Nancy's Musings

A young man came into the library today seeking Robert Jordan's fourth Wheel of Time book, called "The Shadow Rising." I don't read the series but my dad and brothers seem to like it. I am reluctant to read it, especially when the author died in September of 2007 (according to Wikipedia) leaving the story as yet unfinished (to be completed by some BYU professor, yet. Go Utes!). Not the point. He was really cute. He had nice, evenly trimmed scruff and dark eyes that seemed conversant, if not genius. He was witty enough to make me laugh at least once, and he had the confidence to step around the desk to look at my computer screen. Or perhaps that was merely invasive curiosity. I'm okay with that. He didn't seem dangerous or pushy, just quick, and perhaps impatient. I didn't look to see if he was wearing a ring. It's not an instinct I ever developed. I don't think it matters, really, because the point is that I enjoyed the experience, not that I want ...

Washington D.C. pulses with the constant flow of blood-like traffic. The streets at night, especially in the social centers, are bright and noisy, with lines of attractive young people outside the most popular clubs and bars, all shouting at friends, singing, or dodging the police. They pump the music, DJs or live bands, into the street like carbon dioxide, and it whirls in the chaos of sounds and smells. Small bistros and restaurants remain open until early morning, feeding those who no longer mean to drink, or haven't started yet, and the cheerful light from their open doorways adds to the general levity of the streets. Crowded tables litter sidewalks, cordoned for bars, open for restaurants. The scene blinks with the flashing of neon and black-light. Women, barely dressed in the brightest glitter, drag their escorts from bar to bar. Bouncers, their muscles barely squeezed into rolled-up, black T-shirts, examine identification cards and flirt indiscriminately. Policemen converse ...

The hottest topic currently in realms of the supernatural must be Vampires, and Joss Whedon (of Firefly/Serenity fame) created arguably the most successful Vampire franchise so far (the Twilight series being the only competitor). The stories are based on Joss's pet idea; a vapid or intellectually unstable little girl kicking bum. Buffy was a really stupid cheerleader until she became the "slayer," exhibiting abnormal reflexes and strength to aid her. When one of Buffy's vampire enemies was given back his soul, he turned into a love interest named Angel. It was a star-crossed affair, though, so he left their little town and got his own show. Both series were hopelessly convoluted soap-operas with overwhelming amounts of magic and demonology. Aside from this, Whedon also exhibits an amazing grasp of critical theory and wrote some incredibly creative episodes, including one completely silent called "Hush," and another that was a musical. Buffy's soap-opera ...

I've been scared about my long-distance future. Fiscally, socially, pedagogically things appear somewhat bleak. I sought this week for some reassurance by drawing on the powers of heaven for an appropriate spiritual gift, as long as clairvoyance wasn't a serious option. The answer I got was this: let the future sort itself out. What are you going to do this week? My week was completely empty. Nobody needed me at work, and I had no plans or social engagements. It reminded me of Winters on the mission. So I did last week what I did then. I opened my calendar and said, "Lord, this week is yours. I don't need it," and Monday afternoon God said, "Go to the Temple." "Wednesday," I replied, and He was satisfied. I spent Tuesday outlining my novel up to the final paragraphs. Wednesday came and I was tempted to put off my promise until Thursday, but the words from General Conference have stuck by me, and I prayed for the strength to go and do what I...

Softer Sci-fi fans, or closet fans, often find themselves attracted to shows about seeing the dead. There are three recent (within the last five years) shows on that vein, and one more that's partially related. Most recently, the show Medium (based on the "real life" psychic Allison Dubois) features a woman who converses regularly with the dead while she's awake, and has clairvoyant dreams while she sleeps. I picked up Ms. Dubois's book while shelf-reading at the library the other day, and I have to admit, I don't believe for two seconds that she can do what she says she can. I do believe that she might believe it, however. These abilities contradict all the laws of God and common sense, which is why this show is science fiction, and not, for instance, reality TV (which shows, incidentally, also go against all the laws of God and common sense). The draw of this show (besides the escapist fantasy elements) becomes really the relationship between this mother, h...

Okay, I finished the poem for the little ones, only it turns out to be more about  little ones than for  them - a little preposition trouble there. I blame my collegiate vocabulary. Now don't be criticizin' me for mah funny accent, but do feel free to give me some constructive criticism, as this IS a rough draft. A Little Light Reading   Sally shuffles toward the desk Her arms severely laden “Hey mom,” she shouts above the tomes, “I thought we’s goin’ wadin’!”   I swam through books , young Sally thought. No wading expedition Can prep a girl for college soon Or teachers’ inquisition.   Besides, she sighed , I like this pool . Outside is so darn roastin’. I’d rather lay inside all day Than hear my skin a-toastin’.   “You comin’ mom?” she calls again. Six Librarians all hush her. But mom has been a-swimmin’ too. No sense to go and rush her.   Sally tips her load of books Upon the desk above her “My momma’s got the lib’ry card,” s...

The Summer Reading Program at our library has gotten underway, and to start things off (and because I occasionally become terribly bored sitting in my Reference Desk tower in the late afternoons) I composed the following poem for the Young Adult librarian, Christa: Express Back (the theme is Express Yourself at the Library) (an odd theme, considering the decibel restrictions)   I, Standing atop the stairs, glance around A tidal wave of expression crouches Threateningly in alphabetical order.   Chapters, like muscles, tense Emotions whirl, fade, Recede too far for comfort.   Information preys upon the unwary, And the careless find themselves Swallowed whole by unintentional education.   I laugh. The library tiger, the tsunami Does not frighten me. I am the bookworm Who shall patiently digest its insides. Now isn't that sweet. I was going to write something for Grace, the childrens' librarian, but I was nervous that the image of flesh-eating maggot...