Unshelved by Bill Barnes and Gene Ambaum
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Friday, October 14, 2005

Cataloguing serials

is much slower going than cataloguing books, because more is involved. You create the holding record, then create a record to tie to that where you actually receive the journal. The good thing is once I'm finished, I'll be able to go straight to an expected journal and receive it with just a couple of clicks. But for now, well, it's almost lunchtime and I don't want to do another journal until after I've had a break. I have fourteen sitting on my desk and I've done about seven so far this morning. Of course, I've also had articles to order and deliver to people, so I haven't just been cataloguing. So, in retrospect, an hour and a half for seven journals isn't too bad; it was probably more like 45 minutes of cataloguing and the rest in tracking down articles.

I got some rest last night and feel better today, although I also started my period so it's sort of a give and take. I'm listening to Natalie Merchant's Ophelia and just chugging along in a mellow sort of way. I'm really glad it's Friday. I'm going to pay my rent today, so that's one stress out of the way, then spend some time at home tonight after working at both jobs. I'm reading Laurell K. Hamilton's A Stroke of Midnight, the latest Meredith Gentry book. It's really a shame in a way that I'm so addicted to Anita Blake and Meredith Gentry; the books have become not so much murder mysteries but rather soft pornography punctuated with murder. By that I mean Hamilton seems obsessed in both series with writing sex scenes rather than really keeping up the characterisation that was her strength or advancing the plot quickly. It's not that I'm a prude, and I'm sure for some the sex has added to the appeal, but especially with Anita Blake, it was the characters I fell for initially, and the ideas of the world she created. Now it seems like those characters are fading into black and white, but I keep hoping for better, so I keep reading the books. After awhile, frankly, the sex scenes get pretty boring. Yes, they are consequences of plot ideas (Anita is trying to control a side-effect of her relationship with a vampire, Meredith is in a race to become pregnant and win the throne of the Unseelie Court of Faerie), but I just can't shake the idea that the author is caught up in her own fantasies, rather than writing for her audience. That's my take on it anyway. It hasn't stopped me from reading them, though, so I suppose I shouldn't be that critical.

Okay, time for lunch. Have a good weekend, everybody.

Oh, and a big happy birthday to Tracita!

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