January 27

My backlog is gone! Suddenly I have time on my hands, for a while anyway. Next week is lease-the-new-server week. That will keep me plenty busy, I’m sure.

The Central library downtown is getting three mornings a week from me for at least the next two week. Like most places, you can order a book to be sent from any library in the county to the branch of your choice. Likewise, you can return a book to any branch in the county no matter where you checked it out. All these books, tapes, CDs, DVDs and whatnot traveling to and fro’ make make the stop in sub-basement in the old building at Central. There, things are sorted and sent on to the appropriate destination.

The shipping department was so short-handed that the county library system ran out of empty book totes. Everything was backed up in shipping. They sent a memo out to all the city branches begging for people to come and help out. Any hours you like, up to 20 per week. I signed up for four each on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings.

According to the job posting, which I’d ignored until the memo came ’round, the rate is $1.50 an hour more than I make now, and they’re looking for 6-8 people to work 20 hours per week. After taxes, that would completely cover my rent, which would take some of the financial pressure off after having quit DSS at the end of November.

Bonus, I thought. I can check out the job to see if I like it before I apply.

It’s very physical work (I’ve been sore for a week now), it’s in the dungeon of a sub-basement, it’s very warm from all the steam pipes running overhead, and there appears to be no ventilation—let alone air conditioning—for the summer. Oh, and one of the long-term people seems to think bathing and/or laundry is something reserved for holidays.

Double-digits per hour and benefits, I’d consider it. $6.65 with no benefits? Not a chance. On Friday I politely declined the manager’s request that I put in for the job and I let the application deadline pass. I assured her though, that I’d continue filling-in until her new staff starts, even though as fill-in, I only get my usual hourly rate.

In any event, when I left yesterday, we had just started working on the totes that came in last week Wednesday, which is good because Tuesdays they get slammed with all the stuff returned in the bookdrops over the weekend. At least there’ll be room to unload it.

Along the way I learned that Winton branch, where I work, is the busiest city branch, accounting for over 25% of all circulation from the ten city branches. Of course our circulation pales by comparison to Central and five or six of the big, flashy suburban libraries.

I also learned I like the variety and roaming around the place and that there are people. And the part I like most about my job is that it’s above ground. We have nine enormous skylights and lots of windows on the south side, so even on the dreariest days it’s fairly bright in there.

Weathering the weather

We’ve had dreariness for weeks now. On Friday, although it snowed here, it didn’t at the airport, where the official measurements are made, and that broke our record-setting 20 consecutive days of snow. The pile in the front yard is roughly chest-high and the banks along the sidewalks make them look like luge runs. Outside my window, although the porch roof slopes down, because of all the snow, there’s an upslope from the windowsill out for two or three feet.

The other day I admired the strata revealed on along the exposed edges on rooftops, bridge abutments and the like. Besides being pretty, it played back the several storms in between the usual lake-effect stuff. Oh yeah, that one must have been…

It’s been cold too. The week before last is was cold enough, -13°F, -25°C, that the moisture in the air condensed as snow. I stood outside smoking one beautiful, starry, cloud-free night, and it was snowing to beat the band. Stars, moon, not a cloud in the sky or a puff of wind, and three inches overnight.

Friday morning when I left the house, it felt really warm out. It was, relatively. The radio at work said it was 11°F, -11°C. This week we’ll be breaking out the palm trees and hula skirts. Today’s forecast high is a blistering 28°F, -2°C.

Bassador

A week before Christmas, Mark had to have one of the bassets put down due to lung cancer. (And she never smoked a day in her life!) The remaining dog, Oxford and seven-year-old male, was completely beside himself in grief, howling and baying continuously whenever he was out of sight of one of us.

Mark spent considerable time online, on the phone and at animal shelters looking for just the right dog to adopt. The first was a quite amiable mutt, barely more than a puppy, that lasted here just over an hour. He jumped the fence twice during that time. He’d be great for a family that leashes their dogs, but a fenced yard is completely out of the question.

Several days later Mark had a call from Animal Control in a neighboring county. They said they had the perfect animal and asked if he could come out that afternoon to save her from being euthanized the following morning. Several hours later, he came home with the most ridiculous looking dog I’ve ever seen.

You may have heard of the jackalope, the horned jackrabbit of western American folklore. Penny, the new dog, is a bassador.

Now imagine if you will, a black Labrador retriever, in nearly perfect AKC form. Now imagine the same dog on stubby little basset legs—sort of a sawed-off Labrador. There you have your bassador.

Review reviewed

Years ago I gave up fussing over my logs and declining readership. It took a lot of pressure off. I’d found myself struggling to be entertaining and, of course, stirring up drama just so I’d have something good to write about.

I write for me now. True, I try to make it understandable, readable and to let my personality come through for others, but now it’s the act of writing, not being read, that brings me satisfaction. There’s a lot I haven’t published in the last couple of years simply because of that. Writing it out filled my needs and going further wasn’t necessary.

I’ve more or less completely forgotten about having any readership at all except for the handful of die-hards on the notify list—subscribers are now down to the single-digits. So imagine my surprise one day last week while cleaning out the morning spam, I found this (links added):

Hi Bruce,

David Young here in Boston - the filmmaker from "Looking For Mr. Right." I was doing a Google search on my film short and was amazed and utterly delighted to find your Oct 12 '03 journal comments.

The truth is, despite many festival screenings with much wonderful-to-hear laughter, I get almost no intelligent critical feedback. Friends tell me perhaps I hit a nerve and no one really wants to talk about the issues the film brings up. So, your comments were not only a pleasure to read, they were also so totally right on. Thank you, Bruce, for helping to make 8 months of difficult labor – worthwhile!

I'm currently putting together the program notes for a March screening at the London Gay & Lesbian Film Festival and would love to have your permission to quote two lines from your comments. [The condensing it due to space constraints, and so as not to give away that there IS a surprise ending.]

Below is my planned usage, and your original full text.

I eagerly await your reply.

And, thanks, Bruce.

Write on!

- David

Young reaches inside all of our heads and pulls out everything we know is in there but won’t admit to. ...Truly a fine film and a great slap upside the head. (Bruce Wilbur, SCENIC ROUTE)

Naturally I gave my permission and he said he’d try to get me a copy of the program notes. I just hope the British understand what a “slap upside the head” is. Somehow I think it’s an Americanism. Maybe not.

Perhaps more shocking was learning that “I got it.” It doesn’t seem to happen very often to me with regards to anything but prose.

There’s a watercolor painting I bought once because it seemed to illustrate my worldview—broken, jagged edges that just don’t quite fit back together right. When I shared this with the artist, she told me that’s exactly what she had in mind when she painted it and thanked me for buying it for reasons other than “it matches the couch.” “Tacking” remains my favorite painting.

So while it’s certainly validating to have someone want to quote my work, it’s a much bigger thrill to know I got it.