bloodyrosemccoy: (Old Spice Onna Horse)
Dang, my hands are getting a bit ripped up lately. It's a sign of a lot of entertaining myself, though.

Causes of hand-rip-uppery:

-CAUSE #1: This here bird. Lucy's friendly and cheerful and loves hanging out with me, but sometimes she does take bites out of my fingers. I've managed to convince her not to do it as much, but she still does in certain situations.

The annoying thing is that the best way to break them of the habit is to not snatch your fingers away, because that's what the bird wants. Instead you're supposed to hold your finger there or even push into it, which will throw the bird off-balance both physically and mentally. And that takes some damn willpower when that hooked bill is pinching with nutcracking force.

But we're having a good time other than that. I have also taught her not to be afraid of cardboard paper towel rolls because they contain treats. And she had a nice bath in a dish last weekend, but since then she's been less interested in the bath dish but keeps bathing in her water dish. So she's keeping clean.

She likes NPR. She will be an erudite bird.

-CAUSE #2: Been cooking a lot. I'm eating quite well (Lucy likes lasagna, too), and most of the dishes I've made are pretty good. However, we will not speak of the attempt to make corn dogs ever again. Turns out hot oil is hot.

-CAUSE #3: Kittens who still don't know how to retract their claws. I probably won't even feel completely at ease having a bird and I'm going to bring a pair of tiny kitties into my life. I am an idiot.

But we did have a nice day where the neighbors took the kittens out so they could romp on the lawn. Which was rather hilarious when our party attracted a whole bunch of neighbor kids. The poor kittens had started out exploring the concept of grass, but ended up exploring the concept of getting constantly picked up and juggled by six kids aged 4-11.

-CAUSE #4: Trimming grapevines. We shoulda done this months ago, but there was this whole MOVING thing going on. So I had to do it myself, though one of Dad's former patients, who works at a vineyard, came to show me how. (He got a pretty alarmed look on his face when he saw the 45-degree angle at which the vines are set up. Life on a mountainside has its disadvantages. But I enjoyed the trimming--it's kind of meditative.

Also, it turns out I am a wizard. I trimmed half of them, and then later that day it suddenly got cold and snowed. A few days later, it was springy again! So I trimmed the rest, and then THREE FUCKING FEET of snow promptly crashed into my house.

So apparently I have the power to summon snowstorms by trimming grapevines. Sure, it's very specific, but still. I AM ELSA. BOW DOWN BEFORE ME!

-CAUSE #5: Eczema.

No, seriously, that's it. Eczema is a plague upon me. Such is my life.

In conclusion, yes, I am having a good time, except for the eczema. All I have to do is buy some Band-Aids.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Santa Iroh)
For some years now the administrators at the hospital where Dad works have been boldly leading the way to the future, except that the future they're envisioning appears to be of the corporate-run bottom-line-obsessed 80s-movie dystopia variety. It's been rather rough on any of the doctors who, like Dad, believe that the point of medicine is healing.

So Dad, who has also spent a decade studying an awesome state-of-the-edge cutting-art method of surgery that uses better equipment, makes smaller incisions, and offers faster healing times, is underappreciated and shunned because he feels that surgery is supposed to help optimize a patient's healing, rather than to make piles of money for him and all the hospital people around him. It's made for a pretty oppressive atmosphere, and Dad was getting to the point where he wasn't sure how he could keep this up--but he wasn't sure how he could quit, either, because there wasn't much in the retirement jar.

And then in August his best buddy from way back in residency called him and was all, "Hey, wanna job?"

Good GOD, y'all. THIS JOB. The hospital is GREAT and all the doctors like Dad a lot and he wouldn't be running his own business and maybe now we can pay off our loans and they actually are excited about his amazing Jetsonian Spacefuture surgery techniques. I mean, like, REALLY excited. He went out to kind of look things over and every time he blinked they'd throw more perks at him. He was about half an hour away from owning everyone's firstborn child.

It looks almost perfect. There's only one downside.

It's in Illinois.

Yeah, we're Westerners. It's difficult to imagine living anywhere else than Out West somewhere. But hey, everything else is awesome, and the hospital here is sinking fast, so by god, Dad's taking the job. He and Mom are moving to Illinois in the spring. They'll be there anywhere from two to ten years.

And I'm staying here.

So this is gonna be extremely weird. We're keeping the house, and I'm staying in it. Probably my brother will be moving in with me, too, since he's trying to get a job out thisaway.* And it's especially weird to think that I'll be emerging from my Bat Cave to become the one running the house. Fun, but weird.

We've been putting off announcing it until everything was all put together, but we've been preparing since August. Mom's gone all manic about moving, and Dad's kind of in a daze, and our employees are figuring out their next steps, and all the patients are wailing and moaning. (Dad is not popular with the administration, but god damn his patients love him. And the hospital staff all go to him if they have problems, so there's that.) And I'm plotting to steal the master bedroom (to Dad's horror) and wondering how I'll buy groceries with the twelve pennies or so I make a week at the Space Place.

Life, man. You never know what it's gonna throw at you next. We'll see where this takes us.

*Which is going to be interesting when he brings his silly cat with him. Harley is a lot like the late sister of our current old geezer cat, Fern, and though said sister Charlotte got ate by a mountain lion a while back, Fern still seems paranoid that she will return someday. If Harley shows up, it'll only confirm that she was right all along.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Bugs Loses It)
Space Place Job has me jumping through hoops before I can start working there. They're hoping sometime next week. In the meantime I get to sit around and build up anxiety about it. I'm not used to having somewhere to be five days a week, and the thought of doing that is alarming, especially since I have to get up in the--GUH--morning on each of those days.

The biggest thing is anticipating something without having experienced it, though. I'm terrible at that. So if you'll excuse me, I'm just gonna sit here and worry for a few more days.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Pirate Key)
Got a job interview tomorrow. I am resisting the urge to dress like a pirate for it, but only barely.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Old Spice Onna Horse)
Hoo, busy weekend!


It turns out a pitched roof doesn't do much good if it connects to a flat awning over one's deck. The entire back half of the thing is sagging dangerously, and it's going to take money--a whole lotta spending money!--to fix it. In a stunning development, our homeowners' insurance is actualy going to pay for some of it. And as long as they're rebuilding anyway, they're going to throw in some skylights for free! Maybe the lighting in my house will actually improve!


Went to a Passover seder this weekend at Kate'n'Matt's. I had never been to a seder before. I am really not the sort you would normally invite to a seder unless you are exceptionally laid-back. Fortunately, Kate'n'Matt and their other Jewish buddy are exceptionally laid-back, so it was in the nature of a fun dinner party with some tradition tossed in. Also it was vegetarian, and Kate is a great vegetarian cook. Once we got to the part where we can actually eat, it was delicious.


Finally got some new soil worked into my garden and planted some beets and radishes and carrots, with the assistance of an enthusiastic three-ish-year-old neighbor who has been acting as local anecdotal evidence of the existence of Einstein Syndrome. Until a few months ago the little guy only communicated with squeaks and shrieks, when most two-to-three-year-olds are progressing from two-word telegraphic speech to full sentences. Then one day apparently his brain was all "Hey: WORDS!" and suddenly he went from little squeals to being full on motormouth. He narrated the whole time he scooped dirt and planted seeds and watered the garden and, I think, suggested mixing concrete in with the dirt to make a skyscraper. I ... I may have created a monster.


So, yes, it's lovely and summery out, and it is marred only by the fact that our next-door neighbors are AWFUL dog owners. They like to leave their stupid fucking pit bull* out on the back porch so that he can launch into a thousand years of barking every time something startles him, such as when a stiff breeze blows through the backyard or a moth lands on the side of the house. You would think this would be an easily solved problem--"Hey, your dog barks his fool head off whenever you're gone, here, I even printed out some tips on how to train him to not do that, thanks"--but these neighbors, like so many bad dog owners, are also terrible people, and a casual suggestion that maybe they should actually pay some attention to their dog results in DECLARATIONS OF WAR. Do not get me STARTED on the Saga Of This Goddamn Fool Dog. It's a tale retold many times in bad sitcoms. I wish it would stay in them.


But it is so NICE out! I may just head out and climb a tree. Maybe take along my notebook, get this stubborn installment of Scatterstone worked out (it's a great installment, so by god I gotta get it RIGHT!). Or maybe I'll just noodle around on my ocarina. If that dog's gonna bark, I might as well give him something to bark ABOUT.

*SPECIAL NOTE TO PIT BULL APOLOGISTS: I am sure there are lovely pit bulls in the world! I expect they have responsible owners and are themselves the very essence of dog urbanity! There are certainly pit bulls out there with intelligence and poise and the ability to not bark like incessant car alarms! THIS PIT BULL IS NOT ONE OF THEM.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Bugs Loses It)
… Okay, it is definitely a raccoon—and, as I guessed once I was sure it was not a moose, it is a mother raccoon. I know this because I just saw her exit the soffit* with a fat little baby raccoon swinging from her jaws.

I think she’s relocating them, so evidently our Yelling At The Raccoon strategy actually worked.** I’m feeling pretty smart myself for having suggested leaving the soffit accessible in case of relocation. However, I am not a raccoon expert; I am a dumb homeowner who watches lots of nature shows, so I will still be calling in wildlife people as soon as the clock strikes Reasonable to make sure she really is relocating her litter and not taking them on a field trip or something, and also to do whatever it is wildlife people do about the problem of raccoon poop in the attic and the skin-crawling parasites and microorganisms it carries. (I am having a Hannelore-style meltdown over these. Having survived malaria with no lasting damage does not, it seems, make me any less neurotic about diseases.)

First I’m going to get some sleep, though, because aside from my cartoonish war with varmints, I also have an interview for an amazing job promotion in a few hours. It’s going to be a fun day.

(A lot of y’all offered some raccoon-repelling advice to me. In turn, I will offer you a very useful site I found with some good basic information. I can see why it’s at the top of Google’s list.)

*This is a new word I have learned today!

**Either that, or she does not care for Dad’s classic rock surround sound playlist. And who can blame her? I'd probably head for the hills too if I thought Don Henley or Jackson Browne was in the vicinity.

Job Offer!

Feb. 10th, 2011 06:45 am
bloodyrosemccoy: (Calvin And Uncle Joker)
Hey, cool--just got a callback on a part-time job at another library!

Good to know those resumes I've been sending into cyberspace are getting somewhere, anyway.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Creative Expression)
My Info

Their Info

The Header: Dear Mr. or Ms. Literary Agent,


Synopsis: IT GOOD BOOK.

My Background: I WORK HARD ON BOOK.



bloodyrosemccoy: (Sick And Tired)
Oh Dear Optimus Christ, Why The Hell Is This In The Book Drop?

With your host, the Library Aide!

Our two contestants today:

1. It’s probably evidence in some nefarious crime or other, for pretty obvious reasons … say hello to a license plate!
2. They were tied into rings holding a multiple-DVD case closed. A round of applause for a pair of what I’m really hoping were balloons!

All right, so, we’ve met our contestants, now YOU be the judge … which is more ominous?

Y’all, this has been a WEIRD damn week at the Liberry. If my story shows up on an episode of Law’n’Order: We Totally Made This Up And Did Not Rip It From The Headlines In Any Way, I recommend not being surprised.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Licking)
Have managed to finagle out a couple of long extra shifts this week. I am beginning to suspect that there is such a thing as too much time shelving books. (I told my coworker about Kobo Abe's concept of shoveling sand, and she reacted with marked enthusiasm. "THAT IS EXACTLY MY LIFE.")

Anyway, so while I'm furiously digging my way out from yet another picture book explosion,* y'all are welcome to check out [ profile] torn_world's Fifth Muse Fusion. Me, I'm going to go get my machete for these books. And if that doesn't work, I'm gonna start using it on patrons.

*And incidentally feeding my raging fancrush on Tomie dePaola OH MY GOD EVERY BOOK MAKES ME LOVE HIM MORE. We library nerds are weird. Accept this.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Procrastinate!)
So! It seems y'all think I should write in to Maxwell P. Mormonator III about seeing if he has any spare job lying around.

I have to admit, I knew the answer already. Why did I ask you, then? Well, I needed y'all to kick me in the pants to actually do it, partially because I am the world's greatest procrastinator, and partially because I'm afraid he will remember me and have a job opening, and then I'd have to, y'know, do WORK.

On the plus side, it beats the hell out of Dad's Office Of Despair as a second job. If I get yelled at by one more person with a painkiller habit back pain, I am going to demonstrate, using Dad's old plastic take-apart brain model, exactly where I'm going to insert that refill of oxycontin they're demanding because they just ate their previous refill like it was a tube of M&Ms Minis.

After that, another book-related job seems like a really nice break.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Old Spice Onna Horse)

I mean, it’s not like I’m friggin’ Ursula Vernon here, people.

So I’m thinking I should hedge my bets and get moar job. I love the goddamn hell out of the Liberry, but they’ve got a hiring and hours freeze right now so I am not exactly going to rocket up in the ranks. Yet.

The thing is, I am trying to figure out if I should call up Maxwell P. Mormonator, III, of the Mormonator family that owns the Mormonator Bookstores,* and ask him if he’d be willing to give me some of the job he offered me a few months ago. (Hey, if it took him nine months to get back to me on my resume, I can take some time to get back to him, right?) Apparently he read my resume and said to himself, “She speaks conversational Swahili? This is the sort of person we need to work the cash register at our bookstore!”

Problem is, even though he told me that I could always call back when I decided I needed a job, I don’t actually believe him.** So I’m a little shy about calling or sending a letter or something and asking for a part-time job. Especially because somewhere in the back of my head I’m still convinced that I will get that Ursula Vernon-style windfall acceptance letter. But that is just my own idiotic brain getting all wishful on me, so we can safely ignore that. More immediate a problem is my epic, partially-innate and partially-medicated laziness, and I may just have to get over that.

So aside from my own balking, what do y’all think? Should I write to Maxwell and ask him if he has half a job or so for a library aide with an “eye-catching” resume? Think he’ll remember me?

*Names changed to protect the aggressively Mormon. At least I’m not going for Deseret Book—the Mormonators have pretty cool books in their stores.

**This is also true of friends, relatives, enemies, etc. who want me to keep in touch. After a while I assume they'd just groan if I sent them a message, despite the fact that I myself am thrilled to get messages from, say, long-lost elementary school buddies.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Pirate Key)
So I kept trying to do some basic exercising—running through forms, jogging in place, whatever—the last few days, and have failed miserably on account of cramps, made worse by the fact that I’m trying out one o’ them menstrual cups I hear the kids going on about. And yet despite the fact that it’s far smaller than the bucket I could probably use,* it has thrown the entire lower end into massive WE GOT MOVIE SIGN pandemonium.

“Well,” thought I, “at least I can do some upper-body stuff, right?”

Basically, what I’m trying to say is, I need to diversify my upper-body repertoire, because after two days of chest fly reps, GODDAMN ARE MY ARMS TIRED. Perhaps I will take tomorrow off from Exercise Time. Pushing book trucks will count as my workout.

Meanwhile, in news from inside my head, I was smoothing out the bumps in a conversation in Doctors! and all of a sudden Ghil had whipped out the space! equivalent of wallet photos of his kids to show the others. What the hell, y’all, I didn’t even know he HAD kids. I mean, sure, they both are rather more of a background presence in his life, but … damn, the things your own characters will keep secret from you if you let ’em.

*And while I appreciate the concept, I’d like to point out that the marketing has the same sort of flaw other hygiene products do, and thus if Ursula Vernon’s concept ever takes off I am so buying Blackbeard the Pirate’s Bucket o’ Blood. ("Yarr, this here high-grade silicon bucket can be swabbed with a tissue an' stowed in a discreet cotton Jolly Roger pouch fer the wench what finds herself a-sailin' the crimson tides.")
bloodyrosemccoy: (Boneitis)
Have not eaten yet today. That’s what I get for working in a hospital—I just came straight to the office after my fasting insulin test.

On the other hand, that means I was nearby when the lab called me back half an hour after they had jammed a spigot into my arm.

LAB GUY: Er, sorry, but your blood test is broken. We need to do it again.

AMELIA: I am sure I have manufactured more blood by now!

I guess he used the wrong vial for one of them. (I knew he was doing that when we were there, but hey, I figured I’d be around anyway.) So I went back and put some blood in the pink vial this time, instead of the yellow one. And I’m gonna have two big shiny bruises in my elbow, now, too.* Least it’s not my book-carrying arm.

And now we find out what’s up with me! Should be interesting to find out what’s going on …

*They always say I won’t bruise. I always bruise.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Optimus)
I have discovered why so many librarians, when you go to browse the shelves, have a tendency to shoot you looks suggesting they’re about to come after you barking like a territorial dog.

It’s often because they are contemplating coming after you barking like a territorial dog.

I JUST SHELVED THOSE DVDs. It took me an hour and a half to do it, too, because they were all over the place. And I know—I know, do you hear me—that you are not going to put that DVD back in the place you just pulled it from, even if you decide not to check it out. Some unimaginable force, some possessing demon, will cause you to wander out of the DVD section with something family friendly like, say, Captivity or Hostel, and that force will lead you directly to the children’s section, where you’ll drop the DVD into one of the board book bins, probably next to the bin containing the entire Curious George series and also the Esquire issue the mystical forces caused you to pick up earlier.

You will then snag a junior reader and meander over to stick it amongst the Nora Roberts hardbacks.

I used to think that all that Library Education was a bit superfluous. I used to think that, if a person was in a library, it meant they had a nodding acquaintance with books, or, at least, the alphabet.

Guess how fast I’ve been disabused of that notion?

Fortunately, I secretly enjoy putting things back in order again. It just hurts my idealism to realize that other people don’t seem to feel the need for things to be in order.

First Day

Aug. 24th, 2009 06:16 pm
bloodyrosemccoy: (Random Sentences)
It is the first day of public school 'round here, and let me tell you, it's still kind of weird not to be a part of it. As it is, it's still over fifty percent of my life spent getting up at some insane hour* to stagger off to run around in an icy field, or do jazz band, or struggle to care about poetry.**

I celebrated by having a day as busy and demanding as the first day of school, to the point where it was almost a relief to have the Car Dudes call and inform me that I would have to continue driving this dopey little rental car around till tomorrow because the Grandma Car wasn't ready to be picked up yet. It meant I could just go the hell home.

Except then I have to make dinner on Mondays. But I'm tired as hell, so I am performing the family specialty recipe known as Dumping A Bunch Of Stuff In A Dutch Oven Until It Turns Into Chili. It's a great recipe. That junk they called "chili" on Alton Brown doesn't even come close.

Now I'm going to go take a nap let it simmer. Comfort food for the First Day Of School. I could use it.

Hey, at least I'm doing better than my sister. She actually had school today. And work. And salmonella.

*I love how every few years they come out with a study saying that according to Science, it is counterproductive to send your kids to school at fuck o'clock. (Or, as my body has insisted for all of my life, "a couple hours past bedtime.") And all the bleary-eyed teachers and their almost-dead students look at the scientists and say, "You needed SCIENCE for that?"

**Okay, I actually struggle to care about poetry at any time of day, but the incredibly loathsome Dickinson or Cummings get their obnoxiousness multiplied exponentially at 7:45 a.m..
bloodyrosemccoy: (Dalek Inquisition)
I love the way cat tails shrink when they’re soaking wet. The sudden loss of apparent mass is hilariously pathetic.

Yes, we bathed the cats today. This is a big deal—our cats are the semi-feral Outdoor Cat type who rarely get dunked—except, you know, in extenuating circumstances. And the circumstances have become extenuating—Fern, especially, has spent pretty much the entire summer just sitting around in dirt. It’s her new hobby. Every time I go outside, somewhere in the front garden I can see a big ball of increasingly filthy fuzz just meatloafin’ around.

We were going to let it go till the end of the month, but Fern’s other hobby is meatloafin’ in the clean laundry hampers.

“I think,” Mom said, stepping out of the washroom with a re-washed stack of jeans, “that we should probably not wait any longer.”

Charlotte got a bath too—while she doesn’t trail around a Pigpen-worthy cloud of debris like her sister, she does like to pull off the heads of small woodland creatures, and that deserves some washing.

Anyway, on Bath Day the drawbacks of irregular schedules is made abundantly clear: perhaps if we bathed them more often they’d be more sanguine about it. As it is, however, there’s a reason we refer to it as “waterboarding the cats.” But with Mom and me on actual cat wrangling duty and Dad taking his job of cat taunting very seriously, we got ’em looking more or less halfway decent.

They’ve spent the rest of the day nursing their injured dignity* and, probably, wondering what they did to incur our wrath. As for me, I’ve spent the rest of mine nursing a couple of gashes down my arm.

Pets are great.

*By composure grooming and, of course, rolling around in the dirt.

Day Off

Jul. 30th, 2009 06:13 pm
bloodyrosemccoy: (Calvin And Uncle Joker)
Day off today! Mom and I decided to drive all over everywhere to shovel some sand—that is, run some errands. And, you know, some miscellaneous, too.

24-Hour Fitness

I still hate gyms. Everyone looks so angry and serious in them, and they make exercise into work. I think there’s something wrong with a culture where you have to drop everything and go climb stair machines in a dank, depressing dungeon filled with jerks. One of the reasons we have problems with physical fitness now is that our society is too convenient—we don’t get nearly enough incidental exercise.

I prefer to enjoy moving, which is why I go for walks in parks, swim, and do tae kwon do.

So while our extremely perky 20-year-old tour guide had more tricks and hooks and grabs to pressure us into joining than I even thought possible, we decided not to sign up. We would do our swimming elsewhere.

Public Pool Near 24-Hour Fitness

MOM: This place looks better!
AMELIA: Much better. Let’s get a membership here!
MOM: I like how they have the kiddie pool separate from the adult one.
AMELIA: Especially after walking past several signs enumerating the myriad rules designed to prevent you from crapping in the pool.
MOM: Let’s join.

Office Max

AMELIA: You know, it’s weird, but I love this store.
MOM: My god. You are such a nerd.

I got a whole set of fine-tip Sharpies in awesome colors. If you are not using lots of colored pens to write your novel, I feel you are doing it wrong.

Swimsuit Store

MOM: So let me get this straight—you’re buying a women’s suit and a men’s suit?
AMELIA: I refuse to wax or shave, and therefore I cover my legs. However, if I showed up in just a men’s suit, I would be summarily ejected from the pool even if I didn’t crap in it.

Pedicure Place

Okay, honestly I could care less about having my feet battered and buffed and abused, but I love colored toenails.

The pedicure lady remembered me from last time. She chimed in her opinions of my color scheme.

And Heather and her mom joined us, and we had a nice little impromptu party at the feet place.


MOM: What will we have for dinner?
AMELIA: Well, last night the Dude and I were watching Throwdown With Bobby Flay, and they did these fancy gourmet sloppy joes with, like, vegetables and spices and garlic and other such ingredients.
AMELIA’S BROTHER: Yes. And we said to ourselves, “That’s nice—”
AMELIA: “—but you know, we could really go for a sloppy joe consisting of Manwich-drenched ground beef on a Wonder Bun.”
AMELIA’S BROTHER: So, in conclusion, there will be sloppy joes.

This has been a good day off.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Moongazing)
It’s driveway-tearing-out day!

For years, our driveway has been “flat.” This means that every time it rains, a giant puddle gathers in the middle of it, leaking into the garage sometimes. Normally this isn’t a big deal, since around here puddles don’t last too long after the rain, but summer’s been soggy this year, and we’re worried about mosquitos spawning, stale water, crocodiles breeding and biting off our feet, etc..

So today, we’re ripping out the driveway and getting a new one with BLACKJACK! And HOOKERS! that will have drainage and be slanted. It’s actually kind of interesting to watch them work.

And if you’re the four-year-old across the street, it’s positively enthralling.

This kid is all about trucks and heavy equipment. He’s got multiple DVDs about garbage trucks and fire trucks and lumberyards, and every single Tonka truck ever made in the last ten years,* and he knows more about trucks than I do.** Little guy has truck wallpaper and construction equipment pajamas and racetracks and bulldozer-themed dishes.

And then a whole bunch of trucks and construction equipment shows up across the street.

It’s a little like if I was four and I found out mermaids lived in the driveway puddle.

Yeah, so he showed up on our porch today in a hard hat with his Sesame Street toolbelt and plastic battery-powered jackhammer, a look of total awe on his face as he watched the driveway guys spreading gravel around and drive big old Black Cats around.

I gotta admit, I sympathize. Engineering is kind of hypnotic, even through my car-blindness. Except, with me, I keep scanning the equipment looking for Autobot or Decepticon symbols, so perhaps it’s not quite the same for me as for the kid.

Lucky him. He’s fine with the stuff that’s actually there.

*The plastic kind. Which are fine and good because they don’t become lumps of rust like our metal ones did, but which are not nearly so satisfyingly, you know, metallic.

**Okay, this isn’t really hard. As I’ve said in the past, I am car-blind. I classify them using the Go, Dog, Go! method: big cars, little cars, black cars, white cars. And that extends to trucks.


Jun. 30th, 2009 07:03 pm
bloodyrosemccoy: (Space Madness)
Just got back from a three hour training tour for shelving books in the Liberry.

It boiled down to “Alphabetize these.”

It always fascinates and confuses me that anyone feels the need to explain how a library works. I don’t remember ever not knowing how to find any of the media. While I don’t know Dewey down to the number, I have enough of a grasp to find a subject’s general vicinity; I can tell juvenile from young adult from adult; I usually know which genre to look for a book;* I know where to go if I can’t find something; I have a good grasp of computer catalogs. I have, in short, seen books and libraries before.

It’s like being able to read. I understand, whne I give it some effort, that it’s as skill you have to acquire, but it’s still always a surprise.

Doesn’t help that the lady who was giving me the tour was a total dingbat. She finds the whole thing very complicated, and she thinks at the speed of geology. Whenever I’d ask a question, there would be a pause, during which my inner Foley guy added in the sound of a computer reading a 3¼" floppy, and then she would answer me—one belabored word at a time. She also insisted things would be difficult and complicated.

“For instance,” she said, with long-suffering patience in the face of great injustice, “with the coming of Harry Potter we’ve seen a rise in thick YA books. Sometimes it’s impossible to tell whether it’s YA.” She held up a brightly-covered, obviously YA novel. “This one, for example, gives you no clues at all.”

“I think the ‘Newbery Award Winner’ sticker on the spine may actually be a clue,” I pointed out.

She gazed at me as though I had shown up to my first day of piano lessons and had just ripped through the Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2. “Yes! Well done!”

I also impressed her when she showed me the graphic novels-and-manga corner and she said, “You need to know something about this manga ...”

“Don't recommend it to kids?”

“How do you know that?”

This is all good news, since I seem to work best when people just leave me the hell alone and let me do my job. I’ll have someone around to ask if I’m not sure where something goes (this is still a new place that needs adapting to), but for the most part I think shelving books is going to be a pretty darn pleasant job.

*Except that this place has a dumb system where the paperbacks are shelved separately from the hardcovers, and the hardcovers are all shelved together but the paperbacks are separated into genre. Now, it’s nice that they’re acknowledging that genre fiction counts as real fiction, but I like all my speculative stuff in one place, paperback or hardcover. Makes for easier browsing.


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July 2016

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