I was in England for a week so my head was nowhere near being able to think about posting. I figured I'd do it once I returned and was watching the Oscars...but the wind and ice storm had damaged the power in my building so I had no cable, no internet, a barely functioning stove, and the elevators didn't work. I had lights in my place but not in the hall, and had to lug my suitcase and backpack up three flights of stairs.
I almost stayed overnight in Toronto because it was so windy and there are three tall bridges I have to cross to get back to the US. But it was also possible Monday would be worse due to ice, since it was going to be well below freezing, and they needed me at the office to help with the onslaught of paperwork for the NY Book Fair.
So I came...and missed seeing the Oscars and had to eat out. Everything's up and running, again, meaning I'm somewhat back to normal, but it's taking me a bit of time to readjust and rest up from this job. It was brutally tiring.
In four days an associate and I packed 7000 +/- books about humor that had been donated to a university. Half were downstairs in a narrow British semi-detached home's sitting room; half were upstairs in a bedroom the size of my bathroom. There were dozens of plastic bins lying around the house, so my helper used them to ferry the books to me and I wrapped and packed, nonstop.
My work space was a small shed behind the house that had once been filled with junk but was cleaned out, just not cleaned up. The place was about 12x6 feet, cold and damp, but dry enough considering it rained the first day. The walls were the British form of sheetrock and the floor wooden slats. Its one window was covered in dust and mold and had a desk set up under it to work on. Of course, my nose went nuts. I had to pop double-doses of Claritin to get by...and I'm still coming down off it.
Most of the books were just so-so paperbacks and ragged hardcovers dealing with humor in mainly European and American countries in various languages, all laden with years worth of dust and neglect. But mixed in were were some amazingly nice ones dealing with Jerry Lewis, Mr. Bean, Monty Python, Asterix and Obelix, Aristophanes, dozens of British comedians I'd sort-of heard of, a full range of Punch story books and a number of books by Stephen Frey and Hugh Laurie. Damn they looked young, once.
What's odd is, the woman who was getting rid of the books reminded me of Stephen Frye. Very nice and dotty in that British way, a former prosecutor who now advocated on behalf of people who'd been arrested for various petty offenses. She's pro-Brexit so we didn't discuss that. Fortunately, my helper was anti- so we agreed to just sigh and wonder at the stupidity of people cutting off their noses to spite their faces. But she did make a good cup of tea.
I worked in the warehouse, on Friday, getting the boxes ready to ship, then spent Saturday wandering around London and finally sitting on the Thames at dusk just to think.
I love London. After LA, it's the one place where I'd want to live, again. It's changing, massively, but some areas are still the same and the city's depth of history would ensure it never grew boring. But it's becoming a rich man's town, like New York, San Francisco and LA are becoming. Prices shooting skyward for rents and transportation and simple food.
I read a couple of books on the flights -- John Grisham's Camino Beach, which was surprisingly bland and insipid, and Gerard Bannon's Undercover, which was well-written and fast-paced if a little over the top at times. But his made the return trip go fast.
I'm still catching up with myself and my apartment and the crap I brought back. I used the excuse of no elevator to put off laundry and cleaning; ain't got that excuse anymore. I guess I'll get back to APoS this weekend.
My head's still feeling just a bit too squirrelly to focus on it, now.
I almost stayed overnight in Toronto because it was so windy and there are three tall bridges I have to cross to get back to the US. But it was also possible Monday would be worse due to ice, since it was going to be well below freezing, and they needed me at the office to help with the onslaught of paperwork for the NY Book Fair.
So I came...and missed seeing the Oscars and had to eat out. Everything's up and running, again, meaning I'm somewhat back to normal, but it's taking me a bit of time to readjust and rest up from this job. It was brutally tiring.
In four days an associate and I packed 7000 +/- books about humor that had been donated to a university. Half were downstairs in a narrow British semi-detached home's sitting room; half were upstairs in a bedroom the size of my bathroom. There were dozens of plastic bins lying around the house, so my helper used them to ferry the books to me and I wrapped and packed, nonstop.
My work space was a small shed behind the house that had once been filled with junk but was cleaned out, just not cleaned up. The place was about 12x6 feet, cold and damp, but dry enough considering it rained the first day. The walls were the British form of sheetrock and the floor wooden slats. Its one window was covered in dust and mold and had a desk set up under it to work on. Of course, my nose went nuts. I had to pop double-doses of Claritin to get by...and I'm still coming down off it.
Most of the books were just so-so paperbacks and ragged hardcovers dealing with humor in mainly European and American countries in various languages, all laden with years worth of dust and neglect. But mixed in were were some amazingly nice ones dealing with Jerry Lewis, Mr. Bean, Monty Python, Asterix and Obelix, Aristophanes, dozens of British comedians I'd sort-of heard of, a full range of Punch story books and a number of books by Stephen Frey and Hugh Laurie. Damn they looked young, once.
What's odd is, the woman who was getting rid of the books reminded me of Stephen Frye. Very nice and dotty in that British way, a former prosecutor who now advocated on behalf of people who'd been arrested for various petty offenses. She's pro-Brexit so we didn't discuss that. Fortunately, my helper was anti- so we agreed to just sigh and wonder at the stupidity of people cutting off their noses to spite their faces. But she did make a good cup of tea.
I love London. After LA, it's the one place where I'd want to live, again. It's changing, massively, but some areas are still the same and the city's depth of history would ensure it never grew boring. But it's becoming a rich man's town, like New York, San Francisco and LA are becoming. Prices shooting skyward for rents and transportation and simple food.
I read a couple of books on the flights -- John Grisham's Camino Beach, which was surprisingly bland and insipid, and Gerard Bannon's Undercover, which was well-written and fast-paced if a little over the top at times. But his made the return trip go fast.
I'm still catching up with myself and my apartment and the crap I brought back. I used the excuse of no elevator to put off laundry and cleaning; ain't got that excuse anymore. I guess I'll get back to APoS this weekend.
My head's still feeling just a bit too squirrelly to focus on it, now.
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