Spinster

I leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow for the American Library Association’s Annual Conference in New Orleans, LA. I was chosen to participate in the student-to-staff program sponsored by the ALA for their student chapters. My name was picked out of a hat (lucky me–I didn’t have to write an essay or anything! Cause if I had had to, we all know I wouldn’t have been chosen) and so I’m off to the conference for five days.

I haven’t really been thinking much about it, as I’ve had other things to concentrate on for the past few weeks, but now that I’m actually going I’m starting to get excited. The events that I’ll be able to attend sound pretty interesting (“From the Bronx to the Burbs: Defining, Collecting, and Preservation of Hip Hop Culture, Literature, & Resources” sounds like it could be cool), and New Orleans is a pretty interesting city made even more so by Hurricane Katrina.

I’ve been to NO before so it’ll be interesting to see the havoc that Katrina wrought, to see how it has changed the urban landscape, and to see how it compares to the change that took place in Miami after Hurricane Andrew. Not that I’ll get the same kind of intimate look at NO that I did with Miami. I was hoping to participate in Librarians Build Communities!, the joint effort of the New Orleans Public Library and various service organizations (Habitat for Humanity and United Way were mentioned) to encourage conference attendees to spend one full day working to aid the city and its residents, but because I’m expected at my volunteer “job” that won’t be happening.

Anyway, it should be interesting and I’ll be bringing my computer with me to the conference so I’ll be able to update and hopefully post some pictures.

Crap. I just wrote a long post about last night and how I saw a mini three-way in a bar. But then Blogger fucked up and lost it. Do I really feel like writing the whole thing all over again? I’m not really sure. I’ll try, though.

So on Friday night I met this guy and gave him my number because he was nice, not because I was drunk. Well, not only because I was drunk. We went out last night, first to one of my favorite little bars by my house, then later to a place called Cameron House to see this band. The music was great and I was having a wonderful time–the vibe was convivial, the company was excellent, and the beer was flowing freely.

I was really digging the music and the band had my undivided attention until I saw the beginnings of a three-way across the bar. Keep in mind that this is a small place, and though they were in a corner, it wasn’t a super-dark or -secluded corner. And the participants were not that attractive. I say, if I have to watch people make out in public, they might as well be good looking. The guy was sitting in between the two girls, and kept making out with one girl while rubbing the other girl’s leg. While she, in turn, was rubbing his leg. Sometimes he would stop and kiss her neck, or she would rub his back, or whatever. I realized that she was totally second fiddle though, cause he never actually kissed her, like on the lips. Why the hell would you engage in a threesome if you weren’t seeing any action? What is the point of that?

I’m not usually clothed in patriotic red, white, and blue, but when the US is playing Italy in the World Cup and Toronto has its own Little Italy, how could I resist?

I decked myself out in the red tank top and blue skirt (sans flag) and walked down to meet my friends to watch the game on College Street. En route, I spotted a yard sale (I am my mother’s daughter, make no mistake) and there was an American flag for sale. I’m pretty sure that was a gift from the universe, cause just last night I was telling Eddie that if we could find a flag before the game today, I’d wear it and nothing else. So the flag was cheap and I bought it, and the guy who sold it to me told me this fantastic story about a “real” American flag he had at his house:

Apparently, during World War 2, his parents were in an internment camp. When the Americans came to liberate the camp, they naturally hoisted the flag. His mother was “a gorgeous woman” and wisely decided to flirt with an American soldier. They were drinking and talking, just generally having a good time, and she asked him if she could have the flag. He brought it down from the flagpole and gave it to her. She kept it for decades before giving it to her son.

He is now thinking of selling it on EBay.

Is he crazy? That flag has fewer than 50 stars on it, which makes it valuable historically, and has an interesting story behind it, which makes it valuable both personally and historically. I can understand not having the resources to care for a flag (fabric deteriorates, after all), but if you have to get rid of it, donate it to a museum. Don’t sell it on EBay. No matter what kind of money you would get for it, it’s not worth it.

Anyway, I bought the flag and headed for Dave’s house, where we were going to meet before the game. Keep in mind that we were definitely merry last night: Dave’s landlady was having a barbecue and everyone was invited so, naturally, everyone came; later, we moved on to the bars on College Street.

Number of guys I hit on: 1/2 (it doesn’t count if it was a conversation and I knew him prior to the drinking, right?)
Number of same guys who have a girlfriend: 1 (dork)
Number of guys who hit on me: 1
Number of guys who hit on me who actually listened to what I had to say: 1
Number of guys who hit on me who I gave my number to: 1

All in all, not bad. Add to that the hilarity of Alli giving Tamara a piggy-back ride for 650 meters (those were the rules) because Tamara was wearing her party shoes, the ridiculousness of the following pick-up line: “Where did you get those beads? Mardi gras?” (Tamara was wearing a necklace and therefore was the recipient of that gem), and the general drunkenness of the company, and you have yourself a pretty good night out.

Um, where was I? Oh yeah, the World Cup. My digression actually has a semi-point. No, it doesn’t. I just wanted to say that for once, I didn’t get drunk and stupidly hit on some lame guy.

Point made, so we’re moving on.

I met my friends at Dave’s and we headed west on College to find a good bar. I decided that Eddie should wear the flag, cause I had my colors on and he wussed out and wore an England jersey. College Street was blocked off, maybe for the WC? Little Italy is fiercely patriotic, which is why I wanted to watch the game there. Not to torment the other team, but just to feel that exhilaration of an audience that actually gives a shit about the score. We definitely found it. We went to the College Street Bar, where they drew a pretty sizeable crowd for the game. Luckily, we got there during the Ghana-Czech Republic game so there were still seats.

And here’s where it gets kind of ranty. Ok, so you own and operate a bar in Little Italy. Pretty patriotic part of town, huge soccer fans. The World Cup comes around. Italy is playing the US on a Saturday. The main street is blocked off. People are everywhere. Why in the name of all that is holy would you only have 1 server covering the entire bar? Not to mention a sour-faced and disagreeable bartender/bitch? There were 6 of us at a small table meant for four (barely), and 4 of us had ordered food. The couple at the table next to us got up and we asked our server (and by “our” I mean “the only”) if we could take that table. She said yes. As soon as we made a move towards it, however, the sour-faced woman honed in on it/us and refused to allow us to use it because there were people waiting. Well, yes, I can see that, sweetheart, but we just wanted the extra room so we could eat. There is nothing I hate more than bitchy waitstaff.

We contemplated leaving but what the hell, we weren’t going to find room anywhere else. So we stayed for the duration of the game. Which was wonderful. What a nail-biter! What made it better is that we ended up running into an Italian guy who is in my program, and he was with his girlfriend and some other Italy fans. We sat at 2 tables (ha!) and, despite the inherent rivalry, it was a great experience. The teams were playing with such heart and determination, and there were so many close calls, and there was none of that “In your face” crap (though I’d have dished it if I could have). We tied, 1-1.

I walked home, wearing the flag as a cape. Several people stopped me to ask the score, and one guy said, “Ahh, USA. Go USA! Go Bush!”

Sorry there, buddy, my patriotism doesn’t run that deep.

There was a boy I dated in college. It was definitely an epic relationship–3 1/2 years, and we lived together for 1 1/2 of those years. We started dating when we were 18 and broke up when we were 22. He was most certainly the one who I fell in love with and who broke my heart. (Not that I didn’t have a lot to do with the end of our relationship.)

Anyway, we’re still sort of in touch. He called me last year on my birthday. This year I got an email. (My mom says he remembers my birthday because after we broke up, he went out with a girl who shares my birthday. Bitch! The girl, not my mom.) I emailed him on his birthday, as well. My brother is thinking of moving to California, and as this ex-boyfriend was living in northern California the last I knew of his whereabouts, I thought I’d send him an email asking if he would be willing to help my brother out. The ex kindly gave me his brother’s contact info, as the ex is now living in Barcelona, Spain. That’s cool, I love Barcelona.

What I don’t love, however, is the ex’s email. For example, he’s not “living” in Barcelona, he’s “L.I.V.I.N” in Barcelona. Is that a reference to Ricky Martin, like Livin La Vida Loca? I seriously can’t figure it out. He refers to Canada as “Kanukistan,” which is kind of offensive, and is spelled incorrectly anyway (should be “Canuckistan”). Florida, my home state, is called “Flaurida,” which I suppose is the way some Floridians pronounce the word, but still.

The ex is a brilliant guy, far smarter than I could ever hope to be. He and I were compatible in so many ways, and lately I’ve been thinking about how I haven’t really met anyone I’m as compatible with since. Until now, that is. Maybe I used to find his semantic antics (how’s that for annoying) cute, but now I just want to bash my head against the monitor and tell him to stop, for the love of God.

For those of you who don’t know what I do, I’m currently in the process of obtaining a master’s in information studies, with a focus in archives that is becoming more of a focus in libraries (I didn’t really like my archives classes all that much).

I was originally drawn to this profession because I love reading. It was pretty much as simple as that, with an added interest in literacy and access to information. After a few retail customer service jobs, I was kind of turned off from working with the public, so I thought I’d pursue archives as a way of getting more into the reference and research aspect of information studies.

As I have limited professional experience in either an archives or a library, I’m not really sure which one I prefer. What I do know is that I do not care for the theory of information studies or archives, nor am I particularly interested in the endless stream of new technologies that is constantly parading by. I think that I’m into a more down-home, simple, Luddite desire to promote literacy and books; and to remind people that, even in this fast-paced technophile world, you will never need a machine to read a book. I may be perennially unemployed in the future due to my lack of interest/ability in the technology sector, so my opinion may be moot. Anyway, I usually do not wax poetic or rhapsodic or anything, really, about information studies on this blog.

However, this Info*nation business caught my eye. I’m usually not a shill for–well, for anything, really. (Except maybe yarn stores.) However, I’m at work, and I’m browsing through information studies-related journals looking for book reviews, and I came across a very hip ad featuring a guy getting “Info*nation” tattooed onto his arm. The tag line says, “It’s in the blood,” and underneath is the phrase, “choose a career in libraries.”

Clearly, this is designed to appeal to the young, hip twentysomething who takes pride in the geekiness and techno-appeal of his or her chosen profession or potential profession. I’m hoping it won’t dwell on the technological aspect of it, since I really don’t care about the latest in RAM or meta-beta-blahblahblah-whatever. I’m hoping that they will provide some interesting insights into a profession that seems to be constantly at odds with itself (does it embrace technology, as it would seem to love to do, or shy away from it because of a lack of resources? do patrons really show library loyalty, or can they do without brick and mortar libraries with the advent of the internet? are there jobs available, as the greying of the profession would suggest, or is it a no-man’s-land of unemployment, as a bunch of recent articles would have me believe?).

Anyway, the site’s launch isn’t until July 1st, but they do have some info up and it’s worth checking out. It’ll be interesting to see what the site turns out to be like.

Here I am, eating lunch (ramen and a smoothie; I figure that the goodness of the smoothie totally cancels out the damage that the ramen is doing) and basking in the cool air of my fan. I was reading blogs, enjoying It seemed like a good idea… and I thought to myself, “I should post something on my own blog.” I even thought of a topic. But then I logged into Blogger and I completely forgot what I was going to say. So then I thought about what else I could say. I got nothing, people. Nothing. Not one single interesting thing to write about. I guess I could say congratulations to Lorien, cause she graduated yesterday. So, congrats, Lorien. There. Now I really have nothing.

Dear World Cup,

Every four years, I get to watch incredibly fit men run around in shorts and showing off their muscular legs. Soccer players seriously have the best bodies. The first time I watched the WC in 1998, I remember looking forward to seeing the Brazilians play cause I figured they’d be the hottest. Then I saw the Yugoslavian team. Hot damn! Now, I’m older and a little bit wiser. I watch Brazil when I want to see a great soccer game. I watch England, Croatia, and Switzerland when I want to drool.

Anyway, on behalf of women everywhere, I just wanted to say thanks.

Sincerely,

Tasha

As I sit here writing this post, I’m on my bed. I have my knitting, I just woke up from an excellent nap, and it’s going to be a pretty laid back evening around here. I have my iPod plugged in and my iTunes on, and I can’t decide what to listen to.

I am not obsessed with music but I have always believed firmly in two solid Rules of Music: 1) making a great mix tape (or CD or mp3 playlist) is an art and some people just naturally have an affinity for it, and 2) there is a perfect song for every situation.

I love the book High Fidelity for emphasizing the importance of the mix tape and how the arrangement and positioning of the songs is as crucial as the songs themselves: put the music in the wrong order and you could end up sending the recipient the wrong message entirely. In the book, the main character, whose name I forget now, redeems himself to his estranged girlfriend at the end by putting together a mix tape for her. He’d done that many times, of course, but this time the tape finally contains music that she actually likes, not just music that he thinks she should like, thus signifying his acceptance of her as a person, flaws and all.

I’m not sure I ever had any great talent for the mix tape. As I said, I like music but I’m not obsessed with it, and I would often start out with the best of intentions for putting together a killer mix, but then sort of trail off as I found a really good book to read, or I got hungry, or whatever, and it would end up a little sloppy. Some people, though, are mix tape geniuses. They always include the right songs, perfect for the listener, who wouldn’t even realize that their friend knew their taste so well, and always in the right order. At least, I think that’s what these people would do, as I’m not sure I’ve ever met a Mix Tape Genius. They’re elusive and wily, after all.

As for the perfect song for every situation, I tend to refer to this phenomenon (in my head) as the Soundtrack of Life. Like, when I was living in Portland and the sun broke through the clouds on a blustery spring day, I figured that the Jukebox in the Sky (NOT a metaphor for heaven, but an actual jukebox that resided in the sky) should break out The Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun.” Similarly, there was this guy named Jesse that I had a massive crush on, and whenever he walked by, Rick Springfield’s “Jesse’s Girl” would start playing (and the lyrics would go, “I wish that I was Jesse’s Girl,” instead of, “I wish that I had Jesse’s girl”). Just simple things like that, music that would emphasize a mood or a feeling or a situation instead of creating one.

But right now I can’t decide what to listen to. I’m definitely feeling laid back. I tried the Grateful Dead but didn’t get too far. I can’t listen to one more second of Death Cab right now. I listened to the Postal Service earlier. Elliott Smith is too depressing at the moment. Or maybe I should just go with the flow. Clearly, I have musical ADD and I shouldn’t try to force myself to listen to one band or one artist. I need something more eclectic than that.

1. Does anyone else think that the phrase “screen shot” sounds dirty?

2. I hate the feeling of fax paper. It grosses me out to the point that I would really prefer to never touch it again.

I have managed to watch an amazing amount of television this weekend. I watched some of The Office, I watched two movies, some soccer, and I finished watching the first season of Veronica Mars and started watching the second season. Isn’t it the best show? If I could be one character on TV, I would totally be Veronica Mars. I don’t necessarily want her crazy problems, but I would love her hair and her wardrobe. She always looks so cute. And I wouldn’t mind making out with cute guys, either, although I have to say, I’m not a huge Duncan fan. He just looks too jockish and solid. I definitely like Leo, though. I ended up liking Logan but I can see why she broke up with him. I don’t know what happens on the rest of the second season, so don’t tell me!

Look at this!

I’m about to begin the shoulder shaping on the back of my Pistachio Aran! Verrry exciting. This sweater is knitting up so fast, I love it.

And! More crafts: I’m working on a top I’ve been meaning so sew for, like, decades. Not actually decades, obviously, just a while.

And! Aundra’s coming to visit me in August!!!! That is ridiculously exciting and I know we’ll have tons of fun. We always do. It’s sort of become a tradition for us to see each other in the summer, though so far it’s always been me visiting her. So this time she’ll be on my turf. I’m so dragging her to the shoe museum. She did absolutely refuse the textile museum, though, much to my dismay.

God this post is so lame and exclamatory. Sorry. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll be back to my usual grumpy self.