Cody’s Books has been an important part of my life for the past twelve years. I’ve bought at least two hundred books, attended at least fifty author readings, purchased dozens of magazine titles I couldn’t find elsewhere, and had my mind expanded in more ways than I can count inside that store.
elbowing my way through a packed crowd to hear Kurt Vonnegut speak
sneaking furtive glances inside the pages of 2600
the excitement of finding the perfect travel novel to give my grandmother the day before a trip to India (An African in Greenland by Tt-Michel Kpomassie; she liked it)
buying myself a copy of the NYRB reissue of A Handbook on Hanging while walking home after a complicated date
getting my new Salman Rushdie novels signed
the rush of meeting favorite comic book artists (Jason Lutes, Adrian Tomine) at sometimes-confusing (but always interesting) comic “readings”
walking up to the information desk time and time again to ask questions, get help with half-remembered authors and titles, pick up special orders, or sometimes just to say hello
buying much of the big stack of O’Reilly books in the BookFinder.com office from the surprisingly large (and very well-organized) computer section
the relief of knowing that there was a clean bathroom on Telegraph Avenue I could use in a jam
over the years, subscribing to nine different magazines that I first discovered at Cody’s
buying my first two Saramago novels from a special display, the week after he won the Nobel prize
the fun of gawking at the books on art, product design, and typography — which I never bought, but it was nice knowing that they were there
the often-succumbed-to temptation of Cody’s front tables, which feature handpicked paperback fiction and non-fiction; there’s always something there worth buying
reading Cody’s Books: The Life and Times of a Berkeley Bookstore, 1956-1977 by Pat and Fred Cody, and wondering what books doused in tear gas smelled like
stopping into the store with visiting friends and relatives, and seeing the quick stopover always turn into an hourlong session of browing and buying
buying Programming Perl back in 1994, when I wanted to start programming for the web
falling sick while in line at a Chitra Divakaruni reading, and getting to know her as a friend years later (she didn’t remember all the hubbub at the end of the signing line)
the discovery of disability studies as a field of human knowledge (I later joined a disability studies reading group)
laughing along with Dave Eggers, as he hawked his new novel
buying Nolo Press’ How to Buy a House in California when my girlfriend and I were thinking of getting engaged and buying a home
buying and reading Edward Tufte’s excellent books on visual design (I later learned he’s a BookFinder.com user)
being thrilled to finally meet Paulina Borsook, years after I started reading her stuff
finding (and buying) a spiral-bound book of translated Tagore poems self-published by a friend; Cody’s was one of the few local bookstores willing to stock a few copies
meeting up with friends at 7:30pm readings, and getting together for dinner afterwards
running into friends and acquaintances at those readings, some of whom I mostly saw at bookstores
discovering the world of zines and small press magazines (I remember picking up issues of Bunnyhop, In/Formation, Factsheet 5, Adbusters, Bitch, the Baffler, etc.)
carefully perusing the list of upcoming readings every month, online or in the monthly mailings
posing with Charlie in the science fiction aisle, for a profile of BookFinder.com published in a local newspaper
buying my favorite map of Berkeley from the front counter (the map’s well laid out and laminated; I often carry it in my bag)
seeing two close friends join the store’s staff, joining the ranks of the always-smart, always-helpful crew of Cody’s bestsellers
dreading walking by the financially deadly combination of Cody’s on one side of the street and Amoeba Music on the other
dreading the even deadlier combination of Cody’s at one end of the block, and Moe’s Books (4 stories of used books) at the other
