Contemplations from a tepid shower

I could write an entire post about tepid showers, but that would be for a different blog. Actually, I thought it was more a poem. Now I'm trying to swing the lens a different way.

About seven weeks ago, I requested a transfer from my happy, beautiful branch to the modified warehouse next to the morgue in a government light-manufacturing park, aka "headquarters". I requested the transfer because even working at twenty hours with a devoted staff, branch librarianship is too much for me. Sob.

Books are heavy. They need to be touched. Heaved, pushed, placed in ordered, ferried about. I love them, but my neck, shoulder, and arm do not. Giving a program requires standing, talking, interacting, walking, ferrying more stuff about. My legs are often tired before I finish the breakfast dishes. I like doing programs.

I like library customers and their questions. Even the one that brought in a list of 24 titles this week, that required researching in the OPAC. the catalog client, the local consortium, a nearby large public library, and last but not least, ILL. Of course, I quite enjoyed the research, but not putting his info in all the different forms.

So this morning, for the first time since 1989, I considered not being a librarian. No, I can't come up with some other skill that will pay me over $20 an hour. Let alone been offered a job doing one. Some dream job where I sit at a desk and lift a phone occasionally. Which is not available in my corner of library land.

I was offered Hobson's choice on Thursday, if that's the right terminology. A) Demote to a position that doesn't exist, doing the same thing I do now at a larger, busier branch, located in a shopping center. This is an unfunded position. B) Demote to a position for which I'm not qualified, essentially web development. My web skills are very rusty. However, I spoke to the supervisor yesterday, having told myself I could learn what she needs. It's a 30-hour position she hopes to fill at the state library conference in a few weeks. She's looking for someone with a portfolio of web work, including podcasts and video casts, XTML, RSS, CSS, Unix, screencasting, Dreamweaver, CMS, webinars, Skype.

I know what all of those are, but I have no portfolio. I'd hire a recent library school graduate in a heart beat over me, if I were her.

Grumble. I have more and better 2.0 experiences than this supervisor, who I think is afraid of interactivity. I have dusty blogs, flickr, twitter, a close relationship with my daughter based on chat and Skype, still some Internet friends who drop a non-email line occasionally. I'm still a member of LITA Blogs, Wikis, and Social Software IG, aka BigWigs. Plus I know some bigwigs! Have met them face-to-face--movers and shakers. But facts are facts, I've done bupkis since I became a branch librarian.

So big f-ing what? On to the third non-option. C) Stay where I am, trying to keep the 40 lbs. of mud in a 20-lb. sack without a mudslide. Then, somehow, my boss will get another 20-hour librarian to serve as co-branch librarian. That doesn't even seem to in the realm of the possible.

Basically, the local government body for which I work has been saving money, i.e., half my salary, for the last five months. They saved almost the whole caboodle the previous four months. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure how that all worked. I get the message the actual library part doesn't have the money for these theoretical 20-hour positions. I get the weird message that "reasonable accomodations" are something that I need to work out. I get that I'm supposed to be involved in discussions, but don't they get to come up with some possible solutions?

What do you think?

Where I'm at: http://catchmydiz.blogspot.com

Not library-related, or even book-related in any way. Pardon me, I need to release some steam. I promise I'll post some thoughts more biblio soon.

Doggerel, to say the least

I shouldn't call you Splotch.
It is mean, and you
Cannot defend yourself
Your name is Spot
Even though my daughter
Calls you "More Than One"
Because you have many
You could be called Spotted
But what confusion that would
Cause when you are spotted
Skulking in the kitchen saying
the "drop it drop it" prayer.
You are my sweet Spot
with a sweet spot on your throat
Where you like to be stroked
Among all the other places
Where I can make you happy
As you make me happy,
All ten pounds of you, a
Lapdog on top of me
All in black and white (fur)
On the couch so swiftly when
I just sat down for a minute
Waiting for caresses or
to play a little game of
Where is your tail?
I call you Spotnik when I
Pick you up in the air and we
Orbit around each other.

Unsubscribe web4lib

I left a listserv, to use an incorrect, dying term. The idea that this unsettles me in 2008 is curious itself. I joined Web4Lib in 1995 or 1996. "The Web4Lib electronic discussion is for the discussion of issues relating to the creation, management, and support of library-based World-Wide Web servers, services, and applications." I never was a member of the prime audience. That's not true. The last time I was prime audience was when I was working on the digital collections at MFPOW around 1997-2001. I learned a lot from w4l then. The discussions were always interesting, and some of the best minds on the many related topics were there. They still are. In the last two years as a branch librarian, I'd let them pile up in my gmail. I'd drop in on threads when I saw familiar names, or really hot topics, or things that seemed really cogent for a branch librarian. That got less and less. I was far removed from that world.

I thought I'd still get some use from w4l when I was appointed to the web services committee at MPOW. One meeting, I attended one meeting. Kerbluie--four months disability. Now I am struggling to filter all the info I can. I've unsubscribed from almost all the email lists I've been on for years. Email just feels like some kind of trap, a way to waste time and energy I can't afford. So I am pulling the plugs. At one point, I considered these messages on w4l to come from personal friends. I even met some members in person, or saw them do presentations. It still feels they are friends that way in some cases. But really, I need to concentrate on the people who are right in front of me.

Now I worry I won't be as "in the know." Was I ever? I'm keeping some of the library press electronic subscriptions. I'm not sure if I'll dabble in some library blogs. It's so easy to over immerse, and very little relates directly to me helping the 45 year old who wants to get an email address right now, but doesn't know how to get from our home page to Google. Or the 40 year old scifi maniac who can't/won't learn to place his own reserves. No, he will have a list of six to eight tomorrow for me to do, and no listserv will help me.

All these years, I have loved web4lib, in that most abstract version of agape. I have not been an active participant ever, but I have followed countless links and arguments. Many of them taught me, or gave me food for thought, and I am grateful. Some gave me good laughs, or good sig files. Some exasperated or made me mad. But that's why it is such a human endeavor, and I have to be thankful for the chance to participate. Saying farewell on the list would seem like I am quit full of myself. I have been the teeniest piece of the fabric, but it is always wonderful to be part of something wondrous, something put together by the free will and labor of a group of people who want to share ideas. So farewell Roy, Thomas, Dan, Karen, Karen, Blake, Gerry, Walt, and all the countless other names that have graced all my various in boxes over the years. This may seem like navel-gazing, or inexplicable nostalgia, but I had to note my transition.

In case you don't GoodRead...

I do not insist you subscribe to GoodReads, but I do love it. It helps the laziness that was setting in. Turns out the thyroid was hypo. I will try not to turn hyper.

It's off to Anaheim, if not Disneyland. No, it's ALA, or ALA Lite, which is what I call my version. I'll be posting my draft session reports at 23 Lakeside Things. Cannot get the link to work. You can Google it just fine. My final posts will go in MPOW's conference reports, also on Blogger. I think they'll be viewable by any--will post when I know.

A Love Match by Barbara Allister

My review

rating: 1 of 5 stars
I think I may be finally cured of regency romances, and this book was the one to do it. I know, what do I expect of a Signet? But really, awful character development--generic would be better. The main character was basically a spoiled ninny with pretty hair and clothes. At least this regency described the clothes a bit, but no really good words. Lots of pelisses, and that was the acme. But a NINNY! The writing was putrid, and the editing rotten. I always keep a little tally of errors--even the best books usually have one. OK, I'm crazy fussy. But this so-called book had one per page! I tortured myself and finished it, unlike countless other pulpies. It was medicine, to get me onto other things, as I should be. Not that I will never read trash again. TG. Now to break it to the Boyfriend to stop combing the donations at HPOW for regencies. I'm on to the Magician's Assistent--wish me well.


View all my reviews.

See, I made a hat. Where there never was a hat.

Apologies to Steven Sondheim, but I've had that particular lyric going through my head for six months. (It's from "Finishing the
Hat", from Sunday in the Park with George.)

In October, my wondrous children's librarian Kelly announced she was expecting a bundle of joy in April. We were all overjoyed. We are kind of baby crazy. We have a
weekly infant story hour that is about as much fun as you can imagine.
It's supposed to be about emergent literacy skills and providing support to parents. We hand out stack of copies of board books and read them for about 15 minutes, then we have fifteen minutes of play, with three bins of age appropriate, fun and interesting toys. I LOVE the clear tubes with feathers and a few marbles inside. Almost silent, slow rattles.

In November, I decided I had to make something homemade for this baby-to-be. I had five months. I decided on crochet. I had access to books and DVDs on crochet, plus a co-worker who mostly knit but did some crochet. So on Thanksgiving weekend, I bought some purple (my favorite color, plus it works for boys or girls) yarn, and tried to learn how to crochet.

Let's say my first attempts were frustrating. And ugly. But I finally got a couple of stitches reasonably down. I realized that a blanket was beyond my skill, scope, or
timeline. So I decided on a hat. It seemed like an easy little project. First off, I couldn't figured out how to start it. I kept looking at different patterns that said "crochet 20 stitches and turn the row." I did not get it. I wanted the hat to be round. One night, I was just messing around, and the stitches just spiraled. I kept going in a circle, and it started looking like a tiny yarmulke. I was thrilled.

At some point, I realized I would need to increase (add stitches) to make the hat wider. I tried to increase every third stitch, but I kept losing count. Me and numbers. Then I had to decrease so it didn't look and function like pancake. Same problem in reverse. But I kept going. The hat developed these puckers and bumps, almost looking like a bunch of grapes. So that became the stated design. My friend Katherine told my she knew how to knit leaves, so we decided to collaborate. At this point, I had been working on the hat for over two months, figuring things out. It was
approaching completion, if slowly. Plus, I had found crochet a soothing hobby.

Then I had an emergency admission to the hospital. After things calmed down, I asked the Boyfriend to bring me my crochet. A label was placed on the dog-proof plastic jar I kept it in. Then it disappeared. I was bereft. Heartbroken. Finally, I decided to start again. Of course, I didn't know how I had started and I had to relearn stitches
, but it was easier. I also was low on yarn. So I unraveled all my practice pieces and made them into balls. Now no one will ever seethose trying trials. wOOt.

The baby is born (a girl, Haley) and the hat is completed. Her mom and dad have decided to move back to Kansas, so I won't see much of her, but the hat will be useful. Of course, I am sad to lose an excellent children's librarian. However, it came as no big surprise. Their family is there, and her husband has portable skills. The only women I have known who have returned to work immediately after the birth of a child are those who must due to financial circumstances. So I will be training another new librarian, if past trends continue. Children's librarians are usually young, right out of school, and gung ho. There's just interview panels (joy) and summer reading to get through.

I'm fairly pleased that I learned something new, mainly from books, at my "advanced" age. I'm also pleased that it is an expression of creativity. Next I need to work out how to use all the other pretty yarn I just could not resist buying. Watch out family and friends--Ihave plenty of time before Christmas, and I'm determined to turn a row!

Does this have anything to do with biblio or blather? I think so. Please, let's keep those difficult 700s shelved in good order, and buy more, including DVDs. Trust me, they circ like crazy.

There is something about creating something that wasn't there before that kick starts the brain. It's worth fostering.

P.S.
It's so sweet to have positive comments from my staff on my blog. You
want me, you really want me. I think I will go against library policy
before we open on Monday, and demand a big group hug!

A sentimental mixed bag

I know I've been a poor excuse for a blogger. I keep waiting for something upbeat to report. I am finally returning to work half-time next Monday, after being out on disability since February. I know it is commonplace in our culture for people to wish they didn't have to work. I think that goes against the librarianly grain. We like our jobs, in the main. It is so not me.

I have felt a keen sense of injustice. I was finally working in a beautiful (if small) facility, with a wonderful staff, and terrific administration. I had some great programs planned. So what happens? Somebody else gets to enjoy it. But I am over my pouting.

I am a little nervous about whether or not I will be of any use. I've been studying the bestseller lists. I've been doing crossword puzzles to sharpen the so-called wits. Do I still know Dewey? What if I have to do a lot of weeding? Can I lift a ton twenty pounds at a time? Then there's the handwriting! I have a left side tremor, and of course, I am left-handed. I can just write clearly enough to make out stuff for myself. The branch calendar will take two people. Will I ean the salary? My boss tells me she will be happy if I just sit and answer the telephone. But I won't. I LIKE to flit about. But I've been resting and napping to the nth degree. We shall see.

I have to put in a squibble about another death. I worry this blog could become my own version of celebrity death watch. But Bo Diddley was a man. I remember seeing him open for the Clash. I also saw him in a weird senior citizens show in Florida with Chuck Berry. He was a giant. When my apartment in NYC was burglarized in the early 80s, I tried to explain to the cops the importance of the LP on the turntable when it was stolen. It was a Chess label of Bo. I've looked for it for years, and never found it. I have most of the songs in Itunes, but I still have the album cover waiting for its mate.

"The old battle..."

I'm pulling some stuff out that I had saved as drafts in the last few months. I am deeply in awe of these women trail blazers. This one I stumbled on because she is from the Boyfriend's hometown. She's on their website. Which led me to the New York State Senate site. I suppose NY is claiming her as their own. I can't quite remember the cataloging rules for nationalities anymore. I'm definitely not sure about states--anybody out there who can help me out? Actually, she deserves recognition from both places.

“All those interested in educational progress owe a debt of gratitude to the late Mrs. Winifred Edgerton Merrill...in the old battle for their higher education, in which she played so notable a part.”

Search the NY Times free archive for the school--sorry, I don't now how to make the PDFs link--grr.. You'll get to this in 1914: GIRLS FIGHT SCHOOL FIRE.; Oaksmere Students Also Dig Engine Out of the Snow.

1922 "America will send forth today on the Aquitania the first contingent of girl track athletes who have ever gone to represent the nation on foreign soil."

Winifred was a great American woman. I'm posting this for my own memory.

I just didn't see...my blind spots

A blind man can see how much I love you, by Amy Bloom

Or maybe I saw too much. I think the title just sucker-punched me. Why does that happen? The NBA and I never do see eye-to-eye. Well, these stories just weren't at all what I needed to read right now. Surgery. Cancer. Incest. Dead children. Lots of unhappiness and regrets. Though there were some interesting relationships and beautiful writing, it never filled my mind the way that Away did. Oh well. On to Ha Jin and A Free Life. Let's see if that's cheerier.

Al-Mamlakah al-'Arabiya al-Sa'udiyah

While searching for a customer for a different title by Laurie Halse Anderson, this record passed by my screen. I went back to look later and saw MPOW owned five copies, none at my agency. So I requested one and received it at my branch in a few days. I was blown away by it. I love Anderson (if that isn't some kind of given. oh, be that way if you must). It's not just Fever 1793. There's Speak, and Twisted, both of which I will recommend to almost any teen girl.

This book is the kind of school report book stuffed with factoids beloved by middle-schoolers with mass assignments. For me, the pictures did it, as much as the informative text, which told me things I didn't know. Of course, human rights get a white wash, as does absolute monarchy. Still, I think I may buy a copy or two while they are available.

Bints gone wild

Girls of Riyadh by Rajaa Alsanea.

As an Arabian-American woman, this novel was of more than a little interest to me. The book is slight, in email epistle format. The author traces the lives of four Riyadhi schoolmates over six years. She manages to combine verses from the Qur’an, popular songs, and classical poetry, with the events in the women's lives. I thought it gave a decent idea of the pressures which shape Saudi women. It was a bit hard for me to tell, as I had "inside" information.

The novel combines classical and colloquial Arabic, and some regionalisms. This is probably invisible to American readers, but I could often feel the change in tones. I think the difference in tones would probably be considered uneven, or undesirable in English, but it is important here. Saudi Arabia was completely using oral tradition just fifty to sixty years ago. Classical Arabic is like Latin--not really spoken except for religious or ceremonial purposes. Most Saudis do not or cannot read Classical Arabic. Colloquial Arabic is very much an organic, growing language that varies greatly by country, region or town. Arabic is rather a portmanteau language, with prefixes and suffixes and special constructs allowing users to build the words they want as they go. Which can make interpretation very difficult.

I was born in al-Hasa, the eastern province of Saudi Arabia. I lived in Jeddah-by-the-sea in the Hejaz or western province as a teenager. Though never treated as a full Saudi (citizenship was never an option), I had some insights into the lives of Saudi women.

My last summer in Saudi Arabia was when I was 21. I could not go anywhere unless accompanied by my father or my brother. I had to cover my hair at all times (if I even took off my head covering in a car, it could cause a huge traffic jam), and wear loose, long dresses or caftans that covered my elbows, ankles, and silhouette. I did not have to wear an abayah the traditional one piece black garment, or the hijab, which covers hair and neck. I did develop strong feelings about the women who had to wear them. In Saudi slang, fully veiled women are referred to as ghosts. That is how they are treated, as well.

That summer, I was befriended by a woman named Ricarda, whose husband was working for the same company as my father. We lived in the same compound (go ahead, you can call me trailer trash). Ricarda had recently married Faiz, a Saudi man. They had both grown up on embassy row in Washington, DC. Ricarda's parents were from Trieste in Yuoslavia. Faiz's family was an old merchant trading family in Jeddah, so even though Faiz's family did not completely approve, they were more open to Ricarda than to an fully American wife. Ricarda and Faiz were married in a Muslim ceremony, and had to agree to spend two years "in kingdom" as the idiom has it. After that , they would be free to return to the US to complete grad school. Ricarda was studying English literature. She and I had a hoard of old book reviews we would pour over by the pool, before settling on a NYT crossword puzzle from a book I'd brought. Trust me, life a a Saudi woman is deeply boring.

Ricarda had to attend lots of family gatherings, which meant she mostly sat with Faiz's female relatives discussing other relatives and gossip. The main topic was matrimonial prospects, for men and women. The concerns about a woman's virtue and modesty were intense. So were lineage, class, and tribe. The matches were discussed and initiated by the older women, and then formalized by the older men. Most marriages were arranged. There was no interplay between unmarried members of either sex allowed in the traditional culture or religion. But everyone watched Egyptian soap operas, and listened to love songs and poetry.

I lived in Jeddah pre-cellphones. At that time, the most scandalous behavior I witnessed was night driving. Groups of young women and men would cruise the shopping malls in the evenings. Then small groups of women would make their way to their cars and drivers (women are not allowed to drive in SA). Some of the young men would follow in their cars, and the groups would drive around in circles in less populated areas, tossing bits of conversation out of slightly open tinted windows. Scandalous, I tell you.

At the same time, some of my father's employees who were not Saudi would do their best to chat me up. I realized early on that those gentlemen were just engaging in belt notching, just like what was so prevalent on my college campus in the states. The pelting with cell phone numbers that Alsanea describes reminds me of the matchbook collecting games played in NYC bars. My girlfriends might receive seven or eight matchbooks with phone numbers written on them, but they wouldn't call any of them, just wait to see if they received any calls from the one or two individuals they had given their correct number. My friends put matchbooks with good numbers in one pocket, and matchbooks with bad numbers in another. It was all a silly courting game.

Before starting this book, I worried it might turn tragic, with an "honor" killing or stoning. Those tragedies are realities in kingdom. Things are changing, albeit slowly, as this book details. The prospects faced by the four upper-class heroines of Girls from Riyadh seemed realistic to me. In the beginning, the girls are filled with the idea of romance and finding their true loves. They take different routes, almost all completely modest, and in keeping with Islam. The most scandalous behavior is talking by cellphone and/or internet to unmarried SA men.

One of the tragedies is the story of Qamra, who enters into an arranged marriage with great hopes and happiness. Shortly after the wedding, they move to Chicago, where Qamra has no family or connections. Her husband is cold and often absent. In time, Qamra learns he has been in love and living with a Filipina woman for years, but his family would not allow him to marry her. They forced him to marry Qamra. Qamra becomes pregnant against his wishes, and he divorces her and sends her back to live with her family in SA.

There are some happy endings, too, though some are a long time coming. I think any Muslim reader would understand the risks these women took searching for their true loves. I am actually a bit in awe of the bravery of the author, who, as far as I can tell is pursuing postgrad studies in endodontics in Chicago

I have to talk about what was for me, one or two of the funniest bits of the book. Firstly, at one point, the narrator says something about men being attracted to the "beautiful" Riyadh accent. My personal prejudices just had to snigger. The broad Saudi accent is somewhat like a southern accent in the US once was--shorthand for stupid. One of my Arab Teaching Assistants in college told me my Al-Hasa accent was the equivalent to deep Mississippi. He thought I should strive for a Lebanese accent, which he thought would sound "more cultured". Guess were he was from :D

Jeddah, with it's greater openness to the west over the centuries, and more relaxed customs and traditions, sounds more cultured to my ear. Plus, the Prophet spoke the Quo'ran in the neighboring cities of Al-Meccah and al-Madinah, which are closed societies. So those dialects/accents might be closer and purer than Riyadh. Riyadh may be the capitol, of government, and home of Wahabism but many people, Saudi and not, consider it provincial. That leads to the second giggle: toward the end of the book, the narrator notes that one of the people responding to and complaining about her emails feels she is purposely saying the men of Riyadh are inferior to the men of the eastern and western provinces. Though I doubt that was the author's intent, but that was always my impression. Plus my own personal regional prejudice. I guess we'll have to wait for The Boys of Saudi Arabia to enlighten us! Maybe someday the upper class will shed some of the old customs and traditions that make women so miserable.

Good things, not maudlin!

A note from one of my fave online friends (actually, we did get to share a face2face meal at ALA Katrina) just made it onto the "good things" that have happened to me today. GoodReads.com definitely is one for the year.

I plan to be one of the biggest boosters of web/lib 2.0 on the planet ad nauseum. It has been so important for me the last few years. I would be stark staring mad without it. (Peanut gallery--comments will be ignored.) If and when my fingers will type better (coming and going with maddening frequency), I will post again! And if typing my crazy long elliptical daft posts gets too hard, voice recognition software can be another hurdle to thud my way over/across/behind.

I started out today a bit maudlin. Picking charities in lieu of--arrant self indulgence. I've been sort of behaving myself since...while cackling with friends while eating Easter candy!

I thought I should put up a bitty post...to remind Blogger who I am, and to tell anyone who wants thanks so much for any good thoughts you can spare. I believe in them even more than my stated creed of Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, and hamentaschen.

Plus, I had to share the photo of the Ocean Beach Librarian skateboarding to work earlier this week. Do I know how to pick my priorities, or what?

LOC 2.0?

"The Working Group envisions a future for bibliographic control that will be collaborative, decentralized, international in scope, and Web-based. The realization of this future will occur in cooperation with the private sector and with the active collaboration of library users. Data will be gathered from multiple sources; change will happen quickly; and bibliographic control will be dynamic, not static."

On top of that LOC now has a flickr account! It must be irony. No, agony. No, sarcasm. Parody? Librariany?

Can it all have actually become cool? No, it must be an aberration...

Library funnies

I really wish I could draw. I wish I had a scanner, too. If I had a scanner, I'd be tempted to draw a couple of webcomics. Since I can't and don't, I need you to use your intelligence and imagination to supply the art for the following:

1. Young library worker comes up to where two middle aged library workers are talking. They all politely exchange greetings. The youngster is wearing killer shoes--pointy toes, short stiletto, two-tone leather. One of the oldsters says, "Nice shoes, B." Youngster says "They really comfortable. My mom says I spend too much on shoes, but these were only $60--that's not bad!" First oldster says "No," looking down at her Birkenstocks, "these were $90." Second oldster looks down at her Mephistos and says "These were $120." Youngster is visibly shocked that oldsters are paying that much for ugly shoes. Second oldster continues, "You have to have comfortable shoes. We're on our feet all day. Besides, it's your money, right? Moms."

2. Two young library workers are chatting in the workroom, while engaged in boring monotonous tasks. I mean skills! A middle-aged librarian is taking her break, reading a book in the nearby break room. The two youngsters are talking about college, which one of them is attending. The other explains that she is going to start taking some distance ed classes, and then after she gets that done, she'll do library school. She says fairly loudly "Once you've got a library degree, you're pretty much golden." Librarian falls off rolling chair laughing.

I hereby have to credit two young library workers who sort of work for me. They don't want their names used, but the give me countless hours of joy.

Since I can't draw, this has turned my brain to scriptwriting. I've been convinced for some time that we need a primetime comedy show set in a public library. It's perfect. Like Scrubs. Recurring characters, clueless administration, flavor of the week. You could have gorgeous young things and crafty old codgers. There could be a romance between a young librarian and an academic librarian. There could be lots of stress because their schedules don't mesh, and he's looking to take a sabbatical next year in Korea...oh the richness, the humor, the folly, all there in technicolor! Now that might change the stereotype. Mind you, I am beginning to enjoy being a dried-up old maid librarian...

New mayor takes his city by the hand | Philadelphia Inquirer | 01/09/2008

New mayor takes his city by the hand | Philadelphia Inquirer | 01/09/2008

My hero, and former favored patron--the person on City Council most likely to call the library and ask for some research--on you name it! And patiently went through the reference interview himself. Called back with more info. Just a dream politician customer. On Library Journal's cover as politician of the year in 2005. Thanks to Mary W. for the heads up.

Happy 2008

My best wishes to one and all for a happy, healthy new year. Dang, I really and truly will be 50 this year, if I make it to September. In any case, my year-in-review site is up. Mosy by if you'd like to see my even sillier side. It is still a work in progress. Best reads of 2007 to come!

Dizzy Lizzy bites the dust

Elizabeth Hardwick, Critic, Novelist and Restless Woman of Letters, Dies at 91

It is extremely disrespectful, to say the least, to refer to Elizabeth Hardwick as a dizzy lizzy, but at least one year or more of Barnard students did call her that. I only ever called her Professor Hardwick, though she was not a full professor. She was an incredible teacher. Sometimes, she was in a tizzy. I can remember a classmate saying she had been drunk in class one day. However, I just thought she was angry, and disappointed in us. I have been called Dizzy Lizzy, but never by a friend, or as an homage to the Beatles.

I didn't know anything about her, really, except she was supposed to be good, if crazy. I guess I never really hung out with many English majors, or indulged in faculty gossip sessions. I mean, they were old people. I took two semesters of creative writing with Elizabeth Hardwick. Her assignments could be vague, and her assessments merciless. I wonder what happened to the young woman in the fall semester class. She wanted to be a journalist, and did not handle criticism well. Nor can I say it was always constructive criticism from Hardwick. Some people cried, including Hardwick. Now, I read the dates, and wonder how hard our classes were for her, in 1978. By that time, I knew who Robert Lowell was, knew when he died. But I did not know her connection to him. Senior year, I read The Armies of the Night, and did not care for it. (Strangely, I can't find a published version of the book in English on OCLC, so I gave in and linked to the Internet "resource", which doesn't seem like much of a resource to me. I must be doing something wrong, but it doesn't matter.)

In any case, I needed to note her passing. I was not a student she took under her wing or mentored. But she was essentially friendly to me, and that was pretty important to me. I am very happy to have the memory of her telling us of her love of the jazz clubs on 57th St. in the 1940s. She and her roommate went almost every night, and saw Billie Holiday every time they could. Hardwick talked about Holiday like she was a religious figure. At that time, I was going down to the punk clubs and bars in the village every chance I could, to see Patti Smith and the Ramones. I completely understood thinking music and musicians were more important than groceries. Writing and poetry, too.

Though I am not as quick or bright as Hardwick (believe me, she was sharp!), I think she did teach me a lot about writing. I am lazy, and take easy ways out. But Hardwick did teach me to edit and hone, even if it doesn't show much in this venue. She didn't completely discourage me, though she was very sad sometimes. I still seek some outlet for creativity, and she gave me some slight affirmation. Of course, my most recent outlets for creativity have been 1) learning to crochet and 2) setting three-quarters of our reference collection free, to circulate, multi-volume sets, local history, et al. Both things have been quite fulfilling.

An open love letter to Jennifer Crusie

Dear Jenny:

I can call you Jenny because a)I have know you since years B.D. (before my divorce, i.e., 1994). A beautiful young woman I once babysat told me about Getting Rid of Bradley (GRB) in a bar in downtown Watkins Glen, NY I think over Christmas break. My two beautiful grown nieces concurred: I HAD to read it.

Unbeknownst to the bevy of beauties, I had already begun to think of GRD (Getting Rid of Danny). Those of you unfamiliar with the Crusie canon, GRB is about a woman trying to break up with a boyfriend. So it was not that I wanted to kill my then husband; I was a bit worried he wanted to kill me. Turned out it would have been quicker, easier, cheaper, and tidier to have killed him. Or at least have put him in jail. But no, I was a nice woman, and I didn't want my darling, beautiful daughter to have a dad in jail. As it was, in the end, through his decisions, she didn't really have a dad.

So I was one of the many women who have turned to romance literature for fantasy and comfort. I started quite young (8?) on my grandmother's Emily Loring mass market paperbacks. But wait! I haven't gotten past a)!

b) I actually have met Jenny, and shared some laughs (see photo). I attended the Romance Writers of America librarians day in 2002, I think, in Washington DC. I always recommend that any librarian who can get to it should go. So I saw Jenny on a panel, then hung out with her at the cocktail party/literacy fundraiser. It's a treasured memory for me, though I doubt she remembers it. Up until recently, I could saw I owned every title published by Jennifer Crusie. She was one of the few authors I collected. The others are Thomas Pynchon, Sheri S. Tepper, and William Gibson--books I can reread, happily.

I was not at all pleased with Don't Look Down I didn't think I'd read another Crusie/Mayer collaboration. But once again, the cover caught my eye, and I needed something that wasn't a challenge. When I started it, the Boyfriend and I had a discussion of how Jenny was cheapening her brand (a favorite topic with us--think Harry & David corn chips or Old Navy outlet). He accused Jenny of just phoning it in. I did not think that was the case, but I worried that in reaching for a larger, different audience, she'd lost what made her fabulous. Well, the first couple of chapters were to slog, but then Agnes started cooking her sumptuous breakfasts and trying to write her food column. I started laughing. Then I marked pages. I tried to memorize some of Doyle's curses on Brenda. ("Call on the devil to save you, you limb of satan. God couldn't see you if he tried, you black-hearted whore.") I worried about the flamingos, the wedding dress, you name it.

Contrived and crazy. Anger management. The mafia goes Southern. More plots and dead bodies everywhere, plus of course, assassins. And guns. Chase scenes. Government-sanctioned killings--I didn't think we did that. It was a perfect companion for one of my bouts with insomnia. I did follow up with a good breakfast, though not one of Agnes level.

Jenny, forgive me for anything bad I have even considered. I'm so happy to have you in my life. I'll end with one more quote. "the Cranky Agnes Theory of Holiday Cooking can be summed up in two words: More Gravy."

I am not a stripper AND/OR the Annoyed Librarian

Library 2.0 owes it all to a stripper. | LISNews

I may be the last to jump on a bandwagon, but not the least...

Nonlibrarians (and I know you are out there), just ignore this post. And thanks for reading...

Paycheck to paycheck to pillar to post

Paycheck to Paycheck - Librarian

You know my favorite librarian joke? What's the difference between a librarian and a large pizza? A large pizza can feed a family of four. OK, it's an old joke, and one teen can eat a large pizza. But this graph from to Center on Housing Policy makes it clear that even two-librarian income families (working full time) can barely afford a house payment in most of the USA.

Note: "The annual income needed to qualify for a mortgage was calculated using the average prevailing interest rate, assumes a 10 percent downpayment (sic) and the use of private mortgage insurance, and includes principal, interest, taxes and insurance." I don't know about the entire country, but a less than 20% down payment here pretty much takes your offer off the table.

I know I often say that no one goes into librarianship for the money, fame, or glory. Seeking fame and glory probably would not be good character traits in a good front line librarian. (Another note: I am not saying anything at all here about library directors.) I am not grousing (this once) about the lack of year-end bonuses or over-time. I understand about most public librarians being salaried government employees, though I know many salaried government employees get both bonuses and over-time. But I digress.

I don't know much about the wage figures they use. The latest numbers online at the Bureau of Labor Statistics are:

Salaries of librarians vary according to the individual’s qualifications and the type, size, and location of the library. Librarians with primarily administrative duties often have greater earnings. Median annual earnings of librarians in May 2004 were $45,900. The middle 50 percent earned between $36,980 and $56,960. The lowest 10 percent earned less than $28,930, and the highest 10 percent earned more than $70,200. Median annual earnings in the industries employing the largest numbers of librarians in May 2004 were as follows:
Colleges, universities, and professional schools $47,830
Elementary and secondary schools 47,580
Local government 42,500
Other information services 40,000

The average annual salary for all librarians in the Federal Government in nonsupervisory, supervisory, and managerial positions was $74,630 in 2005.

About three in ten librarians are a member of a union or are covered under a union contract.

You may say, librarians should not live in the expensive metropolitan areas. Are the people there undeserving of public libraries? Oh, they should breed their own independently wealthy librarians! You may say that public librarians who want to live in expensive areas should just take a vow of poverty. I didn't know we took holy orders. I do know Episcopal priests get housing allowances synched to local markets. I know that some jurisdictions and programs give breaks to firefighters, police, and teachers. I have yet to hear of one for librarians.

I'm not poor. But I am experiencing some schadenfreude over the housing market. I don't want people to lose their homes due to foreclosure, but I would like to see housing prices "correct" to the point where I can afford something with two bedrooms. Of course, I think the Southern California market is going to go through the roof again in the wake of the fires. Good old supply and demand.

I feel terrible when I think of all the people I have encouraged to be public librarians. I still think it's a great job. I guess it's a great job if it's not the primary income in a household. I have little hope of this changing. ALA has rachetted up their PR and advocacy immensely in the last ten years. I think it has barely registered a ripple when it comes to impacting wages. I have to believe it is not because the work is not valued--the constant kudos are one of the great benefits.

Here I am, preaching to the choir, which won't change anything, either. But when I see these kinds of charts, I just have to mount my little hobbyhorse once again. In part, just to say "Look; I'm not crazy." But I have no answers.

On biblio, another note. I've started using GoodReads more for my lists of read and unread. No MARC records, but the other functionality is nice. Plus the friending thing is nice--I'm really enjoying MockTurtle's updates. I also put my mini-review of Ten Days in the Hills there. I think it will do for my shorter rants. Another experiment.