I’ll be a participant in a panel during the Library 2.011 Worldwide Virtual Conference. Our program, Riding the “Long Tail”: Leveraging a Niche to Build a Network, focuses on the niche professional networks and interests enabled and encouraged by the use of social media tools. It will be moderated by USC’s John Jackson & the University of La Verne’s Young Lee and feature panelists Nicole Pagowsky of the entertaining Librarian Wardrobe and Micah Vandegrift of the HackLibSchool Blog. I am quite honored to be included in their company to discuss the Information Amateurs Social Club, the informal networking organization my friend Greg Borman and I created after graduating from library school in 2009.

Participation in the virtual conference is free — and highly encouraged! Our panel will speak at 10am Pacific Time on Thursday, November 3.

Jumping on board a presentation like this required me — for the first time — to write a professional bio, a decidedly odd thing to compose (particularly since custom dictates writing it in the third person). Here it is:

Daniel Ransom is the Librarian for Research and Electronic Resources at Holy Names University in Oakland, California. Daniel provides reference and research services and co-coordinates the university’s information literacy program. Daniel also serves on the committee for the California Academic and Research Libraries’ Ilene F. Rockman Scholarship, an annual award for library school students. He co-founded the Information Amateurs Social Club with Greg Borman after graduating from San José State University’s School of Library and Information Science in December of 2009. The goal was to create an informal online and in-person venue for early-career information professionals to stay in contact with their peers and share job-seeking skills and ideas.

I also had to submit a profile photo; I took this shot the morning of my very first day as a professional librarian 15 months ago and have used it as my professional profile ever since (that’s right, I like to rock the argyle sweater vest).

At some point soon I’m going to have to admit that I’m a grown-up.

Engrossed in conversation. Photo courtesy @TheLiB.

The beer table was an entertaining gimmick — it was by the window, near the door, and allowed us to pour beers for new arrivals without them having to walk to the bar and wait for service. Conversation was by turns serious and silly (like all good conversations), and any lull could be filled by filling our own glasses. And, by the end, we knew exactly how much beer we had drunk!

631 ounces! The hefeweizen proved more popular than the IPA.

I’m very proud of our little association. While we have a core group of regulars (some of whom will sadly be leaving the Bay Area shortly), each and every outing has featured at least several new faces. Our group’s name — the Information Amateurs — was born out of our circumstances in April, 2010. Greg Borman and I had both recently graduated with our MLIS degrees (December, ‘09) and were both struggling to find jobs. We couldn’t quite call ourselves professionals without a professional paycheck! So I had the inspiration to call us the Information Amateurs, and stuck with it even though both Greg and I were gainfully employed by that summer. I’ve always kept the tone of messages to the group cheerful and little irreverent in the hopes that it will draw out newcomers, and that seems to work.

The next event is one worth getting excited about: on October 20, USC’s Norris Medical Library’s Megan Curran will be presenting her lecture “Ill-gotten Brains: The Grisly History of Sourcing Bodies for Anatomical Learning” (an appropriately macabre subject for late October) at the Bone Room in Berkeley as part of their ongoing salon series of talks on subjects in natural history. Ms. Curran has already presented this talk in Los Angeles and Brooklyn but this will be her first Bay Area appearance. The recently engaged Ms. Curran has also agreed to join the Information Amateurs for a post-lecture drink at a to-be-determined gathering spot. You can follow her on twitter at @LibraryatNight.

I have organized sessions I attended and events I participated around a couple of the most recurring themes.

Discovery

Cushing Library is currently implementing a new tool for our end users to use for search and retrieval of our items in our collection. This system, called WorldCat Local (WCL), finds and retrieves items be they print or online, and whether they are book, article, journal or other media. WCL and similar products are referred to as “Discovery” systems within the librarian profession.

I attended several programs relating to the implementation of Discovery systems. Two directly related to the implementation of OCLC’s WCL technology, tasks I am involved in right now, and another on the rate of return various libraries have seen since their implementation of Summon, a competing but similar product to WCL offered by ProQuest. There is strong evidence, from both libraries operating WCL and from libraries utilizing Summon, that full-text article retrievals are up, most notably from smaller, more specialized sources. At WCL libraries, print circulation tends to rise post-WCL implementation as well.

For example, the University of Idaho, which has implemented WorldCat Local, has seen usage over print materials rise 20%, interlibrary loan requests rise 34%, and a 78% increase in full text article downloads. Summon libraries, such as the University of Houston, saw a 50% rise in full text article retrieval. They have also found that the Summon search service is pushing users to finding underutilized resources, such as special collections and multimedia items, and that it favors direct journal services (such as Sage) over aggregators such as EBSCO.

Information Literacy

Part of my continuing duties at Holy Names University is my role as an instruction librarian. I provide information literacy education to students via workshops and research help sessions.

One of the best instruction-related programs I attended was Making Information Literacy Instruction Meaningful through Creativity. The three speakers were current or former faculty for ACRL’s highly-regarded Immersion Program, a “boot camp” for instructional librarians, and the session reinforced many themes that are part of Immersion training — creative lesson planning; interactive, motivational presentation styles; and pedagogy grounded in research and assessment.

In addition to these presentations, I also had chances to sit and talk shop with a good mix of other instructional librarians, such as Michelle Millet, Tiffini Travis, Lea Engle, and Nicholas Schiller. In Schiller’s case, I’ve been reading his articles and stealing his classroom ideas for a year so it was great to get a chance to admit that to him. He didn’t seem to mind.

Out and About

New Orleans: what a city. While I admit I’m not such a fan of colorful drinks in plastic cups — I’d rather have one well-crafted cocktail than a half dozen cups of syrup-flavored alcohol — I have to admit that New Orleans knows how to have a good time, and a good time I had, passing from place to place with a gang of roving librarians I befriended. It’s hot in New Orleans in June (that’s not a newsflash, I realize), but the heat and humidity didn’t keep me from walking continuously from the Garden District, to the Warehouse District, along the river and into the French Quarter, and back again throughout the conference. Café Du Monde was naturally a regular destination, both late at night and after lunch, and I was shocked that a plate of three beignets was only two dollars and change — here in San Francisco, our tourist traps won’t sell anything for less than five dollars.

While I expected to meet hip, smart librarians from Brooklyn (and did) (stereotypes for the win!), there were smart, interesting people coming from all corners of the country — Indiana, Texas, Florida, and even Southern California. In between the beignets, coffee and occasional cocktails there was plenty of sharp chatter about information services, instructional technique, and emerging tech. All of it pointed to my original thesis in founding the Information Amateurs Social Club — that the best, most enlightening professional conversation happens in the informal air of casual conversation. Preferably with a drink in hand. Between the ALA Dance Party, the ALA Tweet-up, the ALA Facebook Afterparty, the Radical Reference Social, the HackLibSchool Social, and all of the more informal connecting in between (including a trip to the Voodoo Museum), I met many of my internet heroes and formed some genuine bonds of friendship I’m going to hang onto. And hopefully, someday, all of them will move to San Francisco. It’d be killer.

That’s Lauren and Lea in the middle at the Radical Reference Social

Battledecks

No report on the goings-on in New Orleans would be complete without mention of Battledecks, the competitive, improvisational battle of slideshow presentations that concluded the conference Monday night. My participation was not strictly speaking voluntary, but it was thrilling to speak right between Lisa Hinchliffe, President of ACRL, and widely known executive and public speaker Stephen Abram. However, I’m going to save my extended thoughts on that experience for a future post — once the videos have weaseled their way online and I can embed my performance right here on The Pinakes.

I arrived at the Philadelphia Airport Tuesday evening and hitched a ride into downtown Philly on their commuter rail. It took me directly into a subterranean stop that is now called Market East station, but is built under what had been the vast depot of the Reading Railroad (made famous by Monopoly). The massive pavilion above has now been converted into the Philadelphia Conference Center, where ACRL was to take place, and adjacent to and adjoining the hotel where I was staying. So I arrived at the station, walked up what seemed like two centuries of underground history, and directly into the hotel without feeling a hint of outside air. It was surreal, especially at night.

One commenter on twitter called this shot of the conference hall at night a “steampunk wonderland”.

I struck out on foot that night in search of my first Philly cheesesteak sandwich, or as they simply call them locally, a steak. I’d been told by a former Philly local to head to a place called Jim’s Steaks on South Street. It was a good chance to explore the city on foot and see how it actually lives and breathes. Philly was nothing like I expected — all blue collar, Santa-booing meatheads. Instead I saw the quotient of hipsters on fixies I expect to see here at home, plus a community garden, and an anarchist bookstore. Swap the steak shops for taquerías, you’d be in San Francisco’s Mission District; swap them for vegan bakeries, you’d be in Portland, Oregon.

What you get in Philly you don’t get in SF: rowhouses of beautiful brick lining narrow streets.

Jim’s Steaks was the antidote to this Hipsterdelphia. I walked up to the register to order, and the middle-aged local behind the counter (I’ll call him “Jim”) proceeded to ignore me while he finished a conversation with one of the other guys. Or, I thought I was just waiting until he finished what he was saying, but no. He just kept on talking, with me just a couple feet from him on the other side of the counter. Jim wouldn’t even turn his face my direction. He resolutely refused to acknowledge my existence. I should note that I’m the only customer in the store. This went on for more than one full, awkward minute. Now this is the Philly I had arrived expecting! Brusque assholes who wouldn’t give me the time of day. Here was authenticity. Thank you Jim.

Eventually the fry cook took pity on me, and summoned me over with a finger (not that one). I was supposed to order with him, and in their assembly line, I’d get passed down to the drink guy and then to Jim at the register. Didn’t matter that no one else was there — I still had to follow procedure. Once I had done that (note: I was not allowed to touch my beer until I had paid, even though they placed it on my tray), Jim was willing to acknowledge my existence. No mention of the prior awkwardness.

The steak, it should be said, was delish. I’d go back.

The next day I had to myself until the conference started in the late afternoon. Again I set out on foot, first finding a comfy coffeehouse (the negative Yelp reviews are amusing; accusations of hipsterdom abound, as if posting reviews on Yelp about the quality of their vegan goods isn’t an enormously hipster thing to do). It’s in a corner brick Victorian rowhouse in Philly’s gay district (Philly has a gay district? More things I did not know). Here the staff was actually friendly. Probably not natives. They made a solid cappuccino.

From there I was off to the ghastly but utterly fascinating Mütter Museum, a collection of human oddities (think strange skulls, deformed spines, babies in jars…) that was formed from the personal collection of 19th century physician Dr. Thomas Dent Mütter and has grown under the stewardship of The College of Physicians of Philadelphia. I’d entertain you with a collection of gory photographs of leather made from human flesh, a modern mummy, 19th century medical tools and all manner of human parts except the museum strictly forbade photography (not that that has stopped others; there’s plenty on flickr).

My museum trawling was not yet done; after that I walked to the Rosenbach Museum, on an elegant street of handsome rowhouses in the Rittenhouse Square district. The Rosenbachs were brothers engaged in the rare book trade in the first half of the twentieth century; they were extravagant bachelors, who entertained lavishly, enjoyed bourbon, pipes, and books, and made the savvy purchase of James Joyce’s handwritten Ulysses manuscript before the book became the icon it is today (amongst many other great purchases, including Herman Melville’s own bookcase, now filled with 1st edition copies of Moby Dick, on their ground floor). Their shops — in Philly and New York — were the locus of the American rare book trade for decades, and the collection of the Folger Library in Washington, DC and many other great private libraries were built by their acquisitions. The museum hosts hourly tours of their mansion and library, with exhibits on news coverage of the Civil War and Joyce’s years in Paris.

My final Wednesday stop before the conference started was lunch with an internet friend, Molly from yon Falling Molly blog. She’s mutual friends with my pal Jenny and we met up so she could teach me about Philly’s other local sandwich, roast pork with broccoli rabe. Because of legacy Quaker liquor laws, most small shops can’t get a liquor license, so they just let you bring in your own beer. So Molly arrived six-pack in hand and we chowed down on these massive, greasy, vinegary sandwiches. It took a couple hours to polish those monsters off (and the six-pack). Molly is both smart and funny; if you’re looking for an entertaining internet friend, you couldn’t do better.

It must be healthy because it’s covered in vegetables. Never mind the other stuff.

After that I headed back to the conference for the opening keynote!

Covering one hundred miles on a bike in a day is an iconic achievement amongst wheelmen. I recommend this article from the New York Times on the topic.

I’m under no illusions as to my speed as a cyclist (or my fitness in general). I’m comfortable on a bike and I enjoy riding; stretching my legs on my road bike along the beautiful rural roads of the Bay Area is a wonderful pursuit, but I’m not built like Andy Schleck and there will always be better riders than me. But I want to test myself, and I want to test my endurance. I don’t mind if it hurts.

Knowing goals are easier to achieve with the help of others, I recruited my friend Jeffrey (a better cyclist than I) into doing a century with me. We’re targeting the famous annual Marin Century. Since that typically takes place the first week of August, we’ve got 7th months to get in good enough shape to do it.

Pausing in Mill Valley, before the real work began.

Yesterday we joined the Sports Basement Sunday Ride for a group challenge, and what a challenge it was; while the group operates on a “no drops” policy (i.e. the group will always wait for the slowest rider at the tops of hills or major junctions), the routes selected can still be a challenge and yesterday’s was hefty. Check out the route map and click on the elevation tool. Look at that climb from around Mile 21 to Mile 25.

Whew.

The scenery was stunning, as expected.

I felt broken the rest of yesterday. My legs and back are still pretty sore today. And yesterday was only 40 miles total.

Here’s to goals. They make life a worthwhile challenge.

Locke set the bar for reference services. He was an expert not just at finding answers or doing research but in showing others how to do the same. He was patient, his explanations were measured, and he also knew how to make you laugh or smile in the midst of teaching you. He could not be flustered.

He took great glee in the challenges of the profession — his “Intern Quiz” was legendary for its toughness, the most obscure, difficult and challenging reference inquiries he had ever received in his career (he claimed they were all real, but I wouldn’t be surprised if a couple were embellished for difficulty). His real objective wasn’t to see if you could come up with the answers. With many of the questions, we couldn’t, or it would take us days to figure out. His real goal was to see your process. How you went about performing research, and the depth of your knowledge of the different tools in a librarian’s toolkit. You weren’t punished for the questions you couldn’t answer; it simply gave Locke the opportunity to teach you the skills you needed to have in order to have answered it.

When USF librarians Joe and Penny stepped in to mentor interns during Locke’s absence this fall, they admitted they couldn’t figure out half the answers themselves!

I came to USF in 2008 having taken a year’s worth of classes in librarianship at San Jose State. I had never worked in a library, and still wasn’t sure what exactly I wanted to do with my “career”. Five months at USF under Locke’s tutelage completely changed that. After coaching and coaxing me into being a competent reference librarian, he encouraged me to try teaching information literacy and research to students in a classroom, something I had never thought of doing or pursuing. Today classroom teaching is one of my specialties and one of the most important components of my job. Heck, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to work in an academic library before going to work for Locke. It was seeing his example of professionalism, his commitment to spreading good ideas, and working as a part of his incredible reference team — even if only as an intern — that completely shaped how I view what I do and why I do it.

Ever since interning at USF I have encouraged virtually every MLIS candidate I have met to intern at Gleeson Library before they graduate. While I enjoyed my experience in library school, nothing taught me more about being a librarian than trying to act like one under Locke’s guidance. I’m sorry that new up-and-coming students won’t get the opportunity that I did.

Two years after I worked for Locke, he didn’t hesitate in providing the referral that helped secure my librarian position. The last time I saw him — July this year, when I was about to start at HNU — he cheerfully waved and said that now that I was a librarian myself he looked forward to seeing me on the conference circuit.

I’m sure a thousand people knew Locke better than me – his family, his partner Al, his coworkers at USF, and so on – and I mourn with them. I mourn a man who served his profession, who valued his friends, who loved to laugh and teach. The world could use more men and women like Locke, not less. Rest in peace.

The library itself was built in 1958 and looks it from head to toe. While that does mean a few things are a bit worn, I think it has exceptional charm — not to mention a spacious main floor reading room, hand-painted lettering on the doors, and a certain Mad Men-esque mod styling. I like it here. It’s comfortable. I even have an office, which may not seem that special, but I’ve lived my life in cubicles.

We made tremendous strides today in achieving faculty buy-in on our proposals for what is an essentially new Information Literacy program, one that will have me working front and center in front of students. I’ve been gathering loads of ideas for how to promote research skills — events like the CARL conference and the CCLI workshop were both eye-openers — and now I’m trying to devise a lesson plan that incorporates all those good ideas I’ve heard (without over-complicating the stew).

I feel very fortunate not only to have found a job in what remains a tricky market, but to be working in such a positive community environment with an extremely savvy and dedicated group of professionals. Our staff is small enough that our “staff meetings” can fit in the library director’s office, but each individual has interesting, strong ideas for improving library service. And the beauty of being such a small library is that a lot of ideas can be implemented right away.

Did I mention our million dollar view? That’s our library — and Oakland, the Bay, and the San Francisco Peninsula stretched out beyond us.

Meanwhile, away from the professional front, I’m about to be subsumed by 48 hours of my favorite band. I’m going to a Wolf Parade concert at the legendary Catalyst in Santa Cruz tonight and another tomorrow night at Oakland’s majestic Fox Theater. Then next week I’ll be in Brooklyn to see my sister, celebrate my nieceling’s second birthday, and see Arcade Fire at Madison Square Garden.

Life? It’s busy, but fun.

The shape of a city, as we all know, changes more rapidly than the heart of a mortal. However, it often happens that before being discarded, left behind to become the prey of its memories, the city — caught, like all other cities, in the vertiginous metamorphosis that characterizes the second half of our century — will have found ways to change a heart still young and impressionable just by subjecting it to its climate and landscape, and by leaving an imprint of its streets, boulevards, and parks on the most private thoughts and daydreams of its owner. It is not necessary to have lived there like an ordinary citizen; I even doubt that it would make much of a difference. The city’s influence will be much stronger, and perhaps longer, if it has remained partially hidden — if, because of some unusual circumstances, we have lived in its midst but never reached a degree of familiarity, much less of intimacy, if we never had the freedom, nor enough leisure time to walk through its neighborhoods aimlessly, to stroll its streets at will. It is possible that by making only certain concessions and without ever completely surrendering, the city has — just like a woman — tightened the threads spun by our daydreams around herself, and better adapted the rise and development of our desires to her rhythms and moods.

The book, I went on to find out, is a love letter and appreciation of the Loire Valley city of Nantes by Julien Gracq, a French writer, historian and literary critic. Though I’ve never been to Nantes, I appreciate Gracq’s clear affection of the secret city, the walking rhythm of urban life. This opening passage captured the spirit of the flâneur I have written about before, and the way I love not only San Francisco but other cities I have walked, however briefly, such as New York, Barcelona and Edinburgh. Ultimately, it represents the higher ideals of the livable streets movement I embrace, and why I believe cities, not suburbs, are the best mode of life for me.

In what little free time I seem to have, I hope to read this petit tome — even though I know nothing about where it will go. But that’s just like walking a city.