I really wanted to post about my last day at ALA, and tell you all about the programs I went to. But instead, I’ve played Farm Hustle until I hit near-unconsciousness. I’m going to nappity until the free-speech dinner, which is the last ALA event I’m attending.
Then I’m going to get up really early in the morning, drive home, and jump into the waiting arms of my beau. (And then make him help me carry all the books and posters I got from the exhibit hall.)
I had made a list of all the programs I wanted to go to at ALA, and I’ve ended up not attending a lot of them. I participated in a zine discussion, and went to the Radical Reference meeting last night. My knowledge of Radical Reference increased dramatically from seeing the actual people behind the website. I know what an infoshop is, and even participated in the discussion (my superpower is the ability to interject something into any conversation happening anywhere). I suggested that besides political events, Rad Ref could show up to large cultural events like Bonnaroo, which would increase awareness of what they’re doing outside the sphere of librarianship.
Last night, after the Rad Ref meeting, I went out for late dinner and drinks with rad librarians. (See what I did there?) We ended up a nucleus group, drinking beer on steps that lead down to the water of the Mississippi. I love being near rivers, and I love legal outside drinking, so I was very happy.
Today, we’re eating breakfast (thank Jebus), then heading down to the conference for programs. Hopefully I’ll finish the pair of socks I’m knitting. They’re for another librarian, and I love that they’ll be ALA-knitted.
I’m in New Orleans. I’m at the India House hostel, which has WIFI. I’m gearing up for a day of hanging around, then going to a YALSA thingie this evening.
So, the drive went really quickly, because there are four of us in my crew, and we yakked all the way here.
Driving into the city, we began to see signs that things are NOT OK. (I mean that mostly architecturally.) We’re staying in the midtown area, and it is a bit sketchville. I’m taking photos, and will upload them Tuesday night (to Flickr). The NOLA area of midtown I saw last July was by no means new buildings and maincured lawns, but now everything has a deserted feeling, and there are a lot of large piles of trash and stuff outside a lot of the houses. (I assume it’s the stuff that people purged from their homes because it’s water damaged.)
When we got the hostel, there were probably 15 people on the front porch. Apparently, the power had gone out. A transformer had blown a fuse. The hostel had rigged enough lights to see, and they said the power comany was on its way.
It’s not that I felt actively unsafe, it’s that it’s a bit barren. We’re travelling as a group, and we befriended a bouncer who stays in the hostel who to took the trolley (all pub tran is free till the end of the month) with us and walked us to a restaruant.
We played the “ooh, ooh, I bet they’re a librarian” game. Decending from a tour bus, carrying tote bags, wearing sensible summer sweaters made out of cotton.
When we got back to the hostel (after having a drink in Pirate’s Alley), the power was back on, so we retired to our room, turned on the air, and promptly crashed.
We’re about to go down to the French Quarter, find the convention center, register, then see what kind of sweet free stuff we can get. I think I’ve promised a free tote bag to about 14 people, so I’ll have to be diligent.
Hey, you maybe didn’t know that I have low-grade abnormal cells (aka: pre-cancer) on my “Wizard of Os”, and Angela just sent me this weirdly free offer from Merck.
Merck is the pharma company that’s coming up with groundbreaking new drugs and stuff and maybe even an HPV (aka: genital warts) vaccine (or something like that). That would be cool, because “HPV is so common that by age 50 as many as 8 of 10 women who have sex will be infected with it.” HPV causes cervical cancer. Cervical cancer is a bummer. Now you know.
Either way, the deal is they’re sending out TWO FREE bead bracelet kits, and donating $1 to cervical cancer research.
I roll my eyes at a pharma company donating money to research that they’re pursuing, but then again, I’m interested in not having cervical cancer. So, order a bead kit. They don’t say the word ‘cervical’ on the beads, and maybe you can make your mom something nice for her birthday. Or a cat collar. Or shoelace sparklies. Or just a bunch of stuff to stick up your nose. You choose.
Edit: To clarify, there are 30-some strains of HPV. Only six or so can cause cancer. The rest just give you nasty warts on your junk, which actually sounds kind of nice, compared to cervical cancer, but not as nice as not having warts. The other thing is that dudes usually don’t show symptoms, especially the cervical cancer kind, so you really can’t tell just by looking. Condoms don’t necessarily protect. Kinda scary, yeah?
I haven’t posted in a long while because I was at Jason’s ten year high school reunion, then my first week of summer classes, then Bonnaroo. All of these things deserve posts, but I’m TIRED. And this weekend is the ALA annual convention in New Orleans, so it’s not like I’ll have time to catch up. Or during the 4th of July fest next weekend.
That being said, I plan on writing about all of it, and maybe even liveblogging from ALA. We’ll see. It all depends on if I can get my cataloging homework done, and read the nonfiction book about Phineas Gage for Wednesday.
*Unless you are Shane, E, Wadsbone, or the 80,000 other people who went.
After four years of collegiate bonding (and the unfortunate nickname “Donya”), I’m pleased to see my friend Ted move away from home and go to grad school – for acting, no less. I’ve been reading his blog, learning about the intense stage fighting he’s learned, how he’s become partial to Shakespeare …
So this made me really, really happy. Like, really happy. This is a photo from “THE GREAT AMERICAN TRAILER PARK MUSICAL” (which apparently has to be in all caps). Woot for T3.
Driving to my parent’s farm, I drove by five trucks that looked like this. It was really windy, and there were feathers flying out from the trucks. It looked like sad snow.
This is exactly why I don’t like the idea of eating meat. It take a lot of energy to grow, and inevitably the animals have to chill out in their own poop. I know this because I was raised on a beef farm.
Somehow, with no professional training, I managed to give Jason this rad emo haircut. Can’t you see the pain dripping down from his bangs?
Ultimately, he decided it was not a look he particularly wanted to rock, but it was fun.
Too bad I effed it up right after I took this picture. Oops. He’ll just have to use gel until it grows out a bit.
Once upon a time, there was a forward-thinking girl named Sunday. She had found a kick-ass beau named Wadsbone via nerve.com. They were living in Fine Cham-PAN-ya, and happy as proverbial clams.
They knew that they’d be perfectly content to continue being on the same team, and Sunday decided that she’d have more success proposing and finding rings and such. (She was picky about her accessories.) So Sunday scoured the lands looking for a ring for Wadsbone. She found a neato ring with roman numerals on it, and bid on it.
She also googled the words “‘roman numeral’ ring” (because she’s a librarian) to see what other neato rings were out there. She found a ring with a better font on overstock.com. The ring sizes were 1/4 different, so she purchased the overstock one too – thinking that if one didn’t fit, the other would.
The rings came in the mail, and Sunday hid them away in the office (a scary place Wadsbone never entered). The overstock ring box had slots for both rings, so she put them together for safekeeping.
Finals week came, and Sunday became very busy getting her work done, and became very stressed out. Sunday was tired of hiding the rings, and all the plans she had come up with to propose just wouldn’t work. The weather had been terribly windy and cold, and it was simply not safe to climb trees and propose.
Sunday was both stressed out about classes, and nervous and excited to ask Wadsbone to be on her team permanently. She even cried when she figured out her summer schedule. Sunday and Wadsbone went to dinner at the Thai place two blocks away, then came home.
Sunday’s tummy hurt. She was so nervous about proposing to Wadsbone that all the things she wanted to say left her mind. Sitting on the couch, Sunday pulled out the ring box and mutely handed it to Wadsy.
Silence.
Finally, after opening the box, puzzling over the contents, and not getting any help from Sunday (who was hiding behind a pillow), Wadsbone figured it out. “Do you want me to be your wife?”
Sunday nodded without saying anything, and continued to hide. Wadsbone laughed and hugged Sunday. He asked which ring was for her.
“They’re both for you!”, said Sunday.
Wadsbone was again confused. Sunday had to explain the ebay/overstock issue, and Wadsbone tried on both rings.
Neither really fit, and the metal was too thick for Wadsbone to be prestidigitous. Sunday gave Wadsbone the ring she had been wearing for the past five years (which was too big for her, but she wore anyway), and it fit Wadsbone perfectly.
Awwww.