The Northward Contrail

The Lazy Weekend Book

Okay, so calling it a "lazy weekend" isn't the real story, but it was a quiet weekend, pleasant in a lot of little ways.  After the hubbub of the first week back at work, it really helped.  You wouldn't think that spending a Saturday cleaning up around the house would be relaxing, but it was.  It was a nice afternoon, with the soothing rasp of Bob Edwards on the radio as I dusted, swept, vacuumed, loaded the recycling bins, took out the garbage, put things in the dishwasher, and then plopped down on the couch, realizing anew just how much better the world seems when you have a clean house. 

Sunday was likewise peaceful and happy: laundry detail, along with getting most of my bills for the month scheduled for payment.  And the day started with me getting to watch on television as Force India scored its first points, in a run just short of perfection.  Yep, that made a good weekend even better.  Then hubby came back from town with a little surprise for me from the store.  Even better still. 

I didn't go anywhere this weekend, but I found happiness in a lot of little simple things.  Now it's on into a brave new week.  I hope the good feeling from this weekend will carry on into the next few days. 

A glimpse into yesteryear

Over the last few days I've been screening one of the hundreds of VHS tapes I have.  Back in the day, I recorded everything, it seems.  Now I'm glad I did.  I'm even happier I finally stopped editing out commercials at one point, for some of these things really let me immerse myself in yesteryear.

The tape I've been watching, off and on, is from the summer of 1989.  It contains three television specials related to the 20th anniversary of Apollo 11.  The show I've been watching was aired by CBS and titled "The Moon Above, The Earth Below," with Dan Rather and Charles Kuralt.  The concept was to re-tell the Apollo 11 story alongside some vignettes of what life was like on Earth while the flight was going on: an emergency room team treating a little girl who's seizing, a Montana rancher breaking a mare and riding her for the first time, a potter at his wheel crafting a bowl, etc. 

Some of the Apollo 11 story told in this special is oversimplified, overexaggerated, or of dubious accuracy (i.e., the story told of how USS Hornet was selected as recovery ship), and I can't tell if it's in the name of "a good story" or whether it's because the writers just didn't understand the material.  (Look, we understand that every point in the flight was a potential dance with death.  We get it.)  And the segments with Rather, the ones about the flight itself, are the Rather you probably remember, just a little too intense.  The segments with Charles Kuralt, though, about life back home, remind me so much of why I miss him: that wonderful, deep voice and laid-back manner, the voice of a born storyteller who puts it all into a bigger perspective.  Television news could sure use more like him.  But I'm not sure they make any more like him.  And I'm not sure anyone would hire a Kuralt these days, nor would they provide the time needed for his kind of quiet, little-picture stories.

The commercials are intact on this recording, and in some ways they're even more compelling than the documentary.  IBM ran several long-form institutional pieces about its efforts to develop tools for those with speech and hearing difficulties, and about its programs to help schoolchildren develop reading skills.  (Although somehow there crept in a commercial for the PS/2, whose "PS/2 it!" musical jingle, performed by that guy who performed just about every song in every commercial during the 1980s, has to rank among the most annoying compositions ever written during that whole decade.)  There are a lot of Kellogg's commercials, and a lot of AT&T spots too; that's fitting somehow, since Kellogg's and Western Electric were sponsors for CBS color coverage of the flight of Apollo 11.  There's even a couple of promo spots for "The Pat Sajak Show."  (Remember that?)  The local breaks are interesting, too: local news anchors with huge hair and big shoulder pads, commercials for now-defunct retailers (Circuit City), and local IDs with yesteryear's stylings.

What's most striking about this?  What you don't see.  You don't see the watermarked network ID at the bottom of the screen; you don't see the constant on-screen pop-up promos; you don't see all the other constant crap that clutters the screen these days.  It was back before the induced short-attention-span style that's beaten into us now.  You can actually concentrate on the program you're watching. 

The scariest part is that I can remember taping this special when it aired.  I remember it very well.  So well that it's downright scary for me to realize that it's been 20 years.  Where does the time go?  I get so busy thinking of "old television" as stuff that happened before my time, only to realize that the older I get, the more the stuff in my collection starts to qualify, too.

Bringin' home the links

The return of the school year has meant one really good thing: daily access to a fast Internet connection.  And with that, I can catch up on a few things, notably the various pieces of cultural flotsam and jetsam that populate the Interpipes.  Here's some found in a few stray moments:

:: This late '60s/early '70s ad for Gulf Oil.  This is a long-form institutional piece that would have been aired, for instance, on NBC during long-form coverage of something like an Apollo launch or a political convention.  I'd read about this ad in somebody's master's thesis, and here it is.  I can almost hear Frank McGee saying, "We'll be back in a moment...after this word from Gulf."

(A side note: the Bantry Bay facility they're singing about was the site of a horrific episode about a decade later.  And all the Universe-class supertankers they were singing about were scrapped by the mid-1980s.)

(Oh, and yes, I know it sounds like a Bennigan's commercial.)

:: If you're creeped out by the current Burger King ads, check out the live-action Burger King from the late 1970s that the current ads mock.  I remember when this series of ads ran, and how even then they struck me as a lame knock-off of the famed Scottish Clown and his entourage.  The King even had his own B-grade adversary, the Duke of Doubt, a character that has haunted me ever since, partly because of his ugliness and partly because of how inane a name that was for a character.  With lame characters and annoying tunes, these commercials just flat-out bothered me, even as a child.

(It's also here that I have to make a confession.  When Burger King began this ad campaign, I was a wee child and just starting Sunday School.  That's when we would get all these very simple artistic renderings of Jesus, in his beard and long hair and white robe, in these Bible lessons for children our age.  Back then, it bothered me that the guy depicted in so many of these things as being Jesus looked a lot like the Burger King: same eyes, same beard, same hair, same facial expressions.  Looking back, I wonder if there wasn't a Biblical subtext.  Perhaps the Duke of Doubt was Doubting Thomas?  Or perhaps Judas?  The world may never know.)

:: Finally, for those of you wanting to construct your own little piece of Dunder Mifflin at home, Office Tally has a link to blueprints for the Dunder Mifflin Scranton offices.  I don't know what's more disturbing: that these are online, or that I've spent so much time fascinated by them. 

Time-kill daily

Today's the long version of the workday, so in lieu of any actual content, enjoy some links:

:: Here's a site dedicated to early television cameras.  Follow the links and you'll find how to visit sites maintained by people who collect and restore them.  Someday when I have the money, and the space, to collect them, I will.

:: A site, interesting for all the wrong reasons, with old television commercials for cigarettes.  Among other things, you'll find an example of how an episode of I Love Lucy ended back in the day (before the addition of the "heart" title/credits sequence added for syndication ).  And, of course, what collection would be complete without the Flintstones taking a Winston break?  There's hours of time-kill potential here.

And so, it begins again

Well, here we are, once again, ready to play "You Teach The Class."  Only there's no Secret Word or a duck to come down and give me $100.  (Or George Fenneman to introduce the participants.)  I'm remaining cautiously optimistic about what's ahead this year, and I'm hoping it will be relatively free of unwelcome surprises.

It did get off to a busy start yesterday, the last day before classes began.  Last week I found out that the little refrigerator we keep in our kitchenette had conked out; it was making horrid noises and giving off a putrid chemical odor.  I was trying to figure out how to get it before classes began, but with my credit cards melted, there wasn't much I could do.  Fortunately, the replacement plastic arrived over the weekend, and I was back in business.

So yesterday morning I started looking around online for an affordable, larger replacement.  I found one through one of the big electronics retailers.  It was big, well-regarded, and very affordable.  And I could buy it online and pick it up at the store.  Problem was, the store's 40 miles away.  So I had to take an extended lunch break (well, lunch was a Diet Pepsi -- no Patio to be had, mind you -- and a 3 Musketeers bar from the filling station where I refueled desperately parched automobile.  And yes, the fact that my lunch consisted of a 3 Musketeers means there's more than a little Liz Lemon in me). 

I get to the store, go to the right place to pick it up, bring all the stuff I had to bring to verify who I was and what I'd ordered.  There ensues a whole comedy of errors as the young SmartTech wannabes look up my order on the computer system and then call back to the storage area to have it retrieved.  There's confusion about if it's a large refrigerator or a compact one.  Finally, it's all sorted out.  They wheel out my fridge, load it in my car, and I drive it away, get to the office, schlep it inside and install it.  All done.  It's one less thing to worry about.  The fewer things to worry about, the happier I am.

:: Back when I started this little online phantasmagoria, I'd planned to use it as a way to share interesting found objects that became part of my collection, especially the odd gadgetry and broadcast artifacts I've collected.  I haven't done a lot of that in a while, and that's to be lamented.  Some of that stuff is what I most enjoy.  It's a lot like what I'd ideally be doing for a living: working as a curator.   There's a real joy I have in putting together a little exhibit on, for instance, an old 8mm camera or a set of network publicity stills or telling the story of how a network covered a major event or two with yesterday's technology. 

I hope to do a little more of that here soon.  Part of it has had to do with technological limitations, part of it has had to do with time limitations...and part of it has had to do with being busy doing other things.  That's a shame, because when I do this long-form stuff about something that fascinates me, it's really fun.  And fun is why I started this whole thing.  I need to get back to that.

Enough, already

The politically-charged fun continued over the weekend, despite my best efforts.  To make a long story a little less long, I accidentally got ensnarled in something with one of those types who enjoys argument for its own sake, who may hear but doesn't do so well at listening, someone who would probably understand more about the real world if they spent less time engaging in hours of online pontification, less time parroting talking points, more time engaging in constructive dialogue and less time posting indecipherable 180,000-word responses to those who disagree.  It's one of these people who, no matter what you're talking about, is an Expert on it and feels the need to demonstrate as much.  (Wonder what he'd post in response to something regarding what ladies experience once a month?)  Chances are you know the type; the Internet is full of them.

And all of this grew out of something really non-political, too.  Yeah, I'm still trying to figure that one out.

With all this going on, and coupled with my growing pessimism about discourse in this country going even farther off the rails than it already was, I'm mentally exhausted and more than a little annoyed.  It's like I've had to spend the weekend getting rid of a door-to-door salesman who just won't take the bleepin' hint.  You didn't want the salesman there, you're not interested in what he's selling because he's engaging in the hard-sell, he won't take no for an answer, and he wants the last word.  (Worse still, he had an egg salad sandwich at lunch, and he's not been shy about compromising the integrity of the room.)

I don't care if your beliefs differ from mine.  To be honest, I really don't care what my friends believe, political or spiritual or otherwise.   I don't care how they cast their ballots.  It's none of my business.  I have my beliefs, and I am firm in them, but I don't try to convert my friends.  I don't bring these types of topics up for their own sake.  And I don't require beliefs identical to mine as a prerequisite for friendship.  (To be honest, I can't figure out if I would find such a requirement ludicrous or scary or both.  Anyone whose views are identical to mine should probably seek professional help.)  All I ask is that they treat me with courtesy and respect, and that they like me as a person.  That's what I give friends in return.

It would be my hope, though, that if you wanted to be my friend, you'd give my beliefs the same elbow room I give yours.  I'd hope that you wouldn't provoke me on them just because you think it's fun.  (I don't find it fun.  Plus, poke me hard enough and I go off.  Like a Roman candle.  That's part of why I really have trouble dealing with people who enjoy provocation, because I can hold my temper for only so long.)  And I'd also hope you would understand that there are times when certain types of discourse aren't appropriate, and that it isn't necessary to turn every conversation into a soapbox.

This, by the way, has nothing to do with "freedom of speech."  It has everything to do with "not acting like a jerk."

Hofstadter was right

This morning I was doing my usual morning tooling around on the Intertubes.  In the process, I came across one of those things you'll come across: somebody (in an off-topic post in one of the usual inappropriate non-political online locations) on this really over-the-top rant about how persecuted people of his ideological flavor are, how everything that's going on in public life right now is a nefarious conspiracy this side of an Oliver Stone film, and how everything we hold dear (Mom, hot dogs, apple pie, etc.) is being threatened by Them.

The worst part?  As much of a he-man as this guy likes to act, the entire post read like a protracted whine.  It never ceases to amaze me how some of the toughest characters are among the most easily wounded by tiny things and perceived slights.  They readily call other people with different ideas nasty things, but call people like this out and, well, you're just part of the problem and you are persecuting them for their beliefs.  They can't take in return what they dish out.  I've seen it with right-wing types and left-wing types.  It doesn't matter which wing you're talking about; it's ideological bullying, and it's absolutely obnoxious no matter how you slice it.  My problem isn't with what you believe; it's with how you present yourself. 

I started to post something in response, but I decided not to.  I know how it would end, because it's happened before.  Besides, it's pointless to argue with someone who can only traffic in rhetoric, and whose mind is already set in cement.  I've tried to before, and all it did was angry up the blood.  The hell with it.  (Meanwhile, it may be a good time to re-read this classic by Richard Hofstadter.  Nothing ever really changes, does it?  You'd think someone with a history degree would remember that better than I do sometimes.)

Nothing

Nothing to post right now.  I'm tied up with something today, and I don't know what will come of it, but I'm obliged to be at it, so that's about it.  See you tomorrow.

Preludes

It's the last week before the big show begins for another year, and it's not short on little dramas.  There's a few transfer students for whom I've had to build schedules; that's no end of interesting, given that we're steadily getting to a point at which there are more students than available course sections, and you can't really give them what they want so much as what they can get, period.  And then there are existing students who have made my life...well, interesting.  As a result, I've had to spend a little more time than usual dealing with registration this week. 

Then there will follow the inevitable fun of the drop/add period.  I'll be asked countless times by students if they can substitute one course for another (not likely to happen, given how crowded everything is) or if they can pick up a course of mine (not likely, given that I'm well over my limit in one popular course, to the point of taxing the limitations of the room and also taxing my ability to get the paperwork done).

Then there are my favorite least-favorite requests: when students don't want to take a course at 8 a.m., or even 9.  They want to sleep late.  They fail to realize they're asking this of someone who's usually up by six each morning and is in the office before eight.  I wonder how sympathetic a boss would be about that kind of request?  I know I sure don't like being up that early (oooh, am I crabby first thing in the morning), but it's part of life, and I've dealt with it. 

It's my hope things will settle in quickly.  The potential is there for this to be a good year with some fun things happening.  I like the courses I'll be teaching, I'm comfortable with what I'm doing, and I've managed to shed a couple of collateral duties that weren't exactly triumphs of the human spirit.  I hope everything comes together, and that the next nine months will remind me anew why this job keeps its strange, wonderful hold on me.

Financial Shrinky Dinks

Along with the other stuff I had to get done yesterday (including sitting through several hours of meetings), I had to take care of something I did to myself.  That it was something careless made it even worse.

When I'm out somewhere, I keep all my stuff in a sling bag.  It's not all that big, just big enough to carry the stuff I may need while I'm out (tissues, hand sanitizer, contact lens case, eyeglasses, so on).  And it has a compartment for my various implements of finance, too.  The problem is, I really don't like carrying it a lot, especially if I'm just going in a store for a minute.  I'll normally grab my money and my cards, put them in a pocket, and go do my thing.  When I get home, I empty my pockets, put everything back in its place, and go on with life.

Well, problem is, sometimes I forget to empty my pockets.  And comedy ensues.  At the least, I get panicked until I check the pockets on a pair of pants I've put aside.  At worst...well, what happened Sunday.  Wouldn't you know that all my credit and debit cards would be in the pocket of a pair of pants I laundered?  My debit card was warped all to pieces and shrank a bit.  One of my credit cards fell out of the pocket and, when I saw it, it was folded over itself like a nacho chip.  They were all ruined. 

I was able to go online and order replacements for two of the three, but replacing the debit card was more difficult.  I remembered having to replace a debit card before, and for whatever reason, I remembered being told I had to request it by phone.  So yesterday morning, I called the customer service line.  "Oh, you'll have to go to the branch to do that.  We don't do that over the phone."  I was headed there anyway, to cash a check for enough cash to tide me over, so I asked the teller how I would get it replaced (showing her my card's new Shrinky-Dink look).  She kind of shrugged it off and said "Oh, we can take care of that."  There was a form I had to sign, and that was about it.  New card will be here soon.

It'll be kind of a pain to do without until the replacements are here, but perhaps the memory of going through all this will help remind me never to not check my pockets.  You'd think that the touch of obsessive-compulsive disorder I have would help me double-check these things, right?  So much for that.