Bookselling Tales-

We met in neutral territory- at one of those Swiss hotels up the side of a mountain- you know the kind. You look down and see cars below you the size of dust specks, and the rising moon seems to be coming in at shoulder level. I don't like heights, so I was at the bar downing Saphire gin and nibbling at the cheese plate they had put out just to make me thirsty.

She caught my eye from across the room- brown hair down to her waist and a shape that her low-cut, body-hugging black dress didn't try to hide.

She raised an eyebrow and I raised my glass and the next thing I knew she was sitting beside me, ordering Stoli and downing the first one in a single gulp. She ordered another and then turned to me.

"Did you bring it?" she asked, her voice deep, but tinged with silver, like the swiftly flowing streams in the mountains around there.

"Right here" I said, patting my coat pocket.

She nodded.

"All of it" she said. Not a question really.

"All of it" I said, sipping my Saphire, trying to keep my mind on my mission and off her figure which perched on the barstool in perfect balance, like something drawn by Picasso.

"Good". She gave me a quick smile. "I have to go, I have another delivery to make". She was apologizing, but women like her should never have to apologize. For anything. I took the envelope of cash from my pocket and handed it to her.

She tucked it into the fold of her dress without looking at it.

"Merci" she said and drained the last of her Stoli. "Perhaps we will meet again". She uncurled herself from her perch on the stool and stood still for a moment as if trying to make up her mind about something.

"I have to go" she said, as if trying to convince herself, not me, of the fact. "After I'm gone, go over to the table".

I nodded and she was gone.

I sat there for a moment, then ordered another Saphire and drank it slowly. Then I got up and crossed the room. It was there, on the chair, wrapped in brown paper, tied with string.

A nice touch.

Smuggling it out past customs was a breeze.

After her, everything else was anticlimactic.

I kept that book for a few years, but then decided to sell it.

I'm a bookseller.

That's my job.

Ashes to Ashes...

Cremation dates back at least to the ancient Romans, though after Rome fell cremation also fell on hard times. It only made a comeback in the late Victorian age, with many cremation societies springing up, all dedicated to making it legal again. They finally succeeded, and it is a booming industry today. I think it's a fine way to dispose of bodies if one is so inclined, so I mean no disrespect to all the cremationalists out there when I offer the following little smattering of news stories that just popped up on the web-

Keith Richards says he snorted father's ashes
MSNBC News Services
April 3rd, 2007

LONDON - Keith Richards has acknowledged consuming a raft of illegal substances in his time, but this may top them all. In comments published Tuesday, the 63-year-old Rolling Stones guitarist said he had snorted his father’s ashes mixed with cocaine. "The strangest thing I’ve tried to snort? My father. I snorted my father," Richards was quoted as saying by British music magazine NME. "He was cremated, and I couldn’t resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow. My dad wouldn’t have cared," he said, adding that "it went down pretty well, and I’m still alive."

- - -

Ashes of Star Trek's 'Scotty' Primed for Space Launch
Space.com
2 April 2007

The ashes of Star Trek’s Scotty and one of NASA’s first astronauts are once more bound for the final frontier, this time aboard a privately-built rocket to launch from New Mexico this month. Portions of the cremated remains of actor James Doohan, the plucky engineer of television's Starship Enterprise, and Mercury astronaut Gordon Cooper are set for an April 28 launch aboard a SpaceLoft XL rocket built by the private firm UP Aerospace.

- - -

Grandmother thwarts 'dead dad into diamond' plan

Reuters. April 04, 2007

A German woman's plan to turn her dead father's ashes into a diamond was thwarted yesterday by her grandmother. A district court in Wiesbaden ruled the 19-year-old could not take the cremated remains to Switzerland where a company creates synthetic diamonds from ashes.

“The daughter of the deceased could not provide sufficient proof that it was his final wish to be pressed into a diamond,” the court in western Germany said, ruling in favour of his 86-year-old mother.

- - -

A Bookstore Tale...

A newlywed couple is on their honeymoon. They've spent the first couple of days in the hotel room, so they decide to go outside and play a game of golf for the first time in their lives.

On the first tee the husband slices the ball so hard to the right that it goes crashing through the plate glass window of an antiques/bookstore across the street from the golf course.

The couple immediately run over to the shop to apologize, but when they get there they don't see anyone... just broken glass everywhere.

Then the young wife screams when she notices a man with a goatee laying on the floor. The man is in a daze. The couple drop to their knees and begin apologizing. The goateed man raises a finger to his lips and tells the couple that they have done him a great favor. He explains that he is a genie and has been trapped in an antique vase for 211 years. By virtue of the errant golf ball, the vase was shattered, and he was finally freed.

The newlyweds are relieved, but still slightly baffled by the turn of events.

The genie then stands, dusts himself off, and then says with a big smile, "Now I would like to repay you for your act of kindness. I'll grant you two wishes. What would you like? Anything... Just name it!"

The husband speaks up first. "One billion dollars."

The genie smiles and says, "Your wish is granted. I'll have the money deposited into your joint account within 15 days."

The young wife hugs her husband with delight and says to the genie, "For our second wish, I'd like you to make us PAR golfers on any golfcourse in the world."

The genie says, "After this day, playing par golf will be as natural for you as breathing."

The newlyweds are giddy with delight. The young wife turns to the genie and says, "You've been so kind to us, is there ANYTHING we can do for you?"

The genie lowers his head, smiles a slightly embarrassed smile, and says: "Well, I have been locked in a bottle for 211 years, without the warmth of a woman's touch. I would very much like to make love with you. I would understand if you didn't want to, but I am GIVING you one billion dollars...."

The husband and wife are shocked, but they they figure what the hell...it is a BILLION dollars.

The young bride goes upstairs with the genie. While the genie and his wife are upstairs, the husband sits down and begins to read one of the old first edition books in the store. As he reads he can hear the squeaking of the antique boxsprings coming from one of the beds upstairs.

After a couple of hours of strenuous lovemaking, the genie looks down at the young bride and asks her how old she is.

"22," she says demurely.

"And how old is your husband?" asks the genie.

"He's 32," she answers.

"32? And he still believes in genies?" asks the bookdealer with a smile.

Monday, Monday-

The second gray Monday morning in a row at Foggygates. Still, as I sit at my desk surrounded by cats and books, I'm reminded that there are worse ways to start the week...

Judging a Book by Its Cover-

The release this week of the new dust jacket art for the seventh, and last, Harry Potter book illustrates, in a dramatic fashion, how the publishers view their different markets.

The English edition aimed at kids is dramatic and action-filled-



On the other hand, the English edition aimed at adults could be a Cold War spy thriller-



Meanwhile, the American edition seems to try to cut right down the middle and be a bit of both, but leaning heavily towards the kid's market-



It seems obvious that Bloomsbury, the English publisher, takes its' adult audience a bit more seriously than Scholastic, the American publisher. That's not a new story- the very first title in the series, "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" had its' title changed by Scholastic to "Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone", because
they thought nobody in America would buy a book with the word "Philosopher" in it.

I think I like the American cover best though. In the end, the English kid's cover is too silly, and the Engish adult cover is too chilly- so the American cover must be "just right"...

A Public Service Message

The Warning Signs Of Insanity

Your friends tell you that you have been acting strange lately. You discuss the subject seriously with them for several minutes, and then hit them with a sledgehammer.

Everyone you meet appears to have tentacles growing out of places that you wouldn't expect tentacles to be growing from.

You start out each morning with a 30-minute jog around the bathroom.

You write to your mother in Germany every week, even though she sends you mail from Iowa asking why you never write.

You don't pay any attention to street signs, because "they" probably switched them around to confuse you.

You wear your boxers on your head because you heard it will ward of evil dandruff spirits.

You're always having to apologize to your next door neighbor for setting fire to his lawn decorations.

People stay away from you whenever they hear you howl.

Nobody listens to you anymore, because they can't understand you through that scuba mask.

You begin to stop and consider all of the blades of grass you've stepped on as a child, and worry that their ancestors are going to one day seek revenge.

You constantly argue about politics -with your toaster.

You bronzed your collection of dead windowsill flies.

Everytime the phone rings, you shout, "Hey! An angel just got its wings!"

You like cats. Especially with mayo.

You scream "I've got a knife!" to people who try to sell you things.

You scream "I've got a knife!" to people at your family reunion.

You cry at the end of every episode of Gilligan's Island, because they weren't rescued.

You put tennis balls in the microwave to see if they'll hatch.

Whenever you listen to the radio, the music sounds backwards.

You have a pathalogical fear of fabric softener.

You wake up each morning and find yourself sitting on your head in the middle of your front lawn.

Your dentist asks you why each individual tooth has your name etched on it, and you tell him it's for security reasons.

When the waiter asks for your order, you ask to go into another room to tell him, because "the napkins have ears."

You tend to agree with everything your mother's dead uncle tells you.

You call up random people and ask if you can borrow their dog, just for a few minutes.

You like to sit in cornfields for prolonged periods of time, and pretend that you're a stalk.

You believe every single word that Dick Cheney and Ann Coulter say.

Monday, Monday-

A grey Monday morning here at Foggygates. Grey, misty Monday mornings make one reluctant to even leave the house. But as I sip my morning tea I'm reminded that some folk's Monday morning commutes are rougher than others. Also that, although I like a good bike ride as much as anyone, gearheads are just a little odd-

Religious Tolerance-

I was walking across a bridge one day, and I saw a man standing on the edge, about to jump off. I immediately ran over and said, "Stop! Don't do it!"

"Why shouldn't I?" he said.

I replied, "Well, there's so much to live for!"

"Like what?"

"Well ... are you religious or atheist?"

"Religious."

"Me too! Are you Christian or Jewish?"

"Christian."

"Me too! Are you Catholic or Protestant?"

"Protestant."

"So am I! Are you Episcopalian or Baptist?"

"Baptist."

"Wow! Me too! Are you Baptist Church of God or Baptist
Church of the Lord?"

"Baptist Church of God."

"As am I! Are you Original Baptist Church of God, or are you Reformed Baptist Church of God?"

"Reformed Baptist Church of God."

"Me too! Are you Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1879, or Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1915?"

"Reformed Baptist Church of God, reformation of 1915!"

To which I cried, "Die, heretic scum!" and pushed him off.

It's Friday!!!

And wherever you are, and whatever you're doing, the staff at Mutterings of a Mad Bookseller wants to remind you- it's never a bad time for a beer!

- - -

From ABC News this morning-

Forget rubber chicken dinners and boring ballroom events. Thursday night, Bill Clinton showed up at Soul Cycle, a new club in New York's tony upper west side neighborhood, for a spinning class turned fundraiser for his wife's campaign for the White House. About 45 people (the majority of them women) paid $2300 for the chance to sit on a stationary bike and meet the former president of the United States.

"He sort of wandered through the bikes in our small studio," said owner Julie Rice, "brushing up against handlebars and greeted everyone personally, which I think was one of the main reasons that this was so special. It was such a small setting."

Clinton told stories and took questions for more than half an hour. Spinning classes at Soul Cycle normally cost about $25. But for this special class spinners paid $2300 apiece and they never even got to see Clinton sweat. He showed up in a suit and told the class he had already worked out earlier in the day.

They weren't disappointed. Asked if they would've liked to have seen President Clinton on a bike, two donors giggled: "No, definitely not."

So let me get this straight- they found women who were willing to pay thousands of dollars to dress up in Spandex and "spin" for Bill Clinton?

- - -

According to the Associated Press-

DETROIT -- A first-term congressman from Michigan who compared parts of Iraq to Detroit and Harvey, Ill., an economically depressed Chicago suburb, defended the comments Thursday. Rep. Tim Walberg said those were just two examples of communities where safety and city services are comparable to 80 percent to 85 percent of Iraq.

Walberg, a Republican, said on Detroit radio station WJR-AM that U.S. troops in Iraq tell him the military is succeeding. "People are walking around communities (in Iraq) as safe as they are walking around _ at the very least _ in Detroit and Chicago and other places," he said.

Walberg made similar comments Monday on a Lansing radio show, drawing criticism from Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick's office and Harvey Mayor Eric J. Kellogg.

So Rep. Walberg is volunteering to go on a walking tour of Iraq someday soon? Hey, I think it's a great idea. I'll contribute to a fund to buy him a plane ticket.

- - -

And now that Spring is here, I wanted to go out and buy a new grill...

eBay bans Manny Ramirez grill

You can't ever say that Boston Red Sox fans aren't enthusiastic. A gas grill, reportedly listed by Manny Ramirez, has been removed from online auction site eBay Inc. after bids spiked to nearly $100 million. Originally purchased for about $4,000 and used once, according to the Red Sox slugger's testimony, the minimum bid of $3,000 was registered shortly after 1:00 p.m. Tuesday. By midnight, the offers were out of control.

While the site offered no explanation for the listing's removal, other parts of the eBay web site warn that items may be taken down if thought to violate eBay policies. The listing had featured seven pictures of the Jenn-Air grill, two with Ramirez in the shot.

When asked by the Associated Press why he was helping sell the grill (later discovered to belong to a neighbor), the ballplayer with the $160 million contract joked "I need the money." He also promised an autographed baseball for the winning bidder.

Everyone here in Boston loves Manny. I mean, how could you not? Manny's just so, so Manny!

Play Ball!

Spring!!

Well, there may still be a foot of snow on the ground, and it may have been 6 degrees last night (which is like what? -105 for you celsius folks?), but today is the first day of Spring!

In celebration, Amy and I will do what we always do- dress up in our Traditional Spring Festive Garb (which looks remarkably like what we wear every day, but I assure you, it's really quite different- every Spring I change to new socks) call our nieces on the telephone, and sing, in unison, our favorite Spring Song (courtesy of The Master, Tom Leher) ...

Spring is here, Spring is here!
Life is skittles and life is beer!
I think the loveliest time of the year is the spring.
I do, don't you? 'Course you do.
But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me,
And makes every Sunday a treat for me.

All the world seems in tune
On a spring afternoon,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
Every Sunday you'll see
My sweetheart and me,
As we poison the pigeons in the park.

When they see us coming,
the birdies all try an' hide,
But they still go for peanuts,
when coated with cyanide.
The sun's shining bright,
Everything seems all right,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We've gained notoriety,
And caused much anxiety
In the Audubon Society
With our games.
They call it impiety
And lack of propriety,
And quite a variety
Of unpleasant names.
But it's not against any religion-
To want to dispose of a pigeon.

So if Sunday you're free,
Why don't you come with me,
And we'll poison the pigeons in the park.
And maybe we'll do
In a squirrel or two,
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park.

We'll murder them all amid laughter and merriment,
Except for the few we take home to experiment.
My pulse will be quickenin'
With each drop of strych'nine
We feed to a pigeon.
(It just takes a smidgin!)
To poison a pigeon in the park.

Grave Matters-

The old saying is that you're not supposed to whistle in a graveyard, but the Book Elves were never ones for old sayings, even though whenever they whistle the Colonel Bogey March in unison every dog in the neighborhood starts howling.

They haven't been whistling in graveyards though, ever since last Halloween when they had a little too much hard cider and were using a shortcut through the town's 17th century burial ground, where old Len Anderson and his boy scout troop were waiting for them, hiding behind the gravestones with sheets and plastic pumpkins with those glowing red eyes...

But after they recovered from doing the 500-yard dash home in 17.6 seconds flat (and got even with Len at Christmas by putting live squirrels in his Christmas tree) they finished a new edition of our 'GRAVE MATTERS' newsletter, featuring recent acquisitions since our last GRAVE AFFAIR catalog. This issue includes books and other materials on mourning, graveyards, epitaphs and related subjects. We have printed copies available, or you can browse a fully-illustrated version on our website.

Monday, Monday...

It's Monday again, time to dust off the weekend cobwebs and get back to work. Of all the commuting days, Monday must be the worst. Here's an image from our "There's no way I'm carpooling with him! I think I'll just walk, thank you" file-

Éireann go Brách

Information from the County Mayo site-

The "Kilkelly Ireland Song" now a famous ballad, draws its inspiration from a series of ten surviving letters written on behalf of Byran and Elizabeth Hunt by the local school master to their emigrant son in America. John Hunt emigrated to the States in 1855 and the letters written to him by his parents were re-discovered in an attic in Bethesda Maryland by his American descendants. Some 120 years after they were written, Peter Jones a great, great grandson of John Hunt, composed the ballad based on the contents of the letters.

- - -

Kilkelly, Ireland,
eighteen and sixty,
My dear and loving Son, John,
Your friend, schoolmaster Pat McNamara,
so good as to write these words down.
Your brothers have all gone to find work in England,
the house is so empty inside.
The crop of potatoes is sorely infected,
a third to a half of them bad.
And your sister Bridget and Patrick O'Donell
are going to be married in June.
Your mother says not to work on the railroad,
and be sure to come on home soon.


Kilkelly, Ireland,
eighteen and seventy,
my dear and loving Son, John,
hello to your missus and to your four children,
may they grow healthy and strong.
Michael has got in a wee bit of trouble,
I suppose that he never will learn.
Because of the dampness there's no turf to speak of,
and now we have nothing to burn.
Bridget is happy you named a child for her,
although she's got six of her own.
You say you found work but you don't say what kind,
or when you'll be coming home.


Kilkelly, Ireland,
eighteen and eighty,
Dear Michael and John, my sons,
I'm sorry to give you the very sad news
that your dear old mother has gone.
We buried her down at the church in Kilkelly,
your brothers and Bridget were there.
You don't have to worry, she died very quickly.
Remember her in your prayers.
And it's so good to hear that Michael's returning,
with money he's sure to buy land.
For the crop has been poor, and the people are selling,
at any price that they can.


Kilkelly, Ireland,
eighteen and ninety,
My dear and loving Son, John,
I suppose I must be close on eighty,
it's thirty years since you gone.
Because of all of the money you sent me
I'm still living out on my own.
Michael has built himself a fine house,
and Bridget's daughters are grown.
Thank you for sending your family picture,
they're lovely young women and men.
You say you might even come for a visit,
what joy to see you again!


Kilkelly, Ireland,
eighteen and ninety-two,
My dear brother, John,
I'm sorry I didn't write sooner to tell you
that Father passed on.
He was living with Bridget,
she says he was cheerful
and healthy right down to the end.
Oh, you should have seen him playing with grandchildren
of Pat McNamara, your friend.
And we buried him alongside of Mother,
down at Kilkelly churchyard.
He was a strong and a feisty old man,
considering his life was so hard.
And it's funny the way he kept talking about you,
he called for you at the end.
Oh, why don't you think about coming to visit?
We'd all love to see you again.

WTF???

Catalyst has been posting about Spring in Arizona the past few days.

Although we still have some snow on the ground here, I was getting into it. This past Sunday we moved forward an hour and it's light until almost dinner time now; on Tuesday it was 70 degrees and we sat on the porch and sipped cold lemonade. The birds out at the feeder are getting into that "Spring Fling" frenzy.

Everything was going fine. I was ready for Spring!

And now, tonight, we are having one last blizzard.

It's been snowing since noontime, temps are in the 20s, and we are expecting about a foot and a half of snow, sleet and freezing rain before it all ends, sometime tomorrow afternoon.

I'm sorry, but - WTF???

Where did my Global Warming go????

This was not in the game plan on Tuesday.

Ike (my wife's horse) is quartered at a farm only about a mile and a half away, but we both drove over this evening to water and blanket him, because Amy was worried about getting the car in and out of the drive, and she was right. It's a long, dirt drive, and it has become very muddy and rutted with all the warm weather, and now that has all frozen at the surface, but with mud underneath and about 6 inches of snow and ice on top.

For a few minutes on the way out I thought we'd be walking home.

It's not like we have much to complain about, really- we both work here at home so we were not among the thousands of commuters who got stuck on the clogged roads this evening, and we have nowehere to go this weekend, except a St. Patrick's evening dinner tomorrow night at a friend's house, so it's not like I'm being incredibly inconvenienced.

But still...

Where the Hell did Spring Go????

Here's a picture of Ike, in better weather. Isn't he cute?

Speaking of showering...

Joey Polanski was writing of showers yesterday, which led me to remember a certain book cover, which led to, well...

Once upon a shower weary,
As Sue pondered, wet and dreary,
Over many an office jerk,
She resolutely did deplore.

As in the steam cloud she was napping,
Then there came a gentle tapping,
Tapping, tapping, a gentle tapping,
She heard at her shower door.

“Bob”, said she, “I’m in the shower,
And if you’ll give me just an hour,
I’ll be ready, really ready,
To face the party that’s next door.”

But still Bob continued tapping,
It was really more a rapping,
“Sue, we’re late!” cried Bob,
“Stop napping!
And open up the shower door!”

Sue turned off the shower water,
Just this once, she thought, “no quarter”,
So she opened wide the door-
And shut Bob up, forever more.