The Northward Contrail

One Saturday night

Late one Saturday night in 1981 I was in the dark, the bedroom illuminated only by the glow of a Hitachi portable black and white television. Our parents would sometimes let us stay up late on the weekends and watch Saturday Night Live. That's what I was doing. This particular episode stood out because of two sketches - one incredibly silly (if over my head at the time), and one that sort of frightened me. About a dozen years ago, when you could catch reruns of the '81 season on cable, I saw those sketches again, but since I didn't have the VCR ready (and wasn't aware the episode was on) I couldn't tape them. Thankfully, it's Hulu to the rescue.

Here's the one that frightened me a little. Yeah, now I can appreciate its silliness and the cheesy way it was done, but when you're a kid and you see this (especially in the dark, and without any warning), it sort of creeps you out a bit, and in a way it haunted me for years. (Maybe it was the Piscopo factor? I don't know.)

And here's the one I loved for its silliness. The cutaway to the chorus of doctors is what I remembered, but until I saw it again a few years ago I'd forgotten it got just a little out of hand. It's a little tasteless, but when you remember this man had a hand in writing it, that explains a lot.

Unfortunately, only part of the episode is available, and you don't get to see this little gem (yes, Joe Patroni himself actually sang). Nor do you get to see the performance by Miles Davis this episode featured that, while not Miles at his best, still blew me away when I saw it on that rebroadcast back in the '90s. Still, being reunited with at least those two sketches from that dark night thirty years ago is worth something, at least for me. (By the way, there's a review of the episode here.)

The old hand

Yesterday afternoon we had a faculty meeting. Much as I utterly despise meetings, this one was very useful, for it was a briefing on certain things that need to be done. We face some challenges, it's true, but they're problems that can be solved and we have very good people who are on it.

The reason I lose no sleep over the challenges we face is because when I was in my first semester here, we faced challenges that were far, far greater. We were in seriously deep financial trouble, and our accrediting agency was giving us very intense scrutiny. One sneeze, one false move, and the college would be history. I remember sitting in faculty meetings back then and wondering if I'd have a job that time next year. (Not until long after it was all resolved did I learn how close to the edge we really were.) But we survived, we prevailed, and we thrived. Even with its problems, ours is now a strong institution. We'll weather the current situation, and we'll move forward stronger for the experience.

It was with those memories of a decade ago that I heard some relatively new faculty members voicing their own concerns during the open floor portion of yesterday's meeting. One said some things that were eerily like what passed through my mind a decade ago. I finally raised my hand and spoke up. Somehow I got out that I'd been here through far worse, and we got through it then, so we'll be fine now, especially with the fine leadership our faculty enjoys. I also said something about how we need to keep our focus on serving the students, and that the best way for us to stave off worry was to stay busy. I love Bill Buckley's line about "industry is the enemy of melancholy," and I shared it. My comments weren't much, nor were they terribly eloquent, but I felt a little better for having said it.

After the meeting adjourned, a colleague flagged me down in the parking lot. She thanked me for what I said, adding that she'd spent the meeting hoping "a senior faculty member" would speak up as I had. As much as I appreciated her comments, my head spun a bit when I heard the words "senior faculty member" being applied to me. While intellectually I know I'm one of the old hands around here, in my mind part of me still feels like that kid I was a decade ago. To me "senior faculty member" means the venerable lions of the faculty. Folks like the long-serving history professor, his body slowed by age but his mind sharp as ever, who was our longtime parliamentarian. Or the biology professor I still can't screw up the courage to address on a first-name basis -- even though I know I could, but it's too much of a respect thing -- who's been teaching at our college since I was in junior high school. Folks like that. Compared to them, I still feel like a kid.

But I'm not that kid any longer, hard as it is to realize. I know part of my job now is to be an example and a role model, and part of what I consciously do when I can is provide the subtle mentoring and the little bits of encouragement I didn't get back then. After all, I don't want anybody to have to go through some things I did. I don't want them to feel terrified when they're going through a third-year review or intimidated about compiling a tenure portfolio or any of that. The job is challenging enough as it is, and if I can soothe some nerves and ease a few jitters when I can, I'm happy to. I've been through it, the hard way, and now there's not an awful lot that truly scares me. I want them to have what I didn't have back then, when I spent my first years at this job in fear of screwing up and losing a job I felt I'd just barely earned as it was.

That said, as much as I know I am now, being called "senior faculty" is going to take some getting used to -- especially since, some days, it still feels like I just started working there yesterday.

Postmark

Another auction find from a few years ago: this clipped mailing piece (presumably cut from an envelope?) with metered postage, from late May 1941.  Fascinating on several levels, especially the glimpse at the typography and iconography of the Eyeball Network before it became the Eyeball Network.  Even then, as you can see, they put particular emphasis on cool, sleek, modern design.

Here's a closer look:

Wow, did that lettering like that you see in that postmark give me the creeps when I was a wee one.  Funny what a lack of serifs will do to make an alphabet look scary, no?  But that's the influence of William Lescaze for you (and here's the link to download an article on his work for CBS).

What a weekend

It was sort of a long weekend for us.  Hubby took Friday off, so we had a rare Friday together with lunch out, and it was good.  We don't get to spend all that much time together, so it was a real treat.

Saturday was kind of a dilly.  We took our time that morning going out, and then went on a couple hours' drive over to one of the nearby big cities.  We stopped in at our nearest location of a certain book chain that's going out of business, only to find it overrun by people who were there in hopes of scoring major bargains.  (The first weekend of a "store closing" sale is rarely when you'll get the deepest discounts, of course.)  Then a stop at our favorite hobby shop in the area brought a rather astonishing display of thoughtlessness and rudeness from a couple of fellow shoppers, and one of those moments when I had to decide whether or not to make a scene in return.  (I didn't.) 

But the trip was made completely worth it when we found that a bookstore we hadn't been to in a long time has been transformed into a new/used bookstore, one comparable to this old favorite or this other one I know, too.  I dropped a good $40 at this stop, and at one of these places $40 goes a long way.  Among my finds was a very nice hardcover edition of this, which is required reading for any fan of the television series, and I'm looking forward to reading it once I'm back from my trip.  (I plan to bring lighter fare to read en route.)  Then it was off for pizza at our favorite pizza joint, a stop at one more store, and then homeward.

All was right with the world until a few minutes before 10 pm Saturday night.  I'd found a tiny spider, and rather than kill it, I captured it.  As I stepped out to put it outside, the new cat saw his opening and was out the door like a shot.  Every time I tried to get near him, he'd sneak away.  Then he was off down our driveway, laying in the middle of the road, and then climbing up the hill onto the adjacent property.  Finally, after grabbing some cat treats and climbing up the steep hill and through some brush, I had him in my grasp, and within 10 minutes of his escape he was safely inside the house once more.  It was a close call, and I spent much of the evening mad at myself for the moment of carelessness that could have led to something awful.  But, no permanent damage, so that's worth something.

With all that happening Saturday, it was very good that Sunday was quiet and peaceful.  It was the last full day the four of us would have together before I leave Tuesday afternoon, when I pre-position for Wednesday's flight out.  I'm sure looking forward to my trip...but I'm also looking forward to being reunited with my boys a week from Friday, too.  But if I have to go for a week and a half without them, the weekend was a (mostly) nice way to stock up on together time before I head out.

An ice-cold Cold War treat

Continuing on last week's trend of neat discovered stuff, a friend sent me a link that brought me here, to the National Security Archive.  While it's all very interesting, the section that most engrossed me was The Nuclear Vault, about...well, follow the link and you'll know.  The specific link my friend sent me was to this period piece of filmic uplift.

As if that's not enough fun, they also have a blog.  Fun!

Why not me? Here's why

So yesterday I unloaded about how sick I am of the campaign season.  And you may be thinking, "Okay, Nerd Girl, you're so smart.  Why don't you run for office?"  Let's see...where do I begin?

• I don't have the attention span for it.  Seriously.  Governance involves having at least a basic working knowledge of complex issues, parliamentary procedure and so forth.  It's all I can do to keep six passwords straight for my computer accounts.  And I know that, like driving a race car, governance ain't as easy as it looks on television.
• I love my family too much to put them through anything like that.
• I cherish my privacy too much.  I do not want to have every little thing about my life ripped open and exposed to become a field day for opponents, haters and comedians.  I mean this.  Someone I used to work for ran for office, and talked about how they did a lot of background work to see if there's anything the opposition could use against him.  The thought of that alone is enough to send me away screaming -- not because of anything salacious (which there really isn't); it's that I'm a very private person.
• Likewise, I wouldn't like what I would have to do to my opponent in order to mount an effective campaign.  I don't like getting in fights with other folks, and if I won, I'd feel guilty about it.  It's that darn conscience of mine.
• I've made a couple of really boneheaded moves in my life, and said one or two stupid things too.  I beat myself up over them enough without the help a campaign (and an opponent) would provide.
• Think about it.  I've worked in journalism and academia.  That alone is red meat.
• Remember what I said about how no matter how your politics may line up, my politics are probably different from yours?  I can guarantee that for everything a potential supporter would find likable about my platform, there would be an equal number of things they'd utterly despise.
• I'm too prickly and chilly in real life.  I can turn on the charm when I have to, but I don't like to.  It makes me feel like a phony.  It's not a job for someone who cherishes her introversion.
• I hate looking at pictures of myself.  I hate the sound of my own voice.  A campaign would require me to look at and listen to myself a lot.  No, thanks.
• Inevitably, some people would see me as the vessel for their hopes and dreams.  The blank spaces in my campaign, the things I left unsaid, would be filled in by them.  They would expect me to be an advocate for issues I never said I would advocate, and to keep promises I never made.  And if I failed to deliver, or if I told them that, no, I don't agree with them (or if I told them the truth, that I seriously resent it when others put words in my mouth), they'd turn against me.
• There are a handful of issues on which I'd have to call it as I see it.  I couldn't sugar-coat it.
• I hate both parties, so I'd run as an Independent.  That would be a long-shot to get elected.  And if I did get elected?  With whom would I caucus if part of my campaign had been about being fed up with the two major franchises?  I'd get nothing accomplished, other than jousting at a windmill.  And if I did caucus with one of the parties?  I'd be a sellout.
• I can think of a lot of other things I'd rather spend the time and money on.  I believe that if I really wanted to help people, there are a lot of local organizations that would love to have the time and resources instead, and where I could get a much better return and feel a much deeper personal satisfaction.
• And I don't have the ego to do it.  I'm comfortable with myself, but I never believe I'm the smartest person in the room. Even when I'm alone.

For that, as well as other reasons, I will not run if nominated, and will not serve if elected.  Thank you.

YouTube fun

While I'm out and about today, here's some clips for you:

-- If you have a lot of time, start here to watch coverage of the entire saga of Gemini 6, from the Agena launch that didn't work out, to the famous pad abort, and on through splashdown. 

-- Coverage of Apollo 12, starting with President Nixon's arrival at Patrick Air Force Base.  You see so much of Apollo 11, but so little about Apollo 12.  For me it's added fun to see the recovery operation, including the carrier Hornet reprising her famous role of a few months before.

-- Related, the final moments of the flight of Apollo 8, recovered by another ship particularly dear to me.  If you continue through the series of videos, you'll come across some great onboard footage.  (Too bad the Western Electric billboards got cut, but them's the breaks.  At least you get to hear Harry Kramer.)

-- Finally, here's why I'm avoiding a visit to the Space Needle.

27 years after the day

I spent a little time at lunch the other day checking up at the Conelrad Adjacent.  It had been a while, and I'd missed a lot.  Among other things, I found an essay about the 1983 ABC-TV film The Day After, and an adjoining one about contemporary reaction to it.  (Oh, and here's the viewers' guide, while we're at it.)

I've written before about this film, about how it scared me to death when it originally aired and so on.  But now, looking back as an adult who knows more about the era, it's interesting to take a second look.  The film, despite some campy moments, still has some power to it. 

What really interested me -- being a completist, and a fan of period context -- was the discovery (via a link in the blogpost referenced above) of the ABC Viewpoint roundtable that followed (part 1 is here).  Follow the sidebar links at that site and you'll find the Viewpoint special, the original commercial breaks, some promos and other ephemera that really bring the era back. If you didn't tape it when it originally aired, here's an alternate way to capture the moment in all its off-air fear and loathing.

Bonus found scary item:  For years I was haunted by something I saw when I was a wee tiny one, and it scared me to death: something about Paul Lynde crawling out of something with this weird look on his face, on a show that had Donny and Marie on it (isn't that scary enough?  But, I digress).  Sure enough, here's a promo with a scene very similar to the one that bothered me forever.  I think that's it.  (You can find the whole program, less breaks, on the YouTube if you look around a bit.)

A weird dream

A few nights ago I had a really strange dream. 

To set this up properly, a few years ago I started working on a novel, and I've made reference to it a few times on here.  (It stalled out about six years ago, and hasn't wanted to go anywhere since, so the heck with it.  For the sake of the reading public, that's probably a very good thing.  My non-fiction writing is bad enough, so I wouldn't want to inflict my fiction on anyone.  It would probably violate something agreed to at Geneva or something like that.)  At any rate, said novel was about a young airline pilot who gets caught up in a set of circumstances, achieves instant fame and admiration by doing the right thing at a critical moment, and then sees her life blown apart under the glare of the spotlight.  The story was going to have had a happy ending, if only I'd been able to finish writing the thing, but there you are.

I haven't hit a lick at this novel in many years, as I said, and I maybe think about it in passing once every couple of days.  It's not exactly on my list of top priorities any longer.  So that leaves me unable to explain why, the other night, I had this dream where I was in the uniform of an airline first officer, coming up the aisle from checking something with the flight attendants, and then stepping into the cockpit of a certain Boeing narrowbody type and taking the right seat.  Where, to my left, was the very captain from my story, asking me to help him review the checklist before we taxied. 

It was downright weird.  I had this feeling of both feeling like I knew what I was doing and not having a clue.  I remember telling myself, "Why am I so nervous?  I'm type-rated on this thing," and at the same time telling myself, "Wait a minute, I'm not."  I remember the captain reaching across the center pedestal, placing a hand on my knee and telling me to calm down and just go through the checklist. 

And, just about then, I woke up.  Which was probably a good thing, because it kept the, shall we say, in-flight complicating events that followed in the story from playing out.  (Now I wonder if some night I'll have the corresponding end-of-novel dream, in which my novel's protagonist has found happiness as a bush pilot in Alaska.)

Of course, a couple nights later, I had an episode of this, which happens to me maybe once a year.  Really creeped me out for a couple moments.  I guess it's a good thing it didn't happen a couple nights before, while I was trying to fly the airplane.

They make it sound so cheery!

Something I've watched evolve over the years, and with the different airlines (and different branding, and different leadership, etc.) I've experienced, have been the little safety videos they show you before flight.  Some of them are on the YouTube.  I can't find the earliest ones I remember (i.e., the ones they used to show on the L-1011s when I flew on them), but I do recall the ones from this time period very well, since that's when I flew the most.  (Heck, I remember watching that very one.)

Now that I've shifted my allegiance (for now, anyway) to another carrier, I get to see safety videos like this one an awful lot.  I don't know what I like more about it: how Jeff Smisek seems just a little awkward at the beginning like he's not quite sure why he's there, or the bouncy jazzy piano riff all throughout the length of the video.  There's something about that juxtaposition of "if things go wrong, here's what will happen" coupled with this cheery, upbeat music, and I love it. I hate to say it, but I can see bobbing in one of those inflatable life jackets, waiting for rescue, with that bouncy piano riff stuck in your head driving you nuts.

Of course, I've only now been able to see what Delta is showing these days, and...well, it's different.  Very stylish, a little sassy, and almost a little creepy.  (Note the finger wag at 1:51, too.)  It's already spawned its own athletics-related spoof.

But the overall prize winner has to be this one, from a certain airline that's somewhat dear to me.  No comment needed, or possible.  Just watch and enjoy.