Titles, Inc.

Wining and Signing

What fun!  What excitement! 

We just had an author-signing party at the shop.  Invitations in the mail, announcements in the newspapers,  and the author's new book artfully arranged in the store window along with others he has written, the backdrop being an eight foot tall photo of us that we took home when his photo exhibit ended at the Chicago History Museum.  Art Shay's new book, Chicago's Nelson Algren, was the book waiting to be signed.

Yes, we sent the invitations and they came.  Everyone bought one or several copies of the new book, his other books, and many of the books I had on the shelves as well.  Art, our illustrious guest of honor, was signing and chatting and being entertaining.

I had huge trays of food.  Because my store is carpeted, I had been told from friends who had "been there," to serve only colorless drinks so that the inevitable spill will not leave a nasty reminder of the party on that carpet.  White wine, sparkling water, no cokes, only foods to be stabbed by toothpicks, no food or sweets that might leave a glisten of oil on the fingers.  Easily done.  Only one spilled glass of (white) wine readily sopped up by paper towels.  Lots of food distributed at the end of the party.

It helped that our two young ladies, Ann and Simone, who did most of the arrangements added their good looks and vivacious personalities to liven the party, and our handsome young Peter poured as bartender.  I?  I ran around thanking everyone for coming, delighted that they did, because after all, it is the guests who make the party a success.

--Florence

The Power of One!

It worked!  I bought two more bags of Kisses (not that I needed two more bags.  In fact we finished one watching TV.)  With the coupon at the same cash register at Walgreens.  And it rang up properly, 2 for $2.

Keep your guard up.  One victory is just that: one victory.  When you see Walgreens not delivering the advertised sale price, get to the store manager, and not only ask for the money they owe you, but tell them to correct their registers.  Even Laura, who lives in Seattle, wrote to say she was stung on her purchase of Hershey's Kisses.  Watch the screen as your items are scanned.

Keep them honest!

--Florence

Shame on You, Walgreens!

It happened again.  Even if it happened once, it would have been too much.

The cash register did not deliver the advertised sale price.  Again.  When I buy a sale item here, I know I must watch the numbers as the product is scanned.  Walgreens is probably the biggest chain drug store in the Chicago area, maybe the entire Midwest.  Their headquarters are right here in Deerfield, IL.  Perhaps I should knock on their door instead of venting in this note.   

Their Sunday flyer offered all varieties of Hershey Kisses for the very special price of 2 for $2 with their Instant Rebate coupon from the booklet in the store.  Remember when Kisses were just milk chocolate in a silver wrap?  Today, I looked at them stretched out along the shelf, and paused to consider which to choose.  I selected the Dark Chocolate in purple foil and  Chocolate Truffle in gold foil.  There were the little price markers all along the row: 2 for $2.

I checked out with my several other items, and when the Kisses were scanned it read 2.99 and 2.00 Sale.  I gave him the Instant Rebate coupon, and it read 1.00 MFGC.  A quick job of arithmetic told me I was charged $3.99.  I said, "That's not right. See? The coupon says 2 for $2."  He shrugged, "That's how it rang up."  I didn't want to hold up the people behind me, so I found an employee and asked for the manager.

I explained the transaction to her.  She looked at the candy, and said, "I'm sorry.  I will give you a refund."  While she was monkeying with the computerized cash register to return my $2.01, I said, "The ad ran Sunday.  This is Tuesday night.  Sunday, Monday, Tuesday.  Three days you have been overcharging on a sale item. When are you going to correct the register?"  She said, "I'll get on it right now."  I read her badge, Asst. Manager.  I wonder whether she could, or would.

You can bet I will go back tomorrow morning to buy two more bags.  And if I'm overcharged, what do I do then?  If I were an activist instead of a whiner, I'd be banging on Walgreens doors.  Let's calm down.  Let's assume they made it right.

I'll let you know if I get my Kisses at 2 for $2.

--Florence

Las Vegas #2 FOOD

Let's not take this chronologically.  Let's start with the Killer Buffet.  We tried to peek into the Brunch restaurant the day before we planned to eat there, to make sure it looked special enough.  There was no getting near the door.  There was a serpentine line clogging our vision.   We worried.  Neither my daughter nor I like to stand on long lines.  (The airport was unavoidable.  There was no alternative.)  We decided to try it, but Plan B would be any other restaurant we could get in to.

It was our Thanksgiving breakfast.  We got there at 10:45.  The hostess told us that breakfast would be removed at 11, with luncheon dishes substituted.  We could eat a hurried breakfast, or leisurely stay on and eat lunch too.  Oh, there were just a few people ahead of us when we approached.  It's a Las Vegas thing - we got lucky.  Huge (what else?) dining room divided into many rooms.  When we were seated, I asked suspiciously, "How far is the Buffet?"  Looking over my shoulder, there it was.  Luck #2.  Knowing how often I return to the counter, I like to be close to the food. 

The waiter took our juice and tea/coffee order, and the four of us hit the tables.  I like to see everything offered before making a choice.  By the time I spanned the table, I was bewildered.  It was so gourmet, they had to hang identifying signs over the items.  There was so much, I couldn't choose.  Nothing traditional, common, ordinary.  No pancakes, waffles, not a bagel with cream cheese. 

I started daintily, with a slab of rare roast beef, and everything colorful I could find to dress it.  No rolls, that would be too filling.  When did breakfast disappear, and lunch follow?  I don't know.  Each of the four of us had different food on our platters.  My son returned with another plate, and said, "Mom, they just put out lamb chops.  I know you like lamb chops."  Luckily, I had scraped my plate clean so I could jump up for the lamb chops. Baby lamb chops, "Just two," I said, modestly.  I added roasted cubed sweet potatoes, and saw the regular lamb chops.  Wondering which I might like better, I had the man add just another one to the plate.  I virtuously passed up the next selection of lamb-with-bone-in.  I added lots of vegetables, because I am cautious about my health. 

Back at the table, I saw some odd food on my son's plate.  "Venison and wild boar," he explained.  We watched him eat it.  "Tastes like Jerky", he said. 

After several cups of tea, and grapefruit segments to clean the palate, I leaned back, satisfied.

"Anybody ready for the dessert room?"  "What!!!"  "Around the corner."  "Wait for me." 

I exercised restraint.  But maybe I better not say what went on the plate.  I did pass up the candy apples.  I have to be comfortable in my size 8 pants.  (I could hear you wondering.)

That was our Killer Buffet at the Wynn.  Price?  $34.95.   Can you believe it?

This is not the time to talk about our Thanksgiving dinner that same night.

--Florence

Big, Bigger, Biggest

Here's a hint.  The hotel is big.  BIG.  People of every nationality.  Many, many Asians.  Many from India and its neighboring countries.  And disabled people with canes, walkers, wheelchairs.  Infants, tots in strollers, children of all sizes.  Shorts with tees, knee high boots with teeny mini skirts, pants, dresses, gym shoes, stilettos.  OK.  So where was I for Thanksgiving?  You guessed it!  Las Vegas!

The last time I was there, Frank Sinatra was performing, and it was a working trip.  I was the cover for my husband who was photographing the Mafia for Life magazine.  No, I wasn't on the cover, I was making us look like a tourist couple, so we'd be above suspicion.  But that's another story.  The point being...

This is not the Vegas of those days.  This is VEGAS!  We stayed at the Wynn.  Very elegant.  You get lost getting to the elevator.  Really.  And getting from the elevator to the entrance.  Lost, each time.  There are signs with arrows indicating anywhere you might want to go.  Clue: Go through the casino, turn right...  Always, go through the casino. 

What do you do in Vegas if you don't gamble?  You visit all the other hotels.  They each have a theme or a style. 

The Venetian has an indoor "canal" with gondolas and singing gondoliers.  Also ceilings that the local Michelangelo painted beautifully.  Paris is rather dark with its Parisian street lamps, and of course, the Eiffel Tower.

Treasure Island has an outdoor pirate ship that I understand goes up in flames and sinks.  It was under repair.  And no wonder.

The Bellagio has a huge (everything in Vegas is huge) outdoor water-fountain show with music.

I think the Wynn is the classiest.  I'd come back into the lobby, and say, "Aah, home."

Each one is noisy, loud music, loud sound, loud color.  I think none of them was planned by an architect.  It is all stage design, Hollywood sets.  I looked at the small map of the large lobby we got with our key.  It shows the casino, restaurants, each shop, everything. Unfolded it stretches out  with no apparent pattern.  Swirls and curves and bends.  Designed by a drunken artist, or a malevolent architect.  But fun. 

While each hotel appears to be next door, they cover so much area, that you walk forever to the next one.  But when you have to be somewhere, like dinner or show, you cab.

Show?  We had time for only one.  I chose O.  We (our four family members who could make the trip) sat in the 4th row, center.  It opened with two clowns doing their shtick moving through the audience.  It did not indicate what would happen when the curtains opened.  And when the curtains opened, WHAT A SHOW!  I could write the rest of this review in caps.  SPECTACULAR!  Gorgeous.  Bewildering.  Alarming.  The name of the show, O, stands for eau, meaning water in French.  And water there is.  The stage is water.  There are acrobatics way up, incredibly choreographed acrobatics, and the acrobats dive from heights into the water.  How deep must the water be?  And while you are marveling, it is not water anymore, but a solid floor for more thrilling activities.  We need those clowns help us catch our breath, and they come on in a house boat.  So witty, so engaging, funny.  Then more action on the stage.  Swimming is not a large enough word to describe the intricate maneuvers in the water.  While there is an activity to focus on, peripherally so much other stuff is happening.  Little vignettes, all over the stage and in the air.  Your eyes catch something at stage right where something playful is going on, then stage left where a strange figure has just exited.  Center again at the swimmers, but look up, what is that misty figure suspended? And every time you think, "This must be the finale," something else starts.  By the time the red curtains drop, you are exhausted.  Not the cast.  They come out for their bow while we applaud like crazy.  And then you realize they are going back to dry off, and get ready to do it all over again, tonight.

Then there is the food.  That needs caps, too.  FOOD.  I'll talk about it tomorrow.  I'm still re-living the excitement of O.

--Florence

Happy Thanksgiving

It's only 9:15 PM but I have to get in bed, read fast, and try to fall asleep quickly.  I'm leaving for a short Thanksgiving trip.  I'll report on it Sat. when I return.  But to catch the morning plane I have to get up at the crack of dawn.  Before dawn cracks, actually. 

--Florence

My Trees

People drive to New England to see the autumn colors.  It's here, all around us.  A glance out the kitchen window caught me up short.  Glorious color.  Looking through the gold of the Magnolia tree to the flaming red of the Japanese Maple just behind it, to the green of the shrubs and trees as a background, it was a canvas of color.  If I had time I would have pulled up a chair, and just looked at it as one might study a work of art in the museum. 

That was yesterday.  Today most of the leaves are on the ground.  Those still on the trees are too sparse to make a statement.  The ginkgo tree in the front lawn is doing its annual trick.  It holds all its leaves, and then sometime in the night it drops every last one of them, whoosh, at the same time.  It stands there now, naked branches, surrounded by a large circle of golden yellow on the green grass. 

It happens so fast.  Some years I don't even notice.

--Florence

It's a Gift

The most challenging book sale is to someone looking for a gift book, We're invited to a party for his 50th, I don't know what he likes, but I know if he wants something he buys it for himself, so I don't know what to get. 

Next is the obvious question, How much were you thinking of spending?

Airily, dismissively, Oh it doesn't matter. 

So I bring out an attractive book, beautiful binding, looks perfect For the Man Who Has Everything.

How much is it, she asks.  $90 says I.  She recoils in horror - I was thinking more like $20.

See? So she did know how much she was thinking of spending.  I have nice $20 books, but after the impact of the $90, they don't look as hot.  I was glad I didn't open the glass case to show her one for $7500.

On the other hand, someone will say, directly, $50-$100.  She'll hold the few she's considering from those I've shown her, and drift around the room.  Oh, look, this is lovely, she says, and I murmur, It's $250.  Fine, she says, I'll take it.

There's no second guessing it.  How long have I been doing this?  30 years?  Still can't guess who will buy.  A man came in with a list of scholarly, academic books.  I shuddered when I saw it.  I don't have any on this list, I said, did you want to read these, or are you looking for collectible editions?  As collectibles, they not readily available and will be very pricey.

Not for me.  For my son, thought I'd get a nice copy for a gift.  I suggested he go to a used book store near our universities.  This is required reading for some classes, and they sell them back the minute they have passed the course.  He was not having my small talk.  I went back to my computer as he crisply looked around, and I looked up as he approached with several books, a strict departure from the Greek and Latin books on his list.  He set them down with no comment; I wrote them up with no comment, except for Thank You, which drew no response. 

Like I said, you never know.  That's what makes it fun.

--Florence

Don't Give Up Newspapers

From the newspapers:

Henny Youngman joke:  I own 150 books. But I have no bookcase.  Because nobody will lend me a bookcase.

This is only funny if that lent book is not yours.  Nobody returns borrowed books.  I get more calls for replacement of books lent to friends.  The friend lost it, lent it to someone else, can't find it, doesn't remember ever taking it.  I say it all the time: You are not lending it, you are giving it away.  If a book changes hands, you must say bye bye to that book.  Just consider it a gift.  Or say No.

Tobacco companies are marketing "light" cigarettes.  They contain less tar and nicotine.  Researchers now find that smokers of these cigarettes take deeper puffs and smoke more cigarettes to compensate.  And the moral is....

In Mascoutah, IL (I don't have a clue, either), an eighth grader hugged her friends goodbye for the weekend, and got two detentions for violating a school policy banning public displays of affection.  Her parents objected, and the district promised to look into revising the policy.  Maybe the European way of kissing on both cheeks?  Or the American way of kissing the air next to the cheek?  Actually, the "air kiss" makes a lot of sense.  Why mess up someone's makeup by planting your lipstick on her face, at the same time blotting off your own lipstick?  I believe the true smackeroo ended with the introduction of cosmetics.

In southern India a man believed himself cursed after he stoned two dogs to death and hung their bodies from a tree.  (And well he should have been.)  After that, he claimed, his legs and hands got paralyzed, and he lost hearing in one ear.  To  break the curse, he did what deeply superstitious people in rural India sometimes do - he married a female dog.  They had a traditional Hindu ceremony, the dog, Selvi, draped in a sari, and wearing a garland.  I wonder what the dog did to deserve such a punishment.

--Florence

Hair Today

What a rotten haircut!  It is so short.  What do you do when you look worse coming out than you did walking in.  Men just put on a cap.  Who knows what's under a cap?  A bald head, probably. 

I look worse in a hat than a bad haircut.  I had explained, "I have a cowlick in the back, and I need the hair long enough to pull it over the cowlick."  See, even women do comb-overs.  She's Russian, maybe never heard of cowlick.  It should be one of the first words taught to a hairdresser.  Maybe it's not called cowlick anymore?   What an ugly word.  You see it 3 or 4 times, and it sure is an ugly word.  Anyway, the hair is so short back there, it goes Boing and there's the c......  Not to mention my ears are sticking out, naked.  I keep thinking, "It will grow back, it will grow back."  Or look at it this way, "Boy, did I get my money's worth.  I won't need a haircut for months." 

I saw a man walk through the salon and disappear at the end through a door I didn't know was there.  "Who's the man?  Men come here too?"  She said, "He comes in once a week for a color."  I said, "I never thought about it before.  I guess barbers do color?"  She said, "I think the products they use are for men, and they make them stronger.  If he colors every week, he needs a gentler product."

Behind me, through the mirrors, I saw a young lady with short blonde hair that curved around, framing her face, and bangs to her eyebrows.  I watched, enviously, as she tossed her head, and the hair swung just like the ads on TV.  Now there's a hairdo, I thought.  Instead of getting up to leave, she was running her fingers through her hair, pulling at it this way and that.  I realized they were discussing a new haircut.  "Fool,"  I wanted to say, "walk out.  You look great."  I wish I could have seen the new style.   Shorter than mine?

I'd better repeat my mantra.  It will grow back.  It will grow back.

-- Florence