The Case of the Stolen DVDs
It won’t come as a shock to anyone who knows me that I am a fan of public libraries, or at least, it shouldn’t. I nurtured a morbid fascination with maritime disasters at the Princeton public library when I went to grade school in the town, and although the East Windsor, NJ library paled in comparison by almost any measure, but most notably with regard to architecture, selection of books, and proximity to PJ’s Pancake House (I’ll always love you, PJ’s!), I still spent a lot of time there after school. I’d bike over and fret once I’d selected a couple of tomes that I’d left my bag at home, so it was a careful pedal back home, balancing the books on the handlebars. Any library beat my primary school’s library, really, which was limited to a tiny room on the top floor of the school, the books crammed in so tightly that one considered doing hand exercises in one’s spare time so as to improve one’s finger strength for wrestling them off the shelves. Read More…
Anyone trying to make a go of it as a writer for more than 6 minutes will have heard the adage to write every single day. That’s what makes people writers, after all. They write. They don’t just talk about writing or literature, they do their best to make it happen, which means getting some kind of writing out there in some fashion, on a daily basis.
Walla Walla, as far as electoral politics go, is conservative. In the last Presidential election, the county went 58 percent for McCain. Culturally, it’s also a right-leaning place, as I’ve written about in this blog before—the handing out of scripture at the Christmas parade, the strong Seventh Day Adventist presence, the many evangelical people who go door-to-door selling their church’s services—it can feel intimidating to a bleeding heart liberal, especially when the conservative presence is coupled with angry sentiment. It’s a bad economy that doesn’t feel any better to people even as the latest unemployment numbers show a one percent improvement. I understand this anger; I’m frustrated too.
Let me come out right at the start and say that I have worked for the government. The Federal Government, in fact, in the vast civil servant system. No question, it took some getting used to. First, there was the 2-day orientation, explaining the protocols, policies, and guidelines for working as a Federal employee, for working in this particular agency, and within that, for this specific team. I was fingerprinted and had a background check, because people with criminal records are generally not eligible for employment from Uncle Sam. So I’ll put that another way—rather than being the scourge of the American pool of workers, they must meet relatively elevated expectations. I’m not saying that American workers in the private sector suck; I’m saying that government workers also excel. Even the intake procedures for hiring them are designed with citizens’ interests in mind.
Sometimes writing resembles the proverbial love affair: an idea catches one’s attention, and then it’s all one can think about, which leads to a series of heart flutters while one ponders a first attempt at flirtation. And then oh, the emotions are mutual, excitement builds, intimacies achieved, which leads to a swell of reality. Things are not as they were first envisioned. Characters have weaknesses which they drip around the room like melted wax. If one’s stores of patience are thin, the relationship ends almost before it really began.
First it was lettuce in place of any food I’d made with aromatics like garlic, onion, or ginger. Then there was Susanne’s sudden yearning for glass after glass of ice-cold milk. Not milkshakes. Not vanilla ice cream. Milk. And she’s not a milk drinker by any means. This is a woman who leaves behind whatever didn’t get soaked up by the bowl of cereal, who eschewed the stuff from cows to the stuff from soybeans. I shudder at the very idea of drinking a glass of soy milk unless it’s over-laced with chocolate.
A joke made its way around the interwebs a couple of weeks ago:
One of my favorite statistics about Washington, DC, is the number of lawyers working in the city: 50,000. That’s one lawyer for every 10 residents. Do these people directly benefit those residents? No, not really. Perhaps some of them do, or must, just by the laws of chance and probability. But certainly, many of those J.D.-carrying folks are members of an elite squad known as the lobbyists. They represent everyone from chemical producers to apple farmers to county-level employees. They’re not concerned about the people in the city so much they are getting into the city. And that is exactly where the residents made their stand. 
Trans/plant/portation 