Free Range Librarian

So Sandy’s car is kaput (of course, since she’s temporarily between jobs — isn’t that how it works?) and I am going to bequeath her my trusty Honda Civic and get a new-to-me set of wheels. Probably not brand-new. I’m thinking a gently-used Prius or Mini-Cooper — exactly what I was thinking these last few months when I told myself that it wasn’t a good time to buy a new(er) car. But now it is, because this isn’t a walking/bus town, so we can’t share a car.

The last time I bought a car was 1998. It was my Civic, then almost five years old, and I vaguely remember using newspaper classifieds. It’s 2008 (in case you hadn’t noticed), and I have no idea how to buy a car. I suspect it has something to do with The Internets, which through a series of tubes process new and used cars which then extrude into sundry communities across the U.S.

At least that’s my first guess. If you have suggestions, I’m all ears. I’ve heard it might be the season for rental agencies to sell their cars. I’d like to cut to the chase and ask Avis to sell me the green Prius I keep renting here in Tallahassee, because I love that car.

I admit to being a teensy bit excited about the idea of a new (to me) car. My Civic is a superb little vehicle that has treated me well all these years. I love driving it, it’s been easy to maintain, and it has Been Places. (New Jersey, New York, California, and now Florida — plus it traveled Route 66 in 2001, when we moved to NorCal.)

But even though it’s not the financially easiest time for us to get new(er) wheels, I do keep thinking about the features in the cars I drive when I rent. Even the incredibly stripped-down budget car I rented in Boston two weeks ago (hello, manual windows and locks!) had two accessory outlets and cupholders. Yes, shallow, but my cup-holders have never worked (they were an early model…), and on a five-hour drive I like a place to park my diet root beer. I am even a little tiddly over the idea of a car in which I could unlock the driver’s side without opening my door and pressing a button. Little things, things that I have chosen to live without, but now that Moderne Automotiveness beckons to me… well, I am tempted.

Naturally, this thread segues into the work of the ALA Task Force on Electronic Meeting Participation.

We on the Task Force completed a survey last month, and though I haven’t gone over the data yet, a quick peekaroo indicates that a lot of us love ALA dearly, but we do think we’re ready for an upgrade. We don’t want to leave ALA; I’ve said earlier, if we tried to form a library organization, it would end up looking a lot like ALA. But we do want to see our dear old association get a makeover.

We want to be able to fully participate in the work of the association without expanding our carbon footprint to the size of Bigfoot’s.

We want our work to be seamless.

We want ALA to stop distinguishing between “virtual” members and other members (and to stop punishing librarians who choose to participate electronically), because in this day and age, we’re ALL virtual members.

We want ALA to support our virtual efforts and to stop pretending that a meeting is more “open” if it’s face-to-face, even if it costs thousands of personal dollars to travel to.

We want ALA to be accessible to all.

We want to be part of ALA, unencumbered.

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On top of everything else, teetering in the breeze, I have a July 7 deadline for a short article in School Library Journal on open source software in school libraries. I haven’t done a lick of work on this article and will be extracting it from various orifices beginning July 3, when I return from ALA. (Yes, that sounds insane. Welcome to my world.)

At ALA I am supposed to meet with Chris Harris (author of the recent “Drupal in Libraries” among other illustrious credits to his name) for a Vulcan mind-meld, and if that doesn’t happen I’ll simply follow him to upstate New York after ALA and stare at him until the thoughts flow my direction.

BUT… if you have anything to share about this topic (school media centers using open source, OSS particularly well-suited to that library environment, websites, people, sources, anecdotes, potato chips — well, not potato chips, though I do love them), I would be your best friend for LIFE. Unless you think I’m a little creepy, in which case I would promise to forever leave you alone.

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I seem to bring something to hem to every ALA conference. This time, ALA Annual 2008, it’s a lovely lightweight pair of khaki slacks (Ann Taylor Loft Petites). I am presenting 7 times at this conference — four demos in the Equinox booth (that’s Booth 1888!) — and then at three ALA programs. Open source! Evergreen! Equinox! Hoo-ah!

You will get to know these slacks well, because I brought one carry-on suitcase with one pair of slacks, two skirts, and several blouses. If I repeat an outfit on Tuesday be so kind as to overlook that, would you please?

And remember: if you spill anything on me at ALA, you need to take me shopping immediately. AND hem my new pants.

The other thing that happens at ALA is I overbook myself. I will propose times with one friend, and then another will approach me with an event, and then as wires cross and messages fly, I find myself with complicated double-bookings. A part of me really believes I can make it all happen, and time doesn’t work that way.

Then there is the really, really bad thing I do: I fail to write down what I’m doing, and then I forget the details. I merrily agreed to dine with a colleague (at least one colleague) on Monday night. I remember making the arrangements. I remember thinking, I am so happy I can catch up with so-and-so. I remember planning to add it to the calendar. I remember one friend saying “you need to update your calendar — REMEMBER?” And I curled my lip and laughed. Because who would forget their dinner date?

Me, that’s who. Are you my Monday dinner date? (Update: I checked my email, and dear friend J had wisely prodded me last week. “We’re still on, right?” So I take it I’m transparent to my friends.)

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I hope to see you at ALA, either at Booth 1888 or Somewhere.

I zoomed back from ATL with a new $10 toy in my car — an auto accessory-outlet 3-way splitter I bought at Fry’s. (Fry’s! Oh joy! Fry’s!) So now when I go to and from MPOW — and scoot around Georgia, saying hi to Evergreen sites — I can plug in my GPS and listen to nerdy podcasts on my iPod and (when I bring it) plug in my thermoelectric cooler, stuffed with amazing Atlanta goodies!

Not only that, but by stupidly plugging in a charger backwards I bent two pins in my iPod’s butt-hole (as Sandy so elegantly phrases it) then managed to straighten them out with a dressmaker’s pin I had in my suitcase. I suspect the pins are now weak… the iPod is only 18 months old. Equipment These Days. But it felt good to know that I knew how to straighten a pin, by gum.

Fry’s! Trader Joe’s! Civilization! Yes, there’s far more than that to my new gig — like feeling instantly useful and valued, and even very busy and already behind (presentation? Um, right! I will have one!). Which as some of you know,  is just how I like it.

One more hour of packing, then it’s an hour in front of the idiot box and a few restless hours of sleep. See you in Anaheim — and if not there, friends, our paths will cross!

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Whew, week of shiny-new-job! I’ve posted my first post at the company blog. Expect many more — I’ll try to mention the best ones here, but you may want to subscribe.

ALA is imminent! I’ll be at the Equinox booth, 1888 — at least half the time, anyway — and I’ll be part of the crew doing presentations, one-on-one booth meetings, and general meet-and-greet.

I’ll also be presenting (or at least dog-paddling) at LITA’s Top Tech Trends, LITA’s Ultimate Debate, and Monday morning’s LITA Next Gen Catalog Interest Group. Plus I’ll be at meetings for Jim Rettig’s implementation task force, the Electronic Meeting Participation Task Force, LITA Forum 2009, and the OCLC Blog Salon.

So yesterday I started my new job as Community Librarian at Equinox. According to Library Journal, I’m “opinionated,” which I will generously interpret as praise (even though LJ’s archives suggest this is a word that for their reporters cuts both ways).

I’m still finding the bathroom around here, but I definitely feel “opinionated” about open source in libraries: it makes sense, and that’s why I’m getting involved in it. I plan to share my opinionations on blogs (Equinox and the Evergreen community both have blogs), magazine articles, presentations, one-on-one discussions, and whatever other venues allow me to opine.

(To clarify my whereabouts, I’m going to be teleworking for Equinox, with an occasional on-site sync-up, and for now we’ll stay in Tallahassee. This week I return to Tallahassee Wednesday early evening so I can fly out the next day.)

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I have been on a wild ride for two weeks — and almost didn’t get off, thanks to another Delta error.

Due to a chain of events beginning with a delayed flight out of Albuquerque last Sunday, I never made it home. Delta ultimately rebooked me into Boston, where I was flying the next day, so I never touched down in Tallahassee. (But for this trip, I had lots of clean socks and undies from the trip to Target I made when Delta lost my bag for 36 hours… and let’s be clear: by “Delta,” I mean the baggage handlers in Tallahassee, on what was the quietest afternoon I’ve ever seen at that airport.)

Arriving in Boston a day early, I would have had to shoulder the cost of a hotel room plus one more day on the rental car. But my connecting flight from Cincinnatti was overbooked, so I volunteered to spend the night there. The Airport Marriott turned out to be a lovely new place with flat-screen TVs, fancy computer desks, and beds like angels’ clouds, plus I got 400 “Delta Dollars” and enough food credits to buy a nice salad. I reached my destination a little early, with a nice perk in my pocket.

So, all’s well that ends well, right?

I thought so, until I got suspicious early this morning when I realized I hadn’t received my usual “It’s time to check in” message from Delta.

The creative soul in Albuquerque who booked me straight through to Boston had made an error — notifying Delta that for very good reasons having absolutely nothing to do with User Error, I wouldn’t be on the flight out of Tallahassee. So I was a no-show, which meant that I was on the list of Naughty Passengers Who Don’t Abide By The Rules and Now Have No Reservations, as opposed to Good Passengers Who Get To Fly Home.

Now, I could fume at that person. Surely this isn’t the first time Delta has had to reroute some poor Ancient Mariner directly to a destination, bypassing some place in between. But it was a mistake by a pro handling a long line of confused people, including a guy behind me who paced and snorted, hands on hips.

(In such situations, I turn on the charm. If nothing else, it puts the desk people at ease, and I do understand they don’t break airplanes and in fact, would much prefer not having to rebook anyone, ever.)

But what I really appreciate is the woman who helped me today, despite the crack in my voice and my obvious inability to understand everything she was saying. (I kept saying, “But DELTA broke the airplane! I’m just the passenger!”) She was soothing and calm and efficient, and when I explained my phone connection was poor (or maybe it was the sound of the blood rushing in and out of my veins), she slowed down and spoke even more clearly.

Then, when I logged in to my Delta account, lo! There was Me, with My Reservation! So she wasn’t just pleasant… she was accurate. There’s a combo to remember.

All I need to do now is check in a little early and sign an affidavit. I’m still not entirely understanding the affidavit — which I suspect does not read, I, Karen G. Schneider, Being Of Sound Mind and Sound Body, Do Affirm I Did Not Break The Airplane and It’s Not My Fault — but at this point, I’d sign almost any document to get home and wash my clothes.

(Assuming my bag gets there, too…)

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(Speaking of reading: part of my “score” at an independent bookstore this week was Money Changes Everything, an essay collection about the love that dare not speak its name — I am of course referring to Filthy Lucre. I strongly recommend this essay collection for libraries, book groups, and personal reading; the essays are spot-on and often painfully perfect.)

Library discussion lists have been mulling over Nick Carr’s lovely article in Atlantic, “Is Google Making us Stoopid?” Some have brought up another article, “Will GPS make us dumb?”

Quite a bit rests on how we define “stupid.” The GPS article states, “But, just like with spell-checker before it, some experts believe that the guiding device gives less than what it takes away. The price we pay for the convenience, they say, could be our sense of direction.”

Well, I have never had a sense of direction. I have always been map-smart and direction-poor. So the GPS means I no longer drive with my knees, map and highlighter propped against the steering wheel. Don’t you feel better knowing that The Lady (as I call my GPS) leaves me both-hands-on-wheels, as my mother taught me? (And what is it with those states that have self-importantly passed laws against Affixing Things On Windows?)

Was I smart, and now I am dumb? Dumb, and now I am smart? (Or just dumb and dumber?)

To loop back to Nick Carr and the Web, I think he makes very good points, and has done so elegantly and with a certain respect for humanity. I don’t always agree with him, and his argument isn’t new; but part of the pleasure of his argument is that he includes himself among the affected, rather than standing on the sidelines pointing at those sublunary beings who are no longer capable of Sustained Reading of Complex Texts.

We’re all in the higgledy-jiggledy short-attention-span world, and as I wrote a wee while back, the only cure is to strap our fannies into chairs and Read as if our lives depended on it, as indeed they do.

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Note: my comment feed is broken. I probably won’t be able to fix it for a couple of weeks.

Over on Panlibus, Richard Wallis interviewed me about my new position as Community Librarian for Equinox. Fun convo!

Meanwhile, here are several links related to libraries affected by the midwestern floods…

By way of LISNews: an amateur video posted to YouTube last Friday shows Cedar Rapids Public Library under a few feet of water. On PUBLIB, Joe Schallan adds a little more about the library’s affected service populations.

The University of Iowa libraries batten the helms in the event of flooding, and Amy Ranger adds her impassioned admiration for their efforts, plus a reminder that El Jefe has a strong record of not stepping up to the plate.

On a minor note, I can’t say I’m spending a lot of time there, but I do have an account on Friendfeed. It combines all my other social networking presences (or most of them — I don’t see Dopplr) in one place. Not pushing this service — haven’t made my mind up about it — but it’s worth poking at.

Hard to believe another Summer Solstice is imminent. I am in a hotel room in Cincinnati, which I just learned how to spell (”Cincinnati,” not “hotel room”). It’s a long story involving broken and overbooked airplanes (I was a victim of the former and a volunteer for the latter). So I’ve earned my second Skymiles teeshirt this week — plus a free hotel room and some Delta miles!

My mother’s 80th birthday in Santa Fe (where she lives) was a wonderful celebration, and I was able to catch up with many family friends and also many relatives — uncles, aunts, cousins, and my delightful baby sister — plus I met my mother’s personal trainer. (Do I have good genes, or what?)

I remain peripatetic and not well-connected — this will not be a heavy-blogging week.

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Sandy and I called him the round-headed guy, and when the camera cut to him, we’d often crack up. Tim Russert didn’t have a poker face; it was obvious when he thought he was hearing nonsense, and in the last seven years, he seemed to be scowling a lot.

In our book he was the real thing.

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It’s funny that both Tayari Jones and Michelle Richmond wrote this week about knowing when to let go of a writing project, because that has been my week, during my tenure as self-appointed Artist in Residence at the Monterey Nonsmoker’s Hotel in Albuquerque (what a great place — more on that in another post).

First, I canned the idea of working on the big essay I thought I wanted to work on. I need to do more background reading. It can wait. Maybe I am not as pulled toward it as I thought.

Then I realized that no matter what, and regardless of all my noises in this direction, I don’t want to write a short story. Not right now. Not maybe ever. I am not interested in “graduating” to writing fiction of any length. If it happens, it happens, but with four days to write, bringing yet another amateurish short story into the world just didn’t seem important. The stuff fueling that story may become an essay. Who can say?

Then I sent an essay to a writing friend who had asked a question it answered, and when I skimmed it (don’t you always re-read your own stuff when you send it along, if only to wonder how you missed all those typos?), I had this tingly feeling. I have always had this idea that this essay was unpublishable, and maybe that’s still the case. But I am still fond of it and have always wondered if it didn’t need something I couldn’t see. When I looked it over (all a-tingle), I thought, “Start this on page 5, and you almost have something.” Maybe what it really needs is to lose the first third of its adipose self — a weight problem that isn’t visible because it feels so whole as an essay. So I shipped it off to my friend, this time for her opinion. Just seeing this essay anew was worth the experience.

Well! That got me going. I took an artsy, edgy essay that had received very nice rejection notices and gutted it, then rebuilt it with half the parts. I like it much more. I then gave one last (for now) hard revision to another essay which had made the rounds of two critique groups and looked up several places to submit it.

I moved on to a “light” revision of an essay I wrote for Malena Watrous’ class this spring (through Stanford CE) — it was a little thing and I expected it to stay that way, but I dug into it and couldn’t stop digging, and it’s a strong second draft. (2 down, how many more to go? Oh, at least 2 more. Maybe 4.)

Then today I had a marathon session pulling together a strong second draft of another food essay I started in Malena Watrous’ class. I was startled by how much research and work I had done on it (and forgotten I had done)… interviews, deep database searches, statistics, book-larnin’, and much more. Obviously it means something to me. It’s still rough, but it leaps out of the gate with a strong thesis and stays on topic. I’m surprised at how sound it is structurally, which is usually not my strong suit. Maybe I am learning something. Imagine that!

Finally, there are several essays I thought I might look at but I didn’t touch, and I know why. Because I’ve moved past them. They were my good friends, and they aren’t terrible. They just aren’t wonderful, and they never will be. There are no guarantees in writing, but given how rare and precious this writing break has been — I expect it will be at least another year before I have a siege like this again, and I’m going to be BIZZZZZY in my new job — I am reminded that I only have writing time for essays I deep-down-trulio believe I have a chance of pulling forward into “wonderful.” My little starter essays, thank you for what I learned from you, and please don’t take it personally.

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