Never let them see you cry

Or is it never let them see you sweat? Either way, the teens have now seen me do both, so I'm pretty much screwed.

My Monday started off grumpily because I had very little sleep (except for a few weird nightmares right before I had to get up) and it was fucking cold waiting for the bus. I got yet another "Sunday" email from a co-worker that chewed me out (in the company of the other staff, including my boss, that she sent the email to) for not working Sundays even though the library is only open 3.5 hours that day and it's not really worth my time to only work for 3.5 hours, but after all their bitchy grumblings I am going to have to change my schedule and I don't want to change my schedule! Then after a migraine headache, a 10 minute lunch and talking with an autistic girl about her friend who has to wear adult diapers, I had a crazy reference desk shift where I was the only one working while everyone else was at a teleconference session on "roving reference", during which I had all sorts of insanely hard questions I couldn't answer (about barett's esophagus, prostitution and B31.3 process piping), had calls forwarded to me from the fiction floor (because they were all at that meeting too) AND people from children's calling me to rant about the rowdy teens. The one good thing was that this theatre guy who is working on a special library project (who I just met last week) complimented me by saying that my blouse and necklace was his favourite colour, in a tone that was not in the least bit sarcastic.

Back in the teen area, a woman who I've known for a year (her teen attends library programs) told me that her 7 month old baby daughter just died (in December, but she is obviously and understandably not over it yet). As she left she started to cry, which made me cry, and not only did the cute teens (who I like) and the druggie dropouts (who I don't) see me cry, but when I tried to go the vacant administration office to cry it out I forgot my keys, so went into the back area where my office is but neglected to see that there was a meeting going on there with my library assistant and two theatre guys, including the one that had just complimented me an hour before. Nothing like having a guy you've barely met and think is cute see you cry before you've even had a real conversation with him! As I was now crying more out of embarassment than sadness, I took a minute to regroup, wiped away my smeared makeup, chatted a bit with them, and went back out to the teen area, where the nice kids were concerned about whether I was ok.

On the way home I stopped by the optometrist (where I had to make a new appointment because my new glasses hurt my eyes and make me feel more bleary-eyed then when I don't have them on - and plus I've decided they are ugly and I want prettier frames) and missed the bus, so walked home, and while it was a balmy -10 out it was more like -25 with wind chill, and I ended up with numbs legs, hands, and cheeks (both sets) by the time I got home.

But I guess it could always be worse - I found out at the end of the day that one of my co-workers, while doing a storytime for disabled adults, got hit in the eye with a book and now has a black eye. Not sure if someone threw a book at her if she did it herself, but either way, it counts for worker's comp!

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

Following in the incredibly worthy footsteps of Jerry Spinelli's Milkweed, John Boyne's innovative look at the Holocaust is a quick but powerful read. Whereas Milkweed had a little Jewish boy narrating the Nazi occupation of Warsaw in a completely naive way, and living to tell the tale but ending up forever altered (as he becomes the crazy man on the street corner), The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is told by a 9 year old German boy whose father is a prominent Nazi. Bruno's family moves from their stately house in Berlin (with five floors), to much smaller house, with only three floors, at "Out-with", in Poland. As it turns out, Bruno's father is actually the personal commandant to the "Fury", and roughly 50 feet from the house stands a whole city, surrounded by a fence, containing lots of people in striped pajamas. One day Bruno meets a Jewish boy named Schmuel when he is walking the length of the fence, and as the little boy (who shares the same birthday with Bruno) describes what life is like on the other side of the fence Bruno does not really follow, and badly wants to be a part of the action (which he is sure will involve some new friends). One final day Schmuel brings some striped pajamas for Bruno so he can visit their city, and in doing so the boys become part of march that leads to a cold, dark room. The ending is predictable but striking nevertheless, and the family never hear from Bruno again (and as they do not know about Bruno's secret friendship, it takes them awhile to figure out where he is).

And that's the end of the story about Bruno and his family. Of course all this happened a long time ago and nothing like that could ever happen again.

Not in this day and age.

As far as last lines go, that's a damn good one. It's sarcastic but in such a subtle way that some people might take it to be true, which adds all the more complexity to it. To be left with the thought that not only did the father inadvertently kill his own son, but that atrocities such as those during World War 2 are still occuring all over the world, and will continue to do so until we kill ourselves off the face of the planet, is in my opinion really great stuff for a kid's book.

And by the way, after visiting Boyne's website I found out that not surprisingly, the Mirimax boys are making a movie out of this novel, and while wonderful movies like Life is Beautiful have been made on this subject, I am not optimistic about how they will treat the ending (depending on whether it is billed as a children's movie or not). If it's anything other than the two little boys marching to their death, and the reader being left without any sense of hope, I will be very very unhappy!

BEST SHOW EVER

I take back what I said about Criminal Minds - Lost is still the BEST SHOW EVER. Heroes is cool, Criminal Minds is creepy, Grey's Anatomy tugs at your heartstrings, Scrubs is hilarious, and Hugh Laurie is brilliant on House, but that doesn't make up for the fact that Lost is the BEST SHOW EVER (for the record, that's what I'm calling it from now on - or at least until it jumps the shark). And by the way, move over Sawyer and Sayid, because Desmond "I think I crashed your bloody plane, brutha" David Hume is now my new favourite character - a Scottish, long-haired hottie who is a little crazy - what else could a girl ask for? Watching this week's episode "Flashes before your eyes", which mostly surrounds the flash backs and forwards of Desmond, was the best Valentines gift I've had in a long time. Especially with the great ending where we find out that it's not Claire's life Desmond was trying to save, but Charlie's ... and no matter what Desmond does, the universe has a way of self-correcting (very Quantum Leap-ish) and Charlie is going to die soon.

A mecca for stupid people

The scene opens on the reference desk of a library in a mid-sized Canadian city. The phone rings, and a lovely young librarian answers it.

"Good afternoon, Information Services".

"Oh hello -I have a package I need to send across the country to Newfoundland - do you handle that at the library?"

The young librarian manages not to laugh before saying "No I'm sorry we don't, but I'm sure the post office could help you".

"Really - they do that? How long does it take, and how much is it?".

"Well I'm not sure - you'd have to ask the post office - you can do regular post, express post, Fed Ex, depending on how quickly you want it to get there, how much you want to pay, etc."

The woman had honestly never heard of the post office! She didn't sound elderly, or disabled, or foreign, so really she had no excuse. But at least she learned something new today, right?

No TV for a week means no TV for a week

It has just occurred to me that I have watched a hell of a lot of TV since coming to this mid sized Canadian city - and while it may have been my saving grace for not going completely nutso, it may also account for my distinct lack of social skills over the last year.

Here are the shows I watch on a weekly basis (when they are on for the season, that is):

• Six Feet Under
• Rescue Me
• 24
• Heroes
• Gilmour Girls
• House
• Criminal Minds
• Lost
• Grey's Anatomy
• CSI (Las Vegas)
• The Shield
• The Hour
• Amazing Race
• The O.C. and America's and Canada's Next Top Model (when I'm feeling trashy)

And then there are the ones I have watched on DVD, all rented free of charge from the library (I knew there was a good reason I worked there!):

• Season 1 and 2 of Grey's Anatomy
• Season 1 and 2 of Scrubs
• Season 1 and 2 of Slings and Arrows
• Season 1 of Deadwood
• Season 1, 2 and 3 of Nip/Tuck
• Season 1 of the Wire
• Season 1 of Carnivale
• Season 1, 2 and 3 of Strangers with Candy
• Seasons 1 and 2 of Lost (I own those ones)
• Season 1 of Boomtown
• Season 1 and 2 of Dead Like Me
• Season 1 and 2 of The Office (the British one)

Hmm. I think TV is the new movies, don't you? It also explains why I recognize every second actor I see in a show from another show ... because I've seen every fucking show there is! In a twisted way it makes sense, if I think of the fact that some years while living in my former city (a place that had REAL movie theatres), I sometimes watched up to a hundred-ish movies a year, on the big screen (that didn't count the videos and DVD rentals). However, if you add up the sheer number of episodes and hours of TV, this probably kicks the ass of that former total. I'm not saying this is something to be proud of ... actually, fuck it - it is something to be proud of! How many people can say that they watch this much TV?!

The Swearing Nun

It's decided: I'm becoming a nun. Because really, don't you think I'd make a fucking awesome nun? I could hang around with a bunch of women all day, see some cool architecture as I visit the convents of Europe, and occasionally, make a couple extra bucks at the church library or the church strip club, where I think I would have quite the act.

Why do I want to be a nun, you ask? Well, I'm just going on my previous lack of success with boys, especially in this mid-sized Canadian city. Let's do a Nick Hornby-ish list of those boys:

1. The airport guy who said "I guess it's not true then - that all librarians are kinky". Granted I am sort of kinky, but his meaning of kinky was that I'd sleep with him on the second date, which I would call just plain slutty. Kinky to me would involve some fuzzy handcuffs or some edible foreplay, a couple months into the relationship.

2. The 17 year old (friends of the brother of my classically cool friend) who was drunk but thought he had a chance with a girl 10 years older than him. I know he was drunk but I still feel icky about the whole situation, and I didn't even do anything!

3. The pretentious actor guy from the library who is "too busy" for me but has enough time to flirt with my co-worker.

4. All the dumbass teens at the library who attempt to flirt with me and say things like "you look better as an Emo", "you're too hot to be 28", "I'm becoming a vampire, don't girls like you find that sexy?" or "that librarian chick looks cute when she is mad" (which as we know around here, is pretty much all the time).

5. The German guy who is nice and has offered to make me a swearing librarian website to help sell myself to international libraries, but I feel very little for him, making me think that if I can't even like a nice guy who means well, what's the fucking point?

See why I want to be a nun? Or just leave this town for rainier, greener pastures, and maybe find myself a similarly disgruntled guy in the UK, which I think could be quite easily arranged, given how wonderful my teeth are and how grumpy many Brits are.

Snowflakes

Snowflakes really are quite incredible. I've only come to notice this in the last couple months, because last year it didn't snow that much and previous to that my only experience with snow was the wet, chunky variety that you see on the west coast. Here, most of the snowflakes truly are one of a kind, as the snow is dry, the flakes are small, and while waiting for buses with a black coat on, it is quite entertaining (because really, what the hell else am I going to do?) to watch them fall on my coat and try to find two that are alike. So far, I've come close, but haven't succeeded ... but according to the dumbass groundhog, we have at least 6 more weeks of winter, so luckily I have plenty of time to keep playing the game.

Who needs Lost when you have Criminal Minds?

I know the mere mention of any other show being better than Lost is a sin, but if so, I must confess.

After over two months of waiting for Lost, I have to say that it was a good episode (especially the Clockwork Orange homage) and I'm still a Lost Girl tried and true, but Criminal Minds, which I've been watching in the interim to fill the Lost void, was way better. Like a little bit of David Fincher once a week, it gets under your skin and stays there, like a bad case of bedbugs, burrowing into your psyche and nightmares. Killers who kidnap girls and make them kill each other, killers that have dismembered hundreds of people while they are alive and end up going free, and a whole host of killers who kill for no particular reason, it is one fucking freaky show. And having the dippy Dawson of Dawson Creek fame (James Van Der Beek) making his return to tv as a mulitple personalitied psycho hick serial killer who is inhabited by the personality of his father, an ark angel, and his drug addicted self? Genius!

Play of the day

A druggie dropout 19 year old who has impregnated two teen girls in the last year pulls up a chair next to the teen services librarian. He tells her about his latest "friend" who is pregnant, the bloody brawl he stopped at the nightclub where he works, and the suicidal friend he just brought back from the brink.

"I was thinking of becoming a security guard or joining the armed forces, but then I thought that maybe I should be a librarian like you."

"Oh really? Well, you know you'll have to do 6 years of university for that, right?"

"Yeah right - but you can't be more than 22!"

"No, actually I'm 28."

"But you're too hot to be 28!

The teen services librarian tries not to blush, overcome by the kind and gentle compliment she has just received and thinks to herself "hmm, if only it had come from someone my age, or at the very less, not a total loser. On the bright side, I'm sure if I wanted some quick sex he'd be game, and at least he's not a minor like the rest of them."