lower east side librarian

Issue #16 of her Syndicate Product series is A.j.'s spectacular 24-hour zine about her not particularly rational, but surprisingly powerful desire to live in California. LA, even. I can't believe how moved and awed I was at this work, created in 19.5 hours. A.j., an obvious perfectionist, regrets sleeping from 1-5:30 a.m., but I can't imagine the zine being any better with another 4.5 hours' worth of work.

I was not engaged in the fat envelope frenzy myself, which in retrospect I think is a little sad. I wish I'd worked harder in high school, and had people supporting and encouraging me, and better Guidance. (If they'd told me to fill out one freakin' form, I could have had a scholarship, but because I was in a vocational program--performing arts--I missed the college prep sessions. That's pretty bad, right? Granted more of us kids in the arts that rode the tech bus were probably headed to college than those going to auto mechanics and cosmetology programs, but there's a bit of a chicken and egg argument to be made.) I probably ended up in the right place for what I needed--smallish school, college town, but sometimes I wonder... My nephew made a comment when he was a high school senior that it doesn't matter/schools are all the same, or some such thing. I hated to burst his bubble, but that is simply not true. I think all schools have different things to offer, not so much that they're better or worse than one another. But it's easy for me to speak about college admission from the distance of twenty plus years after writing my applications.

Johanna, one of my favorite zine publishers, hadn't made a zine since issue 4 of Sisu came out in May 2006. For some reason, although I acquired No History, No Self from StrangerDanger back in November, I didn't get around to reading it until just now. (I have a serious cataloging backlog problem, which I hope to clear up by the end of the year!) I'm a fool for letting it go so long, but at least I finally read it. Like all of Johanna's zines, NHNS has strong political content, particularly regarding race, mixed race identity, and identity politics. She has put in her time as an activist and has plenty of cred in that arena (also in feminist science-fiction and vegan communities), so what is particularly affecting to me in this new zines venture is how personal and open she is, about missing New York, trying to make friends, being depressed and contemplating therapy. She lists some great self-care suggestions for dealing with depression, the top three being sleep, cats, and tea, things I can totally get behind. That emphasis on self-care I think in this case extends to the rest of the world. NHNS is gentler than its predecessors. Johanna, who doesn't suffer fools lightly, is more inwardly focused this time around, maybe because repatriated to the UK she's missing her friends from home around whom she can actually be herself. Reading this zine I wanted to give Johanna a hug. I also want to know when issue 2 will be out.

I snapped this book up when I encountered it I don't know where because it merges guilty pleasure and scholarly writing. Many of the essays balance the two well, but some are a little inaccessible. As with most edited volumes I skimmed or outright skipped a few entries. There is a common through line of Nancy the dull ice doll who while she didn't deserve to be clubbed she wasn't much deserving of all the accolades and endorsements she received either, vs. Tonya the admittedly troubled scrappy heroine who done her competitor wrong but sadly did not achieve her full potential.

I was pleasantly surprised to see among the contributors Abigail Feder (now Feder-Kane), Barnard's Director of Institutional Support. Her essay "A Radiant Smile from the Lovely Lady" Overdetermined Femininity in "Ladies" Figure Skating is one of the most compelling in the volume.

If you read anthologies (or comp zines) you know that they're always uneven in quality and focus. The most common thread I found in Only Child, both thematically and content-wise is a self-consciousness. There are more than the usual amount of asides, parentheticals, and explanations, which I think makes sense for people accustomed to having so much attention aimed their way. Many of the writers cited having all of their parents' love and affection to themselves as a childhood experience. I know when eyes are on me I feel more self-conscious, like if the Pilates class instructor praises me, I inevitably mess up the next exercise, as if to show that I'm not special, I'm the same as everyone else. But of course no one cares. In Pilates you're not looking at anyone else. That is one place where navel gazing is not only okay; it's the rule. Same with these only child authors, but they haven't had siblings beat "no one cares" into them, lucky dogs.

I borrowed this book from Columbia's Butler Library, which like Barnard's library and unlike NYPL, still stamps the due date in the book, so you can tell how many people have checked it out before you. I miss that, NYPL! The earliest stamp is Nov 15 1989, and as best as I can tell it's been checked out about 15 times, though I have no way of telling how many times it was renewed. In an academic library with semester long borrowing periods, there's a good chance someone hoarded it for a year or two. I did that with Comics Librarianship: a Handbook for like three years in the early days of the Barnard Library Zine Collection. But getting back to the book at hand (sorry!), how did I not join the Lynda Barry cult sooner?

Comix with footnotes--hubba hubba! But of course one's enjoyment is tempered by the fact that the facts presented about the prison industry are infuriating.

I think Marisa Meltzer is brave for writing this book. There are probably a lot of women out there that know its primary sources as well as she does and who will think she left out x or misinterpreted y. I am not one of those women, though. I have expertise in the zine side of riot grrrl, but know very little about the bands, so I was psyched to read this short, personable history with a certain amount of memoir thrown in.

I read this book when I stayed overnight with friend house in Boston. (Thanks again for the Bloody Marys Jake and Lisa!) Basically it's just photos of signs and things that have been improved with a FUCK sticker. You can get the idea from Fuck This Website.

The author quotes former ALA president Patricia Wilson Berger in her epigraph "Show me a computer expert who gives a damn, and I'll show you a librarian." I wouldn't say all librarians give a damn or that no non-librarian computer geeks don't, but I do think that sentiment is an appropriate way to launch into Johnson's 250 page mash note to librarians. What she likes about us is what I like about us—that we are dedicated to our user population and to our professional ethics. That unlike many other experts, our mission involves educating people and providing access to self-education tools without being snotty about it. At least to your face.

As it turns out, although it was the computer expertiness of librarians that made Johnson notice us, many of the librarians and library projects she profiles in this book are stronger in "give a damn."

Before I really get started, I need to contemplate for a moment that Johnson got interested in librarians, because in researching her previous book The Dead Beat: Lost Souls, Lucky Stiff, and the Perverse Pleasures of Obituaries she fell in love with librarians through their obituaries. She is a loving and generous writer, but we have to admit a little quirky, right?