Metaphor

About 45 minutes, I wrote a blogpost (on the memes blog). No big deal.

Except I just clicked back over to the Blogger tab and realized that I'd finished it but never published it. It was just sitting here in the window looking blank.

Welcome to my world, even worse than normal lately.

Oh how I hate flurries!

Doesn't it always seem that bad news travels in a pack? I've certainly seem my share of personal (i.e. family) bad news, but when I broaden the scope, here's what I see scattered around:

• A dear friend whose doctor needs to have evil things done to him for ignoring her phone calls for weeks until she showed up in his exam room in early-stage organ failure because of medication he prescribed! [this brings up ghosts from my childhood and freaks me way the fuck out in very abnormal ways]
• Someone who is hospitalized tonight because of a fall a couple of days ago.
• A coworker who's father died just under a month ago.
• My sister needs a tuneup in her brain electrodes, but there are some issues there. Long story. Of course.
• Another friend who's mother died about 10 days before mine.
• And a couple of others' whose parents are at the stage my mom was at about 5 months ago.
• People forgetting the whole "innocent till proven guilty in a court of law" thing. Accusation doesn't equal fact.
• Ongoing medical issues with another friend who has, essentially, had a headache since November. Every day. Can you imagine dealing with a three-year-old 24/7 with a headache? Yeah. Doctors have no idea. Doctors suck.
• Gout in another family member. Though that's easing due to--of all things!--cherries.
• Stupid men involving themselves in extramarital situations and having their lives destroyed over it (not to mention the lives of their wives and families). Guys: KEEP YOUR DICK IN YOUR PANTS, and your pants zipped/glued shut!
• The legal maneuvering over my mom's broken leg is still hanging fire in our family. See footnote here.
• The economy is hitting home in libraries across the country. Ohio is slashing and burning its way through their astoundingly fabulous libraries. Our city is sending ominous links via email to articles about other communities' belt-tightening as we approach the budget planning sessions for 2010-11.
• Schedule Nazi just doesn't seem to understand that some of us never want to see her again.
• PTF pissed me off this week in a way that he hasn't achieved for months. Possibly over a year, in fact. Over something insanely stupid. Of course. What else is new?
• [whinge] I work Tuesday-Friday this week. I'm going to ALA on Saturday--just for the exhibits--all day. I work Sunday; Sundays S U C K! And then I work Monday-Thursday next week. So basically I'm working 7/7-16 every day.[/whinge] The problem is exacerbated by the feeling like I'm at work for 7 or so hours daily and get virtually no cataloging done. Since that's the part of my job I love the most, I'm getting whinier and whinier about it, not to mention behind-er.
• Our super-wonderful senior shelvers will be leaving for college in 5 weeks or so. WAAAAAHHHH!!! Am so sad about this. For me; not for them, of course.

There's also the fact that the new director, while starting to get her legs under her as far as the job goes, is still needing a LOT of information regularly. And we've undertaken to make some rather ginormous changes in some of of our major work procedures...there's a lot of stress. I like change. These will be good changes when they are all in place and understood...but it's hard.

This is the sort of mood where I probably could use a large glass of wine (or two), but I'm too afraid of using alcohol as a crutch (family history + ) so I probably won't. But the inside of my skin itches from all this drama and angst and things to think about that I don't even know where to start. Gah.

Know It All

Somehow, my gene pool is rampant with people who like to expound on their knowledge about random things. Maybe it's not just my gene pool; maybe every family is like this. It makes me crazy, so I know two things from that: 1) I am probably overly sensitive about people in general who are self-proclaimed fonts of knowledge; and 2) I probably do the same thing more than I'd like to think I do.

On the "overly sensitive" front, I posted something today on Twitter about people getting a clue on Facebook. I was being snarky, and I posted on Twitter specifically because the person to whom I was alluding on Fb doesn't follow me on Twitter. Just venting, right?

Then a colleague who is 97.3% annoying at all times came back on Twitter with a comment to the effect that "Fb sux" (paraphrase) followed by the 'enlightening' comment that he only uses Fb because some people don't know how to upload photos anywhere else. Niiiiice--we're all just morons, those of us who use Facebook. It's not even remotely possible that people upload photos to 16 other sites and don't tell him for any one of many reasons. Oh, wait. I do that: Fb, Snapfish, Flickr, etc. Is there a need for him to know this? Not really. He just assumes...a lot.

The silver lining is that I'm not anywhere near as annoyed with the original clueless Facebook thing; the rest of the thundercloud is that I want to snag a specific ponytail in a woodchipper and turn up the power level.

One of these days, I'm going to turn to him--either physically (in a meeting) or by email--and seriously ask him how he got to be so much smarter than anyone else on earth. The unfortunate thing is that He. Will. Answer. The. Question.

AAARGGHHHHHHH!!!!

[But really people: if you want to say something about someone's status on Facebook, would you PLEASE leave the comment on--or even NEAR!--the status to which you are responding; it's not that complicated!]

Youngest (Rant Alert)

This will come as no surprise to anyone who is the youngest sibling--and possibly anyone else towards the bottom of the list in multi-child families.

Being the youngest makes us (me) a little thin-skinned about being treated like a baby. Yes, sometimes we regress and sometimes we can be spoiled little kids, not to mention somewhat lighter-hearted and flaky than Oldests and even Middles.

The issue is that I've always been WAAAAY younger than everyone in my family (of birth); not just a little younger, WAAAAY younger. And when I was 10, it was appropriate to treat me like a kid.

With four older sibs of my own I have done my best over the years to 'grow up' and be myself. I have also worked (mostly) for and with people older than me. Most of the time, I defer. Most of the time, I'm OK with being the younger/dumber one. Mostly I understand that "Oldests" and my elders may actually have some information about life that I haven't yet accrued.

I can't tell you how tired I am becoming of (some of) the older-than-me Boomers.

And I really. really. really. do. not. need. anymore people in my life who treat me like their kid sister. Cuz,

1. I'm 45, thus patently NOT a kid [even if I cry too often for some peoples' comfort];



2. None of my siblings are around here, and for good reason. [why do you think they are all far away? Hmmm, let's let that percolate for awhile, eh?];



3. Even my sibs don't treat me like this (often) anymore [although I know someone who might disagree with this rather vehemently].



4. I'm not an idiot.

So yeah, please, if you don't mind, I'd like to spend some of my adult, workplace years at least attempting to impersonate a grown-up. Here's a list for you if you aren't clear on things:

1. If I'm crying, it's not necessarily your fault, and I'm not doing it to upset you. Usually. huh I understand that there may have been a disagreement that preceded the crying, but, truly, it is not all about YOU. I'm aware of that. You can't "make me" cry. So stop assuming ... well, everything, frankly.



2. When I'm being treated like a child, it's quite likely that my first response is going to be childish. I may snap at you. I may bark. That's my issue and I am trying to deal with it. I will almost always be the first to apologize for doing so, but jeez, just once in awhile would it kill you to go first?!



3. Don't ignore me.
   Don't talk over me.
   Don't patronize me and/or be condescending.
   Don't assume I can't handle the realities of life.
   Don't keep secrets from me, and gossip around me without including me.
   Don't tell me you were "just kidding" when you were being a bitch or a prick, because that is what precedes "Can't you take a joke??", at least in my head.
   In short, don't piss on my leg and tell me it's raining (ty, Judge Judy).



4. Examine your behavior once in awhile. You are NOT the Omphalos for anyone but your own beautiful self. Accept appropriate accolades gracefully but don't assume you 'deserve' them.



5. For most of the world: I'm not your sister. Don't assume I need a big brother/big sister to get be through life. I don't. Really. I'm good. Go (the fuck) away already!



6. Did I mention apologize first sometimes? Oh, yeah, I did.

I've always liked people younger than me better, overall. I used to worry that it was because I could lord it over them--there may be some of that--but young people at least have the courtesy of not treating me like a baby. [I'm sure that will come when I reach old age! I'm going to be quite a cranky old person if that happens, though.]

Like Aretha, I'm just asking for a little respect.

Hard job?

I don't really want to do either job in this exchange, but I know which one is really the hardest.

Note: I'm note posting this on Facebook because so many "mommy" friends are there. If you have access to my Fb and this blog, chances are real good that you are a friend who is a mom, not a "mommy" friend. I like my friends--all of them--but that site is a healthy reminder that screaming babies and discussions of episiotomies are not really what makes the rest of the world roll witcha. And also...I'm SO GLAD that Sparky is past the stage of poopy-butt. Now he's just poopy-brained sometimes. ;-)

Take me outta the toaster--I'm burnt

O
          M
                    F
                             G
                                      !!!!

CT has to go away. Consider the bidding war open: suggestions, comments, requests for proposals, etc. Anything goes. Know, however, that there is a line forming in-house for kneecapping and nose-punching.

Waste

The boss asked me to be at a meeting with her this afternoon at a library about an hour from ours. Things got weird because of scheduling and then I got sick so I wan't sure what to expect when I got there.

First of all, we started over half an hour after she told me to be there, 10 minutes late according to the prescheduled starting time. At that point, I knew I was in trouble, since the handouts all pertained to something I've been using for about 5 years (maybe more). This is a component that all the directors should be using, but what was on display was a clear case of the Peter Principle among a couple of them (not mine). There's a new component that was recently added, but after 2 hours we still hadn't gotten to it.

I bailed at 3:50. Got back to Sparky's school to pick him up at 5. I will definitely submit my mileage for reimbursement, but it was a lot of time that would have been better spent sleeping.

Symptom of the problem

Beast is out of town this week. That's not a big deal for me. Not really.

Between dialysis and diabetes--among other medical issues--his dad has continuing testing and evaluating going on, and one of my charges yesterday was to deliver some stuff to the hospital lab for them to work on. As far as I was concerned, I was going to the facility where he lives, picking the stuff up from the floor nurse while he was at dialysis, taking it to the lab, and leaving. Beast thought he had everything set up.

The first hurdle went up at the front 'reception' desk of the hospital where the volunteers demanded the name of the patient and then couldn't find him in the computer. Well, he's not a patient, so duh. I went on to the outpatient area and they couldn't find any record of this test. Turns out, we were supposed to pre-register the drop off. WTF?

So, I called Beast, who called his dad for the insurance info needed to register him, Beast called the registration desk, and that situation was resolved.

I went back in the lab and the tech informed me that she couldn't complete the orders from the doctor unless FIL was there because she needed a blood draw and his height/weight.

Huh? We were told--by this lab, where Beast picked up the equipment--that all we had to do was return the equipment and results. Nothing was mentioned about brining in FIL, nothing about a blood draw, nothing about pre-registering.

Of course, I couldn't go get FIL just then because he was still hooked up to the dialysis stuff for another 45 minutes or so half an hour away . Plus we would need to cancel his ride back to his apartment. Also, I needed to pick Sparky up from school at the same time a half an hour the other direction and get him home long enough to change clothes and eat before his band concert last night.

I was pissed, needless to say. The lab tech I was working with was not the one Beast had talked to--though she came out to 'apologize' (consisting of "I'm not sure who put my business card in the bag, because I wouldn't have said that"--some apology!). The one I worked with called the nephrologist several times to clarify what was going on, but he didn't return calls for the hour I was there. I told them several times that I would be happy to go get FIL after dialysis and bring him in, but I was annoyed (ahem) that we hadn't been told about this, and it was completely balling up the rest of my schedule.

Finally, in a stroke of genius, Beast called me and said, "Wait a second: if they need a blood draw to compare the results with...it won't work for you to bring him this afternoon. He's had dialysis. His blood won't resemble ANYthing from yesterday because it's been CLEANED! Duh."

Now. Explain to me why we, laypersons who don't 'do' medicine for a living, figured this out when the lab staff, who do 'do' this for a living, did NOT.

Really? No...REALLY??

The upshot--we'll do it all over again this coming weekend, and bring FIL into the hospital for the blood draw before he goes to dialysis next Monday.

So, 90 minutes after I walked in the building for a 10-minute (AT MOST) errand, I finally left with nothing to show for it except high blood pressure and 30 minutes of burned up cell phone usage. Beast probably burned through another 20 minutes on top of that.

The kicker? When Beast was registering FIL over the phone, the registrar basically said, "I don't see anything on this order from the doctor for a blood draw." He didn't tell me that until last night, fearing I might go apeshit on the tech.

I hope to hell I never get taken to this hospital as a patient. Every time we've dealt with them (ER for Beast, admission for FIL a couple of years ago, etc.) they have fucked up something. I know that mistakes happen, but that kind of track record in medical services is not something that makes me real confident.

I'm gonna be glad to get to work today where the insanity is, at least, not life-threatening.

Pride

In our church, there are a few older couples. Of course, eh? One in particular has been in the forefront of our minds lately. The wife--I'll call her Dite--is a fireplug and a dynamo, always on the move (though considerably slower than before) and involved in lots of things, from helping out at the schools to working with the homeless to volunteering at the hospital. It was in the latter capacity that she was working a couple of weeks ago, in the gift shop, when she suddenly fainted. She's NOT a fainter, by the way. On the way down, she apparently hit her head on the counter and ended up in ICU for a couple of nights. She's being really coy about the medical stuff (typical for someone in her 80s) so no one is completely sure what the full story is, but she's been having a great deal of trouble with dizziness since then.

Another friend at church contacted us earlier this week. She had been at Dite and Bert's house and noticed that they have no stair rail on one side of the staircase in the house. She asked if Beast and a few others would get together and go take care of that. They live in a split level, so there are actually two staircases next to each other and it's the railing between them that's missing. So, if Dite lost her balance and tipped that direction, she'd actually fall down two flights.

Pretty basic fix, though. Except Bert is extraordinarily prideful. This couple has not had no garage door for at least 15 years--just plastic taped over the opening--in spite of several (and I mean dozens) of offers to fix it or help him fix it. They park outside. Dite herself has been unwilling to host gatherings in her home, and I'm beginning to guess that perhaps there are other repairs that need doing and she's embarrassed about them. It's not that Bert sits around--he's as active as she is in various things, but he's not capable physically anymore and refuses to accept help.

So three big boys, Beast included, appeared on his doorstep last night and assessed the stair rail situation. This is a life-safety issue, not an embarrassment thing, and they are G O I N G to F I X this.

I have strongly suggested Beast never to behave this way. I included a couple of other men of our church in that strong suggestion, for all the good it will do.

And the starkest contrast? They are approximately the same age as my mom, who has spun into yet another dramatic health moment.

{thump} Head meets wall

Mood: amused
Hair: braided
Eyes: dry and itchy
Listening to: silence (and guinea pig squeaks)(and the fridge humming)

So.

Sparky had homework over his break from school. Nothing major, just a little research, finding some resources for a paper to be done at a later date. He did the research on the Saturday between the holidays, and created his bibliography for the teacher and saved it.

This morning, as part of the launch sequence, I asked him if he had the printout. "Oh, I never printed it. Thanks for reminding me!" {eyeroll} He accessed the document and tried to print it and then shut the laptop. I didn't hear the printer start so I asked fairly innocuously, "All set?"

"No. I forgot; Dad hasn't set up this computer to print so it won't go."

And that's it. We have three other computers that ARE ready to print. WTF! "You could email it to yourself on one of the others and print it from there," says I, fairly calmly. "Are you seriously just going to quit trying without even asking for help?"

I logged off the laptop I was using and went to get ready to leave while he took care of this. He came upstairs 10 minutes later to tell me it didn't work because the settings aren't set up to access email on the new computer. Huh? He accesses his email all the time from that one! Turns out, he was in the word processor trying to send the document. I assumed he knew I meant to go into Gmail and attach the document to an email to himself. Sigh.

On the good-ish side, he found his thumb drive and saved it there. Did he print it from another computer then?

No. (of course not!)

"I'll do it at school, from one of the computers there."

OK, yeah. He'd just got through telling me that he couldn't take both his band instruments today because he wouldn't have enough time to drop them in the bandroom before classes began. Which would have been no problem if he would have accepted my freely given offer of a ride to school at the very beginning of the morning's conversation. I'll be headed there anyway to volunteer for a couple of hours, so it's not like it would have been a big deal.

He doesn't have a study hall, so I really don't know when he'll have time to do this printing. Especially since the doc isn't a Word doc, and that's what the school uses.

Plan ahead much, kid?

What a DORK.

---

No word today. I'm too stunned by the stupid.

Breastfeeding

So, there's this insane controversy on Facebook that has erupted into the mainstream media. It seems that Facebook has yanked photos that were posted on profiles because those photos show women breastfeeding babies. This somehow violates their policies about ... uh? ... nudity or something. Or it is upsetting to ... someone. I thought it was just crazy, uneducated, sexually frustrated individuals who--in this relatively new millenia--were freaked out by public breastfeeding and photos of it, but I've just read a blog post by someone whom I respect which completely floored me.

I started a lengthy ocmment on his--note pronoun for irony purposes--website, but it got very soapboxish. So I'm posting the comment here instead. The comment I did leave was brief, courteous, and (I hope) non-inflammatory. For contextual purposes, one of the arguments he makes is quoted below, because I refer to it in my response:

It doesn’t have to be a matter of being a prude; imagine the woman who has lost a baby, or the woman who has suffered breast cancer. While I can’t imagine being in either position, I can imagine that seeing the image of a newborn breastfeeding might be a little torturous for any woman who has gone through either situation.

My heated reply:

For me, I think the issue is that you can see plenty of breasts on Fb, but the only ones being banned are the ones doing what they are made to do. So, Fb will let a photo of a woman or girl in a VERY low-cut top stay (unless someone reports it), but a photo that shows less breast but has a baby feeding is pulled. Yeah. That's perfectly sensible.

Perhaps if people (ahem, men) saw breasts doing what they are designed for they'd stop being so freakin' wound up about seeing breasts exhibited as artwork.

Have you seen any of the photos these women posted? I don't think there are any that are even remotely sexual in nature, not that I've looked at them all. Nor have I seen any in which what you call "the whole breast" is visible. And frankly, I can randomly pull up several Fb profiles with WAY more revealing photos than these. Do I care? No, because I don't look at, much less 'friend', people who post those sorts of pictures. That way I don't have to look at their retardo exhibitionism.

However, I have a friend who has an amazing photo of herself feeding her baby: it's a candid and one of the best pictures of her I've seen. I don't think she's on Fb, but I'm sure no one could be offended by it.

Women have been fighting this uphill battle for more than 'just' this year. I was called all sorts of names on the occasions when I nursed my son when he was a baby 16 years ago. My sisters, ditto, 20-30 years ago. We weren't flaunting, we had blankets over our shoulders, and yet people (ahem, men mostly) were horribly rude about it. Had we parading through the room wearing a low-cut blouse, I doubt they'd have complained at all, though.

I do have a relative who recently gave birth to a stillborn baby. The merest sight of babies is painful. Yes, seeing a photo of a breastfeeding baby is painful, but so is seeing happy parents playing with their newborn. This particular argument is straight-up bizarre. Seeing older men sometimes upsets me because my father is dead; should photos of old men be banned from Fb? Come on.

As for those people (not just women) suffering from, or recovering from, breast cancer...do you really think this is any more painful than seeing ads for Victoria's Secret? Really? Should those be banned? (well, actually...I'd be OK with that...)

Speaking as a mom, and a feminist, I will tell you that babies get hungry on their own schedule. To a degree you can plan ahead, but sometimes they will start fussing when you are in a public place. I would much prefer finding a quiet corner and a comfortable chair over sitting on a toilet or the floor in a public restroom. If someone took a photo of me that was a good picture, I'd cherish it.

I do think that perhaps you're being very disingenous. To the best of my knowledge you've never had a baby in your life full-time much less had the opportunity to breastfeed. For that I'm very sorry. I think you're viewpoint might change were you a little closer to the situation in your own life.

In other words, you know not whereof you speak, so perhaps you ought to take it down a notch.

OK, yeah, I'm cranky. Blame David Caruso and today's CSI:Miami marathon.

Link

Show-and-Tell

Hey, folks, I have a real question for all you actual and would-be Reference librarians.

What is another way of saying "Show and Tell", the kind that kids do at school? No snarky commentary on what we adults have done to the concept since second grade.

The Library of Congress does not use this as a "legal" subject heading (except in s.h. for children). So what the heck are we supposed to use instead? I can't think of anything except "school presentations" but that's not really right (and it's not legal anyway).

This is so basic that I know I'm not the first cataloger to wonder how to handle this. However, no one I've asked can come up with anything really useful, and then we got into the corruption of the word "sharing" in this context....

[And now those of you who wonder what I do all day know the truth about just how BORING my job can be sometimes. Not to mention PICKY!]

Nibbled to death

A great day. No, seriously, it was. Keep that in the forefront your mind, because much of this post is straight, full-on vent.

Wonderful company in Beast and Sparky, FIL, Gerb, and Alan. And then there's Katherine--my only blood relative besides Sparky in the house today. She needs to be spanked. I had high hopes for her this holiday. When she and Alan arrived yesterday she was in good spirits and generally was pleasant company. That continued for much of the morning today...until mealtime.

I am generally aware of the emotional currents in a room but not always clear where the whirlpools are developing until they have become riptides, but damn if today I didn't visibly watch Katherine commence with her poutiness. When Sparky reminded us, rather late in the visit, that we were going to play Scrabble, her eyes lit up (she L O V E S board games) and then she and Alan disappeared upstairs to pack up their overnight bags so they could take off for his mom's. There was glaring; she wanted to stay, he wanted to get to his mom's. I think the issue was that we should have mentioned game-playing earlier so she could participate. Her parting shot to Sparky was something like, "I'll play Scrabble with you next time, and I'll win" followed by a comment about being told not to be falsely modest about one's talents. And they were out the door.

Stunning.

Clueless.

Floored.

I realize that we all have one relative that we want to keep in a closet, but she was unbearably rude to our friend today and not much more than civil with FIL, especially as the day wore on.

A telling moment was when she mentioned that the two of them (Katherine and Alan) have had couples' counseling as part of the adoption process they are going through, and she thinks the therapist is crap because "She keeps bringing up the same things over and over." Well...DUH! I bet I know which ones, too (it would be a guess--Katherine didn't share that much!).

We had a wonderful, fairly relaxing day spent with some of the people we love the most in the world, talked to most of our out-of-state family on the phone, were cheered by and cheery with them, got quite the haul of good gifts ... yet all I want to do is call Katherine tomorrow and read her the riot act for having the grace and tact of a shit-covered rock pitched through a stained-glass window. I am not fond of the concept of family feuds, but I'm rarin' to go on this one; I am so TIRED of her behavior. She is nearly 37 years old, a professional with an advanced degree, was raised by parents with some semblance of a clue as far as social behavior--and every time I spend time with her, I want to strangle her by the end of it. It's probably good that I work tomorrow, and we have electronics to set up and Thank You notes to write over the weekend so I'll be too busy to call. Cooling off periods are good.

To end on a happier note, the doorbell rang in the midst of yesterday morning's snow and I found on my snowy porch a delivery man with flowers. Thank you, Jenny. I love you, and I am grateful every day for you.

I don't want to brag or make the rest of you envious, but I have to say that my two best girlfriends are the BEST friends ever.

This is...just...incredible

Just found this in an email from a coworker which she sent to several of us; she is a reference librarian:
I assume Hurricane Ike is named after the former president? Think what would have happened if it would have been named after the current one!While I tend to agree that the idea of naming anything after Bush is farcical and probably will end up as a disaster, she apparently doesn't realize that "Ike" is a first name (hello, Ike Turner?) nor that the storms are not named for individuals.

Do y'all see why there are days when I want to put my face through a wall?

---

Urban Word:

27/4: 27 seconds a day, 4 days a week, i.e. quite rare

Identifying the person who put this in an email will be easier if I note that her ideal work plan is 27/4. She even includes Sundays in that work-week!

What an awful day!

Work today was pretty much useless. Lots of rain brought out lots of people needing all sorts of stuff at the library. Our Tr!b carrier triple bagged the paper...then slid it across concrete and shredded all three bags, which meant the paper was 75% soaked upon retrieval. (Investors Business Daily was a complete loss: totally soggy and melting into itself.) The computers were moving so slowly by 10 that we were essentially working in reverse, and the staff functions were slower than the public YouTube and MySpace viewing. Residents of a group home arrived in the middle of that mess. I like these guys because they are almost always 100% up-front about what they need, but they are needy...and we don't have any books on dentistry. Or teeth. The printers weren't printing right, either. And I didn't feel good for the last half of the day: I was up in the middle of the night last night being friendly with porcelain, but felt OK this morning. By early afternoon, I was ready to head home, except I couldn't because we were short-staffed and barely hanging on. Oh, and people were registering to vote in droves today for some reason--I'm not complaining about this, really, just the timing.

Highlight of the day: wrangling three 13-year-olds out of the building at closing, one of the staff said something about knowing one of them along with his parents. Another kid pipes up, "You know my family? I doubt it. Go on, what's my last name!?" I burst into a guffaw--he was wearing a baseball shirt...with his last name printed on it. Goomba!!

I work tomorrow as well. Gaah.

Meanwhile, Beast has spent the day doing all the laundry and sorting through his parents' paperwork trying to formulate a way of organizing it. I just asked him if he feels as if he's crested the hill and can see the lay of the land, and he says he doesn't even know what the hill looks like. His back is, at least, a little better.

Sparky continues to plug through his stack of homework assigned for this weekend.

I think I've figured out (part of) my eye problem: computers. So this is about all I'm doing tonight online.

---

Urban Word:

poopular: Adj. Popular on the outside, poopy on the inside.

The more I see and read about Sarah Palin the more I think she personifies the Ultimate Poopular PTA Bitch. Sorry, no vote here; I never did like you ladies (term used intentionally--you have no idea how much I loathe that word).

Ranty

OK, I've just read yet another cranky librarian posting about last month's meeting in Anaheim.* I'm so tired of this. One thing that pisses me off more about it is that there is clearly NO financial UNDERSTANDING for why we (librarians) hold meetings in warm venues in summer and in cold weather venues in winter.

Here's a hint: CO$T! It's ALL about money. My guess--and it is a guess--is that it runs several thousands of dollars less to book Anaheim (or Miami) in summer and Chicago (or Minneapolis) in winter. The hotels are also cheaper, and they are more willing to do deals on prices just to fill the rooms and get something. So are tourist things, if that's your thing, and restaurants and airlines. This means--listen up--it costs less for us to attend than it would if we went someplace Neato and Coolio like St. Louis in January or Boston in June.

And why Anaheim instead of L.A.? Hello? Go read paragraph #2. It's cheaper.

Why do I know this? Because I know people who work in the for-profit world. As much as that annoys me sometimes--huh--they have to justify the money they spend, and I will tell you all that there are times when they look at government (i.e. that would be us, kiddies) and are appalled at how clueless and retarded we are. So, chalk one up to ALA for saving money. ALA gets kudos for being financially responsibile on this count at least from me.

I was in Anaheim last month, across the street from Disney. I hate Disney. I'm not ridiculous about it--for instance, I don't hate it the way I hate terrorists or liver-and-onions--because I didn't feel compelled to partake in ANYthing Disney while I was there. I didn't eat, shop, ride, or enjoy ANYthing related to Disney, except 5 minutes of fireworks one night, in spite of practically marinating in Disneyfied air.

Guess what: I don't go to conferences to a) drink, b) eat gourmet food, c) have spa treatment, d) tour the vicinity, e) bitch about my host (i.e that would be Anaheim, kiddies). I go to LEARN. I go to enjoy some networking, to get excited about my job, to find out what might be coming down the pike, to meet some interesting people that I otherwise would not (and I assure you, I am NOT talking about the people doing most of the talking, though I did speak to Tim Spalding in the LibraryThing booth and congratulate him for being an instigator), to see an old place in new light or a new place period, and to get the FUCK away from work for a change of scenery!

So, Anaheim was hot, and there was a lot of concrete. So, I am out of shape. So, I am not thin. So, somehow--though I'm beginning to wonder if I imagined it--I hiked the distance to and from my cheap-ass motel (bar- and restaurant-free, mind you) and the conference site. I rode the shuttle bus precisely once, just to see how that worked. I walked 6-plus hours one day on concrete in exhibit halls and never once tried to steal anything that I "thought" was free but wasn't. I probably put three times more mileage on my feet in California than I do in the average month in 'real life.' And you know what? I could have gone several more days doing the same thing! It fucking was not that bad. Frankly, I felt crappier when I was on vacation in London four years ago walking (duh!) concrete streets and marble museum floors for a week.

The people who are bitching on their blogs about how AWFUL it was in Disn...er, Anaheim have a tone to their commentary that is very curious to me. It is the sound of cheerleaders talking down the Ugly Chick. It is the sound of Heather dismissing Martha Dumptruck. It is NOT the sound of a group of people I hope represent libraries or librarians now, nor do I hope these are the future leaders of the profession. I hope that librarians aren't a bunch of spoiled, whiny, and unbearably rude brats. I hope this because, while I was never Martha Dumptruck or the Ugly Chick in high school, one of the reasons I love the movie "Heathers" is because I enjoy watching a 100% pure bitch drink drain cleaner. It's very...cleansing.

Can we just get over ourselves and our liberal, white-bread, white-ass snobbery and gain some understanding of what the FUCK we were supposed to be there for?! And if you whiners can't figure out the last bit, at least stop griping about the carbon footprint of the conferences, the fact that California is notoriously based on driving instead of walking, the inanity of Disney, the perception that ALA is run by "Boomer Deadwood" and therefore toe-dally SUX!, and the lack of crunchy Trader-Joe-approved food. Use that energy to make your workplace better in a positive way.

I dunno. Maybe y'all just need to get laid. Or get stuffed. But please, for the love of Mike, shut up! It's enough to make this liberal-but-not-crunchy post-Boomer want to throw up a little on your self-righteousness. I remember being young and perfectly sure of the stupidity, hypocrisy, inanity, whatever-ity of The Oldies. Some of them annoy me still, now. But, what do you remember? Watching Ursula beat up on Ariel? Yeah. OK.

And what are you doing about it? Oh. Yeah. Working on that Second Life avatar that will change the world while simultaneously making a new LOLcat. Great. Let me know how all that works out for you. I'm sure you'll blog about it. Just remember: the people in Anaheim that you are talking trash about are PEOPLE who can READ your BLOG and be OFFENDED about how UNPLEASANT some LIBRARIANS are being about the place they LIVE. How would you feel if they were talking your hometown down that way?

And yes, believe it or not, I do get the irony. Because, you know what? Irony has been around...awhile.

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Word Spy Word:

kindergarchy: n. Rule or domination by children; the belief that children's needs and preferences take precedence over those of their parents or other adults.

Do I really need to explain why I chose the word kindergarchy to end this post? OK, here's the thing: I'm not against people younger than me. I just don't want the good-hearted ones I know to be overrun by the Asshats with Attitude, a.k.a. Kindergarchs.

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* No, I'm not about to link to any of them. If you haven't read any of them, and care to, go Google 'em all up.

"Asshat Move of the Year (So Far)"

Mood: Amused (and sore)
Hair: It needs washing and it's in a ratty braid
Eyes: Red-rimmed (stupid allergies
Listening to: MASCAR

Beast said that he expects me to use a title along these lines--not that he agrees with the sentiment. He should agree, but he's a kind Beastie. He also says he's never heard anyone else use the term "asshat." OK, then.

We went to a pig roast tonight. A good friend of ours has spent months planning this surprise party for his wife to celebrate their 20th anniversary. All of both of their families came in, and another friend volunteered their barn to host it.

Proving that I can't be trusted after half a glass of wine to walk while carrying a plate of food...I fell through the floor.

Now, granted there's more to the story, which I won't go into, but it was not the fault (directly) of the hosts or anyone else, and I didn't break the floor (the hole was there, and covered till we decided to tidy up). Fortunately, as you will see below, I have (ahem) heft in my thighs which ironically kept me from much more serious damage. I seem to have injured only 1) my pride, 2) my left foot where I twisted in my sandal as I fell, and 3) my right leg from mid-calf to mid-thigh, but pretty superficially. No broken bones, twisted tendons, or snapped ligaments. Just me, looking stupid.

That was at about 5:30. Three hours later after a bath and donning of pajamas (I do not wear these pants in public; are you on crack?!):

Not so bad, eh? A little red and scraped, with some suspicious shadowing on the inside of thigh. Still, some of the color weirdness could be due to the flash on the camera, eh?

OK, that shadow really is a bruise. Still, the majority of color is red. Do you know how hard it is to take a picture of your own leg, by the way?

Eeeuwww! Cellulite! Whale-white skin! But rather patriotic: red, white and blue! Lots of scrapes, and some noticeable dark spots.

Can you point to where my leg got stuck in the floor? Can you see just how thick the floorboards in the barn are? Any bets on how painful getting out of bed tomorrow is going to be? I hope we have plenty of Tylenol in the house!

Somehow, Beast thinks part of this is his fault. He's a goob. He's just married to a complete klutz.

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Urban Word:

Dr. Feelgood: Personification given to mainly booze, and sometimes referring to other drugs. Generally used to refer to drugs when a person is feeling down and a person is saying it's what they need and/or use to feel better.

I think the use of some Dr. Feelgood, while a pleasant-sounding concept, might be the worst possible treatment for me tonight.

Summer means Reading

Today was our first day of Summer Reading Program. Anyone who has worked in a public library is now shuddering. Today, for some reason, they scheduled a program in the evening...and then nothing particularly for the next 10 days. At least, according the calendar page that supposedly lists all the programs; on the other hand, there was supposed to be a teen thing this afternoon, which Sparky specifically asked to come in for...and nothing happened. He didn't tell me till 20 minutes after it was supposed to have ended.

Whatever.

I like the kids: it's fun to see everyone signing up to read (OMGOMG--signing up to READ!). But the drama, the sheer middle-schoolishness of (some of) the staff is just a big p.i.t.a. Two staff members spent an hour of their day today retyping the main flyer because it was so badly-done. Bad layout, no proofing, program explanations that made no sense, the usual denigration of one person's programs to make more space for another set of programs.... sigh

I'm tired. Very very tired. Drained. I thought I was on the emotional upswing, but I'm so tired tonight that those same emotions feel abraded and raspy. I'm just so veryveryvery sick of Schedule Nazi. She kept us waiting--standing around--nearly 10 minutes after closing while she faffed about doing stuff she should have been doing while we were open instead of yippety-yapping about JackShit to anyone unlucky enough to have been in her vicinity.

Still. Life could be worse. We are not flooded out like so many people in the upper midwest, our roads are all passable, there've been no tornado sirens this week* (yet). Beast isn't trapped trying to get home through flooding. I have a comfy bed and wonderful family here in my lovely, cozy house.

Speaking of that bed, I think I'll go inspect it more closely...after changing into pajamas.

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Urban Word:

power outage baby: Years ago, the power went out in San Francisco for a long time. Nine months later, there was a certain increase in birthrate. If you were born nine months aftert a power outage, you are a power outage baby.

I have a suspicion that there may be a few power outage babies next year as a result of this year's flooding. At least that's one positive outcome of all this mess.

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* UPDATE: As I typed this last night I knew I was tempting fate. So naturally, at 1:00 last night, Beast rousted us all to go downstairs because the siren had gone off. We are fine, nothing happened nearby, but... Me and my big mouth!

Oh, for REAL?!

This may be the nadir of the internet, and the reason bloggers sometimes get a lot of flak.

Also, kids skateboarding on the roof of our library?

And gang signs in our street? I just came in from talking to the cop who came and took photos, but I think the reason for the grafitti is more of a 'vote' for Ghostface Killah, than a gang sign. However: hot red/pink spray paint?


Really??

Killer

For the second time in two weeks, on the same stretch of road, Beast had a vehicle emergency around 3:30 this afternoon. This time he was in his own car, but the end result is that one vehicle is in the shop right now. He got a flat tire on a VERY busy road, managed to get to the side and get everything sorted to change the tire...and then a) broke off two lugnuts, b) slammed his right hand into the gravel when the second nut broke, and c) hyperextended his elbow at the same time.

Where was he headed? To the doctor about an injury he incurred about three weeks ago that just won't clear up--a ding in his nose from flying tool. So, he called me, I called the doctor's office and rescheduled that appointment, and then I called the local car-repair guy who towed Beast's Honda to the shop (over an hour round-trip), while Beast called the guy from whom he rents his business-trip cars. Repair Guy drove Beast to Avis and Beast made it on time to the barber shop where he and Sparky had haircuts scheduled at 5:00.

They got their haircuts, he went and moved all the stuff from his car into the rental, we met for dinner, and then we spent 45 minutes in a meeting about Sparky's new school. After the meeting, Sparky got a verbal commitment from a teacher to sponsor the anime club--the same teacher said he might start a video gaming club--I spoke to Sparky's gym teacher about some concerns, and we talked to a mom whose kids may be coming on the mission trip next month.

Beast was gone 5:15 a.m. - 8:30 p.m. straight; I left the house at 6 a.m. and returned at the same time.

Long day.

At least I didn't end up in jail for killing Schedule Nazi. She's still breathing. So far.

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Urban Word:

California Car Pool: When each member of a group uses their own car to go to the same destination. Typically, describing the case where the group is together at the start or close enough to share rides.

Tonight was another one of those California Car Pool evenings for us: we took two cars from the barber shop to dinner, to the high school, and then home. Gas prices be damned..