Local News Tuesday: Wear the Old Coat, Buy the New Book

Last week, a glorious thing happened here in Tuscaloosa, Our Fair City: we finally got a bookstore. A real bookstore. One that doesn’t specialize in used textbooks or local SEC football team merchandise like framed watercolors of dead coaches or that giant wall clock my dear, dear husband keeps threatening to buy. One that actually sells books that you want to read. One with a CD section that features more than Kelly Clarkson and Unfortunate Country Albums. One with a café and a café menu chock full of overpriced, Not-Quality Lattes (NQL) and overpriced, Calorie-Laden Gooey Things (CAGT). One that epitomizes Corporate America and all that it wrong with mass market book publishing today, where you can get everything that Oprah and Dr. Phil have ever written, along with a smattering of Real Literature and excellent calendars, bulk greeting cards, and Nifty Bound Writing Journals perfect for aspiring zen haiku-ists.

Expat and I haven’t been this excited about a Barnes & Noble since we lived in Small Town, PA, where an evening trip to the B & N did double duty as both a hot date and a research excursion. Even then, though, there was a small, local alternative bookstore, one that was just a short walk from campus and that actually made really good tea. One that still sold used books you actually wanted to read, not just last year’s edition of your organic chemistry textbook (because it was definitely not my organic chemistry textbook. Maybe yours. Maybe my college roommate’s.).

But here in Tuscaloosa, Our Fair City, there is no small local establishment that purveys anything other than T-shirts with witticisms like “Rammer-Jammer is Everything” and “Got 12? WE DO!” and approximately 8 million copies of that Sports Illustrated issue that came out over a month ago featuring a profile of the new coach written by our local, tarnished celebrity journalist. Not exactly stimulating reading material.

The entire English community at Flagship State University is as giddy as a kindergarten class with a new playground. When the invitations for the special sneak preview/open house from 6–9PM (the night before opening day) appeared in our faculty mailboxes on campus, the buzz around the department was audible, a persistent simmering hum. When we got word that the composition committee was, in fact, supposed to meet that very same evening starting at 5PM (and we all know that committee meetings always take more than an hour), the grumble among some instructors was drowned out only by the wailing and gnashing of teeth of others. In Tuscaloosa, Our Fair City, missing your chance to get first dibs on the NQL, CLGT, and that heady New Store Smell was something worth gnashing about.

The sneak peak was Tuesday. The official opening was Wednesday. Expat and I held off until Wednesday afternoon. I was worried it might be crowded and it was somewhat busy, but we could still find a good table in the café. We felt like we were cheating on Capture, but even so, we sat. We did our respective work for our respective classes. We drank our respective NQLs. We browsed our respective favorite sections. We ogled the cookbooks. We sat and read books that we had no intention of purchasing, just to read them, just because we could.

There are dangers, of course, to the Glossy Corporate Bookstore in the Small College Town. Dangers that might only be seen by an English faculty member, dangers I had forgotten since leaving Small Town, PA. What would I do, for instance, if one of my many students caught me indulging myself with children’s picture books or quizzing myself in the latest Cosmo or devouring some Really Bad Fiction? The glory of living in a Mid-sized Midwestern City, like Madison, and not having a very high-profile job was the anonymity of it all—the ability to walk into Borders and not talk to or otherwise engage anyone except the Seattle’s Best barista. The ability to check out for the day, drop into an overstuffed chair, and read with reckless abandon until the store closed or I was too hungry to concentrate and the CLGT offerings just weren’t cutting it. Here, though, here I have to be on my guard. I have to be glib and ready to talk at a moment’s notice. I have to remain alert.

So is it worth it? Is it still worth getting excited over the glories of the Corporate Chain? Is it worth rolling around and reveling in that heady New Store Smell and drinking inadequate coffee, even though it makes me feel like I’m cheating on Taylor the Latte Boy and his fabulous local coffee establishment? Is it in fact worth wasting a Local News Tuesday update to regale you with my own sick, twisted, entirely contradictory Glossy Corporate Fascination?

I don’t know. Let me finish this Pumpkin Spice Latte and this issue of RealSimple and maybe read through this new cookbook while I wait in line to pay for my new Nifty Bound Writing Journal and I’ll get back to you.