All My Gettings

When I was quite young, my family lived in Troon, Scotland. Now, I don't remember much about the whole experience, but I do remember watching and adoring Postman Pat. I cannot tell you why I liked it so much but I was a fiend for him and his black and white cat. For those unfamiliar, the series takes place in Greendale, a village that boasts one of all the essentials of life: one church (CoE, natch), one handyman (Ted Glen), one school, one mobile shop driver, one set of twins (Katy and Tom),and, of course, one postman (Pat).

I remember watching this show daily. We even had some tapes of it until our PAL-format tv gave out and we got rid of them. The animation is stop motion, and leaves a bit to be desired in these days of Pixar and whatnot. Oh, and the episodes are something around 11 minutes long. But the show still has a very special place in my heart.

Or rather did until I happened to catch a newer episode while visiting my brother in the land of the Five C's (Cattle, Citrus, Cotton, Copper, Climate). HBO imports it, apparently. I am told (both by Wikipedia and IMDb that the show has been in a continual run since I watched it back in the mid-80s (this must make it one of the all-time longest running British series ever. At least for kids. [I just discovered that Coronation Street has been running for 46 years! And that Grange Hill has PP beat by 3 years.But still.]). However, if it's really been running without hiatus what in the world went wrong?

In the newer episodes Pat is married, and has a last name (Clifton) and a child. Now, I'd never go so far as to claim that I thought Pat was gay, but surely he was a bachelor before. I mean, given the rigor of his post route and all the personal problems he solves for Greendalians, how did he find time to marry, let along sire a child? This was the first problem I stumbled across. The second was that his child's name is Julian. Now, that's not really a problem as much as it is funny. How British is that?

So the second problem (or change, if you want to be more neutral) was that the train station is run by a family of Indian extraction. Ok, I'm cool with curry, Bollywood, and devanagari script but why the random insertion into Greendale? The villagers seem very friendly to them, but surely this is just a weak attempt as multiculturalism. I understand the cultural milleu of England and the large Indian population, but in a village where it's questionable if they've ever seen a Frechman, it raises eyebrows. How did this family end in the quiet glen? What is their backstory? Being a children's program, Postman Pat does not need to answer these questions. But the inclusion of Ajay et al really puzzles me.

Lastly, and perhaps most galling of the major changes, is the switch to a new theme song. The old one was catchy, peppy and optimistic (I mean, it may really be knock, ring, letters through your door). Now, the song is much softer. It sounds more like something that old people want piped into their elevators rather than a rousing intro to the not-so-wacky adventures of a small town postman.

So I'm left to lament the continued assault on all things my pre-kindergarten self held dear. I should mention that, while the show itself has become corrupted, the animation is worlds ahead these days (the characters can move their mouths, eg). I guess I should just cherish my memories, buy the dvds of the mid-80s version and count my lucky stars that the same folks who suggested the minority station master didn't demand a switch to Postperson Pat.

1. we put a lot of trust in our fourteen year-olds

2. while the JetStar II can fit three people in the middle car, this presupposes one is Ms. Lohan in the height of her Skeletor phase, or at the very least, a consumptive in the final throes

3. #2 is really an extension of the fact that, if you ever want to feel out of place, you should visit an amusement park in an odd-numbered group

4. people actually do throw up on rides (and it takes longer than you'd think to cleanit up)

5. not only do people spend money on midway games, one staffer has seen a man spend fifty dollars on a toss game before giving up

6. the Icee costs less than the Frozen lemonade, and is essentially the same thing

I recently discovered that I have, once again, failed to correctly parse something in my native language. It's the hymn "There is a Green Hill Far Away". In it, the third verse reads:

There was no other good enough enough to pay the price of sin
He only could unlock the gate of heaven and let us in

I have always understood this to mean something along the lines that even Jesus could not cover our sins but merely create the tools that we needed in order to work out our own salvation (I believe in nothing if not salvation by work. Really hard work.) Apparently, the majority of people disagree with me and frankly think I'm a bit touched to read it this way. They see it to mean that Jesus was the only one good enough to have wrought what he did. One more proof that English, while native to me, does not always think like I do.

My reading makes so much more sense, though, doctrinally, doesn't it? I mean, we don't believe in salvation by grace alone, which the standard reading seems to imply. So I did a bit of poking around. The solution lies in the fact that, barring postmortal acceptance, Cecil Frances Alexander is no Mormon. She (that's right, a woman named Cecil!) was a British Protestant who wrote songs for her Sunday School class. So, she's all about sola gratia.

I appreciated this quote from Karen Lynn Davidson's Our Latter-day Hymns:

Mrs. Alexander did not ever travel in the Holy Land. Those who have been to Judea will have noted the absence of anything like the "green hill" of the hymn's first line; such hills are more typical of Mrs. Alexander's native Ireland. But the doctrinal truths of the hymn are more important than its correlation with geographical reality.

Right. No need to be accurate or anything. It's not like the Bible is the inerrant word or God for her. Oh, wait. Sola scriptura. Oh well. A for effort.

I think I'll just stick to my parsing though. It reminds me of the just how far I'll fall short of salvation.

One of my favorite bits of librarianship is the waiting. Not that I'm just an incredible patient person who adores doing nothing, but librarian waiting (wouldn't it be lovely if we were German and could use "Bibliothekarwartend"?) isn't really doing nothing. It's a fine balance between doing a nothing-something so your boss thinks you're hard at work, doing a something-something so your work gets done and doing a nothing-nothing so that patrons feel comfortable approaching you. After a good three years of desk work, I think I'm just starting to get this the whole thing down.

Surfing is probably the best way to wait. However, there is simply not enough interesting content added to the internet daily to allow for four of five hours of browsing. Or maybe there is, but you run into some problems: a. finding it, b. ensuring it's appropriate for viewing at work (nothing says "do not approach me" like a librarian checking out the new Bel Ami line at the desk), and c. keeping from laughing so hard you cry. I ran afoul of this last problem earlier today.

I was sitting at the phones on the reference desk. This means minimal patron contact, but still a very visible pressence. I decided to catch up on what used to be my religious reading of Go fug yourself , a blog whose writers are cattier than a gay bar on Oscar night. It's a delightful little piece of internet brilliance, and is very funny. Personally, I find it very difficult not to break into peals of raucous, completely inappropriate guffawing.

Now, a smart person at this point would turn to something else, but not me. I decided to keep going. Which I did, and ended up with tears running down my face and a lip that was quite well-chewed.

Another good use of time, of course, is to read a book. People think this is what librarians do all day. That is simply not true. Sometimes we read about a book. Sometimes it's an article (thanks in no small part to full-text databases). Occasionally, we may even read a newspaper. But, surely we do not spend our days reading books. The main problem here is that reading non-computerized stuff runs counter to our three-fold plan. It looks to your boss like you're slacking off (you are), it makes patrons think you don't want them to approach (you don't), and, the books you want to read are rarely the ones that you aresupposed to read (thus, not getting work done).

So that's out. There are other options: staring off into space, twiddling your thumbs, imagining scenarios in which particularly annoying patrons get their cumeupance, more useful tasks like familiarizing yourself with the reference collection and policies of your library, or, obviously, helping to create meaningless internet content through your blog.

I like this waiting because I'm not particularly accountable for my time and, being the new guy, I can look and act helpless and not be shamed for being lazy or clueless. But it does take some time to figure out how to wait effectively. I think we need a course in this at library schools. We can even give it a boring title and make it official sounding. LIS 539: Time Management for the Information Professional.

A couple days back, I was looking up the mottoes of various universities. All of this came about because of an idea for a t-shirt. I want a shirt that reads “the glory of God is intelligence”. Not only is the idea really neat, but it’s also the motto of BYU, my alma mater. But BYU has two other mottoes (Enter to learn, go forth to serve and The world is our campus). None of these are in Latin, the common trend for mottoes (though the University of Calgary has a Scots Gaelic motto--a translation of a Psalm). This t-shirt would help me complete my “university motto” collection. I have a Lux et Veritas from Yale and a Vox Clamantis in Deserto (a voice crying in the wilderness) from Dartmouth. I’ll need to track down a Quaecumque Vera (whatsoever things are true) before I leave U. of Alberta.

Some other institutions have great mottoes. USC can stand for University of Southern California or University of South Carolina. Both are great. The one in CA has Palmam qui meruit ferat (Let whoever earns the palm bear it). What does that mean? Do their graduates get their diplomata printed on palm fronds? The Gamecock of U. of South Carolina have Emollit mores nec sinit esse feros (Learning humanizes character and does not permit it to be cruel). Why not? What’s the point of a university degree if not to lord it over your lessers and treat them poorly?

I like Cambridge’s Hinc lucem et pocula sacra (From here, light and sacred draughts), though the same prepositional phrase opens the much more humourous U. of Idaho statement: From here you can go anywhere! (that exclamation point actually appears as part of the motto). They’ve actually built in the “get out of here” into their motto, that’s nice.

The University of Arizona scoffs the need for Latinate phrases and lofty wisdom with the homey “Bear Down!” the official battlecry of a former quarterback. And the University of British Columbia instills a nice sense of entitlement with Tuum est (it is yours). I’m not entirely sure what is being described about the University of South Dakota with its one word motto “Extraordinary!”. And University of Washington goes even a step further from the familiar Let there be light to “Lux sit” (let light exist).

The proverbial cake, however, is taken by the University of Kansas. Every time their seal is used, we get an image of Moses before the burning bush and read outside it Videbo visionem hanc magnam quare non comburatur rubus (I will see this great vision in which the bush does not burn). UofK, by the way, is a land-grant institution funded heavily by state and federal taxes. Brilliant, really.

One of the things I miss most about the United States of America is my car, a 1989 blue Toyota Camry. In my family, this is known as the blue camry to distinguish it from the white camry (1988, though now OOC) and the new camry (1998, which in to be parallel should be called the “champagne camry” but that’s just terrible). Living here without my own personal horseless carriage hasn’t been too problematic. I lucked out and landed a basement apartment right near a train stop. The train takes me to school, church and to the Superstore, so my needs are met. It is annoying, though, that I can’t just get and go wherever I want. I have to plan things, figure out bus schedules, rush to catch transfers and generally do way more logistical planning than I have ever found possible.

Not having a car does have its advantages, though. Say you want to get out of a socially awkward appointment: “I’d love to, but I don’t have a car.” Say the missionaries need someone to go on splits: “I’d love to, but I don’t have a car.” Or say the committee you’re on needs someone to run silly errands: “I’d love to, but I don’t have a car.” Never mind the fact that I’d actually not love to. Also, not having a car has definitely curtailed my spending, which is probably why I can manage to cover my rent and all other expenses with my ten-hour-a-week job.

Another advantage of not having a car is funny stories from riding the train. The following are the highlights of my experience riding the friendly rails of Edmonton Transit.

Yeah, but only if you’re gonna defraud them

On the train, coming home from work one evening, I overheard two men, clearly construction workers, catching up on their recent lives.

CW #1: So I got that job at the Provincial Archives.

CW# 2: Oh yeah? I saw that posting, but then noticed there was a background check. How’d you pass that?

CW #1: I know, it was serious stuff. But, they only cared if it was fraud or something. Violent stuff didn’t matter.

So, if there’s a possibility you might be using the Archives for nefarious purposes, they won’t hire you. If you’re just going to beat your coworker with a shovel, welcome aboard!

Drunkards

Thursday at ten o’clock in the morning. Surely it takes some skill to be drunk so early in the morning doesn’t it? And it’s always two men, usually with the effects of either some serious falls or a bar fight or two. Always dressed shabbily. I often think of them as the “anti-missionaries.” They go about in pairs and start uncomfortable conversations with strangers on public transit just like regular missionaries. However, their appearance and attitudes are nearly the exact opposite of 19-21 year-old Mormon boys freshly . Mostly, I just try to avoid both when I see them.

Polyglot Edmonton

One evening on the train, I was struck by the fact that there were no fewer than five conversations going on around me, none of which were in English. There were a couple of young women speaking French, a Latino couple going on and on in Spanish, an animated discussion in what sounded like Arabic across the aisle, two middle-age African women speaking something I couldn’t understand and a group of Chinese students prattling along. I’d be a fan of this diversity if all the groups didn’t think that, since nobody understands them, they could all yell their conversations.

Dog Bites dog, women fight

Two middle-aged women get on and sit down on the same bench as me, a clear flaunting of the unwritten rule to spread yourself as far apart as possible (there were several empty benches right near where I was). They then commence to have an argument. Apparently one woman’s dog bit the other’s. They started out being very restrained, but it got animated. One started going on about how it’s always the other’s needs that are being met. I tried to ascertain the relationship between these two women: sisters? coworkers? neighbours? lovers? The dialogue and arguments had the ring of lovers but then one of them mentioned her husband and the other mentioned her kids. They just went on and on, continually breaking my understanding until they finally fell into a silence about as easy as a Sunday NY Times Crossword. Fortunately for me, they erupted once again, this time gesticulating wildly just as my stop pulled up and I had to slither between them to get off.

Today, in Elder's Quorum, the lesson was on the Priesthood. Or rather, the lesson would have been on the Priesthood had we time. After Sunday School had gone over, people had taken 15 minutes to socialize, and all the announcements were said, we had about twenty minutes to feast on the good word. This is typical for this ward and it really pisses me off. Not so much because I love the lessons, but because it's frustrating the reason for the meetings. We meet together oft to build up the Saints, yes. But socializing for ten to fifteen minutes between each meeting isn't' necessary, surely. What could possibly have happened during Sunday School that requires that much discussion?

At any rate, the lesson was on the Priesthood. We only as far as the conversion story of W. Woodruff. The story goes that Zera Pulsipher was working one day and received direction from God to head north for He had "some business" for him there. So, Elder Pulsipher gets his neighbour and they head out. The first house they stop at happens to be a relation of Wilford Woodruff's. Elder Pulsipher later baptizes Bro. Woodruff.

So, here's the issue: the guy teaching the lesson asks did Zera Pulsipher need the Priesthood to get that revelation. I feel no. Others in the quorum said yes, and starting saying how the Priesthood is the power to teach and so on. Someone took my side by giving the example of sister missionaries. If messengers needed the Priesthood, there wouldn't be any of them. The teacher then said Elder Pulsipher needed the Priesthood else he couldn't baptize. True.

Now, I'm not Zera, but the way it's described it sounds to me that he hadn't a clue why God called him north. God just had "some business" for him there. He didn't know he was going to baptize or even necessarily preach the Gospel. Why would he need the Priesthood to do God's errand? I can think of several examples of God inspiring non-Priesthood holders to do his will. Solomon in building the temple, Paul in being struck down on the way to Damascus, and Abish to run and get all the people to come and see the power of God. They didn't need the Priesthood to receive this revelation, why would Z. Pulsipher?

I was a bit offended by the notion that God only gives revelation of this sort to Priesthood holders. I understand the teleological conclusion behind sending Priesthood to W. Woodruff, but surely the guy would have sought them out had those not holding the office of priest found him. The discussion just lacked any notion of a God who works in mysterious ways. I wonder how President Woodruff would have felt about us denying the message of his favourite hymn.