When John Waters’s latest memoir Role Models came out last year YT rushed to the store and stared at it with longing, but did not buy.
Oh that simplicity of line! The dirty little pencil mustache, now rendered in ink on the white hardbound cover. One perfect line slashed above the fleshy, pink promise of the upper lip that transforms the most upstanding individual (male or female) into a flagrant pervert. And with such graphic economy and panache!
The urge to purchase was all but uncontrollable. But since she’d moved to the South, to the land of dogeared, mystery novels in large print and Stephen King paperbacks on the nightstands of beach front B&Bs, YT’d become a loyal member of the Charleston County Public Library System. Seems that no one here checks out the new acquisitions unless they’re Harlequin Press or Clive Cussler.
So from the well lit chain bookstore to the dim, salt-smelling brown carpet of her island library she went. It took perhaps five minutes to locate Role Models and then to check it out with a barcoded keychain fob.
This never happened to YT in New York. Her given name languished on waiting lists for the newest books from the Brooklyn Public Library for months at a time. When an email finally arrived notifying that it was at last her turn she had already purchased and read through the title weeks before.
To hell with the city.
(For an excerpt from the first chapter on Johnny Mathis and an interview w/ John Waters via @nprfreshair click here. Then go to your local library and check something out.)