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‘Four years (prostrate) to the higher mind’ is doubly ironic

This is quick, because I am doing class prep. We’re reading two stories in Criticism tomorrow. In Org Comm we’ll be talking about the very important and incredibly interesting definitions of communication. It’ll probably be the slowest week in that class for the semester. You need baselines for everyone, though, because there are students from multiple majors and it’s important to make this approachable. Next week will be more fun, this week is definitions.

That’s what I’ll tell them tomorrow.

And there’s also my online class, which is new. Three new classes to wrangle, every week, between now and December. It seems like a lot to me, but I’m gamely going to try.

And that’s why this is quick.

For some reason, even on a mild day, the irrigation systems out in the fields look refreshing. This was part of an easy 20 mile ride on Saturday afternoon. It was one of those days where I set out to go this way, got halfway there, and then went that way instead. It was a good day for that.

Sure, it was right out of the neighborhood and then a mile and a quarter down to the stop sign. There, instead of going straight, I turned left. We go this way sometimes, but I don’t do it often when I’m on my own. It’s an up and down thing, and then you cross a busy intersection — if you can catch the light — and go by the warehouses that they’ll never finish building or fill with inventory. Down to the river, and back up through some farm land and you can keep going down that road, where you’ll eventually run into a town, and the big river, and have to change directions, or you can turn early. This is what I did today. There are two or three roads that you can turn onto that will lead you back to another road that can point you home. But we rarely cut those short, and so it’s a guess: Is this a road that crosses over to the highway, or is this a road that dead ends in a corn field?

And so I’m going down this side road, hoping it is an in-between road, trying to remember if I remember it or not. The features don’t really help. It feels right, but not distinctively so.

Then, the road bends to the left, and forks to the right. This is where a white Cadillac decided to pass me in a slow and unsafe way. (Thanks for that, young person driving your grandparent’s Caddy … ) She went left. I went right, and I was rewarded with distinctive features. I was on the road I wanted, a double tree-lined affair that was quite and pleasant and demanded you sit up and go slow — which wasn’t a problem for me.

Eventually, I ran into this sign.

If you turn right, you’d go this way, and wind up down at the river, or someplace.

If you turn left, you wind your way to another tributary, but the highway which will take me back toward home.

I stood there and felt the sun and listened to the wind for a few pleasant, long minutes. It was the perfect time of day in a lovely little place and I had it all to myself, all of it. And maybe that’s the reason we should ride bikes.

OK, here’s the last clip from last week’s show. Four, from me, is a pretty decent amount of restraint. Anyway, because they’ve been at it for four decades now, the Indigo Girls obviously have to play the hits. And they’ve long established their most mainstream number as a regular big finish. It got a lot of people in the door, and those people won’t let you leave without it.

(I wonder how long a show would be if they played all of everyone’s favorites. We already wound up taking a late train out of town, and they didn’t play all of my favorites this time. They can’t play them all. They should play them all.)

Anyway, the regulars are counting songs and they know it’s about to come and OK, everybody sing along. And also here’s three-time Grammy Award winner, and holder of Four CMA awards, Jennifer Nettles, to help us out too.

I hope we get to see them again next year.

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12
Sep 25

Fire from the years

I wrote this out in outline form, went away and did some other stuff, and then came back to it. The first two notes were

Meetings.

Chairs.

I had meetings all morning. One of the meetings, no kidding, was about another meeting in a few weeks. At the end of meeting we discussed future dates for other meetings. It was run efficiently, and with good cheer. I took the notes. We ended right on time, having completed the full agenda which was, again, mostly about another meeting.

That other meeting will be a brief appearance. A few people from this meeting will attend that meeting and discuss what we do at these meetings.

There will be slides.

The next point on my list was “Chairs.” I have no idea what I meant to say there.

On today’s bike ride I tried out some new sunglasses. I needed to update my drip.

The frame better matches my helmet and the lenses are blue, though it doesn’t seem obvious there. The lenses are also bigger than any glasses I’ve worn before, but that’s the style, and aren’t we slaves to style?

The problem is right at the top, just above the bridge of the nose. It rubs right into the interior part of the helmet. It seems like there should be some space or flexible bend there or something, but alas.

The little Giro logo rubbed off the front of my helmet, I think from one day when I was working on a flat tire and leaning on the saddle. I’ll scrape it off eventually, but for now, it amuses me. It looks like bad video game faux text.

This was the sunset at the end of the ride.

We timed that up pretty well, but only because we were going fast. I had a few massive splits — well within the “fast” category. I can only do that for four or five miles at a time, though, and humility comes to me quickly, usually in the form of a headwind. Sometimes a small hill.

Here’s another shot from Radio City Music Hall’s iconic neon. We had a nice visit there on Wednesday to see Melissa Etheridge and the Indigo Girls. It was my third time seeing Etheridge and … I dunno … the 10th or 12th time I’ve seen Amy and Emily, but it was my first concert at Radio City.

And so here’s “Kid Fears,” with Etheridge singing Michael Stipe’s part. That song is now 36 years young, but all of the people that have come through to sing along keep it fresh. Listening to the crowd enjoy it is still a great deal of fun.

I think I’ll put one more clip up on Monday. They had another special guest at the end of the show, and it’s worth pointing out.

But that’s for Monday, and now it’s time for the weekend, which I will spend doing some work for next week’s classes. The life of glamor that I can tell you about …

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11
Sep 25

Today was draft day

Well this was a beautiful, warm September day. I managed to do everything mostly on time and, in the day’s best victory, I did not stain a suit coat or pair of slacks, as I did on Tuesday. A bit on the left sleeve at the wrist. A bit on the lower side of the left lapel. A big nasty splotch on the leg of the trousers. It was the sort of food-based accident that kept revealing more and more staining, the more I looked.

So I stopped looking.

Note to self, find a miracle-working dry cleaner.

This was the view on the drive in to campus.

Just a lovely day.

In my criticism class I wrapped up the lecture on the purpose and a bit of the how about media criticism. Comparing notes later with my recollection I realized I left out a few things. Some of them I meant to include! But I can work them all back into the conversation later this semester. We’ll start doing some actual critiquing on Tuesday.

One of the elements of the class is that I’ll have the students find some of the material we’ll study. One group found a piece which looks like it should be a lot of fun to unpack next Tuesday. I added one to the list, as well. I figure that, in a week or two, we’ll start bringing a bit more structure into the efforts. If they’ll go along with me, this could be a lot of fun.

I hope they’ll go along with me.

In org comm, we had a fantasy football draft today. The down side to organizational communication is that it isn’t the most fun class for everyone, though it is helpful and useful and the subject matter will be important to people later on. This is a class my lovely bride has been developing for a while now, and so I’m following her lead and turning the lessons and lectures into something that they can fold into and around their fantasy team. So on Tuesday they had to develop their teams, the colors, the mascots, the location, their target demographics. And today they had to pick their teams.

I wanted to take a high angle shot of the room, just like you see on draft day. But I have to tell you, there’s a good solid handful of people in the class that know each other already, and they were having a great time talking smack to one another today. There are six groups, so six student teams in the league, and I think the NFL could do something very interesting by bringing a few franchises into the same space on draft day, just to let us see what the interactions would look like.

I also drafted a team, a team designed to be beat. So most of my players are named Smith, but eventually you run out of Smiths — the one place you can run out of Smiths is the NFL it seems — and so I had to start picking some other people. But then a weird thing happened. This was a 16-round draft, and each team had two minutes to pick, so there was some time to think and, around round nine or so, I thought: I want to actually draft a team that is good.

But, no, the purpose of my team is to give everyone an automatic W when they face me. The purpose of their teams is to let them put into a classroom exercise the things that we talk about. The purpose of the league is to give a group or two the chance to have some bragging rights at the end of the semester. I don’t think that part will be a problem.

Last night at Radio City Music Hall I saw this mural, which is installed near the men’s restroom. It is titled “Men Without Women,” and all of this was oddly placed considering that women were joining the queue for the men’s room.

Anyway, the art was done by Stuart Davis (1892-1964) and we’re just going to have to again wrap our heads around the idea that 19th century people were forming the works that drove much of the 20th century. (People will look at Gen X and Millennials that way one day, too.) This is an oil-on-canvas, painted in 1932, and it is on loan from the Museum of Modern Art.

The little plaque next to it says:

Davis, a prominent 20th Century American artist and a pioneer of the Modern Movement, was commissioned by the architects of Radio City This abstract montage was named by the Rockefeller Center Art Committee after the story by Ernest Hemingway. The mural was planned to be executed in linoleum; however, the NYC Fire Department prohibited the use of this medium. Among the masculine imagery in the piece are smoking paraphernalia, barber poles, playing cards, a sailboat and a roadster convertible. The mural was removed from the lounge in 1975 and given to the Museum of Modern Art. It was returned to the Music Hall as a part of the 1999 restoration.

So it was in this place for 43 years, and it has been back for 26 years.

Davis was one of the first artists to apply for the Federal Art Project during the Great Depression. He loved jazz, and it shows. The same year he painted this, he lost his wife. Wikipedia tells me he liked neither where this work was installed or the name the committee gave it.

It was a bad year. Maybe he had happier ones after that.

If you’re on stage at Radio City Music Hall, this is your view.

It looks empty there because that was about 15 minutes before the show started and people continued to file in for the next three hours, which was the total run of the show. Apparently the thing to do at this place is just wander back and forth.

Anyway, here’s the Indigo Girls playing “Faye Tucker.” Lyris Hung makes even straightforward little violin pieces turn into something that will soar over a room and linger in the air before settling in your lap. It’s not a delicate thing, but that song is an in-your-face confrontation.

I won’t put up every song. I may put up two more, for the special appearances, but that’s probably it.

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10
Sep 25

Let the wind blow back your hair

Worked in the home office this morning and early afternoon. Then we drove to the train station, where I saw this sign.

The people putting that sign together, and installing that art on the train platform, must have done all of that during off hours. What doesn’t feel right to me is the woman who watched videos on her phone at full volume for the better part of an hour.

Fortunately her stop was before ours, and we had blissful silence for 17 seconds. At the same stop, a woman got on the train, mid-phone conversation, speakerphone, full blast. It’s a common complaint of modern life: the loss of social graces, and headphones. I’ve nothing new to offer the conversation, and this isn’t playing through a loud speaker, so no one could hear it anyway.

We had dinner at The Alderman, the pre-theater dinner special, a four-course meal and you pick the two in the middle. I had a brightly tart, almost citrus salad with a lot of arugula. And then this half chicken which was drenched in grilled lemon juice.

It was all quite tasty. And now I want it again.

Then we went to the nearby Radio City Music Hall.

This was my first trip there. And it occurs to me that they should probably offer tours. Probably a half-hour walkthrough would be a decent draw. I’d think you could see and learn a few interesting things.

It turns out that they offer daily 60-minute tours! I hope it includes the chance to sing a little song or dance a jig on the stage.

Here’s the iconic sign, as you walk across the intersection. Yes, I will stop traffic in New York City for a photograph of neon. Fortunately, the people there are all very nice and understanding and accommodating.

Playing there tonight, Melissa Etheridge and the Indigo Girls. We saw them late last summer, and they were close enough, so we caught them again. Etheridge opened the show. She’s 64 and less dramatic (her word) but she still commands a stage, still has all of her power and can command absolute control of a venue. I had the first six or seven records on a variety of cassettes and CDs, but moved on somewhere along the way.

When we saw her last year, she did a dynamite cover of Joan Armatrading on the piano. And maybe, she had not been successful, Etheridge would have been the best cover singer you’ve never heard of. She does a killer Billy Joel cover and here, she’s mixing one of her own songs with a bit of her idol, Bruce Springsteen for a “The Letting Go – Thunder Road” medley.

And it hit.

Really fun show, wonderful venue. Took the subway to the train and the train to the car and then the drive home. Late night, long day tomorrow. And I’ll put up something from the Indigo Girls then.

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5
Aug 25

Last night in New York

We left the house at 2:30 yesterday. OK, 2:38, because my lovely bride would wonder what was wrong with me if I was on time. And, yet, we were still early because, before we’d even left the yard I exclaimed, “EXCLAMATION!” And she said, “What?”

I was pulling out my phone by then, because I’d just remembered I’d set up a time for someone to come by the house on Wednesday, only I won’t be at the house.

She didn’t know that, yet, and she said, “What is it? We’ve got time. We can go back.”

So I guess I didn’t have to be out of the house at 2:30, after all. I think she’s counter-programming our schedule to allow for my difficulty in grabbing shoes, belt, wallet, making sure the doors are locked, the cats are on guard duty, that food is in their bowls and that the battalion of ninjas out back understand their orders (Defend!) for the night.

So I rescheduled the guy. He’ll come by next Wednesday. Watch me forget that, too, somehow.

So we drove to Hamilton Station, a four-track, two-platform commuter operation. It worked out such that we were about six, maybe seven minutes early. I am definitely being counter-programmed.

We boarded a train with the dingiest windows you’ve ever seen, because this is the U.S., not Europe, friend. And we went into Penn Station. From there, we walked to a subway.

So this trip has taken the car (which was great), a train (which was fine) and a subway (which I can do without, but whatever). We went up four stops. Had dinner on a pier — which was more cosmopolitan than it sounds, I guess, and thankfully not terribly overpriced. I had a little basket of fish and chips, which sustained me through the night. There was a citrus herb mayo — see? Cosmopolitan. Then we went next door, or to the next pier over, and upstairs.

We were there because Pier 17 had the show, which we’d come to see. It was the same show we saw last week. It was nearby, a rescheduled event (previously postponed due to severe weather) with inexpensive tickets and we figured, why not?

It was a terrific little venue. Look at the backdrop we had as The Mountain Goats performed.

I mentioned on Friday that the lead singer, John Darnielle, had a small little social media conversation with me. He gave me suggestions on where to begin in his catalog, which I thought was generous of him. So I’ll wind up picking up a few things eventually.

They had a fine set last night, and they have a devoted following, do The Mountain Goats. They finished strong. All their fans were jumping around and the floor, which was someone else’s roof, was bouncing around and I am now “Can we not do that?” years old.

As they left the stage and the road crews came out to set up for Guster, The Mountain Goats fans pulled away from the stage and we moved forward. A thing Guster has been doing is that in one particular song, Ryan Miller has come out into the crowd. Given that this was our fifth time to see them this year, we’ve picked up on the pattern. The other night, my lovely bride said she wanted to try to get where he might come off the stage. She picked the spot and we weaved ourselves right up to the crowd barrier.

There was a little gap between the stage and the crowd, and so we were wondering if he was going to climb down and do this bit. He did. Off the stage onto a monitor, to the ground, and over the barrier. He disappeared into the audience about five people over from us. They kept feeding XLR cable to him as he worked his way all the way to the back of the venue.

The chorus is just …

If you don’t come
I’m doin’ it by myself
If you don’t care
I’ll do it by myself
By myself

… and between each line he has enough time to say “Hi” or interject some random “Where am I going?” thought into the microphone. They kept feeding him cable, he kept shuffling back. That cable run had to be about 60 yards. The chorus continues. In between two lines he says “I think you know where I’m going.” And everyone did. There was a little platform, a little rooftop viewing deck back there. Up the stairs, singing, high-fiving, giving hugs, and so on. And then he has to come back. There are two guys that are pulling the cable back. He’s just playing that chorus. This all takes a while, working through those people, and I’m wondering what the band’s plan is if he doesn’t make it back in time. The other night, he made a stop at the bar and got drinks for the band. On his way back the XLR cable passed over me and knocked my phone out of my hand. And we were only sort of close. But where we found ourselves tonight, Miller walked right by me.

Right by me.

As a finale, they played Boz Scaggs’ “Lido Shuffle,” because, I guess, if you have a guy playing a nice warm saxophone like Matt Douglas in your midst you find a song with a nice sax run. So here’s the big finish.

And, yeah, it sort of did seem like Darnielle pointed right at me.

We pronounced it a grand show, and a lovely venue. We took a subway back to the train station, caught the earlier of two options, and got back to the car without incident. We stopped at a gas station at Hamilton, pronounced we wanted one of everything to drink, and got one drink for each of us.

All talk, the two of us. We got caught behind an accident that shut down the highway, and necessitated a long detour, but made it home at about 1 a.m. Today, I have spent working.

Except for this evening, when we went out for a bike ride. Let me tell you how fast my wife is riding this year.

She wanted to do 25 miles, and she suggested my 25-mile time trial route. If you look at it on a map, it is the world’s most misshapen rectangle. And after the first little bit I decided I would be the rabbit that she got to chase, for as long as I could stay out front. Here I am, out front.

There’s one part of this route that she’s not terribly wild about, and it had a little additional traffic on it this evening that also displeased me. But I lucked out in the traffic pattern and was able to move on through with no problem. By the time she got there the circumstance demanded she be a little more conservative. Before long, I could not see her behind me. But there were turns coming up and I would have plenty of time with both a left and a right to run my eyes back down a long, flat, open road to see her behind me.

Except she was not there. It was just me and the fields. And some livestock from time-to-time.

I can track her progress on an app, so I looked at a certain, specific point. She was nine-tenths of a mile behind me. Now, I’m having a good ride. Legs are strong. Lungs aren’t burning. There’s no wind to push me around. Everything feels just as it should. Plus I had that traffic scenario. And I’m nine-tenths of a mile ahead. She’s safely through all of that and the rest of the route is a simple and safe as you can make it on open roads. So I pedal-pedal-pedal.

I go all of the way down that road, turn at the appointed spot, and then it’s just a four-mile push that I can ride well. (We all have our strengths.) I resolve that, when I get to the end of that leg of the route I will check her progress on the app again. Because there’s no way she’s coming back. Not after being almost a mile back and me on one of my better stretches and having a great ride. I’ve been peaking over my shoulder, but I knew it would be super human. So, at the next turn, I check her progress again, as planned.

She is now three-tenths of a mile behind me.

She has plenty of strengths.

But now I’m on the last leg, it’s just eight miles. Three hills. Most of it in a straight line and long stretches of it with views way out in front of you. So she’ll see me, if she can’t already see me, and then she’ll just magically be there. Or be in front of me.

Should I ride on? Should I wait to let her catch me and then try to speed away again? It isn’t a race, but it is a race. Which is when the mind bets begin. If I can get over this hill … If I can get over that hill … if I make it to the tree line, I might hold her off … if I get to that next stop sign there’s only a small chance of her catching me … if she gets me on the final straight I know I can at least put in a good show as we get back to the neighborhood. I do all of that, and she’s not there. It’s just me and my legs and I made it in first.

Strava tells me this is the fifth time I’ve done this route. And this time was one minute and 16 seconds faster than my previous best. I was only just stopping the app recordings when she wheeled into the driveway behind me.

Later, I asked her when she first saw me after the traffic thing. She described it. She saw a flash of color up ahead, but then realized it was a neighborhood kid riding his bike. And then she saw me. And then she dropped her chain. So she had to stop and dismount, fix that, and still almost caught me at the end. So I dropped her and she essentially caught me twice.

So she’s going to have a super strong triathlon Saturday.