Let me apologize first: because of my mood and the topic, I’m worried I’ll resort to “back in my day” noise. No other pony trick lacks as much imagination and skill as that one. If you ever hear some old head describing days gone by as filled with halcyon delights, hold to the wallet because you are about to be took. If I go there, feel free to tell this old head to get a life and keep my nostalgia (translation: fantasy world) in the closet.

Was in a bookstore last week and came across Thomas Wright’s Built of Books. Wright, an Oscar Wilde junkie, examines the life of the wit, provocateur, and bibliophile through his reading habits. Wilde was many things, but he was a reader first and last. Wright’s book, which has gotten lukewarm reviews thus far, starts out with the destruction of Wlde’s library. Creditors pawed over the man’s possessions so the imprisoned poet could come up with the money to pay the legal fees for the Marquess of Queensberry (Wilde unsuccessfully sued the Marquess for libel). The collection had been amassed since his young years and it was his treasure. Ridicule, shame, prison, and a mercurial lover (Lord Alfred Douglas, the son of the Marquess and the one who insisted Wilde make a case of libel), were all tea parties when compared to the loss of his printed pages. Two years after the sale Wilde described it “as the one of all my material losses the most distressing to me.”

It’s easy to burn with indignation at Wilde’s treatment due to his sexuality (especially considering good old Lord Alfred just moved on), but reading that line struck, especially after thinking of the reading landscape today. Sure I’ve trod this road before but what does it mean we, Wilde’s children, don’t emulate his intellectual heft? Sure we can recount the minutia of some reality television show, get morally outraged when a yahoo espouses stupidity, argue back and forth over who truly represents “the community,” but where is the foundation behind all the sound and fury? Our bookstores close, or are near to shutting down , and most of us can’t remember the last time we picked up a book and finished it.

I have nothing against the current media culture. Well I do, but it is what it is. Getting bent out of joint about it is like complaining about heat in New Orleans. The bells and whistles are more than enticing and can offer the stuff of dreams, but Wilde understood that when all the noise was done what mattered in this world was the printed page. That unwavering belief in the power, and magic, of words is what our great poet would want us to hold onto as we worked toward the future.

RIP Don Hewitt.

The country’s oldest gay bookstore, Giovanni’s Room, needs some help. The independent, located in Philadelphia, has a problem with one of its walls that will cost $50,000 to fix. Owner Ed Hermance is looking for volunteers to assist in fundraising activities.

The store will continue to be open as the work is done, so if you are in Philadelphia, drop by and spend some money at the place. This past March, Oscar Wilde Bookshop in New York City closed down because of a weak economy and a reading life that is diminishing in this time of the Twitter.

Years ago, Lewis Lapham, former editor of Harper’s magazine, wrote people who read serious fiction and lived in New York, probably could not fill Yankee Stadium. At the time I thought he was being a little bit over the top; however, now I’m not so sure. The National Endowment for the Arts published a study two years ago called “To Read or Not to Read.”

“This study shows the startling declines, in how much and how well Americans read, that are adversely affecting this country’s culture, economy, and civic life as well as our children’s educational achievement,” said then NEA head Dana Gioia.

The report’s numbers, especially on the reading habits of the young, would make a cranky librarian pass out: “1) Less than one-third of 13-year-olds are daily readers, a 14 percent decline from 20 years earlier. Among 17-year-olds, the percentage of non-readers doubled over a 20-year period, from nine percent in 1984 to 19 percent in 2004, and 2) on average, Americans ages 15 to 24 spend almost two hours a day watching TV, and only seven minutes of their daily leisure time on reading.”

Seven minutes?!?! What’s that? Like a page a day?!

Yearning for some bygone cultural life that more than likely never existed is always tricky, but if you believe in the phrases “gay community” and “gay culture”, then the survival of Giovanni’s Room is important for the sake of our memories of where we have been. That sense of memory, history, is not going to come from a Twitter feed or the travails of pretty people on the small screen. It’s all there on the pages. If those pages go missing, how will we know our next steps?

Come March, New York’s cultural life will be a little less exciting because Oscar Wilde Bookshop is closing its doors.

A victim of a bumpy economic climate and a reading culture that is changing the ground rules for independent bookstores, Oscar Wilde has been around since 1967, making it the oldest gay and lesbian themed bookstore.

Now I try to stay away from the “back in the day was so much better than now” noise because it tends to be noisy and not worth much. However, the proud nerd in me always gets misty with nostalgia when I hear about a bookstore closing down. If I didn’t have to work and pay bills, I would pack an old Chevy Impala and just drive around the country and visit every independent bookstore still standing. All the best stories I have are connected to bookstores. Not getting the joke Allen Ginsberg made when he signed two books of mine in Houston. Recognizing the voice of film critic Elvis Mitchell as he browsed the aisles in a Los Angeles independent. Having an argument with a stranger about William Faulkner in Faulkner House Books in New Orleans. Flirting shamelessly with Susie Bright in another New Orleans business called Faubourg Marigny Art & Books. Being in Boston, finding out due to a store’s window (by the way: that independent is long gone) display that Toni Morrison won the Nobel, and weeping tears of joy as I waited for the subway.

I’m depressed now.

A toast to Oscar Wilde Bookshop and every other bookseller hanging on and in.

Founded in Greenwich Village by gay activist Craig Rodwell its first home was on Mercer Street but later moved to its current home at 15 Christopher St.

It has faced bomb threats, smashed windows and graffiti with the words “kill fags” written on the walls.

Six years ago, with the growth of major chains and internet bookselling, the shop nearly folded. It was saved at the last minute by a new owner and briefly saw a revival – mainly from tourists from outside the country.

But the global downturn in the economy has virtually ended the visitors from Europe and Asia. In addition internet and big box bookstores have continued to take market share.

In an e-mail to customers owner Kim Brinster said the store will close on March 29.