So I haven't written as often as I usually do. Most of the problem is the compacted amount of work in this shortened semester. But I've also been working on several unrelated graduate school projects as well. (I never turn down an opportunity to bolster the old resume.)

One of these, the Big Bad Wolf Project, was a collaboration with the staff at the Information Sciences Library. The two head librarians researched the Little Red Riding Hood's origins, read hundreds of versions, and designed an hour-long program for incoming children's librarian students. The purpose of the program was to expose the research materials available to them and the scholarship behind the oral tradition.

My contribution? Clare and I wrote and performed a puppet show.

And so, my friends, I present Little Red Riding Hood: Chicken Soup for the Fairy Tale Soul. This was the first performance. The second performance wasn't taped, which is disappointing; our audience interacted more and our flow was smoother.

Anyway... enjoy!









You can see other videos: a hip hop puppet act, Mary Evelyn reading, and some ridiculous outtakes at our YouTube home: ENRPlayers.

Off to write a paper now!

While I was at my parents' house last week, Sarah called me on Wednesday morning. She was breathless. "Guess who's going to be in Shepherdstown today?" she asked.

"Chelsea Clinton," I replied. "You told me yesterday."

"Yeah, but guess who's really coming?"

"Hillary?"

"Yep. Meet me for lunch. Maybe we'll get to see her."

So, despite being non-Hillary supporters, Sarah and I camped out in "downtown" Shepherdstown, anxious to steal a glance at Ole Hill. Boy, did we find the prime spot... so prime, in fact, that nobody else had discovered it and Hillary walked right by us... even at several yards away, I was pretty starstruck.



After her dipshitty speech, which was filled with bon mots like, "We need jobs in this country!" (No kidding) and "It's time for change!" (Yes, Hillary, it is), she gave a small press conference. I love this picture because her security guard looks like he's going to eat us...



...which Hillary thinks is hilarious.



Sarah, however, was not impressed.



The End.

Let's take a look at some of the albums released in the last few weeks.

(To keep from totally running my mouth, I'll provide a one-to-two-word review of each song.)

( elbow, Portishead, Madonna )

The drive from Pittsburgh to York is the very definition of boring. 15 minutes on US22/376, 3 friggin' hours on 76, 15 minutes on 83. During the drive, I find my mind wandering, entertaining myself with absurd questions or musings that are probably interesting only to me.

Entering the third hour of the drive yesterday, I found myself listening to PJ Harvey's Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. Like most of Harvey's oeuvre, it's a strong collection of darkly observant songs, and probably one of her least alienating albums. So as I'm winding along the twists and turns of 76, the hills of Pennsylvania flicking by, I began to wonder... which of these songs are the stories from the city? Which are from the sea? Eight years after buying the album, and I'm only just now thinking about this.

And now for a very esoteric poll.

Poll #1180288 Where my stories at?
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All

Which are the stories from the city?

Which are the stories from the sea?

This is my 2,000^th entry.

How absurd.

In celebration, enjoy this video.

I could write about the remaining 15 or so books that I read for the Young Adult course, or I could talk about...



The basic story: Gratuity "Tip" Tucci is writing an essay that could be chosen for the National Time Capsule. The essay, titled The True Meaning of Smekday, reveals that Earth has been taken over by an alien race, the Boov. Tip's mother and the rest of the United States' population have been relocated to Florida, but Tip has not been harvested. She decides to drive down to Florida to save her mother and, on the way, meets up with a renegade Boov named... (are you ready for this?) ...J.Lo. And so begins their rockin' road trip to Florida... and beyond.

I am not a fan of science fiction and even though this book could be considered as such, it is so much more. It's a satire of science fiction. It's a rollicking comedy. But more than anything, it's a fierce polemic of the United States. Here is just a smattering of things The True Meaning of Smekday lampoons: U.S. foreign policy, xenophobia, U.S. treatment of Native Americans, U.S. obsession with pop culture, Disney, and capitalism.

All told in Tip's charming, likable narrative and interspersed with cartoons, "photographs", and diagrams. It is, however, J.Lo who steals the show. His mangling of the English language is hilarious (I laughed out loud countless times while reading the book^*) and there are several shockingly tender passages between him and Tip. I am not exaggerating when I say that J.Lo is in my Top 5 Favorite Literary Characters Ever. He's that brilliant.

This book is marketed toward children/young adults, and I absolutely agree. But adults will get so much more out of it.

Go to the library. Check out this book (or buy a copy... make this Adam Rex guy some money). Then recommend it to all of your friends. You... and they... will not be disappointed.

^*On our way home from the whirlwind weekend in North Carolina (more on that later), Tim read The True Meaning of Smekday. Every time he laughed out loud, he read the passage aloud. So I got the added bonus of hearing all the jokes again.

Tim found this the other day; it was an advertisement on his browser, so he forwarded it to me.

Prior to clicking the link, ask yourself, "WWJD?" (What Would Joe Design if he had his own .org)? Whatever you have in mind, it's probably not...

www.josephprince.org.

Be sure to watch the video. It's hilarious. Also read the biographies, especially the wife's, which exhibits the kind of modesty Christ holds so dearly.

So this is pretty much the funniest thing I've seen all week.

What the hell happened to Goldfrapp?

Funky and eclectic triphoppy first album (Felt Mountain) followed by two sexy electro-trash albums (Black Cherry, Supernature)... and now...

...this?

Electronica-tinged folk? Allison Goldfrapp must be a member of Mensa, because this genre hop was a stroke of brilliance. "A&E", decidedly different from her previous work, is lush and gorgeous.... and the video is equally terrific.

( LIS 2332 RESOURCES READING LIST )

I haven't updated this list in awhile. I read a shitload of books last month, inching closer to wrapping up the enormous reading list for Young Adult Resources.

Mini-reviews!

Whale Talk by Chris Crutcher
What started as a fairly straightforward (and almost didactic) sports book blossomed into one of the most compelling novels I've ever read. Narrated by the witty, temperamental TJ Jones, the book traces his methodical revenge plot against the elitist jocks in his high school. Effortlessly weaves several back stories that all collide in the final pages. Absolutely riveting. ()

The Astonishing Adventures of Fanboy & Goth Girl by Barry Lyga
Populated with some of the most unlikable characters ever committed to the page ("Fanboy" comes across as maudlin, "Goth Girl" as bitter), Lyga's story is illuminated by several passages that refuse to give his characters hope while remaining true to their experiences. At times it's a grim affair, but it captures the essence of being an outcast. ()

Friday Night Lights by H.G. Bissinger
Although touted as a "football" book, it is more of a political polemic about Odessa, Texas. Interestingly enough, the tangents are slightly more enjoyable than each player's stories. The book loses steam when it attempts to adopt a blue state/red state mentality, but the critical argument about unwarranted fervor is insightful. ()

The First Part Last by Angela Johnson
Follows the story of Bobby, an inner-city youth who has unintentionally impregnated his girlfriend, Nia. Instead of caving into stereotypical characteristics, Johnson imbues her characters with hope and kindness. The effect is remarkable: Bobby's internal conflict of being a father is beautifully rendered, and the sparse, poetic writing is flawless. ()

Tyrell by Coe Booth
Ugh. 300 pages that felt like 3,000. Unlike Johnson's characterizations, Booth injects every terrible stereotype into her "hero", a 15 year old boy who, in an attempt to get out of a shelter, throws an illegal warehouse party. He is also unfaithful to the girl he "loves", smokes pot, and drinks forties. Although the narrative voice is astoundingly believable, the book is a frustrating mess. ()

The Golden Compass by Philip Pullman
An intriguing premise: people's souls live outside their bodies in animals called dæmons. In an attempt to relieve the world of sin, a "church" experiments on removing the dæmons from children, effectively killing both in the process. The writing is icy and aloof, though, and the confusing jargon slows down an otherwise amazing story. ()

Looking For Alaska by John Green
Green's debut novel, an exploration of teenage love and lost, is a triumph. Beginning as a realistic sketch of teenagers who, while at private school, indulge themselves in rebellious activities, the story slowly unfolds into tragedy. As the characters grieve and ruminate about the nature of death and forgiveness, the book reaches an emotional peak rarely seen in YA literature. ()

The Geography Club by Brent Hartinger
Hartinger's sweet but completely implausible book about gay teenagers struggling with truth is a fun, frisky romp that attempts to break down stereotypes. It is largely successful, but flounders when cobbling together the disparate characters. Enjoyable because it doesn't talk down to the readers and because Russel, the narrator, is so resolutely likable. ()

Twilight by Stephenie Meyer
200 pages of "I like you!"/"You shouldn't like me. I'm dangerous!", 25 pages of "I'm a vampire. I'm dangerous!"/"I still like you!", 100 pages of "Hold me, Vampire! Hold me!"/"I shouldn't! I'm dangerous!", 25 pages of a Vampire Baseball Game (not kidding), 150 pages of vampires chasing each other and the worst denouement ever committed to typeface. Gag. ()

Like all the other writers this year, the accountants from Saskatchewan who compile the annual Top 30, went on strike. Prior to this blow, I had the opportunity to speak with head accountant Lars Strøhölm, who was his usual charming self on the phone. “Lars, you know I’m pro-union,” I explained, “but I will do anything to have some help with this year’s picks. So many good albums were released! I don’t even know where to begin!” I could hear Lars’ labored breathing, the unfortunate result of having an iron lung. “You want my help? Recognize an Idol.” I was confused, aghast even. “An Idol? Lars, what do you mean?” “The world needs an Idol,” he whispered softly, and the line went dead.

( The Top 30 Albums of 2007 )

As usual, this is the time of year when I look back on the books I read. For the past few years I've logged the number of pages I've read and have been consistent with meeting my yearly goal.

Last year I didn't set a goal for myself because I assumed graduate school would get in the way. Ahhhhhhhahahahahahahaha! I didn't anticipate reading the volume of books we read in Resources for Children or the advance reading for Resources for Young Adults. If I had set a goal, I would have blown it out of the water. And there's probably no way I'll ever surpass this ridiculous number. (Special thanks to the Harry Potter series for adding even more pages to the total.)

No wonder I don't have a boyfriend. I'm too busy reading. How sad.

( Cut for length )

This goddamned song makes me want to shoot myself in the face after spraying Lysol in my eyes and slicing my ears off with a dull razor blade.

Seriously. How this album has sold 1,000,000 copies is completely beyond my scope of comprehension.

Mary Evelyn and I watched about half a dozen videos on YouTube of girls and grown women singing this terrible piece of "music"; while an excruciating exercise, it was also hilarious.

( LIS 2332 RESOURCES READING LIST )

Train ride + Mom & Dad's = lots of time to read.

Mini-reviews!

Monster by Walter Dean Myers
Started out a bit slow for me. There are a lot of characters to remember and I kept on screwing up the prosecuting and defense attorneys. But this is a fast, furious read, and the use of scripting and journal entries was a stroke of brilliance. A linear storyline would have been trite. There's a predictable ending, but the culminating thoughts are intense. Great book. ()

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants by Ann Brashares
I read this book a few summers ago and I really liked it. On second read, though, I loved it. The characters are very well fleshed out - so distinct and troubled and realistic. The climax of the book involves a ridiculous amount of crying, but each girl discovers who she is, and experiences her rite of passage. The painful chapters involving Tibby and Bailey are particularly powerful. Not profound literature, but fantastic anyway. ()

Gossip Girl by Cecily Von Ziegesar
Two hours of my life that I will never, ever get back. Censorship is a hot topic in library school and librarians often find themselves on the front line. This book is basically drinking, drugging, fucking, and cussing for 200 pages. I wouldn't censor it, but I'd have trouble defending its literary merit to a patron who would want it removed from the shelves. It's some of the worst writing ever. And it's boring as sin. ()

( LIS 2332 RESOURCES READING LIST )

Depite working forty hours this week, I apparently have plenty of downtime to indulge in reading... thus further conquering the absurd reading list for the upcoming Resources for Young Adults course.

Mini-reviews!

Forever... by Judy Blume
Blume lets her hair down and gets all frisky in Forever.... A 12 year old says "fuck"! A couple of seniors fuck! And they talk about fucking! Sometimes while fucking! If only the book were as interesting as it sounds. Instead it's a sloppily assembled sapfest with trite, sophmoric dialogue. ()

Hatchet by Gary Paulson
This colossal bag of shitty writing won the Newbery Honor in 1989, which leads me to believe that only two books were written that year. Filled with pretentious capitalization techniques to emphasize Suffering, and featuring breathlessly indulgent "adventures" and an ending that's more rushed than Christmas Eve shopping, Hatchet nearly caused me to lose my mind. ()

Weetzie Bat by Francesca Lia Block
Hyped as a "modern fairy tale" and universally heralded upon its release, Weetzie Bat follows the jumbled, manic exploits of the titular character's life. Written in a cloying, precocious tone, it takes a special person to be endeared by Ms. Bat. I am not one of those people. ()

As I probably mentioned a few entries ago, there is an enormous pile of books that I must read next semester for the Resources for Young Adults class. Not counting the two "your choice" selections for the last couple weeks of the class, there are thirty books total that must be read. A couple of them are skimpy, like Weetzie Bat. Some of them are a little more voluminous, like Twilight. I have decided, partly for my own amusement, to chronicle my progress. Ten of the books must be read by January 8^th; despite having read some of the selections before, I'm re-reading them. And making good progress. I have a feeling the standards for this class will be a little more rigorous than those in the Resources for Children class.

( READING LIST )

Mini Reviews of the Books I've Read:

Seventeenth Summer by Maureen Daly
I've never vacillated so wildly while reading a book. For twenty-five pages I would despise its very existence. The next twenty-five pages, though, I would enjoy immensely. I became frustrated and annoyed at the protagonist's constant yo-yoing. Maybe I just don't understand teenage love. As a result, my feelings for the book are deeply average. ()

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
I hadn't read this book since I was in high school and was delighted to see that my opinion of it hadn't changed. Both wildly hilarious and deeply unsettling in his actions, Holden Caulfield is simply one of the most ingenious literary characters to emerge in the 20^th century. His narration, although resolutely "unreliable", is undeniably charming. ()

The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
Can you believe I had never read this book before? Initially I had a tough time absorbing the characters (Hinton pretty much introduces the entire gang in a page), but the single narrative saves it from being overwhelming. I'm astonished that Hinton wrote the book at age 16, but that sharpened, youthful perspective propels the novel rather than weakens it. ()

The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
Slow to start, slow in the middle, "shocking" in the end. Cormier's writing is really forced to me, especially his overly poetic metaphors, and I never felt truly captured by the actions of his characters. The tension, which is built through the use of an absurd number of characters and aimless point-of-view shifts, doesn't come across as scary. Just desperate. ()

The second floor of the Hillman Library is entirely devoted to the East Asian collection. Covering a variety of print resources in Chinese, Korean, and Japanese, the collection is enormous, but poorly maintained. At the end of the evening, when the stacks employees have to "clean up" each floor, we scramble to pick anything... anything but the East Asian floor. Here's why: despite the books having color-corded call numbers, the librarians who work on that floor do not shelf-read¹, and, because the collection hasn't been weeded in... oh, ever, books are crammed anywhere they can fit.

It is, in a word, a nightmare.

For the past two weeks, the Hillman has been open round-the-clock to support finals schedules. Yesterday and today, the library operates normal hours, but it's ridiculously busy. A ton of circulation returns in these two days and at the end of the shift last night, I counted 34 carts of books that have to be shelved. That does not count the material that may be returned today.

All day yesterday we did collections and clean-ups, which means we go to each floor, collect the books from the bins, and bring them to a sorting area. We then sort the books by their call numbers and load them on to carts. This is all we did yesterday. That's how many damned books are off the shelves.

Because I stupidly arrived early, I began my shift yesterday in the East Asian collection, which looked like a couple hundred whirling dervishes had whirled their merry selves through the stacks, knocking around anything and everything they could find. I rolled my eyes, took a breath, and dove in.

If any of the other floors are disaster areas, 90% of the books are in English, so it's possible to intuitively figure out where they go. This is not a tactic one can employ on the second floor, which can be headache-inducing. I worked my way through the books and moved on to the journals. The journals have an Anglicized title next to the hánzi characters, which makes shelving them alphabetically much easier for the gaijin stuck with the job. It was in this section yesterday that I slowly started losing my mind, and made up a game to pass the time: What's This Journal REALLY Called? It entertained me, and the two hours skipped by a bit faster.

Some of my favorites (thanks, self, for carrying a pencil and pad of paper with you!)
• Yue Sheng Huo: Awesome Stories About Not-So Awesome Events Quarterly
• Meiguo Yan Jiu: Cooking With Annabelle
• Nan Kai Jing Ji Yan Jiu: The Hemophiliac's Weekly Guide To Cutlery
• Fu Nu Za Zhi: Beans, Beans, Beans!
• Jing Ji Yan Jiu Can Kao: Good Touch, Bad Touch, Very Bad Touch

If anyone knows what these titles really mean, don't tell me. I like mine better.

Okay. Off to work. Please, God, no more East Asian.

¹ Going row by row through the stacks, checking each book's call number to make sure they're arranged properly. It's a pain in the ass, but necessary.

My dishwasher has been acting up recently, so I called the management office this morning to send someone in. The repairman, a slightly unkempt man in his late 50s, tottered into my kitchen, gabbing incessantly about the nature of dishwashers and rubber hoses and stuff like that. After a few awkward moments, I told him that I was going to be in the living room and that if he needed anything, to holler.

Two minutes later, he triumphantly announced: "I'm done!" Right. He proceeded to give some overly simplified diagnosis of the "problem" and how he "fixed" it (i.e. cleaned the trap that was already clean because I wash the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. Clean dishes don't clog traps).

He continued to natter about his car, the weather, and anything that popped into his head as he packed up. At the door, he fumbled with the locks. My door has a deadbolt that needs to be simultaneously turned with the door handle. The following creeptastic exchange occurred:

Me: You have to turn this while turning the doorknob.
Him: Wow, that's tricky.
Me: Takes some getting used to, yes.
Him: Great for keeping the ladies in, though.
Me: ...
Him: ...
Me: Okay, well, thanks for fixing my dishwasher. (closes door)

Oh, yuck.

•

Today is my first day of freedom; I have survived one semester of graduate school. Awesome.

Here's what I've done so far today: taken the car in for inspection (have yet to hear back), watched a movie, took a shower, had above-mentioned awkward exchange.

Here's what I plan to do for the rest of the day: read.

I'm wiped out.

A couple weeks ago, Mary Evelyn created the most amazingly accurate metaphor for graduate school: "Ok, so, if I were to put you in a roomful of M&Ms and ask you to sort them by color, that's grad school. You'd be really, really busy, but you wouldn't be doing anything practical."

Looking back on the semester, I definitely see the parallel. One class was a complete waste of time (partially because of a pompous, know-it-all, smug, glib, dispassionate, and unfunny professor), one was easy but useful, one was ridiculously tough but interesting and well-taught, and one was poorly taught but exceedingly enjoyable. I read a lot, I worked myself to exhaustion, but I learned very little.

I sorted M&Ms for three months of my life.

And I'm going back for more.

I'm a bit behind the times here, but I would like to say a few things about the resurgence of Ms. Spears and her upcoming album which is due in stores this Tuesday. (I will not be buying a copy.)

#1. "Gimme More" • The Song: Profoundly average. Usually I gauge a pop song on how memorable it is on the first listen. "Since U Been Gone" made me twitch with unadulterated joy in four seconds and the melody was glued into my brain in half that time. I've probably heard "Gimme More" three times and I cannot for the life of me remember a single verse, bridge, or chorus. I couldn't even tell you if there's a beat in the song. I'm assuming there is, otherwise she wouldn't be writhing up and down a stripper pole in

The Video: Good Christ, how long did it take to assemble this nonsense? My vote goes for five minutes maximum. The "plot" for those of you who haven't witnessed this train wreck: "Good" (read: blonde) Britney goes to a bar with her girlfriends and watches "Bad" (read: raven-haired) Britney writhe her fruits on a pole and absently lipsync the lyrics to the song. For someone who didn't want her children handed over to K-Fed, this video acts as pretty convincing evidence that the judicial system made the right decision. There's a lot of booty, a little booze, and more than a nascent development of general disinterest and malaise. It is the visual equivalent of a downward spiral into depression... which should make it fascinating, but doesn't at all.

#2. The title of the new album: "Blackout" • Britney's had a few of these in her recent partying days, so it's all too appropriate. Is the title tongue-in-cheek, though? Nah. That'd be giving her too much credit.

#3. The album cover, which is possibly the most heinous Photoshop chop job I've ever seen:



#4. Prediction: the record will receive shit-tastic reviews, but it will still go gold... maybe platinum. It will also be Britney's last album.