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We seem to be having another Monday. I don't even remember having a weekend.  Nevertheless, the Internets carry on. Here are a few of the highlights marching across my screen today.

Titlepage.tv launched today, bringing a star-studded literary conversation to the web video screen. That's a picture of the host--editor superhero Daniel Menaker--over there. Everybody's got an opinion, but every self-respecting literary junkie should still check it out.

Memoirs are in the air lately. Over at Papercuts, Gregory Cowles muses on the latest creative liberties taken by a memoirist, with this report on author Misha Defonseca:

"The author was never trapped in the Warsaw ghetto. Neither was she adopted by wolves who protected her from the Nazis, nor did she trek 1,900 miles across Europe in search of her deported parents or kill a German soldier in self-defense. She wasn’t even Jewish."

To chill yourself out after a long Monday, check out Jeffrey Yamaguchi's pictures from India, complete with a good morning greeting for each location on his epic trip.  

PW has an an article on Borders today that discusses how the company is trying to save itself from oblivion. As a low-ranking, part-time/full-time (depends on the week) bookseller at the other major chain, I feel more than qualified to lend my BBA-educated two cents.

But all joking aside, I do have a major pet peeve with Borders that generally sends me to B&N or Bookpeople when I need to buy a book: I can never find a freaking human to help me. There is always someone in the cafe and someone else behind the register, but as far as I can tell, there's never anyone else working the store. I actually assume that they must be there somewhere, but Borders employees must be masters of camouflage and handily avoid my searching. This is very ironic because I don't normally like asking employees for help. One thing I like about Borders is that they have computers I, as a customer, can use to see if things are in the store. The problem occurs when the computer says something is there, but I can't find it on the shelf. Now, this happens all the time at B&N, but since I work there, I have sneaky suspicion of where the book might be, and I can then go walk around past all the suspects. Is it in the front window? In backstock? On a cart in receiving, etc. The list goes on. When I'm in a Borders I need a similarly privileged person to do the same thing. And I can never find one. And then Borders loses my sale. This can't only be happening to me.