I like being around books. I’m not talking about reading books, though I like that too. I’m talking about being with them. Big shelves of books that are arranged by some sort of sorting system just get me going, I guess. Maybe it makes me feel smart. Maybe it makes me feel like I’m doing something important. Maybe walking around a bunch of books makes me feel like I’m on a mission to research ancient secrets buried in obscure, long-forgotten texts written by mystical prophets (called madmen by their contemporaries) whose dusty sentences may unlock the mysteries surrounding untold magical treasures.

    So, yeah, I like the library. And used book stores – even really crappy ones. But my favorite place (and I say this knowing full well what it says about me) is Borders. You heard me – Borders.

    I know it’s a chain and I know it takes some gasoline to get out there, but I like it. Now, before I tell you why I like Borders so much, let’s talk about chain stores and the whole “mall area” in general, shall we? Yes. Yes, we shall.

    Every time I write about not liking the mall or if I allude to a general distain for chain stores (as if that’s some sort of radical concept) I usually hear from a store manager or two talking about contributions to the tax base, the job base, and five or six other bases. AND. Every time I talk about liking a chain store or how downtown Eau Claire might actually benefit from a strategically chosen national franchise, I usually hear from a concerned citizen or two talking about how insane that is and about how I’m weighing down our Buy/Eat/Go local! momentum.

    To those people: Clearly, I’m going for that kind of reaction. Clearly, your opposing opinions are extremely important. And clearly, you can stick it up your Hummer’s tailpipe/recumbent bicycle spokes.