Librarian Funland, Part 1 --- Two, two, two posts in one!!

I just attended my first librarian conference evah. I gotta say, I arrived clueless and am still pretty much the same. Oh sure, I found a shortcut from our hotel to the conference sight on the (*actual) last day of the conference, but I still am completely baffled as to how I fit into the larger picture of this thing.

Are they unwelcoming to newbies? To students? To both?

Don’t get me wrong – I had a great time, but that was mostly due to the social aspect of it all. I could have done that without the Ay-El-Ay. It’s my understanding that they held a newbie meeting on the second day, first thing in the morning, but it’s also my understanding that it was lame and that the speaker neglected to show. Thankfully, I chose not to get up at the crack of dawn to attend this unhelpful meeting – I would have wanted my precious sleep back.

I’m left wondering, are the tips of the trade offered in this newbie gathering something that could be offered online or sent by snail mail or email to conference participants who are first time attendees? Or what about having seasoned attendees volunteer a couple of hours of their time to meet with a newbie and give them a hands-on introduction to navigating the conference and determining which meetings and discussions are right for them? Now THAT’S a user-centered approach!

I have to say, I was enormously intimidated by the whole thing. Here I was, among approximately 11, 999 other librarians (and presumably some other librarians-to-be) and every single other person seemed to know what to do, where to go – they all had a PURPOSE! Now, granted, they were all librarians and we’re a pretty resourceful bunch. And, in all fairness, I was perfectly fine navigating the city of Seattle and sniffing out places to imbibe and to dine. I never got us lost, but some of my restaurant choices were beyond filled to capacity or they were rockin’ the $$$$$$. I blame *Giada, in part.

So what went wrong, you ask? Oh, plenty. First of all, the conference website (which was posted who-knows-when and I seemed to find sometime in October-ish) showed the dates of the conference as Jan. 19-24, which led me to believe that the dates of the conference were Jan. 19-24. Silly me. The *actual (see above) days of the conference seemed to be Jan. 19-21 (or 22 at 1pm, if you wanna get technical). When peeps were asking me how long I was staying and I said, “until the 24^th,” they would shoot me weird looks and ask why. What gives? some would ask. I’m still asking myself that same question.

Now perhaps part of the problem lies with my film festival background. When a film festival says that it runs from xx-xxx, it means exactly that – and all of the days are important, with the last two being almost as important as the first (Closing night!! Awards ceremony!!). How the hell did I know that the last 2 ½ days of this conference were mostly board of directors meetings and such? After all, they didn’t post the discussion schedule on the website, so I had no clue! Not that I’m complaining about extra days in Seattle…I just think the librarianfolk should know how to better organize their information! So there I was doomed before I even arrived, the laughing stock of all of my librarian friends, and wondering what else would reveal itself to me as a byproduct of my newbie cluelessness (and you call yourself a budding librarian, Bad Kitty?).

Librarian Funland, Part 2

The first discussion I got up the nerve to attend turned out okay (well, aside from the tights mishap, but that is another story altogether). It was packed – the Fire Marshall would have had a tizz – it was about digital reference and I learned a thing or two.

The next discussion I went to (determining after the first that they were not so scary, after all) was scary. It was a discussion about reading suggestions for a particular population of YA (that’s Young Adult in librarianese) readers, but that is beside the point. I walked into a conference room that was sparsely populated, with a conference table at the front and nametags at each seat. The table held five shiny pitchers of cold water for the thirsty committee members assigned to the seats. The remaining 30-40 chairs, in two groups of four in each row, functioned as 'the audience.' It appeared that we would be observing their committee meeting in progress!

Wow.

Well, sometimes, things are, indeed, as they seem and this was one of those times. Yet, upon watching their committee meeting, I felt horribly out of place. What was the role of the audience? Were we permitted to ask questions? Could we have some of their precious water (for which they appeared to have at least 30 or so paper cups)? I decided to stay and watch (discussion sessions, in general, appeared to be 'come and go as you please') in hopes of learning more about the conference protocol.

And learn I did. What did I learn, you ask? Well, I learned that I know nothing about attending professional conferences for my chosen profession. As the participants (at the table, not in the audience) were talking, suddenly one of the committee members would ding a bell! The speaker would apologize and continue…why were they dinged?? Was their time up? Did they say something they shouldn’t have and, if so, what? If I were given the opportunity to speak, would I also be dinged? Were there other faux pas for which one might be dinged?

This was getting scary. I did not want to get dinged for my missteps, but how would I learn what the missteps entailed? I then realized that I was the only one who’d brought coffee along with me into the meeting…would I be dinged for that? I just really wanted to know the rules and I found myself tuning out the valuable information and worrying about the rules.

And then the bespecled man at the end of the conference table was reading aloud the comments he’d received from his teen patrons regarding the book they were discussing. He went to great lengths to point out the spelling and grammatical errors of said teen and acted befuddled at the teen’s use of slang. Please. Does this guy realize what an ass he is?

Now, I was REALLY perplexed by the rules.

When it was time to take a break, halfway through the discussion, I found that I was ogling the water pitchers. I was dying of thirst and really wanted some water. Yet, it appeared to be for the purpose of committee consumption only. Perhaps if I asked very nicely and humbly if I could just have one cup...and would they ding me if such a request were out of line? I was just shy of salivating when I considered approaching the conference table. I'd assessed each committee member's potential response for my request to partake in their icy cold beverage, based solely on the personality I'd assigned them in my head as they were conducting their discussion. The woman I'd determined to be the gentlest and the friendliest was at the back of the room, already engaged in conversation. My second choice was a 30-something man rockin' a cute fauxhawk and who had suggested recommending Fuck This Book to teens. He was nowhere in sight and I contemplated standing near his seat, eagerly awaiting his return. He was the committee member I'd decided that I'd most like to have a beer with.

Finally, I could stand it no longer and, as the break was nearly up, I approached the less-desirable left side of the table, where the asshat man sat, and I addressed the uptight middle-school librarian on his right. "Pardon me," I said to solicit her attention, "I hope this doesn't seem rude, but I notice that you have several water pitchers up here and more than enough cups for your committee...would it be possible for me to have some of your water?"

I was nervous as I waited for her to respond. She was looking at me as if I were a little bit crazy. Yikes, I suddenly worried, perhaps it was somewhere written or taught (in the newbie meeting with the no-show speaker) that participants may not approach committee members and ask to have things that are on their meeting table.

After what seemed an eternity, she shot me a "yeah, sure, go ahead," and resumed her conversation with a quiet woman who hadn't spoken during the entire meeting. She seemed more perturbed that I'd interrupted her than that I'd wanted some water.

I can't wait to attend my next conference!

The Incredibly True and Heartbreaking Tale of my First Hollywood Breakup, Chapter 6

Part A: Home, Sweet Home

When Amaris came home to Portland on the weekends, it almost felt as if there was no film at all taking over her life - she just wanted to enjoy her weekend at home and had grown a little weary of many of the dynamics involved in creating this particular film. She didn't want to talk about the film much at all (a major contrast from when she was working on an exciting project that earned accolades from several notable film festivals).

No matter - while I found the initial premise of this particular film to be somewhat intriguing, my enthusiasm waned with each additional bit of exposure I had to the inside scoop of this particular film.

Part B: Hey, can you help me out here? I can't tell from here if that is a red flag..or is it pink...or orange?

But then Amaris would return to L.A. and fell back into a life of this particular film and little else. I heard additional tales of the lack of camaraderie between Hester and A-J; I heard about Hester coming into work sporting a big 'ole pout and whining about some boy she'd attempted to date the night before. Amaris would, of course, listen and render feedback, when it was solicited.

Was she just choosing the wrong boys, Hester inquired of Amaris. Why were her dates always disastrous?, she wondered aloud. Of course, Amaris wanted to suggest to Hester that perhaps she might be barking up the wrong gendertree, but Amaris knew tact like no other. Thus, the power-imbalanced mentorship of editing and of life began. Hester had come to call Amaris a friend and found that she could tell her anything.

Suddenly, the post-production schedule on the film became less daunting and, rather than spending the wee hours making editing alteration and cataloging footage, Amaris and Hester were hanging out, going to movies, dining and imbibing.

Part C: Everyone needs a bosom for a pillow

When I confessed to Amaris my skepticism of Hester's intentions in becoming so palsy-walsy with her, she dismissed it, calling Hester young and naive and in need of someone to talk to. She reiterated her suspicion that Hester was on the verge of coming out and, thus, needed someone to turn to in the lesbian community. Very likely with a jealous and condescending tone to my voice, I said to Amaris, "yeah, I managed just fine without that."

But then Amaris came home for the, by now, routine and perhaps obligatory weekend lovefest, all along assuring me that I have absolutely nothing to worry about. Venturing into potentially dangerous territory, I pelted Amaris with questions regarding HER intentions with Hester:

Was she at all attracted to her?
Did anything about Hester turn her on?
Did she fantasize about her?
Would she ever make a move on her?

I had some initial regrets after the last syllable of the last question emerged from me. Did I really want the answers to these questions? But Amaris' responses were genuinely reassuring:

Was she attracted to her? "Ew, no."
Did Hester turn her on? "Not even remotely. Well, maybe the idea of mentoring her and helping her realize 'who she is' gives me a little bit of a woody, but it's not anything sexual at all."
Did she ever fantasize about her? "Not in a sexual way. Fantasize seems like kind of a loaded word. I mean, I've thought about a future in which we're friends - I have plenty of friends in the film world, but I could use more editor friends."
Would she ever make a move on her? "Never."

When I drove Amaris to the airport for her return to L.A., I felt a little bit better (funny what a passionate weekend can do to one's perception). I tried convincing myself that I was making a mountain out of a molehill and I was foolish to be worried over this situation.

But when Amaris returned to L.A. and the now established routine of spending every evening after work with Hester, I began to smell a rat. Amaris had a zillion friends - why wasn't she spending any time with them? When I asked this, I was instructed to 'stop being so jealous' - that it's not a very attractive trait.

Before long, the surface-level aquaintanceship had morphed into a deep ocean of Hester's every problem being spilled out for Amaris' consideration. On multiple occasions, in which their evenings out (dates?) culminated in a return to Hester's small cottage in Venice Beach, deep conversations resulted in Hester crying on Amaris' shoulder and being held until the sobs subsided.

What the hell was going on here? Was I stupid? Or was I the loving and trusting partner struggling to accept what I was assured was the truth from the girl I loved?

Poof!

Breaking News!!!

Disappearing blogger found buried up to shoulders in articles detailing the minutae of indexing and abstracting, after barely emerging alive from the planning of Mother's 60th Birthday Surprise Party...cites 60-hour workweeks, holidays, lack of Internet access and family drama

PORTLAND - Alive, but somewhat disoriented, relatively unknown blogger, Bad Kitty, emerged this week from an avalanche of homework, family dysfunction (good and bad, past and present), and internship-rude-awakening to find that she does, indeed, still have a life. Time was wasted watching the somewhat sucky Golden Globes, with the hope that something exciting would happen.

A summary of events and potential topics for the near future include:

* Mother - one of these days she'll get around to that dish
* The anniversary of her first brush with death
* restaurant tales, including the latest updates on Manager-dude
* the internship of enlightenment - now she thinks she know where she DOESN'T want to work
* the continuing saga of the incredibly true and heartbreaking tale of her first Hollywood break-up
* the onset of American Idol, Season 6

and so much more. She thanks readers for being patient and understanding and looks forward to her return to the blogosphere.