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adventures / photo / Rowan / Tuesday — Comments Off
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.

photo / Rowan / Thursday / video — Comments Off
30
Oct 25

Ethics always saves the day

A full afternoon of classes. In my criticism class we watched three short pieces. Usually, on Thursdays, we settle in for a long documentary, but I wanted to try a few shorter packages. We talk about specific themes in all of these programs, but I wanted to hopefully make a point about how stories get necessarily compressed, and what might be accentuated, or omitted, in these shorter pieces.

So we started with Chris Nikic making history in Florida.

That one worked pretty well. And then we watched this NFL propaganda about new helmet technology, featuring former wide receiver Steve Smith Jr.

I thought that one was interesting because we spent a day earlier this term discussing the NFL’s CTE settlement, via a Washington Post story. It is interesting in a “how it’s done” way, but it is 100 percent a piece intended to make fans feel good about the what the league is doing for player safety. That’s not a bad thing, but it’s not a subtle thing, either.

Then we ended with this public television package trying to understand and explain Philadelphia sports fans.

And that’s where I lost them. Not exactly sure how that happened.

But in org comm we continued our talk about ethics, which is always a really exciting time. Fortunately, we have a big gambling scandal in the NBA to talk about. I had them read this Joon Lee opinion column and we discussed several elements of that. I had them look up a few other interesting points for some more context. We talked about their own impressions about gambling in sport. And then we ran through some different sorts of hypotheticals. They were largely into it, which is a great result in a week when you’re talking about ethics.

In the office, way up high on the sixth floor, I noticed the trees were looking lovely.

Last week might have been the peak leaf turn here. Maybe it is this week. Probably it won’t be next week. Nothing about foliage fits into the old calendars anymore, but admire them when you can. And from above, if at all possible.

And admire Catober, while you’re at it. The month ends tomorrow. (But there will be some too-good-to-omit photos next week for a Catober bonus post.) You can see them all by clicking that link and scrolling through a month of cozy kitty photos.

journalism / links / photo / Rowan / Tuesday — Comments Off
28
Oct 25

The last windless day for a while, as it turns out

I think we’ve reached or, heaven help me, are approaching, the mid-semester doldrums. Week 9 we’re in now, and young minds will sometimes wander. I’m speaking of mine, of course. My young mind. No idea about the students’ status.

But, hey, I was up until super late watching the greatest World Series game to ever be played, the only person between both of my sports comm classes to apparently do so, and I brought the enthusiasm under the florescent lights today.

We discussed this piece on the NWSL’s sexual abuse settlement. I find it somewhere between a process piece and a rote recap from someone, Meg Linehan, who’s been all over the story for a long while now. It’s a straightforward news story, and we need a lot of those. In this case, it allowed us to discuss how you can make that determination from the first three paragraphs.

The NWSL will create a $5 million player compensation fund as part of a settlement regarding its role in widespread allegations of abuse.

The settlement, announced on Wednesday, ends a joint investigation by the attorneys general (AGs) of the District of Columbia, Illinois and New York concerning systemic abuse across the league and potential violations of state and local human rights laws.

The three offices, as with the investigation by former U.S. Attorney General Sally Yates and the joint investigation by the NWSL and its players association that came before them, focused on “pervasive sexual harassment and abuse by coaches against players” and systematic failures by the league to “exercise adequate insight, institute workplace antidiscrimination policies, or appropriately respond to complaints,” as listed in the settlement agreement.

That distinction is important because the next story we discussed was Mitchell S. Jackson’s masterclass on pathos and grief, the Pulitzer Prize-winning 12 Minutes and A Life. To those who could not be bothered I said, “If you didn’t read this story this week, you’re missing out and only cheating yourself.” It does so much with tone and depth and grief and trust and anger and history and meanness and meaning and thorough no-nonsense reporting that everyone interested in media, even in the slightest bit, should have it on their list.

On February 23, 2020, a young man out for a run was lynched in Glynn County, Georgia.

His name was Ahmaud Marquez Arbery, called “Quez” by his beloveds and “Maud” by most others. And what I want you know about Maud is that he had a gift for impressions and a special knack for mimicking Martin Lawrence. What I want you to know about Maud is that he was fond of sweets and requested his mother’s fudge cake for the birthday parties he often shared with his big sister. What I want you to know about Maud is that he signed the cards he bought for his mother “Baby Boy.” What I want you to know about Maud is that he and his brother would don the helmets they used for go-carting and go heads-up on their trampoline, and that he never backed down from his big brother. What I want you to know about Maud is that he jammed his pinkie playing hoop in high school and instead of getting it treated like Jasmine advised, he let it heal on its own—forever crooked. What I want you know about Maud is that he didn’t like seeing his day-ones whining, that when they did, he’d chide, “Don’t cry about it, man. Do what you gotta do to handle your business.” What I want you to know about Maud is that Shenice told me he sometimes recorded their conversations so he could listen to her voice when they were apart. What you should know about Maud is that he adored his nephews Marcus III and Micah Arbery, that when they were colicky as babies, he’d take them for long walks in their stroller until they calmed. What you should know about Maud is that when a college friend asked Jasmine which parent she’d call first if ever in serious trouble, she said neither, that she’d call him. What I want you to know about Maud is that he was an avid connoisseur of the McChicken sandwich with cheese. What I want you know about Maud is that he and Keem were so close that the universe coerced each of them into breaking a foot on the same damn day in separate freak weight-room accidents, and that when they were getting treated in the trainer’s office, Maud joked about it. You should know that Maud dreamed of a career as an electrician and of owning a construction company. You should know that Maud gushed often of his desire to be a great husband and father. You should know that he told his boys that he wanted them all to buy a huge plot of land, build houses on it, and live in a gated community with their families. You should know that Maud never flew on a plane, but wanderlusted for trips to Jamaica, Japan, Africa. What you must know about Maud was that when Travis McMichael, Gregory McMichael, and William “Roddie” Bryan stalked and murdered him less than three months shy of his 26th birthday, he left behind his mother Wanda, his father Marcus Sr., his brother Buck, his sister Jasmine, his maternal grandmother Ella, his nephews, six uncles, 10 aunts, a host of cousins, all of whom are unimaginably, irrevocably, incontrovertibly poorer from his absence.

Ahmaud Marquez Arbery was more than a viral video. He was more than a hashtag or a name on a list of tragic victims. He was more than an article or an essay or posthumous profile. He was more than a headline or an op-ed or a news package or the news cycle. He was more than a retweet or shared post. He, doubtless, was more than our likes or emoji tears or hearts or praying hands. He was more than an R.I.P. t-shirt or placard. He was more than an autopsy or a transcript or a police report or a live-streamed hearing. He, for damn sure, was more than the latest reason for your liberal white friend’s ephemeral outrage. He was more than a rally or a march. He was more than a symbol, more than a movement, more than a cause. He. Was. Loved.

I print these out and scribble notes in the margin, on the off chance that someone wants to talk about a particular passage in class. One student wanted to talk about this part, and I was grateful it came up. There are so many rhetorical flourishes in there, so many bits of meaning, so much to learn from in those three little paragraphs. And not just there, but throughout the copy. I’d selfishly like everyone to be as impressed by truly great writing as I am. And I’d selfishly like to know more about Jackson’s process in writing this piece.

In org comm, as a come down, I had a slide deck about … ethics. Some days organizational communication is not the most interesting class. It’s just the material, never the presenter. Today was one of those days. Someone wanted to bring up the newest gambling scandal via the NBA, and I asked them to hold off. I have a particular reading on that which was published just today that we’ll discuss at some length on Thursday. The bracing plunge into the cold waters of ethical behavior can’t be held on just one day, no.

I had to park way up high in the parking deck today, which allowed me to see over the next building. So I took this large photograph. (Click to embiggen.)

I looked down to find myself standing in front of one of those “Feeling stressed? We can help.” signs. Aside from wishing my classes were just three percent more energetic today, I felt fine, so I hustled away from the sign and into the car before anyone came along and worried about me.

On the way home I asked Siri to tell me a joke. I got a bad joke. I asked Siri to tell me a funny joke. I think it misheard me, because I received a pretty awful pun. I asked Siri to tell me a dirty joke, which it consistently refused.

I wondered, what if there’s a big gap in Siri’s performance? What if Siri is great with simple tasks like setting a timer or texting someone, bad at slightly more ambitious things, but has the biggest stuff figured out? At which point I asked Siri to tell me the meaning of life. The second answer was useful.

I liked that one. Many people I admire carry an enthusiasm like that around with them. It seems like a reasonable, and achievable, aspiration. I liked it so much and made a mental note to remember where I was when it said that. I was driving through a cornfield that’s waiting to be chopped down. So I marveled at the burnt up stalks and leaf blades, as if I were experiencing them for the first time.

The third answer was, of course, 42. Feeling that Siri and I had come to an understanding, I stopped asking.

I was almost home, anyway.

Rowan / Thursday / video — Comments Off
23
Oct 25

Keep your eyes on the scenery and your hand upon the wheel

I got a great deal of work done in the office today. The key was I had a list. The other key was, no one was on our floor during most of the time I was there. The other key was that I had an extra 75 minutes in the office based on how my day was set up. What that really means is that I’m closing in on some of the work that should have been done days ago.

But other work keeps popping up. And student papers. And every other thing. Plus prepping for the next class. Plus remembering the things I’d forgotten.

Right now, at least two things may be considered permanent fixtures on that list.

It’s OK, though. I’m sure next week I’ll have the time to finish those items. This is a thing I’ve said for the last four weeks. Or 12 years, who can really say?

Anyway, in lieu of anything better, I’d like to share with you a few of the lovely views from my drive home from campus. It’s quite the bit of scenery.

Tomorrow, I’m getting these stitches removed from my back, and finding out how many more days I need to take it easy. (I’m pretty much over that, which is always how you know you’ve recovered nicely.) Join me tomorrow for a report from the doctor’s office, won’t you?

But before that, make sure you’re caught up on Catober. Today was Poseidon’s day to look handsome, and he pulled it off easily. But both kitties are giving vibes. Click that link and scroll back to make sure you’ve seen them all.

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.