New job blog!

I've put my PC back together again, which is some sort of achievement. Trying not to have mixed feelings about this: I am genuinely very, very excited about a year of doing something totally different, but part of me fears the lack of documentation and worries about how the training will be structured. I feel if I can just get the next two weeks under my belt then I'll have it licked. At the moment everything seems to be described in vague, rough-edged terms. I'd feel more comfortable with rules and regulations; AACR2 and MARC21; Morecambe and Wise, but I attempted my first techie fudge today. I think it worked. Anyway, now I have a snappier job title: Ange Fitzpatrick, Authority control. Not quite Pet Detective, but I like it.

Now I just have to familiarise myself with some retro-software and all will be well.

Nuggets from New York : two

The joy of NYPL

This rather smacks of boring friends and family to death with seemingly endless pictures of places they have never been nor want to go to, but I just can't stop talking about NYPL and how wonderful it is. Two things: NYPL and 'wonderful'.

NYPL: I pronounce it nipple, which bestows upon it a charm all of its own- a place of true academic pleasure. The motto of my University is about nipples but I have never felt about Cambridge the way I do about NYPL. I feel my pronunciation of this joyful institution is entirely justifiable. Their catalogue, catNYP, is obviously intended to be pronounced as catnip. NYPL- obvious.

Wonderful: A marvel; a genuine jaw-dropper. Aside from the truly beautiful architecture, including a room entirely constructed from marble and a plastic moulded ceiling which looks more like wood than wood does, the true wonder of NYPL is its admissions policy. Anyone can use it. Not just people from NYC, or even from New York state; you don't even have to be an American (and it doesn't help if you are). Anyone can just turn up, order a book and read it in what has to be one of the most palatial reading rooms I have ever seen. They also send fetching slips around the building by pneumatic tube.

My overall impression of Manhattan (I have to confess to not travelling much further abroad) was of a city that was too busy for me; the perceived unfriendliness of the 'herds' of commuters, shoppers and tourists was completely unjustified, when I spoke with people they were open, honest and often passionate about their city. What I couldn't get over was the shabbiness of the place, the tourist areas were tacky as I expected and the richer areas markedly leafier than the poor ones, but on the whole everything looked like it had been updated in the late 80s, early 90s and badly needed a re-fit. It was unlike London, Beijing or Shanghai which had been my benchmarks, all in all it was more like the Glasgow of my childhood- full of promise, but stuck in 1988.

I expected that I'd be disappointed with the standard New York fare and I was, it had the fake glossy veneer of the movies, but was dull and prosaic in its quotidian reality. The exception was the view from the top of the Rockerfeller Centre, which was simply breathtaking. The old wisdom of doing what you want rather than what the guide book tells you rings true. All the things I went for: brewpubs, NYPL, meeting Liz who I hadn't seen for too long, eating breakfast in Absolute Bagels (where they sell cream cheese by the half-pound) with ordinary New Yorkers; that's what made it a real trip to remember for me.

All of this is without mentioning the killer wildlife in Central Park, including the rabbit lady. I have to tell you about the rabbit lady. I will tell you about the rabbit lady, I promise.

Ouch

I don't get it. You're left lying on your back feeling disorientated; you're bruised, bleeding and minus £60- assault. Put on a white jacket and suddenly it's a dental appointment.

I'm too rough on my gums. My dentist has given me a three-day gum love programme.

Sixty sodding quid to be poked, prodded, polished and told off for maltratment of my gingival areas.

There's no point to this post, I just like saying 'sixty sodding quid'. I feel better, but my obscene sounding gingival regions along with my pocketbook is still smarting.

Nuggets from New York : one

Reality (and jet lag) bites

We got back from New York on Sunday night, well supposedly it was Sunday night, it felt more like a morning-afternoon hybrid. I was ready for a nap, but not quite for sleep.

I wasn't sure how to approach jet lag avoidance. The old advice that I had been given the first time I flew long haul 'to just pretend you're in the destination time zone', didn't seem to be cutting the mustard, especially since I was served lunch on the way out at what ought to have been 5am New York time.

When we arrived States-side we had to take on Wednesday again, almost from scratch, it was quite an effort to make it to 8pm when I reluctantly allowed myself to go to bed. We did nothing more taxing than transfer from the airport to the hotel, have a look around a local cathedral and find somewhere good for beer and chow. Excellent brewed on site beer and a fantastic Gothic revival cathedral should have been heaven, but feeling like a grizzly baby bear with a sore head it felt more like pulling my own teeth with rusty pliers. I have honestly never experienced such a foul mood: I was short tempered, abraisive, and genuinely hell to be around. I've never been so tired, I think I would have sold my soul for an early night. Such a weird emotion. The exhaustion left me powerless and frustrated.

The pub was fantastic though, we had a great altbier and something that had been cooked up on the house. I'd like to say it took the edge off the jet lag, but even after a pint and some delicious buffalo wings I was still a miserable bugger.

Import week complete

Ok, so I have imported all my rubbish from everywhere, just in time to go on vacation. I'm off to New York to eat Chinese food from boxes and hot dogs as long as my arms.

In the meantine enjoy:

something new that I've found (3 minutes ago)

http://www.adamandandy.com/

The truly awesome, how many comments can I get in about the Decembrists and Mogwai, Questionable Content:

http://questionablecontent.net/

Be good to each other while I'm away guys, I hope your relevant God blesses you with your favourite colour of winegum in my absence.

When is Twitter not Twitter? When it's Facebook? (part of import week)

Fab article I read today:

http://citizenl.net/2009/03/why-twitter-is-not-facebook-and-why-some-people-think-it-is/

I'm going against the grain here as I picked this up from someone I'm following on twitter and retweeting it for the benefit of Facebook friends and colleagues. I don't think that implicit and explicit networks are immiscible, but I do think it is a one way street: I might want to spread some techie/geek/librarian news to a wider audience, but I certainly wouldn't want to direct my twitter followers to 'my mate's had a baby, LOL!!!*'

When I first started using twitter it really was just a feed, a regular update of your activities and ideas. Aptly described as micro-blogging it allowed you to keep track of people, institutions, entities and even (I'm sad to admit I did) fictional characters. Increasingly I feel it is becoming more voyeuristic: I'm checking my TweetDeck to see if anyone has responded to my tweets, I'm responding to their tweets. It's less like following and creating a trail than it used to be.

COPAC has recently decided to follow all of its followers, allowing them -if they have the time- to keep an ear to the ground and find out what its users want. I've enjoyed being able to interact with them in this fast, informal way; I've had great results from it, results which have been invaluable in a work context. The BL and the UL haven't followed this approach and they don't seem to encourage direct messages. At first I thought it staid, but perhaps this is a more purist approach. I want institutions and certain entities (journalists, newspapers, for example) to provide me with information, I want to follow what's going on there; I don't really need them to be my friend.

Twitter more than Facebook is becoming the place where business and pleasure and meeting. I think if we keep in mind what we want from our explicit and implicit networks we can make this a useful mix of networks rather than a car crash.

* Yes, typing LOL!! was like dragging my nails down a blackboard.

Library fines-how do you spend yours? (part of import week)

Sadly the date gives this one away:

http://community.oclc.org/hecticpace/archive/2009/04/overdue-stimulation.html

Readers always think that fines go straight into the librarian's cardigan fund, or the chocolate biscuit kitty but that is very far from the truth. Are these fines sequestered for buying new books or paying for reminder letters? or do they disappear into a budgetary black hole? I don't think too much gets taken at theUL, but when I worked in public libraries I noticed that people regualrly racked up mammoth fines. One reader who was paying by cheque joked to staff that our tips jar would be flush for a while as he paid his three figure fine; I couldn't help but think ot was him that need the tips, starting with bring your books back on time, closely followed by, don't come in five minutes before we shut with a fine like that.

So, cardigans or choccie biscuits- how do you spend yours?


I also ove the bit about probing the library records of Obama supports: PATRIOT Act anyone?

ALA on the PATRIOT Act http://digbig.com/4ynqh


At least here in the UK we can afford Jacqui Smith a bit of privacy on this one. I wouldn't dream of imagining what books her husband checks out on her card when his is full...

Anything you fancy? (part of import week)

The long list for The Orange Prize for fiction 2009 has been released today:

http://www.orangeprize.co.uk/show/feature/orange-prize-2009-longlist

I have to confess to not having read any of them; I'm having a manly man reading year and enjoying the pleasures of David Peace and Philip Hensher. I'm not sure I could tell a woman's writing from a man's in a blind practical criticism taste test, but when I know it's a male or female author, I think I'm expecting something different from each one.

In an interesting bout of literary sycnronicity, The Man Booker International Prize also released its long list today. Unlike the standard Booker this prize is awarded for continual success in the field of fiction, rather than one novel in particular. Unexpectedly the Booker heavyweight that is Peter Carey features, but, more oddly, James Kelman gets a nomination. Kelman unexpectedly won the prize in 1994 with How Late it Was, How Late; Julia Neuberger allegedly stormed off the panel when the book was chosen as the winner. Her brief but pithy assesment was: "Frankly, it's crap."

I've actually read this book and I enjoyed it for its experiemntation in form (stream of consciousness) and particularly for its use of Scots in a literary context. I didn't expect anyone else to like it, which begs the question why was he nominated? This year's Costa winner Sebastian Barry's the Secret Scripture was announced with what could only be described as embarassment, chair of the panel Matthew Parris admitted no one liked the ending and described it as' flawed'. Rather odd, for a winner. Perhaps I should pen a deeply flawed, confused novel with an unsatisfactory coinclusion and wait for the shiny medals to roll in. If they don't have chocolate centres, I'll send them back.

Thinks: I always associate Booker with cash and carry, can't seem to shake it.

Disappointing library text follows hilarius eye-catching headline (part of import week)

It's raining women at the British Library!

While all around the library world serious book boffins were indulging in War and Peace readathons, and children were sepending their £1 book tokens on tales of fairies and tipper-trucks, the good people of the BL were encouraging us to indulge in short-lived couplings and exploring each other's likes and disikes between the covers.

The BL's amusing (or bemusing) contribution to World Book Day: speed dating. No, no, no, not trying to identify the true age of a rare book, consulting only the title page and with a cursory glance at the binding, in 30 seconds or less. Speed dating, matchmaking and lovely literary fun at the BL; not what you'd expect from a premier research library, but I'm sad I missed the shenanigans which, I expect ended happily ever after.

http://www.bl.uk/news/2009/pressrelease20090302.html

Bravo, BL!

Perhaps I can persuade the UL to produce heart-shaped cheese scones for Valentines Day...

Public lending right: Richard and Judy skew results? (part of import week)

I was very happy to see that Janet and Allan Ahlberg are still in the top ten borrowed books from public libraries in the UK. For those of you not in the know, the Public Lending Right provides a small payment to authors each time their book is borrowed, 6p per loan up to a maximum of around £6.5K I think.

The lending stats for last year saw the top three positions going to the same authors as last year: James Patterson, Jaqueline Wilson and Daisy Meadows; Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was the most borrowed individual item. I always find it heartening to see so many childrens authors in the top 10, I think it counters the usual news stories of obese children whose fingers are too fat to play their PS3s.

Here are the charts in full:

http://www.plr.uk.com/mediaCentre/mostBorrowedAuthors/mostBorrowedAuthors.htm

The Indy has an interesting article on the value of cooperative writing/ fiction factory farming:

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/news/the-author-of-choice-for-britains-library-borrowers-779792.html

The article of the day for me has to be about Richard and Judy's Book Club recommendations. It seems the good folk of the South are lapping up their chioces, whereas the Northerners content themselves with hot romance and gripping crime yarns. Any article in which Stuart Maconie describes the nation's favourite/ most loathed sofa-sitting couple as "the greatest arbiters of literary taste since F. R. Leavis", is certainly worth a read.

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/article5671940.ece

I used to have Latin seminars in the old kitchens of the original English Faculty building in Cambridge. There used to be a rumour that every creak, rumble, and bump was the ghost of F. R. Leavis turning in his grave about how underappreciated he had been, and, no doubt, how critically unaware the current batch of undergraduates were. If he reads the Times then I expect the English Faculty will be a-creakin' and a-groanin' all morning with the power of this unfortunate uneven juxtaposition. Who needs Richard and Judy when you could have Frank and Queenie, now there's daytime TV I would pay to see.

UL's fame scuppered by hot dog stand (part of import week)

The results of this year's Unshelved Pimp my Bookcart have just been announced. Alas, the Trolleybus, lovingly crafted by librarians from the UL didn't win; the accolade went instead to a trolley, or 'bookcart' disguised as a hotdog stand. The Trolleybus had wit, attention to detail, classification in-jokes and a the Queen as a driver: the hot dog stand had sauce. Meh.

My new year's resolution may be to learn how to weld.

Winners are here:

http://www.unshelved.com/PimpMyBookcart/2008/

Our small but imperfectly formed offering :

http://www.unshelved.com/PimpMyBookcart/cart.aspx?cart=359

You'll never believe this (part of import week)

Okay, so each time I begin this story I choose to open it with: "you'll never believe this," and each recipient dutifully closes the anecdote with the expected : "you were right, I don't believe it."

Here goes, anyway, you'll never believe this. Yesterday, Sunday brunch, eating things that are bad for me, but locally sourced and organic, therefore good for me in a bad way. A chilled atmosphere of cuddles, radio and poached eggs was suddenly shattered when the cat wanders in through the french doors, screws her eyes up against the sunlight, opens her mouth and speaks.

I look at Rachel, she looks at me. We were inches away from her when it happened. The cat definitely spoke.

Now some cats may speak; Noodle doesn't. She makes a variety of cat specific noises: miaows, purrs, hisses, sneezes on occasion; she has never yet spoken.

Hypothetically, I would have expected, if you'd asked before yesterday, that if she were to speak then she would have spoken in her regular high pitched cat voice. But this utterance was marked by its heavy baritone character; it was Noodle on forty a day, as if Nat King Cole was speaking through the cat from beyond the grave.

So Rachel and I proposed a number of conclusions as the small cat looked at us and our bewildered expressions.

1) The cat is possessed.
2) There was a ventriloquist somewhere in the house.
3) We were experiencing a group hallucination and / or a critical loss of plot.
4) The cat actually spoke.
5) The cat ate something that spoke.

Which is when the next thing happened, which for me is the most important part. Noodle suddenly swallowed, cocked an eyebrow and calmly ambled out into the back garden and chundered next to the lavender bush. In cat fashion, she speedily raked some loose soil and moss over it.

Now I have seen and dealt with Noodle puke before. She has no qualms about throwing up in front of you or your guests, often while you are eating dinner; she never, ever cleans up after herself either. So what did she throw up? My bet was a frog but it could as easily have been a miniature Nat King Cole. As you'd expect, I didn't rush out with a trowel to check.