Back from the dead, or, archives are NOT dusty, musty or disorganized! What will it take for you people to understaaaaand

Unlike Spock, I've never been dead before, but a couple of days ago I hyperventilated my way through a week-long Archives class. A three-credit Archives class. That's right, we're talking:

1. Read two books and a boatload of articles and websites before the first class day.
2. Class meetings from nine to five-ish (the first day we were required to watch this, which was awesomely entertaining despite the baaaad American accent put on by pretty Liam Cunningham. Yes, that was how all Brits felt seeing Rene Zellweger fumble around as Bridget Jones, I assume), homework from five-ish to wheneverish. In my case that was generally midnight-ish.
3. Two to three hour long lectures.
4. A portfolio (see above homework) and poster project (see above image) to be presented to the class on the final day. I painted mine while watching both versions of The Big Sleep.

It was incredibly intense. I was gibbering on Day One and completely blasé by Day Four. It was also hard to turn off the focus and just relax with a giant Symphony bar, popcorn, and the entire doofy fourth season of Stargate Atlantis. (Somehow I managed it.) The good thing about the experience? A. was gone to Chicago for a conference so I wasn't distracted.

I've been thinking about this blog and how remiss I've been in updating, well, with any frequency at all. I have another blog at Livejournal, which I update nearly every day with (obviously) fascinating tidbits. The normal course of action would be to say, [Forget] you, Jobu!* and end this blog. The smart, less stressful thing to do would be to combine the two blogs. But I'm not going to do either (insert idiot, abnormal comments in their rightful places, please). I like writing about UC here. I write about it on the other blog, too, but not as much.

This makes me think about one of my biggest problems with UC - one that I often discuss with my friend Sasha. Sasha has persistent idiopathic facial pain, so occasionally we have conversations about chronic disease, chronic pain and the unpleasantness of taking bucketloads of medication. Out of all the things we talk about, the one I keep coming back to is passing.

"Passing" in our parlance refers to the fact that on our good days (and sometimes, on my bad ones) both Sasha and I can generally pass for healthy people. No one can look at us and say, unequivocally, that girl's diseased or she has chronic pain or she downs horse pills. In general, no one has to know about our disease unless we tell them.

This is a confusing way to exist. On one hand, I can go to work and class or hang out with friends and not feel like I'm being patted on the head or doused with sympathy. On the other hand, it makes explaining about the disease (what I can't eat, why I shouldn't drink coffee [oooh boy], why I have ninety pill bottles in one of my cupboards) a lot more awkward; which also brings up the point of when is it proper to tell your new friend/boyfriend/work colleagues about your embarrassing, private bowel disorder?

My current answer to that question is 1) live over hard cider or online with a brief Livejournal bloodletting, 2) I'm so shamefully glad I don't have to talk to a new lover about this, and 3) never. According to number 3, I'm passing; at least at work I am.

It doesn't seem right. And yet, I've been at my current job for almost two years. It would definitely be awkward to bring this up now. Also, one of the most appealing things about passing is that lack of knowledge; it's not "I have a secret looloolooleelooloo," it's privacy. I can't think of a situation where my coworkers need to know about my UC, but I'm not long on imagination (surprisingly) in this area.

So, what do you all think about passing? Is it good, if you can spin it? Is it bad, because UC/whatever chronic disease IS a part of a person and to pass as healthy serves to deny that part? I know UC has changed me. In light of that, passing feels like cheating or lying.

What do you think?

You can tell me I'm full of shit. It's true!





*Come on, edited-for-television is ALWAYS better. As with all things, see Robocop. (Which I hear Aronofsky is remaking. NOT a happy camper, here.)

I'm so tired, I haven't slept a wink...

Overall and Cause-Specific Mortality in Ulcerative Colitis: Meta-analysis of Population-Based Inception Cohort Studies

This is actually something I meant to post a few weeks (months?) ago, back when The Bag of Health and Politics posted a similar article from medscape about Crohn's Disease.

Then I started doing my homework.



It will be nice to be Mistress of All Library and Information Things, but it would also be nice to be a blue jay. Since starting policy class, I've been communing more with the juvenile blue jays that visit the feeder, and I think I'll join their society instead.

Ha ha ha.

Did I mention that policy class begins by draining one's sense of humor?

Actually, the class is quite interesting. We're studying lots of anger-inducing subjects, such as patents, licensing, e-voting, and more. Studies show my use of the word "interesting" to have gone up two hundred eighteen percent since September 28. Studies also show A.'s flinging of thesauri has increased by three thousand percent.

My other class is about cataloging, which is something I should be able to handle in my sleep. However, there are multiple roadblocks like discussion boards, assignments and course texts that get in the way of watching Walker, Texas Ranger and naps. My discussion postings during naps have been unsuccessful.

Still, I hope that with good nutrition, beer and copious pills I should make it through the semester without any brain- or UC-related incidents. Last night, for example, A. and I were extremely hungry, so I reheated some mashed potatoes, made toast with honey, and fried up some chicken tenders in buttermilk-egg and rice krispy coating. For good measure I tossed the chicken in hot sauce and butter.

I feel great!

Unfortunately, A. doesn't. I walked by the bathroom this morning and heard, "Ow ow ow ow" accompanied by the requisite bathroom sounds.


I'd like to update more, once the semester is closer to being finished. The problem is as evidenced above: my UC is particularly quiet lately, and this blog usually serves as a venting ground for ass blowouts. However, I have (with the express approval of my speedy gastro man) started reducing my level of Imuran from 150 mg to 125. Woopwoop, I know, but my psyche feels happier. So far, all quiet on the poopypants front. Off to my figurative policy class now; licensing and standards and contracts, oh my!

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?

The Wrong Poster, or, gate-crashers in the Halls of Scientific Academe

Oh, what a day it was. Oh, what times we had.

I got to the lounge early and stood in line for one of the presenter lanyards spread out on a folding table. The lanyard girl smiled at me. "Name?"

"Peppery," I said.

She frowned. "Peppery? Um. Okay." She pecked around under the table, then scanned the tabletop. "I don't seem to have your name."

"Really? I'm doing a poster. How about Em? She's my co-presenter."

"Nope." The girl conferred with the symposium coordinator, who materialized at the first sound of minor aggravation. "I can't find anyone's name, Danny, why is no one on the list?"

To get my little blue lanyard, I eventually had to produce an email confirmation from Em's and my absent co-presenter T-Dog, who is spending the summer home with his folks.

"Oh, T-Dog," Danny sighed when I showed him the email. "Of course. Just write your name on that sticker and sign the sheet. You're fine. It's fine."

Lesson One for All Future Symposium Presenters:
if it looks like it's going south before it starts, it probably is. Get out immediately.

While waiting for Em to arrive with the poster, I fanned myself with a handful of our project pamphlets and found a symposium program. The cover was blase enough: pictures of trees, some dreck about national science and academic excellence. I flipped through the list of presenters, and felt a tiny, uneasy lump begin to formulate in my throat. The official List of Abstracts included phrases like "Estimated Wake Velocity," "prokaryotic assemblages using protein," and "exocyclic enol ethers," all of them doing the funky with things like coagulants and glandularizations and meiotic silencing.

The lump hardened into a golf ball as I flipped toward the Poster section. There we were, with our innocuous, bouncy title: Does GX Corporation's Book Projects Undermine Public Libraries? It was sandwiched between two other paragraph-long titles that mentioned genes and calcium and enhancing spatial data points from things with Latin names. I broke out in a cold sweat.

"Hey there," Em said, coming up behind me. She lugged a huge plastic bag. "Here's the poster. Where should we set up?"

"In the corner," I croaked. "Behind that plant."

She consulted her program. "Oh. Wow."

"Yeah. Why didn't they say something when we submitted our abstract? Isn't this supposed to be about technology, too? We should ask T-Dog."

Another lanyard-decorated student set up his sleek glossy poster with sticky-tac on foam board behind Em. It looked like Powerpoint Presentation slides printed out in rows, with lots of symbols, numbers and elemental equations.

"Well," Em examined the schedule, "at least we get free lunch. And coffee, and - hey, dinner! Nice!"

Lesson Two for AFSP:
Need we reiterate that there has never been a free lunch, coffee or dinner in the history of edibles? Refer to Lesson Number One.

We proceeded to watch three oral presentations describe their research and thesis works, most of which involved DNA and something about soil. The presenters were nervous with their ums and too-long ties and erratic laser pointers, the last which served to distract more than emphasize. One woman's slides seemed Frankenstein-influenced, with strange inexplicable animations vibrating the photographs of wetland bacteria. A Cowellesque judge reduced a theory to molecular shreds, while the presenter stood, shrugging and smiling.

Finally, it was time for poster session judging. Em and I stood in front of Does GX Corporation's Book Projects Undermine Public Libraries, our hands full of pamphlets.

"It'll be fine," Em soothed. "We'll just give our spiel and eat dinner. Free dinner. That's worth it, right?"

"Right," I said. "They may have science, but we have charm, charisma and style. Oh, and presentational speaking skills."

"Maybe they have a Most-Out-Of-Place prize category? We may still have a chance."

Lesson Three for AFSP:
Fake as hard as possible. For examples, see any of these.

We spoke to several students and faculty, and had some nice discussions, until the first judge stepped up. She looked at our poster.

"Interesting. What program are you in?"

"Library and Information Science," we chirruped.

"Talk about your topic."

We did.

She smiled coldly. Her pen tapped her clipboard.

"So. Ahem. Whyever did you decide to enter this symposium?"

Lesson Four for symposium gate-crashers:
sell remaining poster supplies for plastic bottles of whiskey. Search said bottle for ethanol components, molecular structure, or anything remotely resembling scientific research.

Lesson Four-B:
Read up on the goddamn symposium next time. Repeat Lesson Four.

Science in Libraries: respected relationship or calamitous collision? Discuss.

I'm taking a few days off because the science is beating the library out of me.

Shouldn't take too long for me to gather up the shreds of my intelligence and really kick some ass, though. Of course, that will require some extreme crap candy.

Where's my @#$%& crayons?

I have one final class period for the semester, and it is....a Poster Session.

We have badass Elmer's poster boards (provided) to cover with crayons or paper or glitter or whatever we deem professional (not provided) about a current ethical issue concerning libraries, and then we're going to stand them up and make everyone in the surrounding area look at them and comment. It is supposed to be great practice for all those poster sessions and presentations we'll eventually do at ALA or other conferences.

Then we're going to do face-painting and bob for apples, and then my mom is going to pick me up.

So will end my first library science class. I'm really worried it's going to get more difficult.

Pic Linkeroo