Ancient Librarian Monk Tricks

Stoned Cherries

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Tue, 27 Jul 2010 00:13:00 +0000

I've fallen in love with cherries the last few weeks. Prior to this year, I may have only eaten them fresh once or twice - typically, if the hankering came round, I'd find myself a nice can of mixed fruit, or - worse - a jar of maraschinos and go to town. (Maraschinos aren't a type of cherry, by the way. They are called so for the liqueur in which they are preserved. Royal Ann or Gold cherries are typically used for this dessert-topping delight).

The cherries I've been swallowing are simply called Sweet Cherries, per their bag, and I'm delighted to discover that they were harvested in the USA. I've learned that the US is the second-largest producer of cherries in the world, beneath Turkey, of all places. Up until this moment in my life, I thought that nearly all cherries derived from trees first cultivated in Japan. I expect that I thought this in part because I grew up not so far from Washington, D.C., and have heard more than once about the famous cherry blossom trees that line the Tidal Basin (a gift from the Emperor of Japan in 1912). However, cherries don't come from cherry blossom trees. Go figure.

I don't know why I didn't eat cherries in my youth. Perhaps because they are somewhat expensive. Most of the fruits of my childhood were grown locally, and my mother found ways to preserve them infinitely. The exception to the rule was peaches. We always, always had peaches. I think because my dad liked my mom's peach jam.

The pit of a cherry puzzles me. It's not really in the center of a cherry, at least not all of the time. And, it's not called a pit by most - but a stone (it is a stone fruit, like a peach - see the foreshadowing in the previous paragraph). Don't try to bite into it because you'll chip a tooth. Lord forbid you try to rid your mouth of the stone politely - one ends up appearing as a cowboy aiming for a spittoon. Still, it is a lovely fruit, and one I suggest you buy in spades if your market is having a sale.

Some stores sell cherry stoners, by the way. I think that sounds funny, and it makes me want Cherry Garcia ice cream all the more.

Cheaper by the (un)Dozen

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Sun, 25 Jul 2010 17:32:00 +0000

In an effort to consolidate my shopping this morning, I decided to buy some groceries at Target (not a successful consolidation, as our Target - unlike those fantastic behemoths of the north, is a glorified convenience store when it comes to food). I was, however, grateful to find eggs. I was also grateful to find picnic/soda bins on clearance (in red!), and so in an effort to be environmentally friendlier, I asked the nice checkout lady to pack my scant items into the bin. And, she did so... until she came to the eggs.

"I'll just put these eggs into a bag to keep them from cracking." And then she put them in a plastic bag, which she placed on top of the groceries in the soda bin. Now, had I been bagging my groceries alone, I'd have put the eggs in the top of the soda bin. I suppose, though, that this nice checkout lady thought that the plastic bag served as some super-barrier for the eggs.

Alas, she thought incorrect, since as I put the bin the back of my car, I set the (too heavy) bin down to hard and the eggs practically hopped out, opened, and promptly cracked up with laughter at our joint foolishness. Well, not all of them cracked up. 7 of them were too upset to even smile, thankfully.

Unresolved

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 09:19:00 +0000

No matter what time this ends up being posted, it's important for you to know that I started writing at 4:20 AM. That is not to say that I just woke up and started writing. Hardly. No, DH had to get up for work, and I woke up right before his alarm went off.... at 2:15.

I've read through my Google Reader (twice), checked GMail (twice), and read through the very few interesting stories on FoxNews. If I can't sleep after I post this, I will probably read Miss Manners.

Most nights, I sleep better than this. I'm blaming my insomnia on my environment. That is, a twin mattress in the floor of my soon to be ex-rental house. It should have been an ex a week ago; alas, we still do not have a closing date. Our belongings are packed and moved (not into the new house; just moved). Save, of course, the random odds and ends that plague every mover - and anyone who has moved understands this. As my eyes wander around the room, I see a lamp, the printer we needed for whatever reason, the shelves DH didn't take down yet, a cake stand and cookie rack, some paperwork, blah blah blah.

A new year's celebration is about reflecting (backward) and hoping & planning (forward). I'm trying not to judge myself to harshly this morning, but I'm not entirely happy with the progress of 2008. Work-wise, I think that my team has made steady progression toward some goals, but I can't think of any bright, shining moments. Many of my team members have faced setbacks of either a personal or professional nature (we'll call them growing pangs and learning experiences). I wish we could take some time off, mentally, but this is going to be the most difficult quarter yet as we prepare for some major transitions.

Personally-professionally, I'm still not quite where I want to be. I found out right before Christmas that my proposal to speak at a national academic conference has been accepted - more on that later, I'm sure - and it's great to finally highlight my work and the work of my team. And, I think that our topic - library teaching & assessment, generally - shines a light on a best practice that should be adopted by most, if not all, academic libraries. However, this is an academic conference, not a library conference, so it will be at least several more months before I publish and speak on this topic to my own peers outside of my institution.

Boy does this post sound like a downer. I need to quit blogging so early in the morning.

The Oxford English Dictionary lists 2 definitions for Resolution: 1) a state of dissolution or decay; and 2) the process by which a material thing is reduced or separated into its component parts or elements; a result of this. I like both definitions. The first because I feel like many parts of my life are in some form of decay (my body is at the top of the list; even though I am only 28, I have aged my body through, shall we say, over-indulgence). And of course, there are many elements in dissolution: the house, where my career path is heading at my workplace, and so on.

The second definition, however, is more hopeful. To me, it says that a resolution is not an all-encompassing thing. I don't have to solve a crisis or make life-altering decisions or changes, or define unreasonable, unattainable goals. I can reduce a challenge into its element - it's "raw material". I like this approach. It's fresh, and it lightens what would normally be a tremendous burden that we place on ourselves (at this time of year, at the time of our annual review, after a life-altering experience, etc.).

With no further ado. Resolved:

1. I resolve to take better care of my body. That means taking all of my medicine, eating less and eating better, being less of a davenport tater, and drinking more water and less Pepsi. (I loves me my Pepsi).

2. I resolve to sleep more. Starting in like 10 minutes, I hope.

3. I resolve to call more and e-mail less.

4. I resolve to get help when I need it - at work, at home, and psychologically.

5. I resolve to send birthday and holiday cards on time. Ok, I resolve to send birthday and holiday cards after I buy them.

6. I resolve to not base my organizational, baking, and craft-y worth on the airbrushed, painstakingly designed photos in the likes of Good Housekeeping, Martha Stewart, etc.

7. I resolve to be more friendly to my environment.

8. I resolve not to overdo "it" - potluck is my new word for 2009.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Shameless Child Labor!

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 18:41:00 +0000

Another example of a cute kid being used to sell a product.

Just kidding. Who wouldn't buy a kid a puppy after seeing these photos?

The Sleeping Habits of Felines

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 13:16:00 +0000

Cats know how to nap. They have elevated the quick snooze into a fine and delicate art. Take our Oatmeal, for example (DH named her, not me). She has a morning ritual of waking DH up around 3:45, after his first alarm goes off. She'll jump on him, walk on his head, and normally lay down beside him, knitting until she either falls asleep or he wakes up. For those not familiar with felines, a cat knits by digging claws into the flesh in a methodical, repetitive pattern, sort of like testing a pillow to make sure that it is soft. It's painful.

So painful, in fact, that she's not allowed to do it to me anymore. If she begins to knit, I just kick her off the bed, or couch, or wherever we might be being lazy at the time. Not literally kick. That would be mean.

Back to napping. Cats have the right idea. They are supremely invested in their own comfort, they are happy before they nap and when they wake up, and they do it in short bursts, to remain fresh throughout the day. How can one who has slept most of the night then take a nap at 7:30? Ask Oatmeal. This morning, she jumps on my head (I don't even need an alarm, thank you), walks down my back and lays right in front of me. I wrap my arm around her like I'm holding a pillow, she rests her chin on my propped up elbow, and purrs for about 3 minutes before she falls asleep for 15. Then, she wakes up, purring, and jumps down to take a bath in her water bowl (she's odd) and find every toy in the house.

Why can't we all take 20 minute naps, play in our water bowls, and then play with our toys? Perhaps in my next life...

Thanksgiving: The Aftermath

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 23:02:00 +0000

I haven't blogged in a month because I've been planning for Thanksgiving for a month (among other things; more on that later). I had initially planned to do this whole before-and-after series in the style of Anderson Cooper (I love you. Marry me. Really). However, things happen the way that they always do, so I'm writing about it now, more like the second graders who do the news report before classes start over the intercom.

I cannot even blame the DH for this one, although he will certainly be held accountable for his minor role. For you see, I was the one who said "we're going to do Turducken".

For those of you who are not avid readers of foodie blogs, or have never seen Paula Dean's Thanksgiving episode (no one plays cards like that. no one.), a Turducken is a chicken inside of a duck inside of a turkey, with stuffing in between each layer. While this idea has been attributed to many chefs, Chef Paul Prudhomme is generally credited for its creation. The finished pictures of a good looking Turducken are quite a sight, really, for the avid carnivore. And of course, there are modern variations with tofu, unpronounceable bacon-wrapped monstrosities, etc.

This was to be a simple task. Get a turkey, duck, and chicken. Make some stuffing. Stuff stuffing in turkey, duck and chicken; then stuff chicken inside of duck inside of turkey. Roast for a very long time.

Did I mention that all three birds needed to be deboned? And that most of the recipes suggest 12 HOURS for roasting time?

Deboning, piece of cake. In fact, DH and I got TWO chickens from Sam's just so we could practice. One night before Thanksgiving around 10 pm, he says to me "let's watch a video and learn how to debone the chicken". Ok, so we did that. We watched three videos, as a matter of fact. Feeling quite confident, we marched into the kitchen. I said "I'll debone it, since I'll probably have to do it for real anyway". And he said "great, I'll supervise".

(Imagine, dear reader, a great wall of silence here. Followed by me tightening my grip around the knife until my fingers went white).

Perhaps this part of the story would be best left out, but the deboning was not pretty. We mutilated that poor chicken. If it could have picked up its innards and made a run for it, I'm sure we'd have seen it dashing out the door. I tried to cut but ended up slicing through meat. DH decided to step in and "fix it". I slammed the knife down and cursed. Lots. And then I left. We ate homemade chicken nuggets for dinner. As DH cleaned his plate, he says quite casually "maybe someone else should debone the birds." YOU THINK?

So I called the high-end grocery store about 40 miles north (because there is not much high end in "Slocala") and asked them. Nope, they don't debone. Or, maybe they did, but I couldn't understand the butcher's broken English, so that was that. Butcher two, no dice, and so on. Five places I called. Now, I panic, because I've told PEOPLE that we are having Turducken. And I can't let PEOPLE down. Finally, I call Publix, our local average grocery store chain. And of course, they'll do it, for free. I love Publix.

So we pick up the birds a few days before, to brine them. And not only has the butcher deboned them, but he did so from the inside out. He basically took the skin and meat off like a sleeve, not cutting the birds at all. If I ever decide on a hobby, I totally want to learn how to do that. Or not, that sounds a little psycho.

So, tis the night before Thanksgiving and all through the house, it's crammed with cans and veggies and potatoes and bread and decorations and boxes of stock and juice and you name it. I had my own grocery store in the dining room. So I started on a few of the sides (we ended up with 8 total, I think) and then I made the first stuffing (because we can't just use one stuffing. Oh no. That would be sane. Three different stuffings. Soooooo stupid). And then we prepare to stuff.

I've never really stuffed a bird before. I mean, I've put a little stuffing in, but usually with a spoon. Spoons do not really maneuver well inside of a duck inside of a turkey. No matter how many pictures you see of a Turducken online, they NEVER show you a girl freaked by raw poultry juices with her arm stuck halfway inside of three birds. It was vulgar.

As soon as the bird was in the oven, I went to bed. We decided to roast it in the oven overnight (about 6 hours) and then smoke it for the other 6 on the big grill. Of course, when we got up in the morning, it was done.

Done.

And so am I. Dinner went fine. The family only drove me a little crazy, but my favorite aunt-in-law and best friend helped me with the dishes, and everything but the pecan pie came out well. Even the turducken.

Would you like to know what we are having for Christmas?

Ham sandwiches.

My Version of Tim Gunn's Guide to Style

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Sun, 09 Nov 2008 13:35:00 +0000

Let me clarify up front that I love Tim Gunn. He's like a man version of Miss Manners. Who doesn't love a man with impeccable taste?

However, I must confess: I'm not the most fashion forward. I don't always see the sense in some of Tim's reasonable instructions. With no further ado, I give you:

Emily's 10 Essential Items

- Little black bra with a wire poking out
- Fleece hoodie
- Off-black pleated bicycle pants (the ones that wrap tight at your ankles)
- Slightly gray tshirt that has hit the wash with towels too many times
- Jean shorts
- Cashmere? Are you kidding? Rayon-nylon blend, baby!
- Skirt-culottes
- Moo-Moo, a cotton robe, and bunny slippers
- Sweat suit. Hanes Her Way, Walmart

(Second confession: these are not really my ten essentials. However, I did buy a sweatshirt this week. Does this put me in the running for Tim's assistance?)

484

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Thu, 02 Oct 2008 01:09:00 +0000

My mother is coming to visit this weekend. She'll be here on Friday afternoon and is leaving on Tuesday. I had planned on getting everything ready for her on Friday afternoon, but then I volunteered to teach Junior Achievement to a group of second graders. So... I have tonight and tomorrow to get everything ready.

The house is more or less cleaned up, which is good. However, we don't have a guest bed. Guest mattresses, yes, but no box springs. So that has been a bit of a concern. Not that my mother wouldn't sleep on the couch (and honestly, it's more comfortable than any mattress in the house), but nobody wants to say "I made my mom sleep on the couch".

So imagine my excitement (or don't, because I'm telling you about it) when I saw a twin bed set on Craigslist for $25. I'm a huge friend of Craigslist because it relies mainly on folks being honest and harkens (what a word) back to the days of barter. This is a very good deal for a bed, so I swooped in and grabbed it up.

When DH came home from work, we immediately set out to pick up the bed. I was at least smart enough to clean up the car before he got home. We put the address into the nav system and drove down to Highway 484. And drove. And drove. The roads were pretty familiar - until we hit dirt. And kept driving on dirt. This was serious off-roading. DH called the woman again who explained that she just moved in so she didn't really know the roads around her house, but she had a white trailer with red shutters (we passed no less than seven of these in a three mile strip). So we finally got to her house, where we both observed that she'd transposed the house number in her e-mail.

So we pulled the bed out of the house and stuck it in the car and headed out on our merry way. I tried to ignore that she had three cats in the house and four dogs outside yipping like mad to get back into the house as we were leaving. I could not, however, ignore the smell. The mattress smelled. Imagine age and wood smoke (or cigarette smoke) and must and age. Yup. Smelled.

The bright side to the next piece of the drive was that we happened to be near some folks who sell duck eggs, and we got 18 eggs for $2 bucks. Unbelievable deal. From there we had about a two mile drive to WalMart to grab a few items. I begged DH to drive to the back of the store to dump the mattress - because all we needed was the box spring(s), and I couldn't take the smell. I learned that WalMart has no dumpster - their compacter is attached to the back of the store. Go figure.

So we got our stuff, which always turns out being more stuff than the stuff that we went in for in the first place. So we come out and it's 8pm and almost dark and I beg DH to drive over to the gas station to dump the mattress. And he says no because there are too many lights. So I say go to the Denny's and dump it. And he says do you not see the lights? And I say yes I see the lights but who cares? And he says that he doesn't want to get arrested for dumping the mattress.

Ok. So we drive around to the back of Beall's dept store. And it's dark and DH is driving like 10 miles an hour scoping all around talking about all of the security cameras. And then he parks in a shadow and jumps out and hauls out the mattress and throws it BEHIND the dumpster (isn't that littering)? And as he does so a car drives by on a road by the dumpster. That was really funny. And as we leave I ask him if he took the tags off the mattress too, because if so they'll double his jail sentence.

I WON!

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Wed, 01 Oct 2008 03:44:00 +0000

I won the chili contest. I will admit that I was pretty surprised. One person made a mole sauce as her base, another used corn and other concoctions... 9 contestants total. I came out on top with 4 whoppin votes. Which is not that many, considering there were like 25 people in the room. But a few of them didn't vote (including myself - because if I had I would have had 5 votes. I'm not afraid to vote for myself. It was good food).

So what they didn't tell us before this whole thing started was that we have to take our ingredients to the site and make the chili there. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I don't cook well under pressure and I don't want all these people coming up asking how things are going. It might be fun, though. And if I win? WOO HOO! You'll never hear the end of it.

Chili, Part II (subtitle: Hell hath no fury)

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 11:04:00 +0000

I make darn good chili. I honestly think that this stuff could win. It feels good in the mouth - the different meats give it texture and flavor, and you can taste the "southwest" - cumin, cilantro, oregano. Then, you swallow, and BAM! The heat rises fast and urgent in the back of the throat, sits for a minute, and then gently fades. It rules.

The problem is that I didn't measure most of the herbs. I just kind of... put them in. So I'll need to remember what everything looked like should I need to make it once again for the final competition (for Junior Achievement).

The picture is slightly deceiving. I did not make the chili in the slow cooker. It's only being used as a warming carafe until this afternoon. Although, undoubtedly, the chili will taste better then since it's had all morning to meld.

Recipe:
Chop 1 and a 1/2 red onions and 1 head of garlic very fine. Set aside.
Brown 8 oz. of medium-heat pork sausage in 2 Tbl. corn oil in a large saute pan(I used one with straight edges). Drain and set aside.
Split 3 lb. of stew meat into 1/3 and 2/3. Cut 1/3 into small, bite size pieces. Grind the other until almost hamburger, removing any large fatty or gristle pieces (I used my food processor for this). Brown all meat in 2 Tbl corn oil. Drain and set aside.
Finely chop 2 strips of thick cut bacon and cook in same skillet until brown. Remove but reserve grease in the pan. Add in onion and garlic, stirring frequently until onions are cooked through. Move onion/garlic mixture into your chili pot.
Deglaze your pan with Patron. Do not partake if you are making the chili before 12pm.
Process bacon until crumbled. Add all meats into the chili pot. Add in one box of beef broth (Swanson's low-sodium), one large can of tomato sauce and one large can of pureed tomatoes (yes, there is a difference). Stir and bring to a boil.
Using your food processor with blade, chop finely 2 jalapeno and 2 arbol peppers, with seeds. Keep your hands and eyes away from the finished product. Add to chili pot and reduce the chili to a simmer for about an hour.
Tip: when you are ready for the next step, pull the lid off toward you so that you shield your face from both the steam and the "heat".
Add 3 heaping tablespoons of cumin; 2 tablespoons of dried cilantro; 2 tablespoons of dried oregano, 2 tablespoons of chili powder, and a heavy dash of red pepper flakes. Stir in thoroughly. Insert three bay leaves around the pot, replace the lid, and simmer for at least 1/2 hour more.
Remove the lid and add 2 Tablespoons of brown sugar and the juice of one lime. Salt to taste.

Chili, Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 08:42:00 +0000

I promise you that this will not become a food blog. There are many excellent food blogs (read: people who do nothing but cook, eat and type) out there. I don't cook enough to be one of those people. Honestly, we eat Chef B at least 3 days a week.

Today, however, is the chili contest at work. Woo Hoo! I love chili. Well, at least, I love my mother's version of chili. When I was a child, my sisters and I got to eat whatever we wanted on our birthdays. It was the one day a year that we got to pick the meal. My middle sister always picked lasagna (what she considers lasagna; she hates ricotta cheese). My youngest sister picked hot dogs and macaroni cheese or pizza. She still picks it, actually, nearly every day.

I, on the other hand, had a much more refined palate. Corn dogs and chili. Yep, you read it right. I LOVE corn dogs. Don't ask me why, but I've never been a fan of the white bun. Fair corn dogs are the best because the cornbread is nice and crispy and the dog is nice a steamy. When I was a kid, I'd squirt ketchup on my plate in a big pile and then I'd put mustard on top and mix it around like I was Degas. Now, I eat them plain.

I don't have my mother's recipe for chili. I know that she used tomato sauce that she canned during the summer, as well as kidney beans and meat and a few other goodies. I hated canning season, and for the longest time, tomatoes: the kitchen always smelled like a tomato exploded (and, if the burner was left too high, it usually had). My aunt would give us a bushel of tomatoes and my mother would blanch them and peel them and then pulverize them through her old-fashioned, hand-operated meat grinder. That was the fun part: watching the big, juicy tomatoes go in and a mess of seeds and juice and tomato meat come out. Mom made spaghetti sauce and tomato sauce (there may not have been a difference) and salsa, and we ate it all throughout the winter in various forms. One year she burned the spaghetti sauce . And we at it all throughout the winter in various forms. That was a bad winter.

So now it is 4:51am EST and I am without my mother's chili recipe. Which may not be a bad thing since this is supposed to be "professional chili" without beans (do real people eat chili without beans, seriously?). I've scoured the internet for decent chili recipes and then manipulated them to be my own, based on the ingredients that I can work with and have available (we are shopping at Winn Dixie, not Fresh Market).

Part I is complete and simmering on the stove for a couple of hours. Once it has simmered I'll add in the rest of the ingredients. At least, that is the plan. If it turns out good you can have the recipe.

Mobile Tiramisu, On Making

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 22:51:00 +0000

Background: DH is determined to get me on the motorcycle. Alone. Driving. This is kind of scary, since my leg is barely strong enough to keep me upright, let alone upright on a 1100cc engine (it's a beasty). I was successful last week driving from the mailbox to the stop sign - about 100 feet - but then konked the battery because I kept trying to start it in second gear. The next night I panicked and the bike fell over. After that, DH decided I needed to learn how to drive a stick shift to "get a feel for the clutch" before getting back on the bike. Do we own a manual shift vehicle? No. So he calls his mother and asks if we can use their truck. And then she invites us to dinner. Wanting neither to have my husband nor his mother to be my Driver's Ed teachers, I of course suggested that we will bring dessert.

Saturday Night: My high school reunion was last night, but my two best friends from high school and I decided to have an un-reunion instead, and stayed up past midnight chatting and reminiscing and watching Food Network together. Awesome.

Sunday Morning: We wake up at a leisurely 9ish am and begin to get ready. Five minutes before we are out the door, I realize I didn't make chocolate cake like I'd planned. So, I grabbed a few items and we headed out the door.

We stop at Publix and pick up a few additional items. Plus I got a little sieve and a spatula because I've wanted both for some time and this was the perfect opportunity. I begged DH since "I had to have them to make this dessert".

DH stopped to get his cup of coffee, and bought me a cup as well. Black, no sugar.

I put as many ladyfingers as would fit in the container, and poured coffee all over them. And myself. It burned my leg.

After that, I relaxed until we got about 20 minutes from his mother's house. Then, I took the ladyfingers out of the container and put them on the serving tray.

I dumped the Marscapone cheese (both tubs) and a mound of powdered sugar into the mixing bowl. I used the whip (which was not the right kind but it's the only one I own) to mix it together. If I'd be thinking, I would have added a bit of cinnamon at this point, but I was kind of panicking since we were getting close to her house and DH kept swerving while he tried to watch me.

The next part looks much trickier than it appears in the pictures. DH held the bowl with one hand and drove with the other. (For those of you playing along, please don't comment on how dangerous this was. I know, I was there.) I spread the mixture on the lady fingers. Then, we put another group of fingers in coffee, put them on top of the first layer, and then added the second layer of cheese mixture. At this point, I had cheese and powdered sugar on the seat, the center console, my shirt, my pants, etc. I used the cocoa and dusted the top. What you don't see is us stopping at Walgreen's to get me another shirt to wear and some cleaning wipes. I hid the evidence of the auto-kitchenry while DH was paying for our last minute goods.

And that is how to make mobile tiramisu. And yes, I did more or less learn how to drive a stick shift. I drove all around the Volusia County Fairgrounds and then drove the truck back to the house. DH only almost had a heart attack once. And yes, the tiramisu was pretty good. And now, only you know our secret.

New Toys

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Sat, 27 Sep 2008 22:55:00 +0000

So DHL is my new best friend because they delivered our new laptop and digital camera today. Granted, I was wearing a quilt because today was my token "lazy day", but the DHL guy didn't seem to mind.

I love new toys. I love adding and customizing and making things perfect. I love the way the keys sound when you touch them (before all of the crumbs and dust get in and soften things up). I love that it runs fast and starts fast. I love just trying stuff out. Vista is not so bad. So far.

What I Love About Facebook

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Sat, 27 Sep 2008 12:10:00 +0000

It is, at first, a little scary. Will any of these people remember me? What kind of information can I put in this profile without getting fired? Do I add every picture I take at every event or just a choice few that show my best profile? Does having hundreds of friends make me look popular or desperate in an online environment? Do I really have to accept every 'Lil Green Plant or can I claim that my online nursery is full?

However, I've grown a bit fond of Facebook. I like seeing what folks are doing in their own parts of the universe. And since there's no way I'm leaving Florida to attend my 10 year high school reunion (crap, I'm old), I can at least keep up with a few of the folks from there. It's a pleasant distance, in a way - a shiny layer of friendliness and reminiscing without actually having to BE there. Awkward.

One of my favorite pastimes in Facebook - when I am tired of playing Spider Solitaire and it's too early for Second Life or cleaning my house or shopping or whatever else I can do in a day - is looking at other people's friends. Usually, I find someone I know and like and that is kind of a score for me. Other times, though - and this is even better - I find people that I know and I didn't like. Or, loathed. That happened today.... I came across a mortal enemy from college. Of course, it's been like 5 years since we parted ways, but that annoying little face shined up at me like a greasy zit on a big day. Ugh. But you know what I got to do? Nothing! I chose NOT to friend him. That's right. We're not friends! The POWER!

Of course, karma.... I have lots of pending friend requests. I'd like to think that folks just don't log in as much as I do. But maybe I'm the zit.

Greetings

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Sat, 20 Sep 2008 15:03:00 +0000

So I'm cleaning up before our shindig tomorrow and I thought it would be wise to put our address labels and stamps in the container with my cards. I keep a small stash of thank you cards for when I feel polite.

The box looked somewhat overflowing, so I took everything out to sort through. It turns out that I need to buy stock in Hallmark. I have no less than 8 Mother's day cards, 1 Mother's Day card for my grandma (sorry Grandma), 3 birthday cards, 2 "congratulations you made an Urchin" cards, along with dozens of various thank you notecards. I don't even know two mothers who made urchins. Only one. And I don't think I have her address.

The Purse: a Sign of Coming of Age

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 16:57:00 +0000

Yesterday, I turned 28. Neither old nor young. I have aches and pains and zits. I am a cook and a maid and a librarian and an executive. A friend and a sister and a daughter (I hope a very good daughter). And a wife. And a lover, occasionally, when the aches and pains and zits don't get in the way.

I am a fan of birthdays. There were days and months and even a year or so that I didn't plan on having more of them. Life is precious and change is constant and we should all take a minimum of one day a year to celebrate us, a gift from God.

So how did I celebrate? Well, I got birthday cards, which I love. And DH bought me a new wallet because mine was all faded. I like the color of the new one better than the old one. And my friend Beth bought me a cookbook (I adore any cookbook that has stories connected to the recipes - because a recipe without a story is just a list of ingredients). And then DH took me out to dinner and to JC Penney for a new purse.

I've only recently become educated in the way of purses. They are just about as diverse as shoes in color, pattern, shape, construction, size, etc. A purse is not just a purse - it is a satchel, a tote, a hobo, a handbag. For ages I've carried a small purse because I don't like much fuss. I needed a wallet, a place for my cell phone, and a place for keys.

Now, though, I'm growing up. And I see the advantage of carrying a pen (or two because I always lose one), tissues, lipstick, pressed powder, a nail file, gum, tic tacs, hand sanitizer, etc. etc. I'm a walking canteen for the feminine persuasion (and you boys out there reading this.. you know darn well that you ask for stuff from us females all the time). In fact, DH and I had a fun time "filling" the new purse last night with various sundries.

I wonder if I'm carrying everything I need. Or, if I have too much. I tried to search the web this morning for "what women carry in purses" and came up with very few relevant results. Is there a definitive lists of must-haves? In addition to what I've listed above I also have a notebook, Tylenol and feminine sundries.

Your thoughts? Gentleman, what should we carry for you, since you don't like having bulky pockets?

Today, I Love Southwest

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 09:01:00 +0000

It's 5:00 am. No one should be up this early. It's amazing how the airport is waking up. The skycap was cheerful but a little sleepy; lights were just coming on in various rooms off of the main walkway; as I type, the coffee bar behind me is just beginning to smell like fresh roast.

I'm sort of fearful about this flight. I try to limit walking whenever possible, so the idea of walking across two airports (let alone the work that we are about to do over the next 3 days) is discomforting. However, once I got to the airport, the Southwest staff put my mind completely at ease. I was almost immediately put into a wheelchair, and a very nice young man (young.. my age.. if I am young) wheeled me through the entire airport, including security. He even helped me get my shoes off to go through the detector. He was friendly without being overly talkative. He wheeled me straight to the gate door. I can only pray that the service is comparable at Midway.

This Too Shall....

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 00:43:00 +0000

I'm having a difficult week. And this might be a difficult post. So difficult, in fact, that I am not naming until it's written, because the words that keep coming to my head really don't make sense, or are probably inappropriate.

I believe I'm somewhat of an empathic director. That is, when my librarians are upset or frustrated, I am also upset or frustrated. I try be a good manager. I try to offer solutions and suggestions and good sides to the issues and challenges that they are frustrating. But at the end of a call, or chat session, or face to face, I'm emotionally wrought and intellectually exhausted. If I were in their shoes, I may do things differently, but I would still be upset or frustrated by the situations that they face. Some are typical for any academic (well, really, ANY) library; others are not so typical, and could probably be resolved if the individuals with whom they work would communicate more or have greater respect for the library as place and service.

I'm challenged that I cannot solve most (and sometimes, any) of the challenges that are shared with me. Sometimes it is a matter of choice; the librarian has to work with his/her campus management team to work out campus issues. I would be out of place (and probably burn a bridge or two) if I tried to be an intermediary. Other times, even if I wanted to stick my nose in, it would do no good. Sometimes stuff just happens and it kind of sucks.

I try to take the issues that come up and spin them into system-level projects that, in time, may (hopefully) resolve many of the issues. The changes to the monthly stats collection and the way we provide Info Lit instruction are examples of that: serious issues have come up about campus communication of library metrics and classroom instruction/faculty collaboration. I expect that, in the long term, these projects may be solutions. However, many members of the team are either too busy with campus-level work, or too frustrated with the lack of immediate improvement, that I garner little participation. These leaves me with a two-fold issue; I can't solve the immediate issues, and I'm left with rather hefty projects that I complete with minimal buy-in. And minimal buy-in is the exact opposite of the way that I want to manage a team. We are not a democracy, but only individuals with an investment are concerned with the outcome. Ask anyone who's bought stocks in the last four years.

So, for those of you at home keeping score, I cannot solve the problems, I share my team's frustrations with campus-level challenges, I struggle with the major projects, and I feel like an inadequate manager due to my project completion style.

I'm not sure how much else I can say without placing myself in a potentially uncomfortable position. I guess that my final note is that this blog seems to be my only true outlet for sharing my (what I can only describe as) angst. I think it's unfortunate that any individual feels that they don't have the support from their supervisors to vent, or resolve concerns. I know that I'm not the only person who is struggling - one could read any number of blogs to swim through the same drudgery. I guess that - in not so recent weeks - I believe I was more of an idealist; I could look at a challenge ready with a feasible solution or a logical upside. Now... I'm disheartened, and upset.

There is a large spot of personal trials in this. I hurt my lower back/hip area several months ago, and by the end of June it was nearly impossible for me to walk or stand for longer than a few minutes at a time without intense pain. I'm in physical therapy, but I still struggle with standing or walking. For those still reading this post, you probably are thinking something about how sad or unfortunate it is, but please think on it a moment longer. Can you count up the number of times during a day that you stand still longer than 2-3 minutes? Walk more than 50 feet? Grocery shopping? Showering? Cleaning? Talking at the proverbial water cooler? Making Kool-Aid? Yup. Pretty much gone. It's left me with a feeling of laziness (I just cannot keep up with housework; I don't cook much because it requires too much standing) and inadequacy (again).

I don't know what's left.

Kimono Dreams

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Tue, 26 Aug 2008 03:08:00 +0000

There is something blissful about a kimono. Soft, peaceful, quiet, like a nice mid-afternoon dream. Silky and smooth. Even the darkest threads feel creamy.

I want a day like this. I want a kimono day.

Kimono and Hair by Orchid Dreams.

Superspy? Mwah?

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 17:22:00 +0000

Saturday - Really?

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 01:48:00 +0000

3:30am: wake up to the sound of rain. My half-hazed head thinks that Fay made it into my bedroom; but no. My husband left the garage door open to listen for the rain to lighten up before leaving for work. I suggest that I'll take him to work. He says no. I silently say "thank God" and trudge back to bed.

4:00am: as I'm nodding off, realize I have an increasingly painful headache.

9:30am: wake up with a full-blown migraine. Take 4 Aleve and crawl back into bed with the laptop. Avoid kitten claws while logging into Second Life.

11:00am: make my first pass at cleaning the kitchen. End up moving around all of the silverware/utensil drawers and only putting away the top shelf of the dishwasher.

12:00pm: realize I've spent most of the day buying artificial shoes, hair and clothes for an avatar in an artificial world using real money. Dismiss my concerns since my avatar looks darn good.

1:20pm: Hubby comes home earlier than expected. Nothing is done. Oops.

2:00pm: Naptime.

4:30pm: Wake up from a deep sleep and thoroughly weird dreams. Grateful to be awake. Until I realize the house is still dirty.

5:00pm: Lose my first game of darts to hubby.

6:00pm: Good dinner. Steak and french fries.

6:30pm: Lose my second game of darts to hubby.

7:00pm: Take a nightmare motorcycle ride. No helmet, bugs hitting me left and right. Never underestimate the pain velocity of suicidal bugs.

7:30pm: Search unsuccessfully for the zip drive containing my database project. Why do I always lose the large gig drives?

9:15pm-ish: Desperately seek out a ravishing fairy costume for the ALA party in SL. I look good.

Eboku Nightfire Fashion Gallery, Part I

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Sat, 23 Aug 2008 00:49:00 +0000

Yes, Eboku is fabulous.

Outfit: Liberte Fashion
Shoes: Lassitude & Ennui
Jewelry: Swallowtail
Hair: Mystikal Hair Designs

Cereal Offenders

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 15:27:00 +0000

It could be because I'm just hungry.... or because we have so much of it that it's practically pouring out of the pantry... but I can't stop thinking that the people we work with sometimes are very much like cereal:

The Cheerio: Happy to be at work. Happy to be working. Happy to be annoying everyone with my happiness.

The Rice Krispie: Perfunctory. Does exactly what needs to be done with an attitude of intolerance. Very efficient.

The Captain Crunch: One strangely dressed manager to lead them all.

The Corn Flake: I don't really know what I'm doing. I'll sit here and play solitaire. Wait, how do I open solitaire again?

Any other suggestions?

Peeling It Off

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Tue, 19 Aug 2008 01:57:00 +0000

When I was a kid (or, two weeks ago), I loved putting school glue all over my hands and letting it dry and peeling it off. I know this is borderline mental, but hear me out: first, it was an excellent waste of what always seemed to be an excessive amount of glue in the house; second, I could do nothing but wait while the glue dried (Lord forbid I touch anything); third, I just love the feeling of that thick skin coming off my palms and fingers, letting my skin breathe like it's brand new.

I guess grownups have their own methods of peeling. In Florida, it's called the "absence of suntan lotion". Hubby and I also experienced this recently. He decided not to put lotion on; I got every part that I could reach, which does not include the center of my back (I swear I used to be more flexible). This week, though, we both are experiencing the adult version of peeling - the ugly gross skin coming off at embarrassing moments, like we have some kind of body dandruff.

The moral of the story: I want to peel it off. The day, the week, the month. It was partially good - just like old skin is partially good. But so is that glue that just sticks and oozes and makes us wait for the clean, refreshing, new skin.

Peel it off.

Transparent Post-Its

noreply@blogger.com (Emily) — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 01:42:00 +0000

Boys and girls, this is the schizzle.

I'm a fan of the clean book. Something that I highlighted 5 years ago may no longer be relevant now (a love poem, for example - although it is. Relevant, I mean).

Librarians, buy 'em by the qua-dozen and keep them in on every table in the library. No more hours spent erasing/whiting-out stupid-patron-marks in books that they don't own.

Thanks to Unclutterer for this idea and many others that I've wasted time on tonight when I should be packing.