Gentle readers,
I shall write a follow-up on the things I learned at TAM (both useful and not-so-useful) very soon, but I had to pass along something that happened to me this afternoon.
Here at the Local Big XII University Where I Work, I often meet with potential donors of materials to our digital collections. They're always very nice, and I enjoy this PR-ish part of my job.
We had a group of women of a certain age come in today; one of them was interested in having her ancestor's letters from the Civil War digitized and added to our collection. No sweat -- I've done this presentation a million times, know how to charm 'em (much like Max Bialystock from "The Producers," except without the icky, icky sex), so I started my spiel.
In the middle of the discourse, after I had discussed a part of a previous project I was particularly proud of, one of the potential donor's friends said, "You're smarter than you look, Eric."
Anyone who's seen "Superbad" will recognize the basis for what I wanted to say in reply: "I hope that comment makes you feel some comfort in your remaining days, lady!"
Of course, I didn't say anything of the sort, just nodded, giggled, and nursed a deep-seated grudge that will endure to the ends of time. Y'know, the usual.
The upshot is that we're going to be digitizing these letters, so it's all good, but there's just something about a sassy septuagenarian on a Monday afternoon that puts a burr in my saddle.
'Til next time, gentle readers!
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