learned librarian

"I am a walking library of learning - bound in comely leather and suitable for stroking - at your service, should you fancy a bit of culture to go with your lack of breeding, or vice versa, of course." -Christopher Moore, who will not shut up lately 

 

Went to town on a solo mission for professional development and sexy boots. Hit the road at 5:45 am. Was thumbing through the ipod when the sun came up behind me, igniting the misty ocean rain - and my rear view mirror - with blinding orange. I swerved wildly, thinking I was about to be run down by a semi or a crashing spacecraft. Imagined the view from the neighboring cliff: my little car snapping through the guard rail, sailing silently off the mountainside, and plunking into the water. An ignominious end to a long and stupid story. 

 

Politicians were lined up along the cane fields, waving frenetically. A man in a blue aloha shirt and slacks, holding a picture of himself. A long line of red-shirted fans, flapping glossy campaign posters. A man sitting on the tailgate of his truck, playing ukulele next to a hand-painted cardboard sign with his name on it. It may have also said "will be Mayor 4 food".

 

I parked by the court house across from the Wailuku library and shook a warning finger at the car, whose front window is still stuck open, tempting stray cats/vagrants/mayoral candidates. As soon as I stepped in, the other librarians turned and yelled, "WE DIDN'T KNOW YOU'RE AN ILLUSTRATOR!" and I froze in a defensive semi-crouch. They were adorable, owling up at me (I am a towering giant in the land of librarians), but I never know what to say when people want to talk about art. I like doing it, but I don't actually think I'm very good at it. I grin and nod like a big dumb nodding thing and then pretend to have something in my eye and run away. Which is why I will never be rich and powerful and crush that Plumeria Princess guy, who still doesn't know he's my nemesis. In this case, I chose to yawn, exclaim, "oh man, I have to PEE," and then book it for the restroom. Smooth. 

Two hours later, we had all learned how to click things on the internet, and I ran out to discover that the car had a yellow ticket stuck under its wiper. The pigeons didn't laugh at my yelps of, "Help, help! I'm being repressed!" so I threw the ticket onto the floor, drove over to throw some delivery boxes out at the main branch, ran some official-type errands, and finally found myself sitting in the food court at the mall with a bowl of mushroom chicken. Decided this was the perfect time to explore the new iPhone. Didn't like the tiny buttons. Didn't like the tiny screen. Took a bunch of blurry pictures of my hands and knees. Didn't have anything I wanted to do on the internet. Became very sad. This would have been the sort of thing I'd have done handstands for at one time, but no texts have buzzed my hip for more than 3 years, and somewhere along the line I lost my phone and didn't realize it for about a month. It's the end of an era, and the beginning of a new, higher-waisted, reading-at-arm's-length one.

 

Why I crop my head out of most of my pictures. More from me when the week stops kicking my ass.