Bookstore makes Timonium bound for change Crossroads: An unassuming mall undergoes a trendy transformation. Is the home of the State Fair ready for this?

There goes the neighborhood.

The good people of Timonium have been wronged. Their way of life has been threatened by influences so foreign and so influential that nothing can be done to save Timoniumites.

Look no further than the Timonium Crossing shopping center at York and Timonium roads. The mall from heck has been dolled up for the new kids on the block: Bibelot and its partner in suburban crime, Donna's. Yes, we're talking atriums and teal.

That fancy-pants Bibelot -- don't-pronounce-the-t -- and that Donna's, multiplying like rabbits! They run the oldest scam in the Free World: Provide customers with any book they want, then pamper them with choice coffee and fresh roasted vegetables.

Did anyone ask Timoniumites whether they wanted a bookstore/music store/restaurant in their back yard? Did anyone stop to ask whether we want to see authors (in person) and singers (in person)? Town sources -- who wish to remain anonymous -- report that "book signings" have already been held -- and in clear view of the stables at the State Fairgrounds. The two neighbors, by the way, have yet to meet.

"I have yet to partake," says Max Mosner, general manager of the Maryland State Fair. "I haven't been to the place. Isn't that an awful thing for me to admit? I'm usually pretty curious about the neighborhood."

Mosner, a regular at Michael's and Patrick's in the 'hood, remembers when they built Timonium Crossing, with its yellow columns, crossbar balconies and now-crumbling outdoor stairs. Mosner thought the crossbars were temporary. He thought the whole thing was embarrassing.

"It was an eyesore," says Charles Pefinis, 71, Timoniumite since 1965. "When it opened, it won some kind of award. People must have been crazy." You have to read between the lines to see Pefinis really longs for the old mall. "It was a disgrace."

What was it exactly?

"It's a shopping center," Timoniumites would tell visiting friends and parents.

"No, it can't be."

Thanks to Bibelot and Donna's, those profound exchanges are over. Relatives now say, "Oh, there's a Bibelot. They'll have the book I've been looking for 10 years!" Mom will be "just dying" for Donna's rotolo with smoked turkey. Friends, the day of goat cheese has arrived.

"I feel Bibelot and Donna's attract very fine people," Pefinis says. He's a Borders man but has dropped by Bibelot, even had Donna's coffee. "It's neat," he says.

Neat, as in can't find a parking space? Before, parking at York and Timonium accommodated the Space Shuttle when the Cape's lot was full. Timoniumites now have to circle the lot like city folks do.

With parking finally achieved, the make of the cars are screened to see if Timonium has truly gone uptown:

1. Ford Taurus. Lousy blue. Beat to royal heck. Local.

2. Camry, but old.

3. A Ford Custom Club Wagon, rusted to the gills. Perfect.

4. 1997 Volvo 850, magenta. Oops, that's ours.

Oh, no, the first fake fur sighting! Two women, wrapped in something furry and fake, step out of a Volvo wagon and strut into Bibelot. We can smell their gold cards -- or maybe it's the horse stables again.

"Bi.be.lot. (BEE.buh.low) n. 1. a small, decorative object or trinket. 2. where Baltimore buys books and music," says the store sign. Excuse us, Mr. Store Sign, but this isn't Baltimore. This is Timonium or, more simply, Tm on the periodic table. But let's not get off on the wrong foot.

Part of their game, of course, is to furnish chairs for guests who might want to skim "All About Darts" before buying it. Bibelot is rich with people in comfy chairs. People, don't you see what this can lead to? It can only lead to reading! Do we really want this in our community?

A seat happens to open up in the cool-photography-books-rarely-sold section. To be fair, a person can get hungry spending an hour studying photos of Drew Barrymore wearing only boxing shorts. Wonder where a guy can get a bite to eat around here?

Bibelot happens to be cleverly attached to Donna's, where waitresses are cum laude graduates of the Winona Ryder School for Hip Haircuts. The waitresses here say things such as, "Sir, would you like a lemon?" Timoniumites never used to tolerate such talk.

Look there: A guy sits alone at Donna's counter, reading "Ask Isadora" in City Paper, and eating goat cheese. Another guy at the counter is named Bashi or something. He probably goes by one name, like Sting or Beck.

You know, the end always begins with the little things -- comfy chairs, goat cheese, single names.

But we must tip our beret to Bibelot and Donna's. It is "neat." They manage to make people forget they are in Timonium. They can pretend it's Baltimore or Manhattan -- OK, maybe just Baltimore. Even Timoniumites are pretending, too.

Until Molly showed up. Molly the baby-sitter, home from college, was in Bibelot the other day buying a gift certificate. What's next -- three-day vacation packages to Timonium, two nights at the Red Roof Inn, and free shuttle service to Bibelot?

Anyway, Molly saw us, and we saw her. And we both knew at that moment at the counter in Bibelot, that this is not Manhattan or even Baltimore.

This is still Timonium -- roasted veggies, Volvos and all.

Pub Date: 1/11/97