AcadEmi

I found the process of creating a website to be far more appealing than I had anticipated. Despite the brief moments of aggravation, the general procedure was almost soothing, and each new skill represented a triumph. In my enthusiasm, I planned a site that was perhaps more complicated than necessary, with the result that I did a lot of copying & pasting & revising tables and ended up with a less pleasingly streamlined final creation than I’d envisioned. This is something I will keep in mind in the future, but achieving a less than perfect product dimmed my sense of accomplishment only very mildly.

Along the way, I experienced the usual frustrations. Sadly, in two instances these frustrations arose from my inexplicable inability to keep Powerpoint & PDF straight. Tabling was perhaps the biggest challenge; although I managed to create a table for my home page that is reasonably close to what I had planned, I never managed to achieve an attractive layout on some of my other pages. Despite these minor setbacks – which wasted a little time and made me feel like an idiot but were otherwise harmless – the process went relatively smoothly.

I realized, moreover, how many small decisions go into creating even a very simple website. Choosing brief titles for my pictures was rather a challenge: should I indicate the title of the work of art, or should I give information about the link embedded in the image? In the end, I decided to describe the work rather than the link, trusting that the navigation would be reasonably self-evident. The one exception on my home page is my image for “Music,” which I left labeled as such because there was no particular significance to the album cover I chose other than appearance.

One of the highlights came when I finally lined up the complicated table on my home page correctly – a minor achievement that nonetheless proved highly satisfactory. But my most exciting moment came late last night. I was tinkering with the layout of one of my pages when it occurred to me to attach an audio file. The accomplishment of this was heartwarming enough, but it got even better when I succeeded in opening the file in a new window so that it didn’t bring my entire presentation to a screeching halt. It really is the little things in life…

Reference librarians wishing to update their services face a number of questions. Should they employ chat or instant messenger for their virtual reference service? Can they provide virtual reference around the clock, or will a few hours a week have to suffice? Is it better to join a consortium or remain independent? Will they have to hire extra staff, or might they attempt to juggle the virtual reference desk and the physical one? Naturally, these questions will be approached differently by every library.

And naturally the subject has been well-researched: these are reference librarians, after all. It’s easy to find a variety of case studies, reports, and articles online about the various services and software packages available. Usage statistics are somewhat less readily available. A few surveys have been conducted; the Global Census of Digital Reference, perhaps the most thorough, has led some early proponents of virtual reference to question its efficacy. Steve Coffman and Linda Arret, for instance, argued in an oft-cited two-part article that the high operational costs of chat services outweigh the benefits, given the low usage levels most libraries have reported. They acknowledge, however, that some programs have been quite successful, and that the key factor seems to be promotion.

The drawbacks of chat notwithstanding, even Coffman and Arret offered tentative praise for reference conducted via Instant Messenger. In fact, there are a variety of reasons to prefer IM to Chat, not least of which is cost: IM is free, easy to use, and available to anyone with internet access. Adopting this technology involves very little risk for libraries, even if most patrons eschewed virtual reference entirely. Moreover, IM comes with an automatic promotional feature: a student who adds his library’s user name to his list of buddies will be reminded of the service any time it’s available. There will be no need for him to consciously decide to log-in to his library’s home page in search of the virtual reference function. The library must still succeed in spreading the word initially, but will face less of an uphill battle.

Virtual options may not have redefined reference as dramatically as was once predicted, but IM offers too many advantages to ignore. Students who have grown up with computers have been encouraged to be self-sufficient; they are not always comfortable asking for help, and may consider approaching a reference librarian only as a last resort. They are remarkably skilled at finding information electronically, on the other hand. The key is perhaps to make virtual reference a vital component of independent research quests. Sure, some patrons will find Instant Messenger too distracting, or will simply prefer face-to-face interaction (remember how much everyone used to complain about talking to answering machines?). But the bottom line is that librarians have a free, easy way to extend reference services into more patrons’ comfort zones. Why wouldn’t they take advantage?

I haven’t visited Macalester College’s library website since I graduated six years ago, so I thought it might be interesting to reevaluate the site through my experience as a student of library science. During my years at Macalester, I devoted many hours to wading confusedly through electronic journal lists. In retrospect, I recognize that my difficulties had less to do with an inherently confusing approach to journal lists than with my own unpolished research skills. It is interesting, however, to note some developments that might have enriched the experience for me.

The site is clear and easily navigable, if not especially eye-catching. A navigation bar at the top offers links to basic library information, the library’s blog, LESTER (for accessing materials from off-campus), and MOODLE (for online course information). The left side of the page includes the subtopics Resources and Collections, Research Guides and Help, and About the Library and Services. The right side represents the most prominent change since my last visit: a library blog.

As I checked out various aspects of the website, it became clear that the fundamental research options have not changed dramatically since 2001. The library’s catalog is available through CLICnet, a resource sharing consortium of eight private colleges and universities in Minnesota. Students can request interlibrary loan materials through ILLiad, and can also browse the collections of the University of Minnesota, local public libraries, and the Library of Congress from the DeWitt Wallace website. I also found descriptions of the archival and special book collections, the latter of which focuses on 20th century American authors, and Midwestern authors like Cather, Hemingway, and Sinclair Lewis in particular. Unfortunately, no links or scanned passages are available.

There are a number of new features, even in familiar programs like CLICnet: many of the participating libraries now offer live reference chats, or at least online reference appointments. One new program, RefWorks, allows students to import references from online databases to create personal citation lists. Lists can then be automatically formatted into research papers.

The library, in conjunction with the archival & media services departments, has also undertaken an oral history interview project. This project began in January of 2007, and so far there are only three interviews, all by professors. These interviews, which apparently constitute the website’s only audio resources, are available through one of the most intriguing recent additions to the library’s online offerings: the Digital Commons. The Commons are devoted to organizing and sharing creative and scholarly works produced at Macalester. While most of DeWitt Wallace’s resources are accessible only to current students and faculty, the Digital Commons allows anyone to download essays and articles. It currently focuses on student publications, but will be expanding over the next year. Had it been around when I was in school, I might have submitted my honors project to it, thus rendering said project slightly less pointless. I found more information about Digital Commons in a discussion on MIT’s website, in which the debate raged between those who view information as a public good and those who consider it a commodity.

It is difficult to evaluate LESTER: I was able to sign in as an alum, but found only links that require an active student password. The Information Fluency Project is an endeavor that seems to have not yet lived up to its potential. It emphasizes the need for students to recognize the legal and ethical implications of information, and is certainly topical for students of library science. But while its goals are admirable, I found little to suggest that practical results had followed the implementation of a task force and statement of purpose.

Overall, the website is an admirable platform for students to access scholarly resources. It seems to be geared towards students who already possess good research skills and an appreciation for the library; it offers few bells and whistles to draw in reluctant undergrads. On the other hand, it is well-designed, logical, and uses technology to provide students with an enhanced learning environment.

I couldn’t resist the cheesy pun for my title.  Feeling slightly ashamed, I was curious about how many had used it before me, so I googled the phrase and came up with a Wikipedia article about the real quote.  This was hardly surprising, given the ubiquity of Wikipedia in Google results lists, but it was appropriate: Wikipedia, like puns, frequently leaves a sense of inevitability and mild shame in those who indulge.

I find Wikipedia simultaneously maddening and fascinating, guilty and glorious, a dichotomous reaction probably shared by most of its users.  Information couldn’t be more accessible; on the other hand, it often couldn’t be less authoritative, at least in the early days.  But beyond the ease of use and need for corroboration, Wikipedia is appealingly postmodern.  In its purest form, the wiki abolishes the mirage of authority: why shouldn’t we all have a vote in what constitutes knowledge?  Who better to compile human knowledge than…all humanity? 

If I could fully embrace post-modernism, I suppose I’d stop feeling frustrated with Wikipedia.  But we aspiring librarians are understood to be rather a pragmatic bunch, and I wonder how many of us could ever stop believing in concrete, underlying truth: some explanations are overly simplistic, some answers are simply wrong.  And it’s a good thing, too.  I pity the patron who encounters a post-modernist reference librarian. 

Although I have observed plenty of errors in Wikipedia, I’ve never been able to bring myself to make an edit.  Thinking it would be a useful exercise to demonstrate my respect for the democratization of knowledge, I determined that I would try my own edit before writing this entry.  So did I conquer my wiki fear?  Alas, no - I came, I saw, I wimped out. 

When it comes down to it, I suppose I’m more comfortable reflecting knowledge that has been authoritatively compiled by others.  A nagging voice of doubt underscores my belief in facts, even when I know I know.  Today I claimed in passing that Schumacher used to race for Ferrari.  I knew my claim was true: I have an F1-obsessed, German boyfriend and I know way more about Schumacher than my curiosity could ever have required.  But when somebody expressed doubt, I immediately began questioning myself.  So perhaps I’m more postmodern than I thought.  Perhaps the key to Wikipedia is postmodern readers and old-school editors.  Perhaps I’d never make it as a reference librarian.  Perhaps the reference desk and Wikipedia will always be at ideological odds.  But I’ll bet even reference librarians succumb to the ease of Wikipedia once in a while, if only during off-hours.

Upon learning a new online research skill or technology, I always feel a shade of embarrassment at the lengths I had previously taken to avoid acquiring it. Why had I expected podcasts to be daunting, when I took for granted the ease with which so many other Internet goals could be accomplished? My first experience of podcasts – to my knowledge, anyway, for I now recognize that I may have been using them all along without realizing it – was typical. My mother emailed me about an NPR segment on the mysterious bee disappearance, and offered to download it to her ipod for me. Naturally the experience didn’t differ much from listening to the same segment on the radio, and this was my first hint that podcasts were perhaps less intimidating than I had assumed.

Bolstered by the growing realization that I had again been rather silly, I set out to find podcasts related to academic libraries. Having so little experience with podcasts, I hadn’t really foreseen how they could be useful for librarians, besides providing a way to broadcast book readings to those who couldn’t attend in person. I quickly found a podcast of Chris Kretz’s address to the HigherEd BlogCon in 2006 that changed my mind, however. In it, Kretz discussed Omnibus, the podcast program he had created for Dowling College. He described the program as a way to create a unique voice that served as a continuing conversation between the library and the college, as well as the larger community. When he mentioned that he had patterned it after This American Life, I became especially intrigued – I’ve always had a weakness for stories. In addition to discussing the niche his podcast filled at the library, Kretz remarked on many of the practical aspects of podcasting, including getting guests beyond their fears of public speaking and how easily podcasting can be accomplished with some very basic equipment. Kretz also noted that his podcasts were a way to physically lure the people he interviewed into the library.

Next, I listened to a couple of podcasts of Omnibus itself. Kretz’s debut program aired in October of 2005 and is perfectly comprehensible, although he has worked continually to improve the audio since then. In this first podcast, he strove to create a balanced program in three parts that reflected his various goals: a segment on technology held practical value for college students, while a segment about a woman working to help victims of Hurricane Katrina drew in the larger community. The final segment, which Kretz described as a ‘primary source theater,’ was especially intriguing. In this, various voices read from documents in the library’s special collection about Idlehour mansion, built by Vanderbilts and now part of Dowling’s campus. By highlighting a piece of local history in a unique way, Kretz hoped to draw curious people into the library and its archives. Kretz’s format struck me as particularly appealing and well adapted to both the technology and his community.

And yes, for those of you keeping track – that’s three NPR allusions and two mentions of my mother over the course of two posts. I promise to get some new reference points for the next one.

I suppose that the last thing anybody needs is another self-conscious blog about the relative merits of blogging.  But I beg your patience: since I come late to the world of internet journaling, my thoughts on the subject have remained dangerously unchronicled. 

I spent last week on a brief retreat from the internet.  We had decided to forego the convenience of internet access in the interest of relaxation on our family vacation.  Or rather, my mother had decided for us.  But when I awoke at 3:00 one morning with the distinct feeling of having missed a deadline, I began to question the logic of the exercise.  The deadline I had missed, of course, was the due date for our first blog.  Since I couldn’t check the electronic syllabus (the print version of which I had naturally neglected to bring), I had no option but to suffer recurring panic attacks for the rest of the trip without being entirely certain that my worry was justified.  Ironically, the lack of that ’stressful’ internet connection had completely destroyed my zen.  Have I become too reliant on the internet to ever disengage?

The experience got me thinking about the ways in which I currently use the internet, and I realized that I have completely ignored its strongest potential for catharsis: the chance to create new narratives.  I decided to wait on my planned podcast blog in order to organize my thoughts about the value of blogging for librarians.  Clearly, blogs offer librarians the chance to interact with their patrons on a convenient and casual basis.  They provide a link to younger patrons, who access information so differently from their predecessors.  They’re a way to communicate new programs and events.  They can be a means for internal communication.  With all of these obvious advantages, they are an essential part of ensuring the continued relevancy of libraries.

But as a I glanced through blogs written by librarians over the past few weeks, I began to realize that blogging has value for the librarians themselves, as well as for their libraries and patrons.  Librarians deal with other people’s research questions, other people’s literary interests, and of course other people’s texts.  How exciting to be encouraged – even expected – to express our own thoughts!  Of course, writing is nothing new for librarians.  It stands to reason that those who are drawn to this profession tend to have a fondness for the written word.  But this is all the more reason to feel excited about blogging as a personal outlet.  No wonder blogging has gained so much popularity amongst librarians.

This doesn’t mean that I am without reservations regarding the ways in which we harness the internet’s potential.  What will ultimately become of writing if it’s reduced to casual exchanges – if everyone becomes a ‘published’ author?  With the exception of rare instances when my inner luddite/literary snob crops up, however, I can see that the greater danger lies in stifling this urge to create and share.

A couple of years ago, I heard a brief commentary on NPR about the perils of internet obsession.  The man’s words stuck with me, and I easily found the segment online months later, in another mildly ironic internet moment.  Paul Ford made some valid points: with a constant stream of information and narrative, when do we ever have a moment merely to reflect – to remind ourselves of where the information superhighway ends and we begin?  But then again, that’s what blogs are for.

And besides, couldn’t the same charges be leveled at talk radio?

Greetings! This is my blog for LIS 753 at Dominican University.  I’ve never blogged before, but I’m sure I’ll have no trouble getting into the spirit of utter self-absorption…

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