daemonluna

Here are some more varied and sundry responses on the Great Scrotum Debate. (And that's not a phrase I say very often...)

I've been behind on lj (read: doing nothing but skimming through a handful of individual journals) since the week before the wedding. Yes, that's right, I'm approximately a month behind. So, since troutkitty went up to Calgary this weekend for IFWA and etc, I have been amusing myself catching up.

(I'm at skip=620, which only takes me to Sept 1. Um.)

I stayed home on account of this being my weekend to work. I alternate weekends, and always have Monday off. It means six days on, one day off, four days on, three days off. Let's hear it for every-other long weekends!

( this is one of the least complicated parts of my schedule )

All in all, work is going well. I'm in the middle of a half-a-dozen projects. I get to go to Netspeed (conference on libraries and technology). I have the power to order new books, and have taken over the YA section. And there's this storytelling program the library partners with the university to offer. It's an independent study course with half-a-dozen classes, and then the participants get to go out and storytell with assorted schools, etc. From all accounts, it's a pretty cool program.

The other day, my boss's boss wandered past the reference desk and asked if anyone's talked to me about it yet. I cautiously confirm that I've been told ABOUT it. Oh, she says. Then no-one's told you you'll be auditing it, she says. So you can teach it in the spring, she adds. If that's okay with you.

(This is what happens when a) one department head goes on maternity leave, b) her replacement is on vacation, and c) you go on vacation before the aforementioned replacement comes back.) It's now all been explained, double-checked, and I have confirmed that it is more than fine with me.

Through all this, there have been some fierce twinges of homesickness that I'm trying very hard not to think about.

But! I make no promises, but you can be fairly certain this space will contain copious amounts of link-spam, possibly a con report or two, and links to wedding photos in the next little bit.

Both the big kitty and I will be oh so very glad when troutkitty is home tomorrow. (The little kitty is fairly oblivious, and is currently asleep on the floor with her nose tucked under her back foot. She bends in strange ways.)

I've been reading the perennial Canadian classic The Hockey Sweater by Roch Carrier to the grade threes this week.

Me: And does anybody know what language they speak in Quebec?

Kid1: Spanish!

Me: Noooo, here's a hint, it's Canada's other official language.

Kid2: Ooh, Indian!*

Eventually, we did get the right answer. But still.

*(I'm not sure if he meant one of the Native languages, or Punjabi or Hindi. But I'm guessing part of it came from having other kids in the class who speak Spanish and Punjabi.)

Have noticed someone else using my Rick Mercer icon. Not sure if I'm annoyed enough to say anything, or it's not worth the hassle. I know it's the one I made because I'm still not happy with how the text turned out. Hmm.

Between the Female Gen ficathon, I Saw Three Ships, and the SGA Badfic Summary Minificathon (which I have barely started to read), I have many, many recs. Some of them are as follows:

Angel, Three Vital Rules for Staying Stylish, Even (Especially) in a World Overrun by Monsters "Look, you might know ancient prophecies and demonic dialects, and you might know axe-blades and street-fighting kung fu moves, but *I* know clothes, okay?"

Dead Like Me, Ship of Dreams Because it's about Penny.

due South, Kowalski "Even when she'd first thought about divorcing Ray, she'd never considered changing her name. Part of that was practical-— she'd battled to get where she was, and people knew her as ADA Kowalski. Part of it was simple courtesy; her mother had always told her it was devastatingly rude to return a gift given in good faith. And partly, she felt she owed it to Ray."

Firefly, Catching Snowflakes on her Tongue "The snow can't feel," River says. "It's just a thing, doesn't feel at all, no how. Not like a girl."

Firefly, Daughters of Jerusalem River's toes are always cold. This is the way she likes them. She can feel each of them at the end of her feet, count them without looking. The press down on the metal floors of Serenity, they wiggle and skim the ground (it's not ground, but it is, it's her homeland, she remembers coming from here and everything before was a dream, in utero), and when she pulls them up to sit on the chair with her, she can see white spots on the bottom of them that fade again to red as she watches. White spots like stars. "When stars fall," she tells Mal, "they turn into toes." River/Mal, eventually.

Firefly, Making New "As Inara puts the kettle away, she hears someone moving from the bridge to the kitchen. The footsteps are quiet and firm, the easy stride of someone who knows the ship and their way through it, but who is being considerate of others sleeping."

Firefly Where Circles Begin "They say most men are a little bit sly, and it may be true," Zoe mused. "But I should've known no man who used to have that mustache could be a hundred percent upright."

Grey's Anatomy, Grey's Apocalypse "The world ends on a Saturday and the first George hears about it is when a nurse comes out of the cafeteria and she walks right into him without saying anything. He's all set to get indignant when he sees that she's crying and then he just feels bad, so he apologizes for getting in her way and then gets out of it."

Grey's Anatomy, Indecisive, Thy Name Is "Later, after bad Chinese food and too much tequila, George let himself be maneuvered into service as a body pillow. Meredith lay stretched out on the couch, her head on his lap, his hands playing in her hair. Izzie tossed kernels of corn at both of them from her position on the floor, leaning against George's left leg, his right propped up on the coffee table."

Grey's Anatomy Just a Daisy in the Shadow of the Sun "His mother taught him manners, taught him to be polite to women. You open doors for them and buy them dinner and pat their shoulder when they cry and you love them, even when they break your heart, because some girls can't help but do that. Pick up their books when they drop them, pull out their chairs, never make lewd comments, never let your eyes linger below their neckline, women have eyes, they have brains, they should be respected. George knows how to treat women, but he never gets them in the end."

Grey's Anatomy, The Most Wonderful Time of the Year "This is not hate-filled rage-baking, she thinks as she grabs another armful of ingredients from the cupboard. Nor is it panicky, stressed-out avoidance-baking. No, this is Christmas-morning-in-her-slippers-with-chocolate-baking; the oven is warming up the whole kitchen and everything smells homey and the early morning quiet is just perfect as she leans her elbows on the counter and licks the wooden spoon."

Harry Potter, Twenty Random Facts About Ginny Weasley "7. For most of her first year at Hogwarts Ginny was teased mercilessly by Vera Goldman and Henrietta Wainthropp because of her second hand robes and taped together books. By second year she had learned not to let bullies get to her. She had also learned the Bat Boogey Hex."

Harry Potter, three ficlets, The Ugly Duckling, Rumplestiltskin, and Beauty and the Beast "I don't want the second one free. I don't want either one," the Goblin said. "In fact, there are still twelve minutes to go...I'm going to tell you my name, and then you'll know it and the deal will be off."

Pirates of the Caribbean, Of Swords and Flowers "Bodies were buried feet pointing east, and soon Anamaria could point due east from any point in town. Jacques called her La Boussole, and soon she was betting the other children she could point due east even blindfolded. Children who took the bet and then claimed they had no compass and thus could not confirm whether she was correct woke up to fish in their beds the next morning. Anamaria did not take kindly to losing."

RPS, Illegal Zombie-Actor Cage Fighting "You're supposed to be the guy to call if an actor wants to learn to fight zombies." This is utterly insane and I know I'm missing a lot of the jokes, but way too funny, none-the-less.

Six Feet Under, Uncertainty Billy once told Brenda that there was no such thing as a candid photograph. He sat cross-legged in the center of their parents' bed, accentuating every few words by slapping one pajama-clad thigh. "Every human being, Bren – you and I and Mom and Dad and even Dr. M.-D.-P.-H.-D. Gareth fucking Feinberg is always being observed, and any attempt to construct a narrative in which any individual can divorce himself from the gaze of the other in some arbitrary fashion long enough to be considered candid, is an imposition of false consciousness and belongs on the scrap heap of outmoded art forms."

Slammerkin by Emma Donoghue, What D'Ye Lack? A drabble, Mary/Doll.

SGA, Acts of Contrition When the engines finally roar to life, Rodney McKay is not in the engine room, one fist victoriously upraised, clutching a wrench, scorch-marks on his fingers and coolant smeared across his cheek like a red badge of courage. He does not make any speeches, does not loudly proclaim his own genius, does not even offer his team a pithy, "Good work, people. Let's bring her home." When the engines start purring, when the Ancient warship Helios stirs and shudders like a cat stretching out after a ten-thousand-year nap, when the systems all start coming online at once and Rodney's crack team of highly trained scientists are in the engine room squealing like a high school pep squad, Rodney is down the hall in a utility closet.

SGA, An Aesthetic Solitary Thing "My people--" He paused again, shoulders tense, hands curled into white-knuckled fists. He was looking around at them, obviously waiting for the freak-out to come. John's pulse picked up and he was aware of the gun on his hip, but he held himself still. Rodney went on. "We can 'seed'," he made air quotes, "other races. We can pass for human." Cracktastic wingfic.

SGA, Dex In which this summary "OMG So Jon n Rodny want 2 go back 2 Lantis but sum EVOL aliens capture them! and make them make out and wear eyeliner and stuff!1! Will they EVAR get back home?!?! also, Ronin eats a cookie." becomes a partial comic, and Ronon is tricksy.

SGA, Spanish Melodies and Bones Rodney McKay/Laura Cadman/Katie Brown. Rodney looks around the empty corridor, then leans close to her and whispers. "Just because we happened to share a body once, Cadman, doesn't mean you have the right to, to," he flaps his hand between their bodies,"insinuate things."

SGA, Pull Back to Reveal Rodney/John/Ronon, A Canadian, a Satedan, and an American, in twenty steps. Exactly one week after Ronon arrived in the city, Rodney caught him standing shirtless outside Sheppard's quarters and panting. Envy trounced sensibility. "Very impressive," Rodney said. "Very muscley. And seriously, if you were trying to seduce one of the marines, or maybe Elizabeth I'd say you've got a, oh, I don't know, one in three shot? One in four if you get one of the heterosexual ones. But either way, a great initial move."

SGA, Under the Sea "You went to a frat party and tutored them in physics?" Morgenstern pulled out his chair and sat down and rubbed his face. "Of course you did." College AU! John the drunken princess! Rodney being... Rodney!

SGA, Mixing Memory and Desire “A pen?” Rodney continued. “Loose change? Scrunchies? That’s the best you could offer for me? I’m sure I’m worth much more than that on a competitive market, not to mention the fact that--ooh! Are those, what’s the word, powerbars? Is that the peanut butter flavor?”
John frowned. “Rodney, are you all right?” he started, but just then Rodney made a move for the shiny foil wrapper and John had to focus all his attention on placating the outraged Neerian, who refused to calm down and stop making explosive and most likely rude gestures until John proved that he had sufficient control over his slave by tying the piece of string around Rodney’s wrist. “You really do bring these things on yourself,” John said, as he led Rodney away.

SGA, Release Mechanism "Ronon was pretty sure it was weakening their bargaining position to stand here yammering all night. Anyone who called himself a warlord was going to notice that they had a slight issue with chain of command in this outfit, and for a people who demonstrated their prowess through the quality and quantity of the slaves they controlled.... Ronon was no diplomat, but it seemed to him that they should be taking steps to disguise the fact that there wasn’t anyone on this mission who could compel the KP sergeants to give them extra whipped cream on their sweet potato pie, let alone keep a slave in line."

SGA, In conclusion, John totally likes Atlantis best "As they're attempting to leave with their trade agreement--in the form of an enormous ark filled with painted, wooden representations of agreed-upon goods--the eldest of the four Ho'llan princes bursts into hiccupping sobs and clings to Sheppard, eyes huge and artistically red with grief at the loss of his true love."

SGA recap of 2x16, The Long Goodbye "Dude. Weir has a pimping big screen. She totally has her Playstation hooked up and plays Katamari Damancy all day while making important 'I'm working very hard' noises."

Sports Night, Imaginary Husbands of the African Savanna "One night, feeling punchy, Dana cut a picture of Joe Crede out of an old Sports Illustrated and taped it to the control room desk. Looking at him made her more confident in her producing abilities. His mild face and powerful home-run-hitting biceps had a calming effect. Natalie approved of Dana's addition to the control room décor. 'Your baseball husband should have a place of honor,' she said. Natalie, who had been loyal to Derek Jeter for as long as Dana had known her, understood baseball husbands. She understood, for instance, that it did not constitute polygamy to also have a basketball husband, a football husband, and a tennis husband."

Sports Night, I Will Be With You Again "1988 was the year Dan spent falling into bed with pretty nearly anyone, male, female, whatever, anyone who'd smile at him, anyone who'd laugh at his jokes. That was the year of the New Year's Eve party where he slept with, well, no, nobody slept, but anyway, slept with at least three of the girls there, never learning any of their names, not caring. And 1989 was the year when he was plagued by a painful, burning sensation, the year when he learned more than he had ever wanted to know about the nature of antibiotics." Six New Years' for Dan Rydell.

Then there's Fellowship of the Peep, which is LoTR, only more... marshmallowy.

From trull_sengar comes Amusing Typos from Church Bulletins "The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon."

A New Yorker article on Mary Poppins: "In the midst of the celebrating crowd, it would have been easy to overlook the sixty-five-year-old woman sitting there, weeping. Anyone who recognized her as P. L. Travers, the author of the Mary Poppins books, could have been forgiven for assuming that her tears were the product either of artistic delight or of financial ecstasy (she owned five per cent of the gross; the movie made her rich). Neither was the case. The picture, she thought, had done a strange kind of violence to her work. She would turn the personally disastrous première into a hilarious dining-out story, with Disney as the butt of her jokes. But she had a premonition that the movie she hated was about to change everything for her. Writing to a friend, she remarked that her life would never be the same."

Horn Book's Narnia Chronicled has a series of articles and editorials, including the 1950's original HB reviews of the books.

Out and Ignored Why are so many school libraries reluctant to embrace gay teens? From School Library Journal.

It's a rare occurence, but it has been known to happen--I'm tired of reading right now.

I scooped up all my varied and sundry to-read piles from both schools before the break. Today, I curled up with a stack of books and made it through a dozen of them. Okay, so one was already half-done, and seven of them were Gr. 1-3 chapter books. (Estimated reading time: 10 minutes each) But still. And I spent most of the morning poking through the fruits of assorted seasonal fanfic challenges.

Public library books waiting to be read: 12
Unfinished books brought home from both schools: 81

( what I've read over Christmas break so far )

Eighteen down, ninety-three to go. Of course, twenty-three of those are books I've already read, some fairly recently (The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place, The Bone Collector's Son, The Amulet of Samarkand), other many, many years ago (My Side of the Mountain, Pippi Longstocking), and am just skimming so I can book-talk them.

So really, that's only seventy books.

...

Of course, there's always that brand-new copy of Anansi Boys sitting there...

Despite the INTENSE BURNING STOMACH PAIN that kept me awake for most of the night, I've managed to down half a bagel with PB, and a cup of coffee with no ill effects. So far, so good. Sigh.

Link, link, linkety links!

HP fanfic: A Place to Be by hesychasm. Post-war, Harry and Neville are both left behind. Starts with the immediate, gut-wrenching devestation and aftermath of Harry's defeat of Voldemort, and quietly unfolds from there on in. Not explicitly slash.

SGA fanfic: Existence as Interesting as Possible is cool for two reasons--good fic, and it means Wax Jism is writing SGA. Oh, the thrills of being in a live fandom--one that's more than a dozen people.

An interesting article here on Russell T. Davies and the queerness of Dr. Who.

I need to take a look at these Graphic Classics graphic novels. (The public library's got the Robert Louis Stevenson and O. Henry ones. I'm encouraged by the cover art-- the adaptations might be pretty good.

An editorial here on a library's that's rescinded its rule that for-profit day cares can't sign their kids up for the summer reading game.( my handful of pennies on the matter )

Blogging and job prospects for academics, and a commentary on blog content that's aimed at corporate and business blogs. The first at least recognizes the distinction between a personal and a professional blog, and the second... well, doesn't.

It's another gorgeous sunny day out there. I suppose I should do something about the sink full of dirty dishes and the mountain of laundry. Then I can go sit outside with a book and a glass of iced tea. Too bad we have yet to find the perfect hammock... (well, I did, but it was a humongous one that definitely something that needed to be in a back yard rather than out on a balcony. Sigh. ... and that picture makes it look like a to-scale model or something. Very strange...)

I thought I could avoid it. But nooo. Can't keep my mouth shut. Er. Keyboard shut? Whatever. But I'm going to have to rant about GLBT YA fiction.

Because after a while, they're all the same. Usually it's all "Oh, I'm oddly attracted to new kid/best friend/school jock, but we're the same sex... oh... I think I'm gay... object of lust almost always turns out to also be in the closet... someone finds out about them... object-of-lust (OOL) a) comes out too, or b) more often, regresses to state of denial. Main character is okay with being gay, though. The end.

Throw assorted soap-opera twists in the middle. Main character of OOL may a) get kicked out by parents, b) have homophobic best friend freak out, c) get harassed and possible gay-bashed at school, d) in some way, shape or form start a gay-straight alliance, etc. or e) all of the above simultaneously. And then there's the sub-categories of one-of-my-parents-is-gay, and my-best-friend-is-gay. Similar plot progessions follow.

And not, by any stretch, that all the books along these lines are bad. It just gets kind of repetitive after a while. At least we've progressed to a point where all gay teen characters don't automatically die 1) tragically through accident or suicide, or 2) of AIDS.

But maybe I'm just bitter because there have been two fantastic YA books with gay male protagonists lately (What Happened to Lani Garver and Boy Meets Boy) and I can't think of a single one with a lesbian main character that made it past good-but-not-great for me.

Hmm. I feel an annotated bibliography coming on. I think I'll go lie down until it passes.

So I'm not going to launch into my rant about approximately forty percent of the elementary and junior high school libraries in the city (close to two hundred of them) do not have a teacher-librarian, instead have a library assistant (read: usually someone's mom who may possibly at one point have worked in a library and shelved books and stuff and what possibly can you need actual training for?), pretty much all part time, in some cases fifteen hours a week or fewer.

Just, it's a bad thing. Trust me. For the kids (oh gee, what do we need information literacy skills for anyhow? Let alone the importance of establishing positive relationships with reading and libraries at an early age), the poor, beleaguered library staff, the teachers who are perpetually just sending kids to google, and the school library itself.

I'm currently subbing for the next month in a junior high library. Nice, bright, well-kept facility, really decent collection, no display space. I'm a huge believer in displays and browsing collections. I've been "making" display space on half-empty shelves and the one table I've co-opted because really, I'm bored. Feeling incredibly under-utilized (and honestly, under-employed), and damn sick of starting somewhere new every few weeks or months, and being in someone else's library.

It's tough to put together a display with just white paper. Junior high libraries don't have coloured construction paper aa a matter of course, incidentally. ;P But some jury-rigged fiction display I now have.

( just in case anyone's remotely curious what books I put out etc )

I came up with maybe six books for a St Patrick's Day display. (Could not find Last Wolf of Ireland anywhere, dammit. Did find James Heneghan's The Grave which is a very cool time travel book.) I could have pulled stuff like James Joyce etc in a high school library, and an elementary would have all sorts of Irish folk tales and leprauchans, but not so much in the junior high. So the other half of the table is... wait for it... books with green covers.

Like I said. I was bored.

The library assistant I'm subbing for was midway through inventory and weeding when she got sick. So it looks like I'm weeding again. Incidentally, weeding has nothing to do with the care and uptake of any potted plants you may have in your library and everything to do with getting old, outdated, falling-apart, possibly now historical artefacts of books off the shelf.

I havene't yet said anything about some of the treasures I pulled off the shelf at the school I was at last month, have I? Watch this space for some positively absurd, and in some cases scary examples of why regular collection maintenance includes taking books OFF the shelf as well as buying new ones. As well as a vague recounting of my weekend and why Anna's tarot cards were all about our washing machine, what I've been reading lately, and other such thrills.

I would no doubt ramble on for many page more right now about all of the above but that would be tedious to actually read all at once. And I'm dead tired and need to go crawl into bed with my girl. Hate early mornings. Blah.

There's nothing too terribly exciting going on here today. I only had three kids at my outreach storytime this morning. It's not too surprising since I think a lot of people are on vacation and such, but it made for a pretty low-key morning. We were kinda quiet today--possibly because half the library was in the dark until 4:00. Yup, still working on the lights. Whee.

The outreach storytime itself is pretty cool. I'm at one of the northmost library branches, yet Calgary's expanded so quickly that there's still a good twenty minutes of city north of us. (Until the two new branches open this and next year--and if I never hear the debate about "big box" libraries again, it will be too soon.) A couple of the branches do storytimes and such off-site, including us.

So, once a week I pack up my storytime books, fingerpuppets, flannel board, etc, and a pile of books to sign out there, and drive northwards to the one nursing home. The kids and parents come in and watch the storytime, and the residents get a real kick out of sitting and watching the kids. The acoustics aren't great (sound carries TOO well), but I like the mixed group and the whole concept.

And it's raining again (only fair after the past few weeks of scorching heat) but we are in dire need of kitty kibble. Sigh. Off we go.

Let's see. Internet is down at home, so I'm posting over my lunch hour at work. I am no longer sitting here in the dark, but I did spend the first half of the morning doing such, because they're replacing all the lights at the library. The new lights are more energy-efficient and have this funky pink glow. The bad news is that, with the exception of the staff room and the program room, ALL the lights in the library are on the same two switches. Including the public washrooms. Heh. It's going to be an interesting afternoon.

It has been handed down from up on high that yea, each library branch shall have a book display. And the previous edict that the aforementioned display shall showcase A/V, booktapes and book CDs all summer shall be disregarded. And yea, those that are responsible for the fiction display for the month of August (such as yours truly) shall focus on cows.

Yes, cows.

And beef.

Why? Because we're showing our support for the Alberta beef industry. Yipee-kay-yay. On the plus side, Barb has a large collection of stuffed cows in her parents' garage, and is going to lend me Brutus, the largest one, to sit on top of the display shelf.

Mooooo.

Book of the moment: Just finished a schlocky YA witch book. The Witches of Willowemere by Alison Baird. Ehhh, it coulda been worse, but it wasn't great. All mystic powers, reincarnation, some token Wicca running aroud, evil teen witches, etc. And not a smidgen of slashiness, just the 2x4-shadowing of the reincarnation of her lost love showing up later in the series. Because oh yes, this is a series.

Anyhoo. Must go convince a bunch of gr 5-6's that the library is a Cool Place. Easier than it sounds when you travel with books like The Day My Butt Went Psycho.