Giant Dwarf vs Independent Bookstore Day

I just bought a t-shirt that said:

Eat.

Sleep.

Read.

That's me.  That has always been me.  My credo, my motto, my raison d'etre.  I get lost in bookstores and libraries.  I have been admonished for having too many books (I have 5 bookshelves of varying sizes in my home).  If I'm not reading an actual book, I'm likely listening to an audiobook.  And often, I am reading a book, a magazine and an audiobook (all three) on any given day.

So it will come as no surprise to people who know me that one of my very good friends, Mad Shanny, and I planned our very own book crawl for Independent Bookstore Day this year.  And we purposefully didn't stay local. 

It all started with us both somehow receiving posts from the San Diego Book Crawl and culminated with us driving down the Southern California coast to meet new bookstores and subsist on peanut M&Ms.

Mad Shanny and I are book nerds.  I consider the Los Angeles Times Festival of Books a religious experience and go whenever I can, even if I swear not to a buy a book (this never works....I always buy at least one and this year I came home with a massive tome of The Forty Days of Musa Dagh, a children's book for my nephew, and three boxes of tea).  I am an avid library user/goer and I am a true believer in the importance of libraries in our communities (read The Library Book by Susan Orlean....so freakin' good).

So Mad Shanny and I sat down last month and mapped out our game plan.  She had never been to the Ripped Bodice before in Culver City, so that was to be our first stop and only bookstore in LA County.  We planned 4 more stores in San Diego County and we did not plan to stay overnight.  This was going to be a one-day road trip.  Plan:  meet at 9:45 am Saturday morning to get to the Ripped Bodice by 10:00 am.

We started late.  

I think we both anticipated this, and, quite honestly, it didn't bother either of us.  Of course, I still wasn't ready when Mad Shanny showed up at my place, so I packed up two extra sweaters, a pair of sandals (it was overcast so the day could go either way) and a bottle of water.  I thought about bringing snacks, but Mad Shanny brandished a bag of peanut M&Ms and I figured that would get us through until lunch.  Lucky someone thought ahead......

11:00 am, Culver City, CA

The Ripped Bodice
https://www.therippedbodicela.com/

So, I was never a romance novel reader, but I love everything about this place.  Two sisters own and run it and it's apparently the only bookstore of it's kind in the country.  When I walked in, there was a card catalog with books flying around it.  That's about all I need to love a bookshop.  

What else did we love about this bookshop?  The personalized and cheerful service, the detailed decor (and the area for readings was fantastic), the feminist/LGBTQI+ bent, and the adorable one-eyed dog who sat on the counter and welcomed tummy rubs.  Oh, and the "Blind Date with a Book" section:  what a fantastic idea!  They wrap the books and just give hints on the covers:  

(I should have bought this one:  I love werewolves and mermaids.)

We made a quick pit-stop at the antique store across the street (it's been there for almost three decades), met the Greek-British owner who wished us a Happy Orthodox Easter and then we were off to San Diego!

Mad Shanny is convinced that my Spotify should work in my car (it doesn't) so I asked her to figure out that magic while I drove.  No magic, and, ultimately, no phone.  My phone was refusing to connect to any internet service and thus, we had to depend on Mad Shanny's phone for navigation and any google research needs along the way.

The ride was interminable.  We anticipated the slow-go out of LA, but were completely unprepared for the traffic approaching Oceanside.  On the upside, we stopped in a gas station in Orange County and I don't think I've ever been in a cleaner gas station bathroom in my life.  It even smelled good.  And there was a great sign with very specific instructions on how to wash your hands.  (I forgot my phone....no pictures.)

1:45 pm, San Diego

Mysterious Galaxy Bookstore
https://www.mystgalaxy.com/

By now, we are starving.  We've been snacking on peanut M&Ms judiciously on the ride but now we need real food.  But we're on a tight schedule, so we go directly into the bookstore and are welcomed by (cue angels singing) a barely touched, been-there-all-day crudité platter.  I ate about two handfuls of broccoli while Mad Shanny downed the carrots, all while I was trying to figure out why there was a loud man's voice booming throughout the store.  

It was coming from the author reading his book only 15 feet in front of me.  There were about sixteen chairs set up and only one person sitting down.  The rest of the customers were milling about.  I'm also not generally a sci-fi/fantasy reader (though I do love a good old fashioned monster story), but this store is really wonderful.  They unfortunately didn't have the one book I was looking for (oddly enough, since I saw it in their booth at the Book Festival), but I bought a great shirt (above photo).

It is here that I call the Spazz to check in:

GD:  "Hey babe, we're in San Diego now."

Spazz:  "Great!  Where in San Diego are you?"

GD:  "I actually have no idea.  You can look it up.  We're at a store called Mysterious Galaxy."

Spazz:  "What's that?"

GD:  "It's a book store that specializes in sci-fi and fantasy."

Spazz:  "Really?!?  Get me a light saber!"

This is my husband.

We make our purchases and our plan now is to find a Starbucks (Mad Shanny found three in the immediate area), grab a cheese or protein box, and move on to the next store.  Wherever we were in San Diego at this time, we were in a vortex of big box shopping centers.  We realized the first Starbucks was in a grocery store so vetoed that.  We drove across the road to the other shopping center, then realized that this Starbucks was inside the Target.  Now, on our way to the Book Festival two weeks prior, we stopped at the new mini-Target near my home for me to get some emergency coffee.  With two people working behind the counter and everyone wanting something along the lines of a "double decaf skinny latte with almond milk and half whip," that line took ages and I lost a bit of my soul while waiting for my very simple cappuccino.  I remind Mad Shanny of this.  She's so hungry she is willing to forget that "one-time experience" and try this supposedly-completely-different Target Starbucks.

We practically kill 5 people trying to find a parking spot, then walk a pretty long walk of hunger to the Target.  When we get to the Starbucks, not only is there a line, BUT THERE IS ONLY ONE PERSON WORKING BEHIND THE COUNTER.  Also, there are no cheese boxes.  Still on a very tight schedule, we leave without food or caffeine.

At this point, our time is running out before the next two bookstores close (the only bookstore on our list that's open past 6:00 pm is in Carlsbad and that is easily last on our list).  We initially think about cancelling the tiny one in Ocean Beach, but then we decide to go for it anyway because, well, it’s nearest to the beach.

4:10 pm, Ocean Beach, San Diego

Run for Cover Bookstore
https://runforcoverbookstore.com/

It only takes driving in to Ocean Beach to recall that my brother’s yearly boys’ trip was concurrently taking place in that very same area.  As we park on Voltaire Street (how apropos!), I text and call the Golden Child.  No response.  Of course.  He’ll claim later that he never got the call or text.

I call my brother’s friend Phil the Mensch who of course promptly answers the phone and says that they’re all hanging out at their rental and invites us over.  He texts me the address:  they are staying 2 blocks away from Run for Cover bookstore.

So we visit the tiniest bookstore on our list:  it is packed, testament to the popularity of the San Diego Book Crawl and the beach.  One of our reasons for visiting was to check out the little café in the back; it was cute, but we’re not sure where the food was coming from and no one was using it anyway.  There was a cupboard that had foodstuffs on it, so we can only assume this was a Keurig-based café.  And why would we want to go to that café anyway when there was an Italian bakery RIGHT NEXT DOOR.  

I talk Mad Shanny into visiting my brother’s motley crew, but first....CANNOLI!  We run next door to Hungry Lu’s Italian Bakery and Deli where I wait forever for a single cannolo (can’t account for Mad Shanny’s poor palate in refusing one).  (Oh, and yes, the singular for cannoli is actually cannolo and we all know how anal I can be about correct usage so you're going to have to live with this until the end of this story.)  We run to the car, deposit the lone cannolo, then run-walk to my brother’s boys’ trip rental where we arrive, hang out and talk about them having just seen Avengers: Engame (most loved it, the Golden Child was perturbed that he was forced to sit for 3 hours without any further activity), then left at 4:45 pm.....we still had to get to Warwick’s, the oldest continuously family-run bookstore in the country.

By the way, we still haven’t eaten anything except water and peanut M&Ms.

(Thank goddess it was a "sharing size" bag.)

We are now trying to beat the clock.  Despite the time constraints, we take a lovely scenic drive up the coast to La Jolla.

5:30 pm, La Jolla, CA

Warwick’s
https://www.warwicks.com/

Holy shit we made it with 30 minutes to spare!  Mad Shanny suggests I take a quick bite of the cannolo....it’s beginning to get soggy, but that filling is fucking delicious so it’s worth it.  We run around the corner to Warwick’s and rush into the front door only to be greeted with....a gift shop?

We are totally confused, so ask the slightly surly clerk where the books are....she points in a direction that leads us to an entire other store space (connected, of course) that makes up the bookseller portion of the store.  We stayed until the store closed and bought books based on staff reviews and recommendations.

The selection was fantastic, but this bookstore lacked the character of the previous three we had visited.  I’m not sure what we should have expected, but I think that when I read that it was the oldest family-run bookstore in the nation, I was hoping that it was still in it’s original “Wild West”-looking storefront.  It wasn’t.  It was in the tony shopping area of La Jolla, just down the street from the Peet’s where we ran to get some drinks to hold us over till we got to Carlsbad.

Unsolicited food review:  I tried the Golden Latte (which does sound vaguely perverted) based on turmeric being the new “it” food.  It was an espresso-based latte with turmeric and ginger.  Good on the first few sips, but then it produced a horrible aftertaste, so I left it unfinished.  Not worth it.  That’s my review.

As we head back to the car, I remember that I have some old friends in Carlsbad.  Why not force Mad Shanny to socialize with more people she doesn’t know?  I call and text, no answer.  No problem.  We head to Carlsbad.

So, remember how we haven’t really eaten all day?  And, yes, I took a bite of the cannolo, but only one bite, and couldn’t finish my Golden Latte (ick, yeah, I can’t even write that without wanting to take a shower), so we were pretty desperate when we finally arrived in Carlsbad and beelined for Garcia’s, one of Mad Shanny’s favorite places.

We experience lightning-fast service at Garcia’s and finally satiate our book crawl hunger.  Mad Shanny displays her take of the day alongside her Paloma; my saving grace in Mexican restaurants is that I hate tequila, so I can easily say no to Margaritas and Palomas.  (My Smith classmates are always surprised by this, given that we had a wild night of debauchery involving tequila where I drank several shots that night.....but that was a few decades ago and I drank shitty vodka and bad boxed wine back then as well.  Also, I'd like to point out that I wasn't the one who ended up in the fireplace that night, threatening passersby with a fire iron.)

As we were leaving Garcia’s, I got a text from my Carlsbad friends, K&R, who said they were having a grilling dinner party at home and we should come by.  As we head over there, we remember our last bookstore!

8:15 pm, Carlsbad, CA

LHOOQ/EXREALISM
http://www.lhooqxrealism.com/

OMG my favorite of the day.  And a bookstore open till midnight?  What’s not to like?  We were greeted in front by a black cat that was, as cats are, at once friendly and skittish.  They had me at the cat.

Yes, she looks like my Persephone....if Persephone was at her ideal weight.

I had seen this place several years ago but at that time it was in a state of disarray; now it was fully formed, funky and fun, with used and vintage volumes in many genres.  Old typewriters and various other antiques were displayed throughout the store.  The cash register was antique, but with a modern iPad hidden within for up-to-date transactions.  

I wandered to the back patio, still perusing the titles when my reverie was interrupted by Gabriel, who was just lounging there, smoking, and admiring his new crystal.  Twenty years ago, I would have probably figured out how to ditch Mad Shanny and engaged with this guy until I could have at least garnered a good snog, but now I’m more interested in book shopping.  He was so sweet, though, and when we introduced ourselves, he said “I’m glad I made a new friend tonight.”  And yes, it was genuine.

We ran over to K&R’s place, drank some water and watched some middle aged folks sing karaoke (mostly Eagles songs, bringing to mind Lebowski’s famous quote), then used their bathroom and skedaddled.  We drove back to LA, hitting enough traffic in Huntington Beach for me to reach over and finish my now very wilted cannolo.  Still good, but not as satisfying (and made me nervous the rest of the ride about whether I would get food poisoning; I didn't).

Home by 11:00 pm.  300 miles, 5 independent bookstores, 4 cities, 1 shareable bag of peanut M&Ms.

VICTORY!

Giant Dwarf vs Big Daddy

I don't often talk about my work.  One reason is that I'm a little worried about crossing the confidential line.  A better reason is that I see so many patients in a single day, I usually forget everything about them by the next day.  And better still....sometimes there is just no punchline, just a funny moment or two.

But I'm going to talk about one tonight because this patient made me laugh so hard that the two us sat in the lobby of the hospital having a good ol' time while I called a bar in the state of Louisiana.  A bar I fully intend to visit when I go to New Orleans. 

It didn't start well.  I work in a big fucking hospital with several patient care towers.  The emergency room is in one tower; the scene of this crime is in another.  So it starts with a call from a very earnest and caring transporter letting me know that a taxi brought a patient back from his discharge destination because "he doesn't live in Los Angeles and all the buildings look the same to him so he couldn't figure out which apartment was his." 

(I'm going to pause here and tell you that this is not an unusual call.  When I'm there after-hours, I get calls that defy logic.  I feel like this is further proof that I was murderer in my past life.)

I look up the patient's record and see that the discharge plan was for him to go to (and, yes, this is a fake address to protect the patient but why I should fake an address, I don't know, because you'll see that there is no real address I'm working with here) 411 S. Myrtle Street.  There is no apartment number in the note.  There is no contact telephone number in the note (despite the writer indicating that the address was given by the patient's brother).  That is all there is for the details.  The story goes that the gentleman (we'll call him Mr. Heureux) is visiting Los Angeles and is staying with his niece.  He was admitted to the hospital a few days ago after he fell walking around the neighborhood...after consuming an alcoholic beverage or four.  He was intoxicated and couldn't remember where he was staying, so they brought him in, admitted him, ostensibly detoxed him....but he still didn't know where he lived.  So, apparently, today he got in touch with his brother who gave him the address.

My colleague on the inpatient floor then left a taxi voucher for him to go back there.  Mr. Heureux went to the building, put his key in the door but was unable to gain entry.  Another tenant down the hall, an old lady, popped out of her front door and started yelling at him.  So our hero retreated.  Back to the taxi and back to the hospital.  I called his former nurse on the floor and asked her if she had any more information about this mysterious address.  She said she only got the address:  461 S. Myrtle Street.

Wait.  What?  There are two different house numbers here.  What's going on?

Also, Myrtle Street is not Myrtle Street.  It is only Myrtle Drive or Myrtle Avenue.  Which is it?, I ask the nurse.  She says it's the one only a two blocks from the hospital.  There is no Myrtle anything that close to the hospital. 

I tried calling the Mr. Heureux's brother several times, but no one answered the phone and it never went to voicemail.  Then I went to talk to Mr. Heureux himself.  And that's where the fun began.

Mr. Heureux was pleasant and jovial and a great sport.  He had a southern drawl and I could tell he liked to talk to people.  He told me the above story and I told him that we have two different addresses for him.  I showed him photos on Google maps of the two buildings, but he said he wasn't sure because he doesn't have his glasses and can't see all that well.

I told him I was already trying to contact his brother but there was no answer. 

H:  "Aw, he does that sometimes.  He just turns off his phone."

(Sure enough, I try calling the brother again and this time the phone is disconnected.)

H:  "You should try calling him at Big Daddy's Bar.  He's there every day.  He's 76 years old but he goes out late and parties till 4 am."

GD:  "And they know who he is there?"

H:  "Of course.  They'll give him the phone if you need to talk to him."

Mr. Heureux doesn't know the telephone number of Big Daddy's Bar and asks me to look it up. 

H:  "I think it's on Royal...or Franklin.  One of those."

I use my rapidly-dying-battery phone to look up the bar on the interweb.  Sure enough, there's Big Daddy's Bar on Royal.  The yelp review says it's a gay bar.  I call and there is no answer.

GD:  "This review says it's a gay bar.  Are you sure you're brother is there?"

H:  "Yep.  He goes there every day............and it's a lesbian bar."

Yep, that was it.  That's what got me laughing. 

I called again and got a very nice staff member (for lack of a better term) named Z. who told me that Mr. Heureux's brother wasn't there.  I asked him to give him a message if he comes in and, to my surprise, Z. took the message with my phone number and everything.

H:  "Who'd you talk to?"

GD:  "I talked to Z."

H:  "Aw, I know Z.  He's a big ol' queen!"

GD:  "Well, if nothing else, at least I have a bar to go to when I visit New Orleans."

H:  "And that's a good bar.  They don't serve those pre-mixed drinks there.  They pour them out real good.  They know how to get good tips!"

GD:  "Then I'll definitely go......and I'll bring my lesbian husband."

We both laughed.

Look, if someone is going to leave me a clusterfuck situation to deal with after-hours, it should at least be a little fun.  So I have to thank Mr. Heureux for making me smile and for laughing with me.

P.S.  Mr. Heureux told me his niece is out of town and that he is taking care of her cats.  I pointed out that he has been in the hospital for a couple of days and asked him if he thought the cats would be okay.  "Aw, yeah," he said.  "I left them a lot of food.  They should be fine."

P.P.S.  I asked him to wait for a bit while I sorted out his plan.  He said "I'm okay sitting here.  I'm patient...I'm a contractor, I have to be."

Giant Dwarf vs Poland, Part V: The Chisme

Or, as they say in Poland (or at least on GoogleTranslate):  the plotka.

The gossip.  The shade.

My one family reader complained heartily that Part IV was bereft of juice, ie., shit-talk about the Golden Child, so I’ll endeavor to pander to my minuscule fan base.

THE HOTEL CRISTAL:
I do feel that I am owed at least some acknowledgement for booking the hotel in Bialystok....not so much for the sleeping accommodations (though they were perfectly fine....I’m the one who had the pre-war era fold-up cot) but more for the FREAKIN’ AMAZE-BALLS breakfast that we enjoyed our two mornings at the hotel.  I’ve had breakfast buffets at European hotels before (all of us except the Golden Child had) but this was singularly excellent.  It’s possible that the real reason I would have extended the stay in Bialystok would have been to try every single item offered at that breakfast buffet.  It would have taken at least a week.  They mixed Polish favorites with American and European dishes and I could have eaten every meal there.  The Golden Child did marvel over the multiple offerings and the deliciousness, but never once did he say:  “Giant Dwarf, thank you for booking this most excellent hotel.”

A modern samovar!  Loved it.

THE VAN:
As I've mentioned in one of the previous posts, I was against having the van.  I know we were a larger group and all, but even the Golden Child admitted that the van was difficult to drive and park on some of those narrow old world streets.  This was a van that could fit 9 people (we were 7 at our largest size) and it was clearly meant for industrial purposes.  It was actually not uncomfortable at all. But the planning was a mess, since any driver had to be present at the rental agency to be registered to drive.  My parents and I did not want to drive and The Prince was at the Chopin Museum (having arrived a few hours earlier than we did), so the Golden Child was the only driver present at the rental agreement signing...thus he became the only driver.  For the entire trip.  Wherever we went.  He tried so hard not to complain about it, but it would slip every now and then and I am proud to say that I was able to contain my “I told you so”s and just thanked him for driving.

WHO NEEDS A FANCY HIKE WHEN YOU CAN JUST CLIMB STAIRS ALL DAY?:
Because of my ambivalence about the trip and even more because of my general procrastination state, the Golden Child booked all of the airbandbs in the other cities.  Our first apartment in Krakow was 96 steps up.  That’s right.  96.  My father counted them.  (This is not an unusual behavior for my father, and I have now adopted it on some staircases....however, I usually lose count after 20 and then make up a number and go from there.  I also count in other languages.  Sometimes a recite Lewis Carroll’s “Jabberwocky” poem.)  96 steps is a lot for my middle-aged ass.  It’s ridiculous for my senior parents.  I was seriously frightened that something bad would happen.  Everything was fine, but let’s just say we had to make sure we had everything we needed and all used the potty before we left the apartment.  Also, the sign over the door of the entrance indicated “Sex Shop”....which was just through the hallway in the back of the building (and would have been a preferred apartment location based on lack of steps alone).  When we took an Uber home from the soccer game (the Uber cost $2, by the way), the location finder indicated “Sex Shop” so when the driver picked us up, you can imagine how surprised he was to see a senior couple and their middle-aged daughter.

ZAKOPANE VINDICATION:
Our next apartment in Krakow was sans the Golden Child and his White People Excursion crew, and the Prince already went home.  So it was a tiny apartment in the Kazimierz district (fantastic location, thank you Golden Child) that was only 2 bedrooms, a kitchen and a bathroom.  There was no common room.  It was perfect for my parents and I and we enjoyed hanging out in the Kazimierz area, once a separate city from Krakow, now a magnet for Jewish tourism and hipster foodies.  We met our cousin Barry, now living in an eco-village in southern Poland, for dinner.  He is apparently a devout practitioner of Agnihotra, or Ayurvedic fire therapy.  He performs the ceremony twice a day and has a travel case so that he can do the ceremony in his car or wherever he is at the exact right time it needs to be done.  We invited him to perform the ceremony in our apartment.  That may have been a bad choice.

Yeah, that flame got higher.  Good thing there was no smoke detector to let us know when things were getting out of hand.

While our apartment filled with smoke and we were opening windows to air it out (my father is asthmatic, by the way), the Golden Child calls.  Turns out that part of the via ferrata was closed off and they had nothing else to do in Zakopane (HAHA!  VINDICATED!  See Part II), so they were planning to return to Krakow one night early and wanted to know if there was room for the three of them.  I wanted to say no right off the bat because there really wasn’t any room, but I deferred to my parents.  Before my mother could say anything, my father blurted out:

“NO!  There's no room!”

(Don't worry...they were able to find a place a couple of blocks away from our place that night.)

OTHER THINGS IN POLAND WORTH A MENTION 

(AND WHICH HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE GOLDEN CHILD)

MY KINGDOM FOR A PAPER TOWEL:

See that paper towel dispenser?  That is the only one I saw during the entire trip and that was on our first full day there in the tiny town of Tykocin.  I thought the blue paper towels were cute so I took a picture.  Glad I have proof of the one paper towel dispenser in Poland because this is what I had to contend with for the rest of the trip:

I am convinced that behind the wall of every one of these hand dryers was an old Pole who was just exhaling.

COFFEE BLUES:
I could not get a good cup of coffee anywhere.  Here is how every place I went in Poland made their coffee:

Push-button coffee machines EVERYWHERE!  (And I refused to go to Starbucks.)  Halfway into the trip, I gave up and just started using the Bustelo instant single-serve packs I brought with me; this was literally my "in case of emergency" coffee supply.  I managed to have enough for both me and my dad for the rest of the trip.

LOST IN TRANSLATION.....OR, MAYBE NOT:
I'm not even sure how to process this level of drama:

"Unable to live in a lie, he died for the truth."

I appreciate the poetic license, but, given the Poles' overall stoicism, this seems a tad overdramatic.

TIME WHEN I FELT THAT WE MIGHT BE OUT OF OUR ELEMENT BUT IT WAS ACTUALLY FUN:

Krakow's home team, Wisla.  If I didn't know it was a soccer game, I would have been scared for my life with the constant chanting and the echoes of an angry mob rally.  Other than the drunk man who wanted to be my father's BFF, nobody bothered with us.  They didn't play that well, but it was a fun experience.  I almost bought a toy of their mascot, a dragon that looked more like a fat alligator.

MOST UNEXPECTED EVENT:

These firefighters trying to rescue a pigeon that got stuck between the wall/window and the giant mesh whatsit that covered the entire upper floor facade of that building.  This was in the old town section of Krakow and the residents and tourists alike all stopped to watch this heroic rescue.  The pigeon was freed and we all applauded the brave firefighters for a job well done.

HOW THEY SELL HOT DOGS IN POLAND:

They look like this IRL too.  But I just couldn't bring myself to actually try one.  I do regret that.

AND MY FAVORITE NON-SPECIFIC PHOTO ON THE TRIP:

This nun in full habit walking briskly down the road in Krakow, carrying a giant IKEA bag with a stereo receiver in it.  My very own nun on the run.