Category: Musings
Hipsterdelphia
Recently I went to Philadelphia for a four day library conference. This one is about my first day in Philly, before the conference started. The city was not what I expected.
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!
Riding a Century
Last week on my tumblr I posted about how if I had a life list, going to see the complete Ring Cycle would be on it (a goal I will accomplish this spring). There’s another thing that would also be on my life list, if I had one (and I guess two items makes a list, so now I do). I want to complete a Century.
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.
Tumbl Bumble
I admit I haven’t been blogging much lately (though I do have some ideas swirling around my head, especially on Information Literacy, so hopefully I’ll write them down soon), but I have been tumbling. If you’re so inclined, follow me there.
The Shape of a City
Normally I’m fairly conservative in my choice of movies to watch and books to read - I’ll read numerous reviews before giving something a chance. But I love the serendipity of the book drop, or, I should say, of clearing the book drop. Today a small book with a simple title and an author I knew nothing about caught my eye, thanks to nothing more than an arresting cover. It only took me five sentences to fall in love (despite the very French analogy at the end):
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.
Solitude
From the gleefully subversive comic Toothpaste for Dinner:
Springtime
Today is Wednesday, so I should be publishing this week’s Diptych right now, on the subject of “Spring”. This being the vernal time of year, I saw plenty of inspiration this morning:
- Blue sky over the City, but dew on the ground;
- My daughter (3, and full of curls) dancing down the street in her sundress;
- Noe Street, shaded by trees and filled with blooming flowers;
- An older gentleman on the corner assembling bouquets, who gave my daughter a branch of lilac buds;
- Walking through a verdant Golden Gate Park on my way to work;
- Seeing Park & Rec prepping a public diamond for high school hardball.
Only catch? No camera! And I decided that my iPhone camera wouldn’t cut it.
Hopefully I’ll find as much inspiration tomorrow. I will also post a recap of my fantastic experience at the CARL Conference shortly.
Diptych: Temporary
This week’s diptych theme is “temporary”. I have no hand in selecting the themes; that’s up to Grace and Kellee. But this week that term is especially relevant to me, as I am in the final days of my temporary position at the California Academy of Sciences. While I only became a paid employee in December, I first came to the Academy back in June of 2009 as an intern and have been heading in to the gleaming green building in Golden Gate Park continuously ever since. So next Friday, my last day at the Academy, marks the end to a significant period of my professional life.
It’s a bittersweet departure because of the fun I’ve had, the skills I’ve learned, and the connections I’ve made. First, credit for how enjoyable it’s been should be given to the people I work with: Christina, who for my months as an intern was my roommate in the Corsi Digital Lab, and then, when she went on maternity leave, the reason I had a professional opportunity; Becky, who is funny, lively, takes long runs in the rain and taught me a lot about life sciences librarianship (taxonomy!); and most of all, my supervisor, Danielle, who has patiently taught me how to handle the Academy’s historic materials, how to curate an informative archival display, and all sorts of digital asset management details they never get to in library school. I appreciate the patience they’ve shown in teaching me the rigging of the good schooner Academy.
Working in the Academy’s archives is quite an adventure. These aren’t dry and dusty collections; I learned about Alvin Seale, a headstrong turn-of-the-century scientist and adventurer who scoured the South Pacific for feather cloaks and cannibals; the great matriarch of botany Alice Eastwood and how she rescued specimens in the midst of the 1906 disaster; and scientific explorers like Rollo Beck and Templeton Crocker and their high-seas voyages to the Galapagos and beyond. I spent weeks delving into our materials on the arctic north and became an accidental expert on pelagic sealing, the Pribilof Islands, and the strange things that happen in the Bering Sea.
But all this was temporary, and I’ll be moving on. Fortunately, the skills I’ve learned are not.
My image in this week’s “temporary” diptych is the iconic orange band that’s been around my neck since last summer, the one that I’ll soon be giving up.
On Conferences
In 1891 the annual American Library Association conference ventured to the West Coast for the first time. The ALA came at the behest of the San Francisco Free Public Library and its director, John Vance Cheney. He had spent the greater part of the prior conference lobbying for the privilege of hosting the gathering. While San Francisco was already a sizable city – the self-proclaimed Paris of the West – it was still a far-off frontier to the East Coast American library establishment. After all, much of the region between East Coast and West – Wyoming, Idaho, Montana and the Dakotas – had only gained statehood in the two years prior, and Utah, New Mexico, and Arizona still remained territories. It took a three month round-trip for the caravan of librarians to arrive at the City by the Bay, in what sounds to me must have been a fascinating train ride (for the companionship of so many librarians, for so long, crossing a territory so vast). It must have made for quite the “pre-conference”.
The Papers and Proceedings of the ALA for 1891 and 1892 – available freely on Google Books – are filled with interesting personal and professional notes on the event, including one late night tour of subterranean Chinatown haunts (complete with Chinese opera). Librarians have been writing up accounts of their adventures for far longer than the Age of Blogging!
In 2010, the ALA Conference remains a mainstay event, but with far more than the 50 attendees of 1891 (and developed in ways that Cheney, Dewey and Windsor likely never anticipated). Meanwhile, there is an endless number of focused events a librarian can attend based on specialty, region, and various other factors. Some now take place entirely online (robbing us of the charm of the three month train trip…)
So far I’ve only dipped my toe in one library conference, the 2008 California Library Association (CLA) Conference. I was a San José State SLIS student at the time and was able to attend free of charge in return for volunteer hours at the Infopeople Booth. It was a worthy trade. I found a presentation on Zotero to be quite useful, and greatly enjoyed the keynote speakers Michael Chabon and Ayelet Waldman. The booth time itself turned out to be a great hands-on learning experience with a variety of interesting gadgets and gizmos (with varying degrees of library-related usefulness). However, because of other commitments my time at the conference was limited.
I’ll have a more substantial conference experience with the upcoming California Academic and Research Libraries conference in Sacramento, April 8-10. I plan on attending the entire event (I’ll be commuting in each day with my friend Carolyn in lieu of the cross-country train ride). And while my experience in Sacramento may lack late night adventures in Chinese Opera, I’ll still do my best to write up accounts of my adventures on these digital pages here.
