RA

Was that even an acronym twenty years ago? I clearly recall learning about Readers Advisory service in library school, but I don’t remember referring to it by initials. Then again, that’s how you can tell something is hot in the library world—when we decide it’s just too exhausting to say all 6 syllables, and come up with letters.

Still, every time I see the letters RA, I have to stop and tell myself “No, they don’t mean rheumatoid arthritis.”

I didn’t truly understand RA back in library school, and I don’t understand it now. Oh, I get the definition, and the mechanics. It’s the concept of people not knowing what they want to read that I don’t get.

If I could stop working tomorrow (are you listening, lottery gods?), and could devote the rest of my life to reading whatever I wanted to read, I would still die with hundreds of books that I really wanted to read untouched.

Even if you added the stricture that I wasn’t allowed to peruse any lists of new books, pick up new titles from the newspaper or tv, or even heed any titles mentioned to me by friends from that day forth—I wouldn’t be in any danger of running out of reading material.

If you got truly draconic and told me that for the rest of my life, I could only read things that were actually in my house at that moment—I’d be more than a little irritated with you, but I still wouldn’t run out of things to read.

How can anyone who calls themselves a reader not know what they want to read?

That’s not to say I don’t enjoy having conversations about books. Far from it. I love talking about books. I love hearing about books. I’ve read some wonderful books on the recommendations of friends, and even complete strangers. (I’ve read some terrible books that way, too.) Talking about books is how you expand your reading horizons, and that’s terrific.

What I don’t understand is the person who, metaphorically speaking, grabs you by the lapels, shakes you, looks at you with levels of desperation usually associated with castaways on desert islands, and begs you “Tell me what to read!”

And after you’ve found something for them, they come back in a week or two, and do it again!

How can they not know what they want to read? Why would they want to read something exactly like they just finished (and so many of them do!)? Do they not appreciate the sublime pleasure of browsing the shelves, and letting serendipity take its course? Are they not bombarded with so many new titles that sound interesting that they have to keep lists entitled “stuff I want to read… eventually”, as I do?

Is finding new books to read considered an unpleasant chore? I’ve never in my life heard anyone say, “Oh gosh, I just watched the last episode of Seinfeld, and now I have nothing to watch on tv. Please, tell me what to watch next!”

Part of the joy of reading for me is the process of finding new authors and titles that I love. It's rather a buddhist approach, I guess-- when the reader is ready, the book will appear. I've never felt the need to have anyone else assist with the process.

Graffiti Bushes

My branch is home to a nefarious species of plant life-- the graffiti bush. It grows red berries, which, every year, area scamps and scallywags use to emblazon four-letter words on the outside of our building.

How come no one warns you about these things in the "what to keep in mind during your next building project" articles in LJ?

On the bright side, how often can you say that you literally caught someone "red-handed"?

Best. Unshelved. Ever.

RSS, Flickr, Twitter

They can't all be the best thing since sliced bread, I guess.

I can see specific uses for certain RSS feeds. But as far as setting up a reader and subscribing to dozens (or hundreds)... I don't really get the appeal. It would be handy if you're trying to keep up with a zillion blogs, I suppose, but then you're only getting the text, not the full experience of being at the web page. It reminds me of subscribing to too many magazines (the paper kind, that come in the U.S. Mail), then not having time to read any of them, or only flipping through at warp speed before tossing them in the trash.

As for Flickr, it's like being held hostage by a bunch of distant relatives, all of whom want you to look at their vacation pictures. All 200,000 of them. I'm not a big picture taker, and the pictures I do take are for me, not for the other 6.5 billion people on the planet.

Neither of those hold a candle to the biggest time-waster I've seen on the web yet (yes, that includes the hamsterdance and Runescape), Twitter. The name is perfect, except they forgot half of it-- it should be Twitterpated. Does the entire world besides me have too much free time?