Thursday, July 29, 2004


I don't know why, but this is really making me laugh.

I found it while browsing for Strangers With Candy sound clips this morning. Yes, I candidly admit, I enjoy a bit of Jerry Blank humor. OK, more than a bit. In fact I am also en amour with her brother David .

Anyway, enjoy.

On a side note, a bit of humor. A 5 year old was standing on a chair screaming in the computer area. Loudly, and flailing his arms...after which the chair fell over..and he landed flat on his face.

While pushing himself up in a faux pilates seal, I walked over and uprighted the chair. I looked him in the face and said "...and this is why we do not stand on chairs".

Moral of this blog: Laughter is the best medicine, even if it has to be in private because what we are laughing about is too terrible to admit to finding amusement in.

He looked around confused for a minute, and got up and went to play.

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Spread 'Em

Ahh. Never a dull day at the public library. This weekend, while I was gone, apparently we had some fun.

A man wandered into the library wearing a white vest, and a navy blue head band, with a little kids Sheriff's badge pinned to his vest. He had hand cuffs (I totally just typed cufflinks) and a night stick tied to his belt. Because of course, this is exactly what police officers wear.

He attempted to evict all the librarians, in the name of the local police department. He really thought he was a cop. Scarey, yet!! We called the police, and they told the man that it was illegal to impersonate a police officer. That's it. Didn't arrest him. Nice to know you just get slapped on the wrist for pretending you are a cop.

On another note, bloggers are finally getting thier own ! Lots of press attention right now, for the first time we are being given journalists credentials and being allowed into the Democratic National Convention.

I could kerry on all day about this, but in heinz site, that is probably a bad this isn't a political blog. Its a librarians blog.

Moral of this blog: call fo' police when faced with faux police.

Friday, July 23, 2004


I am blogging to you live from Chicago, while I take coffee in my dear friends sun room. Flying to Chicago has never been such an ordeal. My flight was supposed to depart last night from the almost square state at 7:55. I left at 11:15...but don't forget...I arrived 2 hours early for my flight. (for security purposes). So, I spent a grand total of 5.15 hours in the airport...almost enough time for me to have DRIVEN to Chicago from my locale!!

Anyway, I'm here now. Today is going to be full of seeing my gorgeous friends, sipping chilled beverages and eating sandwiches on the beach, and seeing some modern dance. Not your cup of tea? Well, your not here. You read this to live my fabulous life vicariously anyway. Maybe.

The modern dance performance I'm going to see tonight is funded by a CAPA grant...which is a really big deal here in Chicago. My boyfriend is a guest artist, and he's brought along 4 other people to perform with him here. Its amazing. We are staying at our friends vintage condo, which has been gut rehabbed and furnished with fine family pieces and well chosen antiques. I do covet the persian knot rugs in both the livingroom and dining room. I have to admit that.

I am off to make myself look impeccible for the beach. My Burberry box cut bathing suit has been crying for me to wear it. Watch out Chicago.

Moral of this blog: Knot rugs. There a good thing.

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

A bird in the hand

I have never used this space to reflect anything other than personal beliefs, so it is with great pleasure I also add to it Librarians Against Bush . Now, perhaps you are secretly snickering to yourself..and reading double entendre into this...thinking that I perhaps would suggesting reading about "Librarians for brazillian waxes"..but that is not the direction I am going in at all. This is a pure and simple political statement.

A few months ago, and perhaps this shows my public library experience has had some impact on me, the FBI pulled library records for one of our branches while investigating a suspected terrorist. Protocol was sent out to all of our branches informing us on "FBI ettiquette". Even for a patron I hated, I would not give up their records. Our system deletes the patron record as soon as their materials are checked back in, effectively making us unable to provide such records. If the patron does have materials out, that is another story. All I would have to do is press print. But I wouldn't. I'm a rebel AND hot. Who knew?

While I am not encouraging any of you to vote for Kerry, as I will... I am simply encouraging you not to vote for Bush. But do as you please, its only our privacy at stake. Please pronounce that prih-vih-cee.

And last but not least, more sacrilege because I think its funny. I want this, and think I would look rather lush in pink.

Moral of this blog: Barbara Bush. Neither Barbara nor a bush. Discuss amongst yourselves.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004


I was granted residency. My tuition is going to be halved!!!!

Now I really pretend to afford to live the way I used to actually live without pretending!

moral of this blog: Cheaper tuition=name brand red wine!!


Ahh. The joys of homeownership. Before any of you get too excited, I have not purchased a home. My Mother has bought back the house I grew up in.

About 7 years ago, my maternal Grandmother, G-d rest her soul, became very ill with cancer. My mother gave up everything, and put our house on the market. It was purchased by a very nice dentist, and his wife. They in turn rented our lovely home-with the carriage house and deul street access driveway. Sadly, both my Grandmother and Grandfather passed away within the year. My Mother lived in their house for a few years. She then moved into the city, and rented a small apartment.

An opportunity presented itself for my Mother to take back the property..fulfilling both my and her wish to go back to the house. Its a pretty little house, sitting on a quarter acre in the middle of the city. Wonderful historic provenace-owned originally by the man who sold land deeds to all of Western New York. Up until we moved out, we were the 4th family to have lived in this home since 1802.

The new owner rented the property. To a woman with complete disregard for history. She cut down two old growth trees- a 80 year old elm, and an 87 year old paper maple..both so large you couldn't wrap your arms around them. Why? They blocked her light. It wasn't her light to begin with. She had the carriage rock jack hammered out, and last, painted her name in white paint on a huge outcropping of rock on the property.

My mother did the walk through on the property yesterday...and called me. The interior of the house has been altered, one room painted orange, and purple carpeting installed in the master bedroom. The window surrounds have been painted black-and worst...the house smells like dirty wet dog. She said her heart dropped. Alas, mine joined hers.

She is a strong independent woman, who for the first time in her life has really reached out to me for help..and I'm hundreds of miles away. I want to come back and replace the 200 once manicured shrubs that surround the property...and repaint the house, and steam the living room floor...and I can't. Grad school doesn't come with vacation leave. Unfortunately, either does my job.

So for now, I am on the phone with my mother more than often..which is a lot considering how much we talk. I was going to send 2 trees as a house warming gift..only she is too little to plant them by herself. I'd have gardeners put them in, but I do not have a corporate job anymore.

I sent her flowers this morning with a cheery note. Everything will be fine, its just going to take time. Sadly, more than she anticipated.

Moral of this blog: If I had a hammer...I'd smack the bitch who rented the house

Monday, July 19, 2004

Unacceptable answer

If there is something I do not understand, they are the words "not available". Everything is available, you just have to know who to ask.
SO, my dear readers...I ask you: Are there any rosarians among you?  I simply must get my hands on the Linda Porter Rose, described as "an especially large, unusually fragrant pink rose".
So far, all I have is the following:
"Linda Porter" bred in 1957 by (Pedro) Dot, HT, orange-pink. No vendors.
The other is "Mrs. Cole Porter", introduced in 1957 by Bobbink and Atkins, HT medium pink. No vendors."...which frankly is not very helpful.
This all stems from seeing De-Lovely last night.  Outside of my complete and total obession with this time period, I'm afraid I have become obsessed with Mrs. Linda Porter.  So of course, any help would greatly be appreciated.  As a fledgling librarian, I do not feel ashamed to network for help.  So, break out your Smith and Hawken finery, and get busy finding this rose for me. I'll simply wilt without it.

Thursday, July 15, 2004


This past weekend when I was in Chicago, celebrating with my dear friends at a wedding reception, many bits of amusing conversation came up. Including after a few drinks a lot of "what if's".

First: What if I were British?

setting: large, round, banquet table

me, in a loud, posh, Brit accent: "EXCUSE ME! IS the butter up your end?"
my dear, tall, Cary Grantish friend, replying in a great accent: "Good Lord, it is!"

Second What if I had a daughter? A nice little adopted foreign daughter.
I supposed that she'd have to be French or Italian, so her skin would match Daddy's. This turned into one of my classic, if not notorious schticks.

*door bell*
Small platinum girl answering door

Person at door: Hello little girl, is your Daddy home?

Little girl in a deep, throaty, foreign voice: My name ees not "leetle girl", eets Donatella.

PAD: OK Donatella, is your Daddy home?

Donatella, drinking apple juice out of stem ware: Do you vant to come een and play Barbee weeth me?

Perhaps its much funnier when I am inebriated, but that bit of nonsense has caused me a few chuckles when reflecting back on it. This makes me wonder though, what kind of child will I end up having?

Will this child be just slightly neurotic, humorous, obsessed with order, and Bakelite flatware? Or like my sweet boyfriend...artistic, energetic, and ready to go to the Gap at the drop of a hat? No one knows for sure what their child will be like. Astonishingly, or maybe not, I am turning into my Mother. That's not such a bad thing...funny we wonder what the kids will be like, then they turn into us. Go ahead deny it. You're just lying to yourself. OK, maybe not, but it sounds more impressive if I'm emphatic.

In an almost frightening side note, and I don't know if it's confined to the Gay Community, but WAY too many straight women have offered womb space when we decide to have a child. I think we are going the route of over-seas adoption (once my other half graduates). Its generous and all, but I get kind of freaked out to think about it. As hot as I am, I am done genetically. No chip off the ol' blocks here. I want high-end baby retail. OK, send the hate mail. But I do.

Moral of this blog: No wombs need apply.

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Love don't live here anymore...

It lives in this midwestern state I know call home. For the past two weeks, I've been putting all my librarian skills to the limit, compiling proof that I am indeed a resident of this fine state. I am no longer a NYer, or an Chicagoan..I am officially on Ohioan. Please pause and take a moment of silence for me. OK, moving on.

The process requires me to send them everything from my driving license to my latest and embarrassing credit card statements. Oddly, the Motor Bureau thought it was good enough that I registered my car here. They gave me a license, which you can only have one of...legally. The 3 libraries that I have cards for also require proof of residency. Seems my drivers license and a current utility bill takes care of this. OH, but not for my grand University. They need to know I pay taxes here, work here, live here, spend my work dollars here.

The catch is, you have to apply for residency under the conditions that you didn't move here to reduce your tuition after one year. I have to prove that I moved here to become "...a functioning citizen of this state". Considering the fact that I could have moved here, and signed up for public aid on the money I make, that is kind of crazy. What does functioning mean?

What if we only gave library cards to "functioning citizens" of our neighborhood. That would cut our patronage in half.

You don't work? Sorry, no library card.
What, you're retired? Sorry, no library card.
You're 17 and don't pay taxes yet? Sorry, no library card?
Oh, look at you cute baby. What? No drivers license? Sorry, no library card.

We could eliminate the childrens department, large print, and even the employment section of our patrons would need it. Yet, poor me had to endure hours of mind numbing paperwork just to prove that for the past 12 months I have lived in a city in this fine state that doesn't have Thai food, a decent public transportation system, a functioning garden society, helmet laws for motorcyclists, or enforcable noise pollution laws.

But I live here now. I'm a resident. So please, for the love of G-d, cut my tuition in half please. I moved here for all those other great things, not for grad school in the middle of Nowhere, USA. According to the rules in the time stakingly prepared package I just expressed mailed to my University, I should qualify for in state tuition. Here's hoping that all that Waterman ink on that form pays for itself.

Moral of this blog: I'm still a NYer. shhhh.

Friday, July 09, 2004

Off To the Windy City

I'll be off to a wedding in Chicago this weekend, spending some time with my dearest friends in the world.

I'll be wearing bone dress chinos, with a crisp, white french cuff shirt. This is spiced with burgandy, chocolate and salmon striped cufflinks. I'll we sporting a Donna Karan salmon and burgandy striped tie completed with a windsor knot.

I'll be wearing a khaki and white pinstripe 3 button jacket, a black belt with a brushed nickel buckle, and black slides.

I was sad that I was unable to find a straw boater to complete the entire "summer wedding guest" look. Jay Gatsby would have been proud. If he wasn't dead in his swimming pool.

Moral of this blog: I hope people eat the wedding cake and not me. Mmm. Delicious.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

You're kidding, right?

Happy 4th of July, belated. To those of you who observe it. I stayed at home, and had a delightfully prepared rosemary chicken and wine in my garden. The rest of my time has been spent digesting slowly the mean things patrons say.

As we've pretty much established, I am an East Coast Dandy. No one is going to argue me on this. I grew up speaking 'back East-ease', and see no reason to change that despite the fact that I am living in the center of a boring state. No one else seems to have left behind any trace of regionalism. Nobody bats an eye at southern coloquialism (for the Southerners that means regional dialect). Mind you that was directed at people who have lived in some sort of mountainous region of the South. And probably at one time had a farm animal for a pet. I even capitalized Southern so as not to offend too deeply.

Yet, one "What can I do you for?" and the crowd roars. It means "What can I help you with?" or "What can I do for you?". It does not mean that I want to do naughty things to your bathing suit areas. My interaction with a patron Dohnna, whom I've purposefully mispelled her name so as to maintain her aninimity, is a great example of this.

Well Dressed CSA "Good Morning Ma'am. What can I do you for?"
Bitch: "Excuse me?"
WDCSA, unflinching and feeling she didn't hear repeated "GOOD MORNING MA'AM. What can I do you for?"
B: "This is the most inappropriate way I've ever been addressed."
WDCSA, taking my turn "Excuse me? Ma'am, what do you need?"
B:"What you just said is disgusting."
WDCSA: "Sorry, back East thing. I'm sorry if you didn't understand."
B: "Well, Im from Pennsylvania, and I've never heard that."
WDCSA: "Yeah. Well, Im not from Pennsylvania, I'm sorry to hear that."

What was that? Like a drive by. She got me out of no where. Anyway, it gets better. This woman is obviously sexually repressed, or just plain perverted..she seemed to read double entendre in to everything:

Bitch: "I have to clear my fine for a damaged book I returned"
WDCSA: "Uh oh, a fine, huh. OK"
B:"What exactly does "Uh oh" mean?"
WDCSA :"It doesn't mean anything, an expression of surprise"
B: "You're surprised? Why are you surprised?"

*moving on*

WDCSA:" Ma'am, give me one minute, I just have to bring you up"
B exclaims: "BRING ME UP? What is THAT supposed to mean?"
WDCSA, losing patience:"It means I need to bring up your library record to see your fine."
B leaning over counter:"RECORD?? I have a RECORD WITH YOU PEOPLE?"
WDCSA:"some times its referred to as an account. Even I have one."

*moving on*

WDCSA:"OK, the fine is $14.95."
Bitch: "Who do I make the cheque out to?"
WDCSA: "Either *ML or ******** Metropolitan Library"
B: "Will you make your mind up? Which one is it?"
WDCSA, choosing the longer of the two because I now HATE this patron "The latter Ma'am".

How terribly aggrivating. The mid-west is draining me. I need a weekend in the Hamptons to recharge my batteries. I kept thinking of what my chain smoking mother would have said to her. She wouldn't have been as kind and gracious as me. My mother would have stood her ground, and kept the back-East ease right up. I succumbed. I spoke her language. Good customer service I suppose, but horrible to my own constitution.

At any rate, I've also planted two flower beds, which bring me much needed solace when I come home to my quaint city townhouse.

Moral of this story: Even pretty people have limits. Especially with the ugly ones.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

Introducing Moscow

Everyone loves Moscow. It's just a rule. No one has ever disliked my cat. Maybe its because she is the only 20.5 lbs Russian Blue that anyone has ever met. Perhaps it is because her name is so alluring. Perhaps it is because every well dressed librarian should be the parent of a pet with as much character as himself.

Moscow was adopted, along with her sister Sophie (who will merit a blog another day). I renamed her, I think she had been traumatized with her old name, and under my good care, literally grew into her new monicker. (and yes, monicker can be spelled with a 'c'. She is in robust health now, and enjoys a steady diet of weight loss forumula, which seems to do nothing for her.

When people come to visit me, the first thing they ask is "Where is the Mama?" That too has roots. Once upon a time, when living in Chicago, a very sexy and well formed young Moroccan came to fix the furnace in my apartment. After a conversation in French with this strapping young repair man, I conveyed to my partner, who was becoming jealous, that Murat wanted to know when Moscow's kittens were due. I had to inform this fine West African that she was not preggers, just big. Thus, the monicker Mama was born. No one questioned her matronly status when we actually called her Mama.

Right now, Mama is sitting next to me while I take my coffee, as she does every morning. She is absolutely devoted to me. She sleeps next to me, and waits out side the powder every morning while I ready myself for yet another day. This picture is my favorite. She was sleeping on the chair in my home library. These were in the days when I had the room painted a deep burgandy. It is white now. What the hell does this have to do with being a librarian? Stop being impatient and I'll tell you.

A well dressed librarian needs to be rested when returning to work. Its really about details. At work you get to see French cuffs, and cuff links. At home you get to see a vintage smoking jacket, slippers, and a gorgeous Russian Blue. She makes the circle complete. I felt I needed to introduce you all to her, because if you don't like my pussy-I don't like you.

Moral of this blog: the former USSR's best exports?: caviar, Stolli, and of course, Moscow.