I am going to miss both of my classes Tuesday.
Now, if I had said that 30 years ago, I doubt it would have raised any eyebrows among the people to whom I would have made that confession. (My folks would not have been in that number, for obvious reasons).
The motivation behind my decision to miss class Tuesday is much different than it was three decades ago, too. In that earlier time, it would probably have involved something alcohol or co-ed related.
Until now, my attendance record has been pristine this time around. But I will lose the Gold Star for Attendance on Tuesday so that I can attend the Career Day event at the MSU Coliseum.
Career Day is held once each semester and provides corporate recruiters a chance to meet prospective employees who will be soon be graduating and looking for work.
Actually, Career Day is a two-day event, with one day (Wednesday) devoted to technical fields such as engineering, which is one of Mississippi State’s strongest fields.
Tuesday, by contrast, is the day where students from non-technical fields can meet with possible employers.
There will be about 100 employers at the Coliseum on Tuesday and I plan to press the flesh with every single one of them.
When I first arrived on campus, I planned to teach. That may be an option yet. But here lately, I’m beginning to broaden my horizons a bit.
While it is true that I’ve spent a career as a newspaper journalist, I do believe that some of the talents and skills I have honed can be of value in other fields, too.
So I plan to nose around the Coliseum and see how many of those employers I can charm silly. My suit is ready. My white dress shirt is starched stiff. My dress shoes have a new shine and I’ve got a folder full of updated resumes.
In order to attend the Career Day, I had to arrange to take my regularly-scheduled Public Speaking test at 6 p.m. So it will be a long and, I hope, productive day.
On Monday, I had a test in Geography and Mass Media Law and feel pretty good about my effort in both. I have the aforementioned test on Tuesday, followed by a semi-major project for Journalism Ethics due on Wednesday.
Monday night, I went to a prayer service at the local Mosque as part of an Extra Credit assignment for our Geography class. The fact that Starkville has a mosque would be surprising were it not for the fact that half of the Middle-East seems to be enrolled in the various engineering programs at MSU.
I had had some exposure to Islam, mainly through some freelance work I did for a ministry whose sole purpose is to win Muslims to Christianity by living and working in predominantly Muslim countries. So I was not surprised by what I encountered. Muslims are generally kind, gracious, intelligent people.
There were probably about 60 Geography students at the prayer service. All the girls wore scarves in keeping with Islamic requirements. I looked to see if any of the girls were wearing the same scarf and wondered if they would be embarrassed to see another girl in the same one. But I didn’t see any duplicates.
After the prayers, we were escorted into the basement of the Islamic Center and be-headed for being infidels.
Just kidding.
They had a power-point presentation where they explained what Muslims believe and don’t believe. The MSU professor who led the presentation stressed in her introduction that they were not trying to convert us Geography students, but during the Q&A session that followed, it seemed to me that some of the Geography students were very much trying to convert our hosts.
Bless their hearts. Their motives were good, but it’s a silly notion to think that somehow these folks were less sincere and less devoted to their religion than the good Christian geography students.
There is a time and place for such meaningful dialogue, of course. Monday at the Islamic Center in Starkville was most definitely not one of those times.
It ended amicably, though. Our hosts were gracious. They gave us cookies.
Muslims believe in cookies!
Did you know that?
Monday, January 31, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Jan. 28: "To Sir, With Love''
Dr. Mark Goodman may be the best college professor of all-time. He is wise and wonderful, intelligent and funny, nurturing and inspiring.
Somehow, all of these marvelous qualities had managed to elude me until Friday, when I took my normal seat in Dr. Goodman’s Mass Media Law class.
As you may recall from a previous post, during our last class the students were divided into groups and given a case law, from which we were to assess whether or not Wikileak founder Julian Assange should be extradited and charged for leaking sensitive classified documents.
My group was to view the Assange matter from the context of the case law, “Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project.’’
As you may further recall, while I was satisfied with my own portion of my group’s presentation, I had reservations about the effort turned in the other members of my group.
So, when Dr. Goodman, distributed our grade sheets on Friday, I was a little apprehensive.
I was pleasantly surprised that he gave our group a perfect score, noting: “This group made really excellent arguments, which were set up by a good introduction and a strong conclusion.’’
But it was only upon reading the part of his grade sheet that applied to my individual contribution to the presentation, that I realized what a truly outstanding professor Dr. Goodman has turned out to be.
“Tim,’’ it read. “I liked your argument so much that I am going to use it in a paper I am writing on “Holder.’’
Clearly, this man is a genius.
Mass Media law was my last class of the day and, hence, my last class of the week. I doubt I’ll ever have a better end to a week than this, of course.
So I left campus in a buoyant mood and it seemed to me as I made the long walk from class to the Commuter West parking lot, the whole campus seemed to be caught up in an almost giddy mood.
Now, since it’s obvious that all 19,000 students do not have the good fortune of having the wise and wonderful Dr. Goodman as their professor, the source of their enthusiasm must come from a different source.
And I’m not so old as to not recognize what that might be: The week is over! Let the weekend begin.
This can be dangerous, especially if you are a pedestrian.
Back in Arizona, drivers are generally very accommodating to pedestrians and will stop even as you approach the crosswalk. But here, it’s anybody’s guess as to whether the driver is going to give the walker the right of way.
And this is particularly true on a Friday afternoon, when the campus tends to empty out in much the manner of a jail break.
There will be one Friday this term where that figures to be an exception, however.
At breakfast, I picked up a copy of The Reflector, which is the student newspaper. The lead story was on the school’s announcement that the snow day we had on Jan. 10 would be made up on an unspecified Saturday, sometime between now and the first of May.,
A co-ed at the next table happened to steal at glance at the paper I was holding.
“Can you believe that we’ll have to go to school on a Saturday?’’ she said, wrinkling her brow in disbelief and disapproval. “Who wants to have class on a Saturday?’’
“I don’t know,’ I said. “I prefer to think of it as “The Breakfast Club’’ for 19,000.’’
“Huh?’’ she responded.
I laughed. “Never mind,’’ I said, realizing that she wasn’t even born when “The Breakfast Club’’ hit the big screen in 1985.
It is safe to say that my fellow classmates are not excited by the prospects of going to school on Saturday. But I sort of wish we had school every Saturday because it is the loneliest day of the week for me.
Monday through Friday, I go to class and have some interaction with people, students, staff and professors. I go to church on Sunday and there is some human contact.
But on Saturdays, there is neither class nor church and I have found that when I stay here in Starkville, there is a good chance I’ll have very little interaction with people. And when I’m that alone, the depression, the doubt, the regrets and loneliness seem to rush in and fill the void.
The worst kind of alone you can be is to be alone with your thoughts.
So I would just as soon go to school on Saturday, if it were up to me.
It is not.
Next week, I have two tests on Monday, one on Tuesday and a major project due on Wednesday.
I can hardly wait.
Somehow, all of these marvelous qualities had managed to elude me until Friday, when I took my normal seat in Dr. Goodman’s Mass Media Law class.
As you may recall from a previous post, during our last class the students were divided into groups and given a case law, from which we were to assess whether or not Wikileak founder Julian Assange should be extradited and charged for leaking sensitive classified documents.
My group was to view the Assange matter from the context of the case law, “Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project.’’
As you may further recall, while I was satisfied with my own portion of my group’s presentation, I had reservations about the effort turned in the other members of my group.
So, when Dr. Goodman, distributed our grade sheets on Friday, I was a little apprehensive.
I was pleasantly surprised that he gave our group a perfect score, noting: “This group made really excellent arguments, which were set up by a good introduction and a strong conclusion.’’
But it was only upon reading the part of his grade sheet that applied to my individual contribution to the presentation, that I realized what a truly outstanding professor Dr. Goodman has turned out to be.
“Tim,’’ it read. “I liked your argument so much that I am going to use it in a paper I am writing on “Holder.’’
Clearly, this man is a genius.
Mass Media law was my last class of the day and, hence, my last class of the week. I doubt I’ll ever have a better end to a week than this, of course.
So I left campus in a buoyant mood and it seemed to me as I made the long walk from class to the Commuter West parking lot, the whole campus seemed to be caught up in an almost giddy mood.
Now, since it’s obvious that all 19,000 students do not have the good fortune of having the wise and wonderful Dr. Goodman as their professor, the source of their enthusiasm must come from a different source.
And I’m not so old as to not recognize what that might be: The week is over! Let the weekend begin.
This can be dangerous, especially if you are a pedestrian.
Back in Arizona, drivers are generally very accommodating to pedestrians and will stop even as you approach the crosswalk. But here, it’s anybody’s guess as to whether the driver is going to give the walker the right of way.
And this is particularly true on a Friday afternoon, when the campus tends to empty out in much the manner of a jail break.
There will be one Friday this term where that figures to be an exception, however.
At breakfast, I picked up a copy of The Reflector, which is the student newspaper. The lead story was on the school’s announcement that the snow day we had on Jan. 10 would be made up on an unspecified Saturday, sometime between now and the first of May.,
A co-ed at the next table happened to steal at glance at the paper I was holding.
“Can you believe that we’ll have to go to school on a Saturday?’’ she said, wrinkling her brow in disbelief and disapproval. “Who wants to have class on a Saturday?’’
“I don’t know,’ I said. “I prefer to think of it as “The Breakfast Club’’ for 19,000.’’
“Huh?’’ she responded.
I laughed. “Never mind,’’ I said, realizing that she wasn’t even born when “The Breakfast Club’’ hit the big screen in 1985.
It is safe to say that my fellow classmates are not excited by the prospects of going to school on Saturday. But I sort of wish we had school every Saturday because it is the loneliest day of the week for me.
Monday through Friday, I go to class and have some interaction with people, students, staff and professors. I go to church on Sunday and there is some human contact.
But on Saturdays, there is neither class nor church and I have found that when I stay here in Starkville, there is a good chance I’ll have very little interaction with people. And when I’m that alone, the depression, the doubt, the regrets and loneliness seem to rush in and fill the void.
The worst kind of alone you can be is to be alone with your thoughts.
So I would just as soon go to school on Saturday, if it were up to me.
It is not.
Next week, I have two tests on Monday, one on Tuesday and a major project due on Wednesday.
I can hardly wait.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Jan. 25; "Descarte, I hardly know ye!''
Some of you will note that the pace of my blog entries have slowed considerably over the course of the past couple of weeks.
It’s not as though I have run out of things to write about; rather, I’ve run out of time to write about them.
I blame this primarily on a man who has been dead for 360 years and The First Amendment.
I have been pre-occupied with both. I have also been pre-occupied with trying to avoid being asked to audition for “The Biggest Loser Goes to Campus.’’
This must seem convoluted to the point of frustration, so if you will be patient, I will try to sort out all of this in a way you can understand.
But first, I’d like to make an observation about the differences I’ve noticed between Slim, circa the early 1980s and the Slim of the Present Day.
As I reflect on my first experiences as a college student, it is a marvel to me that I made decent grades. Oh, it’s not as though I was a Dean’s List student, but I did make mainly Bs and Cs in everything. What I find remarkable is that I managed to make those grades despite a near total indifference to learning anything. I hardly ever went to class, rarely remember doing anything that would even vaguely resemble serious study and spent all of my energy on chasing co-eds and drinking beer (more of the latter than the former, as it turned out).
I marvel because I find that the Slim of the Present Day is doing a lot of studying and not only attending every class, but taking copious notes and paying so much attention to the professor that my classmates are beginning to resent me. I have not chased a single co-ed, which would be a very silly thing.
And that leads me back to the dead guy, the First Amendment and Biggest Loser.
The dead guy I refer to is Rene Descartes (1596-1650), widely regarded (at least that’s what I am told) as the Father of Modern Philosophy. We have been studying Descartes’ six Meditations of First Philosophy for two weeks. Since we are only through the third of the six meditations, I suspect will be with Descartes quite a while.
It’s not exactly summer reading, either. It’s confusing, random, self-contradictory and vague. It’s even vaguer when our professor “explains it.’’
So I spent some extra time studying before the last class and slowly a glimmer of understanding began to emerge. And that is when our Professor said, “Now do you really think that’s what he means?’’ He said it in a tone that strongly suggested that the appropriate answer would be “Of course, he doesn’t mean that.’’
So, just when I thought I had a handle on Descartes, I find out that he doesn’t mean what he says at all. What he really means? I have no idea.
Studying Descartes is like trying to nail Jello to a wall.
Less frustrating, but equally time consuming, is this First Amendment business.
In lieu of a test, our Mass Media Law professor divided the class into groups of five and gave each of us a Supreme Court case to use in answering the following question:
“Should Wikileaks founder Julian Assange be extradited and charged for releasing classified documents?’’
So my group’s assignment was:
Based on Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project, should Wikileaks founder Julian Assange be extradited and charged for releasing classified documents?
Now, I am sure many of you have often pondered that question.
But I’ll admit, I had never thought of such a thing.
Our group met to discuss what each of our roles would be. Each of us has to deliver a part of the presentation. The group can get up to 25 points and each individual can get 5 points. So a perfect score would be 30 points.
But I don’t feel good about this at all.
We broke down our assignments this way: Carolyn will make the introduction, Connor will discuss the point of law relating to the “necessary link to a terrorist organization.’’ Danielle will handle the point of law relating to “material support.’’ Deanna will do the summary.
My role is to discuss the “limitations applied to “bad tendency.’’
I have to tell you that I suggested all of these topics. The rest of the group just stared at me as if I were – oh, I don’t know - Rene Descartes. We agreed each of us would email a copy of our presentation to the other members of the group.
Here is what I put together for my part, followed by what Conner came up with. You will note a difference, I am certain.
Limitations Applied to Bad Tendency
In general, Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project supports the idea of “bad tendency’’ being grounds for prior restraint. But it is important to note the condition under which ‘Holder’ makes this distinction – i.e., its connection to a foreign terrorist group.
It should be noted, however, that even under ‘Holder,’ the “bad tendency’’ argument is limited.
This is noted in the opinion where Justice Roberts wrote, “In particular, we in no way suggest that a regulation of independent speech would pass constitutional muster, even if the Government were to show that such speech benefits foreign terrorist organization.’’
Court precedent certainly supports this idea.
In New York Times v. United States, the Supreme Court held that a “prior restraint” on publication of government documents was unconstitutional in the strikingly similar leak of Daniel Ellsberg’s famous “Pentagon Papers,” which shed light on the decision to go to war in Vietnam.
Since then, it has been taken for granted that the news media enjoys broad protection under the First Amendment, even to publish information that could pose a national security risk, and was obtained originally through legally questionable means.
Clearly, if ‘Holder’ revives the “bad tendency’’ standard, it does so on a limited scale.
Now here is Connor’s presentation:
The necessary link to a terrorist group
One of the most important elements of the Holder case is that the people wanting to donate money were directly linking themselves to a terrorist organization. Julian Assange, however, has not been proven to have any link to terrorist groups or groups affiliated with terrorism. Without this link, the justice system cannot extradite.
OK. Do you see the disparity here? I strongly suspect Connor had a frat party and was unable to devote more than, say, four minutes to the presentation. Slim circa 1980 would have no problem at all with this. It’s a matter of priorities and beer and co-eds are involved. You gotta respect that, right?
But Slim of the Present Day has grave concerns about the success of this “group effort.’’
I took the liberty of sending Connor a portion of the majority opinion in ‘Holder’ that applies to the “necessary link’’ aspect and strongly suggested that it would be wise to work it into the presentation because, well, it’s awfully hard drinking beer through a straw. (Hey, I’ve been to prison; don’t mess with me.)
Finally, the other reason I have been away from the blog is that I’ve been spending an hour at the gym every day.
There are two reasons. First, MSU has an awesome gym and it’s free for students as part of our student fees. This works well with my new Life Motto: “If it’s free, it me!’’
Second, I have discovered the hazard of the meal plan. I have unlimited access to the school cafeteria and since it is a school cafeteria located in the southern United States, the places simply oozes calories.
I have discovered that if, on a daily basis, you eat biscuits and gravy, waffles, hash browns, omelets and doughnuts for breakfast; fried chicken, pasta, 12 varieties of baked goods, fried foods of all sorts and endless arrays of desserts for lunch and dinner, you are likely to blow up like one of those Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons.
So I am back to watching the breads and carbs and hitting the treadmill for a hour every single day.
If possible, I am an even more conspicuous presence at the gym than I am in class.
The sorority girls show up to the gym as if one of those vampires from the “Twilight’’ movies might show up suddenly looking for a date: Full make-up, color-coordinated work-out clothes, no noticeable body fat. They are Cute! Cute!, Cute!
Invariably, a Chi Omega will grab the treadmill to my left and a Tri-Delta will grab the one on my left. So, looking left to right, it is: Cute! Cute! Cute!; followed by Old! Gray! Sloppy!; followed again by Cute! Cute! Cute!
It ain’t easy being a college student. At least, it ain’t as easy as it used to be.
But, really, what is?
It’s not as though I have run out of things to write about; rather, I’ve run out of time to write about them.
I blame this primarily on a man who has been dead for 360 years and The First Amendment.
I have been pre-occupied with both. I have also been pre-occupied with trying to avoid being asked to audition for “The Biggest Loser Goes to Campus.’’
This must seem convoluted to the point of frustration, so if you will be patient, I will try to sort out all of this in a way you can understand.
But first, I’d like to make an observation about the differences I’ve noticed between Slim, circa the early 1980s and the Slim of the Present Day.
As I reflect on my first experiences as a college student, it is a marvel to me that I made decent grades. Oh, it’s not as though I was a Dean’s List student, but I did make mainly Bs and Cs in everything. What I find remarkable is that I managed to make those grades despite a near total indifference to learning anything. I hardly ever went to class, rarely remember doing anything that would even vaguely resemble serious study and spent all of my energy on chasing co-eds and drinking beer (more of the latter than the former, as it turned out).
I marvel because I find that the Slim of the Present Day is doing a lot of studying and not only attending every class, but taking copious notes and paying so much attention to the professor that my classmates are beginning to resent me. I have not chased a single co-ed, which would be a very silly thing.
And that leads me back to the dead guy, the First Amendment and Biggest Loser.
The dead guy I refer to is Rene Descartes (1596-1650), widely regarded (at least that’s what I am told) as the Father of Modern Philosophy. We have been studying Descartes’ six Meditations of First Philosophy for two weeks. Since we are only through the third of the six meditations, I suspect will be with Descartes quite a while.
It’s not exactly summer reading, either. It’s confusing, random, self-contradictory and vague. It’s even vaguer when our professor “explains it.’’
So I spent some extra time studying before the last class and slowly a glimmer of understanding began to emerge. And that is when our Professor said, “Now do you really think that’s what he means?’’ He said it in a tone that strongly suggested that the appropriate answer would be “Of course, he doesn’t mean that.’’
So, just when I thought I had a handle on Descartes, I find out that he doesn’t mean what he says at all. What he really means? I have no idea.
Studying Descartes is like trying to nail Jello to a wall.
Less frustrating, but equally time consuming, is this First Amendment business.
In lieu of a test, our Mass Media Law professor divided the class into groups of five and gave each of us a Supreme Court case to use in answering the following question:
“Should Wikileaks founder Julian Assange be extradited and charged for releasing classified documents?’’
So my group’s assignment was:
Based on Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project, should Wikileaks founder Julian Assange be extradited and charged for releasing classified documents?
Now, I am sure many of you have often pondered that question.
But I’ll admit, I had never thought of such a thing.
Our group met to discuss what each of our roles would be. Each of us has to deliver a part of the presentation. The group can get up to 25 points and each individual can get 5 points. So a perfect score would be 30 points.
But I don’t feel good about this at all.
We broke down our assignments this way: Carolyn will make the introduction, Connor will discuss the point of law relating to the “necessary link to a terrorist organization.’’ Danielle will handle the point of law relating to “material support.’’ Deanna will do the summary.
My role is to discuss the “limitations applied to “bad tendency.’’
I have to tell you that I suggested all of these topics. The rest of the group just stared at me as if I were – oh, I don’t know - Rene Descartes. We agreed each of us would email a copy of our presentation to the other members of the group.
Here is what I put together for my part, followed by what Conner came up with. You will note a difference, I am certain.
Limitations Applied to Bad Tendency
In general, Holder v. Humanitarian Law Project supports the idea of “bad tendency’’ being grounds for prior restraint. But it is important to note the condition under which ‘Holder’ makes this distinction – i.e., its connection to a foreign terrorist group.
It should be noted, however, that even under ‘Holder,’ the “bad tendency’’ argument is limited.
This is noted in the opinion where Justice Roberts wrote, “In particular, we in no way suggest that a regulation of independent speech would pass constitutional muster, even if the Government were to show that such speech benefits foreign terrorist organization.’’
Court precedent certainly supports this idea.
In New York Times v. United States, the Supreme Court held that a “prior restraint” on publication of government documents was unconstitutional in the strikingly similar leak of Daniel Ellsberg’s famous “Pentagon Papers,” which shed light on the decision to go to war in Vietnam.
Since then, it has been taken for granted that the news media enjoys broad protection under the First Amendment, even to publish information that could pose a national security risk, and was obtained originally through legally questionable means.
Clearly, if ‘Holder’ revives the “bad tendency’’ standard, it does so on a limited scale.
Now here is Connor’s presentation:
The necessary link to a terrorist group
One of the most important elements of the Holder case is that the people wanting to donate money were directly linking themselves to a terrorist organization. Julian Assange, however, has not been proven to have any link to terrorist groups or groups affiliated with terrorism. Without this link, the justice system cannot extradite.
OK. Do you see the disparity here? I strongly suspect Connor had a frat party and was unable to devote more than, say, four minutes to the presentation. Slim circa 1980 would have no problem at all with this. It’s a matter of priorities and beer and co-eds are involved. You gotta respect that, right?
But Slim of the Present Day has grave concerns about the success of this “group effort.’’
I took the liberty of sending Connor a portion of the majority opinion in ‘Holder’ that applies to the “necessary link’’ aspect and strongly suggested that it would be wise to work it into the presentation because, well, it’s awfully hard drinking beer through a straw. (Hey, I’ve been to prison; don’t mess with me.)
Finally, the other reason I have been away from the blog is that I’ve been spending an hour at the gym every day.
There are two reasons. First, MSU has an awesome gym and it’s free for students as part of our student fees. This works well with my new Life Motto: “If it’s free, it me!’’
Second, I have discovered the hazard of the meal plan. I have unlimited access to the school cafeteria and since it is a school cafeteria located in the southern United States, the places simply oozes calories.
I have discovered that if, on a daily basis, you eat biscuits and gravy, waffles, hash browns, omelets and doughnuts for breakfast; fried chicken, pasta, 12 varieties of baked goods, fried foods of all sorts and endless arrays of desserts for lunch and dinner, you are likely to blow up like one of those Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloons.
So I am back to watching the breads and carbs and hitting the treadmill for a hour every single day.
If possible, I am an even more conspicuous presence at the gym than I am in class.
The sorority girls show up to the gym as if one of those vampires from the “Twilight’’ movies might show up suddenly looking for a date: Full make-up, color-coordinated work-out clothes, no noticeable body fat. They are Cute! Cute!, Cute!
Invariably, a Chi Omega will grab the treadmill to my left and a Tri-Delta will grab the one on my left. So, looking left to right, it is: Cute! Cute! Cute!; followed by Old! Gray! Sloppy!; followed again by Cute! Cute! Cute!
It ain’t easy being a college student. At least, it ain’t as easy as it used to be.
But, really, what is?
Friday, January 21, 2011
Jan. 21: "Joy for Joy''
It was almost 10 o’clock and I turned in my seat to see if Joy had made it to class.
Until last week, we had sat next to each other, and it was on that basis that we were ordered to be “friends.’’ Our geography professor figured that having a designated friend would be of value in the event that we ever had to miss a class. Our friend could share the notes we missed.
But last week, I arrived at class a little later than normal to discover that someone else had taken “my’’ seat next to Joy. No big deal. I just moved a couple of rows closer to the front of the class – the front row, in fact.
So that’s why I had to turn to see if my friend had made it to class.
She arrived just as the professor was beginning our lecture. “I’ve got some news,’’ she whispered quickly. “I’ll tell you after class.’’
I assumed she was going to tell me how she did on our last map quiz last Wednesday. The scores were posted early Friday morning, apparently.
I was relieved to learn that all of my answers corresponded with all of the questions this time. That means on two map quizzes, I’ve answered 39 of 40 questions correctly. So, I’m doing pretty well.
Oddly enough, I’ve had no tests or quizzes in any of my other classes. So I’m a Phi Beta Kappa as far as it goes and as far as I know.
Our lecture was on the physical characteristics of the Planet Earth. I’m not going to refer to my notes here, but – if memory serves – 70 percent of the earth is covered by water. The other 30 percent is covered with Walgreen’s Drug Stores.
When the class ended, Joy rushed down to where I was collecting my stuff. Old people take a lot longer to get there stuff together after class, by the way. Most of my peers were out the door as though the gates had sprung open at the Kentucky Derby and they were the horses everybody was betting on.
Before she could say a word, I knew that her “news’’ was something far more interesting than the results of the most recent map quiz.
There was a shine in her eyes that is reserved for something truly wonderful.
“Look!’’ she said, thrusting out her little hand.
And on that little hand, on her little ring finger there was a little ring with a cluster of little diamonds.
“We’re engaged!’’ she blurted out happily, as if I would not have been able to figure it out.
It’s funny how joy can be contagious, huh?
All at once, I was smiling and pressing her for details as if I were one of her sorority sisters. Pretty funny, now that I think about it.
Her boyfriend, whose name I know but can’t remember, popped the question on Monday night. She had not expected it. Turns out, he hadn’t, either.
“We were just hanging at his apartment and all the sudden he does it,’’ she said, beaming. “He said he had thought about doing something elaborate, but the feeling just came over him that this was the right time. Can you believe it?’’
She furrowed her brow.
“Gosh, this is going to be complicated. I still plan to go to Chattanooga (for grad school) (what’s his name?) wants to go to grad school. He’s thinking maybe he should wait for me to finish and get a job instead then go later, but maybe he could get in the Master’s program there, too. Oh, I don’t know. It’s all so complicated.’’
But her expression gave her away. The wrinkled brow had dissolved into a broad smile and her eyes sparkled with delight.
You know, when you are in love there are no really big problems.
I used to feel like that, not so awfully long ago.
I can still remember that feeling, though, and Joy’s news made me think of those happier times.
I had mentioned that I have not taken any tests in my other classes. But I did get one score: The speeches we gave on Tuesday were graded. I got my results back during Thursday’s class – a perfect 25 out of 25.
The professor’s notes said that my material was good and she thought my pauses were effective and well-timed. “Watch your time!’’ She said. I ran over by two seconds. Sheesh!
So the academics are going well and my friend is a happy little girl.
It’s been a good week.
Until last week, we had sat next to each other, and it was on that basis that we were ordered to be “friends.’’ Our geography professor figured that having a designated friend would be of value in the event that we ever had to miss a class. Our friend could share the notes we missed.
But last week, I arrived at class a little later than normal to discover that someone else had taken “my’’ seat next to Joy. No big deal. I just moved a couple of rows closer to the front of the class – the front row, in fact.
So that’s why I had to turn to see if my friend had made it to class.
She arrived just as the professor was beginning our lecture. “I’ve got some news,’’ she whispered quickly. “I’ll tell you after class.’’
I assumed she was going to tell me how she did on our last map quiz last Wednesday. The scores were posted early Friday morning, apparently.
I was relieved to learn that all of my answers corresponded with all of the questions this time. That means on two map quizzes, I’ve answered 39 of 40 questions correctly. So, I’m doing pretty well.
Oddly enough, I’ve had no tests or quizzes in any of my other classes. So I’m a Phi Beta Kappa as far as it goes and as far as I know.
Our lecture was on the physical characteristics of the Planet Earth. I’m not going to refer to my notes here, but – if memory serves – 70 percent of the earth is covered by water. The other 30 percent is covered with Walgreen’s Drug Stores.
When the class ended, Joy rushed down to where I was collecting my stuff. Old people take a lot longer to get there stuff together after class, by the way. Most of my peers were out the door as though the gates had sprung open at the Kentucky Derby and they were the horses everybody was betting on.
Before she could say a word, I knew that her “news’’ was something far more interesting than the results of the most recent map quiz.
There was a shine in her eyes that is reserved for something truly wonderful.
“Look!’’ she said, thrusting out her little hand.
And on that little hand, on her little ring finger there was a little ring with a cluster of little diamonds.
“We’re engaged!’’ she blurted out happily, as if I would not have been able to figure it out.
It’s funny how joy can be contagious, huh?
All at once, I was smiling and pressing her for details as if I were one of her sorority sisters. Pretty funny, now that I think about it.
Her boyfriend, whose name I know but can’t remember, popped the question on Monday night. She had not expected it. Turns out, he hadn’t, either.
“We were just hanging at his apartment and all the sudden he does it,’’ she said, beaming. “He said he had thought about doing something elaborate, but the feeling just came over him that this was the right time. Can you believe it?’’
She furrowed her brow.
“Gosh, this is going to be complicated. I still plan to go to Chattanooga (for grad school) (what’s his name?) wants to go to grad school. He’s thinking maybe he should wait for me to finish and get a job instead then go later, but maybe he could get in the Master’s program there, too. Oh, I don’t know. It’s all so complicated.’’
But her expression gave her away. The wrinkled brow had dissolved into a broad smile and her eyes sparkled with delight.
You know, when you are in love there are no really big problems.
I used to feel like that, not so awfully long ago.
I can still remember that feeling, though, and Joy’s news made me think of those happier times.
I had mentioned that I have not taken any tests in my other classes. But I did get one score: The speeches we gave on Tuesday were graded. I got my results back during Thursday’s class – a perfect 25 out of 25.
The professor’s notes said that my material was good and she thought my pauses were effective and well-timed. “Watch your time!’’ She said. I ran over by two seconds. Sheesh!
So the academics are going well and my friend is a happy little girl.
It’s been a good week.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Jan. 18: "Toshi Rules!''
Well, I delivered my first speech this morning in my Introduction to Public Speaking class and my first thought was to write about that.
I thought it turned out well enough. The biggest obstacle was trying to cram my subject material into the mandated two minutes that each student was given. A guy near the front was designated the timekeeper and it was his job to hold up signs that said “One Minute Left’’ and “30 seconds left,’’ so that the speaker can pace himself.
When I saw the “30 seconds left’’ sign, I realized I had about a minute’s worth of material left. Up until that point, I was “killin it,’’ as they say. But I saw the “30 seconds’’ sign and lost my train of thought for a moment and then rushed through the end of my speech. The net result was that it was an OK speech.
But the real star of the day was my new friend Toshi, a Wildlife and Fisheries Major from Tokyo, Japan. Toshi’s speech was about fishing.
It wasn’t the subject matter that made me want to hug him, nor even his presentation.
It was his courage.
He opened his speech by apologizing for his English skills.
“I am still learning,’’ he explained. “I hope maybe that you understand. If not, I apologize.’’
Well, I could not have been more proud if it had been my own son up there.
Can you imagine what he must have been feeling as he stood there?
Try playing a little role reversal and imagine yourself standing in a Tokyo classroom, giving a speech in Japanese to an audience for whom Japanese is the native tongue.
That takes guts – and intelligence, too.
As a group, I was impressed with almost all of the speeches. For a bunch of 18-to-21-year-olds, I was amazed by their poise. Oh, there was some fidgeting, some stammering, a few awkward pauses. A couple of students just got up and read their speech, hardly bothering to look up and meet the gaze of their audience.
But for the most part, the kids displayed great stage presence.
My Tuesday evenings are going to be spent cramming for geography map quizzes, I realize. Each Wednesday, we have a map quiz on a geographical region.
Last week, you will recall, the first map quiz was on North America.
I was able to go online and find my score. I made a 95, which OK, but a little frustrating. I cannot imagine which question I could have missed. I had the material down cold.
I had all the right answers. One of the questions was wrong, obviously.
Even with the gaffe, I’m still in the top 10 percent of the class, but I should have had a perfect score.
In fact, I am determined to have a perfect score when I take the quiz on Central America, South America and the Caribbean tomorrow morning.
So I’ll say goodbye for now.
I need to make sure I don’t confuse the Atacama Desert for the Altiplano.
You know how embarrassing that is, right?
I thought it turned out well enough. The biggest obstacle was trying to cram my subject material into the mandated two minutes that each student was given. A guy near the front was designated the timekeeper and it was his job to hold up signs that said “One Minute Left’’ and “30 seconds left,’’ so that the speaker can pace himself.
When I saw the “30 seconds left’’ sign, I realized I had about a minute’s worth of material left. Up until that point, I was “killin it,’’ as they say. But I saw the “30 seconds’’ sign and lost my train of thought for a moment and then rushed through the end of my speech. The net result was that it was an OK speech.
But the real star of the day was my new friend Toshi, a Wildlife and Fisheries Major from Tokyo, Japan. Toshi’s speech was about fishing.
It wasn’t the subject matter that made me want to hug him, nor even his presentation.
It was his courage.
He opened his speech by apologizing for his English skills.
“I am still learning,’’ he explained. “I hope maybe that you understand. If not, I apologize.’’
Well, I could not have been more proud if it had been my own son up there.
Can you imagine what he must have been feeling as he stood there?
Try playing a little role reversal and imagine yourself standing in a Tokyo classroom, giving a speech in Japanese to an audience for whom Japanese is the native tongue.
That takes guts – and intelligence, too.
As a group, I was impressed with almost all of the speeches. For a bunch of 18-to-21-year-olds, I was amazed by their poise. Oh, there was some fidgeting, some stammering, a few awkward pauses. A couple of students just got up and read their speech, hardly bothering to look up and meet the gaze of their audience.
But for the most part, the kids displayed great stage presence.
My Tuesday evenings are going to be spent cramming for geography map quizzes, I realize. Each Wednesday, we have a map quiz on a geographical region.
Last week, you will recall, the first map quiz was on North America.
I was able to go online and find my score. I made a 95, which OK, but a little frustrating. I cannot imagine which question I could have missed. I had the material down cold.
I had all the right answers. One of the questions was wrong, obviously.
Even with the gaffe, I’m still in the top 10 percent of the class, but I should have had a perfect score.
In fact, I am determined to have a perfect score when I take the quiz on Central America, South America and the Caribbean tomorrow morning.
So I’ll say goodbye for now.
I need to make sure I don’t confuse the Atacama Desert for the Altiplano.
You know how embarrassing that is, right?
Friday, January 14, 2011
Jan. 14: "Gone to Gulfport''
This is going to be a quickie.
I breezed through Geography and Mass Media Law, my only classes on Friday, and after lunch headed back to my apartment to pack.
I’m driving down to Gulfport to see my daughter and take my son’s stuff back to him. The original plan was for Corey to be a roommate here in Starkville now that I have the luxury of a two-bedroom apartment.
He had spent the last month living in my little box-of-a-house in Tempe and we had great fun despite the close quarters. We moved to Starkville together, and spent several days fixing up our place. Gosh, he’s a good kid. I don’t think I ever really appreciated that before now. So in my mind’s eye, having my son as a roomie in Starkville would be a thing of great joy. I could use the company, you know?
I was divorced when Corey was 14, so I thought this would also get a chance for me to get to know my own son. Sad, really, when I think that I’m pretty much on the periphery of a lot of people’s lives – I know and am known in a limited context, for a limited purpose. And I guess that’s the root of my unhappiness, the lonely feeling that deals me I’m nowhere near the center of anybody’s universe. I just feel like an extra part, not exactly unwanted, to be sure, but certainly not essential. Not even to my own kids.
So this was sort of a do-over for me, I thought.
But Corey’s job prospects back in Gulfport, where his mom lives, are much better than they are here. And so, while losing Corey is my roommate is a net loss for me, I can’t stand in the way of something that is good for Corey. Sometimes, the best you can do is get out of the way.
So I guess I won’t have the opportunity to reconnect with him to quite the degree that I once imagined. Still, I am happy to know that I’m only a few hours’ drive away from both Corey and my daughter, Abby.
At lunch, I got another fortune cookie. It read, “You will find what you have lost within the month.’’
And, of course, I don’t have to tell you where that leads this beat up old heart of mine.
She can’t be found. She doesn’t want to be found. At least, not by me.
So I’m loading up the truck and heading south to Gulfport.
You remember that previous fortune cookie message I got, right?
“Traveling to the south will bring you unexpected happiness.’’
I’m all for that…
I breezed through Geography and Mass Media Law, my only classes on Friday, and after lunch headed back to my apartment to pack.
I’m driving down to Gulfport to see my daughter and take my son’s stuff back to him. The original plan was for Corey to be a roommate here in Starkville now that I have the luxury of a two-bedroom apartment.
He had spent the last month living in my little box-of-a-house in Tempe and we had great fun despite the close quarters. We moved to Starkville together, and spent several days fixing up our place. Gosh, he’s a good kid. I don’t think I ever really appreciated that before now. So in my mind’s eye, having my son as a roomie in Starkville would be a thing of great joy. I could use the company, you know?
I was divorced when Corey was 14, so I thought this would also get a chance for me to get to know my own son. Sad, really, when I think that I’m pretty much on the periphery of a lot of people’s lives – I know and am known in a limited context, for a limited purpose. And I guess that’s the root of my unhappiness, the lonely feeling that deals me I’m nowhere near the center of anybody’s universe. I just feel like an extra part, not exactly unwanted, to be sure, but certainly not essential. Not even to my own kids.
So this was sort of a do-over for me, I thought.
But Corey’s job prospects back in Gulfport, where his mom lives, are much better than they are here. And so, while losing Corey is my roommate is a net loss for me, I can’t stand in the way of something that is good for Corey. Sometimes, the best you can do is get out of the way.
So I guess I won’t have the opportunity to reconnect with him to quite the degree that I once imagined. Still, I am happy to know that I’m only a few hours’ drive away from both Corey and my daughter, Abby.
At lunch, I got another fortune cookie. It read, “You will find what you have lost within the month.’’
And, of course, I don’t have to tell you where that leads this beat up old heart of mine.
She can’t be found. She doesn’t want to be found. At least, not by me.
So I’m loading up the truck and heading south to Gulfport.
You remember that previous fortune cookie message I got, right?
“Traveling to the south will bring you unexpected happiness.’’
I’m all for that…
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Jan. 13: "Broken''
In my Introduction to Public Speaking class, our instructor gave us the low-down on the first speech we will have to make. Her instructions were to bring with us some object that is relevant to our lives and use it to tell the rest of the class – our audience – something about ourselves.
I was up at 6 this morning and since I didn’t have class until 11, I used some of that time to prepare the speech I will present to the class next Tuesday. Because I am prone to fiddle with finished things, I suspect the speech will go through some alterations between now and then. But I thought I would give you, my faithful blog readers, a sneak peek at the speech in its present form.
It is as follows:
Good morning!
This is my printer. More specifically, it is my Hewlitt-Packard Model 4315 Ink Jet printer.
From where you sit, I doubt you would notice anything remarkable about this printer and even upon close inspection, you would discover no obvious flaw. There are no dings or scratches; no missing parts. You would judge that while it’s not the latest model, neither is it a relic. It’s just a printer, ordinary in every discernable way.
But I am here to tell you that it is worthless, because a few years ago something happened to it and it just stopped working.
When I connected it to my computer that day, everything seemed normal. I heard the whir of ink cartridges as they moved into position, heard the clicking of the gears on cylinder that bring a piece of paper into position and even heard the hiss of the ink jets applying the letters to the page.
But nothing came out of the other end, not even a blank page.
It just doesn’t work anymore.
As you can see, it looks fine. But something deep inside, something hidden from view, is broken. And so it doesn’t work.
I once wrote a story about a man who had a knack for fashioning broken things into useful, even clever, new things. It seemed he could make a planter or a lamp or even a piece of furniture out of just about anything.
But I don’t think even he would think about turning a broken printer into something that could serve another purpose. It’s of no use and has no value. It’s just clutter.
Now, if this were your printer, I know just what you would do. You wouldn't bother to have it fixed. It isn't worth fixing. Printers aren't expensive, so it would make more sense to simply buy a new one, the latest model.
So without a moment's hesitation, you would just toss this printer into the trash bin and be done with it.
Because to all the world, it is a worthless thing.
But somehow I can’t bring myself to throw it away, for reasons I am sure will seem silly to you.
First, it’s my printer. It worked faithfully for a number of years. And even in its broken state, when I listen to the printer – the various whirs and clicks and hisses – I almost imagine it is saying, “Hey, I’m trying. I really am. So, please, don’t give up on me.’’
And so I keep it. From time to time, I hook it up and hope that somehow when the whirs and clicks and hisses have ended, a printed page will, by some miraculous means, slide out the other end. It never does, of course.
I guess for most of us, there is a deeply ingrained belief that when things break down, all that is required is to keep fighting; that if you work through it and persevere that - through strength of will and diligence- things will work out.
That’s a good attitude to have, of course, but things don’t always turn out that way.
And yet there is something almost noble about fighting a good fight in a lost battle, I think.
This printer whirs and clicks and hisses and I hear it saying “I am going down, it is true. But I am going down swinging, at least.’’
And that is what I tell myself these days.
I was up at 6 this morning and since I didn’t have class until 11, I used some of that time to prepare the speech I will present to the class next Tuesday. Because I am prone to fiddle with finished things, I suspect the speech will go through some alterations between now and then. But I thought I would give you, my faithful blog readers, a sneak peek at the speech in its present form.
It is as follows:
Good morning!
This is my printer. More specifically, it is my Hewlitt-Packard Model 4315 Ink Jet printer.
From where you sit, I doubt you would notice anything remarkable about this printer and even upon close inspection, you would discover no obvious flaw. There are no dings or scratches; no missing parts. You would judge that while it’s not the latest model, neither is it a relic. It’s just a printer, ordinary in every discernable way.
But I am here to tell you that it is worthless, because a few years ago something happened to it and it just stopped working.
When I connected it to my computer that day, everything seemed normal. I heard the whir of ink cartridges as they moved into position, heard the clicking of the gears on cylinder that bring a piece of paper into position and even heard the hiss of the ink jets applying the letters to the page.
But nothing came out of the other end, not even a blank page.
It just doesn’t work anymore.
As you can see, it looks fine. But something deep inside, something hidden from view, is broken. And so it doesn’t work.
I once wrote a story about a man who had a knack for fashioning broken things into useful, even clever, new things. It seemed he could make a planter or a lamp or even a piece of furniture out of just about anything.
But I don’t think even he would think about turning a broken printer into something that could serve another purpose. It’s of no use and has no value. It’s just clutter.
Now, if this were your printer, I know just what you would do. You wouldn't bother to have it fixed. It isn't worth fixing. Printers aren't expensive, so it would make more sense to simply buy a new one, the latest model.
So without a moment's hesitation, you would just toss this printer into the trash bin and be done with it.
Because to all the world, it is a worthless thing.
But somehow I can’t bring myself to throw it away, for reasons I am sure will seem silly to you.
First, it’s my printer. It worked faithfully for a number of years. And even in its broken state, when I listen to the printer – the various whirs and clicks and hisses – I almost imagine it is saying, “Hey, I’m trying. I really am. So, please, don’t give up on me.’’
And so I keep it. From time to time, I hook it up and hope that somehow when the whirs and clicks and hisses have ended, a printed page will, by some miraculous means, slide out the other end. It never does, of course.
I guess for most of us, there is a deeply ingrained belief that when things break down, all that is required is to keep fighting; that if you work through it and persevere that - through strength of will and diligence- things will work out.
That’s a good attitude to have, of course, but things don’t always turn out that way.
And yet there is something almost noble about fighting a good fight in a lost battle, I think.
This printer whirs and clicks and hisses and I hear it saying “I am going down, it is true. But I am going down swinging, at least.’’
And that is what I tell myself these days.
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