Anderson-Foothill Branch, The City Library, Salt Lake City, Utah

Not far from the Millcreek Community Library I found the Anderson-Foothill Branch library (part of the City Library system). I could almost hear "Don't You Forget about Me" playing as I walked up to the steps and toward the main doors. I was getting a very 80s vibe and, much to my later delight, I was right on the money.

I'd spent a productive morning at Millcreek, and if I hadn't gotten hungry, I probably would have stayed. It was a truly relaxed place, and I would have had a harder time deciding if I should stay or go, but my wandering reflex is borderline urgent. I obeyed my desire to journey onward, knowing I had the time to spare.

When I entered the Anderson-Foothill library, I was immediately drawn to the mega vaulted ceilings, a sure sign of extraneous design choices popular in the 80s. Hell on the heating and cooling systems, but doesn't it look rad? You know what: It does. It is incredible to see one of the living monuments to 80s aesthetics, but modern love of 50s Gas Station Chic will soon totally eclipse one vision of what our future was going to look like. At least I can photograph it now and preach against runaway destruction of our architectural history. Who knows, maybe they'll meet me halfway...eh, who am I foolin. Call me a careless optimist, but I still believe the past lifts us up beyond the tainted logic of forever trashing our collective memory. Its a bit of an obsession.

The Lonely Table

The 80s were also apparent in most of the furniture, save the computer bays, the most obvious update from days just past disco and well before "the net." The pink, burlap fabric and rounded, wood edges were a dead giveaway. The library itself is dark despite the many windows, but to me if felt more like a safe little slice of heaven to burrow in and think.

So I busted a move to the back of the library and found a (sort of) perfect spot near the large bay window (tinted, of course). There was a lonely, stray group table off to the side, spotlighted for maximum sadness, and a bank of tall, two-top bar tables right against the window. I am still not sure why higher ground would make me study smarter, but there was clearly a method to the madness.

The greatest clue of all was the design on the table top I was using--totally tubular fer shure. While I was distracted for a moment, cherishing all the artifacts of years gone by (like, check out the electrical outlet box thing?), the Anderson-Foothill afforded me yet another stellar opportunity to buckle down and write my little face off.