Back to my usual bullet-points. The weekend seemed very short!
> I met several fascinating men this weekend, at a time when I should have been doing the opposite. Why does that happen? Why is it when one is deliberately not looking, interesting people crawl out of the woodwork and insert themselves into one's consciousness? It's not fair.
> Homemade egg rolls = fantastic! Without giving too many details, I wasn't able to enjoy them to the extent that I would have liked due to unexpected (well, not entirely unexpected, but certainly unappreciated) discomforts. And I've never been a wild, whole-hog snarfer of egg rolls in general. But these things were truly wonderful and I'm looking forward to the leftovers. (Rolled, not yet fried. Smart, eh? Thanks, Lori!)
> I need a spring jacket, somewhere between my big, thick wool with toggle buttons monster and my cute Polartec deal that is great for use with sweats or shorts but too schleppy with anything else. Basically, I need a warm-weather version of my grown-up winter coat for non-winter wear. I'm thinking of one of the new man-made suede-like fabrics, perhaps in a tan or beige. I need the Fab Five! (Or $5000 from Clinton and Stacy, although I'm not willing to give up all of my current clothes for that honor.)
> Topics to not discuss at a party until you're damned sure you're on the same page with everybody present: religion, politics, constitutional amendments, and home-schooling. It sucks to put your foot in it, particularly when you very much respect the opinion of the person with whom you're speaking.
> Last week was the work week from hell and had certain non-work aspects that were also hellish. However, it also provided me with some examples of (gasp) ways in which my life is remarkably good. I shall elaborate:
+ I really, really love what I do. Clarification: I love cataloging, and I love collection development in every regard. Cataloging is an outlet for whatever perfectionism and organization I have. It's an intellectual puzzle. Yes, I understand that I don't work for the Library of Congress. I realize that extending call numbers 12 digits past the decimal point is meaningless and irritating and in many cases even realistically pointless. But I also love the specificity - there is really, truly a place for everything in the world as understood in those four green and black books. And I understand it. I don't know it all by heart, but given enough time (which I have), I can figure it out. That's damned cool.
And collection development is really child's play. Fun time. Particularly selection, and then particularly fiction. But all of it, really. Acquisitions. Unpacking the damned boxes, even. Dealing with in-kind donations and monetary gifts. Budgeting and planning. It's an outlet for my creativity and flexibility. It requires an ability to prioritize not only time and money but also theoretical resources - have we ordered "enough" medical books this year? when we weeded the 800s, did we replace the screenplay-writing items? do we have sufficient funds left to get the new, bestselling but expensive (and not likely to circulate wildly beyond the first 3 months) Blah Blah by Mr. Blah?
+ The aspects of my job that I don't love are not terrible. Even processing, about which I've complained too much, isn't so bad. Now that I've become quite adept at it (as any idiot would with this much practice), it's an opportunity to let my fingers work while my brain can do other things. I can mull over a sticky area of thesis, or I can sing along with whatever's on the CD player, or I can have a conversation with coworker T. Or all of the above, while at the same time Vista-foiling paperbacks at the rate of one every five minutes. (Down from the original 20 minutes, 2 months ago.) It is, ironically, an outlet for both my perfectionism (lining up edges and pushing out every single bubble) and my creativity (fitting 18 cm paperbacks into 12" Vista-foil sideways rather than using 10" foil and wasting an inch and a half or more). Who would have thought?
+ I've discovered something amazing through the thesis editing process. My last draft of my thesis - the one that I'd thought was my final draft, until I got the "ahistorical" message and was sent back to the drawing board - was flabby and weak. It's a hell of a lot better now. I'm still bitter that my advisor was such a pussy about letting me know about it (i.e. not telling me until I'd taken a day off, I'd driven to Michigan, and shown up in the department office hat in hand expecting to turn the fucking thing in to the grad school so I could goddamned graduate in December). But it's a lot better now.
+ My parents are a wonderful pair of people. If I could pick two people out of the whole universe of potential moms and dads for parents, it would be them. They didn't give me everything I wanted when I was a little kid, or god knows when I was a teenager and wanted everything, but they somehow managed to give me what mattered. Dad would say, "A sense of humor and a clue." Mom would just laugh and look a little misty. Since they'll never read this, it doesn't really matter how delicately I put it: I love them to pieces.
+ People can really surprise you. Case in point: there's someone with whom I work who I've always thought was pretty wretched. I never questioned my opinion that this person (Q) was horrid. I've talked with others about Q, and they've agreed. It's been a frequent topic of conversation: Q's horrible personality; taste in clothing, hair, etc.; Q's demanding attitude, and so on. Frankly, there has been way too much time and space given to the situation. So something happened about 10 days ago that made me question for the first time whether Q is really all that bad. In fact, it was as if the scales had been lifted from my eyes. Q isn't that bad. In fact, Q is pretty damned good. A good friend, a decent person, and even - gasp - skilled and talented at Q's job. So why did I participate in the Q-ripping? Was it because I lacked the self-esteem to disagree? Nah. It was because I'd never even stopped to think about it before. I let the group make my analysis for me. And when I actually applied my brain and conscience to it, I realized that Q has never given me a reason to believe the talk. I shouldn't have. It's made me treat Q differently and I'm glad of it.
Voila. Will this week be any better?
2.29.2004
2.27.2004
Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!
The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Fifth Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test
My willingness to include this certainly says something about my sanity or lack thereof:
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
| Level | Score |
|---|---|
| Purgatory (Repenting Believers) | Very Low |
| Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers) | Very Low |
| Level 2 (Lustful) | Very High |
| Level 3 (Gluttonous) | Very High |
| Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious) | Very High |
| Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy) | Extreme |
| Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics) | Very High |
| Level 7 (Violent) | Extreme |
| Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers) | Extreme |
| Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous) | High |
Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test
My willingness to include this certainly says something about my sanity or lack thereof:
| Disorder | Rating |
| Paranoid: | Low |
| Schizoid: | Moderate |
| Schizotypal: | High |
| Antisocial: | Moderate |
| Borderline: | Low |
| Histrionic: | Moderate |
| Narcissistic: | High |
| Avoidant: | Moderate |
| Dependent: | Low |
| Obsessive-Compulsive: | Moderate |
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! -- | |
Antiintellectual Babbling
It's time to catch up on all the quiz-taking that I've missed out on in the last couple of weeks. Bear with me!
If this ain't ironical, nothing is:
You're Germany!
You have a really ugly past, one that defies description.
This gives you tremendous guilt, but you've coped with it and flourished
into an awfully good person, considering. You've finally made peace with
yourself, in so many ways, and you've been able to build on that for a bright
and capable future. You've become so enlightened that you're probably
a member of the Green Party, or at least listen to their demands.
Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid
The Cat's a freaking genius!
You're Ulysses! by James Joyce
Most people are convinced that you don't make any sense, but compared to what else you could say, what you're saying now makes tons of sense. What people do understand about you is your vulgarity, which has convinced people that you are at once brilliant and repugnant. Meanwhile you are content to wander around aimlessly, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. What you see is vast, almost limitless, and brings you additional fame. When no one is looking, you dream of being a Greek folk hero.
Take the Book Quiz at the Blue Pyramid.
Erm, perhaps I'm not making myself clear....
The point of this is, I'd imagine, self-evident:
OK, I'm starting to become extremely fucking scared:
Huh:
Yeah, I knew this would happen:
I've done this before and got the identical result. I guess that means it's accurate?!
Take Free Enneagram Personality Test
Take Free Enneagram Personality Test
Time to get my short-haired self back to the editing chair.
If this ain't ironical, nothing is:
You're Germany!
You have a really ugly past, one that defies description.
This gives you tremendous guilt, but you've coped with it and flourished
into an awfully good person, considering. You've finally made peace with
yourself, in so many ways, and you've been able to build on that for a bright
and capable future. You've become so enlightened that you're probably
a member of the Green Party, or at least listen to their demands.
Take the Country Quiz at the Blue Pyramid
The Cat's a freaking genius!
You're Ulysses! by James Joyce
Most people are convinced that you don't make any sense, but compared to what else you could say, what you're saying now makes tons of sense. What people do understand about you is your vulgarity, which has convinced people that you are at once brilliant and repugnant. Meanwhile you are content to wander around aimlessly, taking in the sights and sounds of the city. What you see is vast, almost limitless, and brings you additional fame. When no one is looking, you dream of being a Greek folk hero.
Take the Book Quiz at the Blue Pyramid.
Erm, perhaps I'm not making myself clear....
| Which British Literary Period are you? Restoration 1660-1785--Pope, Swift, Johnson. Times they are a changing. You're very cynical and you like looking out for the little guys. You have a sense of humor a lot of people just don't get. |
| Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests. |
The point of this is, I'd imagine, self-evident:
| How insane are you? Weirdo With a lot of help and a great deal of counseling sessions, it just might be possible to turn you into a normal respectable human being. You're not really dangerous, but you are certainly a wacko. |
| Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests. |
OK, I'm starting to become extremely fucking scared:
Which stereotypical nationality are you? Stereotypical German Man You go on holiday. You have a great time. You wake up quite early to sit by the pool, but all the chairs have towels on them already. This is the German's doing! Beer drinking, sausage eating, green lederhosen wearing. And they get the best poolside seats! Bastards! |
| Click Here to Take This Quiz Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests. |
Huh:
Yeah, I knew this would happen:
I've done this before and got the identical result. I guess that means it's accurate?!
Conscious self
|
Overall self
|
 |  |
Enneagram Test Results
Your Unconscious-Overall type is Omni |
Time to get my short-haired self back to the editing chair.
2.26.2004
Poems & Quotations that Remind Me of People From My Past
• Stephen McCauley, in True Enough: "'If you can't have the person you love, you might as well take the booby prize and have the person who's in love with you.'": Andrew. We were each, at various times in high school, the booby prize. On one notable occasion when I was incomprehensibly intoxicated I stayed at his house (I'd been visiting a friend in Mpls and she ditched me for a guy - ! - and Andrew was kind enough to let me crash at his place), I was passing out on his bed (he slept on the couch) and before I'd let him leave the bedroom I tearfully moaned, "You're the shell on my egg!" What a nightmare of a memory.
• Elizabeth Berg, in Never Change: "'I hate it when this happens. I hate it when you say something wrong, and suddenly you're in this hole you can't get out of. And everything you say to try to convince someone of the truth just makes you sound like more of a liar.'" Andy. My first manager from the test prep place, one of the best friends I could ever hope to have. Somewhere along the line I lost control of things and I don't know if I'll ever manage to make sense of them again. I miss him more than I could ever explain.
• Cathy Coote, in Innocents: "I felt I owned the big hand I held, the big body to which it was attached, the rough cheeks which needed shaving every day, the deep voice. The strength of your desire made you mine." This one is both sad and funny: Jim-the-child-molester. When I worked at IGA and was 17, there was a guy working there named Jim. He was very intense and always looked at me (just me?) in a way that seemed somehow more 'intrusive' than other people could look. He asked me out one day, seemingly out of the blue. One night we were at the walk-up apartment that he shared with another guy, Kurt, whom I'd known forever and who seemed uncomfortable with my presence but who Jim didn't seem to want me to be around. We were talking about something totally innocent - graduation, maybe? - and I said I would graduate in '88. He said he'd graduated in '78. I asked how old he was and he said, "27". "YOU'RE 27?!" "Yes." "What would my parents say? What would your parents say if they knew that you were dating a 17-year-old?" Because he knew, you see, how old I was, all along. "My parents don't have anything to say about it; I'm an adult and make my own choices." While he made that speech, I was stalking across the room and twisting the locks - the deadbolts and the doorknob - to make my dramatic exit. Only I didn't know the combination to which locks were open and which weren't, so I was stuck. He had to let me out. But I left, and I was disgusted, and I never went out with him again. And I know that I wasn't the last 17-ish girl he dated - eeeeew.
• Joan Silber, in Lucky Us, p. 122: "I had never been secretive before, but my double life felt natural to me. I had a hidden existence anyway, didn't I...." BJP. Some secrets have to remain secret. But this, too: John Bossy, in Christianity in the West, 1400-1700 (I know, that's weird): "... adultery [is] not a case of the ambiguities of love, but a particularly nasty form of theft." And this: Marcus Fabius Quintilianus (c. 35-c. 100): "A liar should have a good memory."
• Elizabeth Evans, in 'A New Life,' in Suicide's Girlfriend, p. 114: "I thought about that a lot in the years after, how the littlest thing could make all the difference, turning your head this way instead of that at one moment in your life could decide who you married or whether you lost control on a curve and so on." Blake. My first real boyfriend, if you think of 'real' in the sense of...well, that way. I was driving to (my neighborhood) from the Valley with Joel (Andrew's brother) on a sunny March - April? - day. Right after school, my senior year. And as we crested a hill and came around a curve, there was a vision on a ten-speed in front of us. I nearly swerved into the bluff when my lower jaw fell off my face. "Who is that?!" "That's Blake." It was obviously meant to be; we stopped and talked with him then. Joel introduced me, which in retrospect is surprising since they didn't like each other at all. I ran into Blake at the mall that night and we made plans to go to a movie that weekend. The next night we ran into each other again. Neither time did we have any prior knowledge of the other's presence before arriving. Our relationship made me very happy. He was grounded from almost the first night. I lost my head over him, and several friends, and neglected to go to my senior prom. All because Joel and I happened to be on that one weird country road (where we almost never were) that day (at a time of day when we were almost never out driving), and Joel agreed to introduce me to someone who he didn't think was good enough for me. Meant to be.
• John Burnham Schwartz, in Claire Marvel, p. 301: "The only good thing about your not being here is you can't leave." I can't explain this yet, but it means something. This too: Jens Christian Grondahl, in Silence in October, p. 237: "What was it about her that made her such a watershed? ... Was it our mutual love of Mark Rothko and Morris Louis, her way of intuiting what I was going to say about them and about everything else we discussed because each of us had thought and felt the same thing? Was it the remarkable, finely tuned, undisturbed, and noiseless wavelength where we had found each other so easily, because for years we had transmitted on the same frequency without knowing it?" And this: Robb Forman Dew, in The Evidence Against Her: "He felt a powerful lurch of being suspended briefly in a moment that is perfect." This, too: William Shakespeare:
To me, fair friend, you can never be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still.
And this: Anne Lamott, in Bird by Bird, p. 98: "Sometimes you run into someone, regardless of age or sex, whom you know absolutely to be an independently operating part of the Whole that goes on all the time inside yourself, and the eye-motes go click and you hear the tribal tones of voice resonate, and there it is -- you recognize them."
• Prince, in "Automatic": "I love the way U kiss me, not with your lips, but with your soul" Paul. I think he actually said this to me once at a high school dance. I don't even think I laughed out loud, which is making me laugh out loud while I type this.
• William Shakespeare, in Julius Caesar, Act I, Scene ii, lines 198-210:
I fear him not.
Yet if my name were liable to fear,
I do not know the man I should avoid
So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much,
He is a great observer, and he looks
Quite through the deeds of men. He loves no plays
As thou dost; he hears no music.
Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort
As if he mocked himself and scorned his spirit
That could be moved to smile at anything.
Such men as he be never at heart's ease
Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,
And therefore are they very dangerous.
Mrs. Margaret K, my 10th grade English teacher. She led me, without realizing I was being led, to a head-over-heels adoration of Shakespeare and poetry and the written word in general. I'd always loved to write, but she made me really, really love to read. I'll never forget her, or this.
• Phyllis McGinley - A Choice of Weapons
Sticks and stones are hard on bones.
Aimed with angry art,
Words can sting like anything.
But silence breaks the heart.
My sister.
• Edna St. Vincent Millay:
For warmth alone, for shelter only
From the cold anger of the eyeless wind,
That knows my whereabouts, and mainly
To be at your door when I go down
Is abroad at all tonight in town,
I left my phrase in air, and sinned,
Laying my head against your arm
A moment, and as suddenly
Withdrawing it, and sitting there,
Warmed a little but far from warm,
And the wind still waiting at the foot of the stair,
And much harm done, and the phrase in air
John ("Lamb"). We worked together at IGA. (Sensing a trend, anyone?) We made an error once. Traded friendship for something far less important, in a house in the middle of a parking lot. I wonder where he ended up?
• Walt Whitman: "Have you learned lessons only of those who admired you, and were tender with you, and stood aside for you? Have you not learned great lessons from those who reject you, and brace themselves against you? Or who treat you with contempt, or dispute the passage with you?" Samuel O, former Professor of Intellectual Property (including Copyright, Trademark and Patent), at the law school. While a difficult man, and an extremely demanding professor, he is also one of the best teachers I have ever had. He scared the hell out of me and was really intimidating, but I was rarely more proud than when I earned A's in his classes.
• Lin Yutang: "If you can spend a perfectly useless afternoon in a perfectly useless manner, you have learned how to live." T.O. She can't let herself do useless yet. It's the area of life in which we are the most different.
• Edna St. Vincent Millay:
Well, I have lost you; and I lost you fairly;
In my own way, and with my full consent.
Say what you will, kings in tumbrel rarely
Went to their deaths more proud than this one went.
Some nights of apprehension and hot weeping
I will confess; but that's permitted me;
Day dried my eyes; I was not one for keeping
Rubbed in a cage a wing that would be free.
If I had loved you less or played you slyly
I might have held you for a summer more,
But at the cost of words I value highly,
And no such summer as the one before.
Should I outlive this anguish - and men do -
I shall have only good to say of you.
SP, of "Midnight" by Yaz fame. Same old story. Lines 9-12, particularly.
• Kirk M. Sorenson: "When the horse is dead, get off." Emily. There's a very bad, hilarious story here that I swore I wouldn't tell. It's about Henry. Damn it.
• Edna St. Vincent Millay:
You were, of course, not there.
And I of course wept, remembering where I last had met you,
Yet clawed with desperate nails at the sliding dream, screaming not to lose,
since I cannot forget you.
I felt the hot tears come;
Streaming with useless tears, which make the ears roar and the eyelids swell,
My blind face sought the window-sill
To cry on - frozen mourning melted by sly sleep,
Slapping hard-bought repose with quick successive blows until it whimper and
outright weep
My cat, M. She died when I was 20. It's not as if I could have saved her life, but I had the opportunity to see her one more time and I didn't. Not that I knew I'd never have the chance again, but, I never had the chance again. And I woke up in tears for weeks, desperate for the opportunity to make things right.
• Unknown: I'm sorry you are wiser.
I'm sorry you are taller.
I liked you better foolish.
I liked you better smaller.
Cindy B. She was extremely petty.
• Franklin P. Jones: "Wearing shorts usually reveals nothing about a man so much as his indifference to public opinion." John the philosopher!
• Marlene Dietrich: "It's the friends you can call up at 4:00 AM that matter." And Len Wein: "A true friend is someone who is there for you when he'd rather be anywhere else." J. Funny how you can meet someone in the strangest of ways and know that they're golden. And just hope that they know that you're there, too.
• Unknown: "He who has imagination without learning has wings but no feet." My thesis advisor! He's all wings. Impractical bastard. This, too: James Joyce, in Ulysses: "History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake." Tee hee.
• Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790): "Remember not only to say the right thing in the right place, but far more difficult still, to leave unsaid the wrong thing in the tempting place." and the corollary, T.S. Eliot: "There is no greater treason than to do the right deed for the wrong reason." My Constitutional Law professor, Prof. S, offered an A for the semester to anyone who could identify the source of "that" quotation. I did so the next day. I got an A in the class. Coincidence? I don't think so....
• Sebastian Brant (c. 1458-1521): "The world wants to be deceived." Russ.
• Garrison Keillor, in Lake Wobegon Days: "Some luck lies in not getting what you thought you wanted but getting what you have, which once you have got it you may be smart enough to see is what you would have wanted had you known." T.O. This is perhaps my firmest, fondest wish for her - to be happy first and foremost, and to be fulfilled. The rest is gravy, baby! I'm struggling not to give advice, but maybe Helen Keller can get away with it: "When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us."
• Jenny McPhee, in The Center of Things: "'There's murder in every intelligent woman's heart.'" Brian-the-Army-guy!
• Ann Wadsworth, in Light, Coming Back: "But [she] is gone. She woke me from a life of sleep, and now I discover I have no reason to stay awake." 2:00-Man. Someone who, in a former life, would sneak out of his parents' house (where he was perpetually grounded - no, not Blake - and run across town to where I lived, so he could sneak into my apartment or house (he did this over a period when I lived at 3 different places) and sleep with me. Yup, sleep. Zzzzzzz. Me under the covers, him on top. Me unclothed, him clothed. It was the sweetest thing. But this reminds me of him, too: Alessandra Montrucchio, in Cardiofitness, p. 90: "...what's beautiful isn't moral." Not that I believe the quote - it's more of a reminder of the book.
I hadn't really intended this to go this long. It's an example of how much words and writing mean to me, though. And I've somehow managed to blow an entire evening on it. Editing after work, after my haircut, tomorrow. Dedicated; yeah, right.
I leave you with a thought that will perhaps remind you of someone: "Some people drink from the fountain of knowledge. Others merely gargle."
2.24.2004
Other Stuff
1. How can you love someone and be absolutely furious with them at the same time? And want what's best for them - and know what's best for them - but also want to hit them in the face until they stop talking?
2. I'm indulging myself in the glory of a job offer.
3. I've acquired a new reader. Well, more like I've gotten off my cyber-ass and taken the time to correspond with someone with whom I'd fallen out of touch for too long. Someone who has, over the past 16 years - can it be so long? - meant varying things to me. Classmate, thorn in my side, coworker, topic of conversation, vision of pent-up lust and desire, mutual partygoer, friend, bizarre telephone conversation partner, tormentor with peeled grapes, drinking buddy (ad nauseam), ill-fated boyfriend, could have been lover but..., argument partner, scorn victim, topic of conversation, and then (for the last 10 years, I guess), email correspondent, off and on. More off than on. Through several living arrangements, email addresses, and jobs. When I first met him he was pretty cynical. Maybe even more than I am now. By the time we were pretty much done spending time together, he was a heart attack waiting to happen. Really high stress, important job, eating himself up about everything. So a few days ago I emailed him and apologized for not having written in so long. (It was me who'd gone too long without writing; he's completely innocent on this charge.) Rather than telling me I'm a jerk but he'll forgive me, or something along that line, he said that there's nothing really to apologize for. We live our lives, and we come and go. Then we come back to each other as friends. And for a few moments I looked at the screen wondering, "Who stole his email?" But it came to me that he's been creeping in this direction, gradually, for a while now. He's becoming - not to put too fine a point on it - Zen about things. Whether by design or by accident, it's a good thing. He's not "mellowed". He's the same R, in the sense of being witty and astute and more insightful than maybe I'd prefer sometimes. But he seems more comfortable in his own skin now. What an amazing thing, to see someone on the other end of that transition.
4. Taxes are done. Owe x to the feds, but getting back 2x from the state. Enough to buy another bookcase with the difference.
5. I started reading Book Lust (by Nancy Pearl) the other night after I'd finished editing for the evening. I'm only about 10 pages into it but I already love it. Some people just get the soul of a reader, and she obviously does.
Back to work.
2. I'm indulging myself in the glory of a job offer.
3. I've acquired a new reader. Well, more like I've gotten off my cyber-ass and taken the time to correspond with someone with whom I'd fallen out of touch for too long. Someone who has, over the past 16 years - can it be so long? - meant varying things to me. Classmate, thorn in my side, coworker, topic of conversation, vision of pent-up lust and desire, mutual partygoer, friend, bizarre telephone conversation partner, tormentor with peeled grapes, drinking buddy (ad nauseam), ill-fated boyfriend, could have been lover but..., argument partner, scorn victim, topic of conversation, and then (for the last 10 years, I guess), email correspondent, off and on. More off than on. Through several living arrangements, email addresses, and jobs. When I first met him he was pretty cynical. Maybe even more than I am now. By the time we were pretty much done spending time together, he was a heart attack waiting to happen. Really high stress, important job, eating himself up about everything. So a few days ago I emailed him and apologized for not having written in so long. (It was me who'd gone too long without writing; he's completely innocent on this charge.) Rather than telling me I'm a jerk but he'll forgive me, or something along that line, he said that there's nothing really to apologize for. We live our lives, and we come and go. Then we come back to each other as friends. And for a few moments I looked at the screen wondering, "Who stole his email?" But it came to me that he's been creeping in this direction, gradually, for a while now. He's becoming - not to put too fine a point on it - Zen about things. Whether by design or by accident, it's a good thing. He's not "mellowed". He's the same R, in the sense of being witty and astute and more insightful than maybe I'd prefer sometimes. But he seems more comfortable in his own skin now. What an amazing thing, to see someone on the other end of that transition.
4. Taxes are done. Owe x to the feds, but getting back 2x from the state. Enough to buy another bookcase with the difference.
5. I started reading Book Lust (by Nancy Pearl) the other night after I'd finished editing for the evening. I'm only about 10 pages into it but I already love it. Some people just get the soul of a reader, and she obviously does.
Back to work.
The Unexpected
Well, I'm really, really close to finished with the editing. I mean, really close. Naturally, something happened to fuck it all up. I was online on Saturday night, checking something (I think it was when I was unsure about whether to use commas when referring to months and years, i.e. "January, 1943" - you edit your own work for too long and you forget how to write!) and opened my email. Wasn't expecting anything, but that's when it shows up, right?
A message from my thesis advisor. What the hell?!
For those of you who might be new to this gig, my thesis advisor is not a communicator. No, that's not right. When I was in grad school, we'd often send 15 or 20 messages back and forth (that's back and forth from the smaller town, where he lived/lives, to the city, where I lived) about stuff we'd discussed in class, music we both liked (or that one of us liked and the other thought was utter crap), books, philosophy, religion, Star Trek (lots about ST: TNG), and beyond. We were friends. I'm overemphasizing this because it made what came later seem all the more strange. When I left that state for this one, I thought that our friendship, and his mentoring, would follow me. We remained in contact, somewhat sporadically, off and on for a few years. Every now and then I'd pop up and restart the thesis process and he'd be just as happy to work with me as ever. But when I stopped writing, he'd stop writing. He never initiated anything.
Even when it became clear (did it ever, really, to him?) that it was going to take about 8 years for me to finish the damned thesis.
So I was just working away on the revisions, scrambling to make sense of the committee's less-than-clear instructions, and checked my email. The message from him: "It's the middle of the semester, so the committee's wondering how it's going." Well, that first clause is a direct punch to the face. The second clause is a question. So I answered the question...but not until Sunday evening, when I'd calmed down enough to do so without swearing my fingers to the bone. I explained that chapter 3 was/is more work than expected, and so chapter 5 (directly related in context to chapter 3) is complex, too. But the rest is done. He wrote back almost immediately and was fairly glowing with praise. How wonderful to hear from me, how nice to know that it's going so well, how great that it'll be done soon. Fucker. If he'd written that 6 years ago we wouldn't be in this mess now. Some "advisor", waiting until this point in the process to give me some goddamned feedback.
So I'm not busting my ass to get done anymore. It'll happen, eh? And if it doesn't, HE can help me deal with that. My new best buddy. Other aspects of my life are littered with enough detritus to make the thesis process seem mild by comparison. More about that later.
A message from my thesis advisor. What the hell?!
For those of you who might be new to this gig, my thesis advisor is not a communicator. No, that's not right. When I was in grad school, we'd often send 15 or 20 messages back and forth (that's back and forth from the smaller town, where he lived/lives, to the city, where I lived) about stuff we'd discussed in class, music we both liked (or that one of us liked and the other thought was utter crap), books, philosophy, religion, Star Trek (lots about ST: TNG), and beyond. We were friends. I'm overemphasizing this because it made what came later seem all the more strange. When I left that state for this one, I thought that our friendship, and his mentoring, would follow me. We remained in contact, somewhat sporadically, off and on for a few years. Every now and then I'd pop up and restart the thesis process and he'd be just as happy to work with me as ever. But when I stopped writing, he'd stop writing. He never initiated anything.
Even when it became clear (did it ever, really, to him?) that it was going to take about 8 years for me to finish the damned thesis.
So I was just working away on the revisions, scrambling to make sense of the committee's less-than-clear instructions, and checked my email. The message from him: "It's the middle of the semester, so the committee's wondering how it's going." Well, that first clause is a direct punch to the face. The second clause is a question. So I answered the question...but not until Sunday evening, when I'd calmed down enough to do so without swearing my fingers to the bone. I explained that chapter 3 was/is more work than expected, and so chapter 5 (directly related in context to chapter 3) is complex, too. But the rest is done. He wrote back almost immediately and was fairly glowing with praise. How wonderful to hear from me, how nice to know that it's going so well, how great that it'll be done soon. Fucker. If he'd written that 6 years ago we wouldn't be in this mess now. Some "advisor", waiting until this point in the process to give me some goddamned feedback.
So I'm not busting my ass to get done anymore. It'll happen, eh? And if it doesn't, HE can help me deal with that. My new best buddy. Other aspects of my life are littered with enough detritus to make the thesis process seem mild by comparison. More about that later.
2.21.2004
Crunch Time
Not sure if anyone noticed, but the "Thesis Status" indicator on the sidebar is gone. I decided it was causing me too much stress to look at it when I updated other links and tweaked the template. I've been slogging through the editing process - and hating every minute of it - but it's not going well. I have to finish it by Wednesday. Here's my week so far:
Monday: work 8:30 (or so) to 5:00
Tuesday: dentist at 8:10, work from 9:00 to 5:30 (or whenever I get there until 8.5 hours later)
Wednesday: work from 8:00 (if I can manage it) until my parents arrive around noon. Lunch at the Coffee Gourmet. They were planning to come back to my house afterward and wait until I get home from work, but how lame is that?! I'll just take off when they arrive. I think we'll have the inevitable "Could you please start paying back the money that you owe us before we want to retire in December?" during the afternoon.
Thursday: breakfast at Egg Haven, the new restaurant that has bacon waffles - oh my god, what an amazing concept - with Mom & Dad, and then off to work until...I'm done. At least 8.5 hours later.
Friday: work 8:30 to 5:00, followed by a staff meeting from 5:00 until at least 6:30. We're not having one in March, so this will be a long and painful one. Among the topics are "Why we're no longer going to buy videos" (because "no one" has VCRs anymore) and "Why it's the circulation staff's responsibility to look at donations before they bring them to Technical Services" (because if they bring me one more bag of moldy 1960s encyclopedias or worn paperbacks with garage sale stickers on them, I'll kill them in a slow and painful way, that's why).
Saturday: don't ask.
Sunday: homemade spring rolls & egg rolls at Lori & Geoff's. Heaven!
So, my point was, if I'm going to get my damned thesis done, I need to do it this weekend - tonight and tomorrow. 'Cause the grad school deadline is 15 March, and that's only about a month (CRAP, 3 weeks) away. And I obviously will not have any time to work on it this week. Tomorrow or nothing. Hmm. Maybe I'll take Monday off and work on it then, and mail it on Tuesday on my way to work after the dentist. Nothing like doing all my pain in one day.
All I have to do, really, is go through chapters 4 and 5 for minor errors. That shouldn't take more than an hour total. And then chapter 6, which should maybe take 2 hours, for more serious revision of the "ahistorical" issue, which really was blown quite out of proportion upon further review. (Although since I wasn't overly fond of it in the first place, who am I to complain about having the opportunity to change it?) That just leaves me with chapter 3, with which I've been struggling. I'm supposed to make it "less about Germany and Italy, and more about Spain." Easier said than done, particularly at this juncture. Sigh. No choice now, though.
No rest for the wicked. Y'all may not hear from me until it's done, but then, it'll be done and you probably won't shut me up. Think good thoughts, send positive vibes, and pray if you're of that ilk.
Monday: work 8:30 (or so) to 5:00
Tuesday: dentist at 8:10, work from 9:00 to 5:30 (or whenever I get there until 8.5 hours later)
Wednesday: work from 8:00 (if I can manage it) until my parents arrive around noon. Lunch at the Coffee Gourmet. They were planning to come back to my house afterward and wait until I get home from work, but how lame is that?! I'll just take off when they arrive. I think we'll have the inevitable "Could you please start paying back the money that you owe us before we want to retire in December?" during the afternoon.
Thursday: breakfast at Egg Haven, the new restaurant that has bacon waffles - oh my god, what an amazing concept - with Mom & Dad, and then off to work until...I'm done. At least 8.5 hours later.
Friday: work 8:30 to 5:00, followed by a staff meeting from 5:00 until at least 6:30. We're not having one in March, so this will be a long and painful one. Among the topics are "Why we're no longer going to buy videos" (because "no one" has VCRs anymore) and "Why it's the circulation staff's responsibility to look at donations before they bring them to Technical Services" (because if they bring me one more bag of moldy 1960s encyclopedias or worn paperbacks with garage sale stickers on them, I'll kill them in a slow and painful way, that's why).
Saturday: don't ask.
Sunday: homemade spring rolls & egg rolls at Lori & Geoff's. Heaven!
So, my point was, if I'm going to get my damned thesis done, I need to do it this weekend - tonight and tomorrow. 'Cause the grad school deadline is 15 March, and that's only about a month (CRAP, 3 weeks) away. And I obviously will not have any time to work on it this week. Tomorrow or nothing. Hmm. Maybe I'll take Monday off and work on it then, and mail it on Tuesday on my way to work after the dentist. Nothing like doing all my pain in one day.
All I have to do, really, is go through chapters 4 and 5 for minor errors. That shouldn't take more than an hour total. And then chapter 6, which should maybe take 2 hours, for more serious revision of the "ahistorical" issue, which really was blown quite out of proportion upon further review. (Although since I wasn't overly fond of it in the first place, who am I to complain about having the opportunity to change it?) That just leaves me with chapter 3, with which I've been struggling. I'm supposed to make it "less about Germany and Italy, and more about Spain." Easier said than done, particularly at this juncture. Sigh. No choice now, though.
No rest for the wicked. Y'all may not hear from me until it's done, but then, it'll be done and you probably won't shut me up. Think good thoughts, send positive vibes, and pray if you're of that ilk.
2.20.2004
Book Recommendation
I read the following review while wearing my collection development/selection hat earlier this week at work. Considering some of the blog-and-comment discussions that have been flying recently, it might be of interest to more than just me.
Title: Necessary Dreams : Ambition in Women's Changing Lives
Author: Anna Fels
Available 6 April 2004 from Pantheon Books, $26.00.
From Publishers Weekly: "While a psychiatrist's study of the 'vital role of ambition in women's changing lives' hardly sounds like absorbing reading, this book by Fels, an occasional science writer for the New York Times and other popular media, is surprisingly interesting. After introductory comments about how life has changed for modern women, thanks to increased longevity, birth control and other factors, Fels raises a curious question: why do women still feel anxious or evasive about admitting to having ambitions, but men don't? The answer lies in understanding that ambition has two components: the mastery of some specific skills and the recognition of that mastery by others. While many professions have opened to women in the 20th century, allowing them to learn a variety of skills, Fels says, women have still not found a plethora of sources for recognition, or ways of being valued by others for the special skills they've acquired. Lacking 'sustaining affirmation,' women sometimes settle for mere attention -- sexual attention being the easiest -- or 'recognition by proxy,' reflected glory from the accomplishments of husband or children. Men, on the other hand, Fels finds, have traditionally had a wide range of sources -- colleagues, mentors, friends, family, spouse -- for 'affirming attention.' As Fels examines the mixed messages women get about claiming recognition (especially the taboos on outshining one's husband or appearing less than devoted to child-rearing), women readers may see their own goal problems more clearly. This book isn't sexy, nor is it self-help, but career women -- or anyone raising smart daughters to do big things -- will find a lot within its pages to think about and discuss.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved."
Title: Necessary Dreams : Ambition in Women's Changing Lives
Author: Anna Fels
Available 6 April 2004 from Pantheon Books, $26.00.
From Publishers Weekly: "While a psychiatrist's study of the 'vital role of ambition in women's changing lives' hardly sounds like absorbing reading, this book by Fels, an occasional science writer for the New York Times and other popular media, is surprisingly interesting. After introductory comments about how life has changed for modern women, thanks to increased longevity, birth control and other factors, Fels raises a curious question: why do women still feel anxious or evasive about admitting to having ambitions, but men don't? The answer lies in understanding that ambition has two components: the mastery of some specific skills and the recognition of that mastery by others. While many professions have opened to women in the 20th century, allowing them to learn a variety of skills, Fels says, women have still not found a plethora of sources for recognition, or ways of being valued by others for the special skills they've acquired. Lacking 'sustaining affirmation,' women sometimes settle for mere attention -- sexual attention being the easiest -- or 'recognition by proxy,' reflected glory from the accomplishments of husband or children. Men, on the other hand, Fels finds, have traditionally had a wide range of sources -- colleagues, mentors, friends, family, spouse -- for 'affirming attention.' As Fels examines the mixed messages women get about claiming recognition (especially the taboos on outshining one's husband or appearing less than devoted to child-rearing), women readers may see their own goal problems more clearly. This book isn't sexy, nor is it self-help, but career women -- or anyone raising smart daughters to do big things -- will find a lot within its pages to think about and discuss.
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved."
Awareness vs. Consciousness
I'm not a technophobe. I've used email for 13 years, owned at least one computer for longer than that, and have a more than working knowledge of Macs and PCs. I decided that I wanted to start a blog and later that day, I had one. It's not as if I'm in the woods contemplating my navel, unaware of the world and what it has to offer.
But I was stunned at the results of a Google search of my blog title (plus a little identifying information, thanks to the relatively annoying habit that bloggers have of using "get it all down" in posts, thank you very little). All I'd wanted to know was if the blog itself was indexed anywhere other than at dmoz, which is an open directory that's self-edited (apparently, people who care to do so will add appropriate sites to the index, so that others who use the directory can find them). Both J.R.'s and my blogsites are on the "Reference: Libraries.: Library & Information Science: Weblogs: Personal Weblogs" page. That's not so surprising; J.R. has oodles of links and with lots of library people linking to each other, someone who adds to dmoz is bound to find us. But I was amazed to see how far that's gone. The dmoz site is replicated (well, copied, anyway) all over the place.
So I've been handily pigeon-holed as "Illinois Library Cataloger Amy Writes as Fast as She Can." Ha ha ha. Not quite. The quotation isn't something that I take as instruction, but rather as philosophy. I think writing for pleasure (and this is the only thing that I'm doing that qualifies, right now) requires a certain discipline - if it's in you, get it out so you can generate more.
Here's what that unequivocally means: I am NOT writing as fast as I can. No one would read everything I had to say, if I wrote it all down. Trust me. I guarantee it. I don't even know if blogspot would host it for free anymore.
But now I'm thinking about the purpose, politics, and ethics of blogging. Who really is reading what I'm writing? When I planned this, and when it started, my audience was a finite number of identifiable people. Now it's those people (minus a few who apparently can't be bothered), plus some of their friends, plus some who've found the site through them, plus some who've found the site through dmoz. Maybe some who've stumbled on it from the Blogger homepage and the "recently published blogs" list. Yeah, I'll admit to some desire to make the "Blogs of Note" list on the Blogger homepage. Part of it is ego (duh), but it's also trying to retain a sense of purpose and continuity. I didn't intend this to be a rambling journal of crappy, self-indulgent bullshit that only people who knew me really well would care about, or that I would be terribly embarrassed by if I ever stopped to think about what I was writing. The point (if I should even be making it this overtly) is the writing.
That brings up the politics. Now that I know that it's not just my initially-projected audience that I'm reaching, do I need to think about what I publish before I do so? Should I be more careful about being candid about, e.g., my colleagues at other institutions? I decided right away that if I was in for a penny, I was in for a pound as far as my job goes, so there was no point in being too cute with who was being ripped apart. I've been relatively careful about handing out the address and someone finds it and takes offense, they need to look at themselves and consider the possibility that there could be more than one truth. I do not lie by commission. (Take that for what it's worth.)
But there are more far-reaching issues, like the rant on the degradation of the English language from 14 January. There's no mystery, if one works in this geographic area, about whom I referred. Particularly since I used the full name of one of the culprits. There could be ramifications (albeit not official) if that were discovered by someone in a position of power over me. Now that I'm aware of the possibility (or even probability?), should I excise the name, or alter it to protect myself? Or should I accept the risk? This is an easy one and doesn't require any consultation of my class notes from undergrad Moral Theory. I accept the risk. I wrote that post in the vain hope that someone who knew one of them would read it and bring it to their attention. Maybe it's the anti-bravery, inverse backbone, insensible stubbornness, but I'll stand up for the little (and correct!) guy in this little way. Even if it means that bonehead EK might find out that I think she's a bonehead and a menace to all things good and right about libraries in Ill.
Oh, did I do it again? Oops.
I'm going to try to turn this self-consciousness about Who's Watching Me? into a more general, blase' self-awareness. If that's the only change, it'll have been a positive discovery.
But I was stunned at the results of a Google search of my blog title (plus a little identifying information, thanks to the relatively annoying habit that bloggers have of using "get it all down" in posts, thank you very little). All I'd wanted to know was if the blog itself was indexed anywhere other than at dmoz, which is an open directory that's self-edited (apparently, people who care to do so will add appropriate sites to the index, so that others who use the directory can find them). Both J.R.'s and my blogsites are on the "Reference: Libraries.: Library & Information Science: Weblogs: Personal Weblogs" page. That's not so surprising; J.R. has oodles of links and with lots of library people linking to each other, someone who adds to dmoz is bound to find us. But I was amazed to see how far that's gone. The dmoz site is replicated (well, copied, anyway) all over the place.
So I've been handily pigeon-holed as "Illinois Library Cataloger Amy Writes as Fast as She Can." Ha ha ha. Not quite. The quotation isn't something that I take as instruction, but rather as philosophy. I think writing for pleasure (and this is the only thing that I'm doing that qualifies, right now) requires a certain discipline - if it's in you, get it out so you can generate more.
Here's what that unequivocally means: I am NOT writing as fast as I can. No one would read everything I had to say, if I wrote it all down. Trust me. I guarantee it. I don't even know if blogspot would host it for free anymore.
But now I'm thinking about the purpose, politics, and ethics of blogging. Who really is reading what I'm writing? When I planned this, and when it started, my audience was a finite number of identifiable people. Now it's those people (minus a few who apparently can't be bothered), plus some of their friends, plus some who've found the site through them, plus some who've found the site through dmoz. Maybe some who've stumbled on it from the Blogger homepage and the "recently published blogs" list. Yeah, I'll admit to some desire to make the "Blogs of Note" list on the Blogger homepage. Part of it is ego (duh), but it's also trying to retain a sense of purpose and continuity. I didn't intend this to be a rambling journal of crappy, self-indulgent bullshit that only people who knew me really well would care about, or that I would be terribly embarrassed by if I ever stopped to think about what I was writing. The point (if I should even be making it this overtly) is the writing.
That brings up the politics. Now that I know that it's not just my initially-projected audience that I'm reaching, do I need to think about what I publish before I do so? Should I be more careful about being candid about, e.g., my colleagues at other institutions? I decided right away that if I was in for a penny, I was in for a pound as far as my job goes, so there was no point in being too cute with who was being ripped apart. I've been relatively careful about handing out the address and someone finds it and takes offense, they need to look at themselves and consider the possibility that there could be more than one truth. I do not lie by commission. (Take that for what it's worth.)
But there are more far-reaching issues, like the rant on the degradation of the English language from 14 January. There's no mystery, if one works in this geographic area, about whom I referred. Particularly since I used the full name of one of the culprits. There could be ramifications (albeit not official) if that were discovered by someone in a position of power over me. Now that I'm aware of the possibility (or even probability?), should I excise the name, or alter it to protect myself? Or should I accept the risk? This is an easy one and doesn't require any consultation of my class notes from undergrad Moral Theory. I accept the risk. I wrote that post in the vain hope that someone who knew one of them would read it and bring it to their attention. Maybe it's the anti-bravery, inverse backbone, insensible stubbornness, but I'll stand up for the little (and correct!) guy in this little way. Even if it means that bonehead EK might find out that I think she's a bonehead and a menace to all things good and right about libraries in Ill.
Oh, did I do it again? Oops.
I'm going to try to turn this self-consciousness about Who's Watching Me? into a more general, blase' self-awareness. If that's the only change, it'll have been a positive discovery.
2.19.2004
James, maybe, but not Bill (Joyce, that is)
This seems to be the week for divulging little tidbits of slightly embarrassing information about myself, and tonight's post shall not disappoint. The reason that I was so excited about the idea of a New Zealander reading my blog is that I love European golf. Confused? Not for long.
When I was in grad school (i.e. actually attending classes on campus) I was under a great deal of stress and not dealing with it well at all. I had, for reasons that may perhaps be clear, stopped drinking alcohol and that didn't seem to be helping (although it probably was helping and I didn't realize it). Most of my classes were at night because it is a commuter school (and the MA program is designed primarily for teachers seeking Masters degrees so they can increase their pay - tres academic, eh?), so I'd be home in the morning and afternoon with nothing to do but study and...watch TV. So I'd watch...TV. And what's on TV in the morning that's tolerable? Hmmm. Well, in 1994, that would be the Golf Channel! It was brand-new and extremely cool and telecast the PGA-European Tour events live. For those of you with no international imagination, that equates to around 7:00 AM-10:00 AM Eastern Time. So I'd watch Renton Laidlaw and Peter Oosterhuis do the color commentary and play-by-play for these fascinating, historic golf events at beautiful old courses around Europe (and Asia and Australia, but that's another story). I've always liked watching golf on TV. It's soothing, and if something interesting happens, they'll undoubtedly show it again. And European golf is very "quirky" - they yap a lot with the players and show their wives and girlfriends and stuff. I fondly remember Renton waxing rhapsodic about the potato salad at the venue in Sweden for the Scandinavian Masters.
You might be asking yourself, why would she watch European golf? Who even plays on that tour? Who have I heard of? Well, there are the household names - Jose Maria Olazabal, of course (1994 and 1999 U.S. Masters champion), and Nick Faldo, and Bernhard Langer (who shares my birthday and who is allegedly married to a woman from this small town). And then there are the Europeans who may not be well-known to those in the United States but who are popular in Europe, like Paolo Quirici from Switzerland or Thomas Bjorn of Denmark. But the really interesting ones are the "rest of the world" players - those like Vijay Singh, who come from weird places like Fiji without a golfing tradition, or from really cold places (OK, no good examples) or those from... (aha, here's the connection) New Zealand. And from there hails my favorite golfer of all time, Frank Nobilo. I could blather on about his piratical heritage or his T4 in the Masters or his mysterious back ailment or getting bonked in the head with a golf ball on his honeymoon after his ill-fated (in my opinion) second marriage. But I'll just say this: he's stunning to look at, and he has a sweet swing.
That is why I like the idea of New Zealand, and New Zealanders reading my blog. Some intellectual I am, huh? Tee hee.
When I was in grad school (i.e. actually attending classes on campus) I was under a great deal of stress and not dealing with it well at all. I had, for reasons that may perhaps be clear, stopped drinking alcohol and that didn't seem to be helping (although it probably was helping and I didn't realize it). Most of my classes were at night because it is a commuter school (and the MA program is designed primarily for teachers seeking Masters degrees so they can increase their pay - tres academic, eh?), so I'd be home in the morning and afternoon with nothing to do but study and...watch TV. So I'd watch...TV. And what's on TV in the morning that's tolerable? Hmmm. Well, in 1994, that would be the Golf Channel! It was brand-new and extremely cool and telecast the PGA-European Tour events live. For those of you with no international imagination, that equates to around 7:00 AM-10:00 AM Eastern Time. So I'd watch Renton Laidlaw and Peter Oosterhuis do the color commentary and play-by-play for these fascinating, historic golf events at beautiful old courses around Europe (and Asia and Australia, but that's another story). I've always liked watching golf on TV. It's soothing, and if something interesting happens, they'll undoubtedly show it again. And European golf is very "quirky" - they yap a lot with the players and show their wives and girlfriends and stuff. I fondly remember Renton waxing rhapsodic about the potato salad at the venue in Sweden for the Scandinavian Masters.
You might be asking yourself, why would she watch European golf? Who even plays on that tour? Who have I heard of? Well, there are the household names - Jose Maria Olazabal, of course (1994 and 1999 U.S. Masters champion), and Nick Faldo, and Bernhard Langer (who shares my birthday and who is allegedly married to a woman from this small town). And then there are the Europeans who may not be well-known to those in the United States but who are popular in Europe, like Paolo Quirici from Switzerland or Thomas Bjorn of Denmark. But the really interesting ones are the "rest of the world" players - those like Vijay Singh, who come from weird places like Fiji without a golfing tradition, or from really cold places (OK, no good examples) or those from... (aha, here's the connection) New Zealand. And from there hails my favorite golfer of all time, Frank Nobilo. I could blather on about his piratical heritage or his T4 in the Masters or his mysterious back ailment or getting bonked in the head with a golf ball on his honeymoon after his ill-fated (in my opinion) second marriage. But I'll just say this: he's stunning to look at, and he has a sweet swing.
That is why I like the idea of New Zealand, and New Zealanders reading my blog. Some intellectual I am, huh? Tee hee.
2.18.2004
Questions to Consider
Would you eat a chocolate-flavored product called "String-o-Bean" that provided 100% of the recommended daily allowance of the vitamins and minerals your body needs to be strong and healthy? How about cinnamon-flavored? Pretzel?
Why do some things sound so incredibly funny in your head and then not so funny in print?
Should it matter to me that my blog is being read by people from other countries? Maybe not, but it is, and it does. I find it both hilarious and kind of weird. Not creepy-weird, but cool weird. Like, little-old-me, aw-shucks-ish.
How do I know from whence the blog-readers hail? Click on the little checkmark icon at the bottom of the page. It'll open a new page for nedstatbasic, which is a free counter service. It lists the number of times my blog has been checked since 13 Feb., which is when I set up the counter. It also lists the country of origin for the ISP from which my page was accessed. As of this time, 95.9% of viewers have been from the U.S. 2.1% (3) have been from the UK, 1.4% (2) from New Zealand (that is so amazing), and .7% (1) from the Netherlands.
How did they find me?
What made Greg Maddux sign with the Cubs? Will it make a radical difference to this year's team? Or will having a legitimate pitching star on the staff throw a monkey wrench in the works, when part of the mojo for the last couple of years has been the "uncharted territory" and "lack of expectations" thing?
Will I ever finish my taxes?
Why do some things sound so incredibly funny in your head and then not so funny in print?
Should it matter to me that my blog is being read by people from other countries? Maybe not, but it is, and it does. I find it both hilarious and kind of weird. Not creepy-weird, but cool weird. Like, little-old-me, aw-shucks-ish.
How do I know from whence the blog-readers hail? Click on the little checkmark icon at the bottom of the page. It'll open a new page for nedstatbasic, which is a free counter service. It lists the number of times my blog has been checked since 13 Feb., which is when I set up the counter. It also lists the country of origin for the ISP from which my page was accessed. As of this time, 95.9% of viewers have been from the U.S. 2.1% (3) have been from the UK, 1.4% (2) from New Zealand (that is so amazing), and .7% (1) from the Netherlands.
How did they find me?
What made Greg Maddux sign with the Cubs? Will it make a radical difference to this year's team? Or will having a legitimate pitching star on the staff throw a monkey wrench in the works, when part of the mojo for the last couple of years has been the "uncharted territory" and "lack of expectations" thing?
Will I ever finish my taxes?
Thinking in Phrases, not Sentences
I've always wanted to... write an advice column.
When I was on lunch today (from 2:00-2:30) the library's large meeting room looked like... Barbie/Tonka Hell. (Alternate version: Wal-Mart disgorged its toy aisles from a height of 1000 ft., along with 10 bags of Cheddar Goldfish.)
When in doubt or half asleep, I wear... blue, preferably cornflower. It brings out my eyes, apparently, which are the only positive memory that I have of my maternal grandfather.
An embarrassing thing to admit these days... is that I'm from Minnesota, damn it, so I know it doesn't pay for me to get all worked up about national politics yet; whomever I get attached to will lose anyway. See, e.g., Mondale & Dukakis. I'll wait until the thing heats up on a more country-wide scale, thanks, before I even identify the teams.
The sentences that most effectively rendered me silent... came from Bill of "Marry Me Bill" fame. I broke up with him by taking the easy way out - writing him a letter - immediately before leaving for two weeks in Cocoa Beach, FL. I thought he'd have moved on to some chippy on his own level (ahem) long before I returned. Alas, I was sleeping the night I got back and he broke into the house - into Maureen and Jim's house! - and crept downstairs to the bed where I was sleeping, woke me up by poking my foot and saying, "Aim. Aim. Aim. Aim." I thought it was a very annoying nightmare. It was Bill, and I was awake. Damn it. Once I was truly awake and yelling - albeit whispering - "GET OUT, YOU IDIOT!" he said, "Calm down. Stop talking." I stopped talking, amazed that he sounded so, I don't know, not stupid, I guess. I looked at him. He looked at me. Took a deep breath. Stuttered a bit, then said, all in a rush, "I know you didn't mean to break up with me, you'd been really sick and on penicillin and you were out of your head with that cold, I know we really had something special, I know you didn't mean it so I've decided to let it go this time, I forgive you, we can get back together." You forgive me? Say what?! Yeah, I couldn't say anything. I just gaped at him, and he kissed me on the forehead and left. (I'll bet you're wondering how I managed to finally get rid of him....)
The best band you've never heard of... is Hunters & Collectors.
What I want most right now is... for the processing snafu to be solved.
PROBLEM: There is no one person to do the job of "processing clerk".
POTENTIAL SOLUTIONS:
1. Hire person A or person B, both of whom have applied for the position and have interviews scheduled.
2. Hire person C, who has previously expressed interest in the position but has since expressed reluctance to apply.
3. Screw hiring altogether, cajole the She Who Holds Power into increasing me to full time status, and doing the goddamned job myself and not dealing with the posting, accepting applications, interviewing, declining, hiring, and training crap.
POTENTIAL PROBLEMS WITH POTENTIAL SOLUTIONS:
1. Person A has expressed no interest in the position itself, just in the flexibility that it offers. Person B has expressed no interest in the position itself, just in the hours and pay that it offers.
2. Person C has reasons to take or not take the job that have nothing to do with the job, and I don't want to push. I know it's inappropriate and unfair to push. But I also feel a little pinched because I was responding to C's request for information when we talked about the job. And I HAVE TO fill the fucking position. Because I'm SO sick of doing it myself, and I HATE thinking about the possibility of having to keep doing it or to post it externally. I just want to have the thinking about it part of it DONE with already.
3. I'm already busy, stressed, tired, and stretched thin enough. I don't need another 5.5 hours a week of work to add to it. I'm already at least a day behind on getting my damned thesis to Michigan. This was not supposed to be the job I'd have for the rest of my life. Why am I even thinking of making it full time?!
The thing I like to eat that most people don't like to eat... is a tie between Circus Peanuts and Apple Jacks. No, I don't eat them at the same time.
My dream car... is a 2-seater Jaguar. Or an MG Midget. Although I knew a man with an Alfa Romeo Spyder once....
When I was on lunch today (from 2:00-2:30) the library's large meeting room looked like... Barbie/Tonka Hell. (Alternate version: Wal-Mart disgorged its toy aisles from a height of 1000 ft., along with 10 bags of Cheddar Goldfish.)
When in doubt or half asleep, I wear... blue, preferably cornflower. It brings out my eyes, apparently, which are the only positive memory that I have of my maternal grandfather.
An embarrassing thing to admit these days... is that I'm from Minnesota, damn it, so I know it doesn't pay for me to get all worked up about national politics yet; whomever I get attached to will lose anyway. See, e.g., Mondale & Dukakis. I'll wait until the thing heats up on a more country-wide scale, thanks, before I even identify the teams.
The sentences that most effectively rendered me silent... came from Bill of "Marry Me Bill" fame. I broke up with him by taking the easy way out - writing him a letter - immediately before leaving for two weeks in Cocoa Beach, FL. I thought he'd have moved on to some chippy on his own level (ahem) long before I returned. Alas, I was sleeping the night I got back and he broke into the house - into Maureen and Jim's house! - and crept downstairs to the bed where I was sleeping, woke me up by poking my foot and saying, "Aim. Aim. Aim. Aim." I thought it was a very annoying nightmare. It was Bill, and I was awake. Damn it. Once I was truly awake and yelling - albeit whispering - "GET OUT, YOU IDIOT!" he said, "Calm down. Stop talking." I stopped talking, amazed that he sounded so, I don't know, not stupid, I guess. I looked at him. He looked at me. Took a deep breath. Stuttered a bit, then said, all in a rush, "I know you didn't mean to break up with me, you'd been really sick and on penicillin and you were out of your head with that cold, I know we really had something special, I know you didn't mean it so I've decided to let it go this time, I forgive you, we can get back together." You forgive me? Say what?! Yeah, I couldn't say anything. I just gaped at him, and he kissed me on the forehead and left. (I'll bet you're wondering how I managed to finally get rid of him....)
The best band you've never heard of... is Hunters & Collectors.
What I want most right now is... for the processing snafu to be solved.
PROBLEM: There is no one person to do the job of "processing clerk".
POTENTIAL SOLUTIONS:
1. Hire person A or person B, both of whom have applied for the position and have interviews scheduled.
2. Hire person C, who has previously expressed interest in the position but has since expressed reluctance to apply.
3. Screw hiring altogether, cajole the She Who Holds Power into increasing me to full time status, and doing the goddamned job myself and not dealing with the posting, accepting applications, interviewing, declining, hiring, and training crap.
POTENTIAL PROBLEMS WITH POTENTIAL SOLUTIONS:
1. Person A has expressed no interest in the position itself, just in the flexibility that it offers. Person B has expressed no interest in the position itself, just in the hours and pay that it offers.
2. Person C has reasons to take or not take the job that have nothing to do with the job, and I don't want to push. I know it's inappropriate and unfair to push. But I also feel a little pinched because I was responding to C's request for information when we talked about the job. And I HAVE TO fill the fucking position. Because I'm SO sick of doing it myself, and I HATE thinking about the possibility of having to keep doing it or to post it externally. I just want to have the thinking about it part of it DONE with already.
3. I'm already busy, stressed, tired, and stretched thin enough. I don't need another 5.5 hours a week of work to add to it. I'm already at least a day behind on getting my damned thesis to Michigan. This was not supposed to be the job I'd have for the rest of my life. Why am I even thinking of making it full time?!
The thing I like to eat that most people don't like to eat... is a tie between Circus Peanuts and Apple Jacks. No, I don't eat them at the same time.
My dream car... is a 2-seater Jaguar. Or an MG Midget. Although I knew a man with an Alfa Romeo Spyder once....
2.16.2004
Observations
1. Mondays suck.
2. If Alex Rodriguez is the best player in baseball, why have the teams he's played on not appeared in the playoffs? Is he actually worth the money he's paid? I don't think so.
3. There are very few things that taste better on a sucky Monday evening than a grilled ham and cheese sandwich and a little glass bottle of Coke.
4. This afternoon, I needed a list of items that were purchased with funds from the state library grant that I wrote last year. I knew it was on my desk (at work) somewhere. I had to dig through 2 bins and 3 stacks of stuff—books, DVDs, sheets of barcodes, review journals, scraps of paper with nonsensical numbers jotted on them, pink slips (a highly formalized system of recordkeeping which, for all intents and purposes, is making up for the fact that I spent more than a year working for the library while I was in law school retroactively converting about 8000 books into a system that wouldn't load into Innovative...so none of those items are in the NIC cat. now. So when someone checks one of them out, the barcode scans as "not in system". Pink slip is completed and turned in to Technical Services. We input a record and wait for the book to come back. When it does, we decide whether to keep it. Imperfect, but we're getting by.), applications, Demco and Showcases catalogs, etc. It took about 15 minutes to find one piece of legal pad paper. My desk isn't a square acre or anything, just a regular, crappy, institutional desk. Must clean! Tomorrow!
5. I get more done when there's no one around than I could ever think of getting done when there's another person in the room. For one thing, there's no illusion of being organized, and I don't have to remember not to swear. Has anyone noticed that I swear? Yeah, I swear.
6. When I started writing my thesis I thought I was an idiot and that every word I wrote was crap. As time went on, I realized that I'm actually brilliant, and most of what I write is inspired and thoughtful and worthy of publication. Certainly it's no wonder that I won first prize in the 1999 Nathan Burkan Memorial Competition at ASCAP (the American Society of Composers, Authors & Publishers). Now that I'm spending the majority of my conscious hours when I'm not slogging away at the salt mines that are my library editing my own pabulum in response to my committee's harangues, however, I acknowledge that I was much closer to the truth when I began. One out of every ten words that I've written in my thesis is easily strikable. Another one is debatable. And maybe three of the remaining eight are pretty good. S'not so bad.
7. Nothing like the tenth migraine in twelve days to give me perspective on life.
8. Valentine's Day sucks like the vortex of a thousand Mondays.
9. Eddie Bauer was having a catalog sale and I was going to buy something. Didn't really care what, just wanted to buy something. Opened the catalog, looked through it, and found... two things. First, a leather messenger bag. Gorgeous, brown, not overly distressed but not too grown-up looking, either. Definitely not a briefcase (eew). But the strap was miniscule and I knew I'd blow it out the first time I tried to schlep more than a couple CDs back to work on the same day that I brought in cookies to share. For $195 it should look like it would stand up to Rubbermaid. Sigh. So, onto the second item - a pair of linen pants. Loose, flowy, plain waist and rather wide legs for me but not super huge and sloppy-looking. With a cardigan they might even look dressyish. (!) $59. No crime. Offered in flax and black. I pulled them up on the website and looked at them for a long time, alternate views, larger picture, each color, on a model.... Nope. Couldn't do it. I can't even waste money to cheer myself up anymore. Booo.
10. What's the difference between being open and feeling the need to confess? Is anyone going to tell you, anymore, when you've done the latter rather than living up to the former?
2. If Alex Rodriguez is the best player in baseball, why have the teams he's played on not appeared in the playoffs? Is he actually worth the money he's paid? I don't think so.
3. There are very few things that taste better on a sucky Monday evening than a grilled ham and cheese sandwich and a little glass bottle of Coke.
4. This afternoon, I needed a list of items that were purchased with funds from the state library grant that I wrote last year. I knew it was on my desk (at work) somewhere. I had to dig through 2 bins and 3 stacks of stuff—books, DVDs, sheets of barcodes, review journals, scraps of paper with nonsensical numbers jotted on them, pink slips (a highly formalized system of recordkeeping which, for all intents and purposes, is making up for the fact that I spent more than a year working for the library while I was in law school retroactively converting about 8000 books into a system that wouldn't load into Innovative...so none of those items are in the NIC cat. now. So when someone checks one of them out, the barcode scans as "not in system". Pink slip is completed and turned in to Technical Services. We input a record and wait for the book to come back. When it does, we decide whether to keep it. Imperfect, but we're getting by.), applications, Demco and Showcases catalogs, etc. It took about 15 minutes to find one piece of legal pad paper. My desk isn't a square acre or anything, just a regular, crappy, institutional desk. Must clean! Tomorrow!
5. I get more done when there's no one around than I could ever think of getting done when there's another person in the room. For one thing, there's no illusion of being organized, and I don't have to remember not to swear. Has anyone noticed that I swear? Yeah, I swear.
6. When I started writing my thesis I thought I was an idiot and that every word I wrote was crap. As time went on, I realized that I'm actually brilliant, and most of what I write is inspired and thoughtful and worthy of publication. Certainly it's no wonder that I won first prize in the 1999 Nathan Burkan Memorial Competition at ASCAP (the American Society of Composers, Authors & Publishers). Now that I'm spending the majority of my conscious hours when I'm not slogging away at the salt mines that are my library editing my own pabulum in response to my committee's harangues, however, I acknowledge that I was much closer to the truth when I began. One out of every ten words that I've written in my thesis is easily strikable. Another one is debatable. And maybe three of the remaining eight are pretty good. S'not so bad.
7. Nothing like the tenth migraine in twelve days to give me perspective on life.
8. Valentine's Day sucks like the vortex of a thousand Mondays.
9. Eddie Bauer was having a catalog sale and I was going to buy something. Didn't really care what, just wanted to buy something. Opened the catalog, looked through it, and found... two things. First, a leather messenger bag. Gorgeous, brown, not overly distressed but not too grown-up looking, either. Definitely not a briefcase (eew). But the strap was miniscule and I knew I'd blow it out the first time I tried to schlep more than a couple CDs back to work on the same day that I brought in cookies to share. For $195 it should look like it would stand up to Rubbermaid. Sigh. So, onto the second item - a pair of linen pants. Loose, flowy, plain waist and rather wide legs for me but not super huge and sloppy-looking. With a cardigan they might even look dressyish. (!) $59. No crime. Offered in flax and black. I pulled them up on the website and looked at them for a long time, alternate views, larger picture, each color, on a model.... Nope. Couldn't do it. I can't even waste money to cheer myself up anymore. Booo.
10. What's the difference between being open and feeling the need to confess? Is anyone going to tell you, anymore, when you've done the latter rather than living up to the former?
2.14.2004
That Reminds Me...
Songs that remind me of specific people:
* "The Sign" by Ace of Base - I had a friend in grad school (he went to the U of Mitten) named John. He was from San Antonio and loved music by Metallica and Pantera (we'd do the Pantera claw thing as a greeting to each other). But he really liked "The Sign" and used to sing it all the time, and it would just slay me to see this kind of diminutive Latino guy dancing around and singing with a Swedish group.
* "The Sign" by Ace of Base - I had a friend in grad school (he went to the U of Mitten) named John. He was from San Antonio and loved music by Metallica and Pantera (we'd do the Pantera claw thing as a greeting to each other). But he really liked "The Sign" and used to sing it all the time, and it would just slay me to see this kind of diminutive Latino guy dancing around and singing with a Swedish group.
"I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes
I saw the sign
No one's gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong
I saw the sign"
I saw the sign
No one's gonna drag you up to get into the light where you belong
I saw the sign"
* "I'm Every Woman" by Whitney Houston - This is actually what brought up the idea for this posting. My first boss at the test prep place was Andy. He was a very, very good-looking guy. Wore great suits and always had nice haircuts and stuff - took good care of himself. He was a big fan of Elton John. I can't even tell you the extent of his love for Elton John's music. But anyway, Andy handled all the stuff at the office requiring any physical work, like changing the lightbulbs over my desk, and one day he was standing on my desk changing bulbs (those really long fluorescent ones) and "I'm Every Woman" came on the radio. He was singing along and dancing, using the bulb as a microphone, and suddenly said, "Thank God no one else is seeing me do this, because I'd never hear the end of it." It was beyond hilarious and I can still see every element of that scene in my mind.
"Whatever you want
Whatever you need
Anything you want done baby
I'll do it naturally
'Cause I'm every woman
It's all in me"
Whatever you need
Anything you want done baby
I'll do it naturally
'Cause I'm every woman
It's all in me"
* "Joy & Pain" by Rob Base & D.J. E-Z Rock - My first job was in the bakery at IGA (the grocery store). I worked there from when I was barely 16 until I was 20. Along the way I met many good friends there (and many transient ones... that's a story for another time), including Diane. She started as a clerk but eventually started doing accounting in the morning, so I saw her when I came in early to bake bread or fry donuts. We were the same age and both went to the college so we started to spend time together. I was there for the Pauly period and she unfortunately had to deal with the Russ incident and aftermath, and also Chris in the livingroom with the underwear on the wall. But that's all beside the point, which is that we'd often have parties at which we'd listen to music, and "Joy & Pain" was popular then. (It was during that period when incredibly sheltered "white folk" started to listen to rap and hip hop music with impunity.) And Diane, for reasons that remain unclear to me, loved this song. She knew every word and would sing (loudly and not too well) and dance (if one can dance loudly, she did, but with more skill than she sang) and basically lose herself in it. It was extremely funny. And that's the reason that when I hear "Joy & Pain" I think of a really fair-skinned young woman from White Bear Lake.
"Used to be friends but now we're foes
Ask me why, man, no one knows
Maybe jealousy between you and me
Could be the fame, could be the money
I'm goin' for mine and I don't really care
Cuz the spotlight Rob Base don't share
I'm the headliner of this show
And you're just a kid and you need to grow"
Ask me why, man, no one knows
Maybe jealousy between you and me
Could be the fame, could be the money
I'm goin' for mine and I don't really care
Cuz the spotlight Rob Base don't share
I'm the headliner of this show
And you're just a kid and you need to grow"
"Midnight" by Yaz - Oof, this is a hard one. One of my very good friends in high school was Sara. One of our shared interests was music, and for my 17th birthday (I think?) she gave me a mix tape called "The Aim Mix" ('cause she called me Aim, which is both short for my name, duh, and also a play on how she'd write it, which was the inverted V of the A with a horizontal arrow for the line). On the mix was "Midnight", the first song I'd ever heard from Yaz.
Around that time, I was spending a lot of time at work with a guy (SP) who went to the other high school in town. We did a lot of stuff that I probably should've "explain[ed] in detail on a separate page" of the moral character and fitness section of my bar exam application. We stole a decent percentage of the political signs from town. We "borrowed" those reflector things (metal pole about 3' high, little round reflector at the top) from the ends of driveways and left them all at the end of some appointed driveway at the end of our travels for the day. In perhaps our finest, lowest point, we drove past a Big Wheel that some poor schleppy kid had left in the street, and took it. We took a kid's Big Wheel! We rationalized that he shouldn't have left it in the street. We put it in the hatchback of my car. Around two weeks later, we figured he'd learned his lesson, and we gave it back. If my parents ever looked in my car for any reason and found things like 50 Carlson for Governor signs or a Big Wheel, they were probably horrified but not enough to actually ask. Ignorance is bliss.
And that, unfortunately, segues nicely into the point of this rumination. SP and I had a lot of fun together and I liked him a lot. I wish there was some way for me to graphically illustrate the extent of "a lot". I think I was in love. No, that's not right. I was. in love. with him. And I was incredibly naive, so I assumed that it would be ok to tell him that I cared about him or something along that line. I don't remember what I said. Something about there being a string between us and feeling like anytime he wanted something from me he had only to give the gentlest tug and I was right there to do whatever he wanted, and wanting to know that he felt the same tug. He was surprisingly (as I think back on it now) gentle but honest, and he told me that we were only friends. Well, he lied at that, because friends don't spend that kind of time together doing those kinds of things, but anyway, that's that. I should be grateful that he was honest.
Only my heart was smashed in the treads of his size 13s. And I drove home crying, sure that I wouldn't survive, and if by some mistake I did, I'd never hurt so much over anything ever again. The tape from Sara was in the tape-player and the song "Midnight" by Yaz came on and filtered into my consciousness and will always remind me of that feeling and of him.
Around that time, I was spending a lot of time at work with a guy (SP) who went to the other high school in town. We did a lot of stuff that I probably should've "explain[ed] in detail on a separate page" of the moral character and fitness section of my bar exam application. We stole a decent percentage of the political signs from town. We "borrowed" those reflector things (metal pole about 3' high, little round reflector at the top) from the ends of driveways and left them all at the end of some appointed driveway at the end of our travels for the day. In perhaps our finest, lowest point, we drove past a Big Wheel that some poor schleppy kid had left in the street, and took it. We took a kid's Big Wheel! We rationalized that he shouldn't have left it in the street. We put it in the hatchback of my car. Around two weeks later, we figured he'd learned his lesson, and we gave it back. If my parents ever looked in my car for any reason and found things like 50 Carlson for Governor signs or a Big Wheel, they were probably horrified but not enough to actually ask. Ignorance is bliss.
And that, unfortunately, segues nicely into the point of this rumination. SP and I had a lot of fun together and I liked him a lot. I wish there was some way for me to graphically illustrate the extent of "a lot". I think I was in love. No, that's not right. I was. in love. with him. And I was incredibly naive, so I assumed that it would be ok to tell him that I cared about him or something along that line. I don't remember what I said. Something about there being a string between us and feeling like anytime he wanted something from me he had only to give the gentlest tug and I was right there to do whatever he wanted, and wanting to know that he felt the same tug. He was surprisingly (as I think back on it now) gentle but honest, and he told me that we were only friends. Well, he lied at that, because friends don't spend that kind of time together doing those kinds of things, but anyway, that's that. I should be grateful that he was honest.
Only my heart was smashed in the treads of his size 13s. And I drove home crying, sure that I wouldn't survive, and if by some mistake I did, I'd never hurt so much over anything ever again. The tape from Sara was in the tape-player and the song "Midnight" by Yaz came on and filtered into my consciousness and will always remind me of that feeling and of him.
"and now it's midnight it's raining outside
and i'm soaking wet, still looking for that man of mine
and i ain't found him yet
well all of this rain can wash away my tears
but nothing can replace all of those wasted years
in all of this i tell you i have learnt
playing with fire gets you burnt
and i'm still burning"
and i'm soaking wet, still looking for that man of mine
and i ain't found him yet
well all of this rain can wash away my tears
but nothing can replace all of those wasted years
in all of this i tell you i have learnt
playing with fire gets you burnt
and i'm still burning"
* "Wedding Bell Blues " by the 5th Dimension - Yeah, this is going to sound pretty weird. But I've got to explain something rather tangential for background to this one. I went to college in my hometown, starting when I was barely 18. I lived at home my first school year and part of the summer. Less than halfway through the summer I sub-let a house from a good friend for $75/mo. Her roommates went a little nuts not too long after, though, and I moved out. I needed a place to live (staying at home was cramping my style) and I was whining to my friend Maureen, a married woman with kids with whom I worked. She'd just had a huge fight with her husband and wasn't feeling too charitable toward him, so she said, "Why don't you stay in our basement?" I wasn't shy or willing to look a gift-horse in the mouth, so I moved in about a week later. I stayed in their basement, which had a separate entrance off the alley, but otherwise lived with them. (Bathroom upstairs, etc.)
Around that time I was still working at the bakery and getting to know the new dishwasher, Bill. He was a rugby player. I'd never known anyone who played rugby and thought it was barbaric and, secretly, extremely sexy. He thought I was a stuck-up intellectual snob (because I was a history major and didn't know anyone who played rugby). We antagonized each other constantly.
He left for Christmas break and all was well until New Years' Eve. I was home alone; Maureen and family had gone to visit relatives. The phone rang. It was Bill. He'd returned from Melrose Park or whatever Chicago suburb he lived in, early, because he couldn't get me out of his mind. He knew he had no right to ask and no reason to think I'd be available, but would I go out with him for New Years'? I was thrilled. It was very exciting. We went to a party and had a great time and it was all very "wrong side of the tracks" and fun. We spent the rest of Break together and it was a good time.
When school started again it wasn't as fun - in fact, it was kind of weird. My friends were sort of studious and quiet compared to his, who were always bloody and skipping class. We had nothing in common. But he hung around me constantly (when the bars were closed - he was 21 and I wasn't yet). Maureen, who had a song for every occasion and was always running around the house singing musicals, found the whole thing unendingly funny, and rather than saying "I told you so", she would just sing this song, which I will always associate with her.
Around that time I was still working at the bakery and getting to know the new dishwasher, Bill. He was a rugby player. I'd never known anyone who played rugby and thought it was barbaric and, secretly, extremely sexy. He thought I was a stuck-up intellectual snob (because I was a history major and didn't know anyone who played rugby). We antagonized each other constantly.
He left for Christmas break and all was well until New Years' Eve. I was home alone; Maureen and family had gone to visit relatives. The phone rang. It was Bill. He'd returned from Melrose Park or whatever Chicago suburb he lived in, early, because he couldn't get me out of his mind. He knew he had no right to ask and no reason to think I'd be available, but would I go out with him for New Years'? I was thrilled. It was very exciting. We went to a party and had a great time and it was all very "wrong side of the tracks" and fun. We spent the rest of Break together and it was a good time.
When school started again it wasn't as fun - in fact, it was kind of weird. My friends were sort of studious and quiet compared to his, who were always bloody and skipping class. We had nothing in common. But he hung around me constantly (when the bars were closed - he was 21 and I wasn't yet). Maureen, who had a song for every occasion and was always running around the house singing musicals, found the whole thing unendingly funny, and rather than saying "I told you so", she would just sing this song, which I will always associate with her.
"...marry me Bill
I love you so, I always will
And though devotion rules my heart I take no bows
But Bill you're never gonna take those wedding vows
Oh, come on Bill
Oh, come on Bill
Come on and marry me Bill
I got the wedding bell blues
Please marry me Bill
I got the wedding bell blues
Marry me Bill"
I love you so, I always will
And though devotion rules my heart I take no bows
But Bill you're never gonna take those wedding vows
Oh, come on Bill
Oh, come on Bill
Come on and marry me Bill
I got the wedding bell blues
Please marry me Bill
I got the wedding bell blues
Marry me Bill"
There are more, but that ties it up so nicely.
Ridiculous Intellectual Indulgence
I'm editing, and I found a quotation in a footnote that I absolutely love, but that I finally acknowledge doesn't belong in my thesis. David Lloyd George was Prime Minister of Great Britain in the 1920s. As such, he was often required to negotiate with Eamon de Valera in various capacities (he was eventually Taoiseach, or PM, of Ireland - eventually called the Irish Free State, then Eire). Owen Dudley Edwards, the great Irish scholar, wrote in his 1987 biography Eamon de Valera, "Lloyd George...stated that negotiating with de Valera was like trying to pick up mercury with a fork, on being told of which de Valera... inquired, 'why doesn't he use a spoon?'" (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 1987), 97. De Valera's a fascinating character - obtuse and charismatic. If I could go out for a beer with 5 historical figures, he'd be one of them. (Likewise Kennedy, Harry Hopkins, Aristotle - so he could perhaps explain to me what he was @!#$ing writing about, and Martin Luther.)
Note to Self
From Shape magazine, March 2004 issue, p. 30:
"If you want your writing to sound intelligent, leave the thesaurus on the shelf and stick to the simplest words to get your point across. Writers who use basic vocabulary are viewed as smarter than those who choose complicated, multisyllable words when shorter ones would do, according to a study by Daniel M. Oppenheimer, a graduate student in cognitive psychology at Stanford University in California. 'The longer and more complex the words, the harder something is to read and comprehend, so people like it less and think the author is less intelligent,' he says."
This is both hard to believe and counterintuitive. The article doesn't give a citation to the original study, so I decided to try to find more information. I'm not a reference librarian, so my first choice is usually (and always, when I'm at home) a search engine, so that's where I went. With "vocabulary daniel oppenheimer stanford" as my search terms, I got 213 hits in .25 seconds. The first was a reference to an article in NZoom, New Zealand Health News, about the study itself. There's definitely more to it than the above paragraph indicated.
"'I think it's important to point out that this study is not about problems with using long words--it's about problems with using long words needlessly,' Oppenheimer said. 'If the best way to say something involves using a complex word, then by all means do so. But if there are several equally valid ways of expressing your ideas, you should go with the simpler one,' he noted."
Ah. I feel better. I'd still like to get the whole story, but it could be a while. So far, the results of the study aren't published; Oppenheimer gave the paper at the recent Society for Personality and Social Psychology conference.
"If you want your writing to sound intelligent, leave the thesaurus on the shelf and stick to the simplest words to get your point across. Writers who use basic vocabulary are viewed as smarter than those who choose complicated, multisyllable words when shorter ones would do, according to a study by Daniel M. Oppenheimer, a graduate student in cognitive psychology at Stanford University in California. 'The longer and more complex the words, the harder something is to read and comprehend, so people like it less and think the author is less intelligent,' he says."
This is both hard to believe and counterintuitive. The article doesn't give a citation to the original study, so I decided to try to find more information. I'm not a reference librarian, so my first choice is usually (and always, when I'm at home) a search engine, so that's where I went. With "vocabulary daniel oppenheimer stanford" as my search terms, I got 213 hits in .25 seconds. The first was a reference to an article in NZoom, New Zealand Health News, about the study itself. There's definitely more to it than the above paragraph indicated.
"'I think it's important to point out that this study is not about problems with using long words--it's about problems with using long words needlessly,' Oppenheimer said. 'If the best way to say something involves using a complex word, then by all means do so. But if there are several equally valid ways of expressing your ideas, you should go with the simpler one,' he noted."
Ah. I feel better. I'd still like to get the whole story, but it could be a while. So far, the results of the study aren't published; Oppenheimer gave the paper at the recent Society for Personality and Social Psychology conference.
2.13.2004
The Perfect Scent
[Friend] T and I decided this morning
no, I shouldn't say that. We were talking on the phone, and I said that I wouldn't be able to resist a man wearing bacon cologne. She said it would have to be a man in whom she was already interested. For me, the bacon would make the man.
I know that scientists have studied the effects of various scents on emotional responses and determined that a woman utilizing the scent of cinnamon rolls can make a man do almost anything. But I wonder if they've ever tried bacon on women?
no, I shouldn't say that. We were talking on the phone, and I said that I wouldn't be able to resist a man wearing bacon cologne. She said it would have to be a man in whom she was already interested. For me, the bacon would make the man.
I know that scientists have studied the effects of various scents on emotional responses and determined that a woman utilizing the scent of cinnamon rolls can make a man do almost anything. But I wonder if they've ever tried bacon on women?
2.12.2004
the mind works in mysterious ways
OK, so I was in the restroom when I thought of these things, but Everybody Does It. (I read that on a book cover someplace.)
1. There are way too many feminine hygiene ads on TV these days. Dennis Miller once said, in a comedy sketch, "These women have more periods than a Hemingway novel." That makes me laugh even in my head, when I think it as I type it.
2. JCrew and Victoria's Secret often name their colors after fruits and veggies and other foods. One of my favorite clothing items is a JCrew turtleneck in "basil". Two color names one should never see Victoria's Secret use: Squash and Pea.
1. There are way too many feminine hygiene ads on TV these days. Dennis Miller once said, in a comedy sketch, "These women have more periods than a Hemingway novel." That makes me laugh even in my head, when I think it as I type it.
2. JCrew and Victoria's Secret often name their colors after fruits and veggies and other foods. One of my favorite clothing items is a JCrew turtleneck in "basil". Two color names one should never see Victoria's Secret use: Squash and Pea.
2.11.2004
I'm a Freaking Lemming
February 1989
15 years ago, I:
1. Was 18 years old and unbelievably immature. I'm looking at my journal from that time and it's nearly too horrible to explain.
2. Didn't have a serious boyfriend. But I spent time with ...a decent chunk of the male population of the town. Judging by what's in the journal, much of the time was spent in the Pub. And the dance bar. And at "some guy's apartment who worked at IGA". (IGA was a grocery store that employed about 200 locals between 16 and 25, myself included. It was a meat market in more ways than one.)
3. Was a photojournalism major and intended to be a sports photographer. I wanted to live in Boston.
4. Drove a hatchback with a silver and black exterior and a burgundy interior. It was a piece of crap body with a VW Rabbit engine. I treated it badly but it was obviously charmed.
5. Lived in the basement at Walnut St. with Maureen & Jim and their 3 kids. The eldest just lost his license for aggravated DUI after suspension; the middle's a single mom; the youngest's the cutest kid ever (although "kid" for a 26-year-old dates me more than anything else I've ever said).
6. Had M. (a Maine Coon, etc.), who lived at Mom & Dad's. She'd been mine since I was 12 and my brother brought her and H. home from my uncle's farm, buttoned into his jean jacket, on his motorcycle. Their mother had been killed and they were too little to care for themselves. We were going to keep them "only until they were big enough to go back to the farm". Herman was hit by a car on my 13th birthday. M. was extremely fluffy - she looked like a sheep from the belly down. She lived to be 9.
7. Wore my hair to mid-back length with mouth-length bangs hanging over my left eye. Not as much makeup as one might expect, but I can't really pull it off with this pale skin anyway.
February 1994
10 years ago, I was 23 and:
1. Lived in A2, in the Mitten, which I hated with a passion.
2. Worked at the test prep place as the Office Manager. I'd been hired as an Enrollment Counselor about 10 months before the promotion. It was the first job of several that I've had where I was hired in one position but gently massaged my way into a position I liked better. "Enrollment Counselor" = salesperson, and what I was selling was $500+ prep classes for standardized tests. Once I became Office Manager, I spent my time making sure we had class space, sufficient books and other supplies, qualified teachers, etc. It was a good job and I was really, really good at it.
3. Was about 7 months from starting my graduate work at the other University, home of my ill-fated thesis. Yes, the same one.
4. Wore my hair to my waist in Julia Roberts-Pretty Woman spiral curls, dressed up with the black-watch plaid schoolgirl skirt that I wore maybe once a week for a year. Ugh.
5. Had had P&H for 5 years. Had adopted them from my friend Tammy in October, 1989 when they were 6 weeks old. Originally planned to take one - P. But when I went to pick her up, Tammy handed me a tiny, squawking gray bundle and said, "Hold this." She went to get P. When she came back, she said, "That's the one that nobody wants. She's going to the farm." Naturally, I left with two. Best snap decision I ever made.
6. Spent money as fast as I made it, in an effort to not be miserable in A2.
February 1999
5 years ago, I was 28 and:
1. Had moved to this town, and was in my third year at the College of Law.
2. Was working as a graduate assistant in the Physical Therapy Department at the university, getting a tuition waiver and making a stipend to make photocopies and answer the telephone once a week.
15 years ago, I:
1. Was 18 years old and unbelievably immature. I'm looking at my journal from that time and it's nearly too horrible to explain.
2. Didn't have a serious boyfriend. But I spent time with ...a decent chunk of the male population of the town. Judging by what's in the journal, much of the time was spent in the Pub. And the dance bar. And at "some guy's apartment who worked at IGA". (IGA was a grocery store that employed about 200 locals between 16 and 25, myself included. It was a meat market in more ways than one.)
3. Was a photojournalism major and intended to be a sports photographer. I wanted to live in Boston.
4. Drove a hatchback with a silver and black exterior and a burgundy interior. It was a piece of crap body with a VW Rabbit engine. I treated it badly but it was obviously charmed.
5. Lived in the basement at Walnut St. with Maureen & Jim and their 3 kids. The eldest just lost his license for aggravated DUI after suspension; the middle's a single mom; the youngest's the cutest kid ever (although "kid" for a 26-year-old dates me more than anything else I've ever said).
6. Had M. (a Maine Coon, etc.), who lived at Mom & Dad's. She'd been mine since I was 12 and my brother brought her and H. home from my uncle's farm, buttoned into his jean jacket, on his motorcycle. Their mother had been killed and they were too little to care for themselves. We were going to keep them "only until they were big enough to go back to the farm". Herman was hit by a car on my 13th birthday. M. was extremely fluffy - she looked like a sheep from the belly down. She lived to be 9.
7. Wore my hair to mid-back length with mouth-length bangs hanging over my left eye. Not as much makeup as one might expect, but I can't really pull it off with this pale skin anyway.
February 1994
10 years ago, I was 23 and:
1. Lived in A2, in the Mitten, which I hated with a passion.
2. Worked at the test prep place as the Office Manager. I'd been hired as an Enrollment Counselor about 10 months before the promotion. It was the first job of several that I've had where I was hired in one position but gently massaged my way into a position I liked better. "Enrollment Counselor" = salesperson, and what I was selling was $500+ prep classes for standardized tests. Once I became Office Manager, I spent my time making sure we had class space, sufficient books and other supplies, qualified teachers, etc. It was a good job and I was really, really good at it.
3. Was about 7 months from starting my graduate work at the other University, home of my ill-fated thesis. Yes, the same one.
4. Wore my hair to my waist in Julia Roberts-Pretty Woman spiral curls, dressed up with the black-watch plaid schoolgirl skirt that I wore maybe once a week for a year. Ugh.
5. Had had P&H for 5 years. Had adopted them from my friend Tammy in October, 1989 when they were 6 weeks old. Originally planned to take one - P. But when I went to pick her up, Tammy handed me a tiny, squawking gray bundle and said, "Hold this." She went to get P. When she came back, she said, "That's the one that nobody wants. She's going to the farm." Naturally, I left with two. Best snap decision I ever made.
6. Spent money as fast as I made it, in an effort to not be miserable in A2.
February 1999
5 years ago, I was 28 and:
1. Had moved to this town, and was in my third year at the College of Law.
2. Was working as a graduate assistant in the Physical Therapy Department at the university, getting a tuition waiver and making a stipend to make photocopies and answer the telephone once a week.
3. Received my MPRE (Multistate Professional Responsibility Examination) score, from the test that I took in November. It's the first test that one takes on the way toward passing the bar. In this state, a scaled score of 80 is required for passing. I scored 102.
4. Heard from my friend Meg that the Library at which I now work might be looking for someone to work in Technical Services soon, because previous boss was planning to leave for greener pastures. "Hmm," I thought, "perhaps I can work there temporarily, while I study for the bar exam."
5. Wore my hair in Julia Roberts-Pretty Woman spiral curls, but dressed down considerably by my jeans with holes in the knees.
February 2002
2 years ago, I was 31 and:
1. Was living in a condo the size of a bathroom stall while looking for a house to buy, and was damned sick of the entire process. Had looked at 21 dwellings of various levels of quality before finding "the one".
2. Still worked at that "temporary" job (although I hadn't really mentioned it being temporary when I accepted it) of Head of Technical Services at the Library at which I now work
3. Had periodically picked up and set down my thesis (and revised chapter one so many times that it should've been the Great American Chapter by then), to the point that I'd finally filed for an extension so that I wouldn't lose credit for the classes I'd taken at the grad school. Progress....
4. Was in physical therapy because my neurologist had finally determined that the muscles in my neck were causing some of the migraines that I was having (up to 4 days a week).
5. Had made a real friend, not so long before, that I was tentatively learning how to treasure. We had been acquaintances first, at work, and then sort of friends in a way that I'm not sure either of us really remember. And then there's a flurry of memories, for me anyway, capped off with her standing next to my desk saying, "I'm not sure why I'm telling you this, but I'm leaving my husband. I just had to tell you." It was a burden and a gift at once: the burden of handling a difficult situation correctly, of course, and the gift of being the one to be trusted. It was unlike the stereotypical friendships from before (backstabbing shit from high school where we surreptitiously kissed each others' boyfriends just 'cause we could get away with it, or vague college meaningless drinking amiability, or law school back-scratching networky stuff that made my eyeballs bleed). It was more delicate than I deserved and I was, and am, in awe.
(6. Hair - still too long, still too curly.)
February 2003
1 year ago, I was 32 and:
1. Was still working at the Library, more often thinking "What the fuck am I doing here?" Really questioning my devotion to a career that I haven't been educated for, when there are two for which I have but to which I'm not devoted. Questioning working my ass off for far too little pay, even though I love what I do and I'm really, really good at it. Arguing with myself about working for someone (a person and an organization) who/that values me and my experience, expertise, and education so little.
2. Had begun attending the NILS Online Data Entry Committee meetings. Realized that there was a whole world of Cataloging out there of which I'd been unaware. Realized that that wasn't an entirely bad thing (both the world and the previous lack of awareness). Desperately wished I was younger, smarter and more hip so I could actually spend time with J.R. in a non-work fashion. Began to model myself after Gail....
3. Was driving the first new car I've ever had, a 2002 Honda Civic LX. Black and cute. Not as nice as T's silver EX, but cute anyway. And new - until the psycho Xerox lady dinged it.
4. Was working in earnest on my thesis. Planned to graduate in December.
5. Wore my hair below shoulder length, a bit less curly. More of a strong wave. And lighter brown to blonde.
August 2003
6 months ago, I:
1. Blah blah, Library, blah blah. I talk, write, and think about work too much.
2. Was trying to convince T that staying at the big city university and finishing her MLS was a good idea. She stuck it out, but wasn't overly happy about it.
3. Went to Ikea for the first time. I hate Ikea. T, Lori and I went shortly after my birthday, with the intention of buying out Ikea and W-field Mall. Nothing worse than having the intention of spending a ton of money and buying a lot of stuff. We took T's dad's SUV and could've fit everything into my old hatchback! But it was a good day and I have many good memories. (Cheesecake Factory's waiter and his charming personality, for instance. And the Amazing Fortune Telling Fish.)
4. Turned 33 years old. I think each person has a "maximum age", one that they never really imagined themselves above. For me it was 27.
5. Had urged Lori to go a little shorter and a lot lighter on my hair. I was firmly blonde and now shoulder-length. And the curl was pretty well gone.
February 2004
Yesterday, I was 33 and:
1. Nearly died in a fiery crash next to an unloaded semi on Cherrie Valley Road on my way to an Online Cataloging Meeting at NILS HQ.
2. Was "misplaced" in the Roscoe area briefly on my way home from said meeting. Not lost - I knew where I was; I just didn't want to be there at that time.
3. Spent a great deal of time thinking about faith and belief. Wondering if I am worthy of the good things that happen to me. Questioning my place in the Big Picture. Honestly, wanting more than I've got right now (in some ways). Ruminated on the nature of cute guys at meetings and the flirting therewith. Had George and Aretha running through my head most of the day.
4. Wiled away the afternoon at the processing desk. Vista-foiling paperbacks. Must fill position before go insane!
5. Wrote in my blog that James R. smelled like pee, and was amazed that neither the Cat nor J.R. asked about it later.
(6. Wore my hair in the current style. Blondeish boblet.)
February 2004
Today, I:
1. Am 33. Am cold. Wore sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt to work because I knew I'd be getting dirty. Withdrew about 150 - maybe 200 - items from the collection, pulled cards, stamped, cut, boxed. Processed. Punched ICodes like a monkey. Teased the new tech guy from LMA - Sleek - about the juvenile DVDs being porn. "Barbie in The Nutcracker." "Adventures of Tom Thumb." "Black Stallion." "Harriet the Spy." When you think about it, those titles could be....
2. Went out for lunch with T.O. Didn't want to go back to work. The urge to just call a halt to "real life" is strong. Having friends makes everything better. BLTs with no tomato and no mayo help, too.
3. Got an interesting twist on the processing clerk issue. It's going to take some serious spin and lots of help from various supporting players, but if it works it'll save my ass and that of the library, and it'll be really good for the person who'll do the job, too. Main problems: one big red ego and one bitter mermit-crab.
4. Had a migraine that prevented me from opening my eyes all the way, for most of the day. I wonder what I look like to other people when that happens. Do I look like I'm trying to be James Dean? Do I look like I'm trying to be sneaky? Do I look hung-over? Lazy? In pain? Stupid? If anyone would care to share, feel free. One Excedrin Migraine, a bottle of Coke, and a half-hour nap (with cats) after work cured it. For today.
5. Decided to change my hair-style. Cannot look like those two. I'm thinking that maybe some spiral curls are in order.
February 2004
Tomorrow, I:
1. Work from 8:30-5:00. OK, maybe 9-5:30. Or 9:15-5:45. DOA (depending on arrival). Collection Development meeting at 11:00. That should be ugly and painful.
2. Need to do all the work stuff I haven't even addressed this week:
a) 2 review journals
b) catalog donations (3+ shelves full)
c) weeding - pull a cart of 917-ish area books for perusal and possible withdrawal
d) music CDs - none of ours are in OCLC records. Why not? Damned if I know. But I have to move the records sometime.
e) ICodes
f) retolds. Don't ask.
g) process - a cart full of paperbacks. So much Vista-foil!
h) withdrawals
i) Westerns - more OCLC-izing
Huh. And that's just if nothing "comes up".
3. Have to eat the lunch I packed today but didn't eat because T.O. took me to the Coffee Gourmet. PB&J, carrots, apple.
4. Have to work on thesis revision at lunch, rather than reading for pleasure as I'd prefer.
5. Should work on the taxes. Boo.
Man, this was depressing. I feel old. Am I that old? Or just so tired? Perhaps just that tired of what I'm doing.
4. Heard from my friend Meg that the Library at which I now work might be looking for someone to work in Technical Services soon, because previous boss was planning to leave for greener pastures. "Hmm," I thought, "perhaps I can work there temporarily, while I study for the bar exam."
5. Wore my hair in Julia Roberts-Pretty Woman spiral curls, but dressed down considerably by my jeans with holes in the knees.
February 2002
2 years ago, I was 31 and:
1. Was living in a condo the size of a bathroom stall while looking for a house to buy, and was damned sick of the entire process. Had looked at 21 dwellings of various levels of quality before finding "the one".
2. Still worked at that "temporary" job (although I hadn't really mentioned it being temporary when I accepted it) of Head of Technical Services at the Library at which I now work
3. Had periodically picked up and set down my thesis (and revised chapter one so many times that it should've been the Great American Chapter by then), to the point that I'd finally filed for an extension so that I wouldn't lose credit for the classes I'd taken at the grad school. Progress....
4. Was in physical therapy because my neurologist had finally determined that the muscles in my neck were causing some of the migraines that I was having (up to 4 days a week).
5. Had made a real friend, not so long before, that I was tentatively learning how to treasure. We had been acquaintances first, at work, and then sort of friends in a way that I'm not sure either of us really remember. And then there's a flurry of memories, for me anyway, capped off with her standing next to my desk saying, "I'm not sure why I'm telling you this, but I'm leaving my husband. I just had to tell you." It was a burden and a gift at once: the burden of handling a difficult situation correctly, of course, and the gift of being the one to be trusted. It was unlike the stereotypical friendships from before (backstabbing shit from high school where we surreptitiously kissed each others' boyfriends just 'cause we could get away with it, or vague college meaningless drinking amiability, or law school back-scratching networky stuff that made my eyeballs bleed). It was more delicate than I deserved and I was, and am, in awe.
(6. Hair - still too long, still too curly.)
February 2003
1 year ago, I was 32 and:
1. Was still working at the Library, more often thinking "What the fuck am I doing here?" Really questioning my devotion to a career that I haven't been educated for, when there are two for which I have but to which I'm not devoted. Questioning working my ass off for far too little pay, even though I love what I do and I'm really, really good at it. Arguing with myself about working for someone (a person and an organization) who/that values me and my experience, expertise, and education so little.
2. Had begun attending the NILS Online Data Entry Committee meetings. Realized that there was a whole world of Cataloging out there of which I'd been unaware. Realized that that wasn't an entirely bad thing (both the world and the previous lack of awareness). Desperately wished I was younger, smarter and more hip so I could actually spend time with J.R. in a non-work fashion. Began to model myself after Gail....
3. Was driving the first new car I've ever had, a 2002 Honda Civic LX. Black and cute. Not as nice as T's silver EX, but cute anyway. And new - until the psycho Xerox lady dinged it.
4. Was working in earnest on my thesis. Planned to graduate in December.
5. Wore my hair below shoulder length, a bit less curly. More of a strong wave. And lighter brown to blonde.
August 2003
6 months ago, I:
1. Blah blah, Library, blah blah. I talk, write, and think about work too much.
2. Was trying to convince T that staying at the big city university and finishing her MLS was a good idea. She stuck it out, but wasn't overly happy about it.
3. Went to Ikea for the first time. I hate Ikea. T, Lori and I went shortly after my birthday, with the intention of buying out Ikea and W-field Mall. Nothing worse than having the intention of spending a ton of money and buying a lot of stuff. We took T's dad's SUV and could've fit everything into my old hatchback! But it was a good day and I have many good memories. (Cheesecake Factory's waiter and his charming personality, for instance. And the Amazing Fortune Telling Fish.)
4. Turned 33 years old. I think each person has a "maximum age", one that they never really imagined themselves above. For me it was 27.
5. Had urged Lori to go a little shorter and a lot lighter on my hair. I was firmly blonde and now shoulder-length. And the curl was pretty well gone.
February 2004
Yesterday, I was 33 and:
1. Nearly died in a fiery crash next to an unloaded semi on Cherrie Valley Road on my way to an Online Cataloging Meeting at NILS HQ.
2. Was "misplaced" in the Roscoe area briefly on my way home from said meeting. Not lost - I knew where I was; I just didn't want to be there at that time.
3. Spent a great deal of time thinking about faith and belief. Wondering if I am worthy of the good things that happen to me. Questioning my place in the Big Picture. Honestly, wanting more than I've got right now (in some ways). Ruminated on the nature of cute guys at meetings and the flirting therewith. Had George and Aretha running through my head most of the day.
4. Wiled away the afternoon at the processing desk. Vista-foiling paperbacks. Must fill position before go insane!
5. Wrote in my blog that James R. smelled like pee, and was amazed that neither the Cat nor J.R. asked about it later.
(6. Wore my hair in the current style. Blondeish boblet.)
February 2004
Today, I:
1. Am 33. Am cold. Wore sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt to work because I knew I'd be getting dirty. Withdrew about 150 - maybe 200 - items from the collection, pulled cards, stamped, cut, boxed. Processed. Punched ICodes like a monkey. Teased the new tech guy from LMA - Sleek - about the juvenile DVDs being porn. "Barbie in The Nutcracker." "Adventures of Tom Thumb." "Black Stallion." "Harriet the Spy." When you think about it, those titles could be....
2. Went out for lunch with T.O. Didn't want to go back to work. The urge to just call a halt to "real life" is strong. Having friends makes everything better. BLTs with no tomato and no mayo help, too.
3. Got an interesting twist on the processing clerk issue. It's going to take some serious spin and lots of help from various supporting players, but if it works it'll save my ass and that of the library, and it'll be really good for the person who'll do the job, too. Main problems: one big red ego and one bitter mermit-crab.
4. Had a migraine that prevented me from opening my eyes all the way, for most of the day. I wonder what I look like to other people when that happens. Do I look like I'm trying to be James Dean? Do I look like I'm trying to be sneaky? Do I look hung-over? Lazy? In pain? Stupid? If anyone would care to share, feel free. One Excedrin Migraine, a bottle of Coke, and a half-hour nap (with cats) after work cured it. For today.
5. Decided to change my hair-style. Cannot look like those two. I'm thinking that maybe some spiral curls are in order.
February 2004
Tomorrow, I:
1. Work from 8:30-5:00. OK, maybe 9-5:30. Or 9:15-5:45. DOA (depending on arrival). Collection Development meeting at 11:00. That should be ugly and painful.
2. Need to do all the work stuff I haven't even addressed this week:
a) 2 review journals
b) catalog donations (3+ shelves full)
c) weeding - pull a cart of 917-ish area books for perusal and possible withdrawal
d) music CDs - none of ours are in OCLC records. Why not? Damned if I know. But I have to move the records sometime.
e) ICodes
f) retolds. Don't ask.
g) process - a cart full of paperbacks. So much Vista-foil!
h) withdrawals
i) Westerns - more OCLC-izing
Huh. And that's just if nothing "comes up".
3. Have to eat the lunch I packed today but didn't eat because T.O. took me to the Coffee Gourmet. PB&J, carrots, apple.
4. Have to work on thesis revision at lunch, rather than reading for pleasure as I'd prefer.
5. Should work on the taxes. Boo.
Man, this was depressing. I feel old. Am I that old? Or just so tired? Perhaps just that tired of what I'm doing.
top of my to-do list...
...is to change my hair-style. Both the Head of Adult Services (who is criminally unstylish) and now the Major Chihuahua of this library have haircuts similar to mine. Time to grow it out? Get a perm? Dye it blue?
2.10.2004
Am I a Cataloger, 'er What?!
I was just going to shut down the computer and take a shower, but I realized that I hadn't included the rest of the playlist from Fluffy Mix I. So, in the interest of a complete 505 field...
5. "I'm Not Angry" - the Everly Brothers
6. "It's Only Love" - Bryan Adams & Tina Turner
7. "Joy & Pain" - Rob Base & D.J. E-Z Rock
8. "Unforgettable" - Nat King Cole with Natalie Cole
9. "Love to Hate You" - Erasure
10. "Next Time Wipe the Lipstick Off Your Collar" - Sheila E.
11. "The Night Has a Thousand Eyes" - Bobby Vee
12. "No Looking Back" - Leo Sayer
13. "Oh L'Amour" - Erasure
14. "Oh, What a Love" - Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
15. "One in a Million" - The Romantics
16. "Please" - The Nylons
17. "Somebody" - Depeche Mode
18. "Stand by Me" - Ben E. King
19. "The Weakness in Me" - Joan Armatrading
20. "True Colors" - Cyndi Lauper
21. "When I Fall in Love" - Johnny Mathis
Voila.
5. "I'm Not Angry" - the Everly Brothers
6. "It's Only Love" - Bryan Adams & Tina Turner
7. "Joy & Pain" - Rob Base & D.J. E-Z Rock
8. "Unforgettable" - Nat King Cole with Natalie Cole
9. "Love to Hate You" - Erasure
10. "Next Time Wipe the Lipstick Off Your Collar" - Sheila E.
11. "The Night Has a Thousand Eyes" - Bobby Vee
12. "No Looking Back" - Leo Sayer
13. "Oh L'Amour" - Erasure
14. "Oh, What a Love" - Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
15. "One in a Million" - The Romantics
16. "Please" - The Nylons
17. "Somebody" - Depeche Mode
18. "Stand by Me" - Ben E. King
19. "The Weakness in Me" - Joan Armatrading
20. "True Colors" - Cyndi Lauper
21. "When I Fall in Love" - Johnny Mathis
Voila.
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