The New Powell's

I can't remember the last time I stepped inside of Powell's. I can't even remember the last book I purchased. And that hurts.

A lot.

Powell's, as any English degree-bearer or major or professor will profess is Portland's own mecca for all book (and yes I mean book...as in the real, physical paper-made, page-turning entity that is a book) lovers. For me, Powell's is so much more than merely a mecca -- it's my absolute sanctuary amidst this crazy city. Whenever I'm feeling down, a trip to Powell's always cheers me up. If I'm in the mood to celebrate, I head to Powell's to grab a few new reads. Heck, one of my favorite dates of all times has been at Powell's, walking around, drinking coffee and talking books (The date was great but the relationship didn't really last).

On top of that, I can, hands-down, say that the best Christmas gift I've ever received was a $50 gift card to Powell's. While I don't typically enjoy giving or receiving gift cards (they're impersonal, sort of lazy and not nearly as fun to open as a big, paper-wrapped box), this one meant a lot to me because Santa (okay, my parents) realized that I really really REALLY wanted it...perhaps with more fervor than I wanted the second job I just landed.

I also may have imagined how dorkishly romantic it would be to be proposed to in the middle of the blue (fiction, poetry and anthologies) section.

Yeah, Powell's is that important to me. So, considering my background and love for Powell's, I'm sure it makes sense why I'm jonesing for a Powell's fix. Unfortunately for my bank account, whenever I go to Powell's, even if just for one specific book, I end exiting the double doors on 11th and Couch with at least three more books than I went in for.

And so, like any Portland addict (meth, marijuana, Stumptown espresso; the drug doesn't matter...we all scratch with fiendish anxiety) struggling to make ends meat, I had to find another outlet. Luckily, a solution was easy to come by: The Multnomah County Library.

It has books...oodles and oodles of them. It lets you puts books on hold over the internet. Furthermore, it ships those books you put on hold via the web to the library closest to you. AAAAAAND, it's f-r-e-e.

It's not quite Powell's, but it's close.

I first started going to the library early after graduation when I didn't have internet at my apartment on Glisan. However, over the last month, I've been frequenting the tiny corner library on NW Thurman and NW 23rd Avenue on a more regular basis.

And just like Powell's, populated with its hippie youngsters, mysteriously cute 20-somethings and, like most popular Portland hang outs, crazies, the library houses a variety of Portlanders. One time there was a man who kept asking a librarian to use the word "figment" in a sentence that doesn't include the phrase, "of your imagination." Another time there was a man who refused to keep his bike outside because he was convinced the rain demons were going to make his bicycle appear drop by drop. Then there was the lady who went psycho because her free-allotted time for the internet had expired and the other guy who hit on me by asking, "Hey, yeah, paid holds are the way to go, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are," I replied as he looked at my, let's face it, non-existent chest. "They enable to me to look for books without running into weirdos." Insert smile-flashing here.

At any rate, the library is a wonderful public service that I have, for such a long, long time, ignored...for reasons I'm not entirely certain of. Perhaps it is my inability to turn books on time (and thus incurring ridiculous fees. I actually didn't receive my college diploma because I owed over $20 to UP's library) or my fear of finding an elaborate terrorist plot tucked neatly in between the pages of the latest Christopher Moore book; nevertheless, I've always shied away from libraries.

Until now. Now, I'm all up in the library's business. I have six books at home and another 14 on hold. I'm signed up for the 2010 NW Portlander's monthly book club and the librarian knows me by name.

Which really, is probably okay. I'll be worried when the regular crazies (Yes, I already know there are regular crazies) begin addressing me by name. I figure I've got a solid two months until that happens, depending on the individual's senility.

For now, I'm off to finish book number three in five days...