There's a Naked Man in the Law Library

Bet you weren't expecting that. These are the mumblings and rants of a 26-year-old librarian from San Angelo, TX, who collects fandoms and drinks entirely too much coffee. SO much, in fact, that she occasionally starts writing in the third person... oops.

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This direwolf made a friend. A girl is not the only fan in the office. Lol. (at North Angelo Branch Library) https://www.instagram.com/cpreas/p/Bv2o0vkhjCF/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=16y9r97w8boog

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You're Welcome, Westeros

Can someone please Photoshop Dany's head onto Maui's body, and Jon Snow's onto Moana? I felt like that whole time, Dany was like: "Jon, I brought the dragons back... You're welcome! For the fire that rains from the sky... There's no need for slaves to pray-- they're welcome. I freed them all on my way! Take the damn dragon glass today, Jon. You're welcome! It's just my way of being me! What has two thumbs and walks out of fire....?"

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Syringes and Spoons

When your coworker is shifting books on the bottom shelf, and,  Lo and behold! Silver and Gold!  Oh wait, no, that’s just a syringe and a spoon......

[radioactivebumpersticker]

Me when Olly was hanged:

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ME too! Good riddance.

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I’m still glad that Jon killed Olly. I don’t care if it’s insensitive, or wrong to feel that way. I couldn’t give a shit less. The kid’s a traitor, and now he’s dead. And no, I’m not going to feel bad about it. This show illustrates how different people react to moral dillemas in different circumstances. There is more than one way to feel about ALL of the decisions made on Game Of Thrones. And I don’t particularly care if you want to cry a river for the kid. I don’t.  He made his decision. And now his watch is ended.

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Emo Kylo Ren "Hello" cover

Every time I hear "Hello" by Adele, I picture Emo Kylo Ren singing it. Seriously. Can someone please sing that version? Hello. It's Ben I was wondering if after all these years we'd meet again and talk over everything. They say the Force is supposed to heal you, but I ain't done much healing. Hello, Can you hear me? Hux and I are dreaming about the way it used to be, when we were younger and free. But you don't know how it feels to have the world kneel at your feet. There's such a difference between us, and a million miles. Hello from the Dark Side. I must have killed a thousand times. I'd tell you I'm sorry, for all that I've done, but when I call, you're off searching for the Millenium Falcon. Hello. It's Kylo. It's so typical of me to talk about Darth Vader, sorry. I hope that girl is dead, Or she never makes it off of that planet where nothing ever happens... It's no secret that the Resistance Is running out of time. Hello from Starkiller Base. We'll shoot the Republic in the face. I'd tell you I'm sorry, but you know that I'm not. We'll restore the First Order with that very first shot. Hello from the Dark Side. At least now you can't see me cry. I'd tell mom I'm sorry for breaking her heart, but it don't matter; it clearly doesn't tear her apart anymore.

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T.S. Eliot has one "l" and "Waste Land" is 2 words.

Me, in a pow-wow of librarians trying to answer a question for a patron.

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To the Man who writes Fanfic about me...

You are cheap, not frugal. You are rude, not funny. You are not a comedy genius. You are an egotist of the most stupendous magnitude. 

Take your binder of erotic sci-fi fantasies, featuring me as a hyper-sexualized robot, and shove them up your rear end. 

Stop practicing “karate” behind the Dollar General building. It doesn’t impress a damn soul.

And for the love of God, do NOT buy me flowers again. Or a 48″ teddy bear. 

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The best comic ever drawn/written about libraries. Every day, I feel like I live inside this comic.

Their entry on 8/4 definitely resonates with me.

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People or plastic?

You know, I’m finally starting to get used to the requests for books of unknown origin. “I would like a book... no, I don’t know the name... no, I don’t know the subject... no, I don’t know the author... but I saw it on Good Morning America.”

I am still unaccustomed, however, to the occasional reference request of inconceivable motive. For example, a patron told me she wanted to order and ship food to someone via the Internet, without using the keyboard at all.    She could not give me the name of the website, or name any food product she sent last time. She didn’t give me the name of a program, or the person who was receiving food. All she could tell me was the “nice young man” (my predecessor) brought up a list of food. All she had to do was point and click. When I told her she would need to type in food items to search on most websites (Walmart, Schwann’s, etc), she exclaimed “SHIT!” as loud as  humanly possible.  Six hours later, I called the “nice young man” who helped her the first time, and he finally bought me a vowel. She was sending food to a relative in an institution, via a state program. Now, how in the hell was I supposed to get that?

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Explaining Myself

Let me begin by saying that I am NOT a spiritual person. I have had a distinctly non-spiritual existence so far. (When I say "non-spiritual," I don't mean to evoke your knee-jerk stereotype of rationality--Sheldon Cooper.) Put simply, I am insensitive to the kinds of mojo to which others are attuned. Religion, zen, and transcendence are completely lost on me.

I've often wondered what this says about my relationships, my work, and my life. The psychologists tell us that neither truth nor reality exist, and that our belief in those concepts is as childish as our belief in a higher power. I don't want to believe that. The religious tell us that truth and reality come to us only through an entity completely beyond our control, and that we will be rewarded with a better plane of existence if we play by the entity's rules.  I don't want to believe that either.

It's funny how adulthood strikes you right between the eyes when you least expect it. When you're chopping up onions for dinner, and suddenly remember a feeling--a remnant of the streaks of passion that used to radiate from every pore. I can close my eyes and remember how quick I used to be, running on a wave, flying on a current in my mind. A sentence could carry me to the other side of the world. Small moments imprinted so deeply on my consciousness, that they seem too large in retrospect. They dominate my memory.  They carried me.

I am aware of minutiae now, and manifold subtleties. I am no longer swept away. The floor is gray, and I pace the familiar paths, attempting to be grateful. It is increasingly difficult for me to know myself, let alone explain myself.

Think about it. How close do you ever come to saying what you mean?  We think, speak, and type in a code that does not accurately represent our thoughts. At best, language is a way to lessen the void between us; yet the void remains.

I suspect this void is responsible for many evils, such as cooking dinner, while simultaneously  remembering a life that you only lived in your head.

I look around me and smile. Maybe I haven't matured at all.

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One of these things just doesn't belong here.

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"I need to put this serial killer book back on the shelf," I said "Why?" a coworker asked. "Because I'm enjoying it," I replied.

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Netflix, or, How I Came to Love TV as I Love Books

Netflix, or, How I Came to Love TV as I Love Books

Oddly enough, I’m a librarian.

My acquaintances and associates will tell you that I am a reader; only my closest friends know the truth, that I am an unapologetic book snob.

Don’t get me wrong. I think all genres are equally wonderful, and I don’t disdain any person for their reading selections. 

Rather, I am an exacting, and absolutely ruthless reader. If a book does not capture my complete attention, draw me in close and transport me, and utterly destroy my notions of reality, I am bored. I hem-haw and complain and drag my feet in an admittedly unattractive fashion, trudging through a book as though it were a homework assignment. When I devote my attention to a novel, I had better be wholeheartedly absorbed.  Otherwise, I am liable to quit halfway through a book, or even halfway through a series. One might easily mistake me for a commitment-phobic.

Yet it is not the time consumption that troubles me. My favorite books are The Lord of the Rings novels, and the Song of Ice and Fire series. I read those daunting butt-numbers with patience and no small amount of enjoyment. Neither is it the mental effort that troubles me; I derive immense joy from Shakespeare, Jane Austen, and other classics.

My distinction between an epic book and a “blah” book is the thrill of theory-crafting. I love to sit around with someone and discuss what’s going on, react to the novel, and celebrate it. 

Enter Netflix, an endless TV stream that sails a person from Season 1 to Season 10 of any show without a single interruption. My boyfriend and I worship at the Netflix altar nearly every night.

Streaming-video services have transformed the way I comprehend television. I have stopped seeing TV as an episodic, flighty entertainment medium, and have started watching shows the way I read books.

(“BLASPHEMY!”, I hear the bookworms scream from their cozy nooks).

Each season is a novel. I squirm with anticipation, mumbling and scooting closer to my boyfriend on the couch. We discuss what we think is going to happen next; where’s the story going? What’s the point? Who’s really to blame? Which character is toast? 

The longer the show, the more time we have to bond over it. J  The cult-phenomenon that is Doctor Who, for example, is the subject of many philosophical discussions (and the basis of numerous friendships); Supernatural is a guilty pleasure riddled with folklore, horror, and comedy. Game of Thrones provides an utterly enthralling and cynical overview of human nature and political ambition.

Fans and supporters of popular TV shows frequently explode Twitter, Tumblr, and other social networking sites. Cheaply dubbed “fandoms,” they are in fact clubs who love characters, plot, and thematic elements every bit as much as moviegoers or readers.  

Not all TV shows are cliché and inane; many are downright impressive stories with depth and wisdom. Next time you are getting ready to deride someone for being a couch potato, try to keep in mind that they might be processing on a higher level.      

 It ain’t all Ice Road Truckers and Honey Boo-boo.  

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Why I miss Rose Tyler

It seems strange, looking back over companions like Clara, Amy, and Donna, that I should still be attached to Rose Tyler. After all, I prefer my heroines bookish, strong, or funny. Rose was not exceptional in any of these categories. What set Rose apart was her willingness to laugh at herself, to enjoy adventures, and to fall for an alien...but at the same time, to be doubtful, scornful, and selfish. Rose did not always stay put, or stay strong. Sometimes she caved. She could be kind to a stranger, and mean to her mum. She could be a good soldier one minute, and a God the next. I never knew , in advance, where her story arc was going,but I felt like we were getting somewhere. I just didn't feel that way with the others.

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Nope

To the paranoid delusional man who believes he is married to a (nonexistent) large German pregnant woman: I can handle your obsession with books on Monica Lewinsky, Dolly Parton, breastfeeding, memoir-writing, prostate exams, and Kim Kardashian. But I draw the line at tantric yoga. #librarianproblems