Saturday, May 31, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
A Librarian's Tale
For the next two days, I am going to be posting two library themed fiction stories; in some ways these are where Quiet, Please was first started; much of the fiction that follows is made up of truth. Read that last sentence again, and notice the word "fiction"...I'm not as creepy as the guy in the story below!
The story below is a urban legend; every library has one...feel free to comment below about your own library urban legend!
And Feel free to email the stories, rewrite the stories, or add your own twist to the stories; it's the digital age and it's all fair game! All I ask is that if you do anything to the stories, you cite where they came from.
Enjoy...
---------------------------
At the heart of every librarian is a desire to know more about their patrons. Not the patrons who come in with their children and want to know where the books on Native Americans are; or the ones who have read every Sandra Brown book 14 times; or even the ones who come in everyday to research companies and stock on the reference computers. These are all normal people taking advantage of the free resources that libraries offer.
The patrons that every librarian has a desire, sometimes secretly, to know more about are the ones who make their days more interesting. The guy who mumbles Alf is plotting an assignation attempt on Snoopy. Or the man who wears a suit and expensive cologne and comes into the library to pick up books on marketing and business theory, but also lives in the beat up van that never leaves the parking lot. Or the woman who comes in everyday, counts the number of computers in the library, and then leaves without saying a word to anyone. These are all people who have stories that have to be deeper than their curious behaviors. They’re crazy, yes, but they still have stories that librarians would like to believe are more interesting than their own, and that somehow these stories explain their abnormal behaviors.
But of all people—of all these people with stories more complex than my own—there is one who comes that I had always wanted to know the story of more then the others. I don’t know where my curious interest for the man stems from, and if this says something about myself, but whatever reason I was drawn to know more about him.
His name, that is the name that librarians adopted for him, is the Short-Short Man.
I first came to know of him by the urban legend that spreads like gossip through libraries in the staff lounge. I had been working for the library for two months, and found myself engaged in conversation with a colleague now retired about encounters with patrons that were mentally unstable.
I had just finished telling my story about an encounter I had had with a mentally disabled woman who had tried to take off my shoe with her mouth while I was showing another woman where books on cancer were.
The librarian laughed, but surprising to me then, acted like this bizarre act was no big deal in a library. Then, while studying the palm of his hand, he said, “I suppose by now you've heard of the Short-Short Man?”
I frowned, “The Short-Short Man?”
The librarian smiled and looked up. “I've only seen the back side of him myself, but others—let’s just say others have seen more.”
My eyes pleaded for him to continue.
“There are many stories about him. Everyone who sees him has a story of their own that’s contradictory of another. Some say his face is badly burned; others say it looks gentle. But they all say there’s something in his eyes. Something mysterious and thrilling and awkward all at the same time.”
“Why the name?”
“Well this is the best part. And by best I mean of course most frightening.”
The librarian sipped his tea, and then continued, “He’s not a regular to the library. There’s really no pattern to his nature. He’ll come three times in a week then will not return for a month. Or he’ll come every other week for months at different times and different days. It’s sporadic. One thing is always the same.” He paused and deeply looked into my eyes. “The shorts.”
“The shorts?” I said amused.
He nodded. “Daisy dukes that show almost every inch of his pale shaved white legs.”
“Yikes!”
“And there’s one other thing.”
I waited impatiently for him to continue.
“He’s a nature boy. Doesn't believe men should have to wear tighty whities—likes to feel the soft breeze that comes inside his daisy dukes.”
I shook my head disgusted and puzzled.
The librarian laughed. “He comes into the library in jeans, and then sits at the table to hunt for old ladies. At some point he finds the old lady he likes most, removes his pants, leaving only the daisy dukes. Then he drops something in front of the woman, bends over, and lets it all hang out! Then as the woman tries to compose herself, he leaves the library completely expressionless.”
I believed the story, but found nothing in it at first that made this man anymore strange than any other patron that walked through the double doors of the library babbling his insanity to anyone who listened. As time went on, I heard several different versions of it from others, but my fascination of the man didn’t truly begin until the day that I saw him with my own eyes and immediately began to create in my mind my own story to tell bored librarians on slow days.
I was halfway through my daily rotation at the reference desk. I was on my knees organizing the bottom shelve of the reference collection when I sensed two eyes looking down at me. I saw him as I looked up, though I did not know it was him until later. He was twenty feet away, but looking down at me—curiously analyzing me, watching me, reasoning in his own mind the kind of librarian I was. And when I stared back, he did not turn away as most people would when they realize that they are caught staring at another. No. No, he continued to stare. And as I approached him to question his stare, he still would not turn away. His eyes were fixed on me.
It was a haunting fixation that I will not long soon forget. I felt in his endless stare that he had violated a part of me and he just kept holding onto it—refusing to let go. And as haunting as it was, and still is, I have always been, though I do not know why, impressed by it.
“Is there something you need help with?” I asked him.
He continued to stare, and answered softly, “No. I was just thinking about something.” His voice did not fit him. It was too soft—to gentle and caring. It made me believe for just a second that he was sincerely sane.
I nodded and backed away from the man. He continued to stare. I went behind a low bookcase, bent down and pretended to look through a book. The eyes were still there when I stood back up.
I pointed him out to another librarian. He watched me do so. He watched and continued to watch. His watching made me feel threatened, and only as I realized this did his staring seem more satisfied.
I tried to ignore him, passing him off as someone who forgot to take his medication. I helped other patrons find books, knowing that even as I helped them his stare followed me. I could feel him following me.
Then after twenty minutes of this staring. Twenty minutes of being driven to my own insanity. I sighed, turned, and saw for the first time that the man was gone.
I looked around for him. I knew he was there—somewhere—hiding and staring. I walked twice around the library looking for him. Halfway through my third time around, an old woman came to me pale and frightened.
“That man!” She said disgusted pointing at a man walking smoothly out the library doors, “That man revealed himself to me.”
“That man?” I pointed. Only then did I realize everything all at once. The man walking out the door was wearing short-shorts, and he was the same man with the wicked stare.
I ran towards him. There was nothing I could do about the stare, but revealing himself to an old woman was a crime. I ran after him, but as I left the library, he was already gone. I checked inside every car in the parking lot, but I never could find him. And as I realized that he was gone I sat on the curb and thought about him. I made a mental image of him—of his pale skin, his smooth legs, and the manner of his eyes as he stared. I was certain he was wearing pants and not shorts when he was staring at me and while his staring was disturbing, the caring voice assured me he was harmless—or so I thought. But it was true what the librarian had said to me when I first heard of the man; there was something in his eyes. They were careful, and indeed mysterious, and made you feel victimized.
For the next several days, I thought I saw him several times, but it was not until several weeks later that I was certain. It was not the library that my next encounter came. It was at the grocery store near my house that I had stopped at on my way home from work. I was looking at the magazine rack, when I heard behind me a man softly asking an employee where they had green olives. I knew the voice immediately as his, and I turned. He was dressed casual with no short-shorts, but I was sure it was him. This time it was I who stared. When he caught me in my own stare, he weakly smiled and turned away.
I watched him from a distance. I did not play his game and make my stare obvious. I was better than that. I watched him without him knowing. I watched him pick out his cereal, his beverage, his lunch meat, and lastly his frozen groceries. I watched all of his behaviors from a distance. I watched to see if he paid with cash or charge; if he asked for paper or plastic, and if he used any coupons. I wanted to know every detailed about the man. It was okay, I reasoned with myself to justify my spying, because it was my responsibility to observe him so I could understand the nature of his character. I needed to watch him to prove his insanity. I wanted to watch him and I had every reason to watch him.
When he left the store, I left with him. I watched him get into his small red Honda. I followed him in my own car as he left the parking lot. It was my civic duty to follow. I followed him as he passed the bank where I did my checking and the mailbox where I put my letters. When he turned on a small residential street, only a half mile from where my own house was I followed him there too.
When he parked in front of a small corner lot, I also parked (though at a safe distance). There were kids playing in the front yard and they hugged him as he made his way to the front door.
I could not push myself to move. The man fascinated and disturbed me. I stayed along the curbed watching the house even when the man went inside, and the kids soon followed. I made up stories in my mind as to why the man did what he did. I made up several stories. As the stories I made in my mind became more elaborate, I began to have respect for the man.
An hour later, after the sun had gone down, the door opened and the man stepped out.
He had changed clothes. He wore a hat, darker pants, and a white uniform shirt. Even in the near pitch black I knew it was him. His eyes lit the way.
I followed him again as he got back into his car, and drove away.
This time I had to follow him longer. I followed him out of the suburban city, and into the metro. I worried that my car would not have enough gas to follow him to wherever the final destination was, but I was determined to follow him as far as my gas would take me. And when I followed him so far that I knew my gas would only take me five or ten miles further, he stopped.
It was at a business complex. He went into the only lighted building and shook hands with a man inside. He waited as the man turned off the lights, and locked up the building, and then walked with him to his car where he watched him drive off. When the car left, he lit a cigarette, then pulled the flashlight that was attached to his belt, and walked around the complex. It was then that I knew he was nothing more then a night security worker for the complex, but I continued to watch him for an hour. I wanted him to discover me in my car. I wanted him to tap on car window with his flashlight and ask what I was doing, and then I would tell him what I knew.
I wanted him so badly to be more than a security guard. I wanted him to break into the building. Or to slit the throat of the man whose hand he shook, or at the very least expose himself to someone, somewhere. But he didn't. I finally left the complex depressed.
He came to the library again later in the year. Again I didn't recognize him right away. He used a computer and did not stare at anyone, though I have since resolved that he had to have been staring at me through the glare in the computer screen. I only associated him as the man who used the computer later in the afternoon. The man wore glasses and his face seemed different, but they were the same eyes. I only saw the eyes briefly, but I knew that it was him.
After an hour on the computer he disappeared. Minutes later the alarm on the backdoor went off. I and another librarian left the desk to investigate and reset the alarm. While we stood confused trying to figure why the alarm had sounded, an older woman came up to me disgusted and frightened, and I knew by her stare what she would say. I turned, and I saw him. He had the same slow, casual walk, and was wearing the same daisy dukes.
I apologized to the woman and curiously watched him leave the library. I didn't chase him this time. I instead smiled to myself as I watched him, and thought, there goes the short-short man.
The story below is a urban legend; every library has one...feel free to comment below about your own library urban legend!
And Feel free to email the stories, rewrite the stories, or add your own twist to the stories; it's the digital age and it's all fair game! All I ask is that if you do anything to the stories, you cite where they came from.
Enjoy...
---------------------------
At the heart of every librarian is a desire to know more about their patrons. Not the patrons who come in with their children and want to know where the books on Native Americans are; or the ones who have read every Sandra Brown book 14 times; or even the ones who come in everyday to research companies and stock on the reference computers. These are all normal people taking advantage of the free resources that libraries offer.
The patrons that every librarian has a desire, sometimes secretly, to know more about are the ones who make their days more interesting. The guy who mumbles Alf is plotting an assignation attempt on Snoopy. Or the man who wears a suit and expensive cologne and comes into the library to pick up books on marketing and business theory, but also lives in the beat up van that never leaves the parking lot. Or the woman who comes in everyday, counts the number of computers in the library, and then leaves without saying a word to anyone. These are all people who have stories that have to be deeper than their curious behaviors. They’re crazy, yes, but they still have stories that librarians would like to believe are more interesting than their own, and that somehow these stories explain their abnormal behaviors.
But of all people—of all these people with stories more complex than my own—there is one who comes that I had always wanted to know the story of more then the others. I don’t know where my curious interest for the man stems from, and if this says something about myself, but whatever reason I was drawn to know more about him.
His name, that is the name that librarians adopted for him, is the Short-Short Man.
I first came to know of him by the urban legend that spreads like gossip through libraries in the staff lounge. I had been working for the library for two months, and found myself engaged in conversation with a colleague now retired about encounters with patrons that were mentally unstable.
I had just finished telling my story about an encounter I had had with a mentally disabled woman who had tried to take off my shoe with her mouth while I was showing another woman where books on cancer were.
The librarian laughed, but surprising to me then, acted like this bizarre act was no big deal in a library. Then, while studying the palm of his hand, he said, “I suppose by now you've heard of the Short-Short Man?”
I frowned, “The Short-Short Man?”
The librarian smiled and looked up. “I've only seen the back side of him myself, but others—let’s just say others have seen more.”
My eyes pleaded for him to continue.
“There are many stories about him. Everyone who sees him has a story of their own that’s contradictory of another. Some say his face is badly burned; others say it looks gentle. But they all say there’s something in his eyes. Something mysterious and thrilling and awkward all at the same time.”
“Why the name?”
“Well this is the best part. And by best I mean of course most frightening.”
The librarian sipped his tea, and then continued, “He’s not a regular to the library. There’s really no pattern to his nature. He’ll come three times in a week then will not return for a month. Or he’ll come every other week for months at different times and different days. It’s sporadic. One thing is always the same.” He paused and deeply looked into my eyes. “The shorts.”
“The shorts?” I said amused.
He nodded. “Daisy dukes that show almost every inch of his pale shaved white legs.”
“Yikes!”
“And there’s one other thing.”
I waited impatiently for him to continue.
“He’s a nature boy. Doesn't believe men should have to wear tighty whities—likes to feel the soft breeze that comes inside his daisy dukes.”
I shook my head disgusted and puzzled.
The librarian laughed. “He comes into the library in jeans, and then sits at the table to hunt for old ladies. At some point he finds the old lady he likes most, removes his pants, leaving only the daisy dukes. Then he drops something in front of the woman, bends over, and lets it all hang out! Then as the woman tries to compose herself, he leaves the library completely expressionless.”
I believed the story, but found nothing in it at first that made this man anymore strange than any other patron that walked through the double doors of the library babbling his insanity to anyone who listened. As time went on, I heard several different versions of it from others, but my fascination of the man didn’t truly begin until the day that I saw him with my own eyes and immediately began to create in my mind my own story to tell bored librarians on slow days.
I was halfway through my daily rotation at the reference desk. I was on my knees organizing the bottom shelve of the reference collection when I sensed two eyes looking down at me. I saw him as I looked up, though I did not know it was him until later. He was twenty feet away, but looking down at me—curiously analyzing me, watching me, reasoning in his own mind the kind of librarian I was. And when I stared back, he did not turn away as most people would when they realize that they are caught staring at another. No. No, he continued to stare. And as I approached him to question his stare, he still would not turn away. His eyes were fixed on me.
It was a haunting fixation that I will not long soon forget. I felt in his endless stare that he had violated a part of me and he just kept holding onto it—refusing to let go. And as haunting as it was, and still is, I have always been, though I do not know why, impressed by it.
“Is there something you need help with?” I asked him.
He continued to stare, and answered softly, “No. I was just thinking about something.” His voice did not fit him. It was too soft—to gentle and caring. It made me believe for just a second that he was sincerely sane.
I nodded and backed away from the man. He continued to stare. I went behind a low bookcase, bent down and pretended to look through a book. The eyes were still there when I stood back up.
I pointed him out to another librarian. He watched me do so. He watched and continued to watch. His watching made me feel threatened, and only as I realized this did his staring seem more satisfied.
I tried to ignore him, passing him off as someone who forgot to take his medication. I helped other patrons find books, knowing that even as I helped them his stare followed me. I could feel him following me.
Then after twenty minutes of this staring. Twenty minutes of being driven to my own insanity. I sighed, turned, and saw for the first time that the man was gone.
I looked around for him. I knew he was there—somewhere—hiding and staring. I walked twice around the library looking for him. Halfway through my third time around, an old woman came to me pale and frightened.
“That man!” She said disgusted pointing at a man walking smoothly out the library doors, “That man revealed himself to me.”
“That man?” I pointed. Only then did I realize everything all at once. The man walking out the door was wearing short-shorts, and he was the same man with the wicked stare.
I ran towards him. There was nothing I could do about the stare, but revealing himself to an old woman was a crime. I ran after him, but as I left the library, he was already gone. I checked inside every car in the parking lot, but I never could find him. And as I realized that he was gone I sat on the curb and thought about him. I made a mental image of him—of his pale skin, his smooth legs, and the manner of his eyes as he stared. I was certain he was wearing pants and not shorts when he was staring at me and while his staring was disturbing, the caring voice assured me he was harmless—or so I thought. But it was true what the librarian had said to me when I first heard of the man; there was something in his eyes. They were careful, and indeed mysterious, and made you feel victimized.
For the next several days, I thought I saw him several times, but it was not until several weeks later that I was certain. It was not the library that my next encounter came. It was at the grocery store near my house that I had stopped at on my way home from work. I was looking at the magazine rack, when I heard behind me a man softly asking an employee where they had green olives. I knew the voice immediately as his, and I turned. He was dressed casual with no short-shorts, but I was sure it was him. This time it was I who stared. When he caught me in my own stare, he weakly smiled and turned away.
I watched him from a distance. I did not play his game and make my stare obvious. I was better than that. I watched him without him knowing. I watched him pick out his cereal, his beverage, his lunch meat, and lastly his frozen groceries. I watched all of his behaviors from a distance. I watched to see if he paid with cash or charge; if he asked for paper or plastic, and if he used any coupons. I wanted to know every detailed about the man. It was okay, I reasoned with myself to justify my spying, because it was my responsibility to observe him so I could understand the nature of his character. I needed to watch him to prove his insanity. I wanted to watch him and I had every reason to watch him.
When he left the store, I left with him. I watched him get into his small red Honda. I followed him in my own car as he left the parking lot. It was my civic duty to follow. I followed him as he passed the bank where I did my checking and the mailbox where I put my letters. When he turned on a small residential street, only a half mile from where my own house was I followed him there too.
When he parked in front of a small corner lot, I also parked (though at a safe distance). There were kids playing in the front yard and they hugged him as he made his way to the front door.
I could not push myself to move. The man fascinated and disturbed me. I stayed along the curbed watching the house even when the man went inside, and the kids soon followed. I made up stories in my mind as to why the man did what he did. I made up several stories. As the stories I made in my mind became more elaborate, I began to have respect for the man.
An hour later, after the sun had gone down, the door opened and the man stepped out.
He had changed clothes. He wore a hat, darker pants, and a white uniform shirt. Even in the near pitch black I knew it was him. His eyes lit the way.
I followed him again as he got back into his car, and drove away.
This time I had to follow him longer. I followed him out of the suburban city, and into the metro. I worried that my car would not have enough gas to follow him to wherever the final destination was, but I was determined to follow him as far as my gas would take me. And when I followed him so far that I knew my gas would only take me five or ten miles further, he stopped.
It was at a business complex. He went into the only lighted building and shook hands with a man inside. He waited as the man turned off the lights, and locked up the building, and then walked with him to his car where he watched him drive off. When the car left, he lit a cigarette, then pulled the flashlight that was attached to his belt, and walked around the complex. It was then that I knew he was nothing more then a night security worker for the complex, but I continued to watch him for an hour. I wanted him to discover me in my car. I wanted him to tap on car window with his flashlight and ask what I was doing, and then I would tell him what I knew.
I wanted him so badly to be more than a security guard. I wanted him to break into the building. Or to slit the throat of the man whose hand he shook, or at the very least expose himself to someone, somewhere. But he didn't. I finally left the complex depressed.
He came to the library again later in the year. Again I didn't recognize him right away. He used a computer and did not stare at anyone, though I have since resolved that he had to have been staring at me through the glare in the computer screen. I only associated him as the man who used the computer later in the afternoon. The man wore glasses and his face seemed different, but they were the same eyes. I only saw the eyes briefly, but I knew that it was him.
After an hour on the computer he disappeared. Minutes later the alarm on the backdoor went off. I and another librarian left the desk to investigate and reset the alarm. While we stood confused trying to figure why the alarm had sounded, an older woman came up to me disgusted and frightened, and I knew by her stare what she would say. I turned, and I saw him. He had the same slow, casual walk, and was wearing the same daisy dukes.
I apologized to the woman and curiously watched him leave the library. I didn't chase him this time. I instead smiled to myself as I watched him, and thought, there goes the short-short man.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Telegraph Review
The Telegraph in the UK had a review of Quiet, Please this past weekend. Check it out here: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/arts/main.jhtml?xml=/arts/2008/05/24/bodou124.xml
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Dispatches from a Public Librarian
McSweeneys.net has my latest dispatches up today; take a look for some brief online library fun.
But Are They Safe?
Yesterdays post looked at ways to save gas; I mentioned that if it gets to high, I'll consider a Smart Car. Today I ask the obvious: are they safe? This video addresses that issue:
P.S., Hi Donna in Texas! It was good seeing you...
Monday, May 26, 2008
Gas Blues?
Alaska officially became the first state to average 4 bucks a gallon at the pump; some are predicting other states to be at 5 dollars by the end of the summer. Some say in the near future 10 dollars a gallon might happen; MSN had an article about what will happen to the economy if it does. It's probably about time everyone starts thinking about what to do to save on gas. The obvious is public transportation; but if you are like me, a native Californian, that is a sin (plus the public transportation out here sucks!). What are you to do?
If you are the type of person who would rather just find easy tips and tricks to saving instead of buying something that actually does save on gas, then this how to will definitely help you out.
For the proactive types who want to invest some money into saving on gas, here are some other solutions:
If you are the type of person who would rather just find easy tips and tricks to saving instead of buying something that actually does save on gas, then this how to will definitely help you out.
For the proactive types who want to invest some money into saving on gas, here are some other solutions:
- If you are the biking type, this half bike/half scooter will set you back about 1500, but will save you a bunlde at the pump in the long run.
- If you have seen "Who Killed the Electric Car," and are passoionate enough about it to actually buy an electric car, then this site will give you all the info you need. You can also sign the petition on the site to protest how mad you are that this practical car was killed.
- If you hate the look of electric/hybrid cars, and have money to spare, then check out this car.
- If you are into small, then the Zap Car may be for you.
- A few months ago, India made the news for making a car for $2,500; the great thing about it (aside from the price), is it actually gets good MPG. You'll have to import it if you want it, and it probably won't be street legal here, but maybe in a few years.
- Finally, my next car if the prices keep going up, the Smart Car. These cars have been around for years in Europe, but they're still catching on here. I'm one of the odd America's that doesn't have a fetish for large monster trunks or SUVs. I'm fine with small--especially when it saves me a bundle in gas.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Friday, May 23, 2008
The Times (UK)
The Times in the UK reviewed "Quiet, Please." Read the review here: http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/non-fiction/article3986786.ece
As Seen In Quiet, Please: The Long Blondes
If you have read "Quiet, Please," then you probably will remember the name "The Long Blondes." They're librarians turned indie rockers. They are crossing the pond this summer to tour the U.S. If you'd like to check them out live, check the dates below and see if they'll be in your town.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Is Big Brother (Google) Watching You?
Do you ever get the feeling that one day Google will control everything? This spoof video probably won't make you feel better about things...
Enjoy!
Enjoy!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Father Fined for Buckling in Beer Instead of Boy
I expect this sort of thing from American's, but Australians? Has good old fashion American stupidity gone global or something? And what's up with the fine?! Arrest the guy...if it's not a crime in Austrialia to put the protection of beer over the protection of children it should be!
And if that story isn't weird enough for you...did you hear about the man sueing JetBlue because he was forced to sit on the toilet seat for part of his flight! Now that's customer service!
Thanks to Diana for both of these...she always finds away to brighten my day with the weirdest news floating around the Web each week.
And if that story isn't weird enough for you...did you hear about the man sueing JetBlue because he was forced to sit on the toilet seat for part of his flight! Now that's customer service!
Thanks to Diana for both of these...she always finds away to brighten my day with the weirdest news floating around the Web each week.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Dreaming of You Ted Danson
I'm not what you call a fan of Ted Danson. I mean he was good on Cheers and I do recall seeing "3 Men and Baby" (although I don't remember the plot...I imagine it has something to do with three men, and possibly a baby), but I don't exactly have dreams about the guy. Until the other night.
You read that right. The other night I had a dream in which Ted Danson and I were "bro's." I'm sure there's some kind of pyscho-anaylitical explanation for it, so perhaps someone can explain. The dreams been troubling me for some time. I have not thought about Ted Danson in...well I've never thought about Ted Danson. And yet there he is in my dream. If you assume that I probably just saw him on a talk show or something, then your wrong. The last time I even saw him act in anything was years ago...I was probably in high school.
It's dreams like this that make me not want to sleep.
You read that right. The other night I had a dream in which Ted Danson and I were "bro's." I'm sure there's some kind of pyscho-anaylitical explanation for it, so perhaps someone can explain. The dreams been troubling me for some time. I have not thought about Ted Danson in...well I've never thought about Ted Danson. And yet there he is in my dream. If you assume that I probably just saw him on a talk show or something, then your wrong. The last time I even saw him act in anything was years ago...I was probably in high school.
It's dreams like this that make me not want to sleep.
Monday, May 19, 2008
At Last.fm
My wife has been trying to get me to join last.fm for over a year. Like most social networks (i.e. friendster, facebook, and more recently technorati), I join, get all excited for two days, and then never log on again...so I figured why bother.
But I was bored the other night, so I figured why not. See my page and join for yourself...
But I was bored the other night, so I figured why not. See my page and join for yourself...
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
The Next Eric Clapton?
For the past fifteen years, I have occasionally picked up a guitar and thought maybe, just maybe, I could be a rock star; it lasts right up to that moment where I pick up the guitar and realize I can't play.
This video of 8 year old Yuto Miyazawa really doesn't make me feel much better.
This video of 8 year old Yuto Miyazawa really doesn't make me feel much better.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wii Fit vs. Wii Strip Pole?
In just a few weeks, Americans will take the Wii Fit challenge. While gamers turned exercisers do there best to stay fit, a new fitness game, of a different kind of aerobics, is in development. What is it? The strip pole! Read about it here.
With all the buzz about libraries buying Wii's, I have to wonder...will any libraries being using it for adult programming in the future?
With all the buzz about libraries buying Wii's, I have to wonder...will any libraries being using it for adult programming in the future?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Sex In the Library
If someone told me to probe up my balls for some online fun, I'd run. But Strokerz Toyz is banking on a few people not having my same fears. They've created a sex suit for the ultimate online sexual experience. It seems like something right out of Demolition Man!
I can't help but wonder how long it will be until someone walks into the library with one of these things on; and when it does, I can't help but wonder what the libraries policy will be regarding it!
There are somethings meant for the bedroom, without a suit--if you really can make all your fantasies come true with this suit, doesn't the whole idea of fantasy kind of go away? I always thought clothes came off with sex...seems with this the clothes come on.
I can't help but wonder how long it will be until someone walks into the library with one of these things on; and when it does, I can't help but wonder what the libraries policy will be regarding it!
There are somethings meant for the bedroom, without a suit--if you really can make all your fantasies come true with this suit, doesn't the whole idea of fantasy kind of go away? I always thought clothes came off with sex...seems with this the clothes come on.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Hackintosh
Windows is the operating system of yesterday. It seems like they are trying to lose users. First they put out Windows Vista, which is sluggish on half the PCs it's pre-installed on (it was so bad, that I ended up paying nearly 150 dollars to downgrade to XP on my wife's computer). Now it seems Microsoft is out to get XP users too! Their recent XP update is full of bugs.
It's no wonder so many people are switching to Mac. What I don't get is why Apple just doesn't sell a PC version of the Leopard operation system; back in the pre-Intel days, this sort of thing would have been complicated. Now? Piece of cake. So unleash the Leopard, Steve Jobs! I know I'd line up to buy it.
I've gotten to the point where I'm considered turning my PC into a hackintosh until I can get the money and the courage to take the leap to the Mac side. Sure it's illegal, but what are my options? Don't make me do this Apple! Just give me an OS to put on my PC and I'll happily pay you!
It's no wonder so many people are switching to Mac. What I don't get is why Apple just doesn't sell a PC version of the Leopard operation system; back in the pre-Intel days, this sort of thing would have been complicated. Now? Piece of cake. So unleash the Leopard, Steve Jobs! I know I'd line up to buy it.
I've gotten to the point where I'm considered turning my PC into a hackintosh until I can get the money and the courage to take the leap to the Mac side. Sure it's illegal, but what are my options? Don't make me do this Apple! Just give me an OS to put on my PC and I'll happily pay you!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
The London Paper
People in the UK got one of there first reviews of "Quiet, Please" in The London Paper, a daily commuter paper. Read it below:
"Scott Douglas is pretty cool for a librarian: the American has a blog andwrites for Dave Eggers' hip literary website McSweeney's. his clear belief in the importance of libraries for communities gives the book heart."
"Scott Douglas is pretty cool for a librarian: the American has a blog andwrites for Dave Eggers' hip literary website McSweeney's. his clear belief in the importance of libraries for communities gives the book heart."
Chicago Tribune (Editor's Choice)
The Chicago Tribune picked "Quiet, Please" this week as their editors choice. See the review below:
Editor's choice—Elizabeth Taylor, literary editor May 10, 2008
With this week's summer reading recommendations from librarians, one wonders: Who are these characters? In this cleverly written book—a set of stories, really—drawn from his perspective as a California librarian, Scott Douglas brings us into the stacks. "Libraries were the place where people of diverse backgrounds and cultures could come together for the common pursuit of discovering something new," writes Douglas. "Librarians were the people who helped them find this discovery."
Editor's choice—Elizabeth Taylor, literary editor May 10, 2008
With this week's summer reading recommendations from librarians, one wonders: Who are these characters? In this cleverly written book—a set of stories, really—drawn from his perspective as a California librarian, Scott Douglas brings us into the stacks. "Libraries were the place where people of diverse backgrounds and cultures could come together for the common pursuit of discovering something new," writes Douglas. "Librarians were the people who helped them find this discovery."
Friday, May 9, 2008
Do You Believe In the Library Elf?
It's amazing how many library tools are out there that go completely unnoticed even though they can be quite useful. Case in point: The Library Elf. I don't know how long it's been around, but I just heard about it not to long ago.
Basically, if your library is part of it, you can set up your card with the library elf and recieve email and txt messages reminding you to turn in books. The only thing that disappoints me about the service is why libraries have to outsource to an elf! Libraries should have been doing this kind of stuff years ago! As it stands, I know of very few libraries who even bother to send out emails to their patrons telling them about new and upcoming library programs...it's a free way to keep users informed, and way too many libraries have completely ignored it...
Basically, if your library is part of it, you can set up your card with the library elf and recieve email and txt messages reminding you to turn in books. The only thing that disappoints me about the service is why libraries have to outsource to an elf! Libraries should have been doing this kind of stuff years ago! As it stands, I know of very few libraries who even bother to send out emails to their patrons telling them about new and upcoming library programs...it's a free way to keep users informed, and way too many libraries have completely ignored it...
Thursday, May 8, 2008
I Think I'll Just Become A Vegetarian
It used to be if you wanted beef you would just go to your local fast-food joint and ask for the freshest hormone induced, tortured cow they had. But the times they are a changing. There's a new group out that believes one day it will be humane to eat meat. How? By growing cattle.
If it's a profitable success, you better believe fast-food chains will be doing the same thing real soon. And when they do, I'm going green. Don't expect the government to say it's wrong; they've already loosened laws on cooking up cloned animals. And if your like many, and say I would never eat cloned meat, so I'll stop just as soon as they start doing, then don't wait for them to tell you...they're already doing it.
If it's a profitable success, you better believe fast-food chains will be doing the same thing real soon. And when they do, I'm going green. Don't expect the government to say it's wrong; they've already loosened laws on cooking up cloned animals. And if your like many, and say I would never eat cloned meat, so I'll stop just as soon as they start doing, then don't wait for them to tell you...they're already doing it.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Television Interview - KDOC
For those of you who missed it or don't live in the SoCal area, below is the interview I did for KDOC TV. Yes I look stiff, but that's what tends to happen when you have two rods in your back...
Monday, May 5, 2008
Become an Energy Drink Connoisseur
What is it with people and their energy drinks? This article talks about the drinks like it was some sort of fine wine! Seriously people! You want energy? Try sleep!
It's a fun read, nonetheless...thanks to my wife, Diana, for it!
It's a fun read, nonetheless...thanks to my wife, Diana, for it!
Friday, May 2, 2008
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Insanity @ the Library
Thanks to Anne for this!Her favorite library is the Key West Public Library
Thanks also to all of those who sent pictures in for the contest...they were all great!
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