memories « Kenny Smith | A remarkable thing happens …

memories

Deadlines, dead store

A series of meetings punctuated the beginning of my work day. Check in with a colleague about the big upcoming journalism awards submissions that must go out tomorrow. Check in with my department chair for the regular this and that. Check in with another professor to make sure we’re on the same page about a class session later this week. There’s another professor with whom we must organize the awards submissions.

Then I ran into someone else I needed to speak with, and so we had a brief meeting at the top of a stairwell.

Make sure everything is graded for this afternoon’s class, nurse the printer through another round of printing things. I’ve been pointing out the eventual demise of this machine for a few years now. One day it’ll day, or they’ll replace it. Until now, CMND-P, which stands for Pray.

Staple all of those things which just got printed. Go to class where students are writing things that need writing.

And then to the Crimson, where the student-journalists are busy putting out another paper.

After a while, I went out for dinner. Stopped by the bookstore to look for a particular magazine for research. There was a book signing, featuring some science fiction writer I don’t know and his new book of which I am not aware. Not really my reading genre. The place was jammed, with little hope of walking or browsing.

So dinner, then. Stopped at Jason’s Deli in the mall where I met a couple who’d been at the book signing. Said he was a nice guy, who stopped and talked to his readers and signed all of his books, not just the new one. The restaurant employees, experts on book signing dynamics since the chain often has them, said a crowd that size would be there until midnight, easy.

Thought, then, I would go up the street to the other bookstore to look for the magazine we need. This was the scene:

Shame, really. This Books-A-Million always had great sale racks. Though, like every Books-A-Million, the tome you wanted was inevitably the 1,000,001st book. Never seemed to have the thing you’d want. Still, there were a lot of things in there. The entire back wall was magazines. I read an important newspaper in there one day. Another day I found myself making an important decision in the local section. I liked that bookstore.

They closed in September, the sign on the door said. Now, there’s only this:

As I mentioned this summer while in Portland, there’s really no need to buy anything in bookstores anymore. But still, this is a sad turn. And, yes, I appreciate all the many contradictions in this paragraph, but there is something useful about browsing a bookstore. There is a great deal of charm in spending part of a lazy afternoon aimlessly looking through the books. Now you’ll just have to do it somewhere else.

And now back in the office. The student-journalists are working on their paper in the newsroom. I’m working on the journalism awards submissions. This will require more work tomorrow. I’d bet we spend about three full days on this when all is said and done.

And that will be tomorrow, when the things have to be postmarked and shipped to the judges.

errands / memories / Thursday / video — Comments Off
27
Oct 11

A lot of talk about talk

Alabama’s new and controversial immigration law makes an appearance on the Colbert Report:Comedy as commentary is difficult to overcome, is it not?

Class this afternoon, so much of the morning was devoted to preparing there. The students were writing fake stories. Here are the details, write a story based on what you know. There was a fake story about a shooting death, another about a prominent local company moving their operations overseas and one more on a car fatality with alcohol involved.

These exercises are important, because the place we put ideas and the words we use to get there are critical to a story. For most people, winding up in the news is not a pleasant experience. We don’t need to make things worse with a misplaced modifier or some other syntax error.

The future! By Microsoft:

I scrolled down through the comments, hoping the very first one would have some incredible insight. The first three, however, noted that Microsoft envisions better tech in videos than they produce. And then a big argument about Apple and St. Steve inventing the tablet. Also, within about three minutes of each other different people thought this was the loneliest future they’ve ever seen, or the coolest thing ever and “I want one now!”

I’m glad to see that typos will still be a part of our future. Check out the 2:55 mark.

Also in the future, Roy Moore wants his old job back. The last time he had that job he was fired by the Alabama Court of the Judiciary. I remember covering that story like it was yesterday. November of 2003 he lost the job, but this fight had been going on for months. I remember sitting in my studio, watching video from Montgomery and a man in a red flannel shirt, red-faced, veins throbbing, screaming at the top of his lungs demanding Moore’s Ten Commandments monument be put back. I was concerned about that guy’s health. Wonder where he is now.

Because I love myself I visited Walmart tonight. I know! And this after getting a haircut yesterday. Haircuts are one of my least favorite chores, because of the conversations. These are is especially awkward if you go to one of those places where you never see the same person twice. The conversation, then, demands a very basic, elevator level of commitment spread out over a longer period of time than a three floor ride in a large box.

The lady that cut my hair this time smelled of cigarettes. She disliked the cold. She could not decide if she’d seen me before. (She had not.) And she had trouble breathing. The guy that’s cut my hair the last two times, elsewhere at an actual barber shop, scares me a little. And his finished job is a bit severe. The lady yesterday, though, did a nice job on everything but the sideburns. This is remarkably hard, trimming things to be level; no one ever does it right and is no longer something that can be judged.

Everything else, though, centered on the awkward conversation. I like conversation, but the hair chair isn’t the place. Cab drivers need conversation because some of them are already on the edge. Plus there’s the where are you going, where have you been, who will you be when you get there mystery of cab rides. Most any other place a little chit chat is fine. Rapport is great, fishing for repeat customers is understandable, making people feel at ease is applauded. I want you to concentrate on what you are doing. Don’t jam my eye with the clipper. She almost did last night.

Having survived, though, why not go to Walmart tonight? Taylor Swift has a line of greeting cards now. Bing Crosby warned that Santa Claus is coming to town. We change the clocks in two weeks. Halloween is this weekend. This might be a little early.

The checkout line was … post office-like in it’s slowness.

Maybe it was the guy trying to get information from the cashier about her coworker so he could go flirt. There’s another awkward conversation, at least no sharp instruments were used.

errands / Friday / memories / music / Samford / site / video / YouTube Cover Theater — Comments Off
21
Oct 11

Hedge hogging

The most productive accomplishment of the day was in trimming the hedges. This is no small thing, as our house is surrounded on three sides by shrubbery. I’m not sure why the southernmost side is bare.

Everything along the front, save the door, the sidewalk and the garage, are bordered with green, growing things. All but one segment was trimmed. The lucky ones — and isn’t that just like a bunch of bushes, bragging to their neighbors? “You got chopped up, but I’m still here. Look at me grow! — I left alone because they’ll probably be dug out of the ground in a few weeks. Others along the front got lowered, including one that borders the garage. We’ve developed a little contour into it for the car’s side mirror.

There are also two at the end of the drive. These must be maintained to preserve the proper turning ratio as one backs out of the drive. This requires the acquisition of surveying tools, and chalk lines. I am the only person in America going through such precise measurements.

The unintended benefit, or consequence, is that one of them is growing around the mailbox post. I’d let it grow over the thing, but that would probably violate some nuance of the neighborhood and only make the mail carrier mad.

I do all of this, by the way, with the 24-inch Black & Decker Hedge Hog, which is like mounting an M-60 onto Excalibur and plugging an extension cord into the hilt. You hit the trigger, feel that dual blade action, wave it above your head and know: your kingdom is only limited by your vision.

And municipally recognized property lines.

Trimming up the northern side of the estate required the ladder, because there are some bushes on steroids on that side of the house. Two of them would have been easier to reach from the roof.

So I’m standing on the top of a multi-use ladder. We have a transformer of aluminum that makes shapes that are only limited by your imagination, and not its contortion. I dutifully set the ladder into a standard A configuration, straddling the center hinge point with a foot on either side. I realized I couldn’t reach the very back of the bush. OK then. So I find myself standing on the top of the A, in the hinge-point, waving about a whirring 24-bladed saw with shark teeth moving at 2,900 strokes per minute.

My kingdom is suddenly a lot less interesting from this vantage point. I climbed down quickly.

The curious thing about the greenery here is that there is a lot of variety. Once the offending shrubs are out of the front there will only be one place surrounding the entire structure where you see two of the same species next to one another. I haven’t yet decided if that’s a feature or a bug. If you had to dig them all up, every annoying root, what would you replace them with? Uniformity or everything that could grow in this climate?

And that’s the sort of thing you think about as you rake away the leaves leavings. That’s some way to start your Friday evening.

YouTube Cover Theatre, where we see the talent that people have, until the advent of webcams and the Internet, people were hiding in their homes. Since Irecently watched the George Harrison documentary, we may as well check out covers of some of his work.

The Beatles weren’t my band. I like them fine, they just don’t belong to me. Wrong generation. But, if I had been in the right group, I think Harrison would have been my favorite of the bunch. And since you can’t have Harrison without the band, we’ll start with a cover of All Those Years Ago:

That looks like an impossibly difficult tune and he did a nice job. Then he leaned back against his den’s wood paneled walls and enjoyed the rest of his evening.

This cover of My Sweet Lord has received 26,000 views, which may be the largest count that we’ve ever seen in YouTube Cover Theater. Aside, is it just me, or has this song always sounded like it should be appropriated as commercial bed music?

One of the cool things about the Beatles, I would think, would be introducing what has essentially become timeless music to kids. I mean the clean cut, less drugs portion of the catalog. And while this is essentially a Paul McCartney tune, Harrison wrote the main riff, which is enough of an excuse to show a cute cover by a father serenading his daughter for her second birthday.

When she’s older she’s going to be humming Beatles tunes and won’t remember why. Then she’s going to stumble through her dad’s YouTube uploads and it will all click. It will be adorable.

Hard to believe it has been 10 years since George Harrison died. I was doing a network newscast at the time, the last segment of which was a 30 second spot and outro. That day I just played this song for 30 seconds and signed off:

Just for fun, here’s a recreation of Harrison’s Bangladesh Concert with members of Wonderous Stories, Alan Parsons Live Project and more, covering Wah Wah:

Other things happened today, too, emails and organizational things. We’ll have wrapped up the latest big project at work by the first part of the week, it seems my part has largely been completed, except for showing up at the various events next week. Homecoming at Samford means advisory council meetings and wall of fame induction ceremonies and all of the attendant activities.

With those things now completed I can return to other work. Like digging up shrubs.

friends / history / journalism / links / memories / Monday / music / Samford / site / video — 1 Comment
17
Oct 11

… Any road will take you there

” … wants to be friends with you on Facebook” was sitting in my inbox this morning.

But they should send these with a greater nod to suspense. I’m already friends with everyone that a.) I know today who b.) wants to be my friend and c.) is on Facebook.

A new invitation is either spam, which isn’t exciting, a mistake, which may as well be spam or some new person I’ve recently met. I haven’t made any new acquaintances in the last few days.

This leaves one possibility: some old person.

Of course you know that in the first two words of the email. There’s the name, and the higher part of the brain speaks with the lower part of the brain, and they conference in the memory section and the assessment nodule for a big decision. Is this a person? The person? Shall we be friends? That is to say, make it digitally official, because permission has been sought.

Go up to the next person you meet that you like and say “I want to be your friend,” while holding up a “Confirm” button. It can’t me any more awkward an interaction, but I digress.

In the first tow words, the name of this person, you know. And I knew this name, even as it was a slightly shortened version for the man of the boy I once knew. After I pushed the little blue button and spent a few seconds looking through his profile and the first two or three pictures I was sure. Same guy. By then you know what the person is doing with their life.

Now. If you’d approached me any time within the last 10 years and told me what his job would be I would have thought “Yeah, well, that figures.”

Which makes you wonder. How often do career paths and life choices surprise you when you discover lost people online?

Most everyone I’ve stumbled upon, or sought out, seem to be doing well for themselves. There are lots of young families, successes and just a few difficult-sounding jobs. Most of them just seem to be in the places you would expect. That’s not uninteresting, for some that’s just knowing which path takes us where you need to be.

I suspect the online platforms have reshaped reunions. No one has to be surprised, anymore, about what became of anyone else, how they look and if they’re still with that dolt they wasted their time on when they were young and foolish and —

I just discovered a Facebook page about my high school. The theme is “You know you went here if.” Most of it is banal or beyond prosaic. One comment says “If you assumed school was closed on the first day of hunting season.”

Before that you can find a post for people who still live in that community alerting parent/alumni to watch out for a green truck that seems to be lurking near a truck stop. There’s also a death list. A few people have developed a master list of people that have died. A grim and valuable service, no doubt.

Ha. I love this. That community was basically two parallel roads, and in between was the school and a set of railroad tracks. Probably half of the student body had to cross the tracks to make it to school every day. There was an old gentleman who lived right next to the tracks. Just found a note about him. Once my mother insisted we take him a little fruit basket, and now I’m very glad she thought of that:

He was my grandfather. Everyone just doesn’t know what it meant to him for all of the kids to go by and wave to him. He passed away in 92.

He’d sit on his porch every morning and afternoon in his co-op cap and overalls and wave. If it rained, or he did not feel well, he would wave from one of his windows. He’s been gone 20 years. His house has been gone for almost as long, but judging by those comments generations of people think of him every time they have to slow down for those railroad tracks.

That’s enough Facebook for this month.

Class prep today. I wrote a terrific lecture on photojournalism. As an experiment I’m blending pictures I’ve taken with pictures working photojournalists have shot. We’ll see how many times I’m found out. I’m guessing: each time.

Think I’ll mention this, too:

Justin Elliott writes that The Washington Post “chose an image of a bearded protester seeming to assault a cop to illustrate a movement that has been overwhelmingly — almost without exception — nonviolent.” The image shows an Occupy Wall Street protester with his arm around a police officer’s neck. Andrew Burton, the freelance photographer who captured the image, tells Elliott that he doesn’t know what sparked the confrontation and that due to the melee he didn’t even know he had captured that image until later. The ”vast majority of the protests have been incredibly peaceful,” Burton says.

And people think confrontation is news, mostly because it is. But is it representative? The debate continues.

There’s also a current events quiz, featuring exactly no questions about Occupy Wall Street. I would pass it, says the guy who wrote the thing, but it won’t be an easy one to take if you hadn’t been reading or watching the news.

A new section of the site:

These are some of my grandfather’s books. I inherited them a few years ago, and have been scanning a few of the images inside his old texts. Figured they’d make an interesting section, so here we begin. Just a few pages a week, starting with the English literature textbook. Some are intended to be funny, others insightful. Hopefully you’ll find them all interesting, especially if you have a taste in 60 year old books.

There’s a small tidbit in this book that will come up in a few weeks that show my grandfather’s road from a young age, too.

This post was written while listening to the George Harrison documentary. There’s a moment with an archival Harrison interview were he talks about the “inward journey” of meditation and “far out” in the same sentence. There is, of course, an overwhelming discussion on the drugs, and a dire need for a razor and sharp scissors, but that’s just the period. (Hah, here’s a history of the band in hairstyles. They were so in tune with the universe back then, you know.) I recommend the documentary …

… even if Phil Spector is in it.

iPhone / journalism / memories / overwriting / photo / Samford / Thursday — Comments Off
13
Oct 11

Math and rain, and also traffic

I drove through that this morning. As it was later described, by several people, as “Suddenly here” and “hurricane-like.”

That last description came from a writer, so we’ll excuse the hyperbole. Even still, it was an imposing wall of active weather.

And I drove through two of them. The second was less impressive, but no less guilty of fraying the nerves of other drivers. Apparently it has been a while since it rained here — checking the drought monitor, why, yes, severe and extreme drought — because no one remembers how to drive in this stuff.

“I seem to recall something about hazard lights and … what was that other thing? Oh, BRAKES!”

Usually, applying a little less pressure to the accelerator and coasting to a speed slightly more comfortable allows one to press on, but not these good drivers. No sir. Today was a 45-mile-per-hour rain, which is to say that’s the speed I could safely maintain on the interstate in the heart of the storm.

Old timers remember a time of a 10-mile-per-hour rain, but their grandchildren, at Thanksgiving, just sigh and roll their eyes. “Not the monsoon story again, grandpa … ”

I recall stopping more with my grandparents in the rain than I’ve done myself, and my grandfather was a truck driver. He’d know from road weather. I have stopped for rain exactly twice in my driving career. Once it was raining so hard I mildly feared for my life. The other time it was merely difficult to see. And I believe it was late in the day and all the crazies were on the road.

No problems in the storms today, though, happily. The pine tree frontier was uneventful. Made it back to civilization just as the roads dried and the traffic thinned. I was able to stop by an engraving shop and ordered gifts for this year’s inductees to the Samford JMC Wall of Fame. Two gentlemen, alumni, success stories, are going on the great wall. They also need plaques.

Visited one of my banks, where I filled out paperwork. I will not be surprised at all to receive a phone call in three weeks informing me that the paperwork was incorrectly done and will need further attention. The helpful young teller was new and she knew as much about this particular procedure as I did. And I’m sure this will cost me $6. Processing fees, you understand.

On campus I received marching orders. I marched to and fro, doing things that were asked of me. I discovered, just before class, that I’d almost duplicated a colleague’s plan, almost to the letter. This required a last minute change of plans for my afternoon lecture.

I discussed math for journalists. Everyone wins.

Here I wrote some other things, my browser crashed and the WordPress draft sequence didn’t kick in. This is frustrating, but you’re not missing much. There was a story about bumper-to-bumper traffic and how, for the first time in the history of overcrowded interstates and freeway construction, it was beneficial. There was also a whimsical anecdote about the moon, which was lovely tonight.

I made this, though, so enjoy. I’ve put a few of these up here in the past, but not for some time. Thought I’d do this one, since I shot it from the hip today and remembered how much I like raindrops on glass. Something about the focus of the droplets and the blurring of the world beyond. I want to write about rain, there’s some great meaning behind it all, but precipitation isn’t my strongest subject matter, it seems. Best leave it to the experts:

Rain more. We need it.