Friday, April 18, 2014

Case Study No. 1377: Unnamed Female Librarian (With Honors)

The Library Scene (With Honors)
2:30
Simon educates Monty on women. Now that's something you don't see everyday... not!
Tags: Joe Pesci Brendan Fraser
Added: 5 years ago
From: gaiaquest
Views: 20,332

[Monty and his homeless friend Simon approach the entrance of Widener Library]
SIMON: Here we are, back where you found me!
MONTY: Don't remind me ...
[Simon opens the door for Monty (who is using crutches) and enters the library]
SIMON: I wonder what it's like to read upstairs. Bet the light's better ...
[cut to inside the library, as Monty takes a seat at one of the tables, while Simon looks around in awe (bumping into a chair and disturbing the nearby patrons)]
[cut to a closeup of Monty as he slides a copy of "Germinal" by Emile Zola across the desk]
MONTY: "Germinal," right?
[Simon ignores him, and continues to look around the room]
SIMON: This library's like a church, isn't it? And when you're in church, do you ever look up sometimes and wonder what other people are praying for? Did someone die? Was someone just born? Library's like that for me ...
[an older female librarian (short blonde hair, glasses, beige suit jacket) is walking by, when (after taking one look at the disheveled Simon) she stops in front of their table]
LIBRARIAN: Sir. Sir, you can't stay here ...
MONTY: Oh, it's okay, he's with me. He's uh, part of my research project.
LIBRARIAN: Oh, I beg your pardon ...
[she walks away, as Simon watches her leave]
SIMON: Women, ain't they perfect?
MONTY: Not always ...
SIMON: Yes they are, they're perfect. Don't matter if they're skinny, fat, blonde, or blue. If a woman is willing to give you her love, Harvard, it's the greatest gift in the world. Makes you taller, makes you smarter, makes your teeth shine! Boy oh boy, women are perfect!
MONTY: Keep your voice low, alright?
SIMON: Perfect joy and perfect ache. Joy when you first see 'em and you get to know 'em, ache when you leave 'em! Joy, ache. Joy, ache.
[he starts bobbing his head from side to side and raises his voice]
SIMON: Joy, ache! Joy, ache! Joy, ache! Joy, ache! Joy, ache! Joy, ache! Joy, ache! Joy, ache!
[the nearby patrons shush him]
MONTY: If you keep your voice low, then you wouldn't attract attention.
[Simon puts his head down, but only for a moment]
SIMON: [whispering] Psst! I'll give you two pages for a bath ...
MONTY: Okay, lemmee get some work done ...

---

From google.com:

Patricia B. Butcher portrays an academic librarian in the 1994 comedy drama "With Honors." Harvard student Monty Kessler (Brendan Fraser) loses his honors thesis which is found by a bum, Simon Wilder (Joe Pesci), who lives in the basement of Widener Library. There are several library scenes in the film, and on one occasion, Simon accompanies Monty into the library where they sit across from one another at a table. A librarian (Butcher), in a decidedly disapproving manner with respect to Simon's presence in the library, approaches Simon, "Sir, sir, you can't stay here."

Monty speaks up immediately, "It's okay, he's with me. He's, uh, part of my research project." The librarian responds, "Oh, I beg your pardon." She retreats, leaving the two at the table. This scene with the librarian in about 20 seconds in length, and Butcher adequately projects the stereotypical image.

An "only 38" blonde (short Hamill cut), Butcher wears reading glasses and dresses conservatively - gray suit, white blouse, ruffled collar and cuffs. In addition, she holds a book in her left hand during her conversation with Simon and Monty.

Case Study No. 1376: Staff of the North Royalton High School Library

Nazis in the Library - BeardedBandittt feat. WhiteWolf
2:14
At North Royalton High School, our media center or our library is full of evil librarians. We consider them to be Nazi's. They have an uncontrollable amount of anger probably from their sex lives and they decide to take it out on us. They tell us to "quiet down" when we are whispering or they tell us "One to a table" if we are sitting 3 to a table instead of 2. This track is also meant to be a parody of what rappers nowadays rap about, since none of them rap about anything meaningful nowadays. Anyways, enjoy the track and help stop Nazi Librarians

Follow me on Twitter! @BeardedBandittt

Links
http://www.urban dictionary.com/ define.php?term=library nazi
Tags: Nazi Library Cunt bitch pussy fuck tit butt tits dick vagina WhiteWolf Matic MaticAttack Penis Nazism (Political Ideology) Ww2 rap music Hiphop Germany Adolf Books Wwii Army History Battle
Added: 2 years ago
From: drizzydhillon
Views: 425

Aw yeah
This goes out to my fellow comrades who have been tortured by the nazis in the library
Stay strong mutha fuckas

Library nazis tryin' to jock my fuckin' swag
Library nazis tryin' to jock my fuckin' swag
Library nazis tryin' to jock my fuckin' swag
Library nazis tryin' to jock my fuckin' swag

Sittin' in the library, tryin' to do my fuckin' homework
The ceiling is leaking, so my paper is fuckin' soaked
I can't do my homework, 'cause the nazis are watchin' me
Always yellin' out, "Study hall, take a seat please"

They once took my phone, and I was fuckin' pissed
In my head I thought "You fuckin' nazi-ass bitch"
I was once in their camp, and there's a table secluded
They think they're the master race and our blood is polluted

Library nazis tryin' to jock my fuckin' swag
Library nazis tryin' to jock my fuckin' swag
Library nazis tryin' to jock my fuckin' swag
Library nazis tryin' to jock my fuckin' swag

"Dear study hall students, we are going to go over our policies"
"Many of you cannot follow them, there are eight major rules"
"Students need to be through the media center doors when the bell rings"
"Students must sit in their assigned seats immediately"
"Hall passes will not be available until attendance has been taken"
"If a student needs to leave study hall to take a test or go to a classroom, they must present their agenda which has already been signed by their teacher to the front desk"
"Study hall is a quiet environment, so no or minimal talking"
"If students need to work together on a project or assist each other with their homework, they must ask for permission from the study hall monitor"
"There is no eating or drinking in the media center"
"Disruptive behavior of any type will not be tolerated"
[sound of glass breaking]
"Who the fuck was that?!"
[sound of applause]

---

From urbandictionary.com:

1. Usually a 50 something sweater wearing woman who sits behind the desk at the school library and eyes people selectively, but ultimately to no end. She is the kind of old bag who will tell you to "shush!" because you're talking to your study partner, even if you two are the only students in the entire library. She is a complete contradiction in that the school libarary is a space reserved for studying, and when she is around, she inhibits efficient studying due to her constant and definitely pointless harassment of the students. In short, she's a stupid old bitch.
Goddamn library nazi.
by Battle Hawk Nov 19, 2005

2. A sexually frustrated woman who converts bottled up sexual energy into energy spent turning the library into a mini dictatorship. She will badger library goers with pedantic and pointless rules such as, "No sitting on the tables" and "No loud talking". To sum up, library nazis are generally undesirable women with large ghetto asses.
Tabitha is the epitome of a library nazi
by Babaoube May 30, 2006

3. A women who has nothing better to do than to make sure that there are no more than 4 to a table and that there is absolutly nothing fun going on
Diane is a Library Nazi
by Tech High Student Mar 11, 2005

4. an old women who gives you the evil eye when you walk into HER library. who constantly stalks you in the library waiting for you to either- leave a chair out, sit on a table, talk to someone, or replace a book on the shelf.
first day i walked into the library i got yelled at by this lady. she said " i've already told you once to get out and you didnt now leave" god she was such a library nazi
by not nice Aug 25, 2007

5. A sexually frustrated woman who converts bottled up sexual energy into energy spent turning the library into a mini dictatorship. She will badger library goers with pedantic and pointless rules such as, "No sitting on the tables" and "No grunting noises". To sum up, library nazis are generally undesirable women with large ghetto arses.
Tabitha is the epitome of a library nazi
by Babaoube Jun 2, 2006

6. That @#$%* who works at my school library and guards the bookshelves, saying things like "I'm going to report you kids! How dare you stand and talk by those bookshelves! You are blocking off the other students from getting books!" when there is absolutely NO STUDENT anywhere nearby looking for books (true story.) Will also make sure that no one puts a backpack on a table, and takes a tally of how many students enter the library. Any other librarian who acts in a similar manner.
Man, my school is f***ed up because of that library nazi!
by Sangochan Jan 28, 2007

7. A person who is pedantic in library rules.
Your mom is a library nazi!
by Hammond Mar 27, 2005

Case Study No. 1375: The Library Fairy of St. Catherine University Library

Evaluating Web Sources with the Library Fairy
1:55
Students at St. Kate's learn about evaluating web sources with the beloved Library Fairy.
Tags: information literacy academic libraries
Added: 5 years ago
From: stkatesrefdesk
Views: 7,905

[scene opens with two female students sitting down in the St. Catherine University Library]
STUDENT 1: So, how's your research going?
STUDENT 2: It's really great! I found some great books using CLICnet, and I found articles using the databases ... I even found some webpages using Google.
[a male librarian (wearing cardboard fairy wings and carrying a wand) enters the scene]
LIBRARY FAIRY: Did I hear someone say Google?
STUDENT 2: Library Fairy, what're you doing this time? I think we know how to do research now.
STUDENT 1: Uh huh!
LIBRARY FAIRY: The internet can be a great place to find information for your topic, but you need to be sure to evaluate everything you find there.
["Evaluate everything you find on the Internet" appears on screen]
LIBRARY FAIRY: Show me which website you found.
STUDENT 2: Well, I have one website here that talks about capital punishment.
[she hands him a printout, and he quickly looks it over]
LIBRARY FAIRY: This website has a date of 2001 ... That's really old!
["Currency. Is there a date? Copyright? Last updated date?" appears on screen]
LIBRARY FAIRY: You should always check for currency.
STUDENT 1: Well, what about this website? It's from 2007!
LIBRARY FAIRY: Ah!
[she hands him her own printout, and he quickly looks it over]
LIBRARY FAIRY: But ...
[he taps the paper with his wand]
LIBRARY FAIRY: This website says capital punishment is legal at the College of Saint Catherine ... That's a lie!
["Accuracy. Can you verify the info? Is the info cited? Is it well-written?" appears on screen]
LIBRARY FAIRY: You always need to check for accuracy on any website.
STUDENT 2: Well, here's a really good website on capital punishment. It's from the Bureau of Justice Statistics.
[she hands him another printout, as "Bureau of Justice Statistics, www dot ojp dot usdoj dot gov slash bjs" appears on screen]
LIBRARY FAIRY: Yes, the Bureau of Justic Statistics is a trusted government source for information.
STUDENT 2: Yeah!
["Authority. Who is the author? Who created the site? Is there contact info?" appears on screen]
LIBRARY FAIRY: Check your sources to see if there's an authority behind them, or to see who it is that created the site.
STUDENT: Okay, well, what about this one? I found this one from a website about the death penalty.
[she hands him another printout, and he quickly looks over it]
LIBRARY FAIRY: This info is from a website called "Kill 'Em All" dot com!
["www dot killthemall dot com" appears on screen]
LIBRARY FAIRY: This is a very biased website!
["Bias. Does the website have a stated purpose? Is it hosted by a biased organization? Is there advertising?" appears on screen]
LIBRARY FAIRY: You should always check websites for bias.
[one of the students shakes her head]
STUDENT 2: I guess we still have a lot to learn ...

---

From stkate.edu:

Learning how to evaluate good sources of information will help you long after you graduate from college. Learn more by checking out these other websites or by talking to a librarian (call 651-690-6652 for help).

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Case Study No. 1374: "The gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian"

Let's Play Anchorhead - 05
20:27
Remember when I told you that this couldn't get any weirder? Well, I was wrong...

We rob a crypt (talk about tomb raiding xD), impersonate Michael at a public library and we discover the most mind blowing event in the history of this game. Stay tuned to discover the grotesque family tradition that the Verlacs have been handing down for generations.

**********

Title : Anchorhead
Author : Michael S. Gentry
Year : 1997
Genre : Text Adventure (Interactive Fiction)
Platform : Z-Machine (played on Dosbox)
Tags: Let's Play Lets Play Let's Lets Play LP Anchorhead 05 Text Adventure Text Adventure Interactive Fiction Interactive Fiction Michael Gentry Michael Gentry
Added: 8 months ago
From: JamesKurosawa
Views: 147

From wikipedia.org:

Anchorhead is a Lovecraftian horror interactive fiction game, originally written and published by Michael S. Gentry in 1998. The game is heavily inspired by the works and writing style of H.P. Lovecraft, particularly the Cthulhu mythos. Anchorhead takes place in a fictional New England town of the same name, where the unnamed protagonist and her husband, a professor and aspiring writer, have relocated to in order to take possession of his ancestral family home. Through historical investigation of the town and her husband's family, the protagonist uncovers a conspiracy to perform a ritual that will summon a Great Old One and put the planet in jeopardy. The protagonist must stop the ritual from occurring and save her husband.

The game story takes place across three days, with the first two corresponding to whole days and the third day divided into a number of segments. There is no time limit in the first two days; each day ends when the player has completed a required task or tasks. Only during the third day does the game impose constraints on the number of turns a player can take to solve the necessary puzzles.

Anchorhead was hailed by critics and players as one of the best interactive fiction games available due to its complex and intricate backstory and well-written dialogue and descriptions. In the 1998 XYZZY Awards, Anchorhead received the award for Best Setting, and was also nominated for Best Game.

Story
The game is set in November 1997 in the fictional Maine coastal town of Anchorhead, where the protagonist and her husband Michael have moved to after inheriting the mansion of his recently deceased ancestral family, the Verlacs. The protagonist begins the game exploring her new home and the town and meeting Anchorhead's odd denizens while Michael researches his family. As time passes, Michael becomes more obsessed and withdrawn into his research. The protagonist begins her own investigation of her husband's family and learns that the Verlacs are hereditary high priests of a demonic cult that dominates the town. Croseus Verlac, Michael's 17th century ancestor, used sorcery to transfer his consciousness into a baby's body at the moment of his own death, beginning an obscene "family tradition" that spanned generations. Upon further investigation, she learns that the town sits on a focal point where, through the correct ritual, a gate can be opened to the Domain of Nephilim. Eventually it becomes evident that Croseus's soul, disembodied since the suicide of its last direct-line descendant, now seeks to inhabit Michael's body. Worse yet, Croseus's followers intend to use a sophisticated optical device to summon a Great Old One whose home, a comet, is approaching a flyby with Earth. The protagonist must uncover the secrets of the derelict town, escape from an increasingly dangerous series of traps, stop the insane townspeople from bringing a vengeful being of godlike power to Earth, and save her husband by banishing Croseus to the Domain of Nephilim.

Development
Anchorhead was written in the Inform 6 programming language, entirely by Michael Gentry while living in Austin, Texas. Development took approximately a year, with several weeks dedicated to designing the game map and writing the story, "at least six solid hours of coding every day," and an additional three months dedicated to debugging. Gentry based the two main characters on himself and his wife. The game heavily draws elements from Lovecraftian literature, specifically The Shadow Over Innsmouth, The Dunwich Horror, The Music of Erich Zann, and The Festival,[1] as well as direct references, such as the Miskatonic River and the city of Arkham.

---

From dwheeler.com:

University Court
Isolated and serene within its high, ivy-covered walls, Miskaton University
represents this benighted town's single, if somewhat dubious, claim to cultural
achievement. Founded some time in the early 1800s, the school's reputation and
enrollment have diminished somewhat as Anchorhead drifts further and further
into the abyss of provincial backwaterism. Still, it is generally recognized for
its collection of folklore and esoteric mythology (one of the oldest and most
extensive on the east coast). The Board of Deans was also kind enough to offer
Michael a full professorship upon hearing of his recently discovered heritage
and his plans to move into the estate. Ivory tower, perhaps, but at least they
take care of their own.

There are numerous buildings surrounding this cobbled court, but the only one
you are interested in is the library to the west, where Michael told you he'd be
until he came back to the real estate agent's office to pick you up. Which,
incidentally, he has not yet done.

>w
You close your umbrella, as is your habit after coming indoors.

Library
Shadows roost thickly in the vaulted ceiling, and small, green-shaded desk lamps
cast pools of warm radiance here and there around the library's dim interior.
You pause a moment to let the hushed peacefulness of this place soak in -- a
welcome relief from the unsettling events of the day. An exit lies east, and a
small alcove to the north houses the circulation counter.

Peering through the shadows, you spot your husband sitting at one of the reading
desks, absorbed in some sort of weighty tome and clearly oblivious to the time.

>x lamps
The lamps have curved, brass stands and frosted green shades; the kind of thing
you'd expect to see on an accountant's desk in the 1930s.

The reading lamp is currently switched on.

>x husband
Tall and a bit on the skinny side, in an endearingly awkward sort of way; a
serious, thoughtful face topped with an unruly tangle of brown hair; deep brown
eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses -- yep, that's the man you married, all
right.

At the moment, Michael is largely absorbed in his reading, and is paying little
attention to you.

>x michael
Tall and a bit on the skinny side, in an endearingly awkward sort of way; a
serious, thoughtful face topped with an unruly tangle of brown hair; deep brown
eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses -- yep, that's the man you married, all
right.

At the moment, Michael is largely absorbed in his reading, and is paying little
attention to you.

>x book
Michael looks up, startled, then realizes it's you and smiles. "Hi, hon," he
says, closing the book and stretching. Then he glances at his watch. "Good
grief, what happened to the time? I'm so sorry -- I just lost track." He smiles
sheepishly.

"Well?" he asks. "Did you get the keys?"

>ask michael about keys
"The real estate agent is supposed to be holding them at her office," he says.

>ask michael about agent
He frowns as you tell him about the real estate agent's disappearance. "That is
rather odd," he says. "I wonder where she could be?"

>save
Ok.

>ask michael about help
You can't think of anything to say about that for the moment.

>examine book
Michael jerks the book away from you. "Excuse me," he says, a bit more sharply
than you had expected, "I'll be done with it in a minute."

>examine book
It's obvious Michael is trying to hide something from you, and while you very
much want to know what in the world it is, it would be best not to make a scene
about it here.

>ask michael about keys
"The real estate agent is supposed to be holding them at her office," he says.

>n

Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.

Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.

>read sign
"All restricted books must be signed for on the register, and may not be removed
from this building. Please have your faculty ID ready when you make your
request."

>read register
It's basically a log, recording what book was checked out, who checked it out,
and when. There must be hundreds of names here.

>ring bell

Ding.

A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.

>x librarian
Her slack, pallid skin looks as if it has seen little more than the inside of a
cave for most of her life. She stares at you silently with disturbingly large
and watery eyes.

>ask librarian for help
The librarian purses her thin, fishy lips at you. Apparently, she only lends out
library books.

>s
Without a word, the librarian fades back into the shadows.

Library
Shadows roost thickly in the vaulted ceiling, and small, green-shaded desk lamps
cast pools of warm radiance here and there around the library's dim interior.
You pause a moment to let the hushed peacefulness of this place soak in -- a
welcome relief from the unsettling events of the day. An exit lies east, and a
small alcove to the north houses the circulation counter.

Peering through the shadows, you spot your husband sitting at one of the reading
desks, absorbed in some sort of weighty tome and clearly oblivious to the time.

>e
The rain is still coming down, so you open your umbrella.

University Court
Isolated and serene within its high, ivy-covered walls, Miskaton University
represents this benighted town's single, if somewhat dubious, claim to cultural
achievement. Founded some time in the early 1800s, the school's reputation and
enrollment have diminished somewhat as Anchorhead drifts further and further
into the abyss of provincial backwaterism. Still, it is generally recognized for
its collection of folklore and esoteric mythology (one of the oldest and most
extensive on the east coast). The Board of Deans was also kind enough to offer
Michael a full professorship upon hearing of his recently discovered heritage
and his plans to move into the estate. Ivory tower, perhaps, but at least they
take care of their own.

There are numerous buildings surrounding this cobbled court, but the only one
you are interested in is the library to the west, where Michael told you he'd be
until he came back to the real estate agent's office to pick you up. Which,
incidentally, he has not yet done.

[...]

Library
Shadows roost thickly in the vaulted ceiling, and small, green-shaded desk lamps
cast pools of warm radiance here and there around the library's dim interior.
You pause a moment to let the hushed peacefulness of this place soak in -- a
welcome relief from the unsettling events of the day. An exit lies east, and a
small alcove to the north houses the circulation counter.

>n

Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.

Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.

>ring bell

Ding.

A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.

>x librarian
Her slack, pallid skin looks as if it has seen little more than the inside of a
cave for most of her life. She stares at you silently with disturbingly large
and watery eyes.

>show card
You won't get much of a response.

>show card to librarian
(first taking the faculty card)
(slipping the keyring into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand free)
The librarian looks the card over, nods slowly, and hands it back to you without
a word.

>ask librarian for book
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the
next moment carrying the thick, dusty tome you saw your husband with earlier.
Dutifully, you sign the register, and the librarian hands you the book before
disappearing again.

Your score has just gone up by two points.

>x book
(A Historical Overview of Superstitions by J. Arnsworth Frazer)
A thick and weighty tome, its full title is A Historical Overview of
Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer, published in
1906. It begins: "Although New England has always been an abundant storehouse of
American myth and folklore, the Miskaton River Valley has long been recognized
as particularly fecund ground for tall tales and fanciful superstition. Legends
abound of hideous, inhuman races living within the venerable hills; of pagan
rituals enacted at unholy burial grounds and dedicated to ancient, blasphemous
gods..." and continues along the same lines in the typically dry and bombastic
style of those times.

>read book
Which do you mean, A Historical Overview of Superstitions by J. Arnsworth
Frazer, the book of matches or the torn journal?

>read frazer
As you open the book, a slip of paper falls from its pages and flutters to the
ground.

>get paper
(the slip of paper)
(slipping the animal's skull into the pocket of your trenchcoat to get a hand
free)
You pick up the slip of paper. Someone was apparently using it as a bookmark.
There's some writing on one side.

>read paper
Which do you mean, the slip of paper or the newspaper?

>read slip of paper
It says:

born-died same date?
have to chk. records

The handwriting is unmistakably Michael's.

>read historical

A thick and weighty tome, its full title is A Historical Overview of
Superstitions in the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer, published in
1906. It begins: "Although New England has always been an abundant storehouse of
American myth and folklore, the Miskaton River Valley has long been recognized
as particularly fecund ground for tall tales and fanciful superstition. Legends
abound of hideous, inhuman races living within the venerable hills; of pagan
rituals enacted at unholy burial grounds and dedicated to ancient, blasphemous
gods..." and continues along the same lines in the typically dry and bombastic
style of those times.

Introduction
Rituals of the Misquat Indians
The Dark Man and Other Aspects
The 'Strangling Mist' Legend
The 'Ghost Train' Legend

[Please press SPACE.]

This chapter deals with the strange mythology surrounding the person of Croseus
Verlac, the first of the American Verlacs, who immigrated from the Black Forest
region of Germany in the early 1600s. He settled in the Miskaton Valley and
there helped establish the small fishing port soon to be known as Anchorhead.

Croseus sired six raven-haired daughters and schooled all of them at home. The
girls were reclusive and odd of habit, and by the time the eldest turned fifteen
the town had all but openly accused them of witchcraft. The townsfolk shunned
the Verlac daughters and called them "the Old Man's Coven" -- although never
within earshot, since Croseus was already a very powerful and influential man in
that region.

Although he never had a son, Croseus apparently sired a number of grandsons by
more than one of his daughters -- ostensibly to keep the Verlac blood pure, such
practice being not uncommon in the more secluded and xenophobic early
settlements. However, most of the male children were born dead, or horribly
deformed, or both, and there were furtive whispers that Croseus was practicing
some form of dark sorcery on his progeny. The fact that Croseus fell ill on the
day that the first healthy male child was born (to his youngest daughter), and
died before day's end, did not go unnoticed.

After Croseus died, the townspeople turned against the "coven", burning all of
them to death except for Eustacia, the youngest, who managed to escape along
with her infant son, Wilhelm. She returned some years later, after an outbreak
of smallpox wiped out much of the town's older population, including the
Calvinist minister and every last man and woman who had participated in the
burning of Verlac's brood.

With a start, you remember the pattern you uncovered in the city archives --
each Verlac dying on the very day his grandson is born... no parents listed on
the birth certificates... no marriage records, only sons then daughters then
sons... and a sickening, horrifying thought begins to take shape: what if the
foul tradition begun by Croseus Verlac did not end with his death?

What if, for centuries, the Verlacs have been raping their own daughters in
order to sire grandsons?

What in God's name was wrong with this family? How could this have gone on for
so long without anyone knowing about it or trying to stop it? And why does each
Verlac die on the very day his grandson is born?

Edward Verlac, the man from whom Michael inherited the house and all its
madness, must have been the last of his line, the child of his mother and his
mother's own father. He went insane and killed his entire family, and now his
legacy has been passed on to your husband. With a sudden rush of urgency and
fear, you realize that you have to get out of this town, and you have to get
Michael out with you, as soon as humanly possible.

[Please press SPACE.]

Little is known about the enigmatic Misquat Indians. They are believed to have
occupied a small, unobtrusive area around southeastern Massachusetts, along the
banks of the river which now bears their name. At the time that this book was
published, various property disputes prevented any thorough archaeological
investigation of the area; information regarding this tiny, sequestered tribe is
therefore scarce and based largely on hearsay and folklore.

Analysis of the only known fossil -- a partial skull -- has led some
anthropologists to conclude that the Misquat were not indigenous to the region.
One popular theory holds that the tribe is most closely related to certain
degenerate branches of the northern Esquimeaux, and were perhaps driven from
their original sub-arctic clime and forced to settle in exile in what would
become the northeastern United States.

Although precious few physical artifacts have been recovered -- chief among them
a pair of ritual masks and a crudely carved, seven-holed wind instrument -- tall
tales of Misquat ritual abound. They appear to have been a unilaterally reviled
tribe. Most of the whispered stories involve horrid, ululating chants around
blazing bonfires in the dead of winter night, grotesque copulations performed in
honor of bestial gods, and of course abundant human sacrifice. The Misquat were
generally known as child-stealers, creeping through open windows at night to
perpetrate foul kidnappings. None of these claims can of course be verified;
nearly all Indian tribes encountered by the first European settlers have been
subject to such prejudices at one time or another.

It is known that the Misquat were most likely star-worshippers, and possessed
what was likely a quite complex theology involving entities that dwelled beyond
"the bowl of tiny fires" -- their term for the night sky. These entities granted
wisdom or insanity, bestowed prosperity or famine, according to how well or how
laxly the tribe performed its ritual appeasements. The rituals attempted to
contact or possibly summon aspects of these entities through elaborately carved
"beacons" -- mounds of stones or obelisks placed at significant geographical
locations.

The few eroded hieroglyphs left by them (oddly, the Misquat were one of the few
North American tribes to have developed a system of writing prior to any contact
with Europeans) have proved a compelling but so far intractable puzzle for
linguists today; all further detail about their ritual and mythology remains yet
a mystery.

[Please press SPACE.]

Nearly all of the early European settlements circulated stories of a being known
as "The Dark Man" that lived in the primordial woods beyond the settlements'
borders. Deeply religious and at the same time almost hysterically
superstitious, clinging precariously to the edges of an unexplored and therefore
terrifying continent, it was only natural for people in those times to project
their collective fears onto the unknown. For the predominantly fundamentalist
Protestant sects that first colonized the New World, these projections typically
were embodiments of the Christian concept of the Devil.

The Dark Man generally takes the form of a man, sometimes of large or even giant
stature but more often no larger than a natural human. He is invariably dark-
skinned, although rarely described as a Negro -- most often he is a Caucasian
with jet-black skin, thus combining the refined, cunning intelligence of the
European with the base carnality of the African. He is regularly portrayed as
the consort of witches. He has many names: The Dark Man, The Grinning Man, Old
Scratch, Springheel Jack, The Evil One, etc., but always his formal, Biblical
appellation -- "Lucifer" or "Satan" -- is scrupulously avoided, a holdover from
the tradition that to speak a demon's name is to attract his attention and
perhaps even summon him.

More interesting to the folklorist are the names that harken further back than
these simple Christian superstitions, recalling a more pagan portrayal of the
dark and unknown. These tales, which originate from the more reclusive colonies,
often bring out the more animalistic, nature-worshipping aspect of the Dark Man.
He is sometimes pictured as being covered with hair, or having hooves instead of
feet, resembling Classical images of Pan. His names are more obscure: The Wicker
(or Wicca) Man; The Black Goat With A Thousand Young. Therein lie tantalizing
clues offering the enterprising folklorist still deeper glimpses into the
collective unconscious.

A few rare instances of The Dark Man have been uncovered that point beyond even
these antiquated references -- bizarre aspects that seem to reflect some of the
less understood concepts of Native American mysticism. Such baroque names as
"The Lurker At The Threshold" or "The Watcher Beyond The Stars" point to a
substratum of human mythology as yet untouched. These versions typically
describe not physical manifestations, but rather abstract concepts of Evil and
Time that some scholars have linked to the pre-Roman god Saturn, before he
became characterized as merely the father of Zeus, when he was instead
identified with the Ouroburos Dragon, Devourer of Worlds. Hopefully, as more
archaeological evidence is uncovered, we will be able to speak of these
primordial connections with greater confidence.

[Please press SPACE.]

Rather unique to the lower Miskaton River Valley, this tale centers around a
seemingly malevolent fog that roams the forests and lonely night roads, choking
the unwary traveler with invisible, untouchable hands.

The experience of being attacked by this strange entity is described in an 1855
journal as: "...lyke as thowe a deade man were to put his corpsey fingers downe
yr throate withe one hande, & up yr nostrille withe the other..."

No two tellings can agree on the origins of this terrible mist. Some accounts
insist that it is a spirit of the restless dead; others attribute the effect to
malicious hobgoblins. Other versions implicate witchcraft, a pirate's curse,
swamp faerie... the list goes on. Some of the more esoteric explanations seem to
indicate that the legend was adapted by white settlers from native superstitions
held by the tribes indigenous to the Miskaton region; however, there is no
evidence as yet that the "strangling mist" existed in any form prior to the
appearance of Europeans.

[Please press SPACE.]

Yet another colorful folk legend involves the recurring image of a "ghost train"
-- a spectral locomotive that materializes from nowhere, glides across the
haunted track for a short period of time, and then disappears as mysteriously as
it came.

This story did not originate among the first white settlers, of course;
obviously it only came into being after the advent of the steam locomotive in
our burgeoning Machine Age. The earliest known recorded version of this story,
in fact, is dated 1882. Nonetheless, the legend provides us with an interesting
example of how the collective unconscious adapts itself to changing aspects of
our culture, cloaking old symbolism in the trappings of new technology.

Although many versions hold that the ghost train represents the ghastly echoes
of a locomotive that was wrecked (derailed and lost off a mountain pass is the
most popular means of destruction), this is in fact a simplistic interpretation
not seen until many decades after the myth originated. More intriguing and more
useful to the folklorist are versions that explain the ghost train as a
transport to the land of the dead -- a modernized boat of Charon, ferrying
damned souls across the shroud to the devil's newly industrial Hell. These are
the versions which most faithfully maintain links to the traditions of the past,
and demonstrate the curious evolutionary behavior of the myth.

In some of these tellings, the traveling soul must have a ticket to present to
the grim conductor -- an element directly analogous to the ancient custom of
placing of gold coins beneath the tongue to buy passage to the underworld.
Living souls who ventured too near the tracks as the ghost train made its
nightly sojourn would find themselves swept along -- echoing the Celtic/Germanic
myth of the Wild Hunt, in which witness were compelled to join as either hunter
or prey. Those who thus boarded the train by accident, madness or mere
foolishness were inevitably carried back to whatever eldritch dimension from
whence the train originated. Tales of return voyages are rare and generally held
by those who pass them along to be apocryphal.

[Please press SPACE.]

Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.

Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.

Your score has just gone up by one point.

>save
Ok.

>read book
Which do you mean, A Historical Overview of Superstitions by J. Arnsworth
Frazer, the book of matches or the torn journal?

>read frazer

Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.

Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.

>read frazer

Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.

Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.

>ring bell

Ding.

A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.

>give frazer to librarian
Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the
shadowy depths of the reserved stacks.

[...]

Circulation Desk
A high counter divides the public portion of the library from the reserved
stacks -- all the more esoteric and mysterious volumes from the university's
collection. If anything, the area behind the counter is even more shadowy than
the side you're on. The main reading area lies south.

Hanging on the wall next to the counter is a small, printed sign. Beneath the
sign sits a heavy, dog-eared register, and sitting next to the register is a
bell.

>look up benson
(in the dog-eared register)
Claudia Benson's name is up near the top of the page. She has checked out
several books in the last few weeks: A Historical Overview of Superstitions in
the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer; The Righteous Invasion: a
History of Indian/Settler Conflicts in the Colonial Period by Warner Greene;
Mechanics of Metempsychosis by C. C. H. Horne; and N-Fold Transduction and the
Space-Time Barrier: a New Theory in Particle Physics by Lord Wheldrake. Strange;
you can't help but wonder why your real estate agent would have amassed such an
esoteric reading list.

>ring bell

Ding.

A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.

>ask librarian for greene
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the
next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register,
and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again.

>read greene
Its full title is The Righteous Invasion: a History of Indian/Settler Conflicts
in the Colonial Period by Warner Greene. It's a slim volume, published by
Miskaton Press in 1943. According to the introduction, the book's purpose is to
give an objective account of the social and economic factors which led some of
the early American colonies into violent conflict with the tribes of the
northeast, concluding with a transitional discussion of how the "Indian
policies" which took shape early on evolved into Western Expansionism and the
idea of Manifest Destiny. The author, reflecting the more conservative decade in
which he wrote, tends to paint a more sympathetic picture of the European side
of the issue than would be fashionable today; but all in all it seems an
intelligent, thoughtful analysis.

Glancing through the table of contents, you notice that there is a short chapter
on the Misquat Indians. Curious, you flip to the page.

The fate of the Misquat tribe, states the author, is an enigma which may never
be solved. Diplomatic relationships with the original river valley settlers
seemed doomed from the beginning. Documents from the period paint the tribe as
aggressively pagan, degenerate savages. Nevertheless, Croseus Verlac managed to
hammer out a peace treaty of sorts with the tribal leader, and the two groups
led an uneasy coexistence for over a century.

The exact circumstances which led up to the "battle" of Quattac Bend in 1772 are
unclear. One document makes mention of an "uprising", although since as far as
is known, the Misquats were never in a subservient relationship to the
Anchorhead settlers, the use of this term is more puzzling than revealing. In
fact, no evidence has yet been discovered that corroborates the notion that the
Misquat Indians initiated any sort of hostility whatsoever.

What is known is this: the Battle of Quattac Bend took place in the dead of
night. It was led by Croseus' descendant, Heinrich Verlac, and "fought" by some
twenty town men, who crept through the woods and ambushed the small tribe during
one of its holy ceremonies. There are no lists of casualties. Although the diary
of one soldier tells of many prisoners being taken, there is no mention of where
these prisoners were kept or what was eventually done to them.

No known document makes even the vaguest allusion to the Misquat Indians after
1772. From that date onward, the tribe effectively ceases to exist.

>ring bell

Ding.

A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.

>ask librarian for horne
The librarian gives you a fishy look. Apparently, you are only allowed one book
at a time.

>give greene to librarian
Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the
shadowy depths of the reserved stacks.

>ring bell

Ding.

A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.

>ask librarian for horne
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the
next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register,
and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again.

>read horne
According to the author's foreword, the term "metempsychosis" means the
transmigration of souls -- that is, the reincarnation of a soul into another
body. The book, which was published in 1922, is an examination of various
traditions' explanations of how and why this happens. The author's tone is very
matter-of-fact; it's unclear whether he is approaching the subject from the
standpoint of a mythologist or if he actually believes in reincarnation and is
evaluating the various theories based on their "scientific" validity.

Flipping through the book, you find a passage that has been highlighted:

"Among tribes with a strong ancestor-worship tradition, one often discovers the
quaint notion that one may be reincarnated as one's own descendant. Asking such
people whether they must share a single body with the spirit of their ancestor
(inheritance), or if they themselves are in essence their own grandfather
(identity), is generally futile; among primitives, concepts of self-identity are
poorly defined at best. Often there exists no word in their native language to
express the idea. One can assume, however, that the primitive tribesman's
conception of the situation is probably closer to the latter option; otherwise,
over the course of generations one would have to contend with dozens of
ancestral spirits fighting for room within a single body. However, the theory of
identity also begs the question: how far back does the chain of reincarnation
go? One could conceivably be dealing with a tribe of 'first' men, present at the
day of Creation and renewing themselves over the aeons with each succeeding
generation."

>ring bell

Ding.

A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.

>give horne to librarian
Wordlessly the librarian takes the tome from you and spirits it back to the
shadowy depths of the reserved stacks.

>look up benson
(in the dog-eared register)
Claudia Benson's name is up near the top of the page. She has checked out
several books in the last few weeks: A Historical Overview of Superstitions in
the Miskaton Valley Region by J. Arnsworth Frazer; The Righteous Invasion: a
History of Indian/Settler Conflicts in the Colonial Period by Warner Greene;
Mechanics of Metempsychosis by C. C. H. Horne; and N-Fold Transduction and the
Space-Time Barrier: a New Theory in Particle Physics by Lord Wheldrake. Strange;
you can't help but wonder why your real estate agent would have amassed such an
esoteric reading list.

>ring bell

Ding.

A moment later, the gaunt and fishy-eyed librarian emerges silently from the
shadows behind the counter.

>ask librarian for wheldrake
Wordlessly the librarian retreats back into the shadows, only to reappear the
next moment carrying the book you requested. Dutifully, you sign the register,
and the librarian hands you the book before disappearing again.

>read wheldrake
This is a very thin volume, more of a tract than a proper book. You notice with
some interest that it was published in 1918 by Miskaton University Press, though
who "Lord Wheldrake" was you cannot begin to fathom.

Even without a background in physics, you can immediately tell that this is
nothing but the purest pseudoscience. The author claims to have made "startling
advances" relating to a heretofore unknown medium through which energy can
travel. As far as you can tell, he performed no actual experiments; his entire
thesis is built on extrapolation from his own creative reasoning. One bit near
the middle has been marked with a highlighter:

"Having established the existence of the N-space medium, we can then reasonably
posit the existence of a special wave-length capable of traveling through that
medium; we will call this form of energy, appropriately enough, N-rays. Due to
the fundamentally extradimensional nature of N-space, N-rays cannot logically be
located at any one point of the electromagentic spectrum; they instead exist at
every point along the spectrum, traveling perpendicular it. Naturally, the
practical ramifications of being able to transmit extradimensionally are dwarfed
by the theoretical implications..."

Good grief, you can't help thinking. What drivel.

>quit
Are you sure you want to quit? y

Case Study No. 1373: Eden Spencer

Audiobook: To Win Her Heart by Karen Witemeyer
2:54
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From amazon.com:

To Win Her Heart
Karen Witemeyer (Author)
Publication Date: May 1, 2011

Having completed his sentence for the unintentional crime that derailed his youthful plans for fame and fortune, Levi Grant looks to start over in the town of Spencer, Texas. Spencer needs a blacksmith, a trade he learned at his father's knee, and he needs a place where no one knows his past. But small towns leave little room for secrets...

Eden Spencer has sworn off men, choosing instead to devote her time to the lending library she runs. When a mountain-sized stranger walks through her door and asks to borrow a book, she steels herself against the attraction he provokes. His halting speech and hesitant manner leave her doubting his intelligence. Yet as the mysteries of the town's new blacksmith unfold, Eden discovers hidden depths in him that tempt her heart.

Levi's renewed commitment to his faith leads Eden to believe she's finally found a man of honor and integrity, a man worthy of her love. But when the truth about his prodigal past comes to light, can this tarnished hero find a way to win back the librarian's affections?

---

From acfw.com:

TO WIN HER HEART

Winner of the 2012 ACFW Carol Award
Winner of the 2012 HOLT Medallion for Best Long Inspirational Romance
2012 RITA Finalist for Best Inspirational Romance
2012 National Readers Choice Award Finalist for Best Inspirational Romance

A blacksmith with a criminal past. A librarian with pacifist ideals. Do they have a fighting chance at finding love? Set in Texas in the 1880's.

---

From karenwitemeyer.com:

Spencer, Texas - 1887

After two years, they finally cut him loose. Gave him a new suit of clothes and everything. Funny, though. The shame of the convict stripes still clung to him, as if they had been tattooed horizontally across his skin. Levi Grant rolled his shoulders under the slightly-too-tight coat he'd been issued and wondered how long it would take to get re-accustomed to civilian clothes.

Or to get the smell of turnips out of them.

A farmer had let him ride in his wagon bed for the last ten miles or so of his journey from Huntsville. Levi's feet had welcomed the respite, but now, standing outside the parson's small, box-shaped house, second thoughts needled him.

His future hinged on making a good impression. The Bible and recommendation letter in his knapsack fueled his hope, but his past dragged behind him like the lead ball that used to be shackled to his leg. The Father might have forgiven his prodigal ways, but the world was full of parabolic older brothers who would either resent the second chance he'd been given or condemn him outright. Not that he would blame them. Christian charity could only be expected to stretch so far.

A gust of cool, February wind jarred him from his thoughts and pushed him forward. The Lord had led him here. The least Levi could do was knock on the door.

He climbed the steps onto the porch, ducking under a barren rose trellis. Winter had temporarily robbed the latticework of its color, but the promise of spring lingered in the twining stems. Levi rapped a knuckle against the door and waited.

Seconds ticked by. He shifted from one foot to the other. An urge to run burgeoned inside his chest until his lungs found it difficult to expand. He blew out what little air was left in them and paced to the rail. Had he been wrong to come? Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he counted the number of pickets in the fence across the yard. He'd barely made it to seven when the door clicked open behind him. Levi spun around. Seeing a woman, he yanked his hat from his head.

"Can I help you?" The tiny lady finished wiping her hands on her apron then looked up at him, her eyes widening only slightly as she took in his size.

"Levi Grant, ma'am. I'm here to ..." See? No. "...talk to David Cranford." The pause hadn't been long, but she'd blinked, a sure indication that she'd noticed. Years of avoiding s sounds in his speech had made him adept at finding substitutes, but it still took his brain time to recognize and reject the s words that came to mind automatically.

"Mr. Grant, of course. We've been expecting you. Please, come in." A warm smile blossomed across her face as she pulled the door wide.

Levi swiveled sideways to edge through the opening without grazing his hostess. His size came in handy when pounding iron, but it was a hindrance around delicate ladies in delicate houses.

She led him to a parlor full of treacherous knickknacks and spindly chairs, then left him there with the impossible task of making himself comfortable while she fetched her husband.

Choosing the most substantial piece of furniture in the room, Levi cautiously lowered himself onto the green tapestry sofa, wincing with each creak of the thin oak legs. He slung his knapsack off his shoulder and into his lap then reached inside for the letter from his chaplain and mentor, Jonathan Willis.

Soft footfalls sounded in the hall. Levi shoved the sack aside and lurched to his feet, still clutching the letter.

"Mr. Grant. Welcome to Spencer." A thin man with dark hair graying at the temples strode across the parlor carpet, his hand outstretched. "Jonathan wired that you were coming."

Levi handed over the letter then gripped the man's hand, careful not to squeeze too hard. The preacher was a good head shorter and probably a decade older than Levi's thirty years, but his eyes exuded kindness and a blunt honesty that communicated his knowledge of Levi's past without casting judgment.

"Please, sit."

Levi bent slowly to retake his seat on the sofa while David Cranford settled into an armchair. He opened the letter Levi had given him but barely scanned the contents before folding it back up and slipping it into his coat pocket.

"You'll be glad to know that everything is in place," Cranford said. "Mr. Spencer accepted my recommendation and forwarded the lease papers to our bank. You should be in business by the end of the week."

Levi swallowed what moisture he could summon from his arid mouth. "No interview?"

"Not a formal one, no. We've been without a blacksmith for nigh onto four months, now. And with spring planting around the corner, well . . . let's just say the townsfolk have not been shy in vocalizing their dissatisfaction. Mr. Spencer was anxious to find a blacksmith, and I was happy to recommend you to him. As long as his representative finds no glaring fault in you, things should go smoothly."

No glaring faults? Levi nearly laughed aloud. His faults glared brighter than sunlight on a freshly cleaned window. His only hope was to hide them from this representative until he'd had a chance to prove himself.

"Did you tell him about...?" Levi cleared his throat but couldn't quite spit out the rest of the question.

The preacher shook his head. "No. And I see no reason to enlighten anyone at this point. It has no direct bearing on your ability to perform your duties."

Levi relaxed into the cushioned sofa just a bit. He had a chance then.

"The truth will come out eventually, though," the man cautioned, "and it would be better coming from you than from somewhere else, but I believe a man has the right to demonstrate his character by his actions instead of being weighed solely by his past mistakes.

"I've known Jonathan Willis since our days at seminary," Cranford continued. "He speaks highly of you, Mr. Grant. And that's good enough for me. I'll gladly introduce you to Mr. Spencer's agent and reiterate my recommendation."

"Thank you." Levi's ribs seemed to press into his chest. He'd not expected such generosity. Didn't deserve it. Yet he'd not be so foolish as to reject it. He'd spent enough time in foolish pursuits.

"'There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus.'" The preacher patted the leather cover of the Bible sitting on the round parlor stand between the arm of his chair and the sofa, his gaze intent. Almost as if he were trying to bore a hole through Levi's hide to imbed the truth of the words into his soul.

Levi turned his head away from the man's scrutiny to stare instead at a porcelain shepherdess guarding a shelf on the front wall. He knew the passage from Romans 8. He even believed it. Yet no matter how hard his brain tried to convince his heart, self-reproach still clung to him like a parasite.

"You're a new man making a new start."

Levi jerked his head around.

"Leave the guilt behind, son."

******

"Leave the other book on my desk. I'll shelve it for you later."

Eden Spencer tried to hurry her last patron out, an elderly woman who moved slower than a bug on flypaper. Normally she didn't mind chatting with Pearl after closing time, but not today. Norman Draper had strolled past her window five minutes ago, portfolio in hand - no doubt on his way to get the new blacksmith's signature on the building lease. Before she'd even had a chance to talk to the man. Eden pressed her lips together to keep her irritation at bay as she helped Pearl with her scarf.

Why was it that no one on the town council took her role as her father's representative seriously? What if she found the new smith unsuitable? If the banker jumped the gun with the papers, it would make sending the man on his way vastly more difficult. Thank goodness Emma had stopped by earlier to let her know the smith had arrived. Now, if she could just hurry Pearl along a bit, maybe she could dash across the street to the parsonage in time to prevent any rash action on Mr. Draper's part.

"Here's your book, Pearl." Eden placed the small volume of poetry into the older woman's hands.

"Thank you, dear. My afternoons would be dreadfully dull without something new to read every now and again."

"I'm glad I could help." Eden swung her door open, ignoring the chilly breeze that ruffled her skirts. She took Pearl's elbow and guided her down to the street, taking extra care on the steps. Then she bid the woman a quick farewell and dashed back into the house where she snatched her black cashmere shawl from the hall tree and flung it around her shoulders. Plunking a bonnet on her head, she let the ribbons flap freely as she loped down the front walk. Loped, not ran. Running would be unseemly.

"Whoa there, little lady. What's the hurry?"

Eden groaned. Sheriff Pratt's office was around the corner on Main Street, and he had taken up the habit of watching for her from his rear window. The town matrons found it sweet the way he escorted her around town. Eden found it a nuisance.

"I'm afraid I can't talk, Sheriff. I'm late for a meeting." She offered an apologetic wave as she bustled past without slowing her pace. She had just about reached the churchyard when he lunged in front of her, forcing her to choose between halting or colliding with his person. She opted for the halt.

"Is that any way to talk to your betrothed?" His syrupy voice set her skin to itching.

Eden gathered her shawl a bit more tightly about her. "I'm not your betrothed, Sheriff. I refused your proposal three weeks ago."

"And nearly busted my heart in the process, but I forgive you."

She didn't want to be forgiven. She wanted to be left alone.

Sheriff Pratt clasped the crown of his felt hat and dragged it from his head down to the general vicinity of his heart, or more precisely, the area above his belly paunch.

"I'm just letting you know the offer's still on the table. In case you decide to reconsider." He smiled at her and winked, but the gesture seemed void of true affection. The man might want to marry her, but Eden doubted his reasons had anything to do with tender feelings. He probably figured tying himself to a Spencer would be good for his career. He was up for re-election this year, after all.

"Thank you, Sheriff-"

"Conrad, darlin'. Call me Conrad."

Eden stiffened. "Sheriff Pratt." She accented the formal name. "I appreciate your kind consideration, but my answer remains unchanged. Now, if you'll excuse me?"

His smile tightened, but thankfully the gentleman in him won out. He extended his hat in a sweeping motion as he stepped aside. "I'll wish you a good evening, then, Miss Spencer."

"Thank you. And a good evening to you." Eden nodded and moved past. Her conscience pricked a little over having been short with him, but after the indignity she suffered five years ago, she was in no hurry to commit herself to another man. Especially not to one who wore a gun. Violence only begot more violence, and she couldn't imagine aligning herself with a man who had blood on his hands - even if he stood on the right side of the law.

Having reached the parsonage, Eden thrust aside all thoughts of the sheriff and raised her hand to knock. Thankfully, Emma Cranford answered swiftly.

"They haven't signed anything yet, have they?" Eden asked as she breezed past the preacher's wife, focused solely on making her way to the front room where the men were congregating.

Soft laughter echoed behind her. "Are you planning to storm the castle?" There was more teasing than chiding in the question. Nevertheless, it succeeded in slowing Eden's step and getting her to turn around and face her neglected hostess.

"I'm sorry, Emma. I didn't even greet you, did I?"

"Never mind," she said as she shooed Eden toward the parlor. "We've been friends too long for me to be offended by such silly details. I know not to get in your way when you're on a mission." She smiled in that forgiving way of hers that relieved Eden's conscience even while it made her silently promise never to repeat the infraction. "Go on. Get in there before Mr. Draper bullies them into signing without you."

Eden nodded her thanks and spun back toward the parlor.

Male voices grew louder as she approached, Mr. Draper's being the most adamant. ". . . no telling when Miss Spencer will get around to making an appearance. You know how women are. If Calvin Spencer gave his approval, that's all I require."

"I'm sure she'll be along short-"

"Well, I'm here now. But I won't be for long. I have a town council meeting to attend. And if Mr. Grant wants to lease the smithy, he'll sign the papers now."

Storm the castle, indeed. Bristling, Eden set her shoulders for battle and swept into the room. "If Mr. Grant wants to lease the smithy, he'll have to gain my approval or the papers will be meaningless."

The banker turned hostile eyes on her and opened his mouth, most likely to inform her that his papers were legal with or without her approval, but David Cranford managed to forestall the argument by jumping to his feet and rushing to her side.

"Miss Spencer! So good to see you." He smartly positioned himself between her and the banker. "May I introduce you to the man who recently applied to be our new blacksmith?"

As David stretched his arm out toward the sofa, another man rose to his feet. Slowly. Well, it wasn't so much that his movement was slow, but that there was a great deal of him to unfold from where he sat. If the mythical Hercules had been inspired by an actual person, this man must surely be a descendant. She'd never seen such broad shoulders.

At some level, her mind registered the preacher's voice as he made the formal introduction, but the rest of her attention riveted on the giant in Emma's parlor. Her gaze followed him as he stood, climbing from his shoulders to his face. Square jaw. Firm lips. Straight nose, barring the bump on the bridge where it looked like it'd been broken. Everything about him was hard - except his eyes. Vulnerability shone in their gray depths. Or at least she thought it did. He shifted his regard to the floor so fast, she couldn't be sure.

David cleared his throat, and Eden blinked, realizing she was expected to speak. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. . . . ah . . . Mr. Grant."

"Ma'am." He nodded to her, his gaze barely brushing her chin before falling again to the floor.

Good heavens. How was she supposed to conduct an interview with a man whose size was so startling, she could scarcely manage a coherent greeting?

Case Study No. 1372: Betty Bonhauser and Nikki Reynolds

Shelf Life Trailer
1:51
Trailer for the feature film, Shelf Life. Starring Betsy Brandt of Breaking Bad
"Tamar Halpern's whip smart "Shelf Life" taps into a fresh source for American Comedy" - Variety
Available on netflix
Tags: Shelf Life cute girls lazy eye movie Trailer Comedy Tamar Halpern Library Humor tamaroland variety Betsy Brandt Ryan Spahn Elisa Bocanegra Joe Smith Bill Jones Jordan Micheal McTaggart Breaking Bad Avery Clyde
Added: 7 years ago
From: tamaroland
Views: 6,552

Needs More Nudity Productions presents
A film by Tamar Halpern

Everyone has an expiration date ...

Shelf Life

Available on DVD at www.ShelfLifeTheMovie.com

---

From variety.com:

Tamar Halpern's whip-smart "Shelf Life" posits the public library as a war zone between a free spirit and a power-addled librarian, and taps into a fresh source for American comedy. Before its female combatants exit on a startling note of metaphysical freedom, pic is a lean, elemental clash of characters that can be read as standing in for the country's larger cultural battles. Prime for fest circulation, Halpern's second feature will draw considerably more attention than her debut, "Memphis Bound and Gagged."

Black-garbed, slightly punkish Nikki Reynolds (Betsy Brandt) is ready to face off with head librarian Betty Bonhauser (Elisa Bocanegra) in a typically bland library that Betty rules like a self-appointed potentate, when, suddenly, the pair -- bedraggled and dirty -- is shown trying to explain themselves (in direct address to the camera) to their unseen boss behind a huge executive desk.

This is pic's "Rashomon" nod, as each claim by Betty is matched by Nikki, illustrated in flashbacks. Nikki arrives to work at the library as part of her overall drug recovery program, which includes having to live at home with her odd mom (Holgie Forrester) and pee in a cup on a daily basis. Betty's instantly suspicious of her and resents Nikki's supposedly special handling care of her Uncle Tommy (William Jones), a local pol running for mayor.

When Betty accuses Nikki of stealing a dictionary and summons Sgt. Knofelmacher (Bonnie J. Kirk), Nikki enlists the moral support of insecure assistant librarian Ronald (Joe Smith, in a sweetly hilarious comic turn). The clash escalates, with Nikki's on-and-off beau Jarrett (Ryan Spahn) ending up in bed with Betty.

It's hard to remember another movie that has turned library storytelling sessions for kids into a rebellious act, or that lends the mere reading of a book (in this case, Philip Roth's "Portnoy's Complaint") the weight of a life-changing event. If anything dampens pic's pleasures, it's Bocanegra's forced airs as the huffy Betty in a perf that plays all the way to the back of the house and beyond.

On the other hand, Brandt (also in Halpern's "Memphis") wins hearts with a breezy charm that works as effectively on auds as it does on Ronald. Halpern's filmmaking remains cool throughout, a nice match for Steve Elkin's clean lensing.

Pic has no connection to the late Paul Bartel's 1993 feature of the same name.

---

From davidrothman.net:

In this dark comedy of petty office politics in a library, it's the Head Librarian versus the Book Shelver in an all-out, deadly war of the wills.

A small branch library, a territorial head librarian and a recovering drug addict bookshelver. May the best woman win this war of catfights, false accusations and competing story time circles.

Cast: Betsy Brandt, Elisa Bocanegra, Joe Smith, Ryan Spahn, William Jones, Bonnie J. Kirk, Holgie Forrester, Jordan Halpern, Michael McTaggert, Rick Ankrom

Writer/Director: Tamar Halpern
Producers: Tamar Halpern, Liz Leifer, Robin Muir
Cinematographer: Steve Elkins

---

From imdb.com:

Nikki's Mom: How are things at the book depository?
Nikki: It's a library, Mom.
Nikki's Mom: Are you having fun there?
Nikki: It's a gas.

[...]

Nikki: I can't just take off like that, Jarrett.
Jarrett: Why, what's keeping you here? Your pathetic little book-shelving job?

[...]

Betty: The library is closed!
Nikki: Unlock the door, Betty ...
Betty: You took over my library!
Nikki: It's not your library!

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Case Study No. 1371: Unnamed Female Librarian (Hostage)

Hostage
1:41
2 idiots hold a librarian hostage.
Tags: hostage by mashed5 J&B JB funny idiots
Added: 2 years ago
From: mashed5
Views: 304

[scene opens with a female librarian (wearing a Mexican wrestling mask) sitting in a chair as a man with guns stands over her]
IDIOT 1: [from off camera] We've been expecting you.
[cut to one of the idiots directly addressing the camera]
IDIOT 1: Hi ... So, me and my friend (whose name is Friend), we're robbing this library and here's our librarian. We are holding her hostage. We failed last time, so we are going to kill her unless she gives us fifteen million bookmarks.
["The Hostage" appears onscreen, as the librarian addresses the camera directly]
LIBRARIAN: Help me, help me! They have a grenade ... and I have to go potty!
[one of the idiots points his gun at her]
FRIEND: Shut up, old lady!
[the librarian falls out of her chair and starts having convulsions on the floor]
LIBRARIAN: Help me!
[cut to one of the idiots standing over her, holding a grenade]
IDIOT 1: Okay, I--
LIBRARIAN: [quietly] Help me ...
IDIOT 1: I'm pulling the pin! In five, four, three, two ...
[as he's about to pull the trigger, there's a knock at the door]
IDIOT 1: [walks off camera] Shut up ... You better shut up! You don't know what I got!
[he walks back onscreen holding a gun, then goes to answer the door]
IDIOT 1: Hello?
[someone reaches in from off-camera and grabs his gun]
IDIOT 1: Oh!
[the idiot gets shot in the head by the unseen assailant]
IDIOT 1: Uh ...
[the assassin walks into the room, stands over the unconscious librarian, and shoots her in the head]
ASSASSIN: [to the camera] I'm bad too!
[he walks away]