MY EYES! MY EYES!

A neighborhood man and his wife who have been long time nude yoga enthusiasts finally fulfilled their dream: they have self published a thick, big instructional book of doing yoga in the buff. They also thoughtfully donated a copy to the branch. When my manager pointed at the gift book on his desk and warned me about what it was, I was overwhelmed with this horrible compulsion to walk over there, open it, and look inside. Like Bluebeard's wife, who, eaten up with a terrible curiosity, could not stop herself from opening the forbidden door, I was powerless myself to resist opening the book of neighborhood naked yoga.



Just as I feared, the book is practically all photographs and employs many of the neighborhood's Bohemian/Beatnik residents, many of whom are patrons, as wrinkly but surprisingly flexible models. Father Time and years of hard living have taken their toll on their bodies, and I wish I could scrub my brain of the images that still reverberate: the winking orifices, the droopy yanni  and yogini , the shocks of hair in unexpected places, the intense look of the models staring back out at me from the book's pages, the entire last section devoted to partner yoga. I don't think it's ever safe for me to do hallucinogens or run a high fever for fear that these images will reappear to haunt me while I'm in a vulnerable psychological state. It's bad enough that I have to see these people in the neighborhood, some even on a professional basis. I would have rather have been forced to pore over a book of battle wounds or autopsies or police crime scenes. Donations like these underscore the need for a solid, detailed collection development policy to fall back on. For community relations, my manager accepted the donation, and put it out in the general collection, where it will probably mercifully and immediately be stolen.

MY EYES! MY EYES!

A neighborhood man and his wife who have been long time nude yoga enthusiasts finally fulfilled their dream: they have self published a thick, big instructional book of doing yoga in the buff. They also thoughtfully donated a copy to the branch. When my manager pointed at the gift book on his desk and warned me about what it was, I was overwhelmed with this horrible compulsion to walk over there, open it, and look inside. Like Bluebeard's wife, who, eaten up with a terrible curiosity, could not stop herself from opening the forbidden door, I was powerless myself to resist opening the book of neighborhood naked yoga.

Just as I feared, the book is practically all photographs and employs many of the neighborhood's Bohemian/Beatnik residents, many of whom are patrons, as wrinkly but surprisingly flexible models. Father Time and years of hard living have taken their toll on their bodies, and I wish I could scrub my brain of the images that still reverberate: the winking orifices, the droopy yanni  and yogini , the shocks of hair in unexpected places, the intense look of the models staring back out at me from the book's pages, the entire last section devoted to partner yoga. I don't think it's ever safe for me to do hallucinogens or run a high fever for fear that these images will reappear to haunt me while I'm in a vulnerable psychological state. It's bad enough that I have to see these people in the neighborhood, some even on a professional basis. I would have rather have been forced to pore over a book of battle wounds or autopsies or police crime scenes. Donations like these underscore the need for a solid, detailed collection development policy to fall back on. For community relations, my manager accepted the donation, and put it out in the general collection, where it will probably mercifully and immediately be stolen.

Really Boring Post Concerning Library Printing Policy

When people want to print from our public access computers it's kind of an involved, cumbersome process requiring visits to several stations located throughout the library. First patrons must name their print job on the computer, send the job to the print station located on the other side of the library, put money on a print card by the copy machine located up a small set of stairs, and go back down the stairs to the print station, bring up their job, then print. If they didn't check at the print station beforehand and underestimated the cost of their job, they have to go back to the copy machine and add more money to their card. (Each sheet of paper is $.15). It's not exactly an ideal, streamlined system, but I'm not complaining after talking to a recently hired colleague who came from the Chicago system.



For reasons that I cannot fathom other than administrative incompetence, the Chicago system didn't want to invest in printing software so it simply let patrons print for free. You can imagine the abuses. The printer was right next to her desk, so not only did she have to spend the entire day listening to its labored racket as it churned out ream after ream of print jobs, she also spent a good deal of her day dealing with paper jams, replacing expensive toner cartridges, and feeding the machine paper. Since there were no financial consequences to printing, people would be careless about the size of print jobs they would send, really take advantage (I've always wanted a hard copy of every e-mail ever sent to me), or just print out phone book size jobs because they're anti-social, discourteous asses and could. Many jobs were never even claimed. The waste was appalling, and the printer was often out of order from overuse, which prevented those people who legitimately needed to print from doing so much of the time.



She said that the library administration claimed that they offered printing at no cost because they believed that it should be free as a public service. The copy machines at libraries aren't free, so why on earth should printing be free? I really don't understand that mentality, other than they didn't want to make the investment in the printing software, which would have paid for itself in about two days, or they just didn't want to go through the effort of finding and installing printing software.

Really Boring Post Concerning Library Printing Policy

When people want to print from our public access computers it's kind of an involved, cumbersome process requiring visits to several stations located throughout the library. First patrons must name their print job on the computer, send the job to the print station located on the other side of the library, put money on a print card by the copy machine located up a small set of stairs, and go back down the stairs to the print station, bring up their job, then print. If they didn't check at the print station beforehand and underestimated the cost of their job, they have to go back to the copy machine and add more money to their card. (Each sheet of paper is $.15). It's not exactly an ideal, streamlined system, but I'm not complaining after talking to a recently hired colleague who came from the Chicago system.

For reasons that I cannot fathom other than administrative incompetence, the Chicago system didn't want to invest in printing software so it simply let patrons print for free. You can imagine the abuses. The printer was right next to her desk, so not only did she have to spend the entire day listening to its labored racket as it churned out ream after ream of print jobs, she also spent a good deal of her day dealing with paper jams, replacing expensive toner cartridges, and feeding the machine paper. Since there were no financial consequences to printing, people would be careless about the size of print jobs they would send, really take advantage (I've always wanted a hard copy of every e-mail ever sent to me), or just print out phone book size jobs because they're anti-social, discourteous asses and could. Many jobs were never even claimed. The waste was appalling, and the printer was often out of order from overuse, which prevented those people who legitimately needed to print from doing so much of the time.

She said that the library administration claimed that they offered printing at no cost because they believed that it should be free as a public service. The copy machines at libraries aren't free, so why on earth should printing be free? I really don't understand that mentality, other than they didn't want to make the investment in the printing software, which would have paid for itself in about two days, or they just didn't want to go through the effort of finding and installing printing software.

Ode to Billy Jack

Ever since he ran off and supplanted his brother, the lionhearted and noble Sid, Billy Jack rules this house unchecked. Even though he is possibly the worst alpha in history (this was the professional opinion of the $40 an hour dog behaviorist who paid us a housecall), he is impossible to resist. He is like an extremely insane but charismatic cult leader. Even downstairs neighbors Fisher and Pam, who are normally sensible people, have fallen under his dark spell of seductive evil and are helpless before him. Smugly secure in his power, he now likes to spend his time surveying the neighborhood, humping Spoon, and sunning his genitals while he reclines on the green chest by the window like he's some sort of Greek god or insane, inbred Roman emperor.



Here is a list of just some of the names we call Billy:

Billigula

100% pure naughty satisfaction

No Good Naughty B

Big Mouth Billy Bass

Da Brat

Salacious Crumb

Pure evil with a dash of cinnamon (cinnamon=Spoon)

Shapeshifting alien parasite

Son of Sam

Wyrm that Dieth Not

William Jackson

Billiam

Dude

goddamnsonbitch

NO, SIR!

Stalin

Jim Jones

Ode to Billy Jack

Ever since he ran off and supplanted his brother, the lionhearted and noble Sid, Billy Jack rules this house unchecked. Even though he is possibly the worst alpha in history (this was the professional opinion of the $40 an hour dog behaviorist who paid us a housecall), he is impossible to resist. He is like an extremely insane but charismatic cult leader. Even downstairs neighbors Fisher and Pam, who are normally sensible people, have fallen under his dark spell of seductive evil and are helpless before him. Smugly secure in his power, he now likes to spend his time surveying the neighborhood, humping Spoon, and sunning his genitals while he reclines on the green chest by the window like he's some sort of Greek god or insane, inbred Roman emperor.

Here is a list of just some of the names we call Billy:
Billigula
100% pure naughty satisfaction
No Good Naughty B
Big Mouth Billy Bass
Da Brat
Salacious Crumb
Pure evil with a dash of cinnamon (cinnamon=Spoon)
Shapeshifting alien parasite
Son of Sam
Wyrm that Dieth Not
William Jackson
Billiam
Dude
goddamnsonbitch
NO, SIR!
Stalin
Jim Jones

Going Medieval

I heard the incredible statistic that 25% of new material purchased for this library system each year is either stolen directly from the shelves or checked out and never returned. As a taxpayer you're outraged, yes? Trying to collect money from delinquent patrons is an extremely difficult, sensitive matter, however, and employing traditional methods like using a collection agency always results in a major public relations disaster. It's just the kind of situation the press loves to pounce on and exaggerate to make the library administration look ridiculous, like when one library system in Clearwater, Florida went a little too far and actually issued bench warrants for people who had large outstanding fines for overdue books they had checked out and never returned. Several people were arrested on these bench warrants when they were pulled over for speeding or had other brushes with the law. The press had a field day with that one, especially when 22 year old single mom and deadbeat patron Sabrina Davis was hauled off to the Pinellas County Jail in handcuffs. She told reporters,"I think it's outrageous that they arrest you...It ain't like I did a huge crime, like I killed somebody. Joyce's Ulysses just takes a hell of long time to get through if you want to savor it and do it right!"



OK, I made that last sentence up.



I'm hoping improvements in library security and new and clever tactics to get patrons to return material (like amnesty days) will reduce depredations to the collection. Anyway, it's pointless for me to get outraged about this unfortunate state of affairs or to get too possessive and fiercely protective of the library collection, so I've developed a philosophy of non-attachment. I've always liked this Medieval style curse, though. Maybe posting it over the doors of the library would help in some small way to protect the collection.



For him that Stealeth a Book from this Library,

Let it change into a Serpent in his hand & rend him.

Let him be struck with Palsy, & all his Members blasted.

Let him languish in Pain crying aloud for Mercy,

Let there be no Surcease to his Agony till he sink to Dissolution.

Let Bookworms gnaw his Entrails in token of the Worm that dieth not,

When at last he goeth to his final Punishment,

Let the flames of hell consume him for ever & aye

Going Medieval

I heard the incredible statistic that 25% of new material purchased for this library system each year is either stolen directly from the shelves or checked out and never returned. As a taxpayer you're outraged, yes? Trying to collect money from delinquent patrons is an extremely difficult, sensitive matter, however, and employing traditional methods like using a collection agency always results in a major public relations disaster. It's just the kind of situation the press loves to pounce on and exaggerate to make the library administration look ridiculous, like when one library system in Clearwater, Florida went a little too far and actually issued bench warrants for people who had large outstanding fines for overdue books they had checked out and never returned. Several people were arrested on these bench warrants when they were pulled over for speeding or had other brushes with the law. The press had a field day with that one, especially when 22 year old single mom and deadbeat patron Sabrina Davis was hauled off to the Pinellas County Jail in handcuffs. She told reporters,"I think it's outrageous that they arrest you...It ain't like I did a huge crime, like I killed somebody. Joyce's Ulysses just takes a hell of long time to get through if you want to savor it and do it right!"

OK, I made that last sentence up.

I'm hoping improvements in library security and new and clever tactics to get patrons to return material (like amnesty days) will reduce depredations to the collection. Anyway, it's pointless for me to get outraged about this unfortunate state of affairs or to get too possessive and fiercely protective of the library collection, so I've developed a philosophy of non-attachment. I've always liked this Medieval style curse, though. Maybe posting it over the doors of the library would help in some small way to protect the collection.

For him that Stealeth a Book from this Library,
Let it change into a Serpent in his hand & rend him.
Let him be struck with Palsy, & all his Members blasted.
Let him languish in Pain crying aloud for Mercy,
Let there be no Surcease to his Agony till he sink to Dissolution.
Let Bookworms gnaw his Entrails in token of the Worm that dieth not,
When at last he goeth to his final Punishment,
Let the flames of hell consume him for ever & aye

Miracle on Green Street

The library where I was working yesterday is having its floor redone in the children’s room, so the floor is stripped of carpet. Although the room is still open to the public, the children’s computers have been dismantled during the renovation, much to the shock and dismay of all of the computer game addicts. Judging from their reaction, being cut off from the computers is as agonizing as opiate withdrawal and they all seem to be in a state ofsevere, agitated distress. This particular library has a cartel of children who monopolize the computers. I call them the Pokemon Hooligans and they use a complicated and impressive system of card sharing to outwit the computer booking software. The gang is run by an older boy who is as cunning & ruthless as a Manchurian warlord and whose minions obey his every word and command like Moonies, but now he has been temporarily stripped of the source of his power and seems so pathetically adrift I almost felt sorry for him. Anyway, the carpet will be laid this week and things will return to normal soon.



Wonderful news! I had a breakthrough last night with Billy and Spoon. I have been trying to teach them how to shake hands and it had been a frustrating failure (I'm no dog whisperer) until last night when Billy finally lifted his paw. I felt like Anne Sullivan hearing “Waaaaater” for the first time out of Helen Keller’s mouth. I’m not sure what caused the amazing advancement, but I suspect it has to do with the fact that his brother and mortal enemy, the noble Sid, can shake hands beautifully. We had dinner with Sid last night and he entertained us all evening shaking our hands, so I think Billy sensed on some evil psychic gut level that his nemesis had outperformed him and that is what propelled him forward in his training. When we returned home from dinner last night he inspected our clothes thorougly and suspiciously with his nose and then shook hands for the first time during our nightly training session.

Miracle on Green Street

The library where I was working yesterday is having its floor redone in the children’s room, so the floor is stripped of carpet. Although the room is still open to the public, the children’s computers have been dismantled during the renovation, much to the shock and dismay of all of the computer game addicts. Judging from their reaction, being cut off from the computers is as agonizing as opiate withdrawal and they all seem to be in a state ofsevere, agitated distress. This particular library has a cartel of children who monopolize the computers. I call them the Pokemon Hooligans and they use a complicated and impressive system of card sharing to outwit the computer booking software. The gang is run by an older boy who is as cunning & ruthless as a Manchurian warlord and whose minions obey his every word and command like Moonies, but now he has been temporarily stripped of the source of his power and seems so pathetically adrift I almost felt sorry for him. Anyway, the carpet will be laid this week and things will return to normal soon.

Wonderful news! I had a breakthrough last night with Billy and Spoon. I have been trying to teach them how to shake hands and it had been a frustrating failure (I'm no dog whisperer) until last night when Billy finally lifted his paw. I felt like Anne Sullivan hearing “Waaaaater” for the first time out of Helen Keller’s mouth. I’m not sure what caused the amazing advancement, but I suspect it has to do with the fact that his brother and mortal enemy, the noble Sid, can shake hands beautifully. We had dinner with Sid last night and he entertained us all evening shaking our hands, so I think Billy sensed on some evil psychic gut level that his nemesis had outperformed him and that is what propelled him forward in his training. When we returned home from dinner last night he inspected our clothes thorougly and suspiciously with his nose and then shook hands for the first time during our nightly training session.

Crazy in a Large City by the Bay

We’re back from New Orleans! Almost a week of intense gluttony and dissipation left me in an exhausted state with no energy for blogging or much of anything else except converting rich food and alcohol to large storages of fat and fending off gout. Another big energy drain has been the book One Hundred Years of Solitude, which I finally soldiered through. While I found the magical realism style of Isabel Allende whimsical, illuminating and beautiful, Marquez’s was nightmarish and unsettling and, after a short while, tedious. I also cannot forgive him for renaming practically each character of the family's many overlapping generations the same name or a confusing variable of the same name, so I was almost never sure which character was doing what and couldn’t keep any of them straight. I have a feeling that more than a few members of Oprah's book club must have been reduced to tears.

Speaking of magical realism type situations, I’m back at the library and have a lot of odd incidences to report. Yesterday a homeless woman who looks a lot like Geena Davis spent most of the day parked at the table next to my desk. She had a thick mane of auburn hair which would be rather glorious if it weren’t so matted and unkempt. She was sporting a miniskirt and Flashdance style ankle warmers, and suffered from some skin condition which has left small purple scaly circles all over her legs and arms. It looked like an animal with suckers or the salt vampire on that Star Trek episode got after her. It’s probably just an extensive case of ringworm, which is highly contagious, come to think of it. Maybe as a courtesy the library should provide those bottles of disinfectant spray for its furniture like health clubs do for their weight machines.

She spent most of the day engrossed in a copy of Crazy in Alabama, and muttering and reading to herself out loud, cackling periodically as if to say, “I can relate!” or "You got that right, girlfriend!"
She was agitated and fidgety and keeps suddenly standing up and sitting down, displacing the air in her seat with a whoosh and driving it my way as effectively as bellows aimed directly at me would. Each gust of air was a nauseating potpourri of dried sweat, unwashed body, and that peculiar, characteristic chemical odor of mental illness. After she finished reading, she spent the rest of the day feverishly scribbling down notes on pieces of scrap paper, which I prayed that she will leave behind for me to read and add to my growing folder file marked "Writings of the Mad." No such luck, though.

Crazy in a Large City by the Bay

We’re back from New Orleans! Almost a week of intense gluttony and dissipation left me in an exhausted state with no energy for blogging or much of anything else except converting rich food and alcohol to large storages of fat and fending off gout. Another big energy drain has been the book One Hundred Years of Solitude, which I finally soldiered through. While I found the magical realism style of Isabel Allende whimsical, illuminating and beautiful, Marquez’s was nightmarish and unsettling and, after a short while, tedious. I also cannot forgive him for renaming practically each character of the family's many overlapping generations the same name or a confusing variable of the same name, so I was almost never sure which character was doing what and couldn’t keep any of them straight. I have a feeling that more than a few members of Oprah's book club must have been reduced to tears.

Speaking of magical realism type situations, I’m back at the library and have a lot of odd incidences to report. Yesterday a homeless woman who looks a lot like Geena Davis spent most of the day parked at the table next to my desk. She had a thick mane of auburn hair which would be rather glorious if it weren’t so matted and unkempt. She was sporting a miniskirt and Flashdance style ankle warmers, and suffered from some skin condition which has left small purple scaly circles all over her legs and arms. It looked like an animal with suckers or the salt vampire on that Star Trek episode got after her. It’s probably just an extensive case of ringworm, which is highly contagious, come to think of it. Maybe as a courtesy the library should provide those bottles of disinfectant spray for its furniture like health clubs do for their weight machines.

She spent most of the day engrossed in a copy of Crazy in Alabama, and muttering and reading to herself out loud, cackling periodically as if to say, “I can relate!” or "You got that right, girlfriend!"
She was agitated and fidgety and keeps suddenly standing up and sitting down, displacing the air in her seat with a whoosh and driving it my way as effectively as bellows aimed directly at me would. Each gust of air was a nauseating potpourri of dried sweat, unwashed body, and that peculiar, characteristic chemical odor of mental illness. After she finished reading, she spent the rest of the day feverishly scribbling down notes on pieces of scrap paper, which I prayed that she will leave behind for me to read and add to my growing folder file marked "Writings of the Mad." No such luck, though.

Gimme my DAMN money!

Hello from New Orleans and happy birthday to Eleanor!



Dan and Eleanor were here last year when the local R&B/Soul station was throwing a contest called "The Thousand Dolla Holla." The radio station would call listeners randomly, and to win a cash prize the listeners would have to answer their phone exactly, "Give me my damn money!" Of course, the contest was over an extended period of time and the contestants would never know when they would be called, so most would forget to answer each of their phone calls that way. The radio station would broadcast all of these recordings of losing contestants answering their phones, "Hello. Oh, NO NO NO! God no! I meant gimme my damn money!"

Gimme my DAMN money!

Hello from New Orleans and happy birthday to Eleanor!

Dan and Eleanor were here last year when the local R&B/Soul station was throwing a contest called "The Thousand Dolla Holla." The radio station would call listeners randomly, and to win a cash prize the listeners would have to answer their phone exactly, "Give me my damn money!" Of course, the contest was over an extended period of time and the contestants would never know when they would be called, so most would forget to answer each of their phone calls that way. The radio station would broadcast all of these recordings of losing contestants answering their phones, "Hello. Oh, NO NO NO! God no! I meant gimme my damn money!"

Baccalaureate, the Big Sleazy, and Foxy Librarian Lite

I will be publishing on a lighter schedule for the next few days. My little brother, affectionately known as Mr. Baby, is graduating from college this weekend, so we're off to Tennessee. I'm a little unnerved that someone I used to diaper is graduating from college. Sunrise, sunset. From there we will go to New Orleans to celebrate my turning 30 again. I plan on eating so many raw oysters that when I return I will have yellow devil eyes from hepatitis. Many of my patrons will be able to relate, although theirs is more likely the C than the A type.

Baccalaureate, the Big Sleazy, and Foxy Librarian Lite

I will be publishing on a lighter schedule for the next few days. My little brother, affectionately known as Mr. Baby, is graduating from college this weekend, so we're off to Tennessee. I'm a little unnerved that someone I used to diaper is graduating from college. Sunrise, sunset. From there we will go to New Orleans to celebrate my turning 30 again. I plan on eating so many raw oysters that when I return I will have yellow devil eyes from hepatitis. Many of my patrons will be able to relate, although theirs is more likely the C than the A type.

Beauty Tip

One time while in graduate school my friend Mandy was suffering from a bad case of cramps and was comforting herself with a bowl of ice cream. When one of her classmates from Hong Kong spotted her, the girl recoiled in horror from such a display of willful ignorance and demanded, "What are you doing? You're not supposed to eat anything cold while you have your period!" She then gave Mandy a long look filled with contempt and pity. "That is why you white women always look so old."

Beauty Tip

One time while in graduate school my friend Mandy was suffering from a bad case of cramps and was comforting herself with a bowl of ice cream. When one of her classmates from Hong Kong spotted her, the girl recoiled in horror from such a display of willful ignorance and demanded, "What are you doing? You're not supposed to eat anything cold while you have your period!" She then gave Mandy a long look filled with contempt and pity. "That is why you white women always look so old."

Punky Bear

In addition to all of his other faults, Punky, is a tattletale. You would think that having had so many negative encounters with police (no matter how well deserved) would have Punky eschew involvement with the 'the man' at all costs. Punky’s pettily vindictive nature, however, overrides any fear or distrust of the police and he delights in snitching out his associates, friends, and even boyfriends. I think he fancies himself the Huggy Bear, the stylish pimp informant of Starsky and Hutch, of this neighborhood. If so, he better get working on building his stable of bitches, because all he has now is Loretta, and she doesn’t bother to charge.



The beat cop told me that yesterday Punky waved him down and pointed at Ray, his boyfriend, who was huddled in a group with three other vagrants about 20 yards from him. Admittedly, they were probably up to no good, but I still think that was awfully childish and malicious of him to fink on his boyfriend. I’m not sure what caused Punky’s fit of vindictive pique because you can never really tell with him, but I suspect that he was trying to punish Ray for a recent lover's quarrel. It turns out that all the men were doing was drinking in public. The beat cop told Punky not to waste his time again like that.

Punky Bear

In addition to all of his other faults, Punky, is a tattletale. You would think that having had so many negative encounters with police (no matter how well deserved) would have Punky eschew involvement with the 'the man' at all costs. Punky’s pettily vindictive nature, however, overrides any fear or distrust of the police and he delights in snitching out his associates, friends, and even boyfriends. I think he fancies himself the Huggy Bear, the stylish pimp informant of Starsky and Hutch, of this neighborhood. If so, he better get working on building his stable of bitches, because all he has now is Loretta, and she doesn’t bother to charge.

The beat cop told me that yesterday Punky waved him down and pointed at Ray, his boyfriend, who was huddled in a group with three other vagrants about 20 yards from him. Admittedly, they were probably up to no good, but I still think that was awfully childish and malicious of him to fink on his boyfriend. I’m not sure what caused Punky’s fit of vindictive pique because you can never really tell with him, but I suspect that he was trying to punish Ray for a recent lover's quarrel. It turns out that all the men were doing was drinking in public. The beat cop told Punky not to waste his time again like that.