I don't normally enjoy my Library Liaison Committee meetings. We grind our noses against such consequential matters as whether the daily fines levied against overdue library books should be staggered according to the duration of the original loan. We examine the results of the annual seating survey, which attempts to determine "how heavily each type of seating is used (individual study desks, computer workstations, group study areas, audiovisual study spaces, lockable study carrels, informal/lounge seating, etc) and the peak occupancy".* Noone ever mentions the obvious: that the survey fails to take into account the weight in kilograms of the relevant sitters. Or that "heaviness" isn't really the pertinent criterion, here; what we should be surveying is the raw scholarliness quotient of students relative to the type of seating they utilise (as qualitatively assessed by output of graffiti in proximity to seating type and analysed under a Marxio-Hegelian hermeneutic, lightly drizzled with Lacan). Personally, I would rather spend two hours stuffing sultanas up my nostrils than attend your average Library Liaison Committee meeting.
Today, however, I met the new chief librarian. She has an excellent hair cut, something like the hanging gardens of Babylon, she uses the word folksonomy (which marks her out as one cool cat, in the scheme of bibliotechnical nerderie), and – this, oh my, oh my, oh my – she is a Director of Knowledge Management. I think she may have picked this title up from Paradise Lost; it reminds me of that serpent dude; there is no doubt, at any rate, that "Director of Knowledge Management" dings a decidedly metaphysical ding. I have decided: just as soon as I get m'self redundified, I'm going to set in train Operation Turn Myself into a Director of Knowledge Management. I don't care if the dollar has been completely abolished and noone can afford to have their knowledge managed. I will set up a cardtable on the footpath in Preston Heights and direct knowledge management for free.
In other news, I am thinking of changing my name to Elphinstone.
* A real quotation, from a real Library Liaison Committee report, which I really read.