One of the pitfalls of not having much work and living with a woman who has her own business is that one is necessarily drafted into her operation.

Today that meant setting up with her at an open air market in Silver Spring, Maryland (one of Washington’s inner suburbs) while a storm system that had slain a dozen people in the states of the former Confederacy was swirling around. Fortunately, instead of forty-odd mile an hour gusts and intermittent tornadoes, we merely suffered some stiff breezes, a cold rain, and no customers. Also, a kind of hippie bluegrass featuring a female guitarist improbably wearing purple Josie and the Pussycats ears, lending an aura of Hanna-Barbera bubble gum pop to their bluegrass jam.

Inevitably, I made my way over to the Borders across the street. I had a 40% off coupon in my pocket (actually, it was on my phone, but the phone was in my pocket, so I’ll stand by the statement) that only excluded games, toys, and puzzles.

I was determined to buy a science fiction magazine as a gesture of support for the institutions that provide an outlet for writers. I settled on a copy of Asimov’s Science Fiction, based on a combination of nostalgia (Isaac Asimov was one of the first science fiction writers who I read extensively, following the lead of my mother, who rarely read science fiction but devoured Asimov and Ray Bradbury) and price (it was only $4.99).

After I placed the magazine in front of the cashier, I was told that my coupon also excluded magazines. Feeling obstinate, I pointed to the large print that clearly listed exclusions not including magazines. The cashier then pointed to the microscopically small print, which added magazines to that list.

Needless to say, I was pissed.

Had I known, I might still have bought Asimov’s. Even with 40% off, it was still cheaper than most any book I would want to buy. But I had walked in expecting to get 40% of my choice of periodical. And it seems to me that “magazines” is a pretty big thing to leave off. They mention “puzzles” in big print, but forget to add “magazines” or “periodicals?”

I have tried to stand by Borders. I loved having the one on Sunset and Vine, close enough to my old apartment that I could walk to it whenever I felt like browsing. I also mourn the possible loss of any such major outlet for traditional print books.

But this pissed me off. I’m about to give up on Borders and give them the metaphorical finger.

Nonetheless, mainly for lack of much else to do, I ambled over to their café for a small coffee.

Within a few moments, I found my faith in our future both reaffirmed and challenged.

While pouring skim milk into my coffee, I saw that the young, studious looking man next to me had just purchased a book by Nobel Prize winning Egyptian writer, Naguib Mahfouz.

It’s always nice to see a young person reading canonical works of literature. Maybe it was just a for a class, I don’t know. But I can only be happy to see a member of the younger generation choosing great books, rather than something of passing popularity and limited value (who knows – perhaps he would actually have looked down on me for my choice of purchase).

When I sat down at a longish communal table to peruse my magazine and drink my coffee, a middle aged, Southeast Asian (I guessed Indian) woman sat down catty corner from me with a thick paperback copy Dianetics and slimmer, oversized, periodical looking volume that also read Dianetics on the spine.

While I don’t wish to disrespect anyone’s religion (I did plenty of that when I was a young and angry atheist), I must admit that I consider Scientology to be more pop psychology than religion. Having grown up outside of Clearwater, Florida, I am also disturbed the many accusations of impropriety leveled at that church – especially the Lisa McPherson case.

Because I am trying to cut back on my book buying, I fear that Borders has taken itself out of contention to collect any more of my scarce, book buying dollars for the forseeable future. I’ll pray for you, but I won’t pay you.

Johann Sebastian Bach was born on March 21, 1685, so his birthday has already past. Fortunately, Classical WETA in Washington, DC (90.9) has been celebrating all month long. Sadly though, March is almost over. I’ve loved being able to turn on the radio in the car and know that there is a darn good chance of being able to hear some baroque (generally, my favorite period of classical music – love me some harpsichord).

On a vaguely related note, coming up on April 17, the Folger Shakespeare Library is celebrating Shakespeare’s Birthday and for the last three years WETA has sponsored the event and a brass quartet representing the station has played in one of the book rooms.

It’s also a great event for kids (I brought friend’s daughter last year).

Oh, and my father’s birthday is coming up, too.

Memoirist and occasional poet Mary Karr joined poet Lyrae Van Clief-Stefanon on stage at the Folger Shakespeare Library this evening as part of the museum/theater/library’s O.B. Hardison Poetry Series. I vaguely remembered reading about Karr’s third memoir, Lit, but knew nothing about her poetry nor anything about Van Clief-Stefanon.

I would guess that Karr’s poetry is very similar to her autobiographical prose. Narrative and formally uninteresting. This was my opinion of her work while browsing through their books before the reading and Q&A session began.  Now, I would add “garrulously loud and asinine.” But that’s more of a personal description than an aesthetic statement.

I started dislike her when she kept hogging the spotlight from Van Clief-Stefanon (the visuals weren’t good either, with the white poet, Karr, hardly letting the black poet, Van Clief-Stefanon, get a word in edgewise when they shared the stage together). Then she made a comment about 90% of what Emily Dickinson wrote being “s–t.” I don’t necessarily disagree (Dickinson was incredibly prolific, but in practice we really just read a relatively small percentage of her work), but she started doing a version of the “I’m going to tell it like it is” (though her version was “someone has to say it”). Generally, when someone says, “I tell it like it is,” that person is about to be an enormous a–hole. Then Karr laid into the poet Rae Armantrout, calling her precious and saying that to like her poetry you have to “give a s–t” about the thoughts in her head “and I just don’t give a s–t.” Leaving aside the fact that I appreciate Armantrout’s work, the way Karr kept going about Armantrout was just irritating. And the purported impetus was a question about poets they liked. At least they agreed that they liked the Philadelphia versifier Terrence Hayes.

On the other hand, Van Clief-Stefanon was charming. Her work was formally inventive – and successfully used a variety of forms with amazing success, even introducing me to a new poetry form, the Bop. She also managed to write about the personal without seeming to vomit real life, unfiltered and unpoeticized onto the page. Van Clief-Stefanon is also a fellow Floridian and anybody who manages to become a relative success in a state that looks at people like Rick Scott, Mike Haridopolos, and Dean Cannon and says, “we should totally put those people in charge,” well, let’s just say that the person that overcomes that deserves some credit (I would include myself in that list, but I’m pretty sure that I’ve been traumatized by the sheer volume of stupidity and misbegotten garbage spewing out of Tallahassee).

Needless to say, I purchased and had autographed a book by only one of the poets.

]Open Interval[ was the book I chose. When I’m done reading it, I’ll tell you more.

On another note, the exhibit going on that the Folger is called Beyond Home Remedy: Women, Medicine, and Science. It’s great exhibit about early medicine and the curation (as the title suggests) gives it a strong feminist slant.