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It’s a high pitched honking sound, which trills up at the end

A breezy, chilly day. And, later, downright coolish. That’s the season, and that’s a point we must concede. This comes with this season.

In today’s Criticism in Sport Media, we watched “It’s Time.” Here’s a little clip where Billy Brewer talks about how Chucky Mullins got to Ole Miss.

The problem was that I was able to find nine minutes of the doc to skip, but we just couldn’t cut out anything else out and keep the story together. So it ran the whole class. But this will be an interesting experiment. What will the class say when we talk about it on Tuesday?

In my org comm class we talked about different types of conflict, the way behaviorists used to see it, the way we view it today, the structural and contextual factors that create it, and why it is sometimes good.

And then we played a bit of the prisoner’s dilemma. I broke the class into two groups and sent one of them outside. This group played as the Las Vegas Raiders. The other group played as the Los Angeles Chargers. I told them each the circumstance. Last game of the season, if you win, you make it to the NFL playoffs and the other team goes home. If the two teams tie you both make it to the playoffs. What do you do?

I made the groups argue this out separately amongst themselves. I brought them back together to reveal the choices they’d made. This scenario actually happened a few years ago, and some of them actually remembered it, which made the internal conflict a little more interesting. Ultimately, though, both sides decided to play for the win.

This is how it played out in real life.

So one group won, basically. One student rightly noticed that if both groups had been left in the room they could have figured this out. But that’s the prisoner’s dilemma for you.

It’s an applied approach to understanding people and groups, this class, you see.

I took a grad school class with a guy who literally wrote the book on game theory. (There are about 6,000 books on game theory, to be sure.) He talked about it for an entire semester. And so, today, I was laughing to myself about his many ridiculous stories.

After class we went over the river. Had dinner at McGillins the oldest Irish pub in the city. The food was not the best I’ve had at an Irish pub, but the experience was fine. It was just up the street from the venue where we saw.

He does laugh funny.

It’s all one-liners and bawdy dark comedy. He does a lot of good crowd work. And he laughs funny.

Then every now and again he’ll do something very thoughtful, almost philosophical, which gives away the other nonsense. The problem with one-liners, though, is that they’re almost immediately forgotten. But the laughs remain! Even the funny ones.

adventures / photo / Rowan / Tuesday — No Comments
4
Nov 25

Election Day

If you’re here for the Catober bonus pics, this is the day for them. I have six photos here, the ones recently captured, too late to include, too delightful to ignore. These photos are our thanks — mine and Phoebe and Poseidon’s — for taking part in Catober all of last month. And if you didn’t — the very nerve! — you can click that link and see them in reverse chronological order.

These bonus photos are in no particular order, but the last one is from my lovely bride, it’s just about the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and is my all-time favorite Phoebe pose. (And she has a lot of great poses.) Please enjoy these, and thank you again for being a part of Catober. (More words are below.)

We had a governor’s race, and plenty of other things lower down the ballot. So, for the last several weeks I’ve been giving all sorts of info to my classes. Registration tips and deadlines. And then early voting links and, finally, the Election Day and the last big push. Make your voice heard! You are a part of one of our largest voting blocks! Politics, friends, is definitely interested in you! And, finally, if you’re in line when the polls close, stay in line and vote.

And then, like me, you can wonder how the local TV stations and YouTube will get by for ad revenue after today.

I, a person who studied political campaigns in grad school and covered (in some way or another) every campaign between 1996 and 2020, have never wanted a campaign cycle as badly as I wanted this one to end. On teevee, there’s a guy who looks like he can barely complete a sentence. And he’s running ads of his opponent doing the same. Her ads are all about a helicopter. Apparently she is a rotary aircraft enthusiast. On YouTube, it’s my local state lawmaker and there really should be a button that allows me to say “I know you. We’ve met. I like you. I’m going to vote for you. Please, please spend your advertising budget courting other people, because you’re wearing me out, to the point where I’m questioning my preferences.”

That’d be a big button, sure, but it would be worth it.

We drove over to the polling place, where I thought about that button while I pushed other buttons. We have electronic voting booths here. (I do prefer the old fill-in-a-bubble style, myself.) It took us a while to get there because there was some significant car accident that required two detours to get around. The voting was done in a municipal garage. It had the smell of grease, industry, and democracy — long may we have all three.

There were four folding folding tables set up. Two for each district, and then divided by names. Lacking any real originality, I went into the line that held the S names. I told the lady my name, and tried to sound convincing doing it. She asked for one other bit of information, as a verbal challenge to cross-reference the legitimacy of my being there, and I concentrated really hard to not stumble through it. She took a blood sample, a bit of hair and a retinal scan to complete the interview. Meanwhile, her colleague, a gentleman even older than she, pushed forward a paper pad. I had to sign here and print there. I’d just signed the digital screen, poorly as it turned out. Before she could take it back I was able to see my official signature under the new one. I’m surprised they let me vote at all, given the discrepancy. I worked really hard on the paper version, because someone will flip through that in a library or archive one day, and you’d like to be legible for that. (No one is ever going to scroll through digital signatures, let’s be serious about this. When all of this was done, and I explained to them the first 16-layers of my family tree, I was given a little key card. Put it in the slot arrow first, and leave it there until you see the green check mark.

Wave it in front of the screen and don’t leave until you see purple stars, got it.

We make these systems as simple as can be, and for good reason. People don’t see all the details, get in a hurry, get forgetful, they’ve never used a device like this before or, at best, once every few years. And some of these ballot selections require two votes. And what if your finger shakes?

Anyway, I voted. I took my little key card back. I thanked them both again, just as I had when I signed in. The enthusiasm of polling place volunteers is absolutely unmatched — Long may they come back and do this important work.

Now, we’ll just wait to see who wins these things.

(Update:Just an hour-and-a-half after the polls closed, a gubernatorial winner was declared. And the loser is now a three-time loser. After this drubbing, and it was a drubbing, it is safe to say the state has rejected the notion of him as a political leader.)

In my criticism class we discussed this story, NHL player Brad Marchand misses practice to fill in for junior hockey team after coach’s family tragedy:

Florida Panthers left winger Brad Marchand is missing time on the ice with his teammates to help out a friend.

Marchand, 37, offered his hockey expertise to the March & Mill Co. Hunters team on Wednesday, Oct. 29, by filling in as the team’s coach. The team’s usual coach, JP MacCallum, took time off after his 10-year-old daughter, Selah, died of cancer, per Marchand’s Instagram post.

Marchand missed the Panthers’ 3-2 Tuesday, Oct. 28, loss to the Anaheim Ducks after taking a leave of absence from team to attend Saleh’s funeral, according to NHL.com.

It was a simple curated piece, as you can already tell. I don’t think the class picked up on that as a whole, but we should notice these things, particularly as we undertake media criticism. What are the strengths of that style of writing? What are the weaknesses? Why isn’t this guy’s whole outlandish career (because he was that guy in his early days) also not included here. Was it a rehab piece? No. Was it a profile? Nope. Nowhere near complete enough for that. But it was something worth seeing and talking about for a few minutes.

This piece is a bit older, but the guy in it just retired, and it was a nice contrast to the hockey item, so why not? Malcolm Brogdon knows his impact can extend well beyond the hardwood:

After the 2014 season, during which Brogdon averaged a team-leading 12.7 points, 5.4 rebounds, 2.7 assists and 1.2 steals in 31.4 minutes a game, he and his brothers joined their mother on a trip to Brazil. Adams had been working on an international science training program there and decided to bring the boys along for a family trip where they could all experience another country together as adults.

There’s a joke among the Brogdon boys that Malcolm has no personality. Mostly, it’s a result of John’s and Gino’s strong personalities swelling over Malcolm’s, but it’s also a result of Malcolm’s intense focus on his goals.

“Sometimes I sound like Allen Iverson when I’m trying to get him to go out with us at nights,” Gino says. “I’m like, you’re talking about not going out because of practice. Not a game, but practice. But we did manage to get him to go out with us a couple times in Brazil.”

When Brogdon saw the poverty in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro right next to hotels that he knew would make hundreds of thousands of dollars a night at the Olympics and World Cup in the following years, it solidified in his mind what he wanted to do after basketball—start a non-profit or NGO (non-governmental organization). “After basketball is over, I want all my energy to go to that,” Brogdon says. “That’s my true passion. I want to transform people’s lives in third-world countries—give them clean water and food.”

This piece was more in the mold of a traditional profile. We also have the added benefit here of looking back, 10 years on. He seems as impressive a guy now as he did then, already devoting his post-basketball life to clean water initiatives had when he was running up and down the court.

In org comm we had a casual sort of day. The best part of it was an elaborate teamwork exercise. I broke the class into three groups and put them all on a deserted island. They were able to salvage a few things from their vessel before it sank. There was a huge list to choose from, and I gave them a very small amount of time to figure out what they would take. They encountered a deranged person, driven mad by solitude on the island, who was going to escape, and they had to bribe him with one of their salvaged items so that he would tell others where they were. They had to figure out how to feed themselves, how to treat their wounded, and so on. And then a big storm came along and they lost more of their items. Finally, weak and hungry and everything else, they had to use their remaining items to signal a passing plane for rescue.

They all made it off their respective islands. And this was my entrance into the next several days of class, which are about conflict and negotiation. For purposes of the story I’d told them that the crazed person they met was a prominent campus figure, putting the publicity shot on the screen. I said the fate of that deranged individual remained unresolved, and he was never seen again, that got an odd reaction. Tough room, I guess.

Think I’ll stay off boats and islands for a while, just in case.

adventures / cycling / Monday / photo — Comments Off
27
Oct 25

The You Have To Live Your Life rides

Over the course of three easy rides Saturday, Sunday and today, I got in 60 miles. These, and whatever else I can sneak in for the next two weeks, will be dubbed the You Have To Live Your Life Rides. I’m calling them that because of what the doctor said, now, two weeks ago. I wasn’t supposed to ride at all, for fear of bothering an incision. But when you have a little back surgery and you feel good you want to go out and say you rode the day after you had back surgery no matter how silly all of this is.

The doctor and I discussed this. I wasn’t supposed to do anything for two weeks, so I went on three easy rides in those two weeks. They were concerned about stretching the incision and tearing stitches. Not as much as me! I respected the doctor’s orders. But I couldn’t just sit still for two, maybe four weeks. But the point, on a road bike, is to keep your upper body still anyway. So I figured I could do that, and I had a few easy rides, just around the neighborhood stuff, not even trying to tax my legs. The weather, work, and my little procedure meant I only had three rides of 41 total miles in those two weeks. And, still, I felt like a blob.

In that discussion with the doctor I said I would not get in the drops. And I did not. I tried, briefly and only out of curiosity. It felt uncomfortable. So I rode on the hoods and at the stem. He said that the actual recommendation was three-to-four weeks, but you have to live your life. And so here I am, the beginning of week three, out enjoying the beautiful fall weather.

That’s a little branch off a creek off the river. Water comes up onto the road. The reflections are always nice. The traffic is light, and usually respectful.

I’ve gone through this little town, well, about 100 times or so now, let’s say. I’ve never noticed this little library before. I may have to donate some books to it.

I think I will wait, however, until after next week. The wolfman is lurking just a block or two away.

On Sunday afternoon we went out for an easy ride. It was not easy, because whatever I had that passed for fitness is gone, and we road into the wind at the beginning and I had to chase this one.

Sometimes you time these things just right.

And sometimes you just get lucky.

There are times when you can understand the moment, appreciate the perfection of it, the strain of what you’re doing, the purity of what you’re after, and how a perfect day can’t last. I should spend more time enjoying that than fearing the fleeting.

Anyway, yesterday was a beautiful day. I should have been out to enjoy more of it, because they don’t last forever. But responsibilities do.

I got out just a little bit earlier for an easy hour today, in between work chores, of course. You have to live your life.

adventures / photo / Rowan / video / Wednesday — Comments Off
22
Oct 25

What if the trees talked back?

We spent the afternoon campus, because campus called for us to be there. My lovely bride had to take a few photos. And I had the chance to sit outside and enjoy the trees and the leaves and the breeze for about a half hour. Probably it wasn’t that long, but it was quiet and slow enough to feel that way, and that probably means something.

And after that I did some grading in the office, in between the casual meetings that are held in the doorways of the office.

The bulk of the afternoon was devoted to a faculty meeting. It was said that it should be a seven-hour meeting. It was two-and-a-half. I am not sure it needed to be seven. But I did learn something important about curriculum creation. And I was able to talk about our department’s social media progress — views up 174 percent, followers up 22 percent! — which is now something I oversee.

I also wrote a bunch of email today, but I think I’ve done that most every day for the last quarter of a century and it might not be that notable anymore.

I remember being so excited when I got my first email account, in college. How often I checked it. How important it felt to check frequently. How I spent way too much time coming up with absurd sig files. How I instinctively understood to avoid FWDs. I remember my first spam. Now, I’m just trying to figure out how many times I should peer into an inbox in a day. And also wondering why there’s so much in my inboxes, which I treat as To Do lists. The bigger the inbox, the more to do. And so you see the loss of appeal.

In the front yard the Acer nigrum, the black maple, is turning. This is such an interesting tree. So steady in its coloration, until this week, when the leaves begin to turn green.

It’s a large tree, fully developed and mature. Maybe 70 feet tall, and it sits right next to the road. It looks like a sentinel as you drive through. And the best part is that most of the leaves just … disappear.

We’ll gather some, but not nearly as many as have been showing off all year. Maybe they all go into the neighbor’s yard, across the street. They have one of these same trees. Who can tell where the leaves come from?

OK, back to work. I must finish preparing for class. There’s a midterm in one tomorrow, and a strategic planning exercise in the other. So there’s only the one slide deck to prepare, but, still, information must be conveyed, and I am the one that must do it.

Listening to the trees would be a better use of the evening, though.

adventures / Monday / photo / video — Comments Off
20
Oct 25

There be whales here!

Today was pretty lousy. Just a bad feeling day all the way around. Body weary, incision … incised and sore. I enjoyed that delightful disoriented feeling of painkillers, without the benefit of painkillers. Just the worst day since the day after my little surgery. And odd that it comes 10 days after the thing.

So it was a delightful evening to go speak to a bunch of students, trying to keep my thoughts in order and my acronyms in line. Just a marvelous impression I left them with.

And then we went out and sat in the cold. I intended to take off my sports coat and put on a jacket I had in the backseat of the car, but it was taken out of the car. I did enjoy these portable little seats we got recently. They have chair backs, and they were material, rather than a cold plank of aluminum.

It was a first round game of the field hockey playoffs. My god-niece-in-law (just go with it) is a senior on the team. And she got a penalty shot in the game.

Her team won 7-0.

On Saturday, a day when the weather was much warmer and I felt much better. We went to the beach, and to a boat. But not this boat.

Same goal, though. We were out looking for whales, which are passing through on their seasonal migration. And what do you know, there’s a humpback now.

We saw two of them, from a safe and non-threatening distance. (There are laws about this. And the company that does the tour is very keen on following the laws, and telling you about them. And, also, keep your feet on the deck at all times. And please, for the love of the salty seas, stop trying to lean over the rails to pet the whales. They are 50 yards and more away.)

Thar she blows!

Or he. I’m not one to assign gender to our ocean-going neighbors. That may have been fine for Mellville, but we live in different times. Also, as far as I know, I’m no Melville.

(I’m no Melville.)

So we saw the one whale, and watched it dance and swim around for a while, and then quietly we moved off. And we found this whale.

It turns out that humpback whales have distinguishing patterns on the underside of their tails. Our vessel had several naturalists and some interns aboard, and while we were oohing and aaahing as tourists, they were doing the important work of studying the beasties. And they knew this one, and realized it, just from these quick glances at the tail marking.

We saw a handful of bottlenose dolphins on the way back in. But you’ll have to take my word for it. No pictures of them, but here’s the rock line that marks the return back into the little port.

And here’s a row of fishing vessels that were safely tied up. Maybe it’s a seasonal thing, or a Saturday thing.

It was a lovely little visit. Two whales, lots of birds, some dolphins and a nice day on the water. A three-hour tour. Not a single Gilligan reference was made.

We drove by this place on our way out, but did not stop.

It seems pretty bold to say you have the world’s best coffee. And at this particular store? They have 24 locations. To say nothing of every other shop that sells coffee. What are the odds?

At home, we had a flyover by a few Canada geese.

They’ll go back and forth from fields to ponds for weeks, always that direction in the evening, and the opposite direction in the midmorning, honking all the while.

I enjoy their song. For us, it is temporary.