It's Like at the Circus . . .

(I didn't have internet access when this was written, so it's a day late.)

First off I’d like to discuss a reprioritization issue. This will probably only be of interest to those of you who are curious about self-publishing. For the rest of you, sorry if this is super boring. You can skip to the next break in paragraphs if you want.

A few blog entries ago, I stated that one of my goals was to get DMR into one bookstore in every city on my itinerary. I’ve decided to change this goal somewhat.

I spent most of yesterday (Wednesday) driving around DC looking for bookstores that sell on consignment. After going to the five or six on my list (which took hours and put many rough miles on my old van), I discovered that none of them sell books on consignment. Two of them said they used to sell books on consignment, but no longer. And all the bookstores I went to seemed very weary of independent publishing. I haven’t encountered this in any of the other cities thus far, and I’m not sure what it means that Washington DC is tired of independent publishing.

You might be thinking that I could call ahead or e-mail, but I’ve had no luck with this in the past. I’ve made appointments with bookstore managers in far-off towns and cities only to get there and be told the manager went home early that day. Also, sometimes the person on the phone says they sell books on consignment, but then when I get there, another person informs me that they don’t. Or sometimes they want to see the book first, and then when I get there, for whatever reason, they don’t like the book (for example, one time a dude skimmed through the book and found too many swears for his store). I’ve had the best luck wandering around and making random inquiries at all variety of bookstore. So I’ll stick with this method for now—wrong or not.

When I see a store, I’ll ask and hope for the best, but I’m not going to let it eat up my whole day again. This trip isn’t just about getting DMR into stores—it’s not even mainly about that. This trip is about doing some book promotion, seeing the country, and doing research for a third book.

I will miss some aspects of wandering from store to store. It’s a good way to get a sense of the entire city, including the more run-down sections. I’ve been to a lot of these sections as a result of my getting lost while searching for bookstores, but I haven’t gotten out of my van to take any pictures.

That being said, I just got the book into a terribly awesome store in Baltimore, Clayton Fine Books.

Cities on the East Coast are too close together. I hop in my van, preparing for a long drive full of new sights and weird isolated thoughts, and I arrive in the next city 30 minutes later. The van seems to do better with long highway driving. It shimmies and acts grumpy after a day full of downtown driving (another reason for my reprioritizing bookstores).

DC was interesting.

I wrote yesterday’s blog entry from a Starbucks in the Northwest section of the city (I think). Although my computer’s battery wasn’t full, I had to sit outside. Starbucks really is on every corner in DC, and all of them are full of bloggers.

The woman sitting at the table next to me, who was reading a magazine and absent-mindedly petting her dog, sneezed. She gave me a dirty look when I told god to bless her. Later on, her dog wandered over and put his head on my knee. I stroked his ear until she noticed what was taking place. The woman jerked her dog’s leash so hard that he nearly fell over, and then she got up to leave. I felt bad for the dog. He was very old. His golden retriever hair had gone white all around his face.

I should say that my characterizations of places are not to be taken too seriously. I’m only in most places for less than a day and any judgments I make or qualities I notice are sure to be wrong—but I think this kind of goes without saying, and the fact that I’m probably wrong or missing 99% of the picture will not stop me from making such judgments or listing such qualities.

Aside from the tourists, and there were lots of them, people seem to smoke and drink more in DC. I felt as though I had stumbled onto the set of The Secret of My Success (I WISH!). The bars I walked past were full, even at two in the afternoon. And all the people I saw smoking were wearing business suits. None of them seemed ashamed to be smoking in public. In other cities, the people in business suits who haven’t caught on to the whole frighteningly popular anti-smoking campaign, seem ashamed to be smoking and kind of huddle next to the base of their respective skyscrapers. In DC, large men and women in powerful suits strut about while they smoke. Even in Pennsylvania, where it’s still legal to smoke inside bars (gasp!), the people in suits seem ashamed of their inability to quit cigarettes.

I wandered around for a while, looking at the buildings and monuments. But this sort of thing gets tiresome very quickly. I’m on a 14-week vacation, and just like a normal vacation, I find myself getting tired early in the day. The having to worry about what to eat, where to sleep, how to get places, how much to spend, and where I parked, really wears me out.

At some point in the afternoon I wandered into Harry’s Bar where tons of dudes of all ages and styles of dress, each with their own pitchers, were watching European soccer—Manchester United versus Chelsea (I think).

I sat at the bar and ordered a Yuengling (America’s oldest brewery I guess) and a burger. I sat there for a while after finishing the massive, kinda bloody burger and started getting into the soccer match. I happened to be sitting next to the only other guy in the bar who was flying solo. The man had a Spanish accent (I think he was Puerto Rican) and was wearing a very nice business suit. He was drinking Cape Codders at a furious rate, but looked sort of nervous and out of place despite this.

We watched as the ball was crossed in front of the net and a shot just barely sailed over the crossbar. I threw up my arms and groaned loudly. The Puerto Rican guy turned to me with a smile and asked which team was which. I suddenly understood why he looked out of place. He was the only guy, besides me, who wasn’t there for the soccer match.

I smiled back and opened my mouth to answer. It was then that I realized I had no idea which team was which. Why had I reacted so strongly to the missed shot? What the hell did I care?

My smile faded as I admitted that I didn’t know which team was which. He kind of half smiled and returned to his drinks. He was at least a tad disgusted with me. I’d been faking to fit in, something he could’ve done just as easily.

I filmed myself in front of the Washington Memorial and made my way back to the campsite.

I got up pretty late this morning and drove to Baltimore. I met my friend Adam outside of his building, the tallest in Baltimore, and we had lunch at the world famous Lexington Market. I had a pulled pork sandwich dripping with barbecue sauce and sides of collard greens and macaroni. While sitting there talking about our publishing efforts (Adam’s site: www.publishinggenius.com), a friend of Adam’s walked by. After hearing about my road trip, he told me he once walked from Baltimore to St. Louis. I had no response to this.

I’m currently sitting in a bar across the street from the bookstore that accepted DMR. As soon as I got here I went to the bathroom. I put my backpack and computer bag down next to the urinal, swung my fanny pack around to my hip, and stepped up to do what I’d come in to do. Another guy came in and stood right next to me. He looked down at my fanny pack (I hope that’s what he was looking at) and asked if I was backpacking across county. I said that I was, kinda, and began filling him in on the exact details. After washing his hands he reached out to shake mine. I looked at the sink to hint that I hadn’t washed my hands yet, but he left his hand hanging out there, so I shook it. I couldn’t leave him hanging.

I think bathroom handshakes mean more.