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.
Today was pretty lousy. Just a bad feeling day all the way around. Body weary, incision … incised and sore. I enjoyed that delightful disoriented feeling of painkillers, without the benefit of painkillers. Just the worst day since the day after my little surgery. And odd that it comes 10 days after the thing.
So it was a delightful evening to go speak to a bunch of students, trying to keep my thoughts in order and my acronyms in line. Just a marvelous impression I left them with.
And then we went out and sat in the cold. I intended to take off my sports coat and put on a jacket I had in the backseat of the car, but it was taken out of the car. I did enjoy these portable little seats we got recently. They have chair backs, and they were material, rather than a cold plank of aluminum.
It was a first round game of the field hockey playoffs. My god-niece-in-law (just go with it) is a senior on the team. And she got a penalty shot in the game.
Her team won 7-0.
On Saturday, a day when the weather was much warmer and I felt much better. We went to the beach, and to a boat. But not this boat.
Same goal, though. We were out looking for whales, which are passing through on their seasonal migration. And what do you know, there’s a humpback now.
We saw two of them, from a safe and non-threatening distance. (There are laws about this. And the company that does the tour is very keen on following the laws, and telling you about them. And, also, keep your feet on the deck at all times. And please, for the love of the salty seas, stop trying to lean over the rails to pet the whales. They are 50 yards and more away.)
Thar she blows!
Or he. I’m not one to assign gender to our ocean-going neighbors. That may have been fine for Mellville, but we live in different times. Also, as far as I know, I’m no Melville.
(I’m no Melville.)
So we saw the one whale, and watched it dance and swim around for a while, and then quietly we moved off. And we found this whale.
It turns out that humpback whales have distinguishing patterns on the underside of their tails. Our vessel had several naturalists and some interns aboard, and while we were oohing and aaahing as tourists, they were doing the important work of studying the beasties. And they knew this one, and realized it, just from these quick glances at the tail marking.
We saw a handful of bottlenose dolphins on the way back in. But you’ll have to take my word for it. No pictures of them, but here’s the rock line that marks the return back into the little port.
And here’s a row of fishing vessels that were safely tied up. Maybe it’s a seasonal thing, or a Saturday thing.
It was a lovely little visit. Two whales, lots of birds, some dolphins and a nice day on the water. A three-hour tour. Not a single Gilligan reference was made.
We drove by this place on our way out, but did not stop.
It seems pretty bold to say you have the world’s best coffee. And at this particular store? They have 24 locations. To say nothing of every other shop that sells coffee. What are the odds?
At home, we had a flyover by a few Canada geese.
They’ll go back and forth from fields to ponds for weeks, always that direction in the evening, and the opposite direction in the midmorning, honking all the while.
It was another afternoon in class today, which meant it was another night of doing slide deck prep and a morning of getting the final details in and then the afternoon in class. At least it was warm and sunny out, and so it didn’t feel like I should be somewhere else while sitting under florescent lights.
I’m kidding. There are giant windows in the classroom I’m in right now and the natural light is plenty. We don’t even turn on the lights some afternoons.
In my criticism class we talked about this episode of Bomani Jones’ podcast. If, for no other reason that everyone loves Deion Sanders and, Jones is right, Spencer Hall is one of the best writers going today. I’ve been reading him for decades. Had him on a podcast in 2006 or so. And look at him now.
So we’ve now heard two different styles of podcasts in the last week, a narrative-documentary hybrid and now an interview show. We’ll have another variation for their midterm next week. I will be asking them questions they should be used to by now. After that, it will be back to video products. We’re going to spend a day on short form packages. I’m waffling on what I want to use for that day.
In org comm I followed up the Tuesday conversation about social identity theory with a talk about Role Identity Theory. These two approaches complement one another, and they cover a lot of ground about
Social identity theory gives us the in-group and out-group concepts, and tries to explain how we define ourselves based on their group memberships, like religion, nationality, or, in our case, fandom. In SIT identities come from difference based on the activities in which we partake. Role identity theory concerns itself with the meanings and expectations associated with various roles we play in our lives. This is all shaped by social and contextual factors and, interestingly, acknowledges the conflict that comes within our many roles, because of those expectations. These two ideas, SIT and RIT, work nicely together, but it’s all about cognitiion; they don’t get to emotion.
Which allowed me to talk about identity fusion theory. It has become an important psychological theory in the last few decades, and tries to explain how we develop these profound senses of alignment and unity with a group. It’s an interesting area because it gets into the extreme pro-group behaviors, including self-sacrifice that people make. The theory goes through the deep emotional investments that motivate action, while allowing people to maintain their personal agency. The general idea, in a sports context, is that we see these personal connections and interactions in shared spaces.
It’s an interesting approach, because what is fandom but a huge expression of emotion?
Identity fusion is currently the leader for a class I’m teaching in the spring, too.
The view from our office. If you look closely enough, you’ll see my lovely bride, who is walking back from a class in another building.
And now the rest of the week will just be computer work. There will be plenty. I have a great deal of grading to do. I am already plotting out how the next three days will go, based on meetings and batches of grading. I think I can get it all in over the wekend, without going too crazy, and just in time to start the cycle over again next week.
Sometimes it is difficult to see how you can get all of your work done when so much of your time is spent on part of your work.
I took this photo of the honeysuckle last week and never got around to sharing it. Safe to say that the radical pruning we did on the thing in the spring has been overcome. It has grown a bunch over the summer and fall, and is still flowering a great deal.
This variety has no nectar in it, however, and that’s a shortcoming. It’s a disappointing under-performing, over-performing, bush vine. But it has covered much of the new garden trellis in just six months, so there’s that.
Are you all caught up on Catober? It always over-performs. Click the link, and see them all. And come back tomorrow for more.
This is how my back feels. I carefully squatted down to pick up my mostly empty backpack. I put my mostly empty backpack on my home office chair. I slipped my laptop and my notebook inside. I zipped it up and carried it downstairs. Because I was being helpful, I went back upstairs I did the same for my lovely bride’s backpack. Same procedure, squat, chair, laptop, two notebooks, zipped it. I carried it downstairs. And there near the end of that little trip the muscles around my shoulder where this little incision suggested they might not like me to do that anymore.
So I did not.
How it works this semester is that we drive to one building, where she has her classes, and I drop her off. Then I drive over to the building where our office is, and where my classes are. There’s a parking deck right behind it. (We have, probably, the best parking arrangement on campus.) I go to whatever floor, park, and then walk down the stairs, around the side of the building and about half a block to the door. Up the elevator to the office, and so on. And about the time I got off the elevator, I didn’t want to carry my bag for a while.
Again, this is basically an intense pulled muscle sort of sensation. A “hey, you really shouldn’t” kind of thing. And I am fortunate in that I can obliged that feeling, follow the doctor’s advice and still do the things I need to.
Max woke on July 22 with a slight limp and went into full paralysis four days later, prompting Freeman to rush home from a series at the Houston Astros. By Wednesday, doctors removed Max from his ventilator.
Five days after that, Freeman was back in the Dodgers’ lineup for the start of a three-game series with the Philadelphia Phillies, playing first base and batting third. He finished 1-for-4 in the Dodgers’ 5-3 win and was greeted by a long standing ovation before his first at-bat. The Phillies joined the applause from their dugout. The pitch clock was stopped as he stepped out of the batter’s box, removed his helmet and waved to the crowd, before then touching his right hand to his chest.
“I was doing OK tipping my hat and then my dad was sitting first row with my stepmom, and he was — I don’t know if I could call it crying, but he was choked up and teary-eyed,” Freeman said. “That’s what really got me going.”
Max spent eight days in a pediatric intensive care unit before being discharged Saturday. The next day, he began physical therapy.
At my next opportunity, I’m going to have to pick a few stories that aren’t emotional stories, lest I give my class the wrong idea about this. And looking at some of the documentaries I’ve selected for later in the semester … I need to do that soon.
In Organizational Communication in Sports my normal slide deck theme gave away to egregious fandom. And since Auburn got ripped off Saturday — this was one of about four games I’ve watched in three years, and what a clown car the whole thing has become — I turned it into hating on fans. My hope was that it would make for a comedic, and memorable, conversation. So it started with this.
I rather like that shaker theme, though. So I put up all sorts of unflattering photos of Georgia fans — I won’t reproduce them here, but they’re out there — and talked through Social Identity Theory. There was one photo of a Georgia fan, in his best Georgia t-shirt (it only had three stains on it) proudly shaking hands with some klansmen. Then I said, “whereas my guys are good Christian boys.” And here’s a shot of a big chunk of the team praying in the end zone. “And patriotic?” Boy you’ve got no idea!” And then there’s a shot of them celebrating with some ROTC students. It just went on like this for a while, talking about the cognitive choices of Social Identity Theory, the purpose of it all, the In-Group / Out-Group nature of sports. Most of this we all inherently know, but some days you get to put a name and some scholastic explanation to things.
I pointed out that, of course this is unfair. I’m cherry picking these guys in outlandish ways to try to make a point. You can do this with any fan base if you want to. It’s just easier with some then others.
We talked about Presentation of Self, which let me show people dressed up all nice for something as silly as a football game. We talked about Goffman’s notions of front stage and back stage. We talked about social identity as our fandom extends beyond the venue. Look, I’m wearing this tie, and this tasteful lapel pin, and so on. And then we came around to highly identified fans, and I talked about the most highly identified fans I know. And that’s where I played clips of Bama fans.
I ended it with mascots. Here’s a shot of 11-time mascot of the year Aubie in a library. And here’s Rowan’s mascot, with the way the university describe’s Who R U on his own page: fierce, ready to attack, full of aspirations and expectations. I dug up a shot of Rowan’s next football opponent’s mascot, a big black bear that’s goofy in the appropriate sort of mascot ways. Pio is his name, and his site says this bear represents the values and attributes of their students: gritty, confident, persevering, fun-loving and the first in the family to attend college.
Because, ya know, he’s a bear, and not a lot of bears go on to higher education.
The Yankee came to see what that lecture turned into. She said it went well. Said she might steal some of that material the next time she teaches this class.
We left our building and went across the street for a special presentation. Some of the faculty here know the filmmaker Ken Burns, and he graciously allowed them to screen the first episode of his upcoming documentary.
Six episodes, starting next month. We were asked to not discuss it at length, and I’ll respect that. But I’ll say this. Episode one was quite good, I can’t wait for the rest. Also, the voiceover casting is just incredible.
One of the professors, who is a professional film critic, talked a bit. A history professor, a public historian who is a key figure in the ongoing work at a nearby Revolutionary War site also spoke. She’s the perfect kind of historian, in my view. She has such an enthusiasm for her work that it makes you want to be enthusiastic about it, too. Maybe all teachers should be that way. I try to be that way. Maybe it comes through. For Dr. Janofsky, though, it is obvious, and infectious.
She passed around this piece of shot that had recently been pulled from the ground. For 250 years this had been buried beneath the soil, and just before that, it was hurtling at an enemy with great urgency.
Janofsky did not say whose shot this was. I’m assuming they know. We also know a lot about the muzzle velocity of 18th century cannons, and we know there was a fair amount of variation between them having to do with a lot of different variables, the type of shot, the canon, the powder and so on. I’ll just go with a number that keeps popping up for British cannons of the era, 487 meters per second. That’s a bit over 1,000 miles an hour. No one wants to be standing downrange of that, in any century.
And then something controversial, that had nothing to do with work or the Revolutionary War happened. I’m running out of pixels today, so I’ll type about it tomorrow, when there will surely be more to know, anyway.
I went in for a little medical procedure today. This was planned. I am fine. We scheduled this several months ago. There was a mysterious spot no one liked on my back. (I, however, was fine with it. Couldn’t see it. Wasn’t bothering me.) So they did a biopsy. The lab work determined it was the sort of thing that’s not a danger today, but you don’t want it around tomorrow. And so today was that day.
There was bleeding and stitches. I’m calling it a surgery. There was not enough anesthetic. There is never enough anesthetic. For the record, should you be with me when I need medical attention, it is general anesthetic or bust.
The guy asked me what I would like, as I had had time to peruse their generous offerings on the menu, accessible by QR code. I said I’d take the local, and then two regionals, please and thank you. Oh, I played it tough. I said I don’t want to feel the sensation of you tugging on my skin, even in the areas around the professional butchery. In truth, I want to be down the hall, around the corner, and across town at the mall. I don’t want to remember any of this.
Especially when the local begins to wear down. Which did happen. And I don’t want to hear you and your assistant discussing the finer points of the size of the suture material. Get the good stuff. Get it fast. Let’s stop the bleeding and have a blast.
I tried to enter into a discussion with the guy — hey, he let me stay conscious and that was his choice — about all of the things I can and can’t do in the next several weeks of recovery. I think he came to think I was arguing with him, but I saw it as a negotiation. What if I do this, but not hard or well? Finally his colleague laughingly said I can’t do the dishes for two weeks. And yard work, that’s right out. I guess the new phalanx of ninjas will see their training delayed, as well.
I am told the incision was the size of a couple of quarters. And I’m sure it will not feel pleasant tomorrow. I am to treat with alternating dosages of Ibuprofen and Tylenol.
What in the wide world of medicine is going on with these orders?
The dressing has to get changed twice a day for the next two weeks. Stitches come out in 14 days. And, supposedly, I am to take it easy for three to four weeks, though even the derma-guy said, “But you have to live your life.”
So I’ll milk it as long as I can, I guess? Or until I go stir crazy or feel guilty about not pulling my share around here.
Hey, at least the local stayed with me for much of the day. Operating under the idea that I’ll be equally uncomfortable wherever I am, we went to watch an Army-Navy doubleheader. Women’s soccer, and then men’s soccer. I even saw the Goodyear blimp.
The Middies won the women’s game. And before the men played The Leap Frogs jumped onto the field.
The Black Knights gave Navy a sound thrashing in the men’s game. At the end, they played and sang both alma maters. More schools should do that.
Anyway, go Navy, beat Army.
It was fun to see both games. The venue has nice seats, and I took my first Tylenol in between the games. The only uncomfortable thing were bumps in the car. Tomorrow, though, I suspect will be a bit less pleasant.
