I guess researchers have it right if my Facebook friends are any indication. There has been an upswing in grumpy posts that have little patience with anything or anyone. At least two have publicly unfriended people. And others are scolding folks for their posts. Yikes! If we can’t get along on Facebook, how will we manage when we have to see people in the flesh?

Being the captain of a fairly merry group in the library, I asked the staff what  they do to keep cheerful in the winter. Here are their responses:

• Linda: I watch old movies and eat popcorn.
• Emily: I take advantage of cold weather by not feeling guilty about sitting on the couch and reading. I also start planning my summer vacation.
• Susan: I read and knit.
• Pam: I hang out with my cats and read. I organize my office and eat snacks.
• Jolly Librarian: I go to the track at the Y and listen to Snow Patrol for five miles. I read long mystery novels. And I go on Facebook and laugh at my crazy friends.

Sure, winter can be a depressing time of year, but the older I get the more I realize the Camus quotation is true: “In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.”

For those of us who go into academic fields, research is usually fun. But it is not always easy. There are false leads and dead ends everywhere.   We gather up information left and right only to discover later on that, regrettably, we can’t use any of it in a project. We set aside an afternoon for research only to find the books we need have been checked out by someone else or the database is down.

Recently, I found myself doing research on mobile devices in education. I thought I was going to have a fairly easy time of it since every search I did brought up hundreds of results. However, on further investigation, most of those were based on very small groups with little rigorous attempt to control variables. Others were simply based on self-reports. So I’m still slogging through material I can’t use. But that’s part of the process.

Of course, the librarians prefer that things go right during orientations, and I don’t blame them. But I still don’t find it a failure when things go wrong–because out in the real world, they will.

But right before Christmas, Charles told Pam about a new book she might be interested in, and she told me. We both ordered it and decided to give it a go for this year. The book is 52 Small Changes: One Year to a Happier, Healthier You by Brett Blumenthal. We decided that, since we had not been able to do anything big, we might be more successful with smaller week-long projects. 

So we started the first Sunday of January. Our first change was to drink more water. That was not hard to do, especially since most experts have backed off from the eight glasses a day regimen. The second week we were to get more rest; in my case, that was helped by a stomach virus which meant I was in the bed for the greater part of 72 hours. The third week instructed that we move more. So far, so good.

Then this week, we were to keep track of everything we ate. Oddly, this seems to have had an opposite effect of what the author intended. Pam and I both seem to have taken this to mean to eat as much as possible, to fill up the maximum number of pages with items we’ve consumed. Still, it’s not been a complete waste: We are more aware of what we’re eating, although that has not served as a prevention technique yet.

I have not given up hope of having more of the library staff join us in our attempt to “improve ourselves in 12.” I’ll keep you posted.

At the same time my colleague was receiving a warning,  I was sitting at the reference desk, trying to get a word processing application to work on my iPad. I’m still not sure what key was the culprit, but whenever I hit it, suddenly Snow Patrol was serenading the entire library. Loudly. I would run back to my office, turn it off, and then come out and try again. Only to have the same result. No students complained. Maybe they have the good taste to like Snow Patrol. Or maybe they simply have become immune to noise. But they reminded me that libraries are not the places they used to be.

Even a decade ago, when I started work here, there was still quite a bit of shushing going on. Students were expected to turn off their cell phones, not talk to each other, and make as little noise as possible. A former colleague from the English department said that every employee looked unhappy. I found that not to be true, but I have to admit that when you spend time reprimanding people, it’s hard to keep a happy expression on your face.

Now, though, things have shifted. There are students who still want a quiet  place to work, and we work hard to maintain places that allow for that. But we also make the library a friendly place where people want to visit. So as long as cell phones discussions are quiet, we don’t forbid them. (After all, it was pointed out that we made more noise telling students to get off their cell phones than the actual call ever did.)  We  have an ongoing student/staff chess match going on. And students often come by just to chat to let us know how their classes and lives are going. And I think of all this has made the library a friendlier place to be.

As I sit here typing, I can hear a student giggling over something a staff member has said. A staff member has bellowed (Okay, I may be exaggerating a bit) for another to come over and help him fix the copier. Students are helping each other with some homework. And one of my colleagues is bemoaning a weight problem to anyone who will listen as she munches on vinegar and salt potato chips at the back table.

We may not be an ideal library. We don’t pretend to be. Our structure probably won’t work everywhere. But, somehow, our imperfect, noisy selves mesh and work quite well here.

And I’m not sure why, but he’s right. Among our group of friends, Krystals are not something that you admit that like. Now, granted, there are many good reasons not to eat junk food, but I’m not talking about that. People who line up at other drive-throughs, smoke cigarettes like chimneys, and drink themselves into oblivion somehow feel comfortable making fun of the little square bun with mustard, pickle, and onions.

In fact, I was once in a Krystal in a ritzy part of town. I was behind these two families who spent the entire waiting time talking about all the unfortunate coincidences that led them there and how they never ate at Krystal. I almost expected one of them to say she had been put in a trance and had no idea how she’d ended up in line.

Not me. I love everything about Krystal. I love the steamed buns. I love the chili pups. I think the fries are some of the fast food’s best.

But my love for these little hamburgers reminds me of how easy it is to become snobs about the strangest things. Classical music buffs often think popular music beneath them. Alternative music fans look down on basic top 40 groups. And some alternative groups are cooler than others. The same goes for books and movies. And sometimes it seems that it never stops: that everyone needs some reason to look down on others.

So here is my manifesto. I will eat my Krystals with pride. I will buy my clothes at Target if they fit and be quite content. I will listen to any music that makes me happy, whether or not it is approved by my musician friends. And, yes, I’ll read some George Eliot but probably follow it up with a mystery novel. And while I love “Downton Abbey,” I will still watch the episode of America’s Next Top Model where some woman gets a haircut and cries about it.

I like to think of myself as well-rounded, but if others look down on my choices, so be it. As long as I’m not hurting anyone, then my choices should be my business.

So if see you in the Krystal line this weekend, just beware. I’ll shout out a great “hello” and won’t listen to any excuses about why you’re there.

1. In college, things are always changing, so you are never the only one who doesn’t know how to do something. Over semester break at our college, the course management system was upgraded, several textbooks went to new editions, and the entire parking lot changed.  So just relax and realize that your not knowing something may have nothing to do with you and everything to do with the ever-changing college world.
2. One day, you will forget something important. It is inevitable. Just accept it. It might be your course schedule that tells you the location of your classes. It might be your notebook. It might be your pen. It might be the calculator that you paid $100 for. I will now admit something to you: In my long, long history as a student, more than once, I rushed into the classroom on the first day, relieved not to be late, only to realize I’d left my pen on my desk and, for some reason, didn’t have any other writing implement on me. So I sucked it up and asked the person next to me to borrow one. And there were times I took notes in pencil or some sort of lilac ink. And yes, I was a little embarrassed that my classmates might think I was unprepared. But I got over it. And so will you.
3. Ask for help. Now as the Jolly Librarian, I am inclined to recommend that you make friends with your college librarians. In our office, we’ve been known to give out pens, pencils, paper, and folders, even contact lens solution. There is a secret that more people need to know: Folks like to help. They like to be given opportunities to prove that they are helpful people. I’m not making this up. Scientific studies have been done. So get in the habit of asking.
4. Buy a calendar or use the one on your smartphone or computer. As soon as you get your syllabus, write down when everything’s due. You might think you’ll remember. You won’t.
5. Give yourself a theme song. Think about every movie you’ve ever seen. When heroes embark on a journey that will change their lives, music swells as you see their backs head off into the sun. Pick your song. Put this song on your iPod, phone, or whatever, and play it every time you feel a little lost or out of place. You too are embarking on something heroic. 

Now let’s make sure that you understand the situation. I went in the very first minute of the presale with the special password I was emailed. I wanted three tickets in any location. And yet there were none that matched my “exact” criteria.

If  you’re like me, you find this hard to believe. I’ve never had this much trouble getting tickets, although I rarely go the presale route since I’m not fans of radio stations, arenas, or even bands where they would send me such information.

So I’ve decided that it has to be something to do with the whole presale promotion. I’m beginning to think there are very few tickets and the password was sent out to lots of people.

And this irritated me, so far, not enough not to buy tickets, but I am rapidly reaching that point. Because halfway in my search, I decided to leave the site and start over  in case something was wrong with my computer. I mistakenly went to a ticket resale site, and there were plenty of tickets for the concert I wanted already being scalped, while my puny three tickets remained beyond my reach. So somebody was getting tickets,  just not this loyal fan.

As I waited for “tickets not available” screen to come up again and again, it occurred to me that if librarians ran ticket sales sites, things like this simply wouldn’t happen.

• It would never occur to librarians to send out an email to many people advertising something that would only be available to a small group. And if for some unfathomable reason we had to, we’d let everyone know up front. Librarians are big fans of everyone having access.
• We would never send out a password that didn’t lead to somewhere. If a librarian were in a charge, I would not have gotten ‘these tickets are not available’ when I knew they were, just not to me. Instead, there would have been a more helpful notice, perhaps telling me that only a certain number of tickets were available on the presale day and those were gone. And so please stop trying until tomorrow. And there certainly would have been a number to call if this answer didn’t satisfy me.
• Librarians would never expect anyone to spend hours searching for something that could not be obtained.
• And librarians would get pretty mean with scalpers who had tickets while loyal fans went without. We’re serious about equal access to all.

Living in Nashville, I am constantly bombarded with news of fears that the music industry is dying. Well, if my attempt to buy a ticket today is typical of how fans are treated, I can give at least a partial explanation why. We’re not all college students with unlimited time to hit refresh as we try to buy tickets. And if we’re willing to pay good money for a concert, then the ticket sellers should treat us with some courtesy.

Yep, the term “fallen empires” did come to mind quite often today, but probably not in the way the industry, the band, or even the ticket sellers had hoped.

Since the Jolly Librarian is not much of a cook, this is an anxious time. But each year, I pick out a new recipe and enter my kitchen for more than microwaving some pasta dish. This year, I doctored up some canned baked beans and made a bean salad. And I had a new experience; someone actually asked me for the recipe for the salad.  Usually, I’m taking uneaten portions of my dishes home. So I feel victorious this year.

The library staff has learned some lessons over the years from the Bean Bash:

• No matter how well you get along the rest of the year, the pressure of serving lunch to the entire campus will make you argue like relatives at Christmas. But just like Christmas, you will forget those arguments as you bask in the glory of a successful event.
• You can never predict what people will want when it comes to drinks. (That is one of my tasks.) If ten Diet Cokes are bought, folks will want regular Coke. You can prepare a gallon of sweet tea (a staple in the South), which won’t be enough one year. So you make two gallons the next only to find that everyone has given up sugar for a New Year’s resolution.
• When a college gets so big that it has four or five campuses and even people on the same campus may not see each other that often, folks enjoy the opportunity to sit down for a meal that much more.
• If you swear that you have never heard of cumin in the grocery store, then you are sure to have a jar in the back of your cabinet.
• One annoying philosophy professor (and he knows who he is) will attend the bean bash each year to announce that he still doesn’t like beans.
• People love cookies.
• Traditions seem to disappear at a rapid rate. It’s nice to be a part of one.

I thank all those who contributed to the Bean Bash this year. And to those who started the tradition 25 years ago, I want you to know that you did a good thing.

So it’s not much of stretch for me to imagine that the library where I work has made its own resolutions for 2012. And I think it is these:

• I resolve to make students comfortable within my walls, but not so comfortable that they will feel free to have sex in my study rooms.
• I resolve not to have hurt feelings when students or faculty complain about a book not being on the shelves or a database not working when I know full well it is user error.
• I will not worry about my weight this year; in fact, I will continue to grow in cyberspace until all patrons have access to resources.
• I resolve not to take it personally when the library staff leaves food so long in the fridge that a sour stench starts to permeate the office area. I will simply tell myself that it’s their problem, not mine.
• I will continue to emit gentle vibrations around those students who are confused about how to find sources, vibrations that gently urge them to go up to the reference desk and ask a question.
• I resolve that every student will feel welcome being in the library, whether it’s within my physical or virtual walls. (Well, except for the sex thing again.)

Here’s to a great 2012!