Met Karen the owner of Beach Books in Seaside Oregon today. There was a neat little reception with replete with acoustic guitar, wine, cheese, crackers, and chopped veggies with dip. Personally, I would have some Oregonian vino on hand instead of the lackluster Cavitt Pinot Grigio, but that's just me.
I was pleased with the wide selection of books for such a kitschy beach community. I thumbed through Gerald Stern's Last Blue before making a formal introduction to the proprietor of the shop. She seemed genuinely sweet while maintaining a virulent Emily Post's hosting composure.
Beach Books might pick up Shades of Luz. I won't hold my breath. Small bookshop receptions have a high school chess club formality until the second or third bottle of wine gets uncorked. I wouldn't call it stuffy, but when you get a number of bookish people in a room what do you exactly expect.
This is, no doubt, why the best readings have moved to taverns and pubs. How could you not have fun in the dim-lit lovechild of the speakeasy.
Nothing much else to report today except that I plan to see the hanging whale in the aquarium tomorrow.
