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Aha! I've found the smiley icon section! Now to browse through it and pick one that suits me. Or this iteration of me, at any rate. I think blue kittens, for now at any rate.
I'm doing the food police part of my job right now -- the part I hate the most. The part that most fulfills the stereotype of librarians as obnoxious, anal-retentive killjoys. Well, actually, the part that most fulfills that stereotype is the part in which I have to tell people they can't sleep on the benches in the lobby. Because I don't care if they sleep there, especially if they're high school or college kids. I'm a student too; I know they're tired. It doesn't bug me. But it bugs my boss, so it's part of the official policies, so I have to enforce it. Even though there's no reason for it other than 'It's against our policy.'
I can explain why they can't have food. I can talk about bugs and creepy crawlies of all sorts, and how it's not that we expect them to willfully dump Pepsi on the books (although, looking at some of our patrons, I would not be surprised) but that accidents happen, some twerpy little kid might slam into them and cause the drink to spill through no fault of their own, so please finish the milkshake outside.
But I don't have an explanation like that for why they can't sleep. So I always worry about busting people for it, because if they give me trouble I have no recourse.
Moving on...
I wonder why it is that I feel so much more motivated to babble in an LJ than babble on paper, or in an email to myself. On the way to work I was thinking of all kinds of different things I could talk about, and things to add to my interests list (is there a limit to how much stuff I can list? I hope not... then I'll have to rank my interests, and that will be hard.) No ideas that I haven't had before, but nothing I've ever written about before.
Put like that it sounds like I'm going to start pontificating about legislation or something, when actually I was thinking about Liam Neeson, and how ironic it is that the more I read about people hanging around to get his autograph after performances of THE CRUCIBLE, the less I want to do that. I feel like it would be sure to be disappointing -- he'd be tired and wanting to get out of there, there'd be lots of people, I wouldn't really get to talk to him (not that I'd come up with anything to say, but I'd like him to talk to me.) And quite simply, it makes me feel bad to realize exactly how un-special it is to admire him like I do. That even if I did get my foot out my mouth, I couldn't say anything that he hasn't heard a gazillion times before. Maybe the fact that MICHAEL COLLINS and GUN SHY are among my favorites of his movies would distinguish me a little, but probably not much.
And really, what do I want with an autograph? If I knew handwriting analysis I could try to plumb the deep secrets of his soul, but I don't, and I don't put much stock in that anyway, so. No go there.
I remember how I felt when I read an article in The Baker Street Journal about a group of Holmesians and Sherlockians visiting the set of the Granada Sherlock Holmes series, meeting Jeremy Brett, Edward Hardwicke, and Rosalie Williams. I found, for the first time, that I could sympathize with teenyboppers, because I did want to shriek just at the thought of being in the same room with him. (I was thirteen at the time, which may also have something to do with it.) And I found myself profoundly saddened, because I realized that, though I was the only person I knew who had read the entire Sherlockian canon, and memorized scenes from the dramatizations, and who had palpitations over Jeremy Brett, I was far from unique. Indeed, I was a very minor fan, whose adulation would not penetrate.
Now, if I were better versed in cultural studies, I could offer some trenchant observations on the nature of fame, the cult of celebrity in the US in the late twentieth century, and things of that sort. But I'm not, and there are lots of patrons coming in, and I want to see the kitty icon.
I'm doing the food police part of my job right now -- the part I hate the most. The part that most fulfills the stereotype of librarians as obnoxious, anal-retentive killjoys. Well, actually, the part that most fulfills that stereotype is the part in which I have to tell people they can't sleep on the benches in the lobby. Because I don't care if they sleep there, especially if they're high school or college kids. I'm a student too; I know they're tired. It doesn't bug me. But it bugs my boss, so it's part of the official policies, so I have to enforce it. Even though there's no reason for it other than 'It's against our policy.'
I can explain why they can't have food. I can talk about bugs and creepy crawlies of all sorts, and how it's not that we expect them to willfully dump Pepsi on the books (although, looking at some of our patrons, I would not be surprised) but that accidents happen, some twerpy little kid might slam into them and cause the drink to spill through no fault of their own, so please finish the milkshake outside.
But I don't have an explanation like that for why they can't sleep. So I always worry about busting people for it, because if they give me trouble I have no recourse.
Moving on...
I wonder why it is that I feel so much more motivated to babble in an LJ than babble on paper, or in an email to myself. On the way to work I was thinking of all kinds of different things I could talk about, and things to add to my interests list (is there a limit to how much stuff I can list? I hope not... then I'll have to rank my interests, and that will be hard.) No ideas that I haven't had before, but nothing I've ever written about before.
Put like that it sounds like I'm going to start pontificating about legislation or something, when actually I was thinking about Liam Neeson, and how ironic it is that the more I read about people hanging around to get his autograph after performances of THE CRUCIBLE, the less I want to do that. I feel like it would be sure to be disappointing -- he'd be tired and wanting to get out of there, there'd be lots of people, I wouldn't really get to talk to him (not that I'd come up with anything to say, but I'd like him to talk to me.) And quite simply, it makes me feel bad to realize exactly how un-special it is to admire him like I do. That even if I did get my foot out my mouth, I couldn't say anything that he hasn't heard a gazillion times before. Maybe the fact that MICHAEL COLLINS and GUN SHY are among my favorites of his movies would distinguish me a little, but probably not much.
And really, what do I want with an autograph? If I knew handwriting analysis I could try to plumb the deep secrets of his soul, but I don't, and I don't put much stock in that anyway, so. No go there.
I remember how I felt when I read an article in The Baker Street Journal about a group of Holmesians and Sherlockians visiting the set of the Granada Sherlock Holmes series, meeting Jeremy Brett, Edward Hardwicke, and Rosalie Williams. I found, for the first time, that I could sympathize with teenyboppers, because I did want to shriek just at the thought of being in the same room with him. (I was thirteen at the time, which may also have something to do with it.) And I found myself profoundly saddened, because I realized that, though I was the only person I knew who had read the entire Sherlockian canon, and memorized scenes from the dramatizations, and who had palpitations over Jeremy Brett, I was far from unique. Indeed, I was a very minor fan, whose adulation would not penetrate.
Now, if I were better versed in cultural studies, I could offer some trenchant observations on the nature of fame, the cult of celebrity in the US in the late twentieth century, and things of that sort. But I'm not, and there are lots of patrons coming in, and I want to see the kitty icon.