The Northward Contrail

The lottery ticket

I'm eligible for promotion review this year.  I'm tenured, so it's completely optional, but I'm someone who likes to go for the bonus round if I feel the odds are at least even.  If I get the promotion, it's over and done with and I don't have to worry about it ever again.  If I don't, my reasoning goes, at least I'll have feedback on what to fix the next time I apply.  It's not like the last time, when if I didn't pass I would be out of a job, so there's considerably less stress this time through.

All of this has meant the last few weeks have been interesting, and intense.  You learn early on in academia that you never throw anything away that could possibly have future use in a tenure/promotion portfolio.  The flip side is you have a ton of stuff through which you must sort, determining what's worth including and what's just junk.  Making things more interesting is that we have to submit these in electronic format this time around, so I've also had to do a ton of document scanning, and I've also had to root through my various electronic archives.  Thankfully, 98% of my syllabi still exist in their original word processor formats, so it was just a matter of importing them into InDesign.  Right now, after several long evenings' work I have an electronic portfolio that's probably, in total, about 600 pages spread across five massive PDFs. There's also supplemental materials; half a CD-R full of film projects, a bunch of PowerPoint shows I developed for various purposes, and a few other things. All this is in addition to the introductory essays you have to write, in which you outline everything, reflect on what you've accomplished, and subtly build your case for promotion.  Everything's just shy of being burned to a CD-R and submitted to the higher-ups, and there will be a definite sense of relief when that beast of a project is handed in.

But the portfolio isn't enough.  You also have colleagues sitting in on your classes watching you work.  And as good as you may think you are, as comfortable as you are on any other day...when there's a colleague back there watching your every move, you get self-conscious.  Little flubs you'd just laugh off any other day become huge, at least in your mind.  Even though every time in recent history I've been peer-evaluated has turned out well -- indeed, they've generally said extremely generous things and told me that some things I've worried about in my classroom style aren't things I need to worry about -- I still get the butterflies in my stomach.  You're doing this in front of someone who's been doing this longer than you have, most likely has won a few awards for teaching, and generally has had a distinguished career in the classroom.  And prepare as you may, and as much as you try to pretend it's just another class session, the presence is still on your mind, and at least once I got halfway through a presentation, felt I was getting no traction with the students, and thought "Oh, man.  This is going downhill fast.  I'm doomed."  (Oddly enough, the post-class evaluation was full of praise, and the observer was very impressed.  Go figure.)

The nice thing is, win or lose, the process for this year is about to be over.  The in-class observations will soon be finished, the electronic portfolio will be turned in, and I will be able to get back to a reasonably normal (whatever that means) professional life.  I'm hoping it will go my way, but I'm also not getting my hopes up, and I'm prepared for either outcome.  As it was in the classroom that day, I'm too close to the immediate situation to see its true perspective and therefore I can't tell you how it looks to others.  And, as I've reasoned, if I don't get it this time, at least I'll find out what to fix for next time. 

But there's also the chance it'll work -- and, after all, you can't win the lottery unless you buy a ticket.

On never giving up

Found this piece the other morning while looking for something else.  It struck a chord.  Read it.

Simplify

So along with the plans for next spring has come reassessment in a few other areas, notably how I spend my money on entertainments.  The little hobby I have, involving the little plastic things, has been a source of amusement for much of my life.  But the longer I work, the less time I find myself having for these things, and the more time I find myself spending on individual projects. 

Other things I bought years ago because of certain interests haven't held up well as time has passed.  What fascinated me a decade ago doesn't now, for whatever reason.  In fact, it's kind of scary how far out of love I've fallen with certain subjects, and some of what kept me enraptured then doesn't any longer.

And it's realizing I won't live forever.  When I was in my late 20s the future seemed limitless and I thought I'd have forever to do this stuff.  But the last decade brought education, in many ways, and I've found there are a lot of other things I enjoy.  Then there's the practical considerations: if I build all this stuff, where am I going to display it?  And so on.

The last few weeks, I've gone through the upstairs stash bit by bit, and I'm pulling stuff off to sell, at some point.  Much of it is stuff I picked up cheap because I could, or stuff I saw on a whim.  Others I sort of hate to get rid of, but I know I'll not be getting to it anytime soon, and I could put the proceeds to work a lot more quickly on more urgent needs.  Not to mention, it's just nice to de-clutter up there.  It really had started to get ridiculous, and now that I've pulled some stuff, there's a little more breathing room, and I also don't feel quite like all this stuff is staring me down the way it once did. 

There's still some boxes I have to pick through, and still a few more hard decisions to make, but it'll all be for the best.  The momentary sting of bidding farewell to a trifling miniature dream that was never going to be, anyway, will pass quickly.  I know this because it's happened before, and it will be the same as I sell this stuff off, too.  Better still, it'll clear the decks and free up resources for the stuff I really want to do, both on the workbench and off.

And away he goes

For the last eleven years, when somebody in our little family has traveled, it's been me.  I'm the one who's up at oh-stupid-thirty to catch a plane for somewhere far away.  It's been that way since we met, and at least once a year for most years there's been somewhere I've flown.  Sometimes it's been multiple times in a single year.  Hubby has been the one who's seen me off, who's tended to things at home while I've been off doing whatever it is I had to go and do. 

The last time he flew commercial was 2001.  I was with him.  It was just over two weeks after the Sept. 11 attacks.  We flew back to Florida to get his truck and drive back.  So it's been 10 years since he flew anywhere on an airliner.  In that time...holy cow, I can't begin to count all the places I've been or how many miles I've flown on how many different kinds of airplanes.  (Okay, well, I could, but I don't feel like it.)  Suffice to say it's been enough.

This morning, it's different, for it's him on an airplane headed somewhere and me left behind to take care of things.  His employer is sending him and one of his co-workers out for some training.  It will be a short trip, and he'll be back before the weekend.  I'm very happy for him, because it's a training opportunity of the sort he's wanted for a long time -- and, let's face it, travel is an adventure.  He's getting a taste of the world I know when I'm not having to teach, that strange and wonderful world of same person, different location, and everything that goes with it.

At the same time, I'm getting an appreciation of what it's like for him when I'm away.  We're two very independent people, and we do our own things, but we also have a very deep and abiding love for each other.  As well as we function while we're apart, there's nevertheless that feeling that a part of you is somewhere else, and things aren't truly complete until you're reunited. 

Sure, I have plenty to keep me busy the next few days, and I'm going to have some fun, and I'm going to take advantage of all the time I'll have to finish a few chores I've put off too long.  But even as I do all that, it'll be with the knowledge that part of my heart is with someone a few thousand miles away, and I won't truly rest easy until he's back here once more.  And it's a reminder that every time I'm off in Seattle or Fairbanks or wherever I am, he feels the same thing. 

Submitted for your approval

While I'm too busy today with too many other things, check out what the A.V. Club has now started doing: reviewing episodes of The Twilight Zone, starting with the pilot and moving forward.  Utterly awesome.  While you're at it, check out this piece about "The Arena," a Studio One written by Serling.

Busy, yet again

Today there's a hundred things going on -- and even if there's not, it sure feels like it.  Trying to spend the few quiet moments before work today savoring the quiet before it gets intense, so no time to blog today.  See you Monday.

So much for that

A couple mornings ago we were doing the usual morning-get-ready stuff.  Hubby likes to turn on one of the local stations for weather and news.  Since my tolerance for broadcast news is incredibly low (and since my tolerance for most local news outlets is roughly equal to my tolerance for fingernails on a chalkboard), I'll find something else to do while he watches the morning news program. 

It's your typical program: male anchor, female anchor, weather guy who tries to be funny, and a little bit of an effort to be informative but mostly a lot of fluff.  And a lot of happy-talk.  Anyone who has ever known how I am in the morning knows that I do not do happy talk.  There was a reason I watched Don Imus for so many years; he was the only person on in the morning whose demeanor was as gruff and cranky as mine is in the morning.  (It's also why I wish they could find a way to bring Hughes Rudd back from the dead.)

Anyway, the content of this morning news program is your typical casserole of what passes for television news these days, and that's anything of any real substance either being mishandled or just given a two-sentence summary in the studio, in between the co-anchors trying to be your funniest, bestest friend ever.  What gets the longer play are the touchy-feely stories, or the "news you can use" stories, usually your consumer-oriented stuff.  But, once in a while, you'll spot something fishy about these stories.  I did the other day.  One video piece presented under the guise of "news" was so blatantly, obviously a VNR that I saw red.  And it was full of half-truths.  And yet this station was presenting it just like it was the Gospel. 

Now, the temptation was very strong to do more than just yell at the television.  I had serious thoughts of getting in touch with the station and saying, "Look, I saw this, and I know what you did."  Because what I teach my students is the exact opposite of this.  I teach my kids about VNRs.  I spend so much of my career trying to get them to realize they are being manipulated in subtle ways, because everybody -- be it politicians, be it corporations, be it celebrities, be it whatever -- is trying to persuade you, and it ain't your best interest they have in mind.

But as I was honing my ire into a fine spear's tip, I remembered something.  The station that aired this VNR is one of the very TV stations we're wanting to build an alliance with at work.  And for that to work, it's very important I do nothing to offend them.  We need them a lot more than they need us.  Yeah, I could fire off an e-mail full of indignation, but not only would it accomplish precisely nothing, it would also probably cost my students internship opportunities and our department a valuable partnership.  They hold the cards. I don't.  Yes, stuff like this turns my stomach.  I know what the true ethicist would do.  But their station represents opportunities for our kids.

And, besides, if I complained about it, it would accomplish nothing.  The ethicists in our trade (and I'm one) can rail about the use of VNRs, but it's widespread; much as we despise them, they're not going away.  I know full well I could complain about that VNR and even if I got a "yeah, you caught us" from the news department, be it in two weeks or two months I'd see the same damn thing happen again.  It's because VNRs offer an easy and tempting fix to the age-old problem of "we need content, we need it cheap, and we need it now."  It's the very problem the creators of VNRs know about when they create them, just as the creators of press releases rely on newspaper editors needing material to fill out a page.  It's widespread.  To use the old analogy, complaining about it is like complaining about speeding at the Indy 500.  It's just the nature of the beast, especially during a time when media outlets have an insatiable desire for content and yet don't want to spend what it would require to get true high-quality content (and during a time when, for most people, content goes in one ear and out the other anyway).

Oh, well.  At the very least, I've come away with another example I can use in the classroom.  The older I get, the more I believe that the present-day state of our profession is hopelessly lost.  However, I can make a difference for the next generation, and that's why I work so hard to train them properly and train them well, for someday when they are calling the shots, there's hope for them making the right call.

(And, one day, if I do strike oil in the back yard or win the lottery or whatever, I'm starting my own television station.  It's going to hire the best journalists it can -- nobody can work for our news department unless they've had at least two years working a beat at a newspaper -- and it's going to seek out real news and present it each morning, evening and night with absolutely no crap, no fluff, no snappy theme music, no "we're pretending to be your best friend" sloganeering.  It's going to be what broadcast news should be.  It's going to be great.  And it's going to crater in the ratings and drive me to bankruptcy in less than three months, I'll bet.)

That looks familiar

A few months ago I bought a membership to the Museum of Flight (all the better to help support beloved Queenie, plus it's just a neat museum).  One membership benefit is a subscription to the museum's magazine, and when mine arrived the other day I noticed a brief article about this competition.  I don't think you need to do much figuring which of the entrants I loved best.  (Here's a closer look if you can't figure it out.)  I know exactly where that picture was taken, as I've been past there many times, and it's impossible for me to tell you what that picture does to me inside.  Leave all that out, though, and it's still a neat picture.

Messing with your childhood

With a handful of exceptions, I've never been that much into the science fiction.  That said, I do have memories of the Star Wars phenomenon as it originally played out in the late '70s and early '80s.  My older brother really got into it, and had just about all the action figures and toys and playsets and everything else.  I even remember he had the soundtrack ablums, which in our house was about as classical as we ever got.  I have very vague memories of seeing all three movies when they were originally released.  I was too young to really appreciate them, and I think I may have been overwhelmed by it all; when you're that young, there's a lot to take in.  I do remember coming away thinking Han Solo was the coolest guy ever (and loving that the Millenium Falcon sorta reminded me of a B-29) and, in later installments, thinking Boba Fett was the epitome of evil awesomeness.

But I never really took to Star Wars the way others of my generation have.  Oh, I know the references and know enough to laugh at the jokes people make (and am appreciative enough of the franchise to find this downright hilarious), but I don't really get that heavy into it.  To me, their significance is based on their status as cultural and cinematic milestones.  It's sort of like how I feel about Gone With the Wind or The Wizard of Oz -- a landmark event in the history of film, and a cultural touchstone, and undeniably something worth appreciating, but none of them are in my DVD collection.  (Although hubby has the original trilogy box set on VHS.)  Be that as it may, I am among those who wish the original versions of the Star Wars trilogy were commercially available in state-of-the-art, unadulterated, as-original form, and wishes the "enhancements" would just stop...because, if I'm to watch them again, I want to see them as they originally were.  It's not necessarily because it ruins any childhood memories, but because I want to appreciate them in their original context, and because today's CGI is so jarring next to the (IMHO, more believable) special effects of yesteryear.

There's an interesting piece at the AV Club this morning about the memories of childhood as compared to the versions of the trilogy re-released in the years since, and about letting go.  I highly recommend it, as well as the ensuing discussions.

The ebb of temptation

Over the weekend we took a day trip and went to a model show a few towns over.  We like going to these things; it gives us a chance to catch up with friends, see what other folks are building, and roam the vendor tables.  (Plus we get a chance to go have a good meal, so that never hurts.)

There once was a time when I'd go to one of these things and bring plenty of cash, and I'd come out of it with my cash gone and my arms loaded down with lots of kits, decals, aftermarket items, you name it.  If my buddy Jon Warneke was there, that was always dangerous; he'd normally leave with my credit card number and I'd have a new ship kit or two. 

But this year, it didn't happen.  The vendor tables that once seemed so tempting weren't this time.  I think it's a combination of knowing how much I still have unbuilt upstairs, knowing how much of it is likely to remain unbuilt, the lack of enthusiasm I've had lately for building anything, and the feeling that the older I get, the more I see the same stuff on the vendor tables again and again.  The older you get, the fewer surprises you find, and that cuts both ways.  Sure, there are a few things I'm looking for, but they're either extremely rare and/or not likely to be found in a predominantly military-themed vendor room.  The end result was that I came out of that vendor room having spent exactly $7, and that was for a mildly-rare book on an airplane with which I have some fascination. 

There's one more factor at play beyond just becoming harder to impress.  It's the budget plans with which I was playing over the weekend, the numbers I'm running to make next Spring's adventures a reality on a financially-sound basis.  And the less I spend on things I'll buy and then just put aside and forget, the more I'll have to retire present debts, and the more money I'll have to pay for things I really want and for things that will last.  Why spend money now on little plastic versions of airplanes when the numbers tell me not only that saving up will allow me to play with real airplanes, but that if I play my cards right, I could own a real one sooner than I imagined I could?  And that I could go beyond a private license to become instrument rated and maybe even get a commercial license?  (Not that I'd necessarily be looking to make a living with an airplane -- I only bet on sure things, remember? -- but I'd want to do it for the additional training I'd receive and the refinement of airmanship I would have to demonstrate, and the fact that it would let me show myself I could do it...and, heck, a commercial rating would be neat to have in my back pocket, you know?)  At any rate, it's no contest.  If rearranging my finances and my priorities and doing without some stuff today can take me beyond my initial hopes and into something like that tomorrow, it's no contest at all.

No, I'm not giving up the hobby, not by any means.  There are projects I'm still very excited about, and I can't wait to tear into them (heck, I tore apart the upstairs yesterday afternoon to dig out my C-46 kit, for an obscure but especially lovely subject suggested itself over the weekend).  The difference is, I'm focusing on what I already have, being very selective about what I do acquire from here on, and paring down my current collection to only those things I'm truly interested in and committed to.  I have learned that my interest in playing with the stuff ebbs and flows, and that I go hot and cold on certain things, and that things I bought because of a brief flirtation with a subject five years ago haven't held up.  Better to focus on the stuff that really matters, and let the rest go, for that's money you could raise by selling off what you have that no longer moves you, and it's money you can save by passing on it when you see it for sale.

All the while, I'm keeping my eye on next Spring, when the sacrifices I'm making now will bring rewards, the hours once again accumulate in my log book, and I finally make progress on that promise I made to myself many years ago.  It won't be quick or easy, but it will be so completely worth it.