RevSpork

A librarian doesn't live on an island

Until about twenty years ago, libraries could conceivably be cut off from other libraries.  Although mostly connected to the American Library Association, your typical public, academic, or school librarian could run a stable ship with a minimum of communication with other librarians. 

Not anymore. Economic considerations, the burgeoning pace of technology... all of which forces libraries and librarians to work together far more than before.  Many school librarian bloggers discuss technology literacy, and given the wide range of technology, it's hard to keep up with the various wares that pop up seemingly every week.

The E-Literate Librarian is the brainchild of Tamara Cox, a South Carolina-based middle school librarian.  She concentrates on promoting literacy, particularly technology literacy, amongst her students.  She writes not from the perspective of a techonlogy expert but of a novice, writing as she learns.  This makes the blog a more friendly, more comfortable place to learn about school librarians and technology.

Even more tech-heavy, but more from the perspective of an expert, is The Daring Librarian.  Also a middle-school librarian, she is a self-admitted geek, pushing technological literacy with her students, such as creating audio QR codes.  She writes with the enthusiasm of a true believer, and for that reason she is the go-to gal for school librarians pushing technology.

Pennsylvania peepers

This scandal has lit up civil libertarians' radar for the past couple of months.  Back in February, I posted about a school district in Pennsylvania that found itself the target of a lawsuit by parents of a student who had allegedly been spied upon by a vice principal.  The vice principal accused the student of taking and selling drugs based on "evidence" officials came upon by spying on the kid while in his own bedroom.  (The "drugs" turned out to be candy.)  How?  Via a webcam on the laptop provided to all students by: the school district accused of spying on the students.

Now the story has gotten a whole lot ickier.  It turns out that Blake Robbins, the student targeted by the school district was more than merely watched in his bedroom; more than 400 screen shots were taken of the sophomore in his bedroom, including images of him in various states of undress.  (Thankfully, none of the images are of "prurient content.")  Approximately 56,000 screenshots were captured of students by the school district. 

Two district employees accused of activating cameras on the students' laptops have been placed an administrative leave.  One refused to cooperate during a deposition, invoking the 5th amendment in response to nearly every question asked of her.  E-mails obtained by the plaintiff's lawyer, on the other hand, find she's not only likely guilty as hell, but that she and other employees who had access to activiting the spy cameras did so for unauthorized reasons.    

Meanwhile, hundreds of parents in the school district are actually opposing the class-action lawsuit; they're "outraged" that the plaintiff is seeking monetary damages and fear that a verdict in his favor would wreck the school district financially. 

This is not just a First Amendment shipwreck; this is a tragedy for the entire community.  Faced with a choice between losing the childrens' basic rights granted under the Constitution or the school district losing a ton of money, the community finds itself divided.  If the not-yet-guilty parties are prematurely fired, they'll sue the school district, and if the Robbinses settle, the school district may not even have to admit guilt.  What began as a noble gesture (loaning laptops to all students) may end up costing everyone dearly.

Twenty years ago today

As I type this blog entry, I'm wiping the sweat off my forehead.  It's a typical Midwestern August, warm and humid.  I don't have air conditioning in the office; the apartment's layout makes keeping the entire apartment cool close to impossible.  The a/c we do have is a room unit, cooling off the bedroom so that my wife and I can sleep without drowning in a pool of sweat.  So I sit in the office, sweating and typing, taking in as much coolish air from the tiny fan in here as possible.  It's not too bad; in fact, it's almost homey.

I wished I had the little fan when I first walked into my dorm room twenty years ago today.  I remember the heat even then; the dorm building itself was very warm except in the stairwell.  When I first received my dorm room assignment, I hadn't given much thought to cooling the room.  I had lived in my grandparents' uncooled attic for the previous six years; anything was an improvement. The dorm itself, a 50's-style minimalist concrete bunker, held in heat like a kiln, and my bunk bed happened to be about a foot below an plaster-covered (and probably asbestos) pipe that added to the warmth.  To say it was as hot as hell in that dorm room is an insult to hell.  And that's where I started on the road to adulthood.

Given, it was my start on the road to adulthood.  No student is a grownup in college, no matter how restrained or mature they appear to be.  I certainly wasn't, and I showed it early on.  Within three weeks, my roommate, a nice guy from a small town in rural Illinois, ran away, begging the resident hall director to reassign him to the non-psycho section of the floor.  He was apparently genuine in his pleas: the resident hall did not replace him, so I had my dorm room all to myself for the remainder of my freshman year.  Had I the social skills and good looks to attract the ladies, this would have been heaven on earth, but since I was an out of it dweeb, I spent most nights doodling on the computer in my underwear.

(Oh yes, there was a computer in my dorm room, that lovely year of 1989.  Provided by the university, it boasted a monochrome monitor, a floppy drive, and enough memory to download entire kilobytes of whatever you wanted.  It wasn't my first time on a computer (that would have been a TRS-80 back in '79; can you imagine home computers and disco existing at the same time?  Wowzers.), but it was my first brush with the Internet.  I fell madly in love.)

I can say, without hint of exaggeration, without that computer in my dorm room, I would have had far fewer friends in college (and adulthood) than I ended up with.  Within that little box were nerds, freaks, geeks, outsiders, techies, Trekkies, and other social reprobates of all shapes and sizes, all connecting with each other in the form of ASCII characters on the green screen.  It was an amazing little world that was opened up to me, this local network of people just as weird (but not quite) as me.  It took folks some time to get used to the likes of me, but many did. 

It blows my mind today that the server I logged on to could only handle 36 students at a time.  We had internet access, but indirectly through another, larger university.  (Posters to usenet groups had addresses that looked like this:  bradley!bucc2!***@uxc.cso.uiuc.edu)  The World Wide Web didn't exist; it could take hours to download one badly-altered nude photo of Madonna; the majority of students didn't have an e-mail address; many students at my school still typed their assignments with... typewriters.  By the time I graduated five years later, none of that was true. Think about that.  Do you think technology evolved that fast for the typical college student between, say, 1925 and 1930?  Or 1971 and 1976?  It was as if we had climbed into a slow-moving car that suddenly sped up to a hundred miles per hour.  And it's only accelerated since.  When I look at my computer, my cell phone, my iPod, 1989 seems much further back than it really is.  And it really isn't that different: for example, as I finish this blog entry, I'm  sweating in my underwear in front of my computer.  Some things never change.

"My Favorite Podcast" or "The Joy of Creative Anarchy"

Folks my age remember that exquisitely Mozart-esque 80's TV action show "The A-Team," where four fugitives from justice took on dangerous assignments.  No matter what the assignment was or what trouble the four renegades ran into, you could count on two constants: the guys would succeed at their assignment through brilliant planning and tough-guy cracks, and at least one car would flip over.  Now imagine a quartet of podcasters embarking on similar assignments, but not only do they wreak havoc all over the place, you can't even count on all of them showing up.  And yet, despite a lack of direction, with tangents a-blazing, subjects a-mutating, and random conversational fireballs of musicals, gay sex, science fiction, home repair, central Illinois, Texas, collapsing octogenarians, and torch song-squeaking rodents, the gang gets the job done AND the car flips over.  Of course, the car flips over on ducklings or starving orphans, but you still laugh and applaud at the end.  This is Don't Quit Your Day Job, one of the craziest and funniest podcats out there.  Originally spun off from the hilarious We're Mean Because You're Stupid (itself spun off from the QCast Connection, the best gay comedy podcast in iTunes-land), DQYDJ has since eclipsed the former in sheer number of laughs and is coming perilously close to catching up with the latter. 

It was comparatively more subdued in the beginning.  Two sci-fi/fantasy writers and frequent podcast visitors, Melanie Fletcher and Jerry J. Davis, declared on their first podcast that they would discuss "anything in [their] tiny little minds," but specifically about sci-fi & fantasy, writing, movies, or comics.  The first dozen or so episodes were eccentric but genial, a couple of geeks with dirty minds and helpful suggestions on selling one's writing.  Funny but stable, Melanie and Jerry made the perfect podcast geek couple.  Melanie, the producer of the podcast, boasts a wealth of knowledge and great comedic timing.  Jerry, her co-host, is the amiable nerd whose calming presence keeps the podcast from falling off a cliff.   Remember the good guy in high school or college who was every girl's "best friend" but could never negotiate that into a quickie because he was too nice?  That's Jerry, all grown up.  Whether or not that accurately portrays Jerry in real life is irrelevant.  Behind the headset, he's Joxer to Melanie's Xena, the heroic dork who may not always hit the comedic bullseye, but whose heart is in the right place and you can't help but root for him. 

As with all entertainment shows, chemistry is paramount.  Adding players to or subtracting from one's program can radically alter the show's personality, for good or ill.  One cannot deny that the 1972 version of, say, "Happy Days," had very little to do with the 1983 lineup.  Depending on the size of the production, the  addition,   subtraction, or replacement of even one person can make or break a program.

Patrick Gaik's arrival on DQYDJ was a change in chemistry, all right: adding Patrick to the podcast was a bucket of cesium tossed into a bathtub.  Patrick, an actor based in Bloomington-Normal and a childhood friend of Melanie's, has one of those personalities that could incite drunken gay orgies at a Promise Keepers convention.  Saucy, sweet, outrageous, and immensely talented, he injected both vulgarity and wit into a podcast that lacked neither.  Not long afterwards, Melanie's sister Stacy was thrown into the mix as an occasional "news anchor" but was rapidly absorbed into the gang.  Stacy, who outside the podcast could very well be the most stable of the four, displays little of this online; shrill, oddly maternal, and creative, she hides her comedic skills inside a "What the hell am I doing here?" persona, contributing to the chaos being wrought.

What's crazy about this chaos is not that it works, but that it works so well.  A half-hour, two-person podcast is difficult enough to pull off; but juggling a four-person podcast, all with very distinct personalities, has to be insanely difficult.  Part of the way DQYDJ pulls it off is by rarely having all four podcasters around.  Since Melanie produces and edits the program, she's the sole constant in the DQYDJ universe, but one cannot download the latest podcast knowing who the lineup will be (Patrick once complained that getting everyone to the podcast was "like folding gravy").  And yet this works because each podcaster combination represents its own little podcast, with a slightly altered chemistry.  For instance, when Jerry excused himself for a run of shows recently, the sci-fi/fantasy angle took a back seat, and the Melanie/Patrick relationship took over.  Like the Melanie/Jerry rapport, this comedic partnership runs deep; no matter how outrageous one gets, he or she can count on the other to try to top it, sounding like college kids tipsy on Boones strawberry wine in their dorm room on a Saturday night. 

Is the resulting comedy scatological and immature?  Sure, but it's damned funny scatological and immature humor.  And if I wanted intellectually droll humor 24/7, I could listen to old Mark Russell routines and read Roy Blount Jr. until I succumbed to my valium addiction.  The overall humor, with the exception of the occasional stray inside joke, is infinitely accessible and worth a listen.  You're guaranteed to react, whether in laughter or a pained groan.  Don't Quit Your Day Job doesn't try to make you laugh: like the anarchic format, the laughs are scattered into the air, and if one hits you, so much the better.  But watch out for that flipping car.

My lunch with AT&T

In the last two months, my phone bill has jumped nearly thirty dollars. Why? Who knows. All I know is that two companies, Enhanced Services Billing, Inc., and The Billing Resource, have suddenly attached themselves to my phone bill like leeches. I was curious to know why I was being charged for being billed, since I presumed receiving a bill was free. Ha. Little did I know.

AT&T, of course, was no help. Well, it turned out I didn't call AT&T: I called their billing agent, which the person on the other line insisted was AT&T, but really they're sorta not. Also, they couldn't do a damned thing about deleting these charges, because after all, from their point of view, *I* signed up for an extra thirty dollars worth of charges per month. It was my responsibility, goddammit, if I wanted to delete these bogus charges. To my credit, I did not lose my temper and unleash the wave of expletives I so desperately wanted to loose. I simply hung up.

I first called ESBI. Unlike the AT&T rep, the ESBI rep was patient and seemed to know what she was doing. She gave me the info: a gentleman named Frank DuVaul signed up to win a free trip to Las Vegas at usprizedraw.com, using my phone number in filling out the electronic form. I then called the Billing Resource: someone signed me up via gofaxer.com. The Resource rep did not or could not tell me who signed me up, but I wouldn't be surprised if ol' Frank got carried away. Of course, I would not be surprised if it weren't ol' Frank, and that my phone number is being used by a variety of reprobates. In both cases, I was told the service would be deactivated and I would be refunded for the months I was charged.

Now let us review: some jackass (or jackasses) signed up for stuff using my phone number, which activated a spurious service that was then attached to my AT&T bill, no questions asked. This little scheme isn't limited to AT&T: according to the Rip-off Report, Verizon customers have have suffered through this scheme, and it's been going on for a zillion years. Cramming, it's called.

Something similar to this happened to me over ten years ago, when my roommate "agreed" to take a survey that activated a $65 charge to my phone bill. (When I called the company in question, they first suggested I have my roommate arrested for illegally ordering services in my name. Sure.) Both ESBI and The Billing Resource have been nailed by the Federal Trade Commission in the past, but they're still at it, and the phone companies are not held accountable for allowing this practice to continue. "But it's not our fault! We just pass along these anonymous charges to our customers like we're told!" Of course, had AT&T asked the simple question, "Who ordered this service?" this would be as big of a problem than it is. Attorneys general in various states have been pushing for anti-cramming legislation for over a decade, but it's obvious not much has changed. In the meantime, monitor your phone bills every month.

Equanimity with pandora.com

The original title of this post was "The zen of pandora.com," but I was struck by the fact that I have no freaking clue what "zen" really means.  "Zen" is such a fad word and has been for about twenty years.  There are like thirteen thousand books with "Zen and the Art of..." in the title; a few good, some terrible.  So instead of wasting my time trying to fit "zen" into my general mood, I strove for emotional accuracy.  "Equanimity" is an unjustly little-used word, and I believe the word should receive some publicity, as little as it would get here.  Thus the title. 

I've known of pandora.com, one of many internet radio programs, for several months, but didn't bother with it because I was so smitten with my iPod.  I signed in a few days ago and haven't stopped playing with it since. 

Pandora differs from your basic internet radio in that you "create" your own stations by choosing a favorite performer or tune, and the program plays it and similar performers.  It's pretty neat, and I created a few more stations for me and the wife.

The first "station" I created was centered around Neil Young.  Voila, there's Neil.  And some Beatles.  And some Byrds, CSNY, et al.  I then added Joni Mitchell and Steely Dan to the station, with decidedly mixed results: I got a Tom Waits tune (yeah!) followed by the Doobie Brothers (augh!  No!) then some Ani DiFranco (sure!) then Norah Jones (bleah!)  I picked some songs, rejected others, added a couple more performers, and now I have quite a cool "radio station" made for me by me.  My wife is in the next room watching a "Bridezillas" marathon, and yet I'm feeling mellower than I have in days. 

So as I groove quietly to Steely Dan's "Josie" and I type this little blog entry in the office while Jack grooves in Snoozeville on the recliner behind me, I feel decidedly equaniminous, unless that's not a word, in which case I guess I feel zen.

A sentence you don't hear every day

Stainless steel wallets sure are expensive. 

Given how the credit card companies stifled Mythbusters' attempt to expose the ease of hacking into peoples' personal information via RFID scanners, I think I will either buy a stainless steel wallet, or line my wallet with tinfoil.  I'm guessing the former would be a little less...bulky. 

On the other hand, who wants to get on the ground floor of a fabulous new money-making scheme? 

Some things deserve to be deleted...

[Note: I was cleaning up my blog and found this post from late-2003, invisible for years.  After several months of noticing people checking out my blog because they were looking for photos of the late gymnast Christy Henrich, I had decided to hide the post.  Nearly five years later, I figured the fetish has waned somewhat, so I made it visible again.  However, the Typepad program moved it to the top of my posts.  Ah, well.  Enjoy an unpleasant piece of my personal blog history.]

...when you realize that people in web-land are even sicker than you gave them credit for.  Case in point: My little book review of Little Girls in Pretty Boxes by Joan Ryan, about the various abuses young female athletes suffer from during their usually short careers.  I've received an enormous number of yahoo and google links to my blog, looking for photos of the late gymnast Christy Henrich, who died of complications from anorexia nearly a decade ago.  So I deleted the review from my blog.

I know, I know, posting this will bring along the pro-anorexics looking for "trigger" pictures using the same keyword searches they were using before.  I'm aware of this.  The real reason why I decided to post this was to add this little message so that trigger hunters will see it: Christy Henrich died weighing less than 50 fucking pounds!  If you follow her as a model, you will fucking die!  Self-starvation is not a fashion statement!

Pro-anas looking for photos of dead people as models is not only twisted, but it's an insult to those who have succumbed to the disorder.  Call me crazy, but I highly doubt Ms. Henrich would have liked seeing her pain and suffering used as a role model for those wanting to follow in her footsteps.  But since I'm a nice guy, I'll throw in a couple of links that address this "fashion statement" without completely trashing its followers.

http://ana.makeupyourmind.nu/
http://www.sirc.org/articles/totally_in_control.shtml
http://www.anorexiatruth.com/

I know this issue has been around for a while; indeed, it's been batted around for years.  But I'm going to add one more statement to this: Banning pro-ana websites doesn't do a lick of good.  The only result is making rebels out of people who are emotionally and physically ill. 

More fun with iTunes

A couple weeks back, I specifically forbade Tori from using my account to download Journey songs, especially the horrid power ballads like "Faithfully," which are so full of wretch and poo, I'd probably tolerate "MacArthur Park" over such dreck. I put my foot down in the interests of musical purity, which made her all the more surprised when she discovered I had downloaded some Cheap Trick tunes. Amk I being a hypocrite, or is Cheap Trick simply a hundred times cooler than Journey, 70s/80s pop rock-wise?

In the meantime, if you like your podcasts, try these out for size:

- Best* Church of God - less than ten minutes long, the sermons are nevertheless hilarious. Pastor Dave's attacks on menstruation and yeast (yeast for bread), and his description of heaven are priceless. Lest you take Pastor Dave seriously, his church services can be attended Sunday mornings at Danny's Skybox here in Chicago - yes, at Second City. Check out http://www.bestchurchofgod.org/ for more info.

- The Bugle - Join John Oliver (Of "The Daily Show") and Andy Zaltzman for their riotous weekly British podcast. If you don't laugh at least once during their half-hour shows, you're not alive. Go to the (London) Times website to tune in.

- Don't Quit Your Day Job - A spinoff of the uproariously funny "We're Mean Because You're Stupid," Melanie and Jerry's podcast is nerdier but somewhat more mature version of the former show. You like sci-fi/fantasy/writing about sci-fi and fantasy? Welcome aboard. Their geekiness, however, is very genuine and thus entertaining, especially if you're a geek. Don't deny it.

- Remember When - speaking of geeky...Parris and Jay are possibly the geekiest people on earth. Listen to them argue about movies, movies, comic books, Voltron, and movies. The podcasts are very long (usually more than an hour) and could use some editing, but P & J's rapport is undeniable. These guys are True Nerds and True Fans of their nerdy interests, which makes the whole thing just bearable enough to listen through. And I'm glad I'm not the only person who tears up towards the end of "The Iron Giant" when the robot meets his "doom."

- Mr. Deity - The show is currently between seasons, but the three-minute video podcasts are not to be missed. There are twenty episodes total at mrdeity.com, and you should watch them all. The show is composed of four characters: Mr. Deity Himself, a neurotic, gray-haired fellow who is far less omnipotent than he thinks; Larry, his assistant/universe architect, without whom the universe would be more screwed up than it already is; Jesse/Jesus, the likably dumb actor who's really not into the crucifixion thing; and Lucy, who runs Hell and whose on-and-off relationship with Mr. Deity keeps him confused and her frustrated. Don't miss how Mr. Deity actually brought light to the universe.

Well, that's it folks. I'm going to finish my Sedaris book.

Define "special"

This is a dating service?