Roz Warren's Blog
November 20, 2017
Silent Noodles, Swimming Pools And The ACLU: What I Learned From Magazines This Week
The correct term for mobile phone separation anxiety is “nomophobia.”
(Time. 9/4/17)
Henry David Thoreau was fond of belting out sea shanties at parties.
(The New Yorker, 9/4/17)
The best way to befriend famous people is to have no idea who they are.
(New York, 10/16/17)
A Japanese company has developed a noise-cancelling fork that masks the sound of noodle slurping.
Time (11/16/17)
Only 2% of the world’s population have naturally blond hair.
(New York, 8/7/17)
Beyonce’s new house has 4 swimming pools.
(People, 9/4/17)
More than two thirds of American women are size 14 or larger.
(New York, 8/7/17)
We are living in a world full of assholes.
(New York, 9/18)
Ed Droste, founding member of the indy group Grizzly Bear, has LOL tattooed on his butt.
(Out, 8/17)
Bob Dylan once said that hearing Elvis for the first time was like busting out of jail.
(Time, 8/21/17)
ACLU membership has quadrupled since Trump’s election.
(Out, 8/17)
(Roz Warren is the author of Our Bodies, Our Shelves: A Collection of Library Humor and Just Another Day At Your Local Public Library: An Insider's Tales Of Library Life, both of which you should buy immediately.)
(Time. 9/4/17)
Henry David Thoreau was fond of belting out sea shanties at parties.
(The New Yorker, 9/4/17)
The best way to befriend famous people is to have no idea who they are.
(New York, 10/16/17)
A Japanese company has developed a noise-cancelling fork that masks the sound of noodle slurping.
Time (11/16/17)
Only 2% of the world’s population have naturally blond hair.
(New York, 8/7/17)
Beyonce’s new house has 4 swimming pools.
(People, 9/4/17)
More than two thirds of American women are size 14 or larger.
(New York, 8/7/17)
We are living in a world full of assholes.
(New York, 9/18)
Ed Droste, founding member of the indy group Grizzly Bear, has LOL tattooed on his butt.
(Out, 8/17)
Bob Dylan once said that hearing Elvis for the first time was like busting out of jail.
(Time, 8/21/17)
ACLU membership has quadrupled since Trump’s election.
(Out, 8/17)
(Roz Warren is the author of Our Bodies, Our Shelves: A Collection of Library Humor and Just Another Day At Your Local Public Library: An Insider's Tales Of Library Life, both of which you should buy immediately.)
Bookmarks From Hell
Bookmarks From Hell -- A list Of Unsavory, Alarming and Downright Nasty Things Librarians Have Recently Found In Library Books
A dead frog
A used band-aid
A squashed and leaking Ketchup packet.
Bedbugs
A tampon
Toe nail clippings
Dozens of baby roaches
A slice of bacon
A crushed cigarette
A used Q-Tip
A used condom (and it was in a Bible!)
A grilled cheese sandwich
A cemetery plot.
Dental Floss
Used Kleenex
Unused Toilet Paper
Hair
A cigarette butt.
An ad for lap dances (in a children’s book!)
Questionable food stains
A dirty diaper
Pornographic photos
A slice of American cheese.
Attention library patrons! The next time you’re tempted to mark your place in one of our books with insects, snacks, porn or anything that used to be part of your body?
As a librarian I officially give you permission to just dog ear the page.
(Roz Warren is the author of Our Bodies, Our Shelves: A Collection of Library Humor and Just Another Day At Your Local Public Library: An Insider's Tales Of Library Life, both of which you should buy immediately.
A dead frog
A used band-aid
A squashed and leaking Ketchup packet.
Bedbugs
A tampon
Toe nail clippings
Dozens of baby roaches
A slice of bacon
A crushed cigarette
A used Q-Tip
A used condom (and it was in a Bible!)
A grilled cheese sandwich
A cemetery plot.
Dental Floss
Used Kleenex
Unused Toilet Paper
Hair
A cigarette butt.
An ad for lap dances (in a children’s book!)
Questionable food stains
A dirty diaper
Pornographic photos
A slice of American cheese.
Attention library patrons! The next time you’re tempted to mark your place in one of our books with insects, snacks, porn or anything that used to be part of your body?
As a librarian I officially give you permission to just dog ear the page.
(Roz Warren is the author of Our Bodies, Our Shelves: A Collection of Library Humor and Just Another Day At Your Local Public Library: An Insider's Tales Of Library Life, both of which you should buy immediately.
January 2, 2016
What I Learned From Magazines This Week
In his heyday, Burt Reynolds owned $100,000 worth of custom-made toupees.
(Vanity Fair, 12/15)
The average American looks at their phone 46 times each day.
(Time, 12/21/15)
One percent of babies worldwide are born with autism.
(Time, 12/28/15)
95% of supercenterians - people who live longer than 110 years -- are women.
(Prevention, 11/15)
Having an episode of intense anger is associated with an 8.5 times greater likelihood of having a heart attack in the next two hours.
(Time, 12/28/15)
The cost of cremation in the U.S. averages between $700 and $1,200; an in-ground burial costs around $7,000.
(The New Yorker, 11/30/15)
Japan has “corpse hotels” which allow families with apartments too tiny for a home funeral to participate in the ritual preparation of a body.
(The New Yorker, 11/30/15)
The first thing Larry King reads every morning is the obits.
(NYT Magazine 08/30/15)
Leonard Nimoy’s last Tweet before he died was LLAP (Live long and prosper.)
(Time, 12/21/15)
(Vanity Fair, 12/15)
The average American looks at their phone 46 times each day.
(Time, 12/21/15)
One percent of babies worldwide are born with autism.
(Time, 12/28/15)
95% of supercenterians - people who live longer than 110 years -- are women.
(Prevention, 11/15)
Having an episode of intense anger is associated with an 8.5 times greater likelihood of having a heart attack in the next two hours.
(Time, 12/28/15)
The cost of cremation in the U.S. averages between $700 and $1,200; an in-ground burial costs around $7,000.
(The New Yorker, 11/30/15)
Japan has “corpse hotels” which allow families with apartments too tiny for a home funeral to participate in the ritual preparation of a body.
(The New Yorker, 11/30/15)
The first thing Larry King reads every morning is the obits.
(NYT Magazine 08/30/15)
Leonard Nimoy’s last Tweet before he died was LLAP (Live long and prosper.)
(Time, 12/21/15)
December 19, 2015
What's A Nice Jewish Girl Like Me Doing In A Christmas Book?
I’m happy, as a Jewish writer, to be included in the new “Chicken Soup For The Soul” Christmas collection, which promises “101 Joyous Holiday Stories.” (Actually, my own contribution is more Flippant than Joyous. But “100 Joyous Holiday Stories and One Flippant Holiday Story“ doesn’t really fly as a subtitle.)
Over the years, Chicken Soup has welcomed a number of Jews into their holiday collections. “I was in the last one,” my pal Risa Nye told me. “Oy! My bubbe would plotz.”
So why would a Jew want to be in a Christmas book?
For one thing, it pays $200. Plus, as another pal joked when she heard the news, “If there’s chicken soup, there should be at least one Jew, right?”
There are, in fact, seven Jews in this new collection. So what did we add to a book destined to be shelved in the “Christian Living“ section?
Shari Cohen Forsythe describes the time a law school friend’s family welcomed her into their home for the holidays. “Talk about a gefilte fish out of water!” she jokes. But her friend’s mother had taken the time and trouble to seek out the one synagogue in town and ask the rabbi what a Jewish girl would want for Hanukah. It was, of course, a menorah and candles! “I learned,” concludes Forsythe, “that simple acts of kindness can remain in your heart forever.”
Judy Davidson writes about the night that she, her husband and their young kids shouldered the mammoth task of creating a Christmas celebration for a local homeless shelter. Did these observant Jews have any problem with staging a fabulous Christmas? Not at all. “Judaism teaches that helping others is a commandment,” writes Davidson, noting that performing this mitzvah only solidified her own family’s sense of Jewish identity.
Susan J. Gordon takes on the topic of secular businesses who attempt to honor Jewish traditions that they don’t really understand, in a piece about coaching a well-meaning local bank manager on the fine points of lighting a menorah, which, she has to explain, is a sacred act central to the celebration of Hanukah, and NOT just the Jewish equivalent of putting up a Christmas tree.
My own contribution, “When Should The Christmas Lights Come Down?” was inspired by a friend’s decision to leave his holiday lights up all winter “to ward off winter gloom“ and the responses he got when he posted about his decision on Facebook, ranging from “Great idea!” to “Bah humbug.”
Several of the stories are about mixed marriages. Andrea Bates, married to a non-Jew, describes “raising our little Jewish southern girl” in a home in which her daughter places her Hanukah gifts beneath a Christmas tree -- which is crowned with a Star of David. Ferida Wolff, whose daughter married outside the faith, tells of crafting an impromptu Christmas tree for visiting grandchildren.
Lisa Pawlak, whose mom was Protestant and whose dad was a Jew, ended up marrying a Panamanian Catholic, resulting in a wealth of holiday traditions, including a menorah, dreidels, latkes, stockings, a tree, fireworks and arroz con pollo. “We embrace a spirit of adventure,” she writes,” along with the richness of our family’s cultural diversity and absolute certainty of our underlying love for each other.”
The one thing all these stories have in common is an enduring sense of Jewish identity. All of us have found that, even as we encounter and embrace a diversity of traditions, we remain Jews.
You can have a Christmas tree in your house, put on a Santa suit and distribute holiday gifts to the homeless, or delight in the gigantic illuminated rotating Frosty the Snowman on your neighbor’s roof and still be Jewish.
Why be a Jew in a Christmas book? When I reached out to ask my fellow contributors, I got a variety of responses:
“In the long tradition of Barbra Streisand, Neil Diamond and Irving Berlin,” said Shari Forsythe “Jews like to sing, compose songs and write about Christmas - I guess I am no exception.”
“Culture and custom and celebration all blend at the holiday time, whether Christmas or Hanukkah,” observed Ferida Wolff. “And anything that brings people closer together is a joyous thing.”
“I expect that virtually all of the readers will be non-Jews,” Susan J. Gordon told me. “I hope that my story will encourage them to reflect on how the holiday world looks from a non-Christian perspective.”
Being a Jew at Christmas can be a challenge. As the airwaves fill with carols and the stores crowd with holiday shoppers, it can feel as if we’re being steamrolled by a gigantic Christmas Cheer machine, driven by Santa and spewing songs, gifts, tinsel and trees.
It’s enough to make a person feel invisible. And nobody likes that. Being a Jew in a Christmas collection is an opportunity to tell its largely Christian readership: We’re here! We’re Jewish! And here’s what “the most wonderful time of the year” means to us.
(Roz Warren is the author of OUR BODIES, OUR SHELVES: A COLLECTION OF LIBRARY HUMOR. http://ow.ly/LpFgE This piece first appeared on www.womensvoicesforchange.org.)
Over the years, Chicken Soup has welcomed a number of Jews into their holiday collections. “I was in the last one,” my pal Risa Nye told me. “Oy! My bubbe would plotz.”
So why would a Jew want to be in a Christmas book?
For one thing, it pays $200. Plus, as another pal joked when she heard the news, “If there’s chicken soup, there should be at least one Jew, right?”
There are, in fact, seven Jews in this new collection. So what did we add to a book destined to be shelved in the “Christian Living“ section?
Shari Cohen Forsythe describes the time a law school friend’s family welcomed her into their home for the holidays. “Talk about a gefilte fish out of water!” she jokes. But her friend’s mother had taken the time and trouble to seek out the one synagogue in town and ask the rabbi what a Jewish girl would want for Hanukah. It was, of course, a menorah and candles! “I learned,” concludes Forsythe, “that simple acts of kindness can remain in your heart forever.”
Judy Davidson writes about the night that she, her husband and their young kids shouldered the mammoth task of creating a Christmas celebration for a local homeless shelter. Did these observant Jews have any problem with staging a fabulous Christmas? Not at all. “Judaism teaches that helping others is a commandment,” writes Davidson, noting that performing this mitzvah only solidified her own family’s sense of Jewish identity.
Susan J. Gordon takes on the topic of secular businesses who attempt to honor Jewish traditions that they don’t really understand, in a piece about coaching a well-meaning local bank manager on the fine points of lighting a menorah, which, she has to explain, is a sacred act central to the celebration of Hanukah, and NOT just the Jewish equivalent of putting up a Christmas tree.
My own contribution, “When Should The Christmas Lights Come Down?” was inspired by a friend’s decision to leave his holiday lights up all winter “to ward off winter gloom“ and the responses he got when he posted about his decision on Facebook, ranging from “Great idea!” to “Bah humbug.”
Several of the stories are about mixed marriages. Andrea Bates, married to a non-Jew, describes “raising our little Jewish southern girl” in a home in which her daughter places her Hanukah gifts beneath a Christmas tree -- which is crowned with a Star of David. Ferida Wolff, whose daughter married outside the faith, tells of crafting an impromptu Christmas tree for visiting grandchildren.
Lisa Pawlak, whose mom was Protestant and whose dad was a Jew, ended up marrying a Panamanian Catholic, resulting in a wealth of holiday traditions, including a menorah, dreidels, latkes, stockings, a tree, fireworks and arroz con pollo. “We embrace a spirit of adventure,” she writes,” along with the richness of our family’s cultural diversity and absolute certainty of our underlying love for each other.”
The one thing all these stories have in common is an enduring sense of Jewish identity. All of us have found that, even as we encounter and embrace a diversity of traditions, we remain Jews.
You can have a Christmas tree in your house, put on a Santa suit and distribute holiday gifts to the homeless, or delight in the gigantic illuminated rotating Frosty the Snowman on your neighbor’s roof and still be Jewish.
Why be a Jew in a Christmas book? When I reached out to ask my fellow contributors, I got a variety of responses:
“In the long tradition of Barbra Streisand, Neil Diamond and Irving Berlin,” said Shari Forsythe “Jews like to sing, compose songs and write about Christmas - I guess I am no exception.”
“Culture and custom and celebration all blend at the holiday time, whether Christmas or Hanukkah,” observed Ferida Wolff. “And anything that brings people closer together is a joyous thing.”
“I expect that virtually all of the readers will be non-Jews,” Susan J. Gordon told me. “I hope that my story will encourage them to reflect on how the holiday world looks from a non-Christian perspective.”
Being a Jew at Christmas can be a challenge. As the airwaves fill with carols and the stores crowd with holiday shoppers, it can feel as if we’re being steamrolled by a gigantic Christmas Cheer machine, driven by Santa and spewing songs, gifts, tinsel and trees.
It’s enough to make a person feel invisible. And nobody likes that. Being a Jew in a Christmas collection is an opportunity to tell its largely Christian readership: We’re here! We’re Jewish! And here’s what “the most wonderful time of the year” means to us.
(Roz Warren is the author of OUR BODIES, OUR SHELVES: A COLLECTION OF LIBRARY HUMOR. http://ow.ly/LpFgE This piece first appeared on www.womensvoicesforchange.org.)
July 14, 2015
Adultery? For Me, It's A Big Yawn
I’ve read thousands of books, from trashy beach fiction to great works of literature. And here’s my conclusion:
I am tired of reading about adultery.
True, a lot of great writers have tackled this topic. And some terrific books have resulted. Madame Bovary. Anna Karenina. The Scarlet Letter. I’ve read and enjoyed many of them.
Not only that, but John Cheever happens to be one of my favorite authors, and it’s certainly true that if you remove all the extra-marital shenanigans from his ouevre, you wouldn’t be left with much more than a symbolic swimming pool and a magic radio.
There’s plenty of great literature about infidelity. But there’s a whole lot of not-so-great literature as well. It’s a basic fall-back plot device for just about everyone who wants to write a novel.
And I say enough.
This isn’t a moral position on my part. While I don’t engage in adultery myself these days, my (now defunct ) marriage began as an adulterous relationship, so I‘m in no position to claim the moral high ground. It’s just that I’m so damn tired of reading about cheating hearts.
I’ll begin a new book. I’m enjoying the writing, relishing the voice, and starting to care about the characters. Until it becomes clear that the plot is going to boil down to who beds whom.
Really? Again?
I know what you’re saying: adultery novels have endured because it remains an ever-fresh, timeless topic. I beg to differ. It’s always exactly the same. A and B are together. Will A stay with B or end up with C? (Or maybe even with D?)
Yawn.
Say you’re a writer. Do you really think you can add to or improve upon what John Cheever or John Updike (not to mention F. Scott Fitzgerald) had to say about hanky panky?
Trust me. You can’t.
After a life spent reading about every possible variation on the theme of people attempting to escape the bonds of holy matrimony, I’ve come to the point that whenever a book starts to turn into Yet Another Adultery Novel, I close it, return it to the library and try again.
Of the last five novels I checked out, three of them were about two-timing. The Girl On The Train. The Paris Wife. Gone Girl. I’m sure they’re terrific. I didn’t finish any of them.
I’m not much of a TV watcher, but I recently became a big fan of the BBC sci-fi series Doctor Who. Why? Well for one reason, there are 831 episodes, not a single one of which is about infidelity. The Doctor is an alien Time Lord who travels through space and time having adventures and battling hostile aliens. There are no illicit kisses, secret trysts or stolen moments. The Doctor doesn’t want to kiss your wife. He wants to defeat the Daleks and save your planet.
How refreshing is that?
Am I nuts to want to call a halt to all this adultery writing? Or at the very least, a moratorium? I can’t possibly be the only reader who has grown tired of this topic.
Writers! The next time you’re tempted to pen yet another novel about adultery, I dare you to write about something different. A marriage that endures. A multi-generational family saga with no illicit love affairs. A thriller with a female protagonist who fights crime, cracks jokes and kicks ass while wearing modest clothing and unfashionably comfortable shoes.
Please, just give it a try? Thanks.
Next up? Diet books! I say we purge our libraries and bookstores of every last one of them.
(Roz Warren is the author of OUR BODIES, OUR SHELVES: A COLLECTION OF LIBRARY HUMOR http://ow.ly/LpFgE This essay first appeared on THE BROAD STREET REVIEW.)
I am tired of reading about adultery.
True, a lot of great writers have tackled this topic. And some terrific books have resulted. Madame Bovary. Anna Karenina. The Scarlet Letter. I’ve read and enjoyed many of them.
Not only that, but John Cheever happens to be one of my favorite authors, and it’s certainly true that if you remove all the extra-marital shenanigans from his ouevre, you wouldn’t be left with much more than a symbolic swimming pool and a magic radio.
There’s plenty of great literature about infidelity. But there’s a whole lot of not-so-great literature as well. It’s a basic fall-back plot device for just about everyone who wants to write a novel.
And I say enough.
This isn’t a moral position on my part. While I don’t engage in adultery myself these days, my (now defunct ) marriage began as an adulterous relationship, so I‘m in no position to claim the moral high ground. It’s just that I’m so damn tired of reading about cheating hearts.
I’ll begin a new book. I’m enjoying the writing, relishing the voice, and starting to care about the characters. Until it becomes clear that the plot is going to boil down to who beds whom.
Really? Again?
I know what you’re saying: adultery novels have endured because it remains an ever-fresh, timeless topic. I beg to differ. It’s always exactly the same. A and B are together. Will A stay with B or end up with C? (Or maybe even with D?)
Yawn.
Say you’re a writer. Do you really think you can add to or improve upon what John Cheever or John Updike (not to mention F. Scott Fitzgerald) had to say about hanky panky?
Trust me. You can’t.
After a life spent reading about every possible variation on the theme of people attempting to escape the bonds of holy matrimony, I’ve come to the point that whenever a book starts to turn into Yet Another Adultery Novel, I close it, return it to the library and try again.
Of the last five novels I checked out, three of them were about two-timing. The Girl On The Train. The Paris Wife. Gone Girl. I’m sure they’re terrific. I didn’t finish any of them.
I’m not much of a TV watcher, but I recently became a big fan of the BBC sci-fi series Doctor Who. Why? Well for one reason, there are 831 episodes, not a single one of which is about infidelity. The Doctor is an alien Time Lord who travels through space and time having adventures and battling hostile aliens. There are no illicit kisses, secret trysts or stolen moments. The Doctor doesn’t want to kiss your wife. He wants to defeat the Daleks and save your planet.
How refreshing is that?
Am I nuts to want to call a halt to all this adultery writing? Or at the very least, a moratorium? I can’t possibly be the only reader who has grown tired of this topic.
Writers! The next time you’re tempted to pen yet another novel about adultery, I dare you to write about something different. A marriage that endures. A multi-generational family saga with no illicit love affairs. A thriller with a female protagonist who fights crime, cracks jokes and kicks ass while wearing modest clothing and unfashionably comfortable shoes.
Please, just give it a try? Thanks.
Next up? Diet books! I say we purge our libraries and bookstores of every last one of them.
(Roz Warren is the author of OUR BODIES, OUR SHELVES: A COLLECTION OF LIBRARY HUMOR http://ow.ly/LpFgE This essay first appeared on THE BROAD STREET REVIEW.)
July 2, 2015
Would You Ask A Librarian For A Lap Dance?
In the 15 years that I’ve worked at my local public library, I’ve learned that we librarians do plenty of things for our patrons that aren’t in our job descriptions. After a patron asked me to change her flat tire, and another wanted to check out our pencil sharpener, I logged onto my favorite librarian hangout on Face Book and asked: What’s the oddest thing a patron has ever asked you to do?
The first response?
Someone just asked me for a good book to read on the toilet.
Quickly followed by:
A patron who was on his way to the casino wanted to rub my red hair for good luck.
Last week a woman came in asking for my help to get the witches and demons to stop pinching her.
A patron once asked me to sit on his lap. (I laughed at him.)
Unusual Patron Requests proved to be a hot topic. Within a day, I had over 100 responses, as librarians shared stories about that special patron who:
Asked if she could leave her kids at the circ desk with me while she ran errands.
Wanted me to find books to prove that he was Julius Caesar, reincarnated.
Asked me to tell the man sitting at the computer next to hers to stop controlling her computer with his thoughts.
Brought in a mounted wildebeest head and asked if we could store it in the archives for the summer.
I soon realized that Odd Patron Requests fell into categories. Some requests were from patrons who wanted to look their best -- with our help.
A woman once asked if she could trade pants with me because she was going on a job interview.
A man once asked me to use library tape to remove lint from his suit jacket.
I’ve been asked my opinion about which frame a patron should select for her new glasses.
One man asked if he could use our community meeting room to shave with an electric razor. (“Is the power out at your house?” I asked. “Nope,” he said. No further explanation.)
After asking me a reference question, one patron pulled a toothbrush from her fanny pack and went to town on her teeth as I spoke. And when that was done, she brought out the dental floss.
Some requests were car-related:
People have been known to come to the reference desk and ask if we have jumper cables.
A patron once asked to borrow my boss’s car.
One of our regulars asked me to drive her to a town two hours away so she could look at apartments.
There were numerous requests for Library Hanky Panky:
Last week, a patron asked me to have sex with him in the alley. I didn’t.
A 50-year-old guy asked our Children’s Librarian to join him in the rest room. No dice.
One patron asked me to meet him in the copy room. (Wink wink.) Sorry, no.
I once had a male patron in his 50s who wouldn’t leave the reference desk until I told him he was naughty. (Handled by stating, deadpan, no eye contact, “Go on with your bad self, then.”)
Librarians have been asked to break the law:
A male patron once offered me $100 if I’d go into somebody’s yard and steal a cactus.
A patron once offered me $50 to make her a fake passport.
One patron wanted me to tell her my son’s social security number so she could use it to get more financial assistance. (I said no.)
Many unusual library questions are medical in nature:
One patron appeared in my office doorway holding a cotton swab and a petri dish and began by saying “You can totally say no to this….” (I did.)
Let’s just say that if I wanted to diagnose Athlete’s Foot, I’d have a MD, not a MLIS.
“Does this look infected?”
Some patrons want to take our innate helpfulness and eagerness to serve the library community to the next level:
One patron phoned and asked me to check out a list of books for her and drop them off at her house.
A patron once asked for my home phone number so she could phone me with reference questions when I wasn’t at work.
Patrons have asked me to do their taxes, clean their homes, and perform at their children’s birthday parties.
A patron once asked me if he could borrow $7,000.
A woman once asked me to go look for a dead body she was sure was buried by a lake, because the police wouldn’t listen to her.
We are also called upon to Identify Things:
A patron once asked me to identify a dead bug she’d taped to a piece of notebook paper.
I was asked to ID the snake a patron had caught in a bucket.
“There’s a brownish-grey fluffy animal under my porch. What is it?”
We’ve also been called upon to research a variety of interesting topics:
One patron wanted me to find a book to teach her dog German.
I’ve been asked to research how to avoid being cloned without your permission.
A patron once asked me to direct her to the books about Brazil written specifically for Unborn Children.
I once received a reference query from an inmate a nearby correctional facility for “books on how to levitate.”
Librarians are helpful by nature, which means that often we’re just fine with going above and beyond our job descriptions to perform small acts of library kindness:
An elderly woman just asked me to tie her shoes for her. (I did. She was too old to bend down and reach them herself.)
A patron recently asked me to help her find the tune and lyrics to patriotic songs so she could sing them to her Marine boyfriend on their upcoming road trip to the state capital. (Sadly, this woman had a mental illness, and there was no boyfriend or road trip, but I treated the question as if there were.)
Despite the odd requests, we librarians remain undaunted. We continue to love library work. And of course, everyone loves a library story with a happy ending. For instance?
A divorced dad came to Story Hour, asked me out, then asked me to marry him!! I did!
(Roz Warren is the author of OUR BODIES, OUR SHELVES: A COLLECTION OF LIBRARY HUMOR http://ow.ly/LpFgE .)
The first response?
Someone just asked me for a good book to read on the toilet.
Quickly followed by:
A patron who was on his way to the casino wanted to rub my red hair for good luck.
Last week a woman came in asking for my help to get the witches and demons to stop pinching her.
A patron once asked me to sit on his lap. (I laughed at him.)
Unusual Patron Requests proved to be a hot topic. Within a day, I had over 100 responses, as librarians shared stories about that special patron who:
Asked if she could leave her kids at the circ desk with me while she ran errands.
Wanted me to find books to prove that he was Julius Caesar, reincarnated.
Asked me to tell the man sitting at the computer next to hers to stop controlling her computer with his thoughts.
Brought in a mounted wildebeest head and asked if we could store it in the archives for the summer.
I soon realized that Odd Patron Requests fell into categories. Some requests were from patrons who wanted to look their best -- with our help.
A woman once asked if she could trade pants with me because she was going on a job interview.
A man once asked me to use library tape to remove lint from his suit jacket.
I’ve been asked my opinion about which frame a patron should select for her new glasses.
One man asked if he could use our community meeting room to shave with an electric razor. (“Is the power out at your house?” I asked. “Nope,” he said. No further explanation.)
After asking me a reference question, one patron pulled a toothbrush from her fanny pack and went to town on her teeth as I spoke. And when that was done, she brought out the dental floss.
Some requests were car-related:
People have been known to come to the reference desk and ask if we have jumper cables.
A patron once asked to borrow my boss’s car.
One of our regulars asked me to drive her to a town two hours away so she could look at apartments.
There were numerous requests for Library Hanky Panky:
Last week, a patron asked me to have sex with him in the alley. I didn’t.
A 50-year-old guy asked our Children’s Librarian to join him in the rest room. No dice.
One patron asked me to meet him in the copy room. (Wink wink.) Sorry, no.
I once had a male patron in his 50s who wouldn’t leave the reference desk until I told him he was naughty. (Handled by stating, deadpan, no eye contact, “Go on with your bad self, then.”)
Librarians have been asked to break the law:
A male patron once offered me $100 if I’d go into somebody’s yard and steal a cactus.
A patron once offered me $50 to make her a fake passport.
One patron wanted me to tell her my son’s social security number so she could use it to get more financial assistance. (I said no.)
Many unusual library questions are medical in nature:
One patron appeared in my office doorway holding a cotton swab and a petri dish and began by saying “You can totally say no to this….” (I did.)
Let’s just say that if I wanted to diagnose Athlete’s Foot, I’d have a MD, not a MLIS.
“Does this look infected?”
Some patrons want to take our innate helpfulness and eagerness to serve the library community to the next level:
One patron phoned and asked me to check out a list of books for her and drop them off at her house.
A patron once asked for my home phone number so she could phone me with reference questions when I wasn’t at work.
Patrons have asked me to do their taxes, clean their homes, and perform at their children’s birthday parties.
A patron once asked me if he could borrow $7,000.
A woman once asked me to go look for a dead body she was sure was buried by a lake, because the police wouldn’t listen to her.
We are also called upon to Identify Things:
A patron once asked me to identify a dead bug she’d taped to a piece of notebook paper.
I was asked to ID the snake a patron had caught in a bucket.
“There’s a brownish-grey fluffy animal under my porch. What is it?”
We’ve also been called upon to research a variety of interesting topics:
One patron wanted me to find a book to teach her dog German.
I’ve been asked to research how to avoid being cloned without your permission.
A patron once asked me to direct her to the books about Brazil written specifically for Unborn Children.
I once received a reference query from an inmate a nearby correctional facility for “books on how to levitate.”
Librarians are helpful by nature, which means that often we’re just fine with going above and beyond our job descriptions to perform small acts of library kindness:
An elderly woman just asked me to tie her shoes for her. (I did. She was too old to bend down and reach them herself.)
A patron recently asked me to help her find the tune and lyrics to patriotic songs so she could sing them to her Marine boyfriend on their upcoming road trip to the state capital. (Sadly, this woman had a mental illness, and there was no boyfriend or road trip, but I treated the question as if there were.)
Despite the odd requests, we librarians remain undaunted. We continue to love library work. And of course, everyone loves a library story with a happy ending. For instance?
A divorced dad came to Story Hour, asked me out, then asked me to marry him!! I did!
(Roz Warren is the author of OUR BODIES, OUR SHELVES: A COLLECTION OF LIBRARY HUMOR http://ow.ly/LpFgE .)
January 29, 2014
I Am Not A Careful Reader
Some people handle books so tenderly that even after they’ve read it cover to cover it looks untouched. They turn each page carefully, and always use bookmarks. They refrain from cracking the spine. They never nosh as they read, so the pages aren’t dotted with red sauce or spotted with chocolate. And they wouldn’t dream of leaving a book lying around where their Yorkie-poo (or their toddler) might nibble the corners.
I am not like that.
When I read a book, I move right in and make myself at home. I dog-ear pages, underline, highlight, and make marginal notes. I’ll use the blank pages to make shopping lists or jot down phone numbers. At the ball park, I’ve been known to use that space to list the opening line-ups of both teams.
By the time I’m through reading a book, you can definitely tell that I’ve been there.
Of course, I treat library books more carefully than I do my own books. After all, they have to last through many readers. And, as someone who works in a public library, I expect you to do the same. I might dog-ear the pages of the books I check out, but I refrain from writing in them. (Or I’ll make lightly penciled notes in the margins, which I’ll erase before returning.) Unlike some of our patrons, I don’t read library books in the tub. (And if I did, and they fell in, I wouldn’t sneak the water-logged book into the book drop and hope nobody noticed.)
Our patrons return library books not only waterlogged, but heavily underlined, stained with last night’s supper, gummed by toddlers, colored in by 3-year-olds and chewed up by dogs. (It isn’t unusual for our books about puppy training to come back to us graced with at least a few teeth marks.)
Did you know that there are actually folks who correct -- in ink-- the spelling and grammatical errors they find in their library books? I’m one librarian who welcomes this behavior. The way I see it, these unsung heroes, by maintaining standards of literacy in an age of creeping Twitter-speak, are performing a valuable public service.
I try to return my library books in the same condition they were in when I checked them out. But when it comes to my personal library? I strip off the jacket! I crack the spine! I fold over corners. I underline. I don’t hesitate to leave my mark.
I happen to think that makes a book happy. Some of my best relationships have been with books. And who, in a relationship, wants to always be handled with kid gloves? I don’t want to remain untouched by a book. Why should the book want to remain untouched by me?
If I were a book, I’d welcome underlining. It’s not disrespect. It’s affirmation. It’s a reader saying “Yes! Thanks! I agree! You rock!”
And folding over a page corner? It doesn’t say “I don’t care.“ It says “I’ll be back.”
My mother, from whom I got my love of reading, never saw eye to eye with me about this. Growing up, whenever she caught me folding over a page corner to mark my place, she’d say, “Use a book mark!” and hand me a slip of paper, a napkin or a file card.
It was a losing battle. To this day, I shun bookmarks. But I’d never think of discouraging you, the library patron, from using them. Not because I’m tender-hearted about page corners. But because those of us who work in public libraries are so entertained by the stuff the reading public uses to mark their places with, then forgets to remove when the book is returned.
Airline tickets. Grocery coupons. Money! (I once found a fifty in a copy of “Get Rich Quick.”) Family photos. Nudie photos. A marijuana leaf. A slice of wrapped cheese. Love letters. Once, even, a cherry-flavored condom. (Thankfully, unopened and still in the wrapper.)
Then there was the furious, heart-felt letter written by one of our patrons to her spouse, detailing every despicable thing he’d done during the course of their marriage, which fell out of a just returned copy of “Coping with Infidelity.“ Was it signed? You bet.
Think about her the next time you’re tempted to grab a less than dignified photo of your hubby or a steamy love letter from your sweetie to mark your place in a library book.
Then play it safe and fold over the page corner.
(This essay first appeared on www.purpleclover.com.)
I am not like that.
When I read a book, I move right in and make myself at home. I dog-ear pages, underline, highlight, and make marginal notes. I’ll use the blank pages to make shopping lists or jot down phone numbers. At the ball park, I’ve been known to use that space to list the opening line-ups of both teams.
By the time I’m through reading a book, you can definitely tell that I’ve been there.
Of course, I treat library books more carefully than I do my own books. After all, they have to last through many readers. And, as someone who works in a public library, I expect you to do the same. I might dog-ear the pages of the books I check out, but I refrain from writing in them. (Or I’ll make lightly penciled notes in the margins, which I’ll erase before returning.) Unlike some of our patrons, I don’t read library books in the tub. (And if I did, and they fell in, I wouldn’t sneak the water-logged book into the book drop and hope nobody noticed.)
Our patrons return library books not only waterlogged, but heavily underlined, stained with last night’s supper, gummed by toddlers, colored in by 3-year-olds and chewed up by dogs. (It isn’t unusual for our books about puppy training to come back to us graced with at least a few teeth marks.)
Did you know that there are actually folks who correct -- in ink-- the spelling and grammatical errors they find in their library books? I’m one librarian who welcomes this behavior. The way I see it, these unsung heroes, by maintaining standards of literacy in an age of creeping Twitter-speak, are performing a valuable public service.
I try to return my library books in the same condition they were in when I checked them out. But when it comes to my personal library? I strip off the jacket! I crack the spine! I fold over corners. I underline. I don’t hesitate to leave my mark.
I happen to think that makes a book happy. Some of my best relationships have been with books. And who, in a relationship, wants to always be handled with kid gloves? I don’t want to remain untouched by a book. Why should the book want to remain untouched by me?
If I were a book, I’d welcome underlining. It’s not disrespect. It’s affirmation. It’s a reader saying “Yes! Thanks! I agree! You rock!”
And folding over a page corner? It doesn’t say “I don’t care.“ It says “I’ll be back.”
My mother, from whom I got my love of reading, never saw eye to eye with me about this. Growing up, whenever she caught me folding over a page corner to mark my place, she’d say, “Use a book mark!” and hand me a slip of paper, a napkin or a file card.
It was a losing battle. To this day, I shun bookmarks. But I’d never think of discouraging you, the library patron, from using them. Not because I’m tender-hearted about page corners. But because those of us who work in public libraries are so entertained by the stuff the reading public uses to mark their places with, then forgets to remove when the book is returned.
Airline tickets. Grocery coupons. Money! (I once found a fifty in a copy of “Get Rich Quick.”) Family photos. Nudie photos. A marijuana leaf. A slice of wrapped cheese. Love letters. Once, even, a cherry-flavored condom. (Thankfully, unopened and still in the wrapper.)
Then there was the furious, heart-felt letter written by one of our patrons to her spouse, detailing every despicable thing he’d done during the course of their marriage, which fell out of a just returned copy of “Coping with Infidelity.“ Was it signed? You bet.
Think about her the next time you’re tempted to grab a less than dignified photo of your hubby or a steamy love letter from your sweetie to mark your place in a library book.
Then play it safe and fold over the page corner.
(This essay first appeared on www.purpleclover.com.)
December 13, 2013
20 Things I Learned About Norman Rockwell from "American Mirror, The Life and Art of Norman Rockwell"
His middle name was Perceval.
He judged the first Miss America contest in 1922.
He saw himself primarily as a storyteller in the Dickensian mode.
He claimed to be an illustrator rather than an artist.
He disliked driving but loved to walk, and preferred walking uphill to walking down hill.
He was an excellent square-dancer.
He lived in Vermont for 14 years without painting a single landscape. His response, when a friend pointed out a beautiful vista, was “Thank Heavens I don’t have to paint it!”
He drank Coca-Cola for breakfast.
To generate ideas for pictures, he had to isolate himself and then imagine boys playing around a lamppost.
He was in therapy for years with psychoanalyst Erik Erikson.
The Saturday Evening Post once told him to remove an African American from a group picture because the magazine’s policy was to only show Blacks in service-industry jobs. He complied, but later became an ardent civil rights supporter.
He had difficulty expressing anger and was only seen to lose his temper three times, once when a man refused to sell the artist his hat for a large sum of money.
He “had no difficulty finding friends who were inordinately devoted to him.”
He “required the nearly constant companionship of men whom he perceived as physically strong.”
He was compulsive about cleanliness and swept his studio 4 - 6 times daily.
He always wore shoes that were too small.
John Updike once said that Rockwell had a “surreally expressive vocabulary of shoes.”
His first wife left him for another man after 14 year of marriage. His second wife was an alcoholic. His biographer implies (but never actually states) that Rockwell was a man with repressed homoerotic tendencies who finally found happiness with his 3rd wife, a closeted lesbian.
He was friends with Walt Disney.
The record price for a Rockwell painting is $15.4 million, a price about which, according to his biographer, he would feel “incredulous.”
He judged the first Miss America contest in 1922.
He saw himself primarily as a storyteller in the Dickensian mode.
He claimed to be an illustrator rather than an artist.
He disliked driving but loved to walk, and preferred walking uphill to walking down hill.
He was an excellent square-dancer.
He lived in Vermont for 14 years without painting a single landscape. His response, when a friend pointed out a beautiful vista, was “Thank Heavens I don’t have to paint it!”
He drank Coca-Cola for breakfast.
To generate ideas for pictures, he had to isolate himself and then imagine boys playing around a lamppost.
He was in therapy for years with psychoanalyst Erik Erikson.
The Saturday Evening Post once told him to remove an African American from a group picture because the magazine’s policy was to only show Blacks in service-industry jobs. He complied, but later became an ardent civil rights supporter.
He had difficulty expressing anger and was only seen to lose his temper three times, once when a man refused to sell the artist his hat for a large sum of money.
He “had no difficulty finding friends who were inordinately devoted to him.”
He “required the nearly constant companionship of men whom he perceived as physically strong.”
He was compulsive about cleanliness and swept his studio 4 - 6 times daily.
He always wore shoes that were too small.
John Updike once said that Rockwell had a “surreally expressive vocabulary of shoes.”
His first wife left him for another man after 14 year of marriage. His second wife was an alcoholic. His biographer implies (but never actually states) that Rockwell was a man with repressed homoerotic tendencies who finally found happiness with his 3rd wife, a closeted lesbian.
He was friends with Walt Disney.
The record price for a Rockwell painting is $15.4 million, a price about which, according to his biographer, he would feel “incredulous.”
April 25, 2013
Advice I'm Going To Ignore from "Life's Little Instruction Book"
Chop Your Own Firewood And Learn to Juggle: Advice I’m Going to Ignore From The Latest Edition of “Life’s Little Instruction Book.“
“Life’s Little Instruction Book,” first published in 1991 as a collection of advice from H. Jackson Brown, Jr. to his college-bound son, has sold millions of copies, been translated into 35 languages, and inspired calendars, posters, journals, greeting cards and screensavers.
Not surprisingly, it’s a very popular graduation gift.
The latest edition contains plenty of excellent counsel, like “Get a dog” and “Check hotel bills carefully for unexpected charges” along with some that are downright puzzling, like “Steer clear of restaurants that rotate” and “Never buy a beige car.” (What kind of awful early encounter with beige cars or rotating restaurants left Brown with this kind of lasting animus?)
Ironically, one piece of advice Brown gives us is “Never give a loved one a gift that suggests they need improvement.“
Uh… isn’t that this little gift book in a nutshell?
But who am I to argue with a dude who became a multi-millionaire by pithily telling other folks what to do? I’ve been telling other people how to live their lives for decades, and not only has it not brought me fame and riches, it has earned me a reputation for being a “smart-ass know-it-all.”
Although I’ll have no trouble following advice like “Never buy a beige car” (I may be a mild-mannered librarian, but I love my red Toyota.) there are some words of wisdom here that I plan to ignore:
Avoid sarcastic remarks.
Do 100 push-ups every day.
Get up 30 minutes earlier.
Never miss an opportunity to ride a roller coaster.
Learn a card trick.
Attend class reunions
Never use profanity.
Remember peoples’ names.
Learn how to fix a leaky toilet.
Never go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink.
Don’t gossip.
Try everything offered by supermarket demonstrators.
Read the Bible cover to cover.
Never eat the last cookie.
When attending meetings, sit in front.
Cut your own firewood.
Learn to juggle.
Don’t let anyone see you go back more than twice for the peeled shrimp.
Of course, I might be able to whittle this list down a bit, with some creative off-setting.
For instance, I’d be up for sitting in the front at meetings, if I can juggle and make sarcastic remarks.
And can I gossip about people as long as I correctly remember their names?
I have to admit that the challenge of doing card tricks on a roller coaster appeals to me.
Not to mention attempting to juggle while chopping firewood. (And - if I survive -- what a fun talent to show off at the next class reunion!)
On the other hand, some things are just non-starters. I am, by nature, a last-cookie-grabber. And after I’ve enjoyed that cookie, I’m going to put the plate it was served on in the sink with the other dirty dishes and go to bed.
But I’m guessing I could manage to rise from my bed 30 minutes early to do 100-push-ups or even fix the toilet, as long as I could employ plenty of profanity.
Anyway, as delightful as it is to dream up these little scenarios, now you’ll have to excuse me. I’m off to read the Bible cover to cover while gobbling peeled shrimp in a rotating restaurant.
(www.rosalindwarren.com)
“Life’s Little Instruction Book,” first published in 1991 as a collection of advice from H. Jackson Brown, Jr. to his college-bound son, has sold millions of copies, been translated into 35 languages, and inspired calendars, posters, journals, greeting cards and screensavers.
Not surprisingly, it’s a very popular graduation gift.
The latest edition contains plenty of excellent counsel, like “Get a dog” and “Check hotel bills carefully for unexpected charges” along with some that are downright puzzling, like “Steer clear of restaurants that rotate” and “Never buy a beige car.” (What kind of awful early encounter with beige cars or rotating restaurants left Brown with this kind of lasting animus?)
Ironically, one piece of advice Brown gives us is “Never give a loved one a gift that suggests they need improvement.“
Uh… isn’t that this little gift book in a nutshell?
But who am I to argue with a dude who became a multi-millionaire by pithily telling other folks what to do? I’ve been telling other people how to live their lives for decades, and not only has it not brought me fame and riches, it has earned me a reputation for being a “smart-ass know-it-all.”
Although I’ll have no trouble following advice like “Never buy a beige car” (I may be a mild-mannered librarian, but I love my red Toyota.) there are some words of wisdom here that I plan to ignore:
Avoid sarcastic remarks.
Do 100 push-ups every day.
Get up 30 minutes earlier.
Never miss an opportunity to ride a roller coaster.
Learn a card trick.
Attend class reunions
Never use profanity.
Remember peoples’ names.
Learn how to fix a leaky toilet.
Never go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink.
Don’t gossip.
Try everything offered by supermarket demonstrators.
Read the Bible cover to cover.
Never eat the last cookie.
When attending meetings, sit in front.
Cut your own firewood.
Learn to juggle.
Don’t let anyone see you go back more than twice for the peeled shrimp.
Of course, I might be able to whittle this list down a bit, with some creative off-setting.
For instance, I’d be up for sitting in the front at meetings, if I can juggle and make sarcastic remarks.
And can I gossip about people as long as I correctly remember their names?
I have to admit that the challenge of doing card tricks on a roller coaster appeals to me.
Not to mention attempting to juggle while chopping firewood. (And - if I survive -- what a fun talent to show off at the next class reunion!)
On the other hand, some things are just non-starters. I am, by nature, a last-cookie-grabber. And after I’ve enjoyed that cookie, I’m going to put the plate it was served on in the sink with the other dirty dishes and go to bed.
But I’m guessing I could manage to rise from my bed 30 minutes early to do 100-push-ups or even fix the toilet, as long as I could employ plenty of profanity.
Anyway, as delightful as it is to dream up these little scenarios, now you’ll have to excuse me. I’m off to read the Bible cover to cover while gobbling peeled shrimp in a rotating restaurant.
(www.rosalindwarren.com)
February 2, 2013
A Capital Time For Tweeting, Plus When To Shoot A Moose
A“Buy Shoes On Wednesday and Tweet at 4:00” is a new advice book which tells the reader the best possible time to get everything done, from flossing ones teeth to visiting Zanzibar. As a public service, I’ve used the information provided in that book to create an ideal day:
First thing in the morning, start a daily ritual that will become a habit (you‘re more likely to stick with it) go to the car wash (it’s less crowded and the machinery is cleaner) and ride your horse (he’ll have more energy at that hour and won’t get overheated.)
Between six and eight, pick strawberries (That’s the time of day the plants are strongest) and hunt (More animals are out at that hour, so you’re more likely to kill something.)
At seven, take a break to update your Facebook page. (Your friends are logging on as they wake up and are more likely to read it.)
(“Just shot a moose! About to breakfast on tasty moose hash and fresh strawberries.“)
Then shave (if you cut yourself, you’ll lose less blood) and hold a garage sale (you’ll get more customers.)
If you live in a high crime neighborhood, make sure to get to the ATM before nine. (You’re less likely to be mugged.)
As the morning wears on, you can go bowling (it’s cheaper), exercise for weight loss (you‘ll burn more calories) get a massage (your massage therapist will have more energy) and get a colonoscopy (the doc is more likely to find abnormal growths if they do exist).
At eleven, stop to buy a diamond. (That’s when sales staff in jewelry stores are most fresh and focused and likely to provide good service.)
And in the late morning -- sing! (Your vocal cords will be nicely warmed up.)
Maybe you can make up a song about your colonoscopy.
Get your nails done in the afternoon. (They’ll have plenty of time to dry, and the salon will be less crowded.)
Then, at three, interview for a job. (You’ll be most likely to be remembered by your not-yet-exhausted interviewer.)
In the late afternoon, it’s best to knit. (Your hand eye coordination is at its peak).
But make sure you don’t knit DURING the job interview.
At four, vacuum your house (your mood and energy will both be up) and mow the lawn (the grass is dry and easier to cut.). Then post a tweet. (“Just mowed the lawn and vacuumed my house!”)
At five, post on Facebook. Your friends will read it as they check in before leaving work.
(“Got the job! Snacked on moose leftovers. And I’m almost done with this lovely hand-knitted afghan for my horse.”)
In the evening, take your dog for a run (you’re more relaxed and he’s less likely to get overheated.) Then brush his teeth. (After the run, he’ll be more compliant.) Then purchase a gerbil. (They’re nocturnal, so gerbil shopping in the evening gives you a better idea of what they’re like than during the day, when they’re sleepy and sluggish.)
At seven, teach someone to drive on the highway (There’s less traffic, so it’s safer.)
At eight, read to your child. (Perhaps a book about how to take care of a new gerbil. Or a fairy tale about a horse and a gerbil who become best pals.)
At ten, do the laundry (power is cheaper off peak)
If you don’t want to do the laundry, you’ve got a great excuse. Ten is also the best time to go to bed. (It’s good for your health to sleep from 10 to 6.)
But, before you drift off to dreamland, don’t forget to floss. (You’re less likely to rush, and the inside of your mouth will be clean while you sleep.)
Sweet dreams! Maybe you’ll dream about visiting Zanzibar. (If so, keep in mind that the best month for that is July.)
(This review first appeared on www.womensvoicesforchange.org)
First thing in the morning, start a daily ritual that will become a habit (you‘re more likely to stick with it) go to the car wash (it’s less crowded and the machinery is cleaner) and ride your horse (he’ll have more energy at that hour and won’t get overheated.)
Between six and eight, pick strawberries (That’s the time of day the plants are strongest) and hunt (More animals are out at that hour, so you’re more likely to kill something.)
At seven, take a break to update your Facebook page. (Your friends are logging on as they wake up and are more likely to read it.)
(“Just shot a moose! About to breakfast on tasty moose hash and fresh strawberries.“)
Then shave (if you cut yourself, you’ll lose less blood) and hold a garage sale (you’ll get more customers.)
If you live in a high crime neighborhood, make sure to get to the ATM before nine. (You’re less likely to be mugged.)
As the morning wears on, you can go bowling (it’s cheaper), exercise for weight loss (you‘ll burn more calories) get a massage (your massage therapist will have more energy) and get a colonoscopy (the doc is more likely to find abnormal growths if they do exist).
At eleven, stop to buy a diamond. (That’s when sales staff in jewelry stores are most fresh and focused and likely to provide good service.)
And in the late morning -- sing! (Your vocal cords will be nicely warmed up.)
Maybe you can make up a song about your colonoscopy.
Get your nails done in the afternoon. (They’ll have plenty of time to dry, and the salon will be less crowded.)
Then, at three, interview for a job. (You’ll be most likely to be remembered by your not-yet-exhausted interviewer.)
In the late afternoon, it’s best to knit. (Your hand eye coordination is at its peak).
But make sure you don’t knit DURING the job interview.
At four, vacuum your house (your mood and energy will both be up) and mow the lawn (the grass is dry and easier to cut.). Then post a tweet. (“Just mowed the lawn and vacuumed my house!”)
At five, post on Facebook. Your friends will read it as they check in before leaving work.
(“Got the job! Snacked on moose leftovers. And I’m almost done with this lovely hand-knitted afghan for my horse.”)
In the evening, take your dog for a run (you’re more relaxed and he’s less likely to get overheated.) Then brush his teeth. (After the run, he’ll be more compliant.) Then purchase a gerbil. (They’re nocturnal, so gerbil shopping in the evening gives you a better idea of what they’re like than during the day, when they’re sleepy and sluggish.)
At seven, teach someone to drive on the highway (There’s less traffic, so it’s safer.)
At eight, read to your child. (Perhaps a book about how to take care of a new gerbil. Or a fairy tale about a horse and a gerbil who become best pals.)
At ten, do the laundry (power is cheaper off peak)
If you don’t want to do the laundry, you’ve got a great excuse. Ten is also the best time to go to bed. (It’s good for your health to sleep from 10 to 6.)
But, before you drift off to dreamland, don’t forget to floss. (You’re less likely to rush, and the inside of your mouth will be clean while you sleep.)
Sweet dreams! Maybe you’ll dream about visiting Zanzibar. (If so, keep in mind that the best month for that is July.)
(This review first appeared on www.womensvoicesforchange.org)
