Autographs

 "We don't have much in the checking account and payday is two days away, so you have to keep to the list when you go grocery shopping," Anne reminded me this morning, repeating the reminder she had delivered at least three other times in the past twenty, four hours. I have a tendency to resent these repetitions but I also know that she has a good reason for being redundant as I also have a tendency to forget things. Although multiple reminders that funds are low is not something I either need or enjoy. I get it. This week there's a budget.

"I put a five dollar Best Customer coupon on the refrigerator by the list," said Anne before she left for work. "Don't forget it. And stick to the list."

So when the first thing that caught my eye after I walked into the big Fry's Marketplace that is our not especially close neighborhood grocery store was one of those three foot square cardboard displays piled with books and topped with a sign announcing Book Bargains Up to 80% Off, I was prepared to waltz right on by. Books are my weakness. But today I was operating with a budget and a list and neither of them included a new book. Besides, I knew from extensive experience that the three by three cardboard Bargain Book bins in grocery stores almost always are chock full of cheesy celebrity efforts, unappealing cookbooks, last year's bestselling thrillers by the James Patterson Consortium, and Romances. All of those are easy for me to pass by even when the checking account is flush and the attitude is Indulge Yourself.

But sitting on the top of this pile was a book by Tim Dorsey. "Electric Barracuda. I like Tim Dorsey. Not the way I like Donald E. Westlake or P.G. Wodehouse or Terry Pratchett, but he's still a writer whose work I enjoy. And I didn't have "Electric Barracuda". There was the issue of the list and budget, but wait, this hardback was priced at a mere five dollars. The coupon would pay for it. That made it free, right? I was fairly certain that is not how Anne would see it, but then I saw it. The sticker that said "Autographed Copy". How in the world did an autographed copy of a Tim Dorsey novel end up in the Bargain Box at Fry's Marketplace? On a featured table in Barnes and Noble or Changing Hands Bookstore after a book tour stop, and maybe even at Costco, but the grocery store? I opened the book and sure enough, there it was, an autograph. Now, for all I knew it could have been signed by Brad, the produce manager, but why would he do that? No, that had to be Tim Dorsey's genuine autograph, it just had to be. And that meant I had to buy the book.

Why is that?

I'm not sure. I've never been what you could call an autograph hound. At my last job, if we don't count the four months of not selling Saturn automobiles, I saw a pretty decent crop of celebrities and for the most part managed to keep myself from pestering them for their signatures. We had everyone from Jamie Farr (Corporal Klinger in the classic movie and even more classic television show "M*A*S*H) to Shaquille O'Neal to Senator John McCain to Alice Cooper in the store and as the manager my policy was to treat them just like any other customer. Sure, I did get to know Sun's point guard Kevin Johnson a little bit, we talked literature and history, which was really cool, and I delivered stuff to his huge house on Camelback Mountain a few times and one time when we were talking I just happened to let slip the fact that our son TJ was a collector of NBA trading cards and the next time Kevin came in with an autographed 5x7 photo. And Charles Barkley was a regular enough customer that I was emboldened to keep one of TJ's cards at the  store just in case Sir Charles came by and was in a particularly good mood. Before to long he did and he was and TJ's card was sporting a genuine Charles Barkley autograph. No more than a week later one of the sports columnists in the Arizona Republic wrote an entire column on the peril of asking Barkley for an autograph. Not recommended unless one was willing to risk anything from a large cold shoulder to a cracked skull. To me Charles was gracious as could be, so either the columnist had his facts wrong or I lucked out. But both of those signatures were gotten for our son, a distinction that allows one to operate at least a bit outside ones usual code of conduct.

Besides, as far as I was concerned, an autograph was nothing special. What did I care if somebody scribbled their name for me

Unless, of course, those names were attached to people who were doing one of the two things I would love to do myself. Write books or play music. And up until maybe a dozen years ago I just hadn't put myself into situations where those sorts of autographs were available.

Anne has attended book signings at Changing Hands Bookstore and had face time with President Jimmy Carter (who makes just about everyone else, even perfectly nice people, seem like the fellow with the whip mustache who ties young women to train tracks in silent movies), and Madeline Albright, one of those people both of us would just love to have dinner with, learning about the world and how it works (and doesn't) and why. My first autographed book was a copy of Donald E. Westlake's "Don't Ask". Unfortunately, I had no idea Mr. Westlake was going to be at the Border's (RIP) just down the way from my store, so the copy I got was one left from the signing. It didn't matter that I already had a copy, this one had the sticker and signature. And damn it, I wanted to write Dortmunder novels, or something like them.

And then I entered an online contest that was part of a book launch by a brand new author name of Tanya Egan Gibson. The book was "How to Buy a Love of Reading" and the title and premise looked interesting and all you had to do was submit a paragraph about the book that had changed your life and in my case it was easy because "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" had taught me or at least reinforced for me just about everything I knew about being a decent human being and I ended up winning an autographed copy. Very cool.


And then we started attending concerts, something we hadn't done much of in the early part of our marriage, what with no money and kids and all that. And when we did get to a concert it was the kind where the performers left the stage, headed out the back door to their limo or bus, and basically skedaddled right after the last encore. Then one evening, a bit over a decade ago, we got tickets to see the Mark O'Connor How Swing Trio at the Chandler Center for the Arts. The music blew me away and guess what? In the program it said that after the performance Mark O'Connor, Frank Vignola and Jon Burr were actually going to be in the lobby and there would be CD's for sale and they would sign them! We hadn't figured another twenty dollars into the evening, but it was too good to pass. I got my first autographed CD. You can barely see Frank's signature--I guess somebody had stolen his Sharpie--but after being bowled over by his playing and the joy he brought to the stage, and being a failed guitar player myself, that barely discernible signature was a treasure.

 We have since had the opportunity to very briefly chat with some amazing musicians. Jane Monheit, Lulo Reinhardt, Adrian Legg, and the Guitar Hero of All Time, Tommy Emmanuel. And we've got the autographs to prove it. One of my favorites is this one, from wonderful, wonderful jazz guitarist Sheryl Bailey. If there is any justice in this world, one day she will be as big as any AutoTuned pop star. But whether that day ever comes or not, we've got this...

 But even that one can't quite compete with this double autograph. After waiting and waiting for Frank Vignola to make another appearance anywhere close to Phoenix, finally I saw on his website that he had a concert scheduled in Cottonwood. Close enough. Tickets purchased. Then I saw that he and his partner Vinnie Raniolo had a special engagement right here in Phoenix the day before the Cottonwood concert. Email for details. So that's what I did, expecting some prefab publicist response. Instead I got a return email directly from one of the Best Guitar Players on the Planet. The special engagement was at the Roberto-Venn School of Luthiery and sure, even though it was, strictly speaking, a private function, it would be just fine for me to come. He even gave me his phone number. So I arranged to get off work a bit early that day, sent a text to welcoming Frank and Vinnie to the Valley of the Sun, saw a bunch of beautiful guitars that the latest graduating class had made, watched Frank and Vinnie put on an amazing show, and then went up to introduce myself to Frank. Not an easy thing for a shy person like myself to do, but how often do you get a chance like that? He shook my hand warmly, said "Alan! My new friend!" and we had a very nice little conversation before he had to go.

The next day Anne and I drove up to Cottonwood for the concert. We got there early and secured front row seats. At intermission Frank and Vinnie went to a little side room to greet folks, sell CD's and sign autographs. I had already purchased my CD before the show, so I got in line and when I came up to the counter Frank exclaimed "Hello! Vinnie, I want you to meet Alan!" I reached out my hand to Vinnie, knocked over his open water bottle and flooded the counter holding the CD's. Embarrassed? Oh yeah. A couple of rags were quickly found and I sopped up as much of the water as I could, all the while apologizing like mad. Frank and Vinnie were gracious as could be, signed my CD, and Frank even talked to me from the stage during the second half of the show, talking about the Roberto-Venn School, not the fact that I had just irrigated his inventory. So if there is an autographed item I will always cherish it's that one, because it came with a story.

An even better story than finding an autographed novel in the bargain bin at Fry's Marketplace and paying for it with a Best Customer Coupon. Although I like that story too.

I Hope Their Books Are Better Than Their Hooks

Lured in by an irresistibly low "Professional Introductory Rate", I have been receiving The New York Review of Books for the past few months. It is almost always a fascinating and informative read and I look forward to receiving each issue. There is just one thing that darned near every issue includes that I find, well, disturbing, and that is the two page spread advertisements featuring books by Author Solutions authors. As someone who several years ago squandered over seven hundred of the family dollars to have iUniverse format, produce a cover design and arrange for the most basic of distribution of what was then called Close Enough for Government Work (please do not purchase it, link provided for reference and veracity only), I know what it is to invest in one's own work when the major publishers have declined to do so. One fools oneself into thinking that if only the product can finally be put together and made available, the inevitable will happen and a Career Will Be Born. Of course, it don't quite happen like that. No indeed. But as long as there are folks out there churning out manuscripts the publishers don't want (or won't look at) and as long as a fair percentage of those would-be authors have more money than inclination to learn about the brave new world of real independent publishing that has sprung up in the last few years, there will be companies like Author Solutions (of which iUniverse is now but one of its "imprints") ready to make a buck off the hopes and dreams of the hopeful and poorly informed.

Even though it is at least five years since I told them to Leave Me Be, I still receive emails and phone calls from the reps at iUniverse trying to rope me into some lame promotional scheme or other sure to vault my creation into the stratosphere of international literary celebrity and riches. One of the perennials amongst their "Here's How We Can Help You Promote Your Masterpiece" swindles is the shared ad in The New York Review of Books. A double page spread with two dozen Author Solutions books lined up in four vertical columns, featuring cover art, title, author and appropriate ISBN info right smack dab in one of the most prestigious periodicals in the literary world. All this for a mere pittance of around a thousand dollars or so if I recall correctly, it could be more by now, payable directly to Author Solutions, of course. So far so good, if they truly had anything close to their customers' best interests at heart that is where they should have stopped, with cover art and vitals and cash changing hands. But instead, as part of Author Solutions' formula to assist their customers (sorry, authors) in reaching as wide a readership as possible, they allow them to include a three or four line description/hook. Problem is in almost every instance it is as if an advertising firm had been hired to produce copy specifically designed to torpedo any chance of selling the product they were representing. Kind of like a really sneaky Super-PAC ad that finds a way to destroy an opposing candidate by praising him in the clumsiest manner imaginable.

Here, for example, is the blurb for Unlimited Progress: The Grand Delusion of the Modern World by one Dennis Knight Heffner, M.D. (see cover above)

In Unlimited Progress: The Grand Delusion of the Modern World, author Dennis Knight Heffner, M.D. uses a lifetime's worth of experience in the medical field to examine the truths and myths of progress and change.

The first half of this is completely wasted since it is nothing but a repeat of information about in inch north on the page. And just what makes a doctor, with or without a lifetime of experience, which, by the way, we all have, an expert in progress and change? And what does it all have to do with rockets?


A couple more for your consideration. Please let me know if either of them entice you to read the books.

The Legend of Demnog


The Legend of Demnog follows the last of the Narethemar as they search for the Legend of Demnog, an ancient treasure and suit of armor greedily sought after by the two opposing governments of the lands of Demnog and Wooernog.

For Widows Only!

For Widows Only! is an extraordinary book for widows. Personal, intimate, and honest, it contains straight from the hip girl talk, strictly for widows only!

All !'s are provided by the original felon, not me.

Just one more.

Sardinian Silver

In Sardinian Silver, Wright (that would be A. Colin Wright, the guilty party) masterfully (if he does say so himself) evokes a mysterious society, its flamboyant people and the island's beauty. Like Arthur (took me a minute, but I think that is what the "A." in A. Colin Wright stands for) you'll never want to leave Sardinia, with its wide sands, low hills, sun and blue sea and its superficial pleasantness of life.

Yep, nothing I aspire to more than a wide, low, superficial life.

Here's the thing. For all you or I know, any or all of these books could actually be fall down wonderful. Captivating reads and all that. No way to know from these ads, is there? The only things we know for sure are that these authors can't craft a short and enticing description of their own books and Author Solutions honestly doesn't care because they have already extracted a tidy sum from the Clueless Hopefuls and moved on to the next batch.

The Best Aren't Always the Bestsellers

One of the Great and Possibly Unfortunate Truths in this world is the fact that the most talented, hardest working and nicest among us seldom achieve the sort of widespread fame and fortune often bestowed on folks who offer little in any or all of those three categories. The reason I say this is possibly unfortunate instead of an honest to gosh darned shame is that the older I get the less I equate fame and fortune with success. The former two may show up, or not, for the most arbitrary of reasons and have little to do with anything that truly matters. Success, on the other hand, true success, means finding your place,doing your best and conducting yourself with grace and humility. For most of us that formula will never translate into private jets, multiple mansions and penthouses or recognition from the vast majority of people. Our circle may be small, medium or relatively large, but if we can find our place, do our best and be Good People, we are successful.

Now what does all this have to do with the fellows pictured above? Well, Frank Vignola (front, wearing specs) and Vinnie Raniolo are two absolutely incredible musicians. Frank has been one of the foremost guitarists in the world for many years, performing and recording both as a leader/soloist and along with Big Names like Ringo Starr, Mark O'Connor and Les Paul. I have been bothering the Musical Instrument Museum folks for months to book Frank in their acoustically perfect 299 seat concert hall. So I was excited to see he had a Phoenix date near the end of his West Coast tour. But it wasn't at the MIM, nor was it at any of the other high profile concert venues in town. Nope, Frank and Vinnie were going to be appearing at the Roberto-Venn School of Luthiery (that's a place where students learn how to make and repair guitars). It was listed as a private event with a note to "email for details". I was bummed about the private event status, but I took a chance and emailed to ask about it. I had no expectations of hearing back at all, much less receiving anything encouraging regarding being able to attend. I was surprised and not a little stunned when I received an answer from Frank inviting me to attend. I am not a party crashing sort of fellow, but this I could not pass up. So I arranged to leave work a little early on that day and drove over to 10th Avenue and Grand.

Before things started there was time to check out the guitars hanging in the front gallery, all of them made by members of the Fall 2011 class at Roberto-Venn. Beautiful instruments.

And then William Eaton, the director of the school, introduced the staff and graduates, and finally, Frank and Vinnie. Those of us in that workshop turned concert hall were then treated to some jaw droppingly beautiful music. They performed for nearly an hour, had some nice, warm exchanges with the audience and then stayed around to meet and greet. I introduced myself to Frank. He greeted me with "Alan! My new friend!" and embraced me. We talked for a moment or two, he remembered that I had said in an email that I would be attending the concert the next evening in Cottonwood, and when I left it was with an even higher regard for this incredibly talented and gracious artist. He may not be playing the largest concert halls or commanding the highest ticket prices (the show at the school cost nothing and the next evening's concert at the Cottonwood Old Town Center was an incredible bargain at just fifteen dollars) but the music he makes is priceless and from all appearances he is the definition of success as I see it. Don't get the wrong idea, from what I can tell Frank has performed all over the world and cannot be described as an undiscovered artist by any means. But let me ask you this: have you heard of him before this? Probably not, and I hope you are glad you know about him now. Does he deserve more prestigious venues, larger audiences and higher ticket prices? Absolutely, and I hope that comes to pass for him. But in the meantime he is doing what he was born to do, working hard at it, making what I hope is a good living at it and touching lives in a positive way. I hope he doesn't mind, but he has also become a role model for this fifty-six year old aspiring writer.

Here are a couple more shots from that evening.

And here is a link to a video that will give you some idea of just how amazing these two musicians are.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yHv4zvjfudU&feature=related

Fun with the old 135

Decades ago I saved up and bought a Nikon FM camera. I loved that camera. Sturdy, reliable, just a wonderfully designed and built instrument. And it got even better when I was able to purchase a couple of extra lenses for it. The first quickly became my favorite. A 135mnm telephoto lens made by Vivitar that can focus all the way down to a 1 to 2 ratio. In other words, when cranked all the way to minimum distance focus the image on the negative or slide (remember those?) comes out half life size. Pretty close. For years now the ol' Nikon and its lenses have been sitting in the closet, victim to first Lack of Time and Funds (film and processing costs) and then the Digital Revolution. Recently, I was able to acquire a Nikon digital SLR that came with a couple of lovely zoom lenses. Very versatile, but no real macro capabilities. Lucky for me the 135mm fits. All the settings have to be done manually, just like in the good ol' FM days, but it's a fun one to trot out every once in a while when I'm in the mood for getting up close and detailed.

Had so much fun I just had to do a few more. This time I tried to use the maximum minimum, as it were, for each shot.

 

Going to Miss Friday Nights

During my career in high school I think I attended three or four football games. The circumstances surrounding those particular social scheduling aberrations I do not recall, but it likely had something to do with girls. My personal attitude toward football games was that they were a waste of a good Friday night. This position was fueled in large part by a perceived, if not completely justified, divide between the world of the arts, which I saw myself in, and the world of dumb jocks running around trying to throw each other to the ground. Hard divisions such as this are easy to come by when one is young, but if one is fortunate they soften at least a bit with age. And it helps when a common denominator comes into play. In my case that was the Toro Marching Band, which our daughter has been a part of for the past three years.

Suddenly, decades after my own high school days were nothing but a faint blur, I had a reason to clear my Friday nights for a football game. True enough, we came mostly to see and hear the band, and the Mountain View Toro Band is an amazing group, but there was a football game going on so we followed along with that and the rest of the side shows like the cheerleaders (death defying athletes is what they should call them), the Blue Guys (or whatever the five young fellows painted up blue and sporting the letters T-O-R-O-S on their chests are officially called), and, of course, the crowd itself. And although we were never particularly comfortable, even with padded stadium seats, and sometimes the games were anything but competitive, and way too often the people sitting around us were jabbering so much it was almost impossible to hear either the announcer telling us who had fouled whom or even the nearly two hundred musicians on the field during halftime playing and formationing their hearts out, all in all I wouldn't have missed one of those games for the world. It was community and pageant and spectacle and anarchy and laughter and disbelief and a whole lot of just plain getting away from the rest of the day.

Here are a few of the photos I have taken at those games.

This game was against my alma mater, Westwood High. It was homecoming for them as well as their 50th anniversary. I felt badly that they lost. If I recall the score was 50-14. And their band, like their football team,  both of which were powerhouses in the state back in the 70's, was a diminished force on the field. But they put on a great fireworks display and a nice homecoming parade around the track and it made me glad I was a Westwood Warrior.

My photographic holy grail as far as the games themselves were concerned, was to get a really good shot of a kick-off. Never got anything better than this one.

The Toro band staff cutting loose while the band plays a stand tune. Whenever the action on the field got a bit on the snoozy side, which was rather often, all I had to do was look left.

Usually it was one of the Blue Guys who would get on this platform, be hoisted up by a few dozen cheerleaders, and knock out pushups every time the Toro football team scored. If the team had made it to thirty points, the lad was obliged to do thirty pushups. Some games the BG's were notable for their absence. But the cheerleaders took over the Keeping Up With the Score duties without missing a beat. It was perhaps one of the least dangerous stunts they performed each Friday night. Those girls made me nervous.

 

For instance...

It was cool when the Mesa High School band came over to the home team side of the bleachers so they could watch our halftime show from a better perspective than their seats on the other side of the field afforded them. The bands are competitive but they are also amazingly supportive of each other. Respect amongst bands runs rampant in the best sort of way.

One of the three Toro drum majors leading the band in a stand tune.

A portion of the 193 member Toro marching band on the field performing their 2011 show "Elemental".

The highlight of every fourth quarter was when the drumline came out onto the track and performed. This nifty stunt by the bass drum players was always a crowd pleaser. The snares were sharp and confident. But it was the cowbell that really carried the day. During halftime our kid did some serious playing on the marimba, but come the fourth quarter she worked the crowd with the bell.

The last game of the season was over a week ago. The football team ended with a record of 4-6, worst in school history. The band is going to the state championship this Saturday.

Too Many, Too Much, Too Little

There are a few phrases that anyone who has worked retail for any amount of time is bound to hear a lot. "Just looking", of course, is Top of the Charts. Another perennial favorite is "When is this going to be on sale, hmm?", which really means "Lower the price for me today, why don't you?" Just a little ways down the list has got to be "There are too many choices. I can't make up my mind." At that point the good salesperson will step in, bring clarity to the situation with a few well considered and rehearsed questions, lead the customer along the path of decision making and the register rings happily.

It makes me wish that a person had ones own salesman. The benevolent kind, expert at getting to the heart of the matter, cutting through the nonsense and distractions and bringing focus, direction and, most especially, a decision. Why this desire for a personal sales force, a species most people declare to be annoying and dangerous to family finances? Because in life there is just too much to choose from.

Never mind the more substantial issues in life, today we will just consider the entertainment options. A few months ago we decided to subscribe to Netflix, that company that has been getting battered about in the news and online lately for their recent rate hike and decision (there's that word!) to split into two companies, one streaming directly to computers and televisions and the other mailing out DVD's and blu-ray discs. On the one hand this has been a wonderful thing. I have watched a couple of classic episodes of the oh-so-classic television program The Dick Van Dyke Show, allowing me to at once marvel at the timelessness of the material and talent and wallow in a deep trough of nostalgia. Together with my wife I have watched old favorite movies I thought I would never see again, such as The Ghost and Mr. Chicken with Don Knotts, and Mr. Hobbs Takes a Vacation with James Stewart. Both of them terrific flicks, but hardly worthwhile purchasing as DVDs. Through the mailing service we have found some wonderful movies we never would have discovered without the clever recommendations Netflix has in place. All well and good, eh? But here's the problem. The new television season is upon us, and although there are only a few shows we care to watch on a regular basis, often as not we don't have time to watch those. And yet now we have a backlog of half a dozen films ready to be sent to us in the mail and I have foolishly created a list of at least thirty movies, documentaries and old television programs in our "Instant Queue". We've only had the service for a few months and already I know we will never, ever get to watch everything that interests us. That is more than a bit depressing and can actually be just a tad debilitating. And when you add in the books I simply must read, the music that really should be listened to, really listened to, much more often, not to mention the theater, art museums, wine tours and street fairs clamoring for our time and attention and a person can be so overwhelmed with choices that it makes it almost impossible to enjoy one thing at a time, which in my experience is really the only way to truly enjoy anything. You're always thinking about what you are missing, which might be even better. Or maybe not.

So yes, it would be good to have somebody who could guide me in the direction of what I should do and do it with such consummate confidence that I am convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Right Choice has been made. No regrets, no pondering What Did I Miss In Order To Get This? A happy, satisfied customer of life.

Until I get the bill, that is.

On the Bookstore Shelf

There 'tis, snuggled alongside Escape Artist (an Edna Ferber Mystery) by Ed Ifkovic and published by Scottsdale's Poisoned Pen Press, and Bloodmoney (A Novel of Espionage)  by David Ignatius, published by the folks at W.W. Norton. Kind of makes me wonder if I need a parentheses sort of title to play with the big boys. The book on the other side, The Fourth Codex, by Robert Houston, is a used volume, with Amazon showing a publishing date of 1990, so Mr. Houston can be excused for the absence of any parenthetical appendages I suppose.

The shelf shown here is in the Mystery section of Changing Hands Bookstore in Tempe, Arizona. I'm not so sure that Boomerang qualifies as a mystery, it being more of a comic crime novel, but as Comic Crime has not yet earned a section of its own in any bookstore I know of I will be content to loiter amongst the Christies, Parkers, Graftons and Ifkovics of the literary world. If only the end of the "H's" wasn't on the bottom row...

I paid a visit to Changing Hands this morning to bring them a "staff" copy of Boomerang, hoping, of course, that at least one or two of their booksellers will give it a read, like it and tell customers about this gem of a book by a local author. Since the chances of it even being glanced at in a place swarming with ARC's (Advance Reading Copies) and all the other worthy volumes the place is swamped with every day is slight in the extreme, I made sure my book was accompanied by food. A lone book by an unknown author is, understandably, easy to ignore, but when it is ribbon tied to a bag of peanut butter stuffed pretzels and bucket of bite sized chocolate chip cookies in the employee breakroom I've got to believe it's bound to attract at least some attention. Shelly, the consignment manager, even said she would put a "Please Read Me" sign by Boomerang, so I'm hoping the combination will make at least a little bit of magic.

Beginning on Thursday, September 1, Boomerang will be on a display wall near the front of the store in a spot where they feature Local and Independent Authors. None of this spine to the public nonsense, instead a full face forward with Laura Lakey's terrific cover art shouting "buy this book!" to anyone within ten yards. Of course, just as publishers pay to get books they are trying to push in the windows and on the front displays of bookstores, there is a monthly fee to have ones book featured on the Local and Indy wall. The strategy of making my debut there in September, one of those "thirty days have" months, may be open to debate, but there you go, at least it's not February.

I will certainly be making another visit to Changing Hands as soon as I can once Boomerang is face forward. Take a photo, accost innocent book browsers, make a megaphone announcement about a blue light special at the Local Author wall. Whatever I can get away with.

Go Ye Forth and Do Likewise.