Wednesday « Kenny Smith | A remarkable thing happens …

Wednesday

I found Bigfoot, he’s looking for money, same as everyone

Below the little banner is the summary of Tuesday. Here, above it, is a brief recounting of Wednesday.

I woke up, did all of the morning’s readings, did the email work. I had lunch. I had a meeting with faculty. I did more email. I wrote a message for my online class. I will send it, some 600 words of insight and updates and cheerful wisdom, tomorrow. I also finished prep for both of tomorrow’s classes. In one, we will talk about a few more typologies, I will stretch two pages of notes into 25 minutes and then we will develop questions for a survey. (I have seven of them already written down, but I’m only showing them three. Don’t tell.) In the other class we will watch a documentary. I also graded some stuff that needed grading. (Everyone did well, as expected; hopefully they’ll keep it up.)

I met with a student and solved several problems. The first problem was how to make Zoom work for both of us. The second problem was about how to do an assignment. Happy to help! The third problem: “How I am explaining something so poorly to this crop of students, when I have explained this same thing, with precisely this same language, to students in 2025 and 2024?” Parts of that problem may never be solved.

I also set up a meeting for Friday. Now I have two Friday meetings. One is at a very precise time, because faculty are keen on precision of schedules. The other is right now “friday works !” But, dear student, Friday does not work. A specific time would work. It is to be a Zoom meeting, sure, but I’ve done the sit in front of a Zoom window waiting for someone to show up all day thing a few times (ahhhh, 2020 …) and that’s too big an ask at this point. Open up your daily planner and figure out a good, specific time and we will have a grand and productive chat.

We’ll get there.

After all of this, it was time to catch up on the evening’s worth of reading.

I do a lot of reading. I think more of it is going to start coming from international media, and also books.

Do not get me started on the Washington Post, lest I bring out my press section banner and write a thousand brisk words about the obvious incompatibility between oligarchs and watchdog journalism, and the cute way little masthead slogans presage the ending of legacy media.

Instead, yesterday!

This was the view on the way to campus Tuesday. Everything looks exactly like this. This all fell from the sky Saturday night and Sunday a week ago. Monday, I helped a neighbor dig out their sidewalk, because this stuff is going nowhere. The longterm useless forecast says we might see 39 degrees Wednesday of next week. Maybe 40 on Friday!

That’d be a full three weeks under 40. That seems … excessive.

In Rituals and Traditions — Rits and Trads if you’re in a hurry — we discussed why we watch sports. I had a list of typologies to share. As we talked about the reasons why people watched sports they managed to list five of the six typologies I had listed before I put them on the screen. So now I’m a magician.

Then I broke them into their groups, because group work will be an important part of the class, and we’re heading that direction rapidly now.

In my Criticism class we talked about our first two stories of the semester. We discussed this story out of Texas.

The Liga Venezolana is a local example of how the millions of Venezeulans who have scattered across the Americas have brought with them an invigorating enthusiasm for the “American Pastime.” Leaving behind a country rife with political and economic turbulence and arriving in new landscapes where they are often scapegoated in political rhetoric, they have used the sport they know best to root themselves in a sense of home.

The league immigrants have created in Austin is far from the popularly imagined recreational softball scene of on-field beers and calm. The Liga Venezolana’s fans know how to intimidate. Its teams operate social media accounts. Many of its players, like Mao, have recorded strikeouts or stolen bases as pros on minor league teams. The league keeps stats and operates livestreams. Its intensity has made it a social focal point for the fast-growing Venezuelan immigrant community that has settled in North Austin, Pflugerville, Cedar Park and Leander in recent years. Since 2021, the league has ballooned from four to 22 teams and from about 70 to 600 players.

We also talked about this story.

Dr. Christopher Ahmad, Tommy John expert and head team physician for the New York Yankees, has performed the surgery on some of the biggest names in baseball. But he has also been privy to the other side of the story.

“The alarms are going off on how devastating this problem is to the youngest players,” he says in an interview with CNN Sports.

“When I first started doing Tommy John surgery about 25 years ago, the population who I was operating on who needed the surgery were essentially very high-level players – they were college prospects destined to be professional, or professional players.

“Now, the population who needs the surgery most are kids.”

Of the 10-15 Tommy John surgeries that he performs every week, Ahmad estimates that between eight and 10 are on high school children, with some even still in middle school.

For a first week of talking about stories, the interactions were pretty good. Started strong, and faded away a bit, perhaps. But we’ll get it there.

I tried, during that class, to play some audio, but the sound was tricky. Knowing I was going to show a documentary, I stuck around to tinker with it. Eventually my lovely bride came in to look for me. Then a woman who had a later class came in to get ready. I don’t know how many degrees we all have, but it took that many degrees to solve the problem, a problem I finally figured out by … adjusting the volume.

To be fair, there are a lot of options and buttons and switches.

Opposite from the elevators in our building are TV monitors and they’re programmed with the time and weather and promoting various events and services. Pretty standard stuff, usually. Sometimes something interesting is on the screen and I can see it for 2.7 seconds, just long enough to realize it is interesting, but not long to read it all. And there are a lot of things to promote. No one, not even me, is going to stand there and wait for the interesting thing to pop back up again.

But sometimes the elevator is slow, and sometimes you can catch a good one.

That’s the total promo. No contact info, no club or school or department affiliation, no deadlines listed. But it’s intriguing enough, I guess. Unless they, whoever they are, are trying to tell people that winning a scholarship is as likely as seeing Nelly, or Bigfoot, or aliens. Clearly it raises more questions than answers. More space was needed, I guess.

Older analog styles are the way to go with sophisticated messaging that has a lot of words, or dates, or URLs. Our building doesn’t have a lot of bulletin boards, which is a bit of a shame. I love taking a few moments to read the useful things, the random things, learn about new clubs and interest groups, and enjoy the truly wacky stuff people produce for public billboards. It’s cleaner and neater, sure, but we are just a tiny bit the lesser for it.

OK, now, on Wednesday, I’ve written about Tuesday and Wednesday. You know what that means for tomorrow, then, right? Back on schedule again. You’re relieved, I can tell from here.

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28
Jan 26

I am so far ahead I can see tomorrow

Lovely day, if you like living at a pole, and the color white, and ice everywhere. I’ve been trying to count how many times I’ve experienced a snow that persisted — this snow came down Sunday and will be with us for at least another week. It is a small number of experiences. And now there’s talk of another snow system this weekend.

I’d like to just … not. I still have shovel shoulders from Sunday and Monday.

Productive day, today. Emails were fired off with abandon. I prepared two lectures. This was made all the trickier because we did not have classes on Tuesday, and because we are right at the beginning of the term, where I am trying to set up the definitions and paradigms we’ll be using throughout the semester.

For my Criticism class, where I told them I would lecture this week and they would see why the rest of the semester is conversation-based, I’ll have 75 minutes to try to make the points that should take up about two hours worth of material. Also, I am Frankensteining two lectures to do that. Duct tape and PowerPoint presentations will see me through. What could go wrong? In my Rituals and Traditions class I will combine a brief guest appearance with some further elaboration on the slides I sent them online on Tuesday. Again, two days in one, just to set the tone for the entire class. What could go wrong?

Students in my online class received the second of three notes they’ll get from me this week. This one was a 791-word, tightly written, well-edited walkthrough of a sequence of the course that amounts to 20 percent of their grade. I put a lot of time into that letter because I know how much students are inclined to read these days. And I’ve been working on it over the course of three semesters now. (Given my process for these messages, that means it’s gone through at least nine editing passes at this point.) It is a good letter. Helpful, expressive, detailed, precisely to the point at hand. I send it to their inbox and post it on our class CMS. Now I just have to hope they’ll give it a look.

Perhaps the most productive thing I did today, though, was lay out the rest of my week. The least productive thing I’ll do the rest of the week is ignore most of that plan.

The best thing I’ll do is highlight the kitties, because they’re famous and popular, just ask them. So let’s do that.

If you like belly rubs, raise your paw.

Phoebe really likes belly rubs. She held her paw up for a good long while … just so long as the belly rubs continued.

The birds are feasting at the feeder, because, I think, several of their food sources are under a lot of snow and ice.
And so BirbTV has been a big hit around here. So much so that Poseidon doesn’t even care what he’s standing on, so long as he gets a closer look.

The cats are doing just fine. Though they would also like it to be just a bit warmer.

I wonder how it registers when they look out of the windows and see how different things are with so much white stuff on the ground. Lately, though, I’ve noticed they’re not as keen on trying to get outside as normal. It feels like four below out as I write this.

This evening I got away from the cold and went to Torano, Italy, where it is somehow 30 degrees warmer than here. I’m not saying we’re packing up and moving, but this was a delightful little valley ride. You can see it here.

Rouvy puts you in a video that someone recorded, and layers your avatar over the footage. As you can see from this screengrab, I was riding in the Italian summer.

And look at that mountain up ahead, there’s still snow up there. Here’s a few of that same feature, a few miles farther along in my ride.

Those cyclists are not a part of my ride. They are real people that were captured on the video. If I rode this route again, I suspect I’d seem them at pretty much the same spot, no matter how slow or fast I’d gone. (I averaged about 24 miles per hour on this ride (it had some nice downhills), which is the best ride I’ve had in a while. I churned out almost 600 watts for a bit, and regretted it the rest of the way.) Same for the other two people I caught up to, who I caught at a left-hand turn. They put out their hands to signal the turn and it looked like they were waving at me as I went by. I’ll see them in that valley again, should I visit. Or so I suppose. And my avatar would catch the same red light in Grosotto, or Lovero, whichever little village I was breezing through. My avatar just disappeared for a moment, while the video (and the car or whatever was shooting the footage) worked through the stop. A blip that felt like a Twilight Zone moment, which would be fun, if everyday didn’t already have a hefty dose of them.

Tomorrow, we’ll go to campus. I wonder what the roads will be like.

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21
Jan 26

From my well to Norway

Got around to calling the well guy today. Your well is due an inspection every two years, turns out. I’m only a few weeks behind. We had them out to do the inspect in 2023, and not a minute too soon. The old one was about to rust out and explode. What had started as a well inspection appointment grew a bit alarming for me in the days running up to the actual visit. When the crew got here the guy said I could replace the tank now, or wait until it exploded, which would, he said, be soon.

Thanks for the options, pal.

The guy had a new one right there on the truck. These, he assured me, are much better. Fiberglass never rusts. Well sign me up, and keep the water off my floor. And you might think this sounds like a very sophisticated confidence game from the well guy, but the rust that was everywhere looked plenty authentic.

Anyway, time marches on. The well provides water. Many showers were enjoyed, dishes washed, water bowls filled, etc. Everything behaves more or less as it should. We are pleased with this sequence of events. We made the right choice in replacing it that November day.

But now I have to call to set up that inspection. Because they don’t have a service calling to remind people, which seems like an opportunity lost, if you ask me. Also, the water running through our house is making an odd noise just now, which seems like the beginning of a problem, if you ask me. Also, as I noticed this morning when I went down to the well to verify I had the right phone number, I noticed that there was suddenly an error code on the water softener device. Error 102, which I’ve since looked up, could mean any number of things.

So I called the guy.

And he’s a genial fellow. He is also slammed because of the snowpacolypse rolling in this weekend, and can we schedule something next week?

Sure, I say, but first you have to convince me that these problems I’m telling you about aren’t going to do me in between now and then. He assures me with the practiced, steady tone of a man who’s been dealing with all of this for too long.

And what he’s dealing with here is that fiberglass tank. He said he bought a bunch of those. All but two of them went back to the manufacturer, because they’re krep. Guess who has one of the two. The guy said he’s taken it in the teeth on these things, and he’s going to again. This is under warranty.

He tells me we can live our lives for a few more days and nothing we’ll go wrong and I guess we’ll see. He’s getting another phone call as soon as the roads clear.

I had a checkup at the dermatologist late this morning. Good thing I took all of my skin with me. This was a simple follow-up after they carved a little piece of my back off last fall. I think it took longer for me to take off and put on clothes again than the whole of the appointment.

I got the once over, under a flashlight. He froze one little mark off my shin. It’s nothing, probably stays a nothing, but just in case. Would that all of life’s problems could be dispatched so quickly. But if you can avoid getting that frozen spray in life, do that. That stayed with me for most of the afternoon.

Turns out they left a sliver’s worth of stitching in the skin on my shoulder The assistant tweezed that out before I even realized she was back there.

I set up another appointment for the summer. Because of the spot they took off last fall they want me back every six months to study my alabaster skin. The doctor would not commit to how long we’ll be running at this pace. You’d get the sense from talking with them that being dismissive of it all is SOP.

Guess what conversation we’ll be having with them at my July appointment.

My lovely bride and I then had a nice lunch date. We enjoyed a few minutes of not doing other things at Chick-fil-A. It seems a good prescriptive. I’m glad I thought of it.

Since we were there, we stopped at Lowe’s. I picked up some 4SL 5W-30 oil for the snow blower. “Everyone’s getting ready,” said the woman who was working in the outdoors section.

I thought she could put that perfunctory cheer away, put a little panic in her voice, and help goose this week’s sales figures.

We cruised the light fixture aisle, because that’s what one does when one goes to a place with many fixtures and bulbs, but one also did not think to bring the TWO different specialty bulbs (for comparison) that need replacing. Then we went to the tool section. Brad nails, if you please. And hey, since I’m here, a few new fine-toothed jig saw blades.

One impulse purchase isn’t terribly impulsive, particularly if it A.) won’t spoil and B.) you have an eventual need for it’s use. (Just as soon as the weather turns.)

Then we headed to campus for a late afternoon faculty meeting. While working in the office, I received this email.

I wondered How far from the base of the building can I fling my computer? A good way, I’d imagine. My office is on the 6th floor.

Look, it’s one thing for young people and/or whining adults to mangle the language, turning an adjective into a present participle, but I am going to demand a little more from the marketing whizzes hired by the health system.

And don’t think I won’t bring that up to them, the next time I go to see my doctor and run into the direct mail tech team.

At our faculty meeting, well, faculty met. Things were discussed. Successes celebrated, grievances distributed. New policies were announced.

Then at home, in the driveway, I just missed the sunset, and the Canada geese.

Oh, they honk and they honk, they can’t help themselves. But while you can discern the direction, at that time of night you can’t get everything to work just right, camera-wise. I have a cool blurry one though, if anyone is interested.

I decided to take an FTP test. Your classic functional threshold power test, a ramp test, is a way to gauge your current level of fitness. I don’t really need to take this because my current level is: unfit. On a ramp test, and this is oh-so-interesting, you add power every minute and keep riding until you can’t. I sat up a bit early, I could have done more, maybe a little bit more, but I wanted to also cover some casual miles. Besides, this test showed an increase of 15 percent in my recent FTP.

I was riding somewhere in Norway.

Not very well, mind you, because, again, see above, unfit. But a January baseline is established. And now I can ride and see if it will improve.

And then I did the 10 miles or so around Plum Island, Massachusetts. Wikipedia:

The island is named for the wild beach plum shrubs that grow on its dunes, but is also famous for the purple sands at high tide, which derive their color from tiny crystals of pink pyrope garnet.

And it all sounds lovely. Looks it, too!

A bit farther down the Wikipedia page, there’s a list of beach and dune pests. And while, just a moment ago I wanted to go to northeaster Massachusetts and see this barrier island, I have now realized that things are so bad that each of these have subheadings on Wikipedia: Greenhead flies, ticks, mosquitoes, poison ivy.

That same place on the island, on Google Maps.

Want to see where I was on the FTP test? Somewhere just outside of Hjelle.

My avatar is riding in the Strynefjellet Mountains:

Here you will find a true wilderness, inhabited only by birds and animals adapted to an arctic climate, perhaps a predator in search of prey, a wild reindeer, a golden eagle, or sheep in summer pastures. Here there is plenty of space – and plenty of time. Change down to a lower gear and head into the mountains.

You think, “Norway in January, brr and no thank you.” Their weekend forecast and mine is about the same temperature. We’re expecting all of that snow — or maybe some of it, truly, no one knows, because who needs robust weather forecasting capabilities in the 21st century? — but in the Strynefjellet Mountains, they are under a Yellow Warning for Avalanches. I clicked that, and I am left to conclude that this is so commonplace that they don’t even include details. The blurb basically says, Don’t do it if you don’t have experience.

Not to worry, Norway, not to worry.

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14
Jan 26

Just us cool cats

Let us begin with the most important part, and the most popular part of the site, our regular check-in with the kitties.

Just the other night, a blustery and chill evening with the wind whipping, when it wasn’t howling, and the house creaking when it wasn’t popping, we all curled up together on the sofa. When the four of us are in one spot it feels like a life raft scenario. Or, maybe, a dangerous one: the entire brain trust in one spot!

At least I know where everyone is, and that everyone is happy, and not locked up or somehow magically slipped outside. These are self-imposed concerns, but they cross my mind a few times a day. And more in these days when there is less going on.

Like there’s less going on. There is. There is less now, than there will be. And so I looked at our feet and looked and the drowsy cats and enjoyed the moment, and then went back to reading the news.

Poseidon had a nice afternoon in the sun. I wonder if they perceive the differences of time. Or is it too subtle. Maybe one day from the next is far too little, but do they get a sense of “These naps are longer than the ones I enjoyed several naps ago?” They say time is a construct, but shadows disagree, and so would a sunbathing cat, I would think.

Phoebe climbed up on my shoulder, which is something her brother normally does, and decided to take a nap there. Forgive the poor composition, but I was hunched over for critter comforts and balance, and trying to get both a book shelf and ceiling fan out of the background.

So the kitties are doing just fine, thanks for asking. They would like, however, some more cuddles. They’re routines are bafflingly precise, which is why I wonder about cats and the passing of time. And, if you’re good, you can do a lot in the seven minutes between their needy demands.

I am not that good.

Today I was asked to be in a meeting, tomorrow, about yesterday’s meeting. And another meeting next week. I demurred on the latter, and think I can miss the former. In lieu of that meeting I wrote a three-page document that detailed all of the things that I would have said, which were only slightly more specific than what I said yesterday.

I’m sure I’ll send it on tomorrow. I’m sure I’ll blow it up and re-write it beforehand.

Today I also cinched and locked one syllabus. Which is great! Class starts next week! I’m close to the other.

I get to a place where some part of me says, “Ya know, you’re just tinkering with this for the sake of it.” And then I spend another hour or so on it, and call it done. It isn’t the best writing process, but I fall into it sometimes.

This process does have one added benefit, that when I apply it to regular writing, as opposed to sectioned and portioned off things like a syllabus, I can look back on the product and say, confidently, “Yep, I edited that to within an inch of its life.”

And then I send off the edited-and-barely-still-standing document. And then I notice the typos.

I also built my two first slide decks of the new semester today. I’m wondering if I should do more.

I should do more.

Update: I would not do more. I came back by the office later, and noticed I’d left my light on, which has become code for Go back in there and do some work. But I don’t always.

But I should. I like the work and all.

And that part is best of all, because there will be more of it tomorrow.

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7
Jan 26

The more interesting parts of Wednesday were other days

I met a high school student the other day, not for work purposes, but this is the daughter of someone we know socially. She was telling us about her classes. This student is taking three AP courses in the 10th grade. I think my high school, a whole century ago, might have offered three total AP courses. Ultimately, if the student continues to take AP courses and passes the end-of-year exams, she basically graduates from high school and is prepared to almost be a college sophomore in terms of credit hours.

The classes are pretty remarkable, too. A high school sophomore is taking classes that will potentially substitute for a college psychology class and a geography course, but she said her favorite was AP World History. I leaned in and asked her what her favorite era was so far. She said she was presently interested in colonial slavery. She rattled over a couple of particular aspects that intrigued her.

I leaned in a little further. I have a read for you, I said. I used to teach a class that was about different media forms and how and when they emerged. And when we discussed books, you could talk about several books. There’s obviously the printing press, the Bible and protestant reformation … I ratted off a few others. And then told her how the capture and enslavement of Black Africans from the Senegambia by the Portuguese in the 15th century set in motion a series of supremacist attitudes we’re still dealing with today. Prince Henry was collecting slaves, and eventually, he was apparently making more money off people than the rest of his country. Henry had a man that worked for him named Gomes Zurara, who wrote and validated the enslavement. The way Zurara figured it, capturing Africans they were actually saving souls. Zurara put all of this in a book form. There’s this confluence of events, books become popular, the Portuguese start exploring, expanding their shipping lanes, and they’re making all of this money. And this book I told her about, Stamped uses that as a key premise. Because I am an excellent storyteller, she thought this was an incredible

I think she was just excited to talk to someone about books.

You know who else likes books? Poseidon likes books. If you’re reading, you’re sitting down somewhere, somewhere still and he can get his cuddle on.

Phoebe, meanwhile, will catch a nap just any ol’ place that’s comfortable.

She was sitting, one recent afternoon, on the end of the dining room table, enjoying the sunshine. I said to my lovely bride, I should put some seat cushions there for her.

My lovely bride laughed and said I shouldn’t do that.

I went by sometime later and she wasn’t on the table, so I put a seat cushion where she’d been sitting. Then I sat out looking for her. And there she was.

Just any ol’ place that’s comfortable.