I'm grateful to the Library 2.0 program, who regularly stops by to read my posts and leave a friendly comment. But at the risk of seeming ungracious, I have to point out that he/she seems to have missed the point of my earlier post. When the tottery old couple re-appeared in our newly re-opened hi-tech reading room, I didn't pump my fist in the air for joy, shouting "Thank God! Our technology hasn't frightened them away!" On the contrary, I felt something between wry humour and mild depression.
One of the myths of modern libraries which I refuse to buy into is the nonsense about people being scared of libraries, and that it's somehow our job as librarians to free them from this crippling scourge. What a load of bollocks. If anything, the problem is that people aren't scared enough of Libraries. Every day my Library is full of people who seem to think it's their lounge room, bathroom, dining room and love-hotel. To anyone who is "scared" of Libraries, I can only say Get Help. Or else, if you're scared of libraries, then it's a pretty good sign you probably shouldn't be in them. They're not for everyone.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Thursday, August 9, 2007
There is another
If this blog does nothing else, in its short life, it will not have lived in vain if it brings just one new reader to the most wonderful library blog ever - The Annoyed Librarian.
(My thanks to one who I'm sure prefers to remain anonymous).
(My thanks to one who I'm sure prefers to remain anonymous).
Library n.0
My head is spinning from reading some of those librarians we were asked to read for week six. Usually, when I hear talk like that, it's somebody trying to sell me a monorail, or seventy-six trombones, or something. These libraries of the future sound wonderful, but I just have one question: where are we going to find human beings worthy of them?
You are no doubt familiar with the work of New Yorker cartoonist Charles Addams. One of my favourite Charles Addams multi-panel cartoons (which I can't find online), shows a gloomy, decrepit old gothic mansion in a street of otherwise modern buildings. A hoarding goes up: "Soon to be constructed on this site, modern office building, etc." In the dead of night, a sinister vampire-like figure leaves the old building, with a bundle of possessions. The old building is torn down and the gleaming, modern new building is erected. Then, in the final panel, again in the dead of night, we see the vampire quietly entering the new building, carrying his bundle.
I tell this story because it makes a very good point, which I can duplicate from my own experience. In the days before my library was extensively modernised, among our regulars was an extremely ancient and tottery couple, the husband of which would spend the whole of every day reading lawbooks (no doubt preparing to right some ancient wrong he had suffered), while his wife sat patiently in idle attendance.
Then we closed the reading room, remodelled it, and re-opened it - brand spanking new, massed arrays of glowing computer screens like the bridge of the Discovery. We seemed to have inaugurated a new era of librarianship. And who were the first people to walk through the door? The ancient tottery couple.
Have I made my point?
You are no doubt familiar with the work of New Yorker cartoonist Charles Addams. One of my favourite Charles Addams multi-panel cartoons (which I can't find online), shows a gloomy, decrepit old gothic mansion in a street of otherwise modern buildings. A hoarding goes up: "Soon to be constructed on this site, modern office building, etc." In the dead of night, a sinister vampire-like figure leaves the old building, with a bundle of possessions. The old building is torn down and the gleaming, modern new building is erected. Then, in the final panel, again in the dead of night, we see the vampire quietly entering the new building, carrying his bundle.
I tell this story because it makes a very good point, which I can duplicate from my own experience. In the days before my library was extensively modernised, among our regulars was an extremely ancient and tottery couple, the husband of which would spend the whole of every day reading lawbooks (no doubt preparing to right some ancient wrong he had suffered), while his wife sat patiently in idle attendance.
Then we closed the reading room, remodelled it, and re-opened it - brand spanking new, massed arrays of glowing computer screens like the bridge of the Discovery. We seemed to have inaugurated a new era of librarianship. And who were the first people to walk through the door? The ancient tottery couple.
Have I made my point?
Week Five in review
Er, let's see, where was I? Oh yeah, Image generators. Well, as my mother used to tell me, if you can't say something nice about a piece of 2.0 gimmickry, don't say anything.
Library Thing. Again, is it just me, or this idea of people cataloguing their own book collections, and then sharing the lists, deeply sad?
Rollyo. At least I can see where this might have some use for some folks. It's just that I'm not one of them. The rolling has already been done for me, with tools like Picture Australia and Libraries Australia.
Goodbye Week Five, you are the weakest link.
Library Thing. Again, is it just me, or this idea of people cataloguing their own book collections, and then sharing the lists, deeply sad?
Rollyo. At least I can see where this might have some use for some folks. It's just that I'm not one of them. The rolling has already been done for me, with tools like Picture Australia and Libraries Australia.
Goodbye Week Five, you are the weakest link.
Monday, August 6, 2007
The information soup-kitchen
I'm old enough to remember one of the more embarrassing catch-phrases of the early Internet era: the information super-highway. When I stand on shift at a public desk, and see someone sprawled in a chair, watching YouTube videos by the hour, a different phrase comes to mind: the information soup-kitchen. (Younger readers, and Millennials, unfamiliar with this concept can see here.)
The film-maker David Cronenberg made some prophetic movies in the 1970s and 80s, and his greatest film Videodrome (1983) contains many uncanny premonitions of the Internet age. One scene shows a character called Brian O'Blivion, who helps homeless men - or so he believes - by giving them access to television for hours on end. Television, he says "patches them back into the mixing-board of Life". When I see the idle YouTube watchers whose main purpose in life is to trigger the Library's people counters every day, I am reminded of Brian O'Blivion.
The film-maker David Cronenberg made some prophetic movies in the 1970s and 80s, and his greatest film Videodrome (1983) contains many uncanny premonitions of the Internet age. One scene shows a character called Brian O'Blivion, who helps homeless men - or so he believes - by giving them access to television for hours on end. Television, he says "patches them back into the mixing-board of Life". When I see the idle YouTube watchers whose main purpose in life is to trigger the Library's people counters every day, I am reminded of Brian O'Blivion.
Who is Secret Thornton?
It's funny how soon your ear can become attuned and detuned to certain accents. After only a few days away in Tasmania, in the company of someone who speaks in that very precise English accent that certain native Tasmanians retain, I returned to Melbourne. When I was re-exposed to mainland radio and television (especially the ABC) I found the strine accents almost comical. I was genuinely puzzled for a moment when one ABC announcer repeatedly referred to someone called 'Secret Thornton'.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
He's not in Kansas anymore
No, he's right here on 'Cries and Whispers'. My humble blog has been visited by none other than David Lee King, the Library 2.0 blogger first noticed below. He posted a comment on this post, and was nice enough not to take offense at my sceptical comments on one aspect of his blog. (Uh, Dave, you were kidding about "Kill the unbeliever", right?)
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