Happy Crappy Mother's Day

I called my mom this morning to wish her a happy Mother's Day.

She asks what we are doing today and I tell her homework, which is true. She tells me that she and hubby are going to brunch with Ann and her family to the local private country club. She adds that Aunt Sally and her husband are "apparently coming along." Mom's unsaid commentary is clear: Aunt Sally has no children, therefore she has no right to celebrate Mother's Day. Aside: Mom and Aunt Sally are very close, although Mom speaks lowly of Aunt Sally often. (I'd hate to hear what she says about me).

Natch, she'd like to see me. Natch, my Mother's Day gift to myself was not seeing her. Quelle dillemma. As is the case nearly every time I've spoken to her since late January, she asks when she can see me. Late January because she and her husband went on a vacation somewhere (don't remember where - they take a LOT of vacations) and she bought me a "gift -it's not much" (this is how she says it every time she brings up said gift. So this is how I say it every time I refer to said gift. In all fairness, I must confess that I sort stole this literary device from Frank McCourt's book, 'Tis, which I recently finished reading. In it he refers to a character as "Michael down the hall - what's left of him" at every mention of this character, as that's how Michael's mother refers to him. Okay, I'm a little bit of a copy cat. So what?

Anyway, since late January I've had the same response to her inquiry - well, I have Monday nights off or you can drop in and sit up at my bar and have a glass of wine (I comp her drinks every time - she leaves me a 15% tip every time)...if you come on a slow night, I'll have a chance to chat. Aside: the restaurant where I work is on her side of town. The ball was always in her court and she never returned it. Now, it's Mother's Day and the two-year anniversary of her mother's death - I'm feeling sensitive and guilty. I ask her if I can take her out to lunch tomorrow. (Confession deux: I'm having cocktails with my friend, H-Bomb, tomorrow evening, so I'll have the opportunity to numb and purge after lunch with Mom).

I know, now my mom looks all nicey-nice buying me a "gift-it's not much" from her vacation and wishing to see me. Keep reading.

She, of course, accepts and asks where shall we go. I let her know that I'll be in a nearby town running an errand and, for my return trip, I'll be within a mile of her office - perhaps somewhere in that vicinity. For some reason (because she's really nosy - that's a whole other post) she wants to know the specifics of my errand and where it's located. I tell her I don't know the location off the top of my head. It's not private, but it's none of her damn business either (sometimes her commentary is unbearable - she ALWAYS has commentary, usually negative). I'll tell y'all, though. I'm dropping off a bunch of clothes to donate to a women's shelter. Mom asks if it's work-related or school-related, because then she might know where it's located and can help me with directions. Huh? I change the subject and suggest a few restaurants. She counters by naming a few chain establishments. I ask if she'd mind going somewhere that isn't a chain. For some reason, when I name a few more non-chain places, she starts repeating the chain establishments, along with a few more of same. She suggests 12:30, but adds that she might have to switch it to noon, as Aunt Sally might want to join.

She asks how we're doing and then tells me about a lesbian couple she knows who just had a baby. Obviously, they had artificial insemination, she adds. Aside: she likes to throw in any possible anecdote of any random interaction she has with a gay peep, probably to make herself seem tolerant?

This morphs into a conversation about my sister, Ann's, newest baby, Ellie. She's cute, Mom says, but what a chunk!! She's the fattest baby I've ever seen! Mom continues, "Well, you know that Ann doesn't keep them on any sort of schedule and any time they ask for food, she just gives it to them."

Aside: one of Ann's daughters appears nearly anorexic and the rest of her children are slender and average sized for their age. But Mom has more to say about Ellie, "Seriously, she's in the 105th percentile! You should see her legs - they are SO chubby."

Mom goes on talking more about Ellie, using the words 'chunk'/'chubb'/'chubby' at least three more times.

My silence (thank goodness she can't see my face) prompts her to change the subject. She tells me that she spoke to my sister, Haley, who is flying up from San Francisco to attend my graduation (since we were only permitted four tix, which I'd already assigned to Dad and his wife, as well as J and K, I had to jump through hoops to obtain tix for Mom and Aunt Sally (who is very sweet, by the way) - Mom doesn't travel alone - and then even more challenging hoops to procure a ticket for Haley). She tells me that Haley can't decide if she is going to bring her friend, Kristin, to the event, as that is who she will be staying with in Seattle. I inform Mom that there is no way that another ticket is possible (she's already been told that it wasn't easy for me to get her a ticket and even more difficult to get one for Haley) and I re-explain why.

She's somehow content to continue talking about my graduation. She asks if we'll be going out to dinner beforehand or what. I tell her that I'll have several grad-related errands to run all day prior to the ceremony (which is mostly true). I'm having lunch with my dear school friends and our families - no way in hell I'm letting Mom ruin that. She begins complaing about what a waste of her time it'll be to drive all the way up to Seattle (have I seen the price of gas?) just to see me walk across a stage and not even be able to see me in person.

Her cell phone then rings in the background and she "has to take the call." I can overhear her end of the convo, which of course is work-related.

She returns to the phone and I remind her that there is a dessert reception prior to the ceremony. This isn't good enough because I won't have much time to spend with her on account of my need to socialize with everyone there. Aside: I have asked my mother, on numerous occasions over the years, for alone time with her - it never happens, as she always invites hubby or my aunt or my sister along. I tell her that perhaps there'll be drinks or something afterward, but that will likely involve several others. She frets, informing me that breakfast the next morning is out of the question because she needs to leave by noon and, according to her, I never wake up until after 10am. Aside: this was true on non-school days in my teen years.

I apologize to her that I'm not able to spend more time with her [over the 24-hour period that she will be in Seattle]. She adds that she has no idea where the ceremony is being held and, since she doesn't know where she'll be going, I'll need to send her an address with directions and, if possible, a map. Aside: I emailed this info to her about a month ago, albeit sans map.

Later this evening I received an email from her stating that Ann might want to come along to lunch and that she says that Stanfords has good salads, so let's go there (slender Mom is perpetually on a diet - always remarking if I've lost weight and saying nothing if I've gained...although I'm certain that she reports this to others). She only has email at work, which means she spent the post-brunch part of her Mother's Day at her office - likely alone - working. This makes me a little sad for her.

I can't wait for lunch tomorrow.

My mother is so FUBAR.

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!

Ya Gotta Have Style

It was my first term of graduate school and I’m working on a research paper and want to do it up right. I learn that my program requires the use of the APA (American Psychological Association) Style Manual, rather than the MLA (Modern Language Association) Style Manual, which is what I used as an undergrad and in my previous grad program.

While I try to wrestle with my confusion as to why the librarians would use the APA over the MLA, I make peace with the fact that it doesn’t make sense to me and that the bottom line is that I need to get myself a new style manual. Stat!

As it turns out, J owns a copy of the APA Style Manual, but it’s an older edition and does not address how to cite web articles in my bibliography, so I decide to purchase a new style manual altogether. I recall that I have a gift certificate for Borders, so I head there instead of my usual stomping grounds, Powell’s Books. And, besides, I’ve always had some respect for the Borders.

Allow me to digress…

At the onset of my final year as an undergraduate, a new Borders store was about to open in Portland and my friend, David, and I decided that it was time to ditch restaurant work altogether and use our noodles helping people decide what to read! We were literary! We were smart! Together, we chose to attend the Borders Job (un)Fair.

After receiving a stamp of approval from our first round of interviews, both David and I were corralled into an area where we were administered a super fun test (which I understand Borders no longer uses in hiring). We had to tackle several literature-related questions (“Who wrote 1984?” “Name a novel written by Virginia Woolf,” etc.) as well as several questions about where to locate certain types of things in the bookstore (such as Feng Shui and I.M. Pei). For a geek like me, this was CANDY!!

During my second round of interviews, I was told by Shane, who was going to be the Café Manager, that I obtained a perfect score on the test (Yay! I’m gonna work in a bookstore! I’m gonna work in a bookstore!). After our first two interviews and testing, both David and I were advanced to meet with the General Manager of the store-to-be and were interviewed briefly by her. We both left the job fair with the impression that we’d be hearing from Borders soon. We were going to work in a bookstore together and, because we were also roommates, we’d carpool to our bookstore jobs!

We were going to fight illiteracy and save the environment! Together!

But then David was offered a job and all I got was a form letter, but it wasn’t even a letter – it was a post card, so a form post card telling me that there were many fine applicants and it was so hard to decide and blahblahblah I wasn’t one of ‘em. I was crushed. Absolutely crushed. Since I’d done so well on the test they’d administered at the job fair, I could only conclude that something had gone very very wrong. That something was very wrong with me.

Some time after this horrible blow to my ego, I learned through my spy, David, as well as through another friend I later realized knew the GM of that store, that this particular Borders was only looking to hire full-time employees – no part-timers allowed here. Although there was some relief in learning this, I still found it enormously ironic that what prevented me from getting a job at the bookstore was my status as a full-time student – majoring in English – at the local university. I then somehow arrived at the conclusion that if I couldn’t get a job at the Borders and I clearly knew a lot about books, then the folks who did get the jobs must be even smarter and more knowledgeable about books than I.

So, about that style manual.

Not wanting to be distracted by things I didn’t know I wanted, I head straight to the information desk of the Borders store, gift certificate in hand. This is not my typical modus operandi, as I am typically rather reluctant to request help finding something until I have exhausted my own possibilities within the search. I enjoy the search and appreciate serendipitously stumbling upon things I didn’t even know existed and wouldn’t have learned about if I always let other people find stuff for me. A young, intelligent-looking fellow seemed eager to assist me.

“I need to find the most recent printing of the APA Style Manual, please,” I tell the clerk. I know it’s likely somewhere in the reference section, but if I go at it myself, I’ll go home with an armload of dictionaries and books about writing that I have no time to devour.

“Hmmmmm,” the clerk looks super-perplexed and I do my best to be patient with him as he taps away on his computer. Since the APA manual is so commonly used and this particular Borders is within walking distance of a university, I’m surprised they don’t have a surplus stack under the counter, that these things aren’t flying out the door. I can’t figure out what is taking a seemingly inordinate amount of time to locate the APA Style Manual and, after a few minutes and resisting the urge to tap on the counter with my fingers, I jump to (what seems to me) the only logical conclusion for his apparent confusion.

“Are you out of stock?”

“Well, no,” he responds, looking more bewildered than ever, “We have an APA Style Manual, but I’m afraid it has nothing to do with fashion.”

“Well I should hope not!!!” I can barely contain my laughter at this point. Particularly considering what I was wearing (cargo shorts and a tank top, with old Jack Purcell’s)! Poor guy thought I wanted the most recent update of that kind of style manual!

taking one for the team

It is the end of the term right now, which means much time being spent doing MAJOR PROJECTS for both of my classes (those would be: LIS 537 "Construction of Indexing Languages" and LIS 580 "Management for Information Professionals") and not as much time doing really fun stuff like reading, keeping up on American Idol news, utilizing the gift certificates I received for my birthday, consuming libations with friends, cooking, bloggin', perfecting my Portland urban walking tour, going to the farmer's market, building my cd tower annex, painting the rest of our house, making Kombucha, washing my car, learning sign language and more Spanish, talking J into letting us get Netflix, shopping for super cool stuff on Etsy and yoga.

Alas, "Construction of Indexing Languages" is not as easy as it sounds and "Management for Information Professionals" is, indeed, as boring as it sounds (no, wait, even more so). Both classes involve ginormous group projects that have been the focus of the entire term. I HATE group projects! Invariably, there is always one member of the group who is a major slacker (as is the case in one of my groups) and there is always someone who is way too serious and creates stressful energy where it could be fun (as is the case in my other group). The lack of cohesion in both groups gets me down and I just want to do all of the work myself and not have to rely on other people.

Right now, the success or failure of one of the ginormous projects is dependent upon the least dependable group member(let's call her Cathy).

This is causing me to lose sleep and have aches in my tummy and my head. What if she doesn't come through? Should the rest of the group conspire to put a "plan B" in place? Should we just make stuff up and hope that the professor does not fact-check? I don't know Cathy that well and am not one hundred percent certain if this is her typical M.O.or if we just caught her on a bad term or something. She keeps making excuses as to why she hasn't done things and the rest of us have been picking up the slack (well, in all honesty, Heather's been doing most of the work - that girl should change her middle name to "Initiative"! Ooh, wait, I do not know Heather's middle name -although it seems as though she has told me this already- maybe it IS Initiative!?!?!).

Problem is, Cathy is our lifeline to our contact "mentor" who will review our management project and offer her professional opinion. But Cathy doesn't respond to emails, then Mentor is supposedly on vacation (a two-week one, of course), then Cathy is sick, and now it's the minimal email response again. I wonder what would happen if another member of the group were to contact Mentor...What would happen if we did that and Mentor had no idea what we were talking about? What if Cathy hasn't done ANY of the things she said she'd do and the rest of us are sitting here waiting for her to do her part in interviewing Mentor and it's not gonna happen? I sorta just wish I could fire Cathy - I know that sounds cruel, but -hell- it's a management class and we can't manage our project with her ineptitude.

In all fairness, she needs to be spoken to, just like a "problem employee" would be...Ugh. I don't want to be the one to have to do that, but it's not exactly fair to have anyone else do it just because I don't like to. And while I know that Heather is as frustrated with Cathy as I am, I'm not sure that Lita, our other group member, is as frustrated with Cathy as we are. I feel like I'm on the show Survivor and I'm creating alliances and wanting someone else voted off of the island.

So, should Heather and I approach Lita with our concerns and see how she feels about Cathy and, provided that she shares our frustrations, approach Cathy as a group? What if Lita feels differently? And how much more leighway should Cathy be given before we take action?

Have I mentioned that I hate group projects?

June 7th can not come soon enough.

sleepy in Seattle

I frequently drive back and forth from Portland to Seattle, where I attend graduate school. Often, I'll stay the night in a hotel so that I can arrive the night before my class and not have to feel rushed in the morning. Last weekend, I spent the night in a hotel near the airport, rather than one near the university. The deal that I found on Sidestep was just too good to pass up and I liked the idea of my drive ending a half an hour sooner than it would if I drove all the way to the university.

Besides, the last time I drove up, I stayed in my favorite inn in the U-District and arrived a little bit later than I'd anticipated. As a result, I woke up the night innkeeper upon arrival and he was pretty disgruntled with me for doing so. At first, I felt badly about this. I hate to be awakened any more than the next guy and will duly explain this to anyone who phones my house before 9am. But, wait a minute...He's at work and he is there to do a job, right? And his job is to be the night innkeeper, right? So now I'm thinking that if getting a decent and uninterrupted night's sleep is part of his typical work shift (during which he is presumably being paid), then I'm suddenly not feeling so bad that I woke him up. After all, do I ever get to sleep at work? Let me see here...um, nope, I don't. Do most people get to sleep at work? Nope again. So at this point I have no sympathy for this groggy innkeeper as I inform him that, in the future, I shall stay elsewhere. But wait a minute...now he gets his uninterrupted night of sleep and I am inconvenienced by staying somewhere more expensive and less ideally located. That hardly seems fair.

So I stayed near the airport last time and, as I was checking out, I inquired of the clerk as to the whereabouts of the nearest Starbucks. I know. I know. All these years of listening to me bitch about Starbucks and here I am pining for one. Let me explain: I'm needing coffee (badly) and I refuse to drink any of that Folger's crap which automatically rules out several places where coffee is available. I want decent coffee. I want espresso. But I completely recognize that hoping for something akin to Stumptown, Vivace, or Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf is way too much to ask and I know that I could likely chance it with some local rendition of an espresso cafe and maybe hit the jackpot, maybe end up with something along the lines of acidic sludge (or, worse yet, coffee-flavored water). But with Starbucks, I know what to expect. No surprises.

I about fell over when the clerk replied that there were NO STARBUCKS IN THE VICINITY.

"You're joking," I deadpanned.

"No, I think the nearest one is at the Tacoma Mall." She was dead serious.

So here I am, in the vicinity of the SEATTLE airport and no Starbucks nearby. Something is very wrong with this picture.

but they might be...

Every day it was the same damn story, it seemed. I postponed errands, meetings, work, life until later in the day so that I could be at home for the metal screeeech, scrape, vah-whummmp of our mail carrier's calling card. Is it there? Should I check? I'm pathetic if I go running down the stairs and filter through the booty this instant. I'll just wait. What if it is there? Am I in? Probably not...it's pretty competetive and everyone wants to be a librarian these days. But what if I am in? Who should I tell first?

This went on for what felt like an eternity. No news is good news, I tried to rationalize. After exactly two months of this odd form of torture, the University of Washington chose to let me in on their decision. As much as I was hoping for an acceptance letter, at this point any envelope with a purple logo as a return address would suffice. On this fateful day, I went through the ritual psychotic inner dialogue attempting to prepare myself for either outcome as I almost went to collect the mail two or three times before I actually had the goods in my hot little hands. When I'd finally convinced myself that I could adequately accept either outcome, I began to flip through the envelopes as I, finally, spy one the with the UW return address and it's THIN. And this is where you are entitled to a disclaimer: I'd always thought that when one is accepted, one is rewarded with the thick package with all the info you need and don't need and when one is rejected, they stuff that slap across the face into a thin envelope.

I was so mad (no, I hadn't opened it yet) that I threw that purple logoed envelope on the ground and started swearing and stomping on it.
"Take that!" my angry stomping feet seemed to say.
After about five minutes of this very adult-like response to an unopened envelope, I decided I should probably open it and "see what they had to say for themselves." I had to read the "we are pleased to inform you" part about five times before I even considered believing it.