Kenny Smith | A remarkable thing happens …

photo / Thursday — No comments
11
Dec 25

That’s no space station

All of my online class feedback has been sent out to the various hard-working student groups. They’re making mock up plans for the social media accounts of local non-profit organizations. Some of the groups are in terrific shape. One or two have a little way to come, but there are still a few days, left, and there’s always the last minute miracle.

What I was looking at today and yesterday was the print version of their plans. The good ones are about 15-17 pages. One or two went a bit longer. A few were just under. I try to give some substantial feedback, best I can, given that I don’t know the operations they’re working on nearly as well as they do. Also, there’s some formulaic strategy in preparing such campaigns, but there’s also some art and subjectivity, too. Sometimes, the advice I can offer is about what you’ve missed. Or what you might miss if you aren’t prepared for it. Sometimes it feels like the Rumsefeld matrix, the unk-unks of the military industrial complext, the stuff you’d talk about in project management and strategic planning.

So I prattle on, hoping something in there can be useful to the groups that are diligent enough to read a few hundred words.

You’d be surprised.

I say that, because I am surprised, all the time.

Today the finals for my media criticism class were all turned in. Now I’ll be grading them. Tonight and tomorrow. On Monday, those social media finals will appear. On Tuesday, the finals from the org comm class will be waiting for my attention.

At some point, I have to work on next semester’s classes, too.

Anyway, this is the starscape from the back step just now. That’s Jupiter, right in the center of the photo.

That planet is some 402.7 million miles from us right now. That light took 36 minutes to get here. You could put 1,000 earths inside a hollow version of the gas giant.

I could tell you these stats all night long, but I’d still have work to do when I was done.

The ghosts of professors past

I had a mid-day meeting with students about a project in my online class. They were delightful and are prepared. They were also kind enough to indulge what, I am sure, sounded like an end-of-the-year ramble or two on my part.

This mysteriously appeared overnight from the office.

That wasn’t there last Thursday. Or last Friday. Or Monday. Or yesterday. I know because I was there each of those days, and I considered that very wall. It is conspicuous in its usual blankness. But, now, that sign.

Local lore has it that the campus spirits put it up, each term, just before commencement. The legyou listen carend is that the ghosts of old professors always walk with the graduates. If you listen carefully, you can hear their rustling, dusty robes.

Between the student group meeting and the next meeting I started spreading that story that I just made up. Maybe it’ll gain some traction. Especially if no one ever sees that sign come and go.

There was also a faculty meeting today. These are the things we know. These are the things we don’t know. Here is a brief recounting of some other meetings. And here are the next meetings you are encouraged to attend, including one next week!

Anyway, back to grading. The students in my online class, Social Media Strategies, are preparing for their final submission for the term. It is a visual presentation of a social media plan they’ve been working on all semester. Each group has a local non-profit they’ve been observing, and our assignments have grown through there. Now, a little extra feedback on their penultimate assignment may help them prepare that presentation.

But only if i can get that feedback to them.

The semester’s first final, meanwhile, will be turned in tomorrow.

photo / Rowan / Tuesday — No comments
09
Dec 25

The semester’s last lecture

The last day of classes. We talked about the future of streaming media in the criticism class. We did an image repair exercise in the org comm class.

I’ve got this speech I give. At the beginning of the term I say that being at the front of the room gives me the opportunity to, from time-to-time, go off track from the class. I have this down to three speeches, two at the beginning of the semester and one at the end of the term. And today I remind them of the first two speeches. The first speech is about my hope to be a small part of them discovering the true value of education: the joy of learning. The second speech — particularly selfish, but they are my captive audience and this is my gimmick — is about being mindful of cyclists and other vulnerable road users when they drive.

Both groups nodded along that they remembered both speeches, which I gave on separate days in September. And then I launch into the third and final speech. I talk about the open mind you need in class. Next door to an open mind, I say, is an open heart. And around the corner is compassion.

I say to them, there is a time in life when the only thing of value you can give another person is your compassion. And there may be a time in your life — and I hope it is many, many, many years from now — when the only thing of value another person can give you is compassion. If you look at the world around us, I say, you can see that the world needs more compassion. It’s always been that way, and may always be that way. And so I ask them to nurture that compassion within them, so that when they are called upon to do so, they are ready to give it freely. That, I say, is why I end each class the same way. “Thank you for your time. I’ll see you next time. I hope to see you next semester in class or around campus. Until then, be safe, and be kind.”

And, then, for some reason, the students all clap at me, and most of them make a point of thanking me.

I don’t need those things, but I’m gratified to know that something here has meant enough for them to do so.

Some of our colleagues have decorated their doors for a holiday party tomorrow. This is my favorite one.

And here’s the sunset from the sixth floor. A sunset at 4:44 p.m.

And now it is finals time. My last final went online today. It is also meeting time. I have a faculty meeting tomorrow. I have a bunch of stuff to grade, too. Guess what I’ll be doing for the next week?!?

memories / Monday / photo — No comments
08
Dec 25

It was July of 2002, maybe August

I was taking the garbage out last night, because that’s one of the things I do on Sunday evening. My mind wandered back, because that’s one of the things that it does on most any day, to a conversation I had in the summer of 2002.

I was talking with my news director about this and that and he said to me, “You have to look after yourself, because no one else will do it as much or as well.”

It was one of those things that made sense at the time, and felt more right the more I thought about it. This was what it was to be accidentally deep. Two weeks later, I walked back to his office and offered him my resignation. Not because he was right, but because I was already on my way out the door. And, also, he was right, of course. Since I think far too much about work, I’ve always thought of that as professional advice. Maybe that’s the way that he meant it.

But there I was, standing in the drive, in the dark, and just as I walked under the motion sensor and the flood lights clicked on I thought, What if he was talking about everything in your life? The fun stuff too? The rewarding stuff? The valuable stuff? What are the things we’re all looking to fill our days with to have a day well spent? What is that thing?

It’s a part of a long-running puzzle. Some passive part of my brain has been working on that for, I don’t know, seven, eight years. And I did not figure it out tonight, standing there in the driveway. It’s too cold for all of that.

But, yes of course a conversation from almost a quarter of a century ago came to mind. You don’t do that? I remember precisely where I was standing when it happened. Right where this dot is.

Every now and then, over my many years working with students and young journalists, I’ve found a way to work that same advice into conversation. Most of them are well equipped to realize that already, but it is worth repeating. That guy, my former news director, is working in Nashville now. He’s been there … for more than a decade, which is a substantial amount of time in one spot in his line of work. He seems very happy there, but he’s one of those relentlessly happy sorts.

What do those guys know, anyway? Aside from occasionally stumbling into good greeting card caliber advice, I mean.

Let’s have a look at the kitties, who are insisting that I get back on the schedule. They make a good point. They’re the most popular feature on the site, and Monday is traditionally theirs. Why mess with what works?

So here’s Phoebe, getting in the holiday spirit.

And here she is, getting all cuddly and cozy under a blanket. What a cute little face.

Poseidon, meanwhile, is ready for his closeup.

But, also, his pink nose is cold.

When they sleep like that it just kills me.

Maybe I should ask them about living right. They know how to spend a day.

Friday / photo — Comments Off
05
Dec 25

It’s all fun and games, until the geese answer back

We were standing outside, doing some outdoors chore, or talking about it. We were in the backyard, near the kitchen corner of the house. I’m sure we were pointing or looking or otherwise considering a plan of action. This is what I do. I work in the home office for a few hours, and then I go find something else productive to do for a while. Then it is back to work. Study breaks and work breaks are both useful. And this particular one involved being outside in the cold for a few minutes. That’s when I heard it.

honk.

Honk.

HONK HONK.

HONKHONKHONKHONKHONK!!!

I looked up, putting my eyes where my ears told me to go, toward the east. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and trained it on the sky, waiting for the geese to fly through the frame.

“QUITTERS!” I yelled, so as to be heard over their honking.

OK, I muttered it to myself. We have neighbors, after all.

Somehow the geese heard me anyway.

“We’re not quiting,” they said between honks. “We’re just going over to a field a few miles west of here. You know that. We’ve seen you over that way.”

Of course geese have recall and distinguish between humans.

Also, please note the skies.

It was 3:16 p.m.