Library science topics : gems in the dungheap of this blog?

I realized today that I don't post nearly enough on library themes, other than to bitch about my classes and/or financial aid. There are a couple of reasons for this:

1) There are so many fantastic library and librarian-themed blogs already, such as librarian.net, Library Link of the Day, the lo-fi librarian, and so many more. Plus, most of the bloggers out there are professional librarians, not students. While I've got some experience, I'm not working as a librarian or doing anything to really change or stupefy the profession as a whole.

2) I am working in a library and don't want to say anything that might get me or coworkers in the soup, or for this to turn into an For a Break from the Bowels, I Bitch About Work for a Change blog.

But it can be nice to think and write about things other than toilets; therefore, it's Library Science Time! [squealing synths and laser lights] [Damn you, Doctor Who]

Hows about some personal reminiscence crossed with heavy patron rights/privacy/freedom of information! Woo!

I was working as a technician in a small public library branch a few years ago. Generally, we allowed some policy-bending or breaking, as this library was supported by regulars. (One of the policies demanded a library card or Government-issued ID for every transaction, even though the computer had the capability to look up by name, phone number, etc. It's tough to convince a patron after seeing them seven days in a row, with their card or ID in hand, that because they don't have it today, sorry, no check-out for them!) But because we had such a high rate of disappearing DVDs and videos, and no discernible security system apart from our eagle eyes, we cracked down on the media check outs.

A kid who looked to be twelve or thirteen came up and slapped Reservoir Dogs on the counter.

"Card?" I said.

"Um, I forgot it. Can you look me up?"

"Not for a video," I replied. "Can you get your mom or dad to check it out for you?"

He shot me a disgusted look and slunk away, leaving the video on the counter.

"That's right," said the woman who was next in line. "Kids shouldn't be borrowing that. Don't you ask their age before you check something like that out to them?"

Given that the film in question did have a pretty graphic cover, I bit my tongue from asking her if she'd ever watched it. She did have a point. The kid wouldn't have gotten into a cinema-showing of the film. But shouldn't the reprimand come from the parent? There's no in loco parentis in public libraries. We shouldn't monitor what people check out, because it's none of our business. Is this just a cop-out for me? Should I be protecting youth from violent images they'll might see on TV, in school, or possibly in their homes? Or should I protect their rights as people to watch what they want? What about when the argument extends to books/materials about guns or explosives?

This article is a grand example of this topic: Kids likely can keep borrowing R-rated rentals from library.

What is most interesting is the revelation that libraries have no legal right to deny people the items.

So when does this allowance of patron freedom to read or watch any materials in a public library (surely a right in this country?) become criminal negligence? I'm assuming after Something Terrible happens.

As far as I can tell from reading library blogs, this is an oft-discussed issue in the library world, and similar to book banning. But rather than back up a discussion with any logical reason, I'll go with Personal Experience for 100, Alex!

All I remember was it had "Rainbow" in the title, and baby, this weren't no Gravity's Rainbow. That's right, this was one of those with the shiny purple embossed letters, the half-dressed chick and the pantsless man - in short, your typical juicy bodice ripper. I did not pick this book from my assigned summer reading list. It was one of the Old Woman Readers*: a PWP** book full of sexy sex sex.

Even touching the book required some deft planning. The Historical Romance spinners were a good two feet from the YA fiction ones. I stood with my back to the books, and took a few casual steps...and with one swoop, added the rumpled little book to my armload. Heart pounding, I approached the circulation desk.

The librarian stamped my books with a methodical hand. Did I see her hand pause at the fateful title? Or was it my imagination? She finished and pushed them to me.

"Four weeks."

Looking back, it was really a terrible book. And it didn't really gain me any carnal knowledge, either. But what do kids know? It's best to be prepared.





* Thirties-forties is old when you're a kid.
** Plot-what-plot?

My pills, my pills, my lovely lady...hills

It would be better, overall, if forgetting to take my meds meant I would lose all higher brain control and gibber until someone forced some Colazal down my throat.

This would illustrate and reinforce the notion that if I didn't take the meds, "things" would deteriorate. But I've forgotten my meds for the last two days, and there isn't any reinforcement. On the third day is when things start to get funny. My previous doctor said something about What is the point of taking medication at all if you're not going to take it all the time? You'll feel better if you take your meds, so take your meds. It would be better if she'd describe what the lack of medication actually did: ulcers begin to form and ooze, you begin to feel blood pooling in odd corners of your intestine, the dripping sounds like a coffee percolater, you start losing your appetite...but none of those are true. Funny, and not unknown to happen, but not from three days off meds.

The point - and I do not really have one - is that with all this internal shit going on, and the fact that it takes so long to manifest externally (for me), it's hard not to pretend that I'm perfectly healthy, except for the zygote destruction and repressed quirks. For two days, that's golden. And therefore, I'd rather the meds be completely necessary and unavoidable, because it would be easier to get used to taking a handful of them. Every. God. Damn. Morning. Oh - and Afternoon. And Most Evenings.

Even worse, I should really be used to this by now. But you know how it is. You start thinking about a random trip to New Zealand, or the Apocalypse* and you realize, shit, I have to stop and raid the fracking drugstore before I barricade myself in the pub, that's gonna be really exhausting, and you maybe stop taking the meds for a day. Just because, you know, you should conserve. In case the zombies rise.

Or just because you want to pretend.

Incidentally, I have a much bigger problem with mental blockages than...well, you know, those ones. (And in my case, the analogy would be better served with a floodgate.) Like everyone else, I'd rather spend my last days flinching at unnamed adult pains, kicking my grandchildrens' collective asses at checkers and walking to the mailbox - which will be up a quarter mile driveway - then drooling in a nursing home and wondering whether the lime-green jigglish stuff is edible. Yesterday this crossword clue stumped me:

46 across: Kevin of Field of Dreams

Ha. Ha. Ha. I am not kidding. Crapping my pants in public was less embarrassing. And I would know.

The real mental blockages could be coming from my repeated attempts to create a successful library evaluation plan, or transcribe my reference librarian interview. Summer is the absolute worst time to take classes, but today is even worse, because it's THIS day, and Tea and I are going to the midnight party since we're a couple of dorks with spoiler-death wishes, so I really should get this homework done. So I can spend all weekend reading a kid's book in good conscience.

Okay, now I'm all excited again.

Drama Hoor

As expected by everyone sane and unexpected by me, the back pain has lessened and disappeared. It really surprises me that I do in fact have ulcerative colitis, and floating around somewhere, the colonoscopy* scans to prove it, because damn if I don't exhibit class A signs of hypochondria at times.

I think that, if you're a relatively healthy person (aside from the bags of Cheetoes and occasional gallon of tequila) a trip to the doctor, for slightly unnerving symptoms such as teeny blood droplets in stool, is something that you still expect to turn out well, or hopeful at least. You've received fairly good news all your life:

"It's only ear wax!"
"Wait, it's changing - you DON'T have strep throat."
"Sorry, kid, we can't keep you."

Doctors seem to talk more when there's nothing wrong with you. If they chat your ear off it's because they see what they expect to see. If they don't, they've actually got to pay attention. So, as a relatively healthy person, you're not expecting your doctor to poke around, stand mute except for instructions to the nurse, and to then give you the puzzled face he reserves for deciphering his own notes and say, "Hmm. Well, we'll have to do some tests." After that, you've become a patient.

Once you're a patient - okay, and this is where the YOU turns into ME - you begin to think that every little twinge is something big-bag-oh-my-god-deadly.

It's amazing how I can convince myself of this, even after lifting about forty boxes with my back and not with my knees.





*Just out of curiosity, why the hell doesn't Blogger recognize the word colonoscopy? Colonoscopy, colonoscopy, colonoscopy. It's more than ready to substitute endoscopy or spectroscopy, or pretty much any old scopy you can think of. Colonoscopies are not particularly new to the world of medicine, are they? Somewhere, I believe I saw an old drawing with a prone patient, a crowd of doctors and candle...

The Lurker at the Threshold, or, just another reason to bitch like a Great Old One

I've only read a few HP Lovecraftian stories, and The Lurker at the Threshold is not one of them. If you're interested, the only one I really remember was The Colour Out of Space, which I'm not even sure if I got the title right, though that creepy indescribable pulsating colo[u]r scared the beejeesus out of me while I was waiting for the bus. Generally when I see the initials HP, I think Harry Potter, and oh gosh the new Harry Potter's coming out in nine days, and oh golly Tea and I are seeing the movie on Saturday morning, and blahblahJKRowlingmakingmoremoneyasItypeblah. This is, of course, a sane reaction.

But back to...the Lurker. Or the Haunter. Whichever.

I've never read the story. Wikipedia probably has a fabulous synopsis (hey, it was written by August Derleth! Learning! Always learning!). But the best retelling came from my friend Mary over margaritas.

"There's this thing, see, this evil lurking thing from another dimension that is waiting, just on the threshold and enter our universe. Ooooh, it was just so creeeeeepy."

I don't know if that's accurate or not. But I think I've found the next place the thing will enter, and it's not through my large intestine. No, it's through the juncture of my upper back and neck. The aching, the burning, the tense muscles - it's very clear. From there the Lurker will surface, rend and tear my flesh (though I think he's doing a dandy job from the other dimension) and demand horrible sacrifices. A. massaged it last night while we watched some Seinfeld, and twice I caught him muttering under his breath, strange, primitive-sounding words...

So. I leave it to the capable hands of the Internets, my last defense against the rise of the Great Old Ones, the Haunter, the Lurker, and August Derleth's violated corpse: is meningitis something we IBDers need to look out for? Or am I being paranoid about the end of times, as bloody entrails will certainly be more enticing than healthy ones?

Sorry so long between postings, library science has taken a drastic turn for the worse. Apparently, the coming of the Old Ones is not enough to merit a reduction in assigned pages.

Where's a Tardis when you need one?

Not that a Time Lord could help me...

The third and fourth assignments (which I've been working with all week) are due today. Hopefully I should be able to post more interesting library science stuff soon, and more exciting ulcerative colitis stuff...soon. Just found out my loan for the fall was DENIED by the awesome university powers, so I've got more exciting things to think about after the homework.