Reception's Jumpin'

I went and saw my two beloved friends (and superhero librarians), Hopscotch and Rambo get all hitched up and legal-like married this weekend. A grand time was had by all. It was rockin', which was wholly appropriate since that's what they are. I wish I could show you all the photos I took of Hopscotch looking all Grace Kelly hott in her wedding dress, but that would be overstepping her privacy so you all will just have to glean it from this backend photo and then take my word for it. Girl was smokin'.


Rambo was pretty too.


The ceremony was touching, the toasts were full of love, the food was delish, the cake (in this case, a tower of donuts) was loverly, the company was to die for. I could wax poetic about all of them in detail. But what I want to talk about right now? Is the dancing.

I am a BIG FAN of wedding reception dancing. Always have been. It is one of the few things that I immediately list off when asked about what my favorite things are. It is, I am convinced, the best venue for getting your booty in a groove. It's just... awesome. There are a few things that make it particularly sweet.

1. Intergenerational dance moves. Where else in your life are you going to be dancing around with every age demographic? Granny is busting a move! Look at the toddler over there, kicking it pogo style! There were parents with babes in arms, feeling the beat to "PYT" by Michael Jackson. There were preteens learning why "Kiss" by Prince is worth dancing to. Everyone. Together. Acting silly as can be. I love it.

2. Celebrating the cheeze. I love cheezy music. And for some reason, people at weddings let go of all pretentions and let the music play no matter where it falls on the velveeta scale. They don't try to play it cool with only the songs that indie insiders know. They play Heart, and MC Hammer, and Chubby Freakin' Checker. They just put songs on and let it rip. No one rolls their eyes, no one is too cool for skool. (I have to throw in the caveat that Hopscotch and Rambo are not pretentious anyway, in any part of their lives, so this part was kind of moot for them. I'm just speaking in general).

3. All styles of dance welcome. No one cares if you're not looking cool. NO ONE. I busted out the ROGER RABBIT, people. Yes, I did. Multiple times.

4. True testing of universality of music. One thing I love to do at wedding receptions is to see which songs make everyone stop dancing and which songs bring everyone out on the floor. There is always a few clunkers but usually just one mega hit, and you can never tell what it might be. At this wedding? The hit was Bust A Move by Young MC. No one could resist it. NO ONE. Ok smarty, go to a party...

I have a rep in my circle of friends. That rep is that I close down the dance floor at wedding receptions. You know how, at the end of the reception, there are still like, two or three people that REFUSE TO STOP? They dance their hineys off long after everyone else is so over it? I am so that girl. Don't hate. Congratulate.



I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Boo!

Here's what's new with me lately.

People have been saying weird stuff to me this week. Like, on the street. Living in an urban environment, getting weird stuff said to you by strangers is not necessarily a new thing, but the quantity this week? Has been high. For instance, the other day I was walking along with my iPod in my ears. I happened to turn my head to the right, and caught this dude looking at me as he was riding his bike in the bike lane. You know what he says? "BOO!" Like a Casper the Too-Friendly Ghost thing. How is that something that you say? Then, I had a patron who I was doing some lengthy research for thank me by saying "I appreciate it, snickerdoodle." This person had acted totally normal up until that point, and then busts out with snickerdoodle. Who DOES that?

I was flipping channels the other day, and I expended angry emotion at Bret Michaels. And it wasn't for overuse of pancake make-up either. For some reason, in that moment, I was supremely insulted that Bret was trying to convince me that he was really truly LOOKING FOR LOVE. Like he is really looking for love! Come on! Is anyone on earth buying the premise? Jeez. Now why this all of a sudden made me mad I cannot tell you, but what can I say? I'm just feeling my feelings, people.

In other news, my beloved Nordic Boy was sick this week. Selfishly, this was nice for me because he didn't have to go on any biznazz trips. I'm not saying that I want him to be sick, because that would be evil. And you know what else? Nordic Boy, when left to his own devices and in control of the remote, watches Brainy Television. Hours of it. I mean, I watch my share of things that will enrich my brain, but let's face it, lots of times I am watching reruns of the Munsters or something. But this week, every time I turned around it was science and history and shit. Now I feel bad for the hours of Beauty and Geek I have made him watch.

At the library, there are little kid behaviors that I find myself extremely envious of. Like how kids will just lie down on the floor, like, whenever they friggin' feel like it. And how some of them wear capes in public. And how they get transported around in strollers or red wagons. So jealous.

Also! I am going on a trip back to the Midwest next week. I have to get some sun, and this spring has been CRAP on the west coast. Anyone want me to send them a postcard? I totally will. Email me your mailing address and I will try and find the cheeziest Michigan postcard that you can imagine. I don't think they make postcards of my hometown, but I'll come up with something.

I talked to Alli today. She reminded me of this post I wrote a while ago. I cracked myself up with that one. Mainly because I didn't really have to write anything. The photos alone were enough.

That's all that's in my brain today, fellas.

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Prompty Dance is your chance

Have you ever used a writer's prompt book? I haven't. Sometimes people ask me for them at the reference desk, and I am always curious about them, but very skeptical. I read one once about blog-writing and it really didn't make me think any better of the idea of a prompt book. So today, while at work, I decided to go over to the shelf and pick one out. At random. Just one that looked like it was, you know, on my level.

Here's what I picked.




I know what you are thinking. GRADES 4-6? I am young-ish, yes. But grades 4-6? Is that really on my level?

Come to think of it, if you have ever read this blog before, maybe you're not thinking that at all.

I just liked the title. Write away! So punny! If I do these prompts, will I be punny like that? I also liked the book cover. Look at that kid! He is so obviously expressing his angst over the fact that his parent made him wear that Tommy Bahama getup like he was an Older Dude instead of the young gangsta that he probably really is. I can almost make out the words on the page he is writing. "Moms just don't git it G..."

Ok, so let's try this and see if it yields any results. Because, you know how I like to just spew it forth with no thought at all? I need to branch out from that.

Exercise 1. Freewriting.

Excuse me, but I think I just said that I need to branch out from spewing it out. One thing I do not have a problem with, is freewriting. NEXT.

Exercise 2. Discovery.
This exercise basically says that you should take something that you freewrote and focus on it and keep on freewriting. Is it just me or does that sound like almost the same thing as Exercise 1? NEXT.

Exercise 3. This one says to write a little note to your teacher about something you are having trouble with in school or with learning. Got it.

Dear Writing Prompter, So far I am having difficulty with these exercises as they are telling me to do what I normally do anyway. Could you start expanding a little bit please? I am easily bored and distracted so you might want to hurry up. I'll give you two more chances.

Exercise 4. Choose a picture and write something about it.
I totally already did that! About the kid in the Jimmy Buffet shirt! SO AHEAD OF ALL THE 4-6 GRADERS OUT THERE. In your face!

Exercise 5. My Life So Far.
What? A whole autobiography? As an exercise? What do you think I am? A person who hasn't lived lots of years? Like a ten year old? A fourth through sixth grader or something? Oh. Oops. Yeah.

This writing prompt stuff is just not my thing. Maybe I should try something that is actually for my own age group, but a lot of what I am seeing on the shelf seems to be of the New Age Woman Let Us Journal About Our Moon Cycles or Let's Write a Heartsong to Our Ex-Boyfriend and Then Burn It In Sage Grass type of deal, and I am so not about that.

Oh well. Prompting books. It doesn't make me want to write. It just makes me want to sing the Humpty Dance with the word "prompty" plugged in.

Stop what you're doin' cuz I'm about to ruin, the image and style that you're used to...

I'm out,
Librarian Girl

turn and face the strange

Hmmm, there's something different around here. Have I packed on a couple extra pounds? Is it a new outfit? Have I started using the gradual coloring of Just for Men products? What ever could it be?

Oh, my yes. It's a new look for this little blog of mine, which I am gonna let shine. How nice of you to notice.

You know what I did, after realizing that I wanted a little blog lift? Did I get off my Hillary Duff and do something about it? Brainstorm, make something, start with the re-designing? No I did not. What I did do was whine just a tad about how I wanted my blog to be more a reflection of me, but that I didn't actually want to DO anything about it, and my whining reached the ears of my two lovely and talented friends. I kind of knew this would happen, as all of my friends are lovely and talented, and helpful to boot, and so when talents are needed, I send out the whiny Bat-signal and they come to my rescue.

First of all, Neighbor J mentioned while we were hanging out last weekend that she just might like to design me a header. This made me really ecstatic cuz in my opinion there ain't nobody more genius at illustration and graphic skeelz than Neighbor J, whether I know them personally or not. And, within 24 hours (and that is saying something because she has her own actual paying graphic design to be doing with deadlines and stuff plus oh yeah she is taking care of a teeny tiny cute as a button baby girl so um, she's kind of busy) she had whipped up that hunk of deliciousness up there. And it is so awesome, because it is SO ME, and only someone who knows me the way she does could have come up with such a thing.

Then, my whining beacon reached the ears of my friend Josh over at Berg with Fries. He also had contacted me right away after hearing of my blah-ness and offered to help. So he (within an hour) did the rest for me. He took time, out of his day being the co-boss-man of the most awesome and super Boys from Jupiter (you should totally hire them for all your design needs) to help me out. Because he is a superstar like that.

I realize that what this whole post is revealing to you is that my friends are Class A ridiculous great people who help their friends out no matter how annoying they are and that I am a Class A lazy effer who relies on said great people. But I have to call it what it is. They are awesome and I am lazy. And as you can tell from the beauteousness of this blog, this set up TOTALLY WORKS FOR ME.

Oh, and also? I have another talented and lovely pal, Neighbor B (hubby of Neighbor J) who has started his very own tech blog where he outlines tech DIY type goodness. I will be the first to admit to you that it is a blog that I have very little understanding of, as it goes way over my head with the smartyness, but if you are a tech type and a DIY type, Neighbor B is your type of peeps and you should go read his blog. He's good people, and way brainy.

My friends rock, dude.
I'm out,
Librarian Girl

Taking a Shot

Yesterday, I went to pick up BioGirl from her new work place, and I went in to take a gander at her new office. On her desk, she has photos of her loved ones. "I wanted to bring in a photo of us, but the one photo of us in existence that I had got damaged in the move back to Seattle." I have been friends with her for a decade, people. And yet she used the phrase "the one photo of us in existence." But it's true. Photo taking is not really a part of my life. I always forget to take pictures, and so the only photos I have of myself or any of my loved ones are photos that others have taken and then given to me. Photography is a beautiful thing, but I just haven't done it even with the best of intentions. I often go on picture-taking-appropriate adventures (like vacations, or family events) with no camera at all. And if I do remember to bring my camera, it stays totally forgotten in my purse until I get home. I am just too busy LIVING. I can't be expected to LIVE and TAKE PHOTOS OF IT TOO. That's two things at once and my teeny weeny pea brain can't handle that. I am trying to get better about this. So here I am, pledging it solemnly on my blog. I will take photos of stuff. Then I will post the photos on this here blog. There. Now if I don't do it you can...well, I don't really know what you can do about it, except call me a poopy photo pledger and that will certainly get my goat so that is something. Now I have a camera phone that takes super low-quality crap photos, but they are photos nonetheless so it counts. Do not berate me on quality. I will work up to actually taking my camera out in public and using it, but I shall start with baby steps. This weekend, for instance, was BioGirl's birthday weekend. One of the things that went on for said birthday weekend was that Neighbor J and I took her out for high tea at a local grandmaw establishment. Because, you know, she is one step closer to granny status and so let us all celebrate that. The place we took her was straight up dowdy, people. It was like Laura Ashley and Queen Victoria simultaneously puked out the decor in that place. It was doilies and ruffles and patterns, oh my. And all the servers in there? They all call everyone "dear." As in, "are you all done with that plate, dear?" They are just dearing everyone like crazy with every word they say. It must be company policy or something, because what are the odds that every single person that works there has the same exact verbal tic?

If you must know those are teacups intertwined into the decorative ivy around the windows which is obviously a really wrong thing to do but they went ahead and did it anyway, dear.

That's all of the photos I have from that whole day. Remember, I said baby steps.

How about I just download the last five photos that I have? No matter how unrelated they are? Ready?

This first one? Is of BioGirl's front gate. When we were moving her in, I decided to take photos during her moving day. I started out at her front gate. Why would someone take such a photo? Of all things. The reason I took it is because she lives in the highest security building I think I have ever seen. There are a ridiculous amount of such gates and doors that you have to go through (all locked) in order to get to her apartment. And they all have different keys. Her key chain is like a janitor's at this point.

You shall not pass!

Ha. How geeky is it that I just quoted Gandalf? It's times like these that I adore myself in a most condescending manner.

Next photo.

When helping someone move, there will be tasks that are a Royal Pain in the Ass. Like putting a futon together. When such tasks arise, saying "I just want to get a photo of this momentous futon building moment to remember for all time!" gets you out of participating in the manual labor. A photography tip from me to you.

Next photo! The next two, actually, are related. Last week, I went to lunch at a restaurant where lots of things either had to be gigantic or tiny.

Teeny tiny salt and pepper and...

a gigantic tower of wine.

Listen. I never said that I took interesting photos. The day of that lunch? I walked all around downtown Seattle and saw many a thing. I was at the fancy library, I was in the shopping district, I was at Pike Place Market. And this is what I chose to document. What a weirdo.

Lastly, on that same day, there was a strange thing in front of the library here. I never really got the story as to why it was there. But I did get a photo of it.

I think he's pissed about his hairdo.

These five photos don't bode well for future photo posts, huh? I may have to rethink my photo pledge up there. Hmm.

I'm out, dear,
Librarian Girl

Say My Name Say My Name

Did anyone watch "Girlicious" out there? Anyone at all? Because I watched every single episode, without fail. I liked it, I am not gonna lie. I just feel like I have to confess that. I don't know much about what defines a sin, but liking Girlicious has to rate on that scale somewhere. Ok, now I can move on.

Here's what I'm thinking. Should I change the name of my blog? I am feeling an itch to do it and on many levels, I don't like to itch. I also want to change how it looks. It's time for a new outfit, is what I keep thinking. Maybe. I can't decide.

Here's the thing. I've been writing under this blog shingle for a while now (jeez louise, it's been over two years!), and when I started it, I just did what I typically do with this blog. I blurted it all out. Including the name. I didn't think, I just did. Live in the now, man. That's what I did. Only, you know why I named it what I named it? It was just because I couldn't think of anything else. And you know, is this blog really librarian-ish enough? Or pop culture-ish enough? Or am I just engaging in false advertising? I don't know. It was either that or call it...what? I didn't have any ideas. I still don't, really.

The other thing is, I'm not the only blogger out there who's calling herself the pop culture librarian. There are others. I am not going to say that they are all people who want to emulate yours truly because the name is really too generic to claim ownership, you know? And besides, who knows? There was probably a pop culture librarian before me too so I can't bitch about the people who come after me. It's like, if you're naming your kid John, you can't get mad at other people for naming their kids John too. If you wanted something original, then name your kid Moon Unit or Dweezil or something.

And besides, I have all this fear that if I change my blog name, then all of a sudden people will be incapacitated and not update their readers and links and all such like and I will suddenly lose touch with all my bloggie friends out there. I'm not calling you all a bunch of lazy slobs or anything, but my abandonment issues can get the best of me in almost any situation.

I don't know. I guess since I have no ideas about what to rename myself, then I should just shut up about it. The blog re-design though. I could get behind that I suppose. But again. Do I have any ideas of what I want this thing to look like? Nope. I just want it to be different, and something I like, and enough with this crap blogger template. (Hi Blogger company! Heart you!) Any of you want to give me some suggestions? What do you think a blog like mine should look like? I seriously do have the itch for changing this up, and I need some blog itch ointment, you know what I'm saying?

That was a totally disgusting metaphor.

Shutting up now,
Librarian Girl

Prairie On My Mind

I have a secret arsenal of knowledge, and it is this. Little House on the Prairie. The tv show, not the books. Have I ever outed this about myself on this here blog before? But there. I said it. I am not ashamed!

Chances are, if you are around my age, you may have a part of your brain that is tapped into Little House too. It was a pretty popular show for kiddies back in the day. Not only that, there was a wealth of syndication where the show was played during afterschool hours so in the 80s, if you were watching after school tv, you kind of had to intentionally steer yourself away from that show in order to miss it.

I don't know what it is about certain things that are pop culture-ish, but they stick in my head in a most alarming way. I can quote Little House on the Prairie, chapter and verse. Why can't I have this ability when it comes to scientific and historic events, or even when it comes to remembering my grocery list? For everything else in life, I have to write things down, make lists, look things up. But for certain movies, tv shows, music...it's all right there. RIGHT THERE.

Yesterday, my friend Map sent me an email wherein she explained that she stumbled across a rerun of the Little House movie "The Last Farewell." She didn't even have to go on to explain what that was. She knows that I would know that that was the final episode, where the residents of Walnut Grove blow up their town. (I am not kidding. They end the series by blowing up their own town! TELL ME that isn't awesome). Not only that, she called it "The Last Goodbye" and I knew right away that she meant "The Last Farewell." Sick, right?

Not only that, she emailed me a ton of questions about the show, because, you know, Little House can be kind of fucked up and confusing for the uninitiated. Things like logic and making sense don't sometimes happen on that show. She must have emailed me like fifteen or twenty questions. And I just ripped off all the answers. Like THAT. I kind of spook myself out when I do shit like that, you know?

My relationship with Little House on the Prairie may seem odd to those who knew me growing up and who know me now. I wasn't raised in a farming community, nor do I know anything about rural life in general. I grew up in a factory town, with all the gritty urban ambience of smokestacks and steel. My favorite shows as a child were Fat Albert and Good Times, and I just couldn't relate to Walton's Mountain or the Dukes of Hazzard. None of my friends watched those kinds of shows, and neither did I.

But then, when I was a kid, LHOTP (oh yes! I acronymmed it!) reruns started playing every day after school. I remember my mom started watching them because there were things on that show that, oddly enough, reminded her of her childhood. She grew up on a small island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and her family used things like hurricane oil lamps and outhouses when she was a child. "Look," she would tell me excitedly during the episode "Sylvia," where Albert apprentices as a blacksmith. "That's the kind of metal work your grandad used to do." "Uh-huh," I would reply absently, too freaked out by the masked mystery man to pay attention to what she was saying. (If you have any idea what I am talking about with that episode, we could SO be bffs).

My mom's love affair with Little House was short-lived. After a few weeks of watching it day after day, my progressive, lefty mom started to grumble. "That Mrs. Oleson is just a reflection of why patriarchy is afraid of strong women who have their own money," she would rail. No response from me, as I was glued to the screen. "That Hester Sue couldn't be any more Aunt Jemima-ish if they tried. Just sickening!" she would say.

It was too late, Mom. I was hooked. I can't even tell you exactly what it was that got me. I just couldn't stop watching, even as I saw every episode and saw them all over again. I watched until my burgeoning adolescent schedule pulled me away from my after-school Walnut Grove visits.

Flash forward twenty years. I had recently moved into a new duplex apartment, which was shared on the other side by Neighbor J. She and I were instantaneously friends as we had so many things in common. We talked incessantly about any topic of interest, and it was only a short time before she mentioned Little House.

"That so-and-so works so hard, it's like he's Pa Ingalls!" was the way it started.
Me: "What did you say?"
Her: "Oh, nothing. It's just that on that show Little House on the Prairie, there were always these episodes where Pa works so hard that he hurts himself. If you watched that show..."
Me: Say no more. I haven't seen that show in years, but I have this uncanny ability of remembering them all.
Her: You're kidding.
Me: Nope. I'll prove it. Ol' Dan Tucker was a fine old man...
Her: ...washed his face in a frying pan...

From that day forward, Neighbor J and I fed off of each other in our love for Little House. It was scary, the things we remembered. We had, it seemed, whole sections of our brains that were solely meant to store LHOTP facts and memories.

Now you guys know me and my friends by now. We are not calico-wearing girlies. We do not harken back to prairie times, we do not eat stew. We are bonafide cutting edge ladies. We eat sushi, we like Jon Stewart, we read Erdrich more than we ever read Wilder. We would rather wear Chanel No. 5 than Lemon Verbena. And yet.

Yet, we have this long-standing, inexplicable, undeniable adoration for Laura, Mary, Nellie, and all the rest (ok, except for Nancy). It's a closeted love that yearns to be free. We have often talked about the fact that there HAS to, there just HAS to be other people our age, in our demographic, who grew up with Walnut Grove and who see it as we do. We know it's cheesy. We know that Pa will well up with emotion in almost every episode. We know that Carrie seems stuck at age three for ten years straight. We know all of this. But we love them anyway. And we have an inkling that there are more like us out there.

Right?

Anyone?

I'm out,
Librarian Girl