back to the board

Hey kids. No big fun drama to blog or photolog from this weekend. It was a long week ending in a working Saturday.

The bad mood from last week came from Labor Day Sunday night/Monday morning. After a lovely Saturday brunching and shopping, and hunting men and matress pads at Bloodbath & Beyond with Barney, we picked up RMJ and spead out on Dolores beach for a lovely late afternoon of wine and sunshine. I had some great pics I took with my fab new phone, but I can't post them and I'll tell you why later.

I left the boys in the park to make their way to a rooftop party South of Market so I could rush home and get ready and pick up Kelly to go to Shawn's Big Kevin Birthday Night. NB: Kevin HATES birthdays. His own, others, planning, dealing, all of it. Too many bad birthdays in his youth. Shawn spent about 72 hours, a chunk of cash, and lord knows how many candles and bottles of lube to break Kevin of that association. (Successfully I might add.)

It turned out to be a very expensive night though: We started out at Medjool ("Bringing the Marina to the Misssion since 2005"), which has a nice rooftop deck but crappy cocktails at are-you-freaking-kidding-me prices. Two drinks and shared nibbles were about $50 each. Shawn pulled a major super-boyfriend surprise by calling his aunt for an old raisin pie recipie, and baking one, as that was Kevin's favorite part of their recent trip to visit Shawn's family in Lima, Ohio.



The pie was awesome. It was a lovely night with lovely people.



And Tony almost blew a gasket (heh, heh, heh. I said "blew") over some Long Island tourist's shoes. He wanted the suede fucia numbers for Gladys.



After drinks and nibbles at Medjool, Shawn had planned for us to go to a cabaret sort of show. Long story short, it was very much fringe-community theather of people who were theater-geeks in high school, then aged, moved to SF, and never developed any talent beyond growing breasts or extensively mimicing Monty Python, depending on gender. It was so below amateur black box only Dante would be able to place it. With the notable exception of the comedic/retarded cow-bell-playing freaulein. Now she was funny.

This should give you an idea of how sophisticated the space was:



En route, Kelly and I were certain that we did not have enough alcohol in our bloodstreams to enjoy the show. So while the others were finding our seats, Kelly and I surreptitiously slipped out to the Beauty Bar next door for shots. There was only the bartender and some British bloke there. We ordered "shots, right now." After downing the lemon drops, we started to bolt back to our seats when my phone rang. Tony called, "Did you bitches ditch me?" Se he ran next door and we had another shot.

And during intermission, so did we all, along with the random Brit Collin:



After the show we went to the also insanely expensive Foreign Cinema for dinner and then a few more rounds at the recently remodeled diner (whose name I foget and and is now super-swank) before calling it a night.

SUNDAY
I finally got to catch up on some sleep and wasted a lot of Sunday by lounging in bed. I did finally get out and go over to the Hairrison Street Fair where I volunteered at the Rodeo booth. It was a fine afternoon, but nothing really exciting. The “fair” was really “blah” actually.

For those of you who do not know, the HAIRrison Street Fair is the Bear Fair. “Bears” are burly/hairy gay men. As opposed to young and/or hairless “twinks,” “clones,” or muscle queens. Guys too slight of build to be “bears,” but hirsute and into the scene are “otters.” There were too many non-bears for the bear fair.

Bears:


Bear rub:


Pretty little leather twinks, but not bears:


Bears not shitting in the woods:


And just plain "freak."


That night, Lance and I went out to Sundance Saloon. We didn’t get there until after 8:00, and were annoyed to learn that they were closing early to accommodate another event in that space (being Labor Day). So instead of staying late with these guys, we were only there for an hour, which sucked. Afterwards, Lance went home and I went looking for a good time around town.

I failed.

I stopped in the Powerhouse and the Lone Star thinking there would be some fun tourists in for the Big Bear Weekend, but no. After a while I just gave up and went back to my car, where the window had just been smashed in. My brother Jay had called earlier with some tech support questions (he just bought a new iMac for the family!) and I didn’t put my phone back in my pocket but left it in the cup holder. Some meth-head threw what looked like a brake shoe through the window of my new "I have no business paying for this" BMW, scoring the leather seats, chipping the trim, dash, gear shift, and panels, and spraying shards of glass everywhere.

Soooo pissed. I walked to the corner, where there were two useless uniformed cops who told me “yeah, that happens a lot here” – apparently only 20 feet away—and I had to go to the police station down the block. After picking out enough glass so I could sit inside, and slicing my fingertips in the process and dripping blood all around, I made my way to the police station. There were two other people in line at the window waiting to make similar reports.

The bathrooms at the courthouse/police station were locked and one officer let me back behind the glass to wash out my fingertips. While we were chatting, he said, “Oh yeah. Even our car windows get broken.” My only thought was, “Then how useless are you? The police cars get vandalized in front of the police station? I can see that criminals respect and fear the SFPD.” While the complete and total apathy of the police department was frustrating, it was not surprising.

What followed the rest of the night was a seemingly endless series of annoying circumstances that underscored the point that this night I would not be getting a break: I found a service station open where I could vacuum some of the glass out, and paid my last dollar in the machine, which wouldn't work. I begged another dollar, used the other maching and got a lot of the glass out, but glass dust and splinters remained a problem. I finally made it home and tried to call Cingular (I had the SLVR for what? Two months?) and report my phone stolen, but of course by then it was 1:30 on the morning of Labor Day and no one was staffing the call centers. My online account showed three phone numbers dailed by the theives. I called these, but that act was as futile as I expected it to be. And the damn phone has a GPS locator, it would be nice if the cops would care to look it up and catch the assholes breaking block after block of windows. I was finally able to find a "report phone lost or stolen" option in the Cingular voice jail. It was then I remembered I had some great photos from the weekend still on the phone.

I also tried to cancel my second FastTrak, but met with the same holiday problem.

Completely exhausted, frustrated, violated, angry, and sad, I was ready to call it a night. But the fog had rolled in and I needed to cover the window with something. So I got out the Saran Wrap and took my tired ass downstairs with some tape to cover the window. Only when I tried to cover the window, did I discover the roll had only about six inches of plastic left on it. I actually said aloud, possibly loud enough to wake the neighbors, "Are you fucking KIDDING me?" So after another trek up to the third floor and back did my night culminate in a very white trashy white trash bag taped to my new BMW.

Labor Day, what should have been a fun day, was spent wallowing and trying in vain to find someone open on Labor Day to replace the window.

So you can see why I was not in the best of moods last week, and not at all peppy enough to blog. Someone came out and replaced the window for $200, which after calling around seemed average. I have not been able to bring myself to pay for yet another phone. I am using my crappy old one at the moment which an extremely nice and helpful guy at the Cingular store on Van Ness (props) activated for me for free. But this phone does not work well and doesn't take a charge so I will have to get another one. It's not like I didn't buy the formerly new one for a reason.

This most recent weekend? I had to work. So no fun tales to tell there.

This week includes dinner dates, a happy hour plan, the Rodeo, the Rodeo Buckin' Ball, and an Indian Summer-themed birthday party I am helping Kevin create for Shawn's 40th birthday.

So: silly mindless stuff during the day this week, and hopefully fun/salacious tales and photos next week.

Y'all be good.

Wayne "the Train" Hancock

I took the recently located John Lambert with me to meet up with Coco, Patrica, and Walter at the Hemlock last night for a little rockabilly lovin'.

Much fun. And a hot upright bass player, Patrick Swayze hair circa Dirty Dancing notwithstanding.

Pics from Patricia's Flickr:

Family Circus

Sure, we're all creeped out by the psychosis which is Bil Keane's distubing little single-circle drama of Billy, Jeffy, Dolly, and PJ.

But it could get creepier. And if you thought your in-laws were a nightmare, it could be much, much worse:

From BBC News:

Woman guilty over 'naked slave'
A mother-of-six from York has been found guilty of beating her former sister-in-law and keeping her as a domestic slave.

Antonia Pearson-Gaballonie, 36, of New Lane, Acomb, denied false imprisonment, making threats to kill and assault. During a two-year period she beat Veronica Sandeman, 26, and forced her to work naked, York Crown Court heard. ...

Feather boa?

No. But possibly wool...

Sure, gay men love a boa, but even those with the slightest ophidiophobia will be freaked out by this HUGE FRIGGIN' SNAKE in Malaysia: a five and a half meter python ate a pregnant sheep, and was so big, and apparently immobilized by its gluttony, that workers had to remove it from the road.

Not your father's Oldsmobile,

But it is my mother's comic strip.

While the SF Chronicle is not the best city paper in the world, it was almost worth the student rate to subscribe just for the comics. Now I get my morning/evening fix online (however, I do miss being able to take the Datebook/comics section into the private reading room).

My favorite comic these days, hands down, is Pearls Before Swine (if you tune in now, it's a running gag of what packs of Meerkats do in the burrow while the lookout stands watch).


I remember my mother was a loyal reader of what I considered the "non-comic-comics": the likes of Mary Worth and Apartment 3G. Now some clever and creative people with way too much time on their hands have greated mini movies of Mary Worth--acting out the strips into daily dramas, and imitating the poses of the panels in a grainy, black-and-white style evocative of old existential German cinema.


Mary Worth: the Movies

Sorta shows how asinine the dialog is. And it's a little surreal. Keep watching; maybe Mary will play chess with Death or something.

If you don't stop licking at it...

...it'll never heal.

Hmmmm.... candy scabs.

Birthday Blog

Okay, so it was over a week ago but here is the quick recap to the Birthday Bonanza which was August 28th.

Pics and flicks of the b'day over here.

It was a shaky day at work (Shilpa and I picked something up over the weekend as we were both up with a fever and chills the night before), including a doctor's appointment and a Davidson Alumni luncheon where I reconnected with the delightful Davidsonians E’beth Reed, Duncan Fraser, and Beth Ford—Beth is a Presbyterian minister getting her PhD and will be preaching down the road at Seventh Avenue Pres soon. Unfortunately, I may not be able to attend as that is the Rodeo weekend. And you know me.

It was a long work day with a heaping helping of work stress and abuse. Happily, cousin Barry sent me the BEST e-card from Blue Mountain. It totally made my day and help beat back the attack on my psyche from crazy ass work people. Big hug to Barry.

And big hug to Shilpa for insisting on hosting a birthday party for me. She tried her hand and baking chickens. Many guests were disappointed the menu wasn't Indian. Shilpa claims even her bland ("I left out the green chilies!") curry is too hot for white folks like me and Amy Day (uh, there are OTHER ingredients hot as lava, let's pull back on those too...). Actually, it's just that curry smells so much we thought we would rather not leave with our hair and clothes reeking of curry—to say nothing of all of Shilpa's wardrobe if she had the kitchen door open while she cooked.

It was a very small dinner party, so apologies to those who were not invited. We were only about 8 or 10 total I suppose. And of course, even on a Monday and with a light crowd, craziness ensued.

Did I mention the Brazilian who was working the crowd at Sundance Saloon the night before? No? Well, there was this hirsute Latin guy who took off his shirt at the end of the night and, while he did exude sexuality, he was seriously working the room. And he looked pretty good doing it. He was particularly attentive to Kevin, which was just evil as (1) Kev is now in a committed, monogamous relationship, and (2) muscular, hairy Brazilians are like his effing dream fantasy and his own personal kryptonite. Kev soaked in the attention, and enjoyed flirting back, but ultimately resisted. The Brazilian hottie, we'll call him S, slipped his card into Kevin's pocket and asked to see him.

Flash forward to the parking lot later as Kev and I are among the last to leave/be kicked out. He recounts his experience with S, and pulls out the card: it is four-color glossy with contact numbers, a shirtless photo, and everything but rates. He is a freaking PROFESSIONAL.

We now resume our story in Shilpa’s living room.
Me to Jim: “You know that friend of yours ‘S’ you introduced us to? Yeah, he’s a whore.”

Jim: “I believe the term is ‘escort’... He’s staying at [whatever] B&B for the rest of the week if you are interested in making an appointment.”

Apparently, he was in town to see some clients and stayed the week for other events, appointments, and new business. As you can imagine, this line of conversation went on for a while to much, much amusement. Later in the week Kev did a little online digging and found one of his Web sites. Kevin added “Quite the little movie career!” Check it out if you dare, but seriously, this is what you’d expect so don’t blame me if it offends you. You know what you’re clicking into. And it should go without saying that this is NSFW (not safe for work). I might also add that he looked much better, from the neck up, than he does in these photos. But that may have had something to do with the booze, thereof, and the lighting, lack thereof.

And now back to the party. A lot of the conversation centered around the weekend, which, as alert readers know, included lots of Country/Western lovin’. As you can see to the right, Shilpa's new hat made the rounds.

I don’t recall if it was before or after dinner, but in addition to his other presents, Kevin brought, as a quasi gag-gift (with a handle of Mandarin and the Death Race Steering Wheel), a bottle of Just Desserts' “Chocolate Chip Cookie Cream Liqueur” he found. He insisted we each give it a taste. And I will say, how bad can chocolate booze be? Not bad at all—and we decided it would be excellent on vanilla ice cream.

Digital camera freaks that we have become, Kevin got action shots of the action shots. Which I have put together into this groovy slideshow. [Quality version over here. Grainy YouTube Flash version below.]




The night progressed with lots of love and continued sampling of Amy Day’s Amazing Bloody Marys, Greyhounds, and more chocolate cake and booze.

Which might explain what happened after most of the guests left and it was just Me, Shilpa, Ruby, Kevin, James, and Jeannette.

Kevin has some sort of pathology. Actually, I believe he has many. But recently the most amusing is his inability to remain still, or sane, when Tom Jones is playing. Combine in equal parts: Kevin Koberle, Tom Jones, Bloody Marys, and stir with a flaming steering wheel. Not only it is combustible, but as you will see, it is contagious. [Again, quality movie over here. It was actaully really dark in the room, as you might imagine, it's just the flash that makes it look so bright.]




A good time was had by all:










And by GOD there was dancing. Kevin was Tom Jonesing. I taught Amy Day how to shadow dance to “Son of a Preacher Man.”





And Ruby and I got down to some serious swing!




Clearly, a hair-raising experience.

If you can stand it, you can browse 153 Photos up on Flickr.

Syria Eleison

...on this road that I must travel.

A co-worker's friend has just arrived in Syria for a nine-month stint. He's started a blog which may be of interest to you globe/news watchers. You can follow his reports, assiming he keeps his blog active, at Nine Months in Syria.

His blurb:

I'll periodically post a narrative slice of my life in Syria. You might read about the people I meet, the places I visit, the food I eat. You won't read about politics or my opinions thereof. I leave that for the experts in Washington.

Game Over, man.

You may never look at household objects the same way. Well, unless you're really, really high.

So what did you do Tuesday night?

We ended up at lesbian kareoke night at a bar outside Berkeley.

It should go without saying that this was not by design.

(Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

Laborous Labor Day

Hey Kids. Posts will be light if non-existent today. I had a seriously crappy past 48 hours and am not only too busy with work, but am just not in the mood to be entertaining. Saga will unfold tonight by post. Let's just say the hits just keep on coming.

However, passing creepy homeless guy burning shit in an alley and the seriously disabled day-care center on my walk to work today, I am reminded there is a big scale on which to rate a "bad day." All things considered, I'm fine. Just sick of the shit and I can't afford to deal with it all right now; financially or emotionally.

But knock on wood. I am afraid of the collarary to Murphy's Law which states: there is no situation so bad that it can't be made worse.

And karmically, I can't tell if this is the downside to having some good luck in the past, or just a heaping helping of crap foreshadowing something good when the pendulum swings back. Blog will tell.

Happy Labor Day Weekend

I love that we celebrate labor by not working for a day.

In anticipation of Monday's holiday and a busy week this week and next, it has been a whirlwind of a day here at work--with just a short break to celebrate and say farewell to a faboo co-worker who is moving to greener pastures at another campus.

So I've been way to manic to post today.

I've gone through over a hundred photos from Birthday Monday and still have a dozen or so to go through and tag/metadata. And those movies and animated gifs don't make themselves, People.

So you still have my birthday debrief to look forward to. Although I imagine it will be more of a photo essay than a written report. Which, really, is all well and good.

Other items to watch for:

• James' birthday party has been canceled tonight as Jeanette has scratched her cornea (OUCH!) and has to deal with that. Will other hijiniks ensue? Dunno, but I am past ready to blow this popsicle stand and get me to a happy hour!

• Kevin's birthday will be celebrated Saturday. Kevin's antics tend to ensure a good narrative, but his SO (Significant Other) is a bit of a balancing factor so it is anyone's guess as to whether it will merely be a lovely night, or something to blog about.

• Sunday I have been asked to help out at the Rodeo booth at the HAIRrison Street Fair, so there may in fact be events or sights to write about. Here's hoping. At least there will be dancing later.

• No big plans for Labor Day itself, which is fine by me as I could use a 24-hour nap. There is an all-day line-up at El Rio, including 77 El Deora in the evening. We'll see if I can rally for that or not. It won;t be the usual El Rio crowd, which makes it less fun. And I can't go overboard, as I have a VERY busy Tuesday.

Now y'all go have fun!!

Rodeo Roadtrip

It was a big Country/Western birthday for me last weekend. Saturday evening, the Bay Area chapter of the GSGRA sponsored a beer-bust and private shopping trip to Western Warehouse in the South Bay. After an afternoon beer bust, the bus left The Metro around 7:00 for the drive to Milpitas, where Rodeo sponsor Western Warehouse would open after-hours for a night of private shopping, at a 20% discount, for the Rodeo shoppers. For the $15 ticket, the bus trip included snacks, beer, booze, croissant sandwiches, and hijinks.

Last year, the bus was crowded with Sundance Saloon folks (and I started the trend of pantless shopping, which was such a pleasure in several ways). This year the crowd was considerably smaller, and predominately leather queens. Go figure. There were 15-20 or so of us on the trip this year: about five rodeo guys, a western guy with his lesbian pair, me with my straight girls, and the leather guys.

Amy Day had been excited about making a trip to WW to get some boots and start country dancing again, and Shilpa, always ready for an adventure, signed up too.

And let me tell you, they were the Belles of the Bus in a big way. That Shilpa can sass along with the best of them, and drag queens, rodeo queens, and hard-core leather queens are tough bunch with which to hold your own. Amy had a fabulous time too and was not lacking for attention.

An unexpected pleasure of the road trip was the companionship of Ed, whom I have met many times but with whom I have had no real conversation. As I recall he is a former and may be the current titled “Mr. Bay Area Rodeo” (I don’t know what it is with us fags and titles—must be the pageantry.) Ed is also a singer and has sung along to a backing track at Sundance Saloon several times. He may have been a Star Search competitor at some point, but I might be confusing him with Matt Alber.

At any rate, he’s good people, and good company. And with him in the seat next to me, and Shilpa and Amy in the seat in front of me, we felt like a fun foursome.



Ed also let Shilpa try on his hat—and for a hat-wearer I must say that Ed has a nice head of hair.

She looked darlin’.



And we made her buy her own later that night.

The traumatic event on the bus was the Dorito Tumor. Okay, it wasn’t traumatic, but it was both disgusting and hilarious. While some of us savored the forbidden unnaturalness of the Chee-to, inside Ed’s bag of Doritos he found a congealed mass of Dorito topping just smaller than his fist.



This was the object of much fascination. Dissection was debated, and upon compression it ultimately exploded into a toxic orange crumble.

Ed, who was complimented on his tight Wranglers (the jean of choice for ranchers and rodeos), had the best line of the night:

“These are my cheap hotel jeans…no ball room.”



The banter on the bus was uproarious. Mix in a large bowl: road trip giddiness, Saturday night adventure, leather daddies, drag queens (out of drag), cowboys, cowgirls, an Indian, and lots of booze and beer—that's a recipe for a hollering good time. Everyone’s attitude was positive and the clever meter was running high. I began wishing for a note pad to blog the one liners. I have a few notes on cocktail napkins we picked up at a bathroom stop in the frighteningly rural Hayward gay bar where there was an Empress competition in progress. That just added to the surreal nature of the evening.

There were many great topics and quotable quips that night. Sadly, most of my notes were mental and soon forgotten. Lines which made it to cocktail napkins include:

* She looks great in that hat! She’s a cowgirl and an Indian!
* A bear doesn’t shit in the woods, but he might pee on somebody. (On Lazy Bear Weekend in the Russian River)
* I should be more specific. There’s a taxonomy of barflies.
* You’re a water sign and I’m a fire sign. We’d be such a bad match.
No we wouldn’t: fire + water = firewater! Woo hoo!

At one point during the ride, the boys started referring to Amy and Shilpa as Chips & Salsa (They’re detectives! Coming this fall to FOX.) It was so ironic that they started calling Shilpa “Chips” as she was recently sexually harassed at work by a doctor staring at her rack, as her arms were full of files and also bags of chips left over from a meeting, and he ultimately commented “oh, I wasn’t staring at the snacks, but nice chips.”

Some bus candids:









Shopping fun:













Amy Day and Shilpa both bought a pair of boots and a hat. And looked good doing it. Amy Day, western dancing enthusiast, also bought a cowgirl tank top and a belt with big buckle for dancing. So cute.



After so much booze, and shopping, the boys were getting a little peckish. One guy walked across the strip mall to In-N-Out Burger. He placed his order, paid, then got tired of waiting and walked back without getting his meal.

Eric took a poll and the bus drove the 50 yards to the Taco Bell for munchies. Photo of eager drunk cowboys headed for a taco fix:



Photo of denied taco-seekers turned away from the Taco Bell which only had the drive-though open.



Ultimately we returned to The Metro just before midnight. We were immediately repulsed by the bar as it had exploded into a crowd of super-cheesy bridge and tunnel/marina kids. Very strange. We were debating our next move—some were headed to Daddy’s/440, some home, and there was discussion of Marlena’s. The Mr. S guy whose name escapes me said he was headed home, if his truck would start:

Eric: “If your truck will start?”
Mr. S: “I left the lights on...”
Me: “That is so Belinda Carlisle.”

It is no surprise that Shilpa and I are so close; because we clearly share some synapses. She laughed immediately. I didn’t really care that/if no one else got it. Those who know me know that I often quip references just to amuse myself. (I do crack myself up.) If the audience gets it, so much the better, and they'll earn points from me.

Amy Day was exhausted and took the N-Judah home. Shilpa and I, night owls as we are, were eager to join Eric (our host and Rodeo leader) and his partner Frank (aka Miss Trout) at Marlena’s. The late show was ending just as we arrived, but we stayed until closing and had greyhounds and lots of fun conversation. Eric and Frank are regulars so we were sort of established by association. Shilpa and Frank got to know each other pretty well--



As for me: I bought two pairs of boots, two hats, three shirts, boot cream, and a boot remover. I passed the dollar mark to get the 30% to 40% discount, but the person checking me out only gave me 20%. She told me that the incremental discounting was last year so I acquiesced. It was still a nice discount, and I could justify buying the red version of the durable, fancy, shiny, sparkly black sting ray (made from) boots I bought last year and have loved. Later on the bus, Eric told me that I was supposed to get the greater discount and should have consulted him as he made the deal with the manager. Another $50 to $60 would have been saved, but still I got good deals. Eh.

I so dig the sting rays, and the new square-toed weathered brown ones, but I must admit I have gone a little Imelda with the boots.

And Sunday night? Amy and Shilpa joined me for lessons and dancing at Sundance Saloon, where they got to show off their new boots and hats. Again they were the center of attention, and made a big deal out of my birthday which got me lots of attention. Which, of course, I loved too. Prrrr.

Teaser

I didn't get a chance to post about the road trip nor about the birthday tonight. But I have been working on the photos—and I still haven't seen Shilpa's set yet. Apparently she has 210 of them.

But this pic may sum up both the driving and the drinking:


Happy birthday to me...

There are 10 kinds of people in the world.

Those who understand binary and those who don't.

think geek.

Come all without, Come all within,

You ain't seen nothing like The Mighty Quinn.

Well you have really-- it's that can't-be-named falling brick game. And the best Mac game/time sucker. FreeCell belongs to Windows, Quinn to the Mac.

(and for those on whom the reference is lost)

Librarians overdue

For the respect they deserve for the stands they take.

Props from The Nation: Librarians at the Gates.
By Joseph Huff-Hannon.

Courage, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. And in an era of increasing controls on the gathering and dissemination of information, many Americans are unaware of the courageous stands librarians take every day.

The day-to-day challenges librarians face are inherent in the job description: defending access to controversial or banned books, staving off budget cuts, and creating and expanding programs to draw more citizens into one of the few remaining genuinely public commons in American life. While the ethic of secrecy often prevails in the gathering and dissemination of corporate and governmental information, the work of a librarian is imbued with just the opposite. Be it in the capacity of archivist, reference librarian or information technology professional, a common thread is the profession's dogged commitment to safeguarding books, research and information to make knowledge more widespread, not less.

In the past few years this dedication has become more important than ever. With the federal government ever more intent on spying on its own citizens, and on classifying, concealing and manipulating larger swaths of information and intelligence, librarians and library custodians are on the front lines protecting freedom of inquiry and our right to privacy. And where right-wing groups, both local and national, have campaigned for censorship, librarians have also stepped up to the plate to defend minority points of view in their collections. Anecdotes there are aplenty, too many to document here. The following are but a few profiles of courageous individuals in the field who exemplify the democratic values and the independent spirit of the profession.

It makes a fellow proud to be a soldier.