Aside from paying very little attention to visual design and not caring about the impact of horrible typography, the big problem with library catalogs is that they are not designed to help people accomplish library tasks. Instead, they’re designed to expose catalog records.
I’m not even talking about lofty library tasks like learning, creating, and connecting. I’m not referring to semi-interesting library tasks like discovering exciting content. I’m talking about very basic library tasks: finding items in a specific location, reserving items, and renewing items. Of course, people can do these tasks with our catalogs but only because the functionality has been clumsily bolted onto catalog records.
Correct me if I’m wrong, but this is totally backward—prioritizing the collection, not people, results in a user-hostile interaction design and a poor user experience.
Imagine the reverse: a tool that prioritizes helping people accomplish their tasks, whereby bibliographic data exists quietly in the background and is exposed only when useful.
”Catalog by Design | The User Experience
We are in the business of organizing and providing access to information. Why do our tool for these things always SUCK?
(via twonickels)A toddler’s announcement to his mother and the circulation desk staff. (via yourathenaeum)
Yes!
(via teencenterspl)
Some items from the inventory project. Now part of my “classics” shelf in my office.
Blissfully not pictured - filled cart of mystery items discovered in inventory.
One of the best “other duties as assigned”.
Nothing like walking around all day while completely oblivious to the red rot stripes on your trousers.
This little card fell out of a book on Gothic architecture that I was working on this afternoon.
No idea what the middle bit says, but my Elvish was never very good…
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE LOOK THAT SLOWLY FORMS ON YOUR FACE WHEN I TELL YOU I AM A LIBRARIAN.
BY BECCA BRODY
- - - -
Dear Look That Slowly Forms On Your Face When I Tell You I Am a Librarian:
The raised eyebrows and intake of breath fool no one. As a librarian, I am well aware that most people do not find my job an interesting topic of conversation at a neighborhood barbecue, music festival or, to use a more keenly relevant example, the cocktail party we both attended last Friday night.
I believe that those four minutes we spent together, both holding a glass of shiraz in one hand and crumpled up napkins in the other, created a camaraderie that allow me to offer a few delicate suggestions. While at no time did your lips actually curl downward into a grimace, the frozen, dare I say stricken, look you chose to accompany my declaration of career halted our conversation before it even began.
It’s true that reactions to my occupation tend to fall into two camps. The first group registers immediate delight with a laugh and smile and a squealed “I love librarians!” followed by a request for assistance finding a favorite childhood book that had pictures of cats or rabbits and probably had a blue cover, or maybe red. That I can’t help them (because my job involves database administration and website creation, not children’s books) doesn’t seem to dampen their enthusiasm, because they had a great librarian in school once.
Members of the other camp (this means you) pause just a bit too long. Their faces blank out, and maybe their heads lurch back just a touch as the eyes search for something or someone else to latch onto. This is not so bad. I too have stood next to a woman at a party and had absolutely no idea what follow up question would be appropriate. What do you ask someone who did something unpronounceable for a municipal water system? Blanking out is a known risk at cocktail parties and schmoozing events of all types and is not in itself a reason for despair.
It’s what happens next that, to me, is unforgivable. It’s when your eyes light up ever so slightly, that bemused, faraway look coalesces, and you turn to me and say:
“How ‘bout that Dewey Decimal System?”
At that moment, you look so proud of yourself. You believe you have found a clever way out of cocktail party purgatory. You look almost hopeful, as if the conversation has been saved. But let me explain to your smug visage what has just happened: you have ruined it for everyone.
Because now I have two options: I can spend a few minutes boring both of us by explaining how that system has been superseded in academic libraries by the Library of Congress system and how I never learned Dewey because I am not a public or school librarian (thereby confirming that, indeed, librarians have no sense of humor) or I can laugh as if I have never heard that comment before and say “I know, right? It’s really confusing.” Then one of us can scramble around for a follow-up. In either case your face blanks out again, and it is only a matter of seconds before one of us makes a desperate excuse and runs off to get more canapés.
Next time, might I suggest a smile and a simple “How do you enjoy your work?”
All the best,
Becca
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE LOOK THAT SLOWLY FORMS ON YOUR FACE WHEN I TELL YOU I AM A LIBRARIAN.
BY BECCA BRODY
(via jasonwdean)
Is it more or less confusing when I have to give the “I inexplicably work in an academic library that uses Dewey except for the rare books” answer?
Famous Historical Librarian: Zora Neale Hurston
“Hurston spent her last decade as a freelance writer for magazines and newspapers. Her autobiography reported that she worked in a library in Cape Canaveral, Florida; although new evidence indicates she worked at the Pan Am Technical Library at Patrick Air Force Base in 1957, just prior to moving to Fort Pierce.” (via Zora Neale Hurston - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)
Can I just say YES.
Result of this short week’s organizational efforts. The center pile is mostly professional reading I need to do…
