On bird poo and the threat of machines taking over the world

So, I woke up this morning and had to send a quick email, so I went into the living room where I keep my laptop (long story, but it involves my laptop's apparent refusal to speak at all with our apartment's wireless, thus necessitating plugging it directly into the router via ethernet cable and...actually, I guess that wasn't a really long story at all...) and discovered what appeared to be a smattering of bird poo over the laptop's cover.

Um, what?

Bird poo? On the laptop. Which was inside.

WHAT?

I do not comprehend it. I could not find a bird in our apartment; I can only guess how one got in (through the gap to the side of the window air conditioning unit, perhaps?) and then got out again (the same place, or maybe it simply was made of dark matter and thus didn't even interact with ordinary matter, except, of course, for its poop, which inexplicably was made of ordinary matter?) but somehow it did it. And left its mark so that we would know of its passing through our lives.

Um, yes.

Also, apparently my career is under threat from machines. Who could have guessed?

So, two weeks, eh?

I'm finally in a contemplative mood, whilst at the same time laden with my laptop 'cross my legs, and thus am currently experiencing the perfect blogging atmosphere. (Well, perhaps 'perfect' would also include a swarthy man dropping blueberries between my slightly parted lips while he somehow simultaneously strums his acoustic guitar while crooning a ballad he wrote just for me, but, that also might prove too mightily distracting for blogging purposes, and...I digress.)

So, hey. 'Sup.

I'm leaving Boston two weeks from today.

I'm taking a quick jaunt down to DC to go on a wee little road trip to the Carolinas with a marvelously wonderful friend of mine, and also to visit interesting places in our nation's capital. Like, um, the Holocaust Museum. Feeling a little weird about that now, but I'd still like to go...

And then I'm leaving the East. I'm vamoosing, sayonara-ing, signing off, shipping out, returning home from distant lands. I'm headed back to Utah, where the grass is (not as) green and the air is (thank HEAVEN) much drier, and the ground rises in these wonderful, tall, pointy things we like to call mountains.

Now that I have my diploma firmly in hand (seriously--I carry it around with me everywhere--I have a pocket sewed into my pant-leg for easy storage, although I'm thinking about comissioning someone to create a nice, round leather sheath that I can strap across my back like one of those sword-weilding-folk, enabling me to whip out that fancily-lettered piece of paper at the slightest provocation, like someone asking, "Can you tell me where--" "HAH!" I will reply, whipping my diploma from my back, "I am a LIBRARIAN. I can help you find ANYTHING.")

Er. Yes. Now that I have my diploma, and now that I also do NOT have more student loan money rolling into my bank account periodically, and now that my rent and grocery bills must rely on the meager earnings I am able to glean from my part-timing work, I have found it prudent to relocate myself to where the rent and my grocery bills will be non-existent. Namely: my parents' basement.

So, I will be thirty, with an advanced degree, and living across from my folks' laundry room.

And I've gotta say, I'm pretty much okay with that. Ask me again in four months or so, when I still don't have a job, and the student loan folks are getting that red-eyed, pointy-teeth look, but right now, I'm kind of happy about snuggling myself back into the nest. For a few months at least.

I guess I just have one of those faces?

So, everyone seems to be asking me for directions lately.

Okay, I don't mean 'everyone' everyone. It would take more time than I have in my lifetime to answer the way-finding requests of the 6+billion folks out there. (Although I'm sure they all deserve assistance. Except for you, Jerome.)

I guess technically it's only happened about 3 times in the past month or so. Which isn't that many, I suppose. Except that somehow it seems like a lot when compared with the amount of times (I imagine) that guy with the goatee, shaved head and tattoos curled around his arms gets asked for directions. Or even you. Do YOU get asked for directions that often? Probably not!

Because, you see, you don't have one of those faces. Apparently, I DO.

You know, one of those faces that just exude rosy-cheeked approachability and friendliness, the kind of face that smiles at your little dog as it poops on the sidewalk, or at your child as he/she tugs on your pants and whines for that bunch of broccoli strategically placed in the checkout line. The kind of face from which sparkles of glitter fall, which beams pure cherubic light, which says to your a-wearied soul (not in words but in visual images and possibly scent, which count more than words anyway), "My friend, we have been parted from one another for a long time. I know you do not remember me, but I remember you fondly. I burped you as a baby, kissed your forehead after pulling you from a bully-induced dumpster dive, sang soft melodies in your ear to help you to sleep on that crowded train (and you thought it was your neighbor's iPod, you silly). Now come. Come, ask me aught and I will provide it if it be within the power of these two poor hands of mine, or possibly my brain. Come, friend. Please ask."

And they do. They ask.

They say, "Excuse me, but could you tell me where the town hall is?" Or sometimes, "Pardon me, but do I need to use this machine to pay for my train fare?" And occasionally, "Alas, dear friend, I am soul-torn and weary. Have you any balm for this wounded heart of mine?"

This is why I'm going to make a great librarian. Knowing the collection? Piffle. Running programs? Pshaw. Having the face of an apparently eminently approachable stranger? Invaluable.

(This, I believe, is the speech I should have given during my phone interview this morning. I totally think it could have landed me the job. Experience or no experience. I gots the face, baby.)

A little hefty bit

Let me be frank: this semester has been dang hard. It's been hard scholastic-wise, social-wise, personal-state-of-self-wise, hair-wise, glasses-wise, pretty much every conceivable -wise possible.

Well, actually, that isn't true. I've had no difficulties with, say, species identity. I'm pretty sure I'm Homo sapiens. Also, my fingers have given me little trouble over the past few months. And hey, my continual acquisition of books has gone swimmingly.

But other things have been hard. When I say that the semester has been difficult scholastic-wise, I don't want to imply that I haven't enjoyed it; it's been one of the most enjoyable semesters I've had here. In fact, I feel that during this semester I finally got into the meat of what I hope to do as a professional librarian: reference work with children, preferably ages birth (yes, we do provide library services to babies) through 8th grade or so. I learned about programming for children, during which time I got to both construct a box of resources for a themed story time and later use someone else's box to perform a story time in class. It was, frankly, extremely awesome. Particularly the whole reading-picture-books-and-singing-songs in graduate school thing. I learned about children's literature, including how to write reviews and analyze the library's current collection to better meet the needs of the community. I spent hours and hours and even more hours getting familiar with reference source after reference source. It was intense, but oh-so-informative.

I guess that's the point: this semester's schoolwork was pretty heavy, but I feel like I learned more, or at least more valuable, pertinent-to-me information than I'd learned in any previous semester.

So, school was actually pretty good. Stressful, HECK YES, but good.

Let me just breeze through a few of these others before I get to the real meat of this: my hair is currently way too long and frazzled at the end. I needs a trim. This equals hardship for my poor self. My poor straggly-haired self.

Glasses: lost a screw. One of the lens frames is now held together with a fashionable piece of copper wire. I dare you to try to spot it without knowing about it beforehand. (And now you know about it! So you lose! Automatically! Dang, I'm sly.)

Personal-state-of-self. Dude. I consumed a ton of cookies tonight. I ordered Chinese food and pizza and I'm down to one pair of jeans that fits properly. Which makes me feel that I stink as a human being.

Which kind of leads me to the point of this whole post, the subject that I'm kind of reluctant to discuss, mostly because it reveals my really real deep inner flaws in a way that makes me intensely uncomfortable.

You see, this last semester, I also withdrew a lot from human contact.

It's not as bad at the moment, so I know have to write about this in a looking-back sort of way, rather than an I'm-in-this-right-now sort of way, so I don't know if I can fully recapture all the things that've been going on in my internal parts these past few months. Frankly, I could probably recapture it best at about 3:00 in the morning, with the occasional murmur of a single car passing outside my window making me feel, somehow, not less alone, but more so.

But, my roommates are home, and in and out of the room, being friendly (which is great) so let's see if I can grasp on to this slippery feeling that settled on me like a film of soap this past semester...

I have a feeling that my withdrawal from human contact has stemmed, to a large degree, from my growing dissatisfaction with myself. It's manifested itself in different ways: I can recall, for instance, sitting in church and feeling so unable to deal with people and the crowds and the press and the noise and the pressure that I had to escape outside in a near panic. I think I couldn't stand being around other people because, in part, I couldn't stand myself, or rather, I couldn't stand how I was sure other people viewed me.

So, I got out. And I kept getting out. And I kept not connecting with people, and I kept shutting the door to my room when I got home and I kept not really talking to people in class and.

And I just drew myself in and encrusted myself with as much armor-thick I-don't-care-ness as I could muster.

So, I had only myself to deal with. And, reluctantly, rarely, other people. When they absolutely refused not to be admitted. Which some did refuse, thank goodness.

And yeah, my relationship with God suffered too, mostly because I didn't take time for anyone besides my own brain. And, as crazy and entertaining as my brain can be, it can't provide insight into tremendously difficult life problems or answers to questions about the nature of the universe and our place in it (although it can come up with hecka-awesome dreams).

And. Good grief. NONE OF THIS explains really what I've been feeling or thinking or anything. And it's already too long by about 458%.

I guess, suffice it to say, I've had the door to my room closed far too often and for far too long. And I'm starting to reemerge back into the world, but it's hard. And I feel vulnerable and shaky, particularly because I'm still not entirely happy with myself, and because I'm afraid that other people can see the flaws in me that I can see in myself and that they scorn me for it.

But, you know, I'll still get up tomorrow morning. I'll still put on my skirt and those ugly brown shoes that are nonetheless comfortable and I'll wrap that blue scarf around my neck and button my slightly-too-tight coat over my bulgy self and I'll sit in church and listen to people talk and maybe even make a comment or two. If I'm feeling particularly daring. And it's even possible I'll feel the spirit. I hope so, because that's why I keep doing it.

And maybe, this week, and this next semester, maybe I can work on some of the things that have lately made me so unhappy about myself.

Maybe I can start to leave the door to my room open. Just a little bit more.

You always knew you wanted to float in a library

So, you know how I sometimes like to just embed a YouTube video rather than actually writing something myself?

Well...

I'm doing it again.

The lip movements aren't really synced so much, but it's from the 80s. And it takes place in a library. And there's a chimp wearing a Red Sox shirt. Is that enough awesomeness to make it all okay? Why, yes. Yes it is.

(P.S. Fair warning: There is one little swears. It's relatively mild, but it's there. Just so you know.)

Unless I suddenly learn to speed-read...

A year ago I started keeping track of all the books I was reading. It was more an exercise in memory assistance than anything else; it seems impossible for me to remember exactly what I've read, particularly when people come up and ask me, "I'm looking for something to read. So, what have you read lately?" I find this lack of memory on my part highly reprehensible, mostly because I aim to be a librarian, and librarians are always supposed to have lists of books handy at a moment's notice. Aren't they?

Anyway.

So, I came up with this list so I could read back through it, say, "Oh, yes. I remember that book. The characters weren't fully developed, but the plot was intriguing." Or, "Dude--that one was full of lame dialogue," or "I have never encountered an author so playful in her use of language. That one was an absolute delight."

(These are, of course, phrases I keep handy in a little drawer in my room. Just in case anyone asks me to be a reviewer of books. You know. Someday. In the future.)

So, in case you all are curious about what I've been reading, and you haven't been keeping track on that handy little list off in my blog's sidebar, here's all the books I've read (or nearly read) since last July.

(I was really hoping to get to 100 in a year, but so far I've only got 90, and I think it unlikely that I'll read 10 more books in the next week.)

By the way, if you want my opinion on any of them, feel free to ask. Otherwise, just browse for yourself and enjoy the process of discovery.

************************************************************

1. The Gift, Peter Dickinson
2. Tears of the Salamander, Peter Dickinson
3. Time of the Ghost, Diana Wynne Jones
4. Aunt Maria, Diana Wynne Jones
5. Hero’s Song, Edith Pattou
6. The Lion Tamer’s Daughter and Other Stories, Peter Dickinson
7. Waifs and Strays, Charles de Lint
8. Fire Arrow, Edith Pattou
9. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, J. K. Rowling
10. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J. K. Rowling
11. Austenland, Shannon Hale
12. The Blue Hawk, Peter Dickinson
13. The Golden Compass, Philip Pullman
14. The Subtle Knife, Philip Pullman
15. The Amber Spyglass, Philip Pullman
16. Nicholas Nickleby, Charles Dickens
17. The Name of the Wind, Patrick Rothfuss
18. Magic or Not?, Edward Eager
19. Reave the Just and Other Tales, Stephen R. Donaldson
20. Magic Kingdom for Sale – Sold!, Terry Brooks
21. Fire Watch, Connie Willis
22. Impossible Things, Connie Willis
23. Inside Job, Connie Willis
24. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Brontë
25. Some Deaths Before Dying, Peter Dickinson
26. A Morbid Taste for Bones, Ellis Peters
27. The Birthday Room, Kevin Henkes
28. Fragile Things, Neil Gaiman
29. Green Boy, Susan Cooper (only read part)
30. Wizards, edited by Jack Dann & Gardner Dozois
31. American Gods, Neil Gaiman
32. Anansi Boys, Neil Gaiman
33. Stardust, Neil Gaiman
34. Queen’s Own Fool, Jane Yolen & Robert J. Harris
35. Dragon Slippers, Jessica Day George
36. Dragonhaven, Robin McKinley
37. The Dispossessed, Ursula K. Le Guin
38. Angels & Demons, Dan Brown
39. The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin
40. The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown
41. Rocannon’s World, Ursula K. Le Guin
42. Planet of Exile, Ursula K. Le Guin
43. City of Illusions, Ursula K. Le Guin
44. The Word for World is Forest, Ursula K. Le Guin
45. The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Vol. 1: The Pox Party, M. T. Anderson
46. The Eye of the Heron, Ursula K. Le Guin
47. A Fisherman of the Inland Sea, Ursula K. Le Guin
48. Four Ways to Forgiveness, Ursula K. Le Guin
49. The Telling, Ursula K. Le Guin
50. Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen
51. Mansfield Park, Jane Austen
52. Lady Susan, Jane Austen
53. Phoenix and Ashes, Mercedes Lackey
54. Wizard of London, Mercedes Lackey
55. The Serpent’s Shadow, Mercedes Lackey
56. Seventeenth Summer, Maureen Daly
57. Forever, Judy Blume
58. Gates of Sleep, Mercedes Lackey
59. Fever 1793, Laurie Halse Anderson
60. A Great and Terrible Beauty, Libba Bray
61. The Arrival, Shaun Tan
62. Bronx Masquerade, Nikki Grimes
63. Just Listen, Sarah Dessen
64. Unexpected Magic: Collected Stories, Diana Wynne Jones
65. Endless Universe: Beyond the Big Bang, Paul J. Steinhardt & Neil Turok
66. Book of a Thousand Days, Shannon Hale
67. Rebel Angels, Libba Bray
68. The Sweet Far Thing, Libba Bray
69. Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist, Rachel Cohn & David Levithan
70. Born Confused, Tanuja Desai Hidier
71. Weetzie Bat, Francesca Lia Block
72. Boy Meets Boy, David Levithan
73. The Changeover, Margaret Mahy
74. A Hero Ain’t Nothin But a Sandwich, Alice Childress
75. The Ghosts of Now, Joan Lowery Nixon
76. King of the Mild Frontier: An Ill-Advised Autobiography, Chris Crutcher
77. Monster, Walter Dean Myers
78. How I Live Now, Meg Rosoff
79. Gossip Girl, Cecily von Ziegesar
80. A School for Sorcery, E. Rose Sabin
81. When Jeff Comes Home, Catherine Atkins
82. Magicians of Quality, Caroline Stevermer & Patricia C. Wrede
83. The Invention of Hugo Cabret, Brian Selznick
84. Uglies, Scott Westerfield
85. The Mislaid Magician or Ten Years Later, Caroline Stevermer & Patricia C. Wrede
86. Rules, Cynthia Lord
87. The Lightning Thief, Rick Riordan
88. The Audacity of Hope, Barack Obama
89. Scholarly Magics, Caroline Stevermer
90. The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fforde

Would I sing if I were a bus driver?

So, I really need to get on that thing where I write about my New York trip. And maybe my Utah trip too. And I need to organize and upload pictures and generally just kind of fill everybody in on stuff...

But instead, I'm going to tell you about a singing bus driver.

First, let me paint the scene for you: I had gotten off work, had gone to get groceries (bow-tie pasta and bartlett pears, among other things) and then meandered down to get a perscription refill at a CVS Pharmacy down the street a ways. It had been humid all morning, and the clouds had finally gathered together and ripened to a dark blue-grey, lightning and thunder sending advance warning to those of us scurrying along the sidewalk. I got my refill, and glanced outside to see a wall of water coming down, making a little river out of the street.

Feeling some reluctance to do an impression of a grocery-carrying water nymph, I decided to wait out the fury of the storm by eating lunch. Luckily, I didn't have milk or any frozen things to worry about.

(Lunch was great, by the way.)

By the time I was done, the rain had eased considerably, although now all the stoplights along the street were out. (Which reminds me--does anyone here actually know how to blasted deal with non-functional stoplights? Because it seemed to me that mayhem reigned. (Mayhem is a tyrant, I tell ya.))

Because I am a lazy bum, and also because I didn't feel like walking through the still-persistent rain, I decided to wait for the bus to come and take me home. Because buses are actually kind of fun.

And this bus was extra and especially fun, due entirely to the driver. Because as he drove (navigating the unlit stoplights with remarkable aplomb), he sang.

He sang rather well, actually. Listening to it made me feel cheerful; it made me smile at the other passengers, it made me smile at the sodden landscape, it made me smile at my penchant for smiling.

And I had to wonder, if I were a bus driver, would I sing too?

I sing doing other things, like cleaning or...er...showering, but these are often solo activities (as it were). How would I feel with a bus full of passengers sitting behind me? Would I really be that carefree?

Maybe I'll prove myself in the future. Maybe I'll become the singing librarian, (a la Marian?) entertaining children (and their parents) with my renditions of old familiar favorites, like "The Bookworm Boogie" and "Once Upon a Treble Clef."

Or maybe I'll just stick to picture books and save my singing for the shower.

Tagorium: Or, What I've Been Reading Lately

Okay. So, as you may have noticed if you've ever tagged me, it takes me forever to get to said tags on my own blog.

For that, I apologize profusely.

So, in an effort to alter my ways, I'm responding to Becca's tag. (Thanks, Becca!)

1. Pick up the nearest book (at least 123 pages)
2. Turn to page 123
3. Find the 5th sentence
4. Post the 5th sentence on your blog
5. Tag 5 people

The nearest book is, I kid you not, Introduction to Cataloging and Classification (10th ed.), by Arlene G. Taylor. Which is a shame, because I've been reading all these juicy YA books lately.

The 5th sentence on the 123rd page reads: "Playing times are given, as in the rule for sound recordings." Uh. That's pretty boring. Basically, it's talking about what kind of information you need to include when you're creating a catalog record for different types of items, in this case a DVD (aka in the library world as 'videodisc'). So, you'd include information about playing time when you create your catalog record.

Yearp.

Now, I tag (if you have time, but ONLY if you have time): Kim, Nerd Goddess, Pat, Becky, and Mom.

It's all such a mix, isn't it?

So, I could use a swear-word to describe yesterday, but since the readership of my blog consists of people who would probably not want to read the word, I will refrain.

But oh, was it ever that word.

I talked to my boss in the morning and realized that I had holy-hecka messed up at work the previous evening, (BAD), so of course I felt horrible about that, and then later that evening I spent from about 7 or 8pm until 3am this morning working on an assignment that was due at 8am. My neck ached, I nearly fell asleep at the computer, and I think I hallucinated something about spiders that turned into library patrons (not really).

Yesterday was also FABULOUS.

Before talking to my boss at work, I had a chance to participate in a national book drop for teens in hospitals (and medical clinics) sponsored by YALSA. One of my professors asked for volunteers, so the five of us (four students and the professor) went down to a local adolescent clinic to drop off several boxes, bags, and a cart full of books. It was, to be frank, quite awesome. (Even though I did have to be in some pictures. Urgh.) Also, the guy-who-was-once-bearded came and he was very nice, but then I was all sad because he's not LDS and thus It Can Never Be.

The best part of all this, though, was that as we walked back to campus (the clinic was only about a 15-minute walk away), I had the chance to talk with my professor, who has this vast amount of experience working directly in the field, teaching in the field, and just generally being this amazing advocate in the field of services to youth. She's pretty much my hero, now. Later that day, when I was at school listening to a faculty candidate give a lecture, that professor came and sat next to me. I felt so priviliged! (Haha! I feel like I have a teacher crush, except it's not really a crush, just a 'I really like this teacher' feeling.) Yeah. I'm kind of a nerd.

Um. And then there was another reason why the day was fabulous, which took place after I finished the assignment at 3am, but I won't go into that.

So, then, this morning, I walked to class, feeling at one with the world, with the pains of the day before safely buffered by 5 1/2 hours of sleep, loving the breeze, drinking in deep draughts of the blossom-laden world. Then I got to class.

And I remembered that I was supposed to bring snacks to class today.

And that the nearest grocery store was a good 10-minute brisk walk away. And that class was going to start in 15 minutes.

So, I briskly made my way to the store and briskly made my way back with a bag of Sun Chips mashed into my backpack, and made it to my seat just in time to catch most of The Dewey Rap.

And I realized that life is just all mixed up.

I don't mean to say that life is crazy confusing (although it can be); what I'm saying is that it's a hodgepodge, a jumble, a clothing rack at a discount store, where you'll find the designer jeans next to a mumu your grandmother would scorn.

So maybe being happy really does mean learning to pick the little pieces of life that are enjoyable, and choosing to learn from the bad parts, while still not letting them make us unhappy. Or maybe even just choosing to be happy, whether life throws you librarians rapping about classification systems, or yet another broken fingernail.

How did I get so darn lucky?

You. You people. You people are the coolest people ever.

And one of you in particular (although you ALL are cool, really) is particularly cool right now.

To that person, I heartily say, "Well, blow me timbers! Thar be The Good Ship Bookend in the flesh! Er, wood. In the wood. On me shelf! Arr. It be good to see her there."

Also, "Thankee."

Also, "Good grief! That's holy amazing that you found that thing and WOW!" But, I don't know how to put that into pirate speak. Maybe it would be something close to "Yaargh!" I'm not really sure.

Also (to all you readers) I'm so sorry I haven't been posting much. I've just been hecka busy with school (even now I'm thinking, "I'm sure there's something I should be doing. There's always something. What the heck is it?!?) and assorted mundanities, which both leaves me less time for blogging, and a mind that is less occupied with thinking up blog topics and more occupied with trying to figure out which books I should toss out (theoretically, of course) for my collection development assignment and what I can say for a booktalk and when I can squeeze in the readings for cataloging that I've been neglecting lately.

But, I must tell you, I saw this charming thing on the T this evening. I was riding up to Harvard Square to meet a classmate to finish up a group project. On the seats just in front of me sat a young man (twentysomething) and a woman who looked to be in her late forties or early fifties who was, I'm guessing, his mom. I noticed the young man, of course, because he was excessively good looking. But I also noticed that they seemed to be having this really charming conversation where they'd laugh, and he'd kind of lean in and intentionally bump shoulders (his right, her left) with her a couple of times. I love that whole bumping shoulders business. It's a way of showing affection without getting too out of control--of a desire for contact, brief and rather humorous. I like it a lot.

And I wish all of you were here right now so I could talk and laugh with you and bump shoulders. Just a little bit.

Flat Stanley's Last Day in Boston!

On Saturday, Stanley and I finally, finally, finally did something interesting. First of all, we got on the T to go to downtown Boston. Here's Stanley waiting impatiently at the T stop:


I'm not sure if it was because it was a holiday weekend, or because it was early-ish on Saturday morning, but the train was pretty darn empty. Stanley still seemed to be enjoying himself, though. (And I felt decidedly less embarrassed about taking pictures.)


We got off the Aquarium stop (which, unsurprisingly, comes out right by the New England Aquarium, which I have previously visited) and started a-wandering. We found this cool sculpture of frolicking dolphins, and Stanley wanted to climb aboard, so I obliged him.


You just can't get enough of cool frolicking dolphin sculptures.


Next, Stanley and I walked in back of a building (I think it might have been an apartment building? Or a hotel, maybe?) and found a lovely spot to sit and admire the harbor and also all the seagulls that flew up to us all of a sudden in apparent expectation of an outpouring of breadcrusts. (I almost got a picture of them, but they flew off again in disgust as soon as it became apparent that all I had to feed them was a flat boy made of paper and a shiny silver box that made irritating whirring noises.)

So, here's a shot of Stanley in front of Boston Harbor:


And another shot from the same location, facing a different direction:


And, just because I'm kind of silly, here's a video that pans around so you can get a sense of the view from there.



Ohyeah. And that wind? It made it all feel about 5 degrees or so. Wee bit chilly, I say.

Stanley and I got up then and kept meandering, where we found (if you can see it--it's a pretty bad picture) this building with an AH-mazing entrance: the Boston Harbor Hotel. (Which...Oh my. Hello, Fanciness.) Hm. Kind of funny, actually; as I was taking the picture, a couple of women were walking by, and I could see them making confused gestures from the corner of my eye. Suddenly, one of them laughed, and I heard her say something like, "Oh, it's Flat Stanley!" I turned and laughed and said, "Yeah." I've been amazed how many people know about Flat Stanley. He sure is one popular guy!


Here's a shot of some buildings downtown right by the Boston Harbor Hotel.


Stanley and I still weren't tired enough to stop exploring, and our noses hadn't yet become frostbitten, so we decided to keep going. We found this cool bridge:


(and here's a view to the side):


(and a look back from whence we came):


which led out to the Fan Pier. There's a long curving walkway that goes around this crazy-looking courthouse building. Along the way are plenty of benches and a good deal of thorny bushes that I'm pretty sure are roses (although I'll need to come back in the summer to make sure). All along are these gorgeous views of the harbor, like this one:


And this:


And here's another panorama video, in which Stanley becomes a serious camera-hog. (Yeesh, Stanley!)



We got really, really, really cold on the Fan Pier, so we walked a little bit further to the South Station T stop to get warm for a bit before heading out to see more stuff. Here's a picture of the South Station building (which is the station all south-bound commuter rail and Amtrak trains head out from):


We got off at Copley Square, which is one of my favorite places in Boston. First reason, it has the beautiful and impressive Trinity Church:


And the main, bigger, BIGGEST reason I love Copley Square, the Boston Public Library:


And here's Flat Stanley in the stacks:


As I was taking the above picture, a woman actually came up to me and talked about how her niece had sent her Flat Stanley to show around Boston, too! Crazy! She suggested that I check out an exhibit the library was doing of some bird's-eye-view drawings and photographs of Boston. So, I did. And Flat Stanley really enjoyed it! First, of course, we had to pass through the BPL's gorgeous courtyard:


Then, we found the exhibit. Here's Stanley hovering over an old view of Boston inlaid in the floor:


And here's Stanley with a more modern photograph of the city:


This picture shows how Boston has changed over time. As you can see, the land area just keeps growing and growing. Boston is like an enormous lichen! Or. Something. (You can tell by Stanley's expression that he thinks my jokes are lame.)


Then, because it was getting pretty close to my working time, we decided to head off to, well...work. On the way, we stopped and looked at the Museum of Fine Arts, just because it's a cool building and I wish we'd had time to visit it. But alas, 'twas not to be.


So that, my friends is the end of Stanley's adventures in Boston. (With me, at least. Apparently he's visited here before in other incarnations, and is, very likely, visiting it right now and will be visiting it again for a long, long time to come.)

I'll be sending Stanley back to my niece with an accounting of all our doings together.

Adieu, Stanley. It's been fun.

And really, we must do this again sometime.

Stanley visits the public library.

Well, all. Today was very, very, very, very rainy and wet and kind of miserable when you walked around in it wearing canvas shoes that soaked through approximately twenty seconds after you stepped outside and kept squelching when you walked.

Luckily, Stanley got through it okay by remaining safely tucked into books or notebooks that were, in turn, safely tucked into my backpack, which I tried my best to cover up with my umbrella.

It would, in fact, have been a perfect day to stay inside. However, I found that I needed some serious bookage. Some serious Young Adult (YA) Literature bookage, to be specific. And as we all know, the best place to find YA Lit is...

That's right! Your local public library! (And as I plan to work in a public library after graduation, I am particularly fond of recommending visits to 'em.)


So, Stanley and I made our way past rivers and ponds (previously known as roads and crosswalks) and made it to the local public library, where we perused the shelves in the YA room and came away with such notable titles as Fever 1793 by Laurie Halse Anderson, A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray, Bronx Masquerade by Nikki Grimes, and Just Listen by Sarah Dessen.

Of course, before leaving, I had to show Stanley my favorite spot to stop and peruse a magazine (like The Writer or Astronomy):


Then, Stanley and I came back to my apartment, where I put my shoes on the radiator in an attempt (which turned out to be futile) to dry them off before I left for class. In the interim, Stanley helped me muddle through the intricacies of the articles we were assigned to read for today's lecture:


Later, during class this evening, Stanley was good enough to take notes while I dozed off. (However, for all of you who like that idea, I encourage you to resist the impulse to have Flat Stanley take notes for you. Flat people don't seem able to hold pens very well.)


Finally, Stanley and I went to work, where we were pretty bored for several hours. When the shift ended at 1am, we took a taxi home to my apartment. (I would have taken a picture of the taxi driver, but...I felt kind of shy.)

Tomorrow's my day off, so, although I have errands to run and lots of homework to do, I'll try to find something interesting for Stanley and me to do as well.

Stanley goes to library school.

Hello, all.

Today Stanley went to, you guessed it, even more libraries.

First off, we went to work again, where (after my shift was over), we went to find that book we looked up on the computer yesterday.

So, first, we went to the Juvenile section of the library, then we found which set of shelves had the call number we were looking for (remember, the call number started with 'J B':


Then, we found the book on the shelf itself:


Way to go, Stanley! (Note, if you will, the subtle expression of humble triumph Stanley is sporting in this photograph.)

Stanley also met a stone owl named Minerva. I have no idea why she is named Minerva, nor why a stone owl resides in this library. These mysteries aside, Stanley thought she was pretty darn cool.


Righto. Well, after that, Stanley and I meandered off to Simmons, where we went to the library over there ("Good grief," cried Stanley. "Not another one!") and I made copies of some journal articles I was supposed to read and...didn't quite get through...and where I also checked out a course reserve book to read about ways to help teenagers who use libraries.

Then, at last, Stanley came with me to the building where most of the library school classes are held. Here's a picture of the outside (with the library school banner neatly displayed). (Also, just FYI, today was wretched cold, so those fingers holding Stanley up are freezing OFF.)


And here's a picture of Stanley inside the classroom:


(Don't worry about the lack of students; I just got there a little early, which is why the room's so empty-looking. But the two students you see in the background? Typically intelligent. Like pretty much every single library student. We're also a humble bunch.)

That's mostly it. Stanley and I went grocery shopping after class, and I bought bread, milk, eggs, cereal and bananas, and also rubbing alcohol because I tripped coming up the stairs at a T station yesterday, scraped my knee up and made it bleed through my jeans. I figured rubbing alcohol was a pretty good idea.

And now we're back at my apartment! So, I will bid you all adieu until tomorrow, when I will recount more adventures with the indefatigable Stanley.

Stanley volunteers.

Hi, all!

I'm afraid I didn't get pictures of everything I wanted to today, so the visual aspect of this post will be a bit limited. I will, however, give you a little run-down of our activities this fine Monday. (Actually, it was freezing cold, but I won't go into that, as it's unfortunately quite irrelevant.)

This morning, I took Stanley to work with me again, where he got introduced to some of my coworkers (who had apparently met other incarnations of Flat Stanley hanging out in such places as Fenway Park). Stanley and I looked up a call number of a book, just so he could practice his library skills. (If you will, please note the title of the book he searched for. Stanley is perhaps just the teensiest bit self-obsessed.)


So, like all good library catalog users, Stanley found the book he was looking for on the OPAC or Online Public Access Catalog (Feb 11th's Library Science Term of the Day) and then wrote down the call number, or the special number a book has that helps you to find it on the shelves. The J on the call number below means that it's located in the Juvenile section, or the part of the library that has kids' books. The B815 refers to the author of the book, Jeff Brown (the B for his last name and the 815 is to keep all the books by 'B' authors in alphabetical order when you put them on the shelf) and the 'f' is for the title of the book: Flat Stanley.


We were going to go and look for the book itself, but unfortunately I had to do some real work, so I didn't end up having time. Bother.

Right after work, I went up into Cambridge again. But this time, instead of going to church (and walking near Harvard) we got out at the Porter Square stop (see the sign below)...


...from which I walked to yet another library where I volunteer once a week. This library's at an elementary school, so Stanley and I saw a lot of kids today. In fact, I helped check some books out to them. But mostly I helped the librarian (who's a friend of mine) check books in and shelve them. (Which kind of makes your hands gross and dirty, (books are dusty) but it's still pretty satisfying.)

Um. Aaaaand... I forgot to take pictures at the school. Sorry!

But, to make up for it, I made a video of Stanley going back down the escalator at Porter Square so we could catch a train going back home. The ceiling over the escalator (which is just enormously long, by the way) is made up of these huge triangles that kind of hang down over you. As you go up the escalator, you see white silhouettes of birds on a light blue background. As you go down the escalator, you see old-fashioned trains (appropriately enough). What's cool is that as you go down (or up) the pictures look like they're moving a little. Watch the video--it's short, but it's kind of fun:



Alright! And that's it for today. Tomorrow, Stanley and I will be going to work again, so maybe we can actually find a copy of that book. We'll also be going to library school. HOLY EXCITING! (Well, maybe just for librarians-in-training...but still. It'll be mildly entertaining for the rest of you, I'm sure. Maybe.)

Oh, heavens.

You know, if I had an extra $4,400 and also a passport, I would SO be doing this during the coming summer. It would be my dream trip.

AlasAlasAlasAlassess.

*****
Edit at 4:08am: Why. Why, oh why am I not asleep?

I must still be thinking about Oxford.

Well, welcome to Boston, Stanley!

This afternoon, to my great delight, I received a letter from my niece who lives in the far-off western part of the states. Imagine my surprise when, upon opening the envelope, I discovered not only the expected letter (written very neatly indeed on that beige lined paper you get in elementary school) but a stowaway as well:


That's right, gentle readers. Flat Stanley has come to Boston.

Since he'll be staying with me for a week and will pretty much go everywhere I go, (except the bathroom, of course--that would be gross, people), I thought I'd document our good times together on the blog, partly as a reminder of what to write my neice about when I send Stanley back home, and partly as a way to share what I do every day (and to amaze you with the boring-osity of it all).

Luckily, Stanley arrived at my apartment today just before I had to go to work, so work was, in fact, the first place he and I went. We took the subway there, where Stanley helped me check out some books to patrons using our Integrated Library System (that's your 'Library Science Term of the Day,' btw):


(Note, if you will, the holy light emanating from said ILS.)

Then Stanley thought it would be funny to jump out of the stacks at me:


(Yah. Hilarious, Stanley.)

Fortunately, Stanley also helped me find a discarded book that's over 100 years old (!), so I couldn't stay mad at him for too long.


We decided to bring it back to my apartment and give it a nice home. (Mostly so I can sniff right in the creases and get that 'old book' feeling and swoon. Also, I love that title page. Seriously. I would marry it. If it proposed.)

Well, that's it for Stanley's Adventures in Boston today. We'll see what our flat friend gets up to tomorrow...

This is it.

This is why I am in library school:

So, while we're on the subject of controversial topics...

Today in library school we talked a lot about intellectual freedom.

Which, basically says that censorship is never a good thing. And also that, as librarians, we should not restrict anyone's access to any information, whatever we happen to feel about that information personally.

I find this topic very interesting, and the discussion in class was wonderfully enlightening and very stimulating.

However.

That is not the topic I'm going to address in this blog post. (Although, I suppose you could argue I've already addressed it.)

The topic I'd like to discuss is much more controversial and much deeper and much more important and stuff. It is this:

Why do I feel I am a woman who can not pull off pink? Or even that I am a woman who does not want to be able to pull off pink? Who would, if she could, pull off pretty much any other color including dark browns and olive greens and rusty reds along with pale blues and teals and bright dandelion yellows, but who is unfortunately unable to do so due to her being an 'autumn' and thus not really looking all that hot in blue-toned stuff. Apparently. (As if she looks hot in 'autumnal' colors, but whatever.)

But seriously--what do I have against pink? I mean, pink is fine.

I sometimes think of it as a bit frou-frou, a little too much a blond feminine cutesy sort of girly girly thing, but then, I'm a female. I'm a girl. Why should I object to girls being, well, especially girlish?

I guess I've never really been into the whole girly thing, even when I was a kid. You see, as children, my siblings and I loved play-acting, and because we had no brothers (then) the four oldest siblings (all girls) would play together and I would usually play the boys. Because they got to do the cool things like rescue people and swing swords and go dashing over hillocks and stuff. (Lucky boys. With their lucky hillocks.)

I rather scorned the girl toys. While I still played with dolls, I preferred the toy monsters our next-door neighbor (a boy) got to play with, or the He-Man action figure said neighbor also posessed, or the cool transformer toys and...the toy my cousin had: some big machine type thing made up of little cat machine type things that all fit together...something. Anyway--that was cool too.

And not pink.

Or. Well, I think maybe one of the cat machine things was pink because it was operated by a female character, but STILL. That's my POINT. Right?

Or maybe it's not. Because if this female character was hooking up in her little pink machine with all the other machines to form one big machine (part of which, necessarily, was pink) then that shows that pink, and thus a pink-loving female, has power, even if it's a power that's part of a larger male-dominated entity.

Yep.

So, the reason why I'm even writing about this is that I have a pink coat. It was left by the gal who lived in my room before I moved in. And it's a very nice coat. It's warm, and it fits pretty much perfectly (which--hey--a FREE coat that fits PERFECTLY is not anything to shake a stick-sword at) and it's pretty much winter here in Boston now, with its icy sidewalks and its skin-slicing winds. Aaaaand...

The coat is pink. It is pink. It is pink it is pink and...wearing it...I just feel like a pink girl. And I've never really been a pink girl. So...

I just need to wrap my mind around it. And appreciate the pinkness. And find joy and power in being pink-coat-wearing-girl.

That's nothing to be ashamed of.

Right?

P.S. I also read banned books. And they rock.

When librarians get embarrassed:

When we find ourselves mouthing the 'ABCs' song under our breath, trying to remember whether K comes before or after L.

For some reason, I can never remember that one.

At least I've got the numbers straight.