Listening Outside the Box

I haven't overheard anything remotely interesting at the library this week, so bare with me and journey into other facets of my life...

Overheard at family gathering:

Grandma: How have you managed to get so trim?

Brother: I'm anorexic and I do coke every weekend (sarcastic).

Grandma: Bewildered chuckle. You don't drink coke anymore? Pop is really bad for you!

Brother: Yup, I'm down to 195.

Ha ha ha, another happy Lithe Librarian family gathering! I just managed to make it though the week, I was sick all last weekend, missed Monday, felt okay on Tuesday and steadily declined. By Friday I was ready to crawl into bed, but had one more family gathering to attend. I spent all of Saturday in bed, except for a brief foray into the pet store for some supplies.

Over heard at Pet Store:

As I'm waiting in line, it is finally my turn and I start rooting around for exact change.

A large golden retriever leaps at counter, stands on hind legs panting next to me, facing the male store clerk.

Female yuppy owner exlaims: Wow Bruno, you just want to be the gayest dog in town don't you!

Clerk looked weirded out.

Ohhhhkay. I'm going home and crawling back into bed with my neocitran and box of kleenex. I tried to find my car to drive it closer to my apartment but gave up in the wet drizzle. The night before I spent 25 minutes circling the 'hood for a spot, and not once, not twice, but THREE times, I lost out for a parking spot by seconds. It was like a Mister Bean episode, where that evil car (SEE PICTURE) always gets the parking spot first! As a result, I currently have no idea where I parked, it was so darn far away. I was wearing heels too!

Tonight when my roomate comes home, she'll drive me around and we'll find it! I even called the towing company just in case they took it away (they didn't!)

So feeling sorry for myself with all this illness, I've been doing a lot of reading for pleasure (aka not work related, aka not children's or teen novels):

Infidel by Ayaan Hirsi Ali

The life of a girl from Somalia, who ended up in Holland as a refugee. Now she is a member of parliament, coming to terms with her faith and the politics of immigration in this small European country full of religious and racial rife. I skimmed through the first few chapters, as I didn't really feel a burning desire to know the details of her mother and grandmother's lives as well. I can see why she recieves death threats, and sometimes feeds into right wing conservative propaganda, but I learned a lot about some of the turmoil in Europe and what it is rooted in. I have been unable to put this book down, and when I hear about riots in Paris, or kafuffle over religious cartoons, I have a slightly better context to place all this in.

"Most of the women in Holland could walk the streets on their own, wear more or less what they liked, work and enjoy their own salaries, and choose the man they wished to marry. They could attend a university, travel, purchase property. And most Muslim women in Holland simply couldn't. How could you say that Islam had nothing to do with that situation? And how could that situation be in any way acceptable?"

I understand that this brand of Islam is much more fundamental and looks very different from what friends I know locally believe. Religion aside, Ali explores the nature of segregation within a country, equality and the rights of women...and interesting and thought provoking read.

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas by John Boyle.

If you've read the Swearing Librarian's review, you know the story! I have been on the holds list for ages and finally it landed in my letter box! Hands down, most interesting book jacket description ever:

"The story of the Boy in the Striped Pajamas is very difficult to describe. Usually we give some clues about the book on the jacket, but in this case we think that would spoil the reading of the book (I agree). We think it is important that you start to read without knowing what it is about.

If you do start to read this book, you will go on a journey with a nine-year-old boy called Bruno. (Though this isn't a book for nine-year-olds.) And sooner or later you will arrive with Bruno at a fence.

Fences like this exist all over the world. We hope you never have to encounter such a fence. "

I won't give anything away. But Bruno is a remarkable little boy. The dialogue is crisp and clever, the pacing is excellent. It is a forboding tale that unfolds without context, and yet context is not needed at all. The setting is familiar to us all, and in forgetting the setting, the tale becomes stronger and truer. The conclusion is spectacular. You will not be disapointed.

Everything else I read while sick is trash and not worth talking about! Ta!

Labyrinth of Emotions!

I saw a little girl cry today and I wanted to cry too.

If that happened every day, I would need a siphon leading into a bucket under the reference desk because I see a LOT of crying.

This was a little different! I think it was my fault she got in trouble! I had good intentions and taught this annoying little info desk harrasser how to use the catalogue to find her own books. She was cute the first twenty times she approached the desk in her prep school uniform, bouncing up and down impatiently to ask me for the same book she asked me for yesterday and the day before...only to huff and puff impatiently as I helped others...to lead me around and monopolize my time with incessant nattering informing me of this and that and everything that I obviously didn't know, and turning up her nose at every alternate suggestion. It was a VICTORY when I sat down with her at a public catalogue and invested some time into teaching her the catalogue, because before you know it, she was off, search and destroy was her motto.

Well, eventually I noticed that no matter who accompanies her to the library, no one really listens to her or pays any attention to her at all. True her mile a minute know it all dialogue is easy to ignore, becoming a vague humming, but your own flesh and blood??!! They made her! Today I showed her how to do an advanced search and returned to my desk. A few minutes later the mother strode in, found the little girl and said "we don't have time to look on the computer, the book is in the godammed K section where it always is!" (Nancy Drew) ...the girl burst into tears and followed her mother, arms folded across her chest, really quite suddenly upset. Good grief, I was upset by her mother's sharpness!

It was sucky because I felt badly for the mother and for the daughter. The daughter had every right to be taken back by her mother's spaz attack, and the mother had pretty good reason to be annoyed by her daughter (an extremely annoying child) but like I said - You made her! I think her annoyingness must be a plea for attention. Or maybe private school fosters that self-centred-know-it-all-anal-attitude in little girls? I'm not sure, but it was all too much emotion for a girl recovering from the flu. It made my palms sweat more than they already were!

Do dogs belong in the library?

There is a woman with a scottie dog wrapped up in a library book bag. Only his head and front paws are visible. Actually, he looks like quite a load, really he's not that small!

And he is staring at me with those gigantic black eyes, buried in his bushy white face. She is browsing in the childrens picture book area, and there is no one else in the department at the moment.

The branch manager said to me before wandering away: "I hope she's not too long." But none of us have made a move to say anything. She looks like she'd kick me in the face if I said anything.

I live in a city where people take their dogs every where. I was browsing in a gift shop when a small dog, snarled and barked in my face. Literally, it was at face level, worn in a sash being held against a man's body like a baby. I also had a bad experience at a coffee shop recently with a friend, when a couple seated themselves at the table next to us, with their huge standard poodle. Its head was level with the table and my coffee cup. It had a strong wet dog smell, and spent a lot of time sniffing at me and staring. The owners glared at US as it became increasingly busy and crowded in the small neighbourhood shop.

It is unbelievable how people inflict their pets on other people. Don't get me wrong, I love dogs, and my family dog is the dearest dog in the world, but alas she does not get along with other dogs and has a gigantic and unruly presence which can be intimidating. So, she stays home and has a happy life snoozing in front of the fire, chasing snakes in the garden, and romping around the undergrowth. Just because she hasn't beento the library lately, doesn't mean that she's not a smart pup!

A Reputation for Being Dangerous...um not me.

I just watched a clip on t.v. about Ryan Knighton, the blind Capilano College prof. who wrote Cockeyed. He seems genuinely interesting, which mean that I must rush into work tomorrow and put a hold on his book, which must also by default and as a memoir, with local flavour be captivating as well. The reviews seem to indicate the same :
http://www.thebukowskiagency.com/Cockeyed.htm
My brother's ex-girlfriend also had him as an English prof, and thought he was great. He spoke succinctly about writing a story about a small town boy of eighteen finding his direction in life and simultaneously adapting to what life will be like as a blind man.

And now, to recommend a book I've actually read:

Letters from St Petersburg by Victoria Hammond.

I often start non-fiction books, but it truly is a delicious triumph when I finish one. This is a place I've been thinking about visiting. Well, about how interesting it would be to visit sometime in the next few years while I'm abroad. Now, I'm not so sure that is a good idea, though I am more interested than ever...I couldn't put this down, even though at times I felt opressed by some of what the author described, it cast a temporary gloom, even in the cheery atmosphere of my cozy apartment. Lots of us have a fascination with Russia (right?) - just look how Russia shows up in all those films, the politics, the horror of nuclear power ill managed, and the radioactive spies. Although I minored in English Lit. as an undergrad, I have never read Pushkin, or any other Russian author. I wonder why? I know even less about the history of Russia. This book dabbles in the past but concerns itself with the present and the ideology and culture of the Russian people. Perhaps that is travel writing at it's best, an honest exploration of daily life for "the other" - Victoria Hammond, an Australian curator heads to Russia for the first time to stay with the friends of a friend, curators themselves. She explores the poverty that academics and artists live in, and the fixation on the golden past the permeates the culture. She experiences unbelievable filth, beautiful, ornate and crumbling architecture, gets four different kinds of worms, visits a museum collections of "human monsters" preserved alongside all sorts of wonders, she flirts with a soldier on a train who follows her through the city, gets lost underground many times, and experiences influence of the Russian mafia as a friend is forced to move from a desireable apartment that she owns so that her apartment can be given to someone else. The rich cast of friends that people this story make it a very interesting and enlightening read.

"I know no one. I don't speak the language. The city has a reputation for being dangerous. I've become addicted to this scenario, to the thrill of travelling alone and watching how I deal with the terrors of a strange place. But this time it's different: Ada, a curator at the Russian Museum in St. Petersburg, is meeting me. At least I hope to God she's meeting me."

Driving Home, and Starting Another Day

Saturday morning, and though I'm working a sixth day in a row, I'm feeling strangely calm after being in such a state yesterday! It's peaceful and quiet here as of yet, and rays of sun are streaking through the cloud cover.

I sometimes drive through the worst of the worst areas to get home more quickly...there is always lighter traffic on this route. People care not to see such sights? Or as I discovered this week, the risk of hitting a pedestrian is too great. Not one, but two suicidal individuals mindlessly on drugs lurched across dark streets, causing me to break sharply. Friday night is always the busiest for this route, and the cars braked heavily upon entering the worst stretch. The city is so interesting at night, and I love how each evening the sky is a little less dark as I weave home.

What adventures will this new day hold? I only have eleven weeks left to sing my songs, say my rhymes, tell my stories...and then it's all an unknown adventure!

There are RULES in the library!

Anger then hunger then sugar and now I feel blah! So much for making a hearty dinner!

I lost my temper ten minutes before leaving work on Friday afternoon. There is probably a statistic somewhere that indicates that this is the worst time of the day to tick someone off.

Busy children's department. I have been on reference on the adult desk all afternoon, dodging the perv. Finally a half hour at my desk in the back before leaving. The phone is ringing of the hook outside on reference though, so I head out to answer it an get sucked into a long question vortex. Finally escaping and heading to my haven in the back when I see two 13 year old girls chowing down on an enormous bar of chocolate in the picture book area. I breeze over, planning on quickly saying something...

"hi, just to let you know, food isn't allowed in the library"

-no response-

I stand rooted looking at them.

-eye rolling-

Girl A deliberately takes another piece off of it, followed by the second girl.

I continue standing there.

"You can pack it up or go outside."

They start muttering, still stuffing face, fooling around and beginning to consider putting it away.

"Fine, whatever, we're going to leave!" (said with spite)

Me (internally) OOoooh please don't go bitchy girls, please stay!! What will we do without you!

Cell phone rings.

Girl B directly in front of me picks it up and starts telling someone that they're getting kicked out of the library.

She turns away and continues talking.

"Annnddd, there are no cell phones allowed in the library. You need to put it away or go outside."

Girl B continues talking. Girl A is rustling around with chocolate.

"EXCUSE ME, but cell phones are NOT allowed in the library." (loud voice, I can really project)

Girl B stands up and has about a foot on me. Somewhat incredulous.

"You need to close the phone and say goodbye. There are RULES IN THE LIBRARY." Girl B's jaw drops.

OOOooh gosh why did I say such a stupid thing. I'm being totally honest here, reader, this is the geeky thing I said when all the blood was exiting my brain in anger."

I stride away.

Girls mockingly cry out "ooooh there are rules in the library! what a retard! ooooh rules oooh rules!"

Now during the RULES in the library part, a head librarian from tech services happened to walk by and surely heard the mocking as well. Ooooh. And the librarian who was suposed to answer the phone and deal with food and such while I soaked up some peace and blooody quiet, was an auxiliary, soft spoken and probably horrified at my display of unbridled emotion.

Anyways, this is an honest blog. I know I broke every rule in the "customer service" handbook and the library school teen inclusiveness mantra! There aren't really any excuses. I was angry. I am human and now I can think of a thousand more effective ways to deal with it. Though I can hardly believe how evil they were. I hate rudeness! Those are the type of girls I imagine peer pressuring and kicking the ass of the baby-librarian I once was. And I was a multi-coloured hair skater girl at that age (which pre-Avril Lavigne, was not not not the best choice in a gangster school)....These girls will grow up to be the people that pass the line for the bridge in the wrong lane and then cut in....the mom's who steal my homemade egg shakers from storytime rather than let their darlings shed one tear leaving it behind....

Anyways, if they're so cool, why are they at the library afterschool on Friday night. Hell, I'm paid to be there!!!!

Rocking Postal Trucks and Kissing Advice

Well, I just got in from a lovely evening jog around my hood. And I thought it was odd to see a Canada Post truck making deliveries so late, the irony truly struck me when I jogged past and strains of "Taking care of business...working overtime" came floating out the back end of the truck. Rock on!

In other news...

"Finlanders consider mouth to mouth kissing obscene."

According to Kissing: The Complete Guide by Tamara Schreibman. Kissing games, music to kiss to, how to prepare for your first kiss...utterly Judy Blume in nature and incredibly embarrassing to take surreptious but curious perusals at while working on the reference desk one busy Saturday afternoon.

"A ten minute kiss burns ten calories."

Aaaawwww. Is that all?

The Indian in the Cupboard? Non, non! The Light in the Cupboard

One night, I stumbled out of bed and weaved into the washroom in the dead of darkness...or so it would seem at first. I had not turned on any lights, however a beam of light was coming from the cupboard above the shower (yes, I have high ceilings!) Startled and amazed out of my stupour I pulled out my earplugs (to hear any ethereal music that might acompany this strange sight) I stood on the closed toilet seat and attempted to peer into the cupboard. To my amazement, it appears that the wall along it's side, is only a large piece of painted plywood haphazardly nailed in place. A gap at least a half inch wide runs the length, and at first, in horror I believed that it was a peephole into someone elses washroom.

At this point, I believe upon further late night explorations that it may in fact look into the same vast void that my kitchen peers into. The light from a neighbours window into that void, may have produced the glow. I'm not certain, perhaps I shall futher investigate tonight. It's all together unsettling. Now we have bathroom smells and kitchen smells communally intermingling in a very weird way.

Also, this evening at the library:

I love it when I get to work on the adult desk. Not only did I have our resident perv hovering around the desk, our resident friendly-man-who-will-talk-your-ear-off, but I also finally got to meet the strange-priest-man who is very grizzled and knarled, shakey and scared in the face, with gigantic old glasses that have slid down and pinched in nostrils into non-existance. Wearing a trench, messily clad,with a cleryman's collar, he asked me for two books we would never have...25 year old books on physics and nuclear energy....he also informed me that he is a student at UBC! Wowee, it's never too late to learn. That's what I keep telling myself!

By the way- one small correction, the perv's last name is THOMPSON and not SANFORD as previously noted! Just in case! Today he made cracking whip noises, said "hey hey hey" repeatedly every five minutes about everything to me (I ignored him until another patron, said, ummm I think that man wants you or something) and I had to go over to his computer terminal. Ugh.

The Book Thief? Non, non, The Song Thief!

EVERY single time I do a new rhyme or song for preschool story time, a co-worker immediately uses it in her storytime the following week. This time, she has even gone so far to type it up in large print for her group. Which is in itself funny because it consists of only two sentences repeated over and over. Fast turn over, my work makes it into print within days. Mimicry is the best form of flattery?

Still, all my hard earned hours wailing away to CD's in the car on the commute home, hunting down catchy tunes and rhymes, finding props...snatched away and used by someone else (someone else, who I might add is not very nice to me and told my boss that I was not being very professional and related a petty story-that's strong from someone who wears Lulu to work and thinks chit chatting to parents about her personal life complete with complaints about her work, for half an hour is okay ) Sorry, I'm feeling a little peeved. Also, she borrowed my "personal-spent-hours-making-it-props" last week. I'd feel fine with it all if she was anyone else. It's just that she seems to strive towards undermining me, proving me wrong, making me feel small, and putting me down in any small way (what did I do to deserve this??) and feels that she is in direct competition with me about everything. She's super aggressive, so it's tough to feel generous with my personal belongings. Okay, the ranting is over.

My cup runneth over...sniff sniff...

An incredible movie, that I watched last weekend...
I cried buckets but they were good tears.


What: a woman works as a photographer in the red light district of Calcutta, documenting the lives of women who live in the brothels. She finds herself surrounded by their children. She decides to teach a photography class and equips the children with cameras. They edit and select their best pictures and learn from her. The photographer several shows of the children's work together in order to raise money to pay for boarding school. It's the only chance they may get, some of them are on the verge of being forced into prostitution or have already been exploited. She puts on several sucessful shows at Southebys. The children profiled in the documentary are amazing and the female photographer who works with them as well. Each child has such a strong personality, and they are a tightnit ragtag group. They taunt one another with love, and are realistic about their futures. Each child speaks directly to the camera about things, and we also get to watch them interact with each other as they head on several photographic excursions, and work with the photographer. The boy above is singled out as having great talent, and an epic battle mounts to get him papers so he can represent India at a show in Amsterdam.

If you would like to cry a little more, read The Year the Gypsies Came, a YA novel by first time novelist Linzi Glass. Set in apartheid South Africa, it chronicles the life of a twelve year old girl, the summer a traveling family comes to a stop on their land, living out of a trailer with two boys. As time passes, Emily carries more and more of the dark secrets of the adult world around her. Something ominous hovers as the story unwinds languidly like the dark python one of the visitors wears over her shoulders...

"If it were not for our proximity to the lake and the woods where they camped, we might never have encountered them. It was from beyond the lake that they came into our lives. From where, I do not know; no one ever asked. It did not seem to matter at the time. They simply walked into our world from across the road. Weary travelers carrying the fates of our lives in their dank pockets."

It's a Friendly Neighbourhood...not really

It's a different sort of day. This morning a full moon lingered, creating a lovely path of light across the water in the early light. Let us see what the day will hold....

Yesterday was odd enough in itself. I arrived home to find an old red suitcase and a bunch of junky boxes to be the new view from my kitchen window. We live in an odd old place where the kitchen window, along with the one next door the floor above (but not below) looks into a grey washed space, like a small vertical room with a skylight above. It provides a small degree of natural light and allows a space to vent your kitchen cooking smells (thus sharing them with any neighbor's who happen to have open windows as well)....We've joked about putting lawn chairs out there, but didn't even know if the floor was solid or not.

Well, it seems that our new neighbor's lack storage space and think we are trust worthy enough not to rifle through their storage boxes. I really feel like I'm slumming it sometimes, well, if it weren't for the exorbitant rent. The neighbor's have a frosted window and don't have to look at the boxes, but why do I want to look at their junk every time I wash dishes or cook? We have storage spaces the size of a horse stall (and similar in construction as well) in the dingy cavernous basement.

I can't wait to move.

Last week we left a note for the number one most annoying neighbour in the world who lives below us (unfortunately he owns half the building so no rules apply to him)- it read:

"Dear neighbour, Your dogs have been howling all evening. It is 11:15, we hope they go to sleep soon because we are."

My only regret is that there may now be only one dog, which I failed to notice until this week. What if the other one died? Am I insensitive? Hmmmm...think back to his girlfriend pounding on the door at 6pm while I was frantically getting ready for a dinner party...and put heels on...for about 2 minutes..."Do you mind not walking around so much, you sound like an elephant and we're trying to watch t.v." ...naaah.