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In leafing through the issue of Library Journal from earlier this month, the latest John Berry article made me sit up in my seat. Entitled “Half Way to ALA”, he discusses the true cost of conference attendance in terms of dollars and (more importantly, in my estimation) professional advancement.
As to the first part, the financial estimates that Mr. Berry tosses out ring true to me. Even in taking transportation out of the equation (Boston and Washington DC, the locations of the past Midwinter and Annual, are within driving distance for me), the sum total of hotels, meals, and other expenses puts it easily well over $1,500 for an attendee. While some of my friends have worked out ways to save money by sharing rooms or seeking alternative housing venues, the other costs still remain the same and leave it hovering around $1,000 to attend. Not exactly small change by any stretch of the imagination. -- Read More
So I don't know if you heard, but apparently the Annoyed Librarian has sold out and has started writing for LJ.
I saw a post that derided her (or their) new found fame as if getting paid a little money for writing is a horrible thing. But now she has to really write stuff. She has to find a way to be annoyed about libraries once or twice a week in order to earn her keep; and this means she's probably going to have to make stuff up. I hope she can figure out how to do it and still "keep it real." (sorry.)
But because of this news, I feel I need to confess something to all of my readers, the.effing.librarian has been making money writing about libraries for many years now, for example:
Dear Penthouse letters,
You won't believe what happened to me in the LIBRARY the other day. I was browsing the stacks looking for a tune-up manual for my badass Kawasaki 650 when I was approached by a woman who was pretty stacked herself. She had huge double-D's, and when she noticed my gaze targeting her huge rack, she pressed past me in the narrow aisle and pushed those well-fed puppies against my tense chest. And you can bet that's not all that was getting tense.
She was somewhere in her thirties, a little on the plain side, but pretty, with her hair pinned up in the back and her lips colored the same bright red that was printed on the "no cell phones" sign in the front of the Circulation desk. Her skirt stretched against her firm backside as she bent down to retrieve my book. -- Read More