And then it was on to campus, where I wondered what kind of shrubbery this might be:
And then it was class, resumes and so on. It was a full, full day.
That’s why this is what you have this.
But you also have this: the return of the Tumblr. The thing has been dormant for quite some time, but I’ve recently stumbled across a few nice, inspiring ones. So I’ve changed the look, twice, adopting a free theme in the cheapest traditions of this website and then tweaked the code.
It will never be much, the Tumblr blog, but random things from my phone can easily be uploaded through the app and that will be enough to let us point and giggle.
I taught about false light in two media law classes today.
The three criteria required for a false light case:
1. Publication of material must put an individual in a false light.
2. The false light would be offensive to a reasonable person.
3. The publisher was at fault.
Two anecdotes from the lecture:
The Sun ran a picture of Nellie Mitchell, a 96-year-old Arkansas woman, in a fabricated story about a 101-year-old female news carrier who had to give up her job because she was pregnant. The Sun’s editors needed a photo for their false story. They assumed Nellie was dead and pulled her picture from a previous true story. She was alive and, by then, feeling litigious. She sued. She won $1.5 million in 1991. (That’s $2.5 million today)
In the 1980s WJLA in Washington, D.C., did a story on genital herpes. The reporter shot b roll on a busy D.C. street. The videographer zoomed in on a woman who was easily recognized. In the 11 p.m. broadcast the anchor read the script “For the 20 million Americans who have herpes, it’s not a cure” as tape rolled with the woman’s image. She won her case and was awarded $750.
I like media law, but I think you have to have an anticipation of enjoyment of it before you take it as a class. I imagine that students who don’t have some inkling of that beforehand find themselves miserable. But it is a vitally important topic.
I think I enjoyed it, in part, was because the first media law case I ever read about was Carol Burnett v. National Enquirer, Inc. I loved Carol Burnett as a comedienne, even if her sketch comedy show (which I caught it in syndication) was for an older audience. It always felt like I was getting away with something to be able to watch it late at night, but I remember thinking that Burnett’s case, while important, probably felt ancient to most of my peers. It had happened almost 15 years before we studied it, an eternity to undergrads. (I did not talk about it in class today.)
And so I vowed to give contemporary examples in a media law context. Need to brush up on the dockets a bit.
To know the more than a name makes a case history more interesting. To see this makes it all stick in your head:
I actually remember that bit, which is remarkable with my memory. I suppose it speaks to the impression those talents could leave upon you. To this day my favorite stylings are physical comedy and the famous loss of composure. I blame Harvey Korman for that:
Had a guest in my Mass Media Practices class today. My old friend Napo Monasterio came over from The Birmingham News to talk about that happy, curious, more-flexible-than-ever place where journalist, coder and designer meet. Napo is from Auburn, though he was a year or two behind me. Now I see his work all the time.
He was formally trained as a print journalist and designer, but his desire to learn new things keeps opening doors for him. I hope students pick up on that.
“Just like a firecracker going off in the air — kabuuuuum.”
Breakfast this morning at the Barbecue House, the new weekly tradition. It was quiet today. Few people, lots of tables. Sometimes you can time it like that, and you just want to linger as the place shifts from breakfast and the grilling meat smells drift in as they get ready for the lunch crowd.
Other times you can’t find a seat or walk. Barbecue House is a popular place.
Mowed the lawn for the first time this year. There was nothing remarkable about it, because there is little remarkable about the yard just now. There was a lot of winterdust kicked up, though. Thin grass, drought conditions, sandy soil and my sneezes. The lawn mower and my nasal explosions were the soundtrack of the neighborhood for a brief while.
Wrote big emails. Planned two classes.
Wrote two presentations for upcoming sessions, about 15 pages for 30 minutes or so of talking. I have one more of those to do.
Edited a paper.
Rode 50 miles.
I think I bonked. Probably when I looked down and saw that zero on the computer. And then I realized I was standing rather than pedaling. So I started riding again. My bonk said, aloud I think, “I don’t have the energy for this.” And so the last few miles were just inertia and mindless mindlessness.
Saw some pretty scenery, part of the national wildflower program:
Or is that the county’s “We don’t have money for a fuel budget” program? I always confuse the two:
Pulled the wheel off my bike and put it in my car. The rest of the bike went in there too. If I turn the fork so it looks like the front is trying to bite a flea and it will just fit inside.
It was time for a trip to the bike shop, one close to campus. The one close to home, which is generally very good, wasn’t interested in helping me replace the shifter cover that I lost last August. After the exposed screw sliced open my finger last month it was time. Felt, the manufacturer, told me to visit a store. The store said talk to Felt. And after we shared that joke, we got down to fixing it.
The part cost $10, which is the cheapest thing on a bike, apparently. It would also make my hands, as this is close to where your hands rest 99 percent of the time. So I left the bike with them, asked for a bit of maintenance and we’d scheduled time so I wouldn’t miss a ride.
I walked it and the lady behind the desk was sizing me up the way an expert tailor can tell your size without a tape measure. She sized me up and, I’m sure, found me lacking. It was like I’d told the tailor I wear one size and he glanced at me and said “No.”
With her glance she wondered about my bike set up. My seat is high. My legs are short. But, she concluded, what works for you works for you. She asked if I liked Felt. I was half-ready for her to tell me it was too much bike for me.
Later I was returning calls and found myself talking with a lady who was perfectly happy to be on the phone.
Happy to chat, happy to help. But she was making me late. There was a field trip to take with my class and timing is everything.
This is the introductory class, where we try to show off as many different parts of the business as possible. Today’s trip was to al.com where I worked from 2004 through 2008. Many of the same faces are still there. I saw three sales people, a designer and a producer I knew. The CEO and the office manager were there too. It was nice to catch up for a bit. Good people there.
We sat in the conference room and the guy that runs the content side of the place talked about what they do, the future, the past, internships and first jobs. The students asked good questions. Cards were distributed. The importance of networking was discussed. They crammed a lot of material in 90 minutes.
Some time backBill Strickland introduced me to Graeme Obree. Tonight I stumbled onto The Flying Scotsman, a movie about the man, on Netflix.
Here’s the gist: He’s a Scottish cyclist who, in the 90s, set out to break the one-hour distance record. He built a bike from scratch, using parts of his washing machine, basically redesigning cycling all by himself. Only he just missed the record.
So the next day, after waking up all night to stretch his legs, he tried again. And he broke the record. It fell the next week to another racer. He took the mark back again soon after. Along the way he battled the sport’s governing body and his own deeply troubling demons.
Despite this trailer, the story (and the movie) make a compelling tale.
Obree, who did some of the cycling for the film, seemed to like it:
Once you get beyond this being, in part, about going in a circle, it is a good sports movie with a great supporting cast.
And then there’s the record itself:
This guy has held the record since 2005. In 2008 a doping suspension forced him into retirement.
Obree, who insists he’s never doped, is apparently preparing for a human powered land speed record. He wants to break 100 miles per hour. I’ve never even driven my car that fast.
Roy Orbison, Iggy Pop, The Bangles and Darius Rucker each have a song with that title. I don’t especially relate to anything of them just now. Even so:
There’s a busy schedule and a weary feeling, same as everyone else.
I taught a class. So that was fun. We talked about the best spring break experiences. Someone went to Disney. Someone went to Disney. Someone got snowed on in the grand canyon. I spoke with someone who dislocated a shoulder. And someone else who had shoulder surgery.
The best spring break stories are usually a degree or two better than the surgical ones, if you ask me.
Caught up on a bunch of reading. So now my stack is merely overwhelming, I suppose.
That’s a big enough word for me, thanks.
Just so it’d be done I spent a few minutes cleaning up the photo galleries. February and March were hastily dashed off and will now pass for up-to-date.
And now on to more pressing things. More when I got something.
