Dirty
As much as I like living here in Pittsburgh, I can't help but feel that this is one of the dirtiest cities I've ever seen. Trash, weeds, dilapidated buildings, etc. seem to fill my field of vision on a daily basis. Piles of shit are everywhere, and it makes me wonder where they come from. Now, I realize that there are probably numerous people who walk their pets at all hours of the day that allow them to let loose their bowels on any piece of sidewalk they please, but it seems to me that there's an inordinate amount of shit on the streets here at any given moment. Garbage seems to litter every inch of land in this city, especially on the trendy South Side. It makes one wonder how people can be so callous and have such little regard for the appearance of the neighborhoods they live in. Don't get me wrong, I'm by no means a radical tree hugger, but I get sickened by the appearance of trash and rotten smells that permeate in this supposedly progressive city.
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
The Loss of a Voice
Now that I have this gaping wound in my life with little or no traumatic events to speak of, I'm conflicted about what to actually write about on this blog. Anything that I might want to write about doesn't seem all that interesting and, for the most part, I feel like I'd be repeating previous posts, a trend I'd like to avoid at all costs. So, what I'm left with is a dilemma that must face every writer at some point: what happens when you have nothing to say? I know, in some way I'm already contradicting myself by essentially rewriting a previous post about writer's block, which was the post previous to the last long one, but this is different in many regards. In that previous post, I chose to focus on my personal disappointment in the direction of fiction being written today. I got way off topic and turned that post into a literary critique. This post, however, will be somewhat more directly focused on my own inability to generate interesting topics for writing about on this site. In many ways, I think I've exhausted my ability to write about topics that interest me. I'm not saying that I can't write period, or that I've lost the ability to write in a coherent manner. It's just that I'm noticing more and more that the topics that interest me neither lend themselves to this kind of forum nor do they make interesting writing in general. I would go so far as to say that I've lost my "voice." Now, if I told the professor who hooked me on creative writing that I was on the verge of losing my "voice," he'd hit the proverbial roof. However, I was looking through some of my older writings, poetry for the most part, and it seemed to me that I've fallen into a repetitive pattern of words, themes, etc. I'm certainly not clamoring for more tragedy in my life, or any of the major life-altering events that might produce words and inspiration for them. However, I feel strongly that there are definite points that define an artist's career as over. There are definite high points and low points, and when the low points seem to outnumber the highs, perhaps it's time to turn in the final product. There's nothing sadder than seeing an artist trying, in vain, to reclaim past glories with lackluster efforts that only prolong the long fall from grace. I think there are many novelists and a good portion of musicians that are guilty of this very practice, and it serves as nothing more than tarnish on what was once a respectable career in letters, art, or music. With luck, I haven't reached that point yet, but I'm not one that feels the need to prolong something that should have ended a long time ago. Going out on a high note should be the one thing that we strive for in life.
Now that I have this gaping wound in my life with little or no traumatic events to speak of, I'm conflicted about what to actually write about on this blog. Anything that I might want to write about doesn't seem all that interesting and, for the most part, I feel like I'd be repeating previous posts, a trend I'd like to avoid at all costs. So, what I'm left with is a dilemma that must face every writer at some point: what happens when you have nothing to say? I know, in some way I'm already contradicting myself by essentially rewriting a previous post about writer's block, which was the post previous to the last long one, but this is different in many regards. In that previous post, I chose to focus on my personal disappointment in the direction of fiction being written today. I got way off topic and turned that post into a literary critique. This post, however, will be somewhat more directly focused on my own inability to generate interesting topics for writing about on this site. In many ways, I think I've exhausted my ability to write about topics that interest me. I'm not saying that I can't write period, or that I've lost the ability to write in a coherent manner. It's just that I'm noticing more and more that the topics that interest me neither lend themselves to this kind of forum nor do they make interesting writing in general. I would go so far as to say that I've lost my "voice." Now, if I told the professor who hooked me on creative writing that I was on the verge of losing my "voice," he'd hit the proverbial roof. However, I was looking through some of my older writings, poetry for the most part, and it seemed to me that I've fallen into a repetitive pattern of words, themes, etc. I'm certainly not clamoring for more tragedy in my life, or any of the major life-altering events that might produce words and inspiration for them. However, I feel strongly that there are definite points that define an artist's career as over. There are definite high points and low points, and when the low points seem to outnumber the highs, perhaps it's time to turn in the final product. There's nothing sadder than seeing an artist trying, in vain, to reclaim past glories with lackluster efforts that only prolong the long fall from grace. I think there are many novelists and a good portion of musicians that are guilty of this very practice, and it serves as nothing more than tarnish on what was once a respectable career in letters, art, or music. With luck, I haven't reached that point yet, but I'm not one that feels the need to prolong something that should have ended a long time ago. Going out on a high note should be the one thing that we strive for in life.
Saturday, September 13, 2003
Misperceptions
It's always interesting to be aware of both sides of a story pertaining to an important, if sometimes mundane event, in the lives of two people. For the most part, the parties involved seem to be able to isolate their perceptions to their own mind and their immediate circle of confidants. However, when one or both sides in the struggle become increasingly familiar with one or the others social circles and the perceptions of that person within that circle, there can be times when one will become aware of facts, ideas, or mistaken realities that radically alter that party's final analysis.
Case in point, after becoming embroiled with a member of the opposite sex, there came a point when it was definitely necessary to do a reassessment of the entire scenario. The reason for this reassessment stemmed from the seeming inability for us to have adequate, open lines of conversation. Statements in the course of our conversations seemed to become stilted and stale. Communication seemed to be difficult and without any real redeeming value. The forced nature of the conversations seemed to be sapping all the ambition for us to remain on a steady course. Finally, after having sought the advice from multiple fronts in this regard, I decided the only way to really resolve the situation was to have a face to face exchange of our own assessments of the situation.
However, it's most important to divulge that, at this stage, I became aware of the idea that this person wasn't as accepted into the social circle she claimed to be an integral part of. In fact, it became increasingly difficult to separate the truth from the reality of her perceptions of her own situation. To be blunt, blatant animosities towards her were most evident in the analysis that I was receiving from a prominent member of this clique. Her own self-awareness to this reality seems to be skewed in a direction that points to an obvious self-gratifying assessment. The reality, though, is much more harsh. Becoming aware of this type of thinking may be dangerous to providing one with any sorts of reassurances as to the positive outcome that could possibly result from ignoring such revelations.
The time came, then, for a real reassessment of the situation. What exactly was going on here? Why was the communication becoming more and more difficult to sustain? What transpired over the course of several weeks, some of which were days apart from one another? Is it possible that I was misreading everything and not seeing that there was something definitely wrong with the proceedings? Had I said or done something to cross a boundary? All these questions and many more were racing through my mind in a last ditch attempt to rescue, revitalize, recharge what was, in my opinion, a promising situation. Most of this, though, went right out the window when I uttered the words, "I think we need to go somewhere and talk" in response to her inquiry about where we were going on this occasion. This, in the end, may have been the smartest move I made in the course of the entire affair. Heading off what would have most likely been an evening that would have transpired like any other and would have definitely led me to believe that I was still in the driver's seat and in good graces, proved to be the best move I've made. The fact that she had a definite agenda became obvious when she launched into, what seemed like, a prepared speech, but, in retrospect, looks like it was more and more full of holes and lapses in logical progression. To summarize, it was a cop-out of an idea that we, as two people in the fledgling stages, weren't compatible with one another. Having said her piece, I proceeded to launch into what must have seemed like a positively ideal appraisal of the situation and its future prospects. I'd like to think that this sort of reaction won me some points in the overall scheme of things. I'm still waiting for that analysis.
What has led me to reevaluate the entire saga, though, was the revelation this very day that this girl, the girl I thought I was making many inroads with and was able to maintain a mutual friendship with, reported the very saga detailed above to her confidants as a total roll reversal. In other words, I was the one who broke up with her, not the other way around, which is obviously what happened. This leads me to wonder and posit these final questions: Was I in a relationship that I wasn't aware I was in? How is her version of reality being distorted, or is she seeing something there that I wasn't? How can I have misread such a scenario, or did I even?
It's always interesting to be aware of both sides of a story pertaining to an important, if sometimes mundane event, in the lives of two people. For the most part, the parties involved seem to be able to isolate their perceptions to their own mind and their immediate circle of confidants. However, when one or both sides in the struggle become increasingly familiar with one or the others social circles and the perceptions of that person within that circle, there can be times when one will become aware of facts, ideas, or mistaken realities that radically alter that party's final analysis.
Case in point, after becoming embroiled with a member of the opposite sex, there came a point when it was definitely necessary to do a reassessment of the entire scenario. The reason for this reassessment stemmed from the seeming inability for us to have adequate, open lines of conversation. Statements in the course of our conversations seemed to become stilted and stale. Communication seemed to be difficult and without any real redeeming value. The forced nature of the conversations seemed to be sapping all the ambition for us to remain on a steady course. Finally, after having sought the advice from multiple fronts in this regard, I decided the only way to really resolve the situation was to have a face to face exchange of our own assessments of the situation.
However, it's most important to divulge that, at this stage, I became aware of the idea that this person wasn't as accepted into the social circle she claimed to be an integral part of. In fact, it became increasingly difficult to separate the truth from the reality of her perceptions of her own situation. To be blunt, blatant animosities towards her were most evident in the analysis that I was receiving from a prominent member of this clique. Her own self-awareness to this reality seems to be skewed in a direction that points to an obvious self-gratifying assessment. The reality, though, is much more harsh. Becoming aware of this type of thinking may be dangerous to providing one with any sorts of reassurances as to the positive outcome that could possibly result from ignoring such revelations.
The time came, then, for a real reassessment of the situation. What exactly was going on here? Why was the communication becoming more and more difficult to sustain? What transpired over the course of several weeks, some of which were days apart from one another? Is it possible that I was misreading everything and not seeing that there was something definitely wrong with the proceedings? Had I said or done something to cross a boundary? All these questions and many more were racing through my mind in a last ditch attempt to rescue, revitalize, recharge what was, in my opinion, a promising situation. Most of this, though, went right out the window when I uttered the words, "I think we need to go somewhere and talk" in response to her inquiry about where we were going on this occasion. This, in the end, may have been the smartest move I made in the course of the entire affair. Heading off what would have most likely been an evening that would have transpired like any other and would have definitely led me to believe that I was still in the driver's seat and in good graces, proved to be the best move I've made. The fact that she had a definite agenda became obvious when she launched into, what seemed like, a prepared speech, but, in retrospect, looks like it was more and more full of holes and lapses in logical progression. To summarize, it was a cop-out of an idea that we, as two people in the fledgling stages, weren't compatible with one another. Having said her piece, I proceeded to launch into what must have seemed like a positively ideal appraisal of the situation and its future prospects. I'd like to think that this sort of reaction won me some points in the overall scheme of things. I'm still waiting for that analysis.
What has led me to reevaluate the entire saga, though, was the revelation this very day that this girl, the girl I thought I was making many inroads with and was able to maintain a mutual friendship with, reported the very saga detailed above to her confidants as a total roll reversal. In other words, I was the one who broke up with her, not the other way around, which is obviously what happened. This leads me to wonder and posit these final questions: Was I in a relationship that I wasn't aware I was in? How is her version of reality being distorted, or is she seeing something there that I wasn't? How can I have misread such a scenario, or did I even?
Thursday, September 11, 2003
Writer's Block
I've been struggling, for what seems like a millennium, to come up with some sort of new post for this site, and I've hit nothing but dead ends. I don't like the idea of forcing myself to write a post, and this most certainly seems to qualify for being forced in every sense of the word. However, it does put me in mind of another sort of critical writer's dilemma that I've seen plague some of the many writers whose work I really admire. Writers such as Douglas Coupland, whose novels from Generation X to Microserfs, seem to be on a crash course for failure and lackluster accomplishments. Recent works from the burnouts seem very forced and lacking in the creativity department. Plots that start off strong seem to easily fizzle out without any real rhyme or reason other than the fact that the plot twists that are added seem forced and out of place. Instead of staying the course, novelists who write about the disaffected youths of yesteryear, today, and tomorrow seem to be out of ideas that adequately portray the angst and disillusionment of life today. Random plot points creep into the narratives and throw off, sometimes wildly, what could otherwise be considered a solid work of fiction. What's going on with novelists these days? It seems to me that the old school writers, like Roth and Updike, are the only ones capable of producing affecting works that will stand the test of time and remain on the reading lists of future generations. It's a sad notion to think that the youthful writers of today are burning out so fast and so early on in their careers, but sometimes it's probably best to fade away than to burn out.
I've been struggling, for what seems like a millennium, to come up with some sort of new post for this site, and I've hit nothing but dead ends. I don't like the idea of forcing myself to write a post, and this most certainly seems to qualify for being forced in every sense of the word. However, it does put me in mind of another sort of critical writer's dilemma that I've seen plague some of the many writers whose work I really admire. Writers such as Douglas Coupland, whose novels from Generation X to Microserfs, seem to be on a crash course for failure and lackluster accomplishments. Recent works from the burnouts seem very forced and lacking in the creativity department. Plots that start off strong seem to easily fizzle out without any real rhyme or reason other than the fact that the plot twists that are added seem forced and out of place. Instead of staying the course, novelists who write about the disaffected youths of yesteryear, today, and tomorrow seem to be out of ideas that adequately portray the angst and disillusionment of life today. Random plot points creep into the narratives and throw off, sometimes wildly, what could otherwise be considered a solid work of fiction. What's going on with novelists these days? It seems to me that the old school writers, like Roth and Updike, are the only ones capable of producing affecting works that will stand the test of time and remain on the reading lists of future generations. It's a sad notion to think that the youthful writers of today are burning out so fast and so early on in their careers, but sometimes it's probably best to fade away than to burn out.
Saturday, September 06, 2003
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
The Addiction
I am forced to admit that I have an addiction. No, it's not life threatening in the nature of drugs or drink, but it is a rather unhealthy, mental exercise in what, more often than not, results in a net gain of zero intellectually. I have a problem with checking out books from the library that I have absolutely no ability to complete. It seems like every time I wander into a decent library, I end up checking out something that catches my eye. Yesterday, for instance, I was in the public library determined to find one book, Christopher Hitchens' Letters to a Young Contrarian and ended up walking out with that tome and five cds. Well, this was just the beginning of the night's obsession. After reviewing the listing of the books attributed to Hitchens, I found one entitled Left Hooks, Right Crosses: A Decade of Political Writing, which I just had to check out. So, in a round about way, I was able to scour the shelves for this very book way after midnight. To my dismay, I couldn’t find the book where it was supposed to be, so I felt somewhat incomplete. This morning, though, I had the resolve and the determination to find this book by any means necessary. Wandering back over to the public library, I was able to quickly locate the above mentioned book, but, of course, I had to check out something else as well. This book, Haynes Johnson's The Best of Times, seemed like a necessary addition to my reading materials. So, in addition to schoolwork, most of which, other than a course in judicial process (10 Books, yikes!), requires very lite reading, I'm in the midst of reading Chuck Palahniuk's Diary, Noam Chomksy and Edward S. Herman's Manufacturing Consent, a book of essays devoted to John Ashcroft's plight to rob us of civil liberties, and I'm sure several others. What's the deal? Is there a cure? Why can't I stop?
I am forced to admit that I have an addiction. No, it's not life threatening in the nature of drugs or drink, but it is a rather unhealthy, mental exercise in what, more often than not, results in a net gain of zero intellectually. I have a problem with checking out books from the library that I have absolutely no ability to complete. It seems like every time I wander into a decent library, I end up checking out something that catches my eye. Yesterday, for instance, I was in the public library determined to find one book, Christopher Hitchens' Letters to a Young Contrarian and ended up walking out with that tome and five cds. Well, this was just the beginning of the night's obsession. After reviewing the listing of the books attributed to Hitchens, I found one entitled Left Hooks, Right Crosses: A Decade of Political Writing, which I just had to check out. So, in a round about way, I was able to scour the shelves for this very book way after midnight. To my dismay, I couldn’t find the book where it was supposed to be, so I felt somewhat incomplete. This morning, though, I had the resolve and the determination to find this book by any means necessary. Wandering back over to the public library, I was able to quickly locate the above mentioned book, but, of course, I had to check out something else as well. This book, Haynes Johnson's The Best of Times, seemed like a necessary addition to my reading materials. So, in addition to schoolwork, most of which, other than a course in judicial process (10 Books, yikes!), requires very lite reading, I'm in the midst of reading Chuck Palahniuk's Diary, Noam Chomksy and Edward S. Herman's Manufacturing Consent, a book of essays devoted to John Ashcroft's plight to rob us of civil liberties, and I'm sure several others. What's the deal? Is there a cure? Why can't I stop?
The Confusion Effect
It occurred to me today that there are certain aspects to obtaining an education that seem so without purpose or possess any redeeming value that they border on the absurd. I never wanted to be a part of that group. The group of people who pride themselves on constantly finding fault with the nature of particular classes, and who, seemingly, never are able to be enrolled in a class that will fulfill their desires. These mindless drones are unable, or are it incapable, of finding the class that achieves the perfect balance between assignments and discussions. They are, in essence, incapable of finding solace in the learning experience.
Well, all of that seems to have gone out the window with the revelation that the latest assignment that I need to complete is one of the most challenging exercises I've ever been confronted with. It's hard, detailed, and nothing to be trifled with. In fact, it's a pretty damned good assignment. However, that doesn't alleviate the feeling of impending dread that I get when I think about it, or is it the feeling of utter disgust that I'm going to be forced to complete what seems like a fruitless exercise in futility? Either way, I'm forced to reevaluate my entire mindset when it comes to thinking about those aforementioned group of unsatisfied malcontents. Why must we struggle with an assignment that seems fraught with those ideals designed by the Nazis in order to inflict regimented figures who obey without question? It's a nightmarish scenario that requires one to really sit back and evaluate one's place in the grand scheme of things. Are we ever really going to be asked such detailed questions? Perhaps. Is it likely? No, it's not. Again, to return to a previous post, it seems that we are adding too much value to a profession that is rather simplistic in nature. Where are all these confused patrons who are really trying to ask for something completely different from what they vocalize? They don't exist. The library isn't, never has been, or never will be as dramatic an institution that is portrayed on a daily basis in this program. It's a delusional idea that permeates the entire faculty, with one notable exception, and has, for the most part, successfully infected the entire student body as well.
It occurred to me today that there are certain aspects to obtaining an education that seem so without purpose or possess any redeeming value that they border on the absurd. I never wanted to be a part of that group. The group of people who pride themselves on constantly finding fault with the nature of particular classes, and who, seemingly, never are able to be enrolled in a class that will fulfill their desires. These mindless drones are unable, or are it incapable, of finding the class that achieves the perfect balance between assignments and discussions. They are, in essence, incapable of finding solace in the learning experience.
Well, all of that seems to have gone out the window with the revelation that the latest assignment that I need to complete is one of the most challenging exercises I've ever been confronted with. It's hard, detailed, and nothing to be trifled with. In fact, it's a pretty damned good assignment. However, that doesn't alleviate the feeling of impending dread that I get when I think about it, or is it the feeling of utter disgust that I'm going to be forced to complete what seems like a fruitless exercise in futility? Either way, I'm forced to reevaluate my entire mindset when it comes to thinking about those aforementioned group of unsatisfied malcontents. Why must we struggle with an assignment that seems fraught with those ideals designed by the Nazis in order to inflict regimented figures who obey without question? It's a nightmarish scenario that requires one to really sit back and evaluate one's place in the grand scheme of things. Are we ever really going to be asked such detailed questions? Perhaps. Is it likely? No, it's not. Again, to return to a previous post, it seems that we are adding too much value to a profession that is rather simplistic in nature. Where are all these confused patrons who are really trying to ask for something completely different from what they vocalize? They don't exist. The library isn't, never has been, or never will be as dramatic an institution that is portrayed on a daily basis in this program. It's a delusional idea that permeates the entire faculty, with one notable exception, and has, for the most part, successfully infected the entire student body as well.
The Detrimental Effect of Positive Thinking
As a requirement, I'm forced to submit the whims of the university system and
take a class in management. This all too noble profession seems intent on
placing a structure upon a system that increasingly functions well without one.
In other words, if a system is working well, then it must be due to some
overwhelmingly successful management structure adopted by the powers-that-be and
instilled upon the workers in an attempt to maintain some sort of working order.
Theories of this nature are all fine and good, and, for the most part, say a lot
about how the structure of business is run in our society. However, it should
come as no surprise that as we seem to be on the verge of breaking out of, or
sinking deeper into, a nationwide recession that society at large is incredibly
pessimistic about the future of the workplace and has little or no time to
contemplate the need for instill some sort of working structure onto the
businesses themselves. What matters most now are jobs and the ability to make
money. Worker satisfaction, although always important, seems to be of little
significance when it comes to a job market that is so depleted as to seem
totally anorexic in nature.
Seemingly, another requirement of the university system is that the majority of
those admitted are self deluded so much so as to be nearly incapable of
realizing that the world functions in a way that might, just might, not conform
to their rose-tinted views on what works and what doesn't. Everyone, or at
least 9 out of every 10, seems to believe that everything in the world is just
a-okay. The economy is great, people are great, and the world itself is just
great!!!! Life is so grand and dandy that it couldn't possibly throw any
obstacles in their way. Wake up, people! We are living in pretty dire straits
right now. The only reason that it doesn't seem to affect the isolated college
world is that's what colleges are for, insulation from reality. The real world
doesn't infringe upon the closed-mindedness of the university setting. Nothing
can penetrate its thick skin.
So, as I'm on the verge of tears in this dreary, regimented, government mandated
hazing, I'm forced to interact with these bright-eyed optimists about the need
to impose a perfect management scheme on the vaunted public institution, the
library. Now, in this writer's opinion, the library, or at least what I've been
able to observe with my own eyes, is one of the least efficiently run
institutions on the face of the earth. What could possibly lead me to this
derogatory statement? Well, let's just take a look at my own personal
observations on the matter. Libraries employ far too many people for the amount
of actual work that can be done, needs to be done, or could possibly be done.
Employees with the vacant stare of the mentally defective are hardly necessary
nor inspirational to the average patron or wannabe library worker. Materials
are purchased with the desire to provide the patrons with the most well-rounded
selection available. Well, sure, those are good intentions that any educational
institution should aspire to provide, but is it necessary to provide
everything? Hardly, no one in this torturous monstrosity seems to have
ever heard of the quite apply entitled "just in case" model of library
philosophy nor have they ever heard how terribly wrong this really is. It goes
like this, the library will buy just about anything, and the same can be said
for the notion of actually getting rid of materials, under the guise of having
it "just in case" patron X will waltz through the doors into the hallowed halls
and swoop down on the materials like the like eager beaver learner that we all
know is as fictitious as the legendary Bigfoot or g-spot. This goes without
saying that there are many, many things wrong with the library and how it's
operated and run. If it were a business, it surely would have succumbed to
government educed bankruptcy and went belly-up long ago. But it hasn't. This
speaks volumes towards the resiliency of the library and the actual value it
might provide. However, this touches on the notion as to why the
library is this way to begin with. Well, my dear reader, it has a little to do
with the notion that libraries provide a free service. They don't
charge money, so they must not require money, right? Surely, this bone-headed
notion is reserved for the deranged and those without any real idea as to how
reality works, the latter group seems to make up most of my classes.
So, after vocalizing my displeasure at the current state of the library, how was
I received? I was told I was making "generalizations." What's worse, sweeping
"generalizations" that are bounded in reality, or rose-tinted optimism that
borders on the insane?
As a requirement, I'm forced to submit the whims of the university system and
take a class in management. This all too noble profession seems intent on
placing a structure upon a system that increasingly functions well without one.
In other words, if a system is working well, then it must be due to some
overwhelmingly successful management structure adopted by the powers-that-be and
instilled upon the workers in an attempt to maintain some sort of working order.
Theories of this nature are all fine and good, and, for the most part, say a lot
about how the structure of business is run in our society. However, it should
come as no surprise that as we seem to be on the verge of breaking out of, or
sinking deeper into, a nationwide recession that society at large is incredibly
pessimistic about the future of the workplace and has little or no time to
contemplate the need for instill some sort of working structure onto the
businesses themselves. What matters most now are jobs and the ability to make
money. Worker satisfaction, although always important, seems to be of little
significance when it comes to a job market that is so depleted as to seem
totally anorexic in nature.
Seemingly, another requirement of the university system is that the majority of
those admitted are self deluded so much so as to be nearly incapable of
realizing that the world functions in a way that might, just might, not conform
to their rose-tinted views on what works and what doesn't. Everyone, or at
least 9 out of every 10, seems to believe that everything in the world is just
a-okay. The economy is great, people are great, and the world itself is just
great!!!! Life is so grand and dandy that it couldn't possibly throw any
obstacles in their way. Wake up, people! We are living in pretty dire straits
right now. The only reason that it doesn't seem to affect the isolated college
world is that's what colleges are for, insulation from reality. The real world
doesn't infringe upon the closed-mindedness of the university setting. Nothing
can penetrate its thick skin.
So, as I'm on the verge of tears in this dreary, regimented, government mandated
hazing, I'm forced to interact with these bright-eyed optimists about the need
to impose a perfect management scheme on the vaunted public institution, the
library. Now, in this writer's opinion, the library, or at least what I've been
able to observe with my own eyes, is one of the least efficiently run
institutions on the face of the earth. What could possibly lead me to this
derogatory statement? Well, let's just take a look at my own personal
observations on the matter. Libraries employ far too many people for the amount
of actual work that can be done, needs to be done, or could possibly be done.
Employees with the vacant stare of the mentally defective are hardly necessary
nor inspirational to the average patron or wannabe library worker. Materials
are purchased with the desire to provide the patrons with the most well-rounded
selection available. Well, sure, those are good intentions that any educational
institution should aspire to provide, but is it necessary to provide
everything? Hardly, no one in this torturous monstrosity seems to have
ever heard of the quite apply entitled "just in case" model of library
philosophy nor have they ever heard how terribly wrong this really is. It goes
like this, the library will buy just about anything, and the same can be said
for the notion of actually getting rid of materials, under the guise of having
it "just in case" patron X will waltz through the doors into the hallowed halls
and swoop down on the materials like the like eager beaver learner that we all
know is as fictitious as the legendary Bigfoot or g-spot. This goes without
saying that there are many, many things wrong with the library and how it's
operated and run. If it were a business, it surely would have succumbed to
government educed bankruptcy and went belly-up long ago. But it hasn't. This
speaks volumes towards the resiliency of the library and the actual value it
might provide. However, this touches on the notion as to why the
library is this way to begin with. Well, my dear reader, it has a little to do
with the notion that libraries provide a free service. They don't
charge money, so they must not require money, right? Surely, this bone-headed
notion is reserved for the deranged and those without any real idea as to how
reality works, the latter group seems to make up most of my classes.
So, after vocalizing my displeasure at the current state of the library, how was
I received? I was told I was making "generalizations." What's worse, sweeping
"generalizations" that are bounded in reality, or rose-tinted optimism that
borders on the insane?
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