HarperCollins Canada book trailer
No, not manufactured housing, manufactured video to convince you to check out a book. At least I am hoping these could build circulation stats. Next we will need high-definition flat screen TVs on the wall at the library to screen a stream of mini-videos for books.
Speaking of book/video convergence, I just finished Lennon Revealed. I could start in on a boring argument about one of the subject headings. But why do I care? I was lured in by the cover photo plus a starburst on the cover "DVD EXCLUSIVE Final interview with Lennon and McCartney."
I saved the DVD for last, making myself read it all before the treat. Mistake. Don't bother with the DVD. The book is more interesting, though die-hard fans will have been over the territory before. There are some nice interviews with regular folks who knew John on various levels, plus both Yoko Ono and May Pang. (Cue up Dar Williams, "I Won't Be Your Yoko Ono".)
The last chapter is more interesting as Book 2.0, if you can stand the conceit. Kane invited the regular listeners of Beatles Brunch, a syndicated radio show, to email in how John Lennon affected their life. The messages came from all over the world, from people born in 1940 and people born well after 1980. They express deeply personal sentiments. The grammar is unedited. It's raw, but more meaningful in its rawness. It helped me to understand why I would read a 287-page biography of a man whose life story I know too well. I need to do more to work for peace, personally. Imagine.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
All I want for Christmas...
This was apparently on the Amazon page yesterday, but gone today. Fortunately, Babylon Sister copied and forwarded it--thanks! She's excited about Tesla. I'm wondering if I can tempt the Offspring down the primrose path with Bela? I am not a good mother, but just the thought of a new encyclopedia to devour and decode! I also discovered the existence of a new Crusie novella this weekend (coming in October) and I've been following the new Gibson via his blog. There are people who think reading and books are boring, but I am someplace past excited right now. Caveat lecteur?
Untitled - Thomas Pynchon
Product Details
* Hardcover: 992 pages
* Publisher: Penguin Press HC, The (December 5, 2006)
Book Description
Spanning the period between the Chicago World's Fair of 1893 and the years just after World War I, this novel moves from the labor troubles in Colorado to turn-of-the-century New York, to London and Gottingen, Venice and Vienna, the Balkans, Central Asia, Siberia at the time of the mysterious Tunguska Event, Mexico during the Revolution, postwar Paris, silent-era Hollywood, and one or two places not strictly speaking on the map at all.
With a worldwide disaster looming just a few years ahead, it is a time of unrestrained corporate greed, false religiosity, moronic fecklessness, and evil intent in high places. No reference to the present day is intended or should be inferred.
The sizable cast of characters includes anarchists, balloonists, gamblers, corporate tycoons, drug enthusiasts, innocents and decadents, mathematicians, mad scientists, shamans, psychics, and stage magicians, spies, detectives, adventuresses, and hired guns. There are cameo appearances by Nikola Tesla, Bela Lugosi, and Groucho Marx.
As an era of certainty comes crashing down around their ears and an unpredictable future commences, these folks are mostly just trying to pursue their lives. Sometimes they manage to catch up; sometimes it's their lives that pursue them.
Meanwhile, the author is up to his usual business. Characters stop what they're doing to sing what are for the most part stupid songs. Strange sexual practices take place. Obscure languages are spoken, not always idiomatically. Contrary-to-the-fact occurrences occur. If it is not the world, it is what the world might be with a minor adjustment or two. According to some, this is one of the main purposes of fiction.
Let the reader decide, let the reader beware. Good luck.
--Thomas Pynchon
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/159420120X/sr=1-8/qid=1152975017/ref=sr_1_8/002-4788346-4228062?redirect=true&ie=UTF8&s=books
Untitled - Thomas Pynchon
Product Details
* Hardcover: 992 pages
* Publisher: Penguin Press HC, The (December 5, 2006)
Book Description
Spanning the period between the Chicago World's Fair of 1893 and the years just after World War I, this novel moves from the labor troubles in Colorado to turn-of-the-century New York, to London and Gottingen, Venice and Vienna, the Balkans, Central Asia, Siberia at the time of the mysterious Tunguska Event, Mexico during the Revolution, postwar Paris, silent-era Hollywood, and one or two places not strictly speaking on the map at all.
With a worldwide disaster looming just a few years ahead, it is a time of unrestrained corporate greed, false religiosity, moronic fecklessness, and evil intent in high places. No reference to the present day is intended or should be inferred.
The sizable cast of characters includes anarchists, balloonists, gamblers, corporate tycoons, drug enthusiasts, innocents and decadents, mathematicians, mad scientists, shamans, psychics, and stage magicians, spies, detectives, adventuresses, and hired guns. There are cameo appearances by Nikola Tesla, Bela Lugosi, and Groucho Marx.
As an era of certainty comes crashing down around their ears and an unpredictable future commences, these folks are mostly just trying to pursue their lives. Sometimes they manage to catch up; sometimes it's their lives that pursue them.
Meanwhile, the author is up to his usual business. Characters stop what they're doing to sing what are for the most part stupid songs. Strange sexual practices take place. Obscure languages are spoken, not always idiomatically. Contrary-to-the-fact occurrences occur. If it is not the world, it is what the world might be with a minor adjustment or two. According to some, this is one of the main purposes of fiction.
Let the reader decide, let the reader beware. Good luck.
--Thomas Pynchon
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/159420120X/sr=1-8/qid=1152975017/ref=sr_1_8/002-4788346-4228062?redirect=true&ie=UTF8&s=books
Saturday, July 15, 2006
The Bigger Shifts…
Weblogg-ed » The Bigger Shifts…Deal With It
Educating, informing, censuring? MFPOW had it as policy that children need to be exposed to technology, including the internet, at libraries, in order to help bridge the digital divide. It did and does employ filters, and has required internet safety programs in its after school program for years. Now I work in a system that requires that parents sign, in person, a permission form for their child to access the Internet at the library. Otherwise, they can't get on, except through the catalog PCs which have unballyhooed links to susbscription databases.
Let's face it, almost all employment these days requires some computer skills. Unless you want to be a maid or janitor, and probably not even them for that much longer. So if we want kids to grow up employable, making more than minimum wage, we'd better do something somewhere.
But, what I was really thinking about when I read this post is the dress code for prepubescent girls in my library's corner of God's green acre. These children that must be protected at all costs from neopets can come in to my library unescorted wearing spaghetti-strap tanks or tube tops and the shortest of short skirts and shorts imaginable with platform wedgies. We are talking about 8, 9, 10 year olds. I feel like they are putting up billboards to attract pedophiles. The teens I can somehow handle, though sometimes I do stare at their come-hither "outfits". But the intense sexualization of the younger girls makes me crazy. It reminds me of the first time I saw a Black Muslim mother in Philadelphia pushing a stroller with a veiled five-year old daughter in it. I just about freaked. School girls in Saudi Arabia, the home of Wahhabism, don't cover their hair or wear an abaya, because that would be to sexualize them. Actually, I just found an article from the Arab News where it seems that has changed in Saudi in the last ten years, and the writer seems as puzzled as I am.
Well, I still don't get it. I understand parents being concerned about MySpace. I still read my daughter's LiveJournal page regularly, not out of fear, but for news--more rliable than phone calls. When my daughter mentioned she had a facebook account, I was curious to see it. Turned out, I needed a facebook account just to see it. So I got one. Now I am complaining about being the only person above 35 in my school's network. Getting old is getting painfully obvious. Big sigh. OK, call me old, but make your little girls wear some clothes to the library! Then I won't question the stupidity of censoring what they can see and read (oh no, we subscribe to Cosmo! they don't need an Internet Access card to read that toxic sludge?), but not what they wear, maybe.
Educating, informing, censuring? MFPOW had it as policy that children need to be exposed to technology, including the internet, at libraries, in order to help bridge the digital divide. It did and does employ filters, and has required internet safety programs in its after school program for years. Now I work in a system that requires that parents sign, in person, a permission form for their child to access the Internet at the library. Otherwise, they can't get on, except through the catalog PCs which have unballyhooed links to susbscription databases.
Let's face it, almost all employment these days requires some computer skills. Unless you want to be a maid or janitor, and probably not even them for that much longer. So if we want kids to grow up employable, making more than minimum wage, we'd better do something somewhere.
But, what I was really thinking about when I read this post is the dress code for prepubescent girls in my library's corner of God's green acre. These children that must be protected at all costs from neopets can come in to my library unescorted wearing spaghetti-strap tanks or tube tops and the shortest of short skirts and shorts imaginable with platform wedgies. We are talking about 8, 9, 10 year olds. I feel like they are putting up billboards to attract pedophiles. The teens I can somehow handle, though sometimes I do stare at their come-hither "outfits". But the intense sexualization of the younger girls makes me crazy. It reminds me of the first time I saw a Black Muslim mother in Philadelphia pushing a stroller with a veiled five-year old daughter in it. I just about freaked. School girls in Saudi Arabia, the home of Wahhabism, don't cover their hair or wear an abaya, because that would be to sexualize them. Actually, I just found an article from the Arab News where it seems that has changed in Saudi in the last ten years, and the writer seems as puzzled as I am.
Well, I still don't get it. I understand parents being concerned about MySpace. I still read my daughter's LiveJournal page regularly, not out of fear, but for news--more rliable than phone calls. When my daughter mentioned she had a facebook account, I was curious to see it. Turned out, I needed a facebook account just to see it. So I got one. Now I am complaining about being the only person above 35 in my school's network. Getting old is getting painfully obvious. Big sigh. OK, call me old, but make your little girls wear some clothes to the library! Then I won't question the stupidity of censoring what they can see and read (oh no, we subscribe to Cosmo! they don't need an Internet Access card to read that toxic sludge?), but not what they wear, maybe.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Tangled in a spider web
A customer found a big sticky web in our children's room today. Not in a dim, dark corner, but in the aisle between juvenile fiction A-C and Folklore, Poetry and Jokes (398, 811, 818, etc.), near the fire exit. It turns out this is a particular concern, because it is consistent with the M.O. of a black widow spider, which is common to our area. Who knew? No spider could be found. We destroyed the web and crossed our fingers. No one in California has died from a black widow spider bite in over ten years. How comforting Google can be.
Extremely tangentially: Google has crawled LKNOLA. I discovered it this afternoon when I was polishing one of the session posts for consumption via MPOW's intranet. I searched on a phrase to check I had one of Chris Anderson's stats right. Fourth hit from the top, LKNOLA, which did nothing for my confidence in the stat. However it did quite surprise me. I remember not too long ago, I had to submit forms and beg and plead to get a search engine to glance at a site I had created. This was not for vanity; these were page
s I created for MFPOW. Even four years ago, this represented a substantial challenge. Of course, part of my shock was being on the first page of results. PageRank used to really foil me. But in the case of the particular phrase I searched on today, there just weren't that many links. But I still walked around in a bit of a daze that Google had crawled LKNOLA. I was happily thinking it was a one-off thing that only the truly dedicated among my staff and Bcubed readers would ever happen upon. More of my naivete, I suppose. Create any content, no matter how vapid, vacuous, or tangential, and it will live forever, or until?
Extremely tangentially: Google has crawled LKNOLA. I discovered it this afternoon when I was polishing one of the session posts for consumption via MPOW's intranet. I searched on a phrase to check I had one of Chris Anderson's stats right. Fourth hit from the top, LKNOLA, which did nothing for my confidence in the stat. However it did quite surprise me. I remember not too long ago, I had to submit forms and beg and plead to get a search engine to glance at a site I had created. This was not for vanity; these were page
s I created for MFPOW. Even four years ago, this represented a substantial challenge. Of course, part of my shock was being on the first page of results. PageRank used to really foil me. But in the case of the particular phrase I searched on today, there just weren't that many links. But I still walked around in a bit of a daze that Google had crawled LKNOLA. I was happily thinking it was a one-off thing that only the truly dedicated among my staff and Bcubed readers would ever happen upon. More of my naivete, I suppose. Create any content, no matter how vapid, vacuous, or tangential, and it will live forever, or until?
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Stars and jars
Well, the book I took with me to the MD/ER/UCSD Hillcrest Medical Center last month was My Lucky Star by Joe Keenan. It came across the desk at work, and I said, “Funny, I used to know a Joe Keenan.” Of course, I know Paddy Keenan as well, but I didn't think the two were related ;)
So I flipped the book over to check out the author picture on the inside back cover of the jacket. And lo and behold, it looked like an airbrushed photo of the Joe Keenan I last saw in 1979/80? The bio said Joe is a playwright, lyricist and novelist. This clicked well with my memories of him in a Musical Theater class. Then it said he was a writer-producer for Frasier. Then I googled him and discovered he has also been doing Out of Practice for CBS. Busy dude. Always was high energy. So I had to put a reserve on the book (it was headed elsewhere to fill another reserve). It wound its merry way back to me in June. So I took it along to a doctor’s appointment. Thank god I took a book.
And thank god it was funny. Someone else described it as “pretty, witty, and gay.” I can't get any cleverer than that. Starred review in PW. Jacket blurb from Eric Idle. Jeez. Joe has come a long way from our days together (using the term very loosely as I doubt he remembers moi at all). I thank my lucky star that while I was tied to a hospital bed (by an IV stand), rendered completely sleepless (combination anxiety and steroids), I had excellent company. (Besides the humans that is—the ever-excellent Boyfriend, Ericky, my bestfriend since high school who brilliantly moved to San Diego in May, and my wondrous sister Rufus. But they couldn't stay past 8 p.m.) My Lucky Star gets huge points for keeping my interest and keeping me laughing, though my roommate and the night RN thought my laughter at 3:00 am rather peculiar. But I think it helped keep me sane.
OK. I got home from the hospital. Returned to work and got ready for New Orleans. I decided to hit the Friends of the Library book sale at work for some plane fodder, rather than carry hardcovers on my way to picking up as many Advance Reading Copies as I could carry. I grabbed two relatively new-looking paperbacks. Number one: YouÂ’ve Got Male. I think I made it nine pages the night before we left before I declared it unreadable.
That left Jarhead. Not my usual leisure reading, but I knew it was set in the big sandbox, and who can resist reading about their home town? OK, I was not riveted—which explains why it took me so long to finish it. I seem to have inherited the antipathy of my father (WWII era USN CPO) for the Marines. My first reaction to SwoffordÂ’s complaints was to say, “You signed up, dude.” Which is exactly whay he said himself.
I am the daughter of two veterans and the granddaughter of two veterans. According to undocumented family history, someone in my gene pool served in the Civil War, and someone else in the American Revolution. Yeah, I am purportedly eligible for the DAR. No spitting, please.
I generally think that anyone who enlists is crazy. This might be from watching the Vietnam “conflict” on the TV from under the kitchen table—a safe place to be terrified as a small child. Maybe it was the friend who enlisted after high school with the goal of becoming a nurse and ended up ordering office supplies. I do know people who were grateful for the military’s role in their lives. Reagan era warriors who never saw a shred of conflict, but got three squares and a regular check. A kid who didnÂ’t actually have a home (foster home even at that point). A guy whose family shunned him. But in both those cases, “don’t ask, don’t tell” probably was not the easiest policy to live. But I digress.
There are definitely plenty of negative reviews of Jarhead. I laughed when I saw the one on WorldCat, merely because of course itÂ’s by KGS. I am amused because Free Range was my introduction to all things bloggy, and because I almost never find reader reviews on Open Worldcat.
I am not unhappy I read Jarhead. I think I need to stick a toe in different waters occasionally. All-male sniper platoons qualify. Plus I could almost feel the sand. My horror at the seven-mile belly slither have beenhe desert may havereeen deeper than the average readers, because fear and caution of that desert and ingrained (pardon) in me. The scenes of desecrating dead Iraqi corpses was not as shocking for me. At least they were dead.
“I am entitled to despairfurtherthe likelihood of futher atrocities. Indolence and cowardice do not drive me—despair drives me."
SwoffordÂ’s anti-war theme emerges gradually. I think some misread it as an anti-military theme. Are the two the same? Is saying something negative about the military unpatriotic? Is reading the Iliad before a battle near the fertile crescent too precious? Jarhead reports ambivalence, and weighs the then-now transformation of memory carefully. That's a difficult tightrope to walk.
Note: Please forgive any typographical weirdnsss. I am taking a vow never to compos in Word again. I have spent more time cleaning this post than I did writing it, I think. I am at the too tired to care point now.
So I flipped the book over to check out the author picture on the inside back cover of the jacket. And lo and behold, it looked like an airbrushed photo of the Joe Keenan I last saw in 1979/80? The bio said Joe is a playwright, lyricist and novelist. This clicked well with my memories of him in a Musical Theater class. Then it said he was a writer-producer for Frasier. Then I googled him and discovered he has also been doing Out of Practice for CBS. Busy dude. Always was high energy. So I had to put a reserve on the book (it was headed elsewhere to fill another reserve). It wound its merry way back to me in June. So I took it along to a doctor’s appointment. Thank god I took a book.
And thank god it was funny. Someone else described it as “pretty, witty, and gay.” I can't get any cleverer than that. Starred review in PW. Jacket blurb from Eric Idle. Jeez. Joe has come a long way from our days together (using the term very loosely as I doubt he remembers moi at all). I thank my lucky star that while I was tied to a hospital bed (by an IV stand), rendered completely sleepless (combination anxiety and steroids), I had excellent company. (Besides the humans that is—the ever-excellent Boyfriend, Ericky, my bestfriend since high school who brilliantly moved to San Diego in May, and my wondrous sister Rufus. But they couldn't stay past 8 p.m.) My Lucky Star gets huge points for keeping my interest and keeping me laughing, though my roommate and the night RN thought my laughter at 3:00 am rather peculiar. But I think it helped keep me sane.
OK. I got home from the hospital. Returned to work and got ready for New Orleans. I decided to hit the Friends of the Library book sale at work for some plane fodder, rather than carry hardcovers on my way to picking up as many Advance Reading Copies as I could carry. I grabbed two relatively new-looking paperbacks. Number one: YouÂ’ve Got Male. I think I made it nine pages the night before we left before I declared it unreadable.
That left Jarhead. Not my usual leisure reading, but I knew it was set in the big sandbox, and who can resist reading about their home town? OK, I was not riveted—which explains why it took me so long to finish it. I seem to have inherited the antipathy of my father (WWII era USN CPO) for the Marines. My first reaction to SwoffordÂ’s complaints was to say, “You signed up, dude.” Which is exactly whay he said himself.
I am the daughter of two veterans and the granddaughter of two veterans. According to undocumented family history, someone in my gene pool served in the Civil War, and someone else in the American Revolution. Yeah, I am purportedly eligible for the DAR. No spitting, please.
I generally think that anyone who enlists is crazy. This might be from watching the Vietnam “conflict” on the TV from under the kitchen table—a safe place to be terrified as a small child. Maybe it was the friend who enlisted after high school with the goal of becoming a nurse and ended up ordering office supplies. I do know people who were grateful for the military’s role in their lives. Reagan era warriors who never saw a shred of conflict, but got three squares and a regular check. A kid who didnÂ’t actually have a home (foster home even at that point). A guy whose family shunned him. But in both those cases, “don’t ask, don’t tell” probably was not the easiest policy to live. But I digress.
There are definitely plenty of negative reviews of Jarhead. I laughed when I saw the one on WorldCat, merely because of course itÂ’s by KGS. I am amused because Free Range was my introduction to all things bloggy, and because I almost never find reader reviews on Open Worldcat.
I am not unhappy I read Jarhead. I think I need to stick a toe in different waters occasionally. All-male sniper platoons qualify. Plus I could almost feel the sand. My horror at the seven-mile belly slither have beenhe desert may havereeen deeper than the average readers, because fear and caution of that desert and ingrained (pardon) in me. The scenes of desecrating dead Iraqi corpses was not as shocking for me. At least they were dead.
“I am entitled to despairfurtherthe likelihood of futher atrocities. Indolence and cowardice do not drive me—despair drives me."
SwoffordÂ’s anti-war theme emerges gradually. I think some misread it as an anti-military theme. Are the two the same? Is saying something negative about the military unpatriotic? Is reading the Iliad before a battle near the fertile crescent too precious? Jarhead reports ambivalence, and weighs the then-now transformation of memory carefully. That's a difficult tightrope to walk.
Note: Please forgive any typographical weirdnsss. I am taking a vow never to compos in Word again. I have spent more time cleaning this post than I did writing it, I think. I am at the too tired to care point now.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Egrets and regrets
Welcome to my longest post ever (first apology), and yes, more birds, but no pix. I finally got to see an egretling, or at least a juvenile egret. It was sort of one of those nature show things, though. The young egret was apparently injured. Maybe a broken leg? On the lawn near my office. In any case, the other egrets had turned on it, and been pecking at it. All this less than 20 yards from my library, i.e., in full sight of staff and customers. It has been going on for about a week, my staff told me yesterday afternoon.
Earlier in the week, a staff member went to the Parks office next door. They told her that they knew about the bird already, that there was nothing to be done, and they wished people would stop asking about the bird already. Right. Well, another of my staff members went and asked at the Community Center yesterday. They said there was nothing they could do, and gave her a phone number for Project Wildlife. She came back and shared the info with me. I called what turned out to be their hotline. I told them about our feathered friend. They asked suggested we put a box over the bird, and call someone in El Cajon (7 miles away). I still didn't know who or what Project Wildlife was, but they at least seemed to care.
I called the person in El Cajon, and got voicemail. The outgoing message said that if you were calling about Project Wildlife, to leave a message and someone would call back in under one hour. Indeed, about twenty minutes later, someone called back. She said she could assist, but that the bird needed to be transported to the care center in Mission Beach (about 25 miles). She also asked if we had talked to Jeff in the park. I said, “young guy, red hair?” She said no, older man, brought her two herons from Lindo Lake (our lake) earlier in the week. So my staff member went off again to the community center. Turns out there are two Jeffs. The older one is a volunteer. We asked if they could call and give him a message to call the library. Before I left for the day, with the help of our branch family who did not give up, transport to the care center had been arranged for the poor little egret.
I am already thinking of getting a speaker from Project Wildlife in for a program at my library--the biblio connection for this post, at last. I want to connect my library to our incredible setting, besides admiring it from the windows. Plus, I have a stated goal to improve relations between the community center, Parks, and the library. So that just got reinforced big time.
Now for the regrets. (I know, an injured baby bird wasn’t enough?) On Tuesday, I received an email message from a former boss at MFPOW. We had a good relationship, and this was not my first message since moving here. However, this message, to paraphrase, said, “so sorry to hear about your diagnosis.” I was completely astounded. So far, I’d only told one person, let’s call her Dee, connected to MFPOW about the diagnosis. Dee is one of my closest, dearest friends. We talk by phone usually once a week. She is kindness itself from the get-go, and includes the entire planet in her sphere of influence. Maybe the universe.
So my still-addled-by-steroids brain said, Dee must have told someone. I could see that she might need someone to talk to about it. I also quickly “concluded” that Dee told someone we both know who is not evil, but a gossip, and who now works under my former boss. So I worked this all out, and called Dee, to basically accuse her of betraying my confidence. Dee said she hadn’t said anything until someone else came to her (the gossip) and said, with hurt, “why didn’t you tell me?” OK, my theory is shot to pieces, and Dee is very upset. Excellent. Dee and I talked lots more, with me saying “not to worry, love you”, etc., and Dee saying “sorry, maybe I did say something, sorry” and similar circles.
I get off the phone and check Gmail. I had emailed another friend in Philly, Babylon Sister, yesterday morning, saying the news was all over MFPOW, and had she spoken to anyone? I knew her connection to MFPOW was mainly moi, so I didn’t think she was the loose lips. She, in her wisdom, emailed back and said “Hello?!? You put it in your blog, dimwit.” OK, she was too nice to say dimwit. So let me indulge in a little self-excoriation: twit, idiot, horrible person, loca loca loca, stupid fool, egregious example (ok, who saw that coming? X(), with vulgarisms sprinkled on top.
It would be handy to blame the steroids, the insomnia, the “disease.” No, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I still want to curl up and shrivel into ash when I think about accusing Dee of betraying me. I am thinking that there should be a way I can combine hubris with chutzpuh . Chubris, anyone? Nevermind, I already got there, didn't I?
It does sort of beggar the imagination how I did not imagine that anyone at MFPOW would still be following my blather. I knew there were still people out there in the wide, wide world with B-cubed in their aggregators. But they/you were at some kind of remove from real life. I know you exist. Hell, Mock Turtle and I met in real space in New Orleans and had a great time, at least I did. I have been a bit worried that I have been enjoying a manic episode. I am happy, for Pete’s sake. The world is a wonderful place. The Supreme Court ruled against the tribunals at Guantanamo! I need very little sleep. I spent every piece of folding money I took to New Orleans. (Well, that was according to plan.) There’s definitely been some logorrhea, verbal and written. All of this spelled mania to me. I asked the neurologist I saw on Thursday about it. She actually laughed.
So, I remain so sorry. I called Dee back halfway through reading Babylon Sister's message. Dee, of course, forgave me instantly (she already had, because she is proof that humans can be completely good). She was just relieved to know how the info had “leaked.” Oh, those loose, loose lips. Like I never read any of the many postings out there about mixing up real life and confidential info with blogging. I want to officially apologize to the world, and the biblioblogosphere, somehow. It’s weird to say that blogging and blogs have been such a comfort to me this year. But it is true. In the “we read (and write) not to be alone” category.
I may indeed cross the lines of personal and professional again. I can no longer think of the two as so divorced. Part of the reassessment I am engaged in and will no doubt drone on about anon. I librarian (noun form). I library (verb). I librarianly (adverb). (Attending ALA Annual always hypes up my inner biblioness. And from now on, I will succumb to the temptation of parentheticals as much as I want.) I will be more mindful of what I am doing/saying, I think. I will not discount who may or may not reading this. It only just yesterday occurred to me that my staff and boss may easily follow the profile on LKNOLA here. So, hello and welcome to anyone out there from MPOW! (Have I said anything to offend? Probably. But not with that as the goal.) It is a package deal, folks. Me, the chubris, maybe some humility and humus on the side? I will continue the biblioblather. Thanks for reading.
Earlier in the week, a staff member went to the Parks office next door. They told her that they knew about the bird already, that there was nothing to be done, and they wished people would stop asking about the bird already. Right. Well, another of my staff members went and asked at the Community Center yesterday. They said there was nothing they could do, and gave her a phone number for Project Wildlife. She came back and shared the info with me. I called what turned out to be their hotline. I told them about our feathered friend. They asked suggested we put a box over the bird, and call someone in El Cajon (7 miles away). I still didn't know who or what Project Wildlife was, but they at least seemed to care.
I called the person in El Cajon, and got voicemail. The outgoing message said that if you were calling about Project Wildlife, to leave a message and someone would call back in under one hour. Indeed, about twenty minutes later, someone called back. She said she could assist, but that the bird needed to be transported to the care center in Mission Beach (about 25 miles). She also asked if we had talked to Jeff in the park. I said, “young guy, red hair?” She said no, older man, brought her two herons from Lindo Lake (our lake) earlier in the week. So my staff member went off again to the community center. Turns out there are two Jeffs. The older one is a volunteer. We asked if they could call and give him a message to call the library. Before I left for the day, with the help of our branch family who did not give up, transport to the care center had been arranged for the poor little egret.
I am already thinking of getting a speaker from Project Wildlife in for a program at my library--the biblio connection for this post, at last. I want to connect my library to our incredible setting, besides admiring it from the windows. Plus, I have a stated goal to improve relations between the community center, Parks, and the library. So that just got reinforced big time.
Now for the regrets. (I know, an injured baby bird wasn’t enough?) On Tuesday, I received an email message from a former boss at MFPOW. We had a good relationship, and this was not my first message since moving here. However, this message, to paraphrase, said, “so sorry to hear about your diagnosis.” I was completely astounded. So far, I’d only told one person, let’s call her Dee, connected to MFPOW about the diagnosis. Dee is one of my closest, dearest friends. We talk by phone usually once a week. She is kindness itself from the get-go, and includes the entire planet in her sphere of influence. Maybe the universe.
So my still-addled-by-steroids brain said, Dee must have told someone. I could see that she might need someone to talk to about it. I also quickly “concluded” that Dee told someone we both know who is not evil, but a gossip, and who now works under my former boss. So I worked this all out, and called Dee, to basically accuse her of betraying my confidence. Dee said she hadn’t said anything until someone else came to her (the gossip) and said, with hurt, “why didn’t you tell me?” OK, my theory is shot to pieces, and Dee is very upset. Excellent. Dee and I talked lots more, with me saying “not to worry, love you”, etc., and Dee saying “sorry, maybe I did say something, sorry” and similar circles.
I get off the phone and check Gmail. I had emailed another friend in Philly, Babylon Sister, yesterday morning, saying the news was all over MFPOW, and had she spoken to anyone? I knew her connection to MFPOW was mainly moi, so I didn’t think she was the loose lips. She, in her wisdom, emailed back and said “Hello?!? You put it in your blog, dimwit.” OK, she was too nice to say dimwit. So let me indulge in a little self-excoriation: twit, idiot, horrible person, loca loca loca, stupid fool, egregious example (ok, who saw that coming? X(), with vulgarisms sprinkled on top.
It would be handy to blame the steroids, the insomnia, the “disease.” No, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. I still want to curl up and shrivel into ash when I think about accusing Dee of betraying me. I am thinking that there should be a way I can combine hubris with chutzpuh . Chubris, anyone? Nevermind, I already got there, didn't I?
It does sort of beggar the imagination how I did not imagine that anyone at MFPOW would still be following my blather. I knew there were still people out there in the wide, wide world with B-cubed in their aggregators. But they/you were at some kind of remove from real life. I know you exist. Hell, Mock Turtle and I met in real space in New Orleans and had a great time, at least I did. I have been a bit worried that I have been enjoying a manic episode. I am happy, for Pete’s sake. The world is a wonderful place. The Supreme Court ruled against the tribunals at Guantanamo! I need very little sleep. I spent every piece of folding money I took to New Orleans. (Well, that was according to plan.) There’s definitely been some logorrhea, verbal and written. All of this spelled mania to me. I asked the neurologist I saw on Thursday about it. She actually laughed.
So, I remain so sorry. I called Dee back halfway through reading Babylon Sister's message. Dee, of course, forgave me instantly (she already had, because she is proof that humans can be completely good). She was just relieved to know how the info had “leaked.” Oh, those loose, loose lips. Like I never read any of the many postings out there about mixing up real life and confidential info with blogging. I want to officially apologize to the world, and the biblioblogosphere, somehow. It’s weird to say that blogging and blogs have been such a comfort to me this year. But it is true. In the “we read (and write) not to be alone” category.
I may indeed cross the lines of personal and professional again. I can no longer think of the two as so divorced. Part of the reassessment I am engaged in and will no doubt drone on about anon. I librarian (noun form). I library (verb). I librarianly (adverb). (Attending ALA Annual always hypes up my inner biblioness. And from now on, I will succumb to the temptation of parentheticals as much as I want.) I will be more mindful of what I am doing/saying, I think. I will not discount who may or may not reading this. It only just yesterday occurred to me that my staff and boss may easily follow the profile on LKNOLA here. So, hello and welcome to anyone out there from MPOW! (Have I said anything to offend? Probably. But not with that as the goal.) It is a package deal, folks. Me, the chubris, maybe some humility and humus on the side? I will continue the biblioblather. Thanks for reading.
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