I wrote, on Monday, about my lunch book, Rick Atkinson’s The Guns at Last Light, the last installment of his trilogy on the European Theater of World War II. I discussed Atkinson’s descriptions as “filled with detail and insight and passages from three generations ago that feel like they are fresh today.” This passage is in his prologue which, again, is 41 delicious pages long:
One concise paragraph touches on a millennia of history and technological firsts. It offers a description, a quip and a
discarded plan on how to address the English Channel problem. The guy is good.
Who else is good? The staff at the Crimson. We held our weekly critique meeting today. We’re almost a third of the way through their production run and we’re down things like punctuation in quotes and synonyms. They are working hard and showing their talent. I’m quite proud for them.
This video showed up somehow today, in that delightful way that modern life gives you things from so many directions you’re never sure from which they came. It is, as the kids say, completely insane.
Turns out this guy only finished second in this ridiculous display of gravity, speed and a complete disregard for survival instinct.
This is an entirely different kind of ride than I’d ever want to do. The first time I ever heard people talking about mountain bikes they were celebrating the ways they got hurt, like that was the competition. That’s not for me. One of our friends is a big time, travel across the country, day-long race mountain bike types. I sent him this video and he carefully noted “We can’t all do that!”
Not sure that would have been my first response.
But what a great testimonial for the GoPro camera, no? Ours will not be pressed into such a service.
We fired up the grill at home this evening. The Yankee made a London broil. We kissed it with just enough flame and it was delicious enough for seconds. Adam came over to enjoy the flank steak and catch up on a bit of Game of Thrones.
We’ve been watching them all again. They actually get better on the second viewing. There’s a lot you didn’t catch the first time.
For example:
Things to read …
You wonder how Netflix will stay on top of their entertainment niche as others build their own platforms to compete with in-house productions. They have some plans. Five things Netflix is going to disrupt next
The company has big plans for next year, and its executives previewed some of them during Netflix’s Q3 earnings call earlier this week.
A modern journalist needs to know how the web works, needs to be exposed to and respect all journalistic crafts (including code), and needs to know their role in working with others. And that role is an active role, not a passive one. They need to use these digital tools to produce relevant, quality journalism.
A digital journalist (or web journalist) focuses on producing journalism of the web, not just on the web. That can manifest itself in a diverse set of roles — being the homepage editor, becoming a multimedia storyteller, or developing a news app, alone or with a team. They can use the tools, but they can also build tools when needed.
If you’re a student, I’m not going to debate which path you should take. I’m not even going to debate what level of instruction in digital journalism or code you need to take. (It’s 2013 — are you really arguing against learning technology?)
But what I will say is that, like those other required parts of your education, you are better off for being exposed to it, whether in a journalism career or in life.
Birmingham and state economic development experts said plenty of new projects and expansions are looking to invest money and add jobs, but recent history has proven there is a big difference between getting looks and breaking ground.
A panel of economic development experts spoke to members of the Society for Marketing Professional Services Alabama at a luncheon in Vestavia Hills today.
Just another fine day, where most people struggle with Mondays I can look at this one as one that just came my way, sailing through like a leaf on a calm, moving stream. The weather was delightful. Sunny and warm, a nice change after I had climbed off my bike last night, panting a little more than I should for the regular ride, walk out from under a dark sky into the chill borne of damp clothes and a tiny breeze. That was the first signal of the changing seasons. Today was the rebuttal.
And a fine one it was today, too. Sunny, with high skies. I don’t think that means anything, but I use it on days like today, when the sun is always out of the way of the direction you’re looking, you have just enough clouds to give some perspective and set off the cobalt blue sky.
I was enjoying myself well enough that I drove right past the exit where I occasionally pick up a Whataburger. No matter, there was another one a few stops down. The one I usually hit has great fries and the buns are perfect. And something on the burger there always falls onto my shirt, which I hate, but I can set my clock by it.
The one I visited today, the backup spot, has perfectly reasonable bread, which is to say like most places, but you don’t really talk about it. Now the first one has bread so good you say “Get a load of this bread! Taste the flour signature! Can you smell that baking!?” or whatever you say to your friends. And no one ever says those things, but they would there.
The one I visited today, the backup spot, did not have perfect french fries. And at my regular stop I have had near-perfection in a fried length of salted tuber. They were fine, today, but trending to old. The tea, however, was perfect. The preferred Whataburger has lousy tea.
So, would it be odd to order just the sandwich and fries at the one place and then stop again, later, to get a drink?
They are both owned by the same guy, I read today in that restaurant standard, the food review mounted on the wall. The reporter asked him what he’d have as his last meal. He said he’d have the number two. I prefer the single, myself.
In class today we worked on polishing and editing stories. And so students wrote and rewrote and we came up with new ways for them to see old things. Writing, I tell them constantly, is a process. And you have to love the process. If you become infatuated with what you think is your finished product you’re going to have a hard time in many respects.
I was talking with a glass blower a few years ago, and he said that about his craft. It takes about 10 years, he said, to master the art, and you have to love the work, because you will break your heart breaking glass for 10 years. When he said that I knew precisely what he meant. Though that gentleman, I’m sure, is a better writer than I am a glass blower. But we could relate. And he had huge furnaces.
Never mentioned that I finished reading Hello, Everybody a few days ago. I probably never mentioned I was reading it, either. It is a history of the rise of radio in the United States and the author has plenty of terrific personalities to illustrate his tale, which chronologically starts with KDKA, the famous and historic AM station in Pittsburgh and goes through the end of the Hoover administration. Like so many aspects of society, we find ourselves looking at FDR as a new chapter. In the story of radio, however, the story was prior to and during the Hoover years. He was, as secretary of commerce, the man instrumental in the early years. He played, as president, an active role during the maturation process. All of that is in Anthony Rudel’s book, which starts with the legendary tale of John Brinkley.
All Brinkley wanted to do was to put goat glands into men suffering from impotency and other maladies. And sell people miracle elixirs. And tell everyone about it on his huge transmitter. And get filthy rich doing it. His is a great tale, one of those that is probably slipping away into history, but is worth reading about. And when you read about him, the image you picture looks almost exactly like the man himself. It is uncanny.
That’s just one story. You’ll learn about evangelists, crime and entertainers, including Roxy Rothafel, who was perhaps the nation’s most famous performer during his run. Ever heard of him? Funny how that happens. Turns out, though, that Rothafel was the type that launched a thousand ships. He gave a lot of mid-20th century performers their start. He was an enduring influence on even more. So everyone that was old when I was young, they were young on his show once upon a time.
Also, and most interesting, you can take significant passages of this book detailing the growth of radio. Take out that word and put the words “world wide web” in those places and you’d see incredible parallels.
So I put that book down, which is great because I’ve been reading it forever. Today I picked up Rick Atkinson’s The Guns at Last Light. He’s finally finished his trilogy of the European Theater of World War II. They are heady books, filled with detail and insight and passages from three generations ago that feel like they are fresh today.
The books are fairly dense, but they are hardly complete. (Which is not a criticism.) The first thing I did when I picked this up today was to flip through the index. No one I’m related to is there. I looked up the regiment my great-grandfather was in. It is listed exactly twice, almost in passing. I’ve recently condensed that unit history into a chapter-sized file for family reading, and those troopers did stuff. (France’s highest award, the Legion of Honor, was given to 67 members of my great-grandfather’s division. His regiment alone earned 24 of those. The division scored 651 Silver Stars, 35 Distinguished Service Crosses and one Medal of Honor.) But they don’t even make it into Atkinson’s book. It is a telling example of how big the war was. Hard to wrap your mind around if you weren’t there. Probably impossible when you were in it.
And you’ll pardon me if I get nerdy here: Atkinson’s prologue is 41 pages. It starts, after a bit of scene-setting in Britain (and oh, how Atkinson can set a scene) with the famous meeting at St. Paul’s. It looked something like this:
Though I never bought Selleck as Ike.
Anyway, I made it 10 or so pages in to the Atkinson book over dinner tonight. Good book.
Things to read, which I found interesting today … This was written by the president of the state press association. It is an important, if technical and legal, piece. State Supreme Court demolishes Alabama Open Meetings Act:
“Justiciability.”
“Redressability.”
These two tortuous legal terms were used by the Alabama Supreme Court last month to deliver a devastating one-two punch to Alabama’s Open Meetings Act.
First the court proclaimed that our state legislators do not need to hold any of their meetings in public and do not even need to follow their own rules. Then the court placed severe limits on the qualifications of persons who can sue under the open meetings law, although the law plainly states that “any Alabama citizen” can bring such a suit.
Speaking of media and the law, Samford just announced a six-year journalism and mass communication-slash-law degree track. You can read about it here.
The Associated Press is planning to introduce sponsored articles into the stream of news stories on its mobile apps and hosted websites. The rollout is expected in early 2014, with potential sponsorship deals centered around major events the AP is planning to cover, such as the Super Bowl, the Winter Olympics and the Academy Awards.
[…]
The move to sponsored content is part of a broader effort to open a new line of revenue at the AP, where just 2% of total revenue comes from advertising, including mobile banner ads and units across a handful of websites populated with AP content. Another 13% of comes from services the AP offers media outlets. And 85% comes from licensing content to subscribers such as TV stations, newspapers and websites, where the AP is not hopeful about expanding income.
I fear they will all be even more 45- or 60-second spots in the style of television commercials that get in the way of some important story. The best video ads online are at YouTube, the ones that you can skip. Make a great ad and keep the audience, maybe even for your mini-opera. Can’t hold us after six seconds? Well, you tried. Sorta. Now we’re going to see what Lady Gaga is up to.
This is unfair, as AP’s video is usually quite good, but one of their lead pieces as I wrote this was “Sleeping Driver Wakes Up, Causes Atlanta Crash,” which is almost one of those “We have video, and so this is news stories.” I’d share it with you, but AP doesn’t allow for their videos to be embedded. Maybe they can work on that next.
Oh here’s the actual raw footage, sans the carefully re-enacted emergency phone call that they put into the AP package:
Something the video is strange. It feels incomplete, somehow. Particularly when you read WSB’s accompanying story. Weird scene, bad wreck. But you would have never heard about it if not for the videographer who was already there.
Tuesdays sometimes get away from me. Of all the days of the week, Tuesday is the one I’d rather keep in order, but that doesn’t always work out. And yet it was a mostly productive day. Students are putting together the newspaper. I did a lot of grading and reading and writing of emails and so forth. Of its own accord it probably wasn’t much, but it is cumulative. It adds up.
So instead of reading all about that, read all about this!
I finished First Man, by Auburn professor James Hansen a few weeks ago. This is the authorized biography of Neil Armstrong, the often misunderstood engineer-pilot-astronaut … why am I explaining who Neil Armstrong was?
This is a fine biography, immensely detailed and well sourced. All but one of Armstrong’s sons took part in in-depth interviews and, of course, the biggest part of the tale leads up to one of the most widely observed accomplishments of all of humankind, so, you know, there are notes for the author to consult.
And despite his analytical, engineering approach to pretty much everything Hansen hints at an engaging Armstrong. He even tells jokes! Which might sound odd of a man considered by so many of his contemporaries considered aloof. He sounds more private, unassuming, and unsure of why you need to know so much about him. Armstrong, after all, only considered himself “a white socks, pocket-protector nerdy engineer,” (pg. 602).
One of the best anecdotes, perhaps, actually involved his wife, Janet:
For the terrors of the landing, Janet again needed to be alone, so she retired to the privacy of her bedroom. Bill Anders decided to join her. Bill and Janet together had given Pat White the bad news that awful night in January 1967 when her husband Ed died in the Apollo fire, and Bill felt he should stay with Janet right through the touchdown. Rick, a very intelligent and sensitive boy, also wanted to be with his mother. She and Rick and been following the NASA flight map step by step, now with Anders’s help. Rick settled on the floor near the squawk box, while Janet and Bill sat on the foot of the bed. (Long after the Moon landing, this led to one of Bill Bill Anders’s favorite quips. “Where was I when the first Moon landing occurred? I was in bed with Janet Armstrong!”) (pg. 480)
Last week I also read No Time for Sergeants which famously became both a Broadway play and movie. I find aww shucks hokum and dialectic reading to wear me out, but this was tolerable enough to get through in a day or two. It wasn’t as funny as the dust jacket implied, but the movie is great, and this scene in both formats is terrific:
It always helps to imagine Griffith in this role:
Mac Hyman attended Auburn for a short while before the war. He lived here. I looked for Hyman in the Glomeratas, but he didn’t seem to make an appearance.
Speaking of Glomeratas, stick around. There’ll be an update to that section later this evening.
It is time for another installment of Catching up, the weekly post that allows extra photos to finally go some place. WordPress tells me this is the 100th installment of Catching up. Not sure what to make of that.
The guys in Section 111 that heckle the opposing team gave me a shirt this weekend. I made them laugh with a few witticisms of my own. Didn’t have the heart to tell them we were doing this years, and years before they showed up. But that’s a nice shirt, and I subscribe to their philosophy on how to confuse and amuse the poor players from the other team. The 111 guys definitely have their moments, and now I get to pretend to be like them. Here’s the front and back:
She appears to be studying the computer screen intently:
Started a new book tonight. I’ve finished two others recently, and I’ll try to mention them here tomorrow. But this is from Marshall Frady’s Southerners: A Journalist’s Odyssey. Something about this book might make you rethink the South, or journalism, or both. I don’t know for sure yet, but that’s the vibe I got early on. Here’s an early passage on Huey Long and George Wallace.
Even before that I was making a mental list of who should read this collection of essays. I bought this book, published in 1980, off Amazon in the fall of 2011 for $4.25 (as a library book sale, apparently) and it has been sitting patiently in my To Read bookcase ever since. Now it seems you can’t pick this up anywhere online for less than $76. So I did OK.
Here’s the review on Amazon: “You feel the thing he’s writing about, you understand it, you see it, you want more – this is everything writing can do.”
I’m going to speak out of turn here, I’m sure, but there’s just a wonderful feeling when you know you have good legs when you start a ride.
We set out this morning for a spin. I had no particular route in mind because I didn’t know how far I’d be able to go. The Yankee is starting back into her competition training. Since she is going farther she should set the route. So she does and off we go through the neighborhood.
The first two-thirds of that leg is all downhill to the creek. And then you have to climb back out the other side. And it was there that I realized I had good legs today. I didn’t want to stay in the back. That was just slowing me down.
Usually I’m just trying to hang on, mind you.
I passed her and climbed to the top of the little hill that marks the intersection. Off we went up the back side of the local time trial route. At the end I got caught at the red light and waited for her. And then we were off into one of the bigger hills in town — which, I must stress, is only big in comparison.
I got down into something resembling my aerotuck and a little stretch at 36 miles per hour. Crossed the interstate overpass, took a right and hit the next big intersection. I was pretty sure that it was time for me to return home. My legs felt great and my lungs appreciated the exercise. My hands were tingling from compression of the ulnar nerves. My feet were tingling because I have a bad habit of point my toes down when I am too busy trying to breathe rather than concentrate on what I’m doing with the bike.
I could feel it starting in my neck, too, even if I was looking down more than out today. The neck and shoulders are what I’m pampering. Anyway, from standing here making the return route home would be about 18 miles. And I’d put a good 90 seconds into my lovely and competitive wife, who said she was no longer interested in hearing me complain about my form or fitness or anything.
Eighteen miles is nothing, mind you. For a frame of reference, 12-15 miles is a good warmup. I am taking the small steps approach.
So we watched football. I did a few things for work. We had tuna for dinner. We opened the windows.
I watched the first episode of 60 Minutes Sports and was underwhelmed. But at least there was whelming, right? A one-sided interview with USADA? A piece on Lionel Messi with the greatest strength being clips from his youth soccer highlights? How is it that you have an artist, the greatest player to play the game, perhaps ever, and the piece isn’t any stronger than that? They wrapped with re-tread piece from 60 Minutes. But that piece on Alex Honnold piece was incredible:
I’m finishing Wilson Faude’s Hidden History of Connecticut. It is well regarded, even by natives, for all of the small things you can learn in this text. My only problem with this book, so accurately titled, is that he waited until the very end to tell me there is a P.T. Barnum museum in Bridgeport. I must go.
We’re going to read the night away. This is pretty great.
