I'm still at work. I realize that for many hard-working Americans, still being at work at 5:30 is pretty much par for the course, but I am not a hard-working American and I like to make it home by 4:30. However, having done that a few too many times this term, I am now forced to stay here late into the evening (sob), wrestling with power point and the APA style of documentation. This program is not hard, but it's crazy about some busy work. Busy work pulled together into a nice tidy powerpoint presentation is the LIS professor's idea of heaven on earth.
Have I told you how I feel about the other future librarians? I don't like them. I've tried to give them a chance and hate is a strong word, but I think I hate them. Not all of them of course--some of them are normal people just like you and me, and I like them very much and believe they will be a credit to the profession. But they are in the minority. The rest of these people make me fantasize about throwing things at the backs of their heads during class.
And I don't think I'm really the kind of person whose nerves are very fragile, you know? Most people are fine with me, I can take them or leave them. But not these people. They are not fine. I cannot take them.
It's hard to explain what's wrong with them. You know that person you hated the most in that one high school or college class? The one who thought he knew everything and never shut the fuck up, but who in fact knew very, very little, and whose only accomplishment in life was probably to stop that class from getting anywhere, ever? Apparently, all of those people have been herded up nationwide and sent to library school.
The professors aren't much better. They're just better educated.
In other news, I'm going to Idaho with Danny to visit his mom for Thanksgiving. This is a little bit weird, since both of us actually have dating-type-people that aren't each other, but I think it will be fun. For one thing, Danny is fun. For another thing, free turkey. For a third thing, I always find it a lot easier to charm people's parents when they know for a fact that you aren't doing it with their kid. "She was such a nice young girl," they say after you leave. "Why can't you find someone like her to date?"
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