’s a long story,” and it’s always somebody who speaks slowly. Doesn’t your heart sink? I’m not good at extricating myself from that. Or the call from a woman who wants me to come buy her books, but she doesn’t know when she will have enough time because she is so busy, so rushed, no time to even breathe – and doesn’t stop long enough for you to insert a word for the next 15 minutes.

The post office called, assuring me they were not selling anything; it was a survey to make their service better. Well, I had plenty to say about that, so I answered. How much mail do I send out in a week, how many times do I go to the PO, how many stamps do I buy. It took me that long to understand where they were going with this, so I was able to say politely that I had run out of time, before they got to their sales pitch for a postage meter. I really mean to have someone teach me how to buy my postage through the computer and have the printer spit out a metered piece of paper.  Aah, the things I still have to learn!

Ooops, the phone is ringing. We’ll catch up with this later.

-- Florence

A Joke Book

You know the saying The Rich Get Richer. One of Europe's richest has thought of a way to make an extra $6,000,000 with a one shot deal. 

Roger Shashoua's autobiographical book, Dancing with the Bear, offers street-smart advice on how to make millions as he did in Russia, China and India.  Although his book is selling in a UK edition on the Internet in a range of $20 to $41.22, he has come up with an irresistible enhancement, a one time offer, a breathtaking improvement to this ordinary book in its white binding.

He will offer the book in a black binding, encrusted with diamonds containing 120 carats.  For six million dollars.  You see why he is so rich - he has vision! 

Here's my suggestion.  Buy a real book.... no, I can't even say cover this gem with diamonds because it is ridiculous.  It's ludicrous beyond satire.  With $6,000,000 (did I put in enough 0s?) you can get magnificent books.  But no, this is not even a book he is offering.  It is a conspicuous show-off "if ya got it, flaunt it" item.  Yes, it will make a helluva coffee table decoration. 

But, aha!, here's something he didn't think of -- can you afford the security guard standing next to the book?

-- Florence

Stormy Weather

It happened to us here in Chicago.  The kind of thunderstorm that smashes windows and pulls down buildings, that closes major highways due to flooding, that  uproots trees to fall across streets closing them to traffic, and across tracks shutting down the commuter trains, that knocks tree branches across power lines to interrupt service.  The kind of storm you read about, and see on TV, of other people's neighborhoods. 

It was the worst storm we've ever had in Chicago.  My suburb is OK, but it took Art hours to reach home from Chicago in the blinding rain, as he zig-zagged around the detours set up at intersections.  The highway leading easily to the North Shore was under water, and there was no draining it, the pumps having lost power.

P.S.  Here it is, tomorrow.  It looks gloomy.  Very gloomy.  The weatherman predicted more of the same for the next several days.  A major week-end art show is now setting up in the center of town, each artist under his own canopy.  Poor dears.

PPS.  Here it is, a couple of hours later.  The sun is shining.  It's a lovely, bright day.  Art wins over weather.

--Florence

Lexus Entertain You

My husband, Art, loved his nine year old Mazda with 102,000 miles on it.  He was determined to keep it rolling till it reached 200,000.  But that didn't keep him from window-shopping the Lexus.  One day he strolled into a Lexus dealership, and was greeted with, "Hey Mistah, have I got a deal for you," or however they say that in Lexusian.  An elderly couple (you all know the shpiel)...upgrading...8 year old model...perfect upkeep... looks like new...42,000 miles.  And still better was the price.

He folded like a bad poker hand (hey, that's good).  He bought the car.  Bye, bye, beloved old Mazda - a younger, prettier, sexier model has moved in.  When he phoned me, he was so elated,  I couldn't remind him about those 200,000 miles that seemed so tantalizing only yesterday.

Lexus doesn't release the car until it is cleaned, re-calibrated, glorified just for you. When I came home, there in the driveway was a tan car that looked just like the tan car next to it. Except for the logos. 

He loves it.  And every Sat. morning he takes it to the dealership where he, and hundreds of other Lexus owners get a free car wash.  With a free bagels and lox buffet.  I suppose the Lexus people want only spiffy cars on the road. And loyalty.

Tonight, a month later, Art asked whether I wanted to go with him to the instructional symposium they were having.  "Why do you want to go?" I asked.  "I want to know how to work the automatic lights - I came home last night to find I had been driving with the dims, and I want to know how to set the climate control to automatic."  I got into it, adding, "And how to open the passenger door with the keyless thing."  I considered.  "Are they having food?"  He said, "Light refreshments."  I went along.

What a crowd! Probably 200 people. The refreshments were coffee, soft drinks, bottled water, brownies, chocolate chip cookies, little bags of potato chips.  Humpf.

The big guy spoke about maintenance, gas quality and mileage, air in tires, oil changes.  Then he got to the part about the electronic key and what it does.  Thank goodness that key, The Smart Key, they call it, is just for the latest model.  He explained it, he demonstrated it, he showed the hidden key within the key, locking yourself in/out, opening windows and closing them while outside the car, and the part I like best - keeping your key in your purse or pocket and unlocking the door by pulling on the handle to open it.  I sat transfixed, hoping desperately to understand any part of the operation.  I looked at Art.  He seemed to agree that we'd never be able to get the car out of the driveway with The Smart Key.

They held a raffle for dumb things like caps, t-shirts, and other stuff I couldn't make out as the winners walked away from the table with their prizes.  I fastened my eyes on the little stuffed elephant while I anxiously clutched my number.  When the elephant went, I gave up.

When the meeting ended, the audience was invited to bring their questions to the technicians on hand.  Art snagged one, who went out to the car with us, and very patiently explained this rudimentary information.   

We drove home so much smarter.  Now we knew how to set the automatic temperature control.  But we still argued, as usual, about what the temperature should be. 

--Florence

It's Who You Associate With

When my friend, Sonja, the paid worker at the bookstore for the ORT thrift shop, and I, a volunteer, decided we had seen enough of the same donated books, we left to start our own book business, specializing in "better" books.  We remained friends with the dealers who bought from the thrift shop where, because of our ignorance, there were plenty of bargains.  But we learned fast -- at least we were now familiar with the most commonplace books, the best-sellers, the Book-of-the Month Club books, and the reprint publishers.

I asked our most seasoned book buyer (oldest, longest in business, and author of Gold in Your Attic, as well as newspaper columnist on book values, Van Allen Bradley), whether we might all get together occasionally to exchange ideas.   He said, "Sure," and that's how the MidWest Antiquarian Booksellers Association got started.

I remember our first luncheon.  I asked, "What is an association copy?"  A woman book dealer, turned to look at me scornfully, and said, "If you have to ask such a question, you should not even be in the business."   "And if you don't answer my question, I never will learn it, will I?" 

"Association copy" was carefully explained, and I remember it along with the twinge of humiliation I felt at that moment.  Simply, it is a book signed by the author to another person of importance.  If the person it is inscribed to has some connection to the text of the book, or has a significant connection with the author, it is even a bigger prize.   The author is in some way associated with this special person to whom he has inscribed the book.

A long obituary of Jay Fliegelman honoring him as a leading figure in American Studies with a primary interest in American literary and cultural history from 1520 - 1860, mentions his wonderful book collection.  He specialized in association copies.  Offered as examples: Frederick Douglass' autobiography, inscribed to the British woman who purchased his freedom.  That's rather breathtaking. 

And: Thomas Jefferson's copy of Milton's Paradise Lost.  That puzzles me.  It is a fantastic signed book, a great signature to own, but how is it an association copy?  Am I missing something?  Or has the reporter lost sight of the concept? 

My favorite association copy is one that we own.  It is Nelson Algren's book, The Man With the Golden Arm, autographed to his photographer/chronicler/friend - "To Art Shay becuz he is ma ideel."

-- Florence

 

Donate? Sell?

A newspaper reports that a cataloger (their spelling, I prefer cataloguer) for 35 years at the U of Southern Maine is donating his collection of 2.000 rare books to their Special Collections department.  He had been collecting for 49 years - there is no indication of his present age.  I did some arithmetic, pen to paper, and get a purchase of approximately one book a week.  Not that you can find a rare book once a week.  So much for arithmetic. 

He had the pleasure of accumulating them, and now he must be applauded for donating them.  Or must he be?   

Donate to the library where they will be locked away forever, but many people will have access to them, or -

Sell them back to the marketplace so some other passionate collector can  buy this same rare book. 

Institutions protect the books, guard them against damage, assure that the books will be preserved for the future.  This leaves fewer special books available to the collecting public, and the prices soar.  "I just got a first American edition of Euclid," a friend tells me.  He is ecstatic.  He is also rich.  He will take very, very good care of it, as he does of all his remarkable acquisitions.  And the next generation will find these again in bookstores, and share the same excitement. 

A woman who had bought many wonderfully illustrated childrens books from me said she was ready to give them up.  Excitedly, I told her I was ready to buy back this cherished collection.  She was wavering about selling.   She needed the tax credit for the donation, not the money.  The books went to her college library.

Another collector of Railroadiana told me grumpily, "I needed room on my shelves, so I donated the books to our local library.  I went back to look something up in my book, and they weren't in their Special Collections anymore.  They had sold them!  Now I don't have access to them anymore."  I asked the librarian about their policy of handling donated books.  He explained that many donated books were duplicates, or books of no interest to their cardholders, and that people expected the library to be a repository for their books while freeing up their own shelf space. "Our space is precious too.  And limited.  So we sell what we don't want.  We are not obligated to keep donated books. We're very grateful for the money we get from selling those books, money that we can use for books our patrons want."

I have subsequently found out that this is a common practice.  So there is a good chance that the book so generously donated will be out in circulation again. 

Whew.  That makes us all happy.

--Florence