I have continued to read a number of posts about Ajax, Web 2.0 and the current state of web applications since my previous post on this topic. One of the things that continues to impress me is the relevance and potential of these technologies for libraries. Dion Hinchcliffe has written a post about Why Ajax Is So Disruptive and makes a number of great observations. One that stuck out was his remark that with new Web 2.0 applications the software is invisible. He writes, “I never worry about if I have the software installed that I need, whether I have the security permissions, if my data is nearby. All of these concerns slip away and I’m getting done what I need to get done.”

Libraries need to take a note here. In an ideal world we would develop some crazy software suite that our patrons would install and then use to efficiently find their library and information resources. If we wrote the software ourselves we would be able to control all the issues involved with data compatibility and interoperability with electronic library resources. However, we don’t live in a perfect world and we can’t afford to write such software ourselves.

What Hinchcliffe points out is that the can piggyback on the universal platform of the web browser. With technologies like Ajax that are maximizing the levels of interactivity and fluidity of GUIs on the web, we can develop constantly changing software that resides on our servers. If digital library services are delivered using technologies that emulate richer software and acts more like desktop software, libraries will minimize the amount of burden that they will impose on patrons. The software is a living service that is adapted and tweaked with user feedback and updated as needed. Since the software resides on the web server and is only ever launched through a web browser all of the issues that should be transparent to patrons, such as updates for security or usability reasons, we will never need to force someone to install a latest version. A patron never needs to realize she is using a piece of software. Instead, she simply needs to go to the library’s website.

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The Library of Congress Prints & Photographs Division announced a new landmark (or is it a benchmark?): one million images from its collections are now available in digital form, online.

The millioneth image is, Barry will be happy to note, baseball related. The photograph depicts Washington Senators baseball player Herman A. “Germany” Schaefer using a camera during a visit to play the New York Highlanders in April 1911.

This photo comes from the collection of the first syndicated photo news service in the U.S., George Grantham Bain Collection.

Has anyone used any of these massive photo archives for reference or research (Ginger, Toby, Barry)? It strikes me that the sheer amount of visual material is daunting in projects like this. How do we maintain a knowledge of what types of information are available in what places?

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I have been a fan of the other ALA, A List Apart Magazine, for a couple of years now. I am greatful for a journal dedicated to standards-based web design that prioritizes none of those bolded words over the others. I tend to eschew extremism in the digital library realm of any kind. If your site is too flashy, literally or figuratively, you will probably do a disservice to your readers and sacrifice function/content to form. However, on the other end of the spectrum is dear old Jakob Nielson. Quite frankly, if librarians made websites that had the visual and aesthetic quality of useit.com’s lowest common denominator design, i.e., design elements sacrified to the usability gods, I fear we would reinforce a stereotype that libraries are the old world of information and not relevant to the 21st century information world.

Last week’s ALA feed included the article “Good Designers Redesign, Great Designers Realign,” a great piece on the importance of moving away from web design for design’s sake only. What jumped out at me, though, was an analysis of Apple’s iLife software:

The new iLife packaging wasn’t just a redesign for the sake of redesigning. It seemed to represent much more than that. Personal computing was no longer something done to accomplish something else more efficiently, but rather a part of everyday life, even critical to communication and social interaction. The iPod, for example, was no longer only for the technorati; it was quickly becoming mainstream for coder and soccer mom alike. And that’s what the new packaging seemed to portray—less about technology, more about people.

What struck me as relevant to librarianship is the way that the highlighted sentence in this passage could be adapted for the realm of library services, especially instruction. In instruction sessions that I have participated in I find that one of the greatest challenges is getting across to students the point that what I am saying to them is relevant to their lives as students (remember the adage by Zweizig). The way that the author frames the transformation in the perception of Apple’s software has a counterpart for library materials. We need to present our collections and deliver them to patrons in a manner that puts them squarely in the middle of the patrons’ lives. I would try to appropriate the crucial sentense above for libraries by stating: library collections and services should not be used as a last resort when Google and Amazon don’t suffice. Rather, they should be a part of everyday life within your given community as a student, citizen.

Consequently, the challenge that I have been seeing in my own experiences is one of presentation.

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Hi all -

Pursuant to the past discussion about the eradication of “new books” shelves in libraries in favor of online lists, this came in an email from my library’s access services head:

“After complaints from readers and a conversation with the Chair of the Library Board, we have put in place a consolidated Selected New Acquisitions display in the Current Periodicals Reading Room. This physical display of selected new books is meant to complement the New Acquisitions web page.”

And so: new books, regardless of subject, are now displayed in a single location, whereas they used to be displayed on the relevant floors of the library. Meaning, they’re still essentially invisible. The books remain there for one calendar week.

This is food for thought when it comes to assumptions about how our patron-base – and our boards – will respond to certain initiatives. Even if we can’t survey the patrons about every issue, and even if we can’t run every decision past our board members, I think this is an interesting example of those two powerful groups speaking up for something important to them and making us accountable.

Thoughts?

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This summer I was asked to lead a committee of staff members to outline procedures for handling behavior issues that arise in the library. By behavior issues, I mean incidents such as loud conversations on cell phones in the library, eating in the library, running, loud levels of noise, throwing materials, on so on, escalating to major issues of safety. I was wondering, what is your experience with these sorts of incidents? When working in public service areas of your library, do you ever have to approach patrons about their behavior? Are there certain behaviors, activities that are not allowed? Do you post expectations about library behavior? Or is this something you think is largely unecessary or uneeded in your environment? I’m especially curious about those of you who work in academic libraries, and how your experience might be different from the public library world.

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I wonder if you (friends) could give me recommendations about library articles concerned with instruction. Particularly, if you know of any articles that would provide a good exemplar for what an article on instruction should be: what it should include, etc.

If you’ve got it, you might need to print and mail it – unless its on the free Web. I’d appreciate it.

I’m working on an article idea in my head, and would like to know the effort it would take to realize it.

Thanks in advance for your good offices.

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If you come from a state school, a land grant university, or another institution with a huge undergraduate population, chances are pretty good that bibliographic instruction (BI) is sexy right now. Instructing young people how to become “information literate,” meaning, “able to collect, interpret, and use information,” is reaching the top of the proverbial heap as far as priorities are concerned. Some schools even offer credit courses in research skills. Where can I find a journal article? What exactly is a “subject” and what is a “keyword”? How does this bibliographic management software work?

Without these skills, our students could end up with nearly clueless about how to do research and put that research into practice.

Some un-sexy places, though, don’t have credit courses for information literacy or even an established BI program in the library. So how does a librarian accomplish the goal of information literacy without teaching BI sessions or courses?

I hadn’t heard this phrase before a reference meeting this week, but part of the answer is the “teachable moment.” In other words, how much are our reference interviews also instructional sessions? As librarians, we need to remember that telling someone where they can find the microform room is not enough: we should tell them where the floor guides and maps are, too.

Maybe I wasn’t listening closely in library school, but it always seemed that reference was one initiative and instruction was another. It hadn’t been stressed enough (to me) that providing answers was really only cover – quick camouflage – for teaching someone how to find answers for themselves. And this counts for every interview to the extent that it’s possible.

I’m wondering if there are any anecdotes you all have about this? Any teachable moments to convey? Any stratagems? Any nerdy subterfuge?

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