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This has to be quick as my children's librarian has called out with shooting pains in her neck on my supposed "late" day--which means I am scheduled to work 11:30-8pm. Oh well, flexibility is one of our hallmarks!

I stopped in at one of MPOW's branches that has self-check machines. Since ours is due to be installed literally last week (i.e., very soon), I thought I'd give one a spin. I grabbed Persepolis off a nearby display. (I always think of my daughter's shock one morning before opening when I was hastily restocking a picture book display. She accused me of not even looking at the books I pulled. She thought the books on a display were somehow recommended. I told her I look for shiny ones, like a certain raccoon I know.)

But I digress. Which reminds me of a phone reference I had a while back. Where does "but I digress" come from? I did not find a real answer. Anyone know? I'm figuring it must have a pop culture reference, but no way was I going to sift through all the hits I found...

I'd heard good things about Persepolis a few years ago, but never saw a copy available before. I am to graphic novels as peanut butter is to surfing. I have tried to read manga. The only series I was at all successful with was Tokyo Babylon, and I usually couldn't tell Seishirou and Subaru apart. I tried the manga of Nausicaa , but it literally gave me vertigo. So I hadn't tried a graphic novel in years.

Persepolis was a pleasant surprise, considering the content. I knew which panel to read next without excruciating effort, and I mainly could tell the characters apart. It is a very sad story, but with some real humor and dignity. It is a memoir of growing up in Iran during the Islamic Revolution.

I had a friend from Iran while I was in college, Leticia. Her father was a diplomat in the Shah's government. Tish never went home to Persia, as she called it, again after 1978. Her family finally managed to get everyone out and emigrated to Egypt. I wonder how she did--I haven't heard from her for years. She hated Arabic, and was none to fond of Arabs. I teased her, and told her Egyptians are not Arabs in the Saudi mind. But she and I did bond a bit over the status of women in Islamic countries. I can't imagine Tish in an abaya or chador.

Marjane Satrapi's memoir gave me a different glimpse of Iran. Her parents were in favor of the revolution against the Shah, who had caused a great deal of suffering to her family. So Marjane embraces the revolution, too. But none of them realized what the Islamasists would do. Some of the absurdities of schools and the constantly changing dictates and repression are very funny. But it becomes more and more difficult in Teheran, as more and more family and friends are jailed or leave. I spent the second half of the book just hoping and waiting for Marjane's family to get out.

The dog-shaped hole

This is definitely going to be one of those posts you may want to skip, and that's ok. I am not writing it because I want sympathy comments. I just can't work around it, and I have been working hard all week indeed. This was not a great week for me to go through a replacement list for the 636s. But yes, I have considered The Complete Dog Book, Puppies for Dummies, even Caring for your Aging Dog. It was in the the-cosmos-is-cruel part of librarianship, or is that life? Or death?

Then this floats my way. A week ago Saturday, I had my dog put to sleep. At least, I've decided that is my preferred euphemism. (Mind you, I had a typo there for days, "but" to sleep...what say you about typos, Sigmund?) I have been trying to write about this all week, and it's been rougher than I thought it would be. The whole thing has been tougher than expected to the nth degree. How has this impacted me as a librarian? Well, I decided not to tell my co-workers, because I don't like people who carry on about their pets dying. Then I ended up telling two of them, because crying in the office or the break room is sooo unprofessional, you know. But I keep on crying. Mostly I cry in the car. There's some poem in me somewhere about crying while in transit. Shades of the Path train to Jersey City. Older than that, I think, deep, but keeps resurfacing.

I have actually spent time in the middle of the night not being awoken by an aged dog, but considering changing my avatar. I can't change my avatar without going to a doll site. Of course, I no longer remember which doll site I used. I am too tired to think about finding a doll site, and playing paper dolls. I am not sure I can stand the idea of a dog-less avatar. Maybe I need an avatar that is more abstract? Less life-like? Which is pretty hilarious. I must out-weigh my current avatar by 50 pounds. Maybe I should ask the Offspring to design me something. But I don't want to tell her I am actually concerned that my avatar has a dog and I don't.

Being dogless seems so strange. Usually when I've had a hard day, I say time to go home and talk to a dog. She never rolled her eyes and said, "Subject headings again..." or "Do we really need to go over your performance review in detail?" No, she wagged her tail every time she saw me, so glad, and listened to it all. I don't expect any human to listen to all my petty grievances, paranoia, random illogic. But I am used to having that completely nonjudgemental pair of ears.

I feel like I don't know myself without a dog. I am not sure I trust anyone without a pet...It sounds silly, but people with pets enjoy taking care of others. They like to interact socially. I feel like I have no one to take care of. The Boyfriend usually takes care of me, if we face facts.

Having a dog connects you to reality and to nature. You can't get that wrapped up in yourself. You have to go outside minimum three times a day, and you have to go for walks. You will probably say hello to the neighbors and some other dogs and their walkers. You may see the sunrise, the sunset, the moon, the stars, flowers in bloom, birds. I used to see the ocean every day. This week, I had seen it only once. I saw the moon and I wanted to howl.

Tonight, I forced myself to walk down to the ocean and watch the sunset. I saw people and dogs, and I managed to enjoy watching a little terrier race around the rocks madly. There was a moment when I saw a dog and wanted very badly to pet it, to feel fur and muscles moving under it. The owner was in some hurry, plus I was afraid I would cry, so I didn't. Maybe soon I will pet a dog. I am not planning a "replacement" dog soon--I am not ready to make that commitment yet. On my way inside tonight, I saw hummingbirds flitting in and out of the birds of paradise near my door. I finally came up with a way to rig up my hummingbird feeder at his apartment, so I will do that soon. I will work on that connection to those tiny beings who will not know me. One step at a time.

Santa Crusie

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OK, Christmas didn't offer enough junk food. Look what came with the paperbacks--Jenny! I was enough over my snit about the camo calamity that I read it. It had guns and spies, but it also had some decent laughs. I have been trying to figure out what are the characteristics of Jenny's works that I do so like. OK, the heroines are sarcastic. So are the heroes. It may be the cheapest form of humor, but it does so work. OK, so main characters who are a bit disillusioned. Not exactly trusting. But still enthusiastic or passionate about some things, even if it is action figures, or china, or noir detective movies...these are people who have given up on much, but not on everything. Plus, the books are tasteful. That point was hammered home when I started the second novella in the volume, Christmas Bonus by Lori Foster. From fairly sublime Crusie to the unreadable ick. Oh well, "Hot Toy" was absolutely perfect to read on breaks.

Then a customer came in. She had decided she would write some chicklit, so she had borrowed an armful. When she brought them back, she told me this one was the pick of the litter, so I read it. I thought it was a waste of a decent title. My biggest question was when was it set? Part of the mechanics is that a twenty-something waitress can't get a new job after she walks off her current one due to sexual harassment. Apparently, low-paying service jobs, which are so abundantly available in San Diego (I mean I see help wanted signs everywhere!), are impossible to find in the Pacific Northwest. Leading me to think perhaps this book's events took place in the late 70s, which is why the "girl" (she really is too immature for me to call a woman) doesn't know she can sue...Oh well, the construct is flimsy anyway. I feel guilty about raking it over the coals. What did I expect. Just because the Pynchon is sooo heavy I can't comfortably read it in bed, and besides, it is complicated and I am tired...I will stop with the weasely excuses soon.