pen caps

There have been considerable lamentations of late about pens and caps. I sympathize and wish to offer solace and remedies. In preparation, I conducted a quick search for "pen caps" and "blogs" and discovered many interesting sites.

1. Somebody who has designed eating utensils that incorporate pens caps so they fit onto Bic pens — presumably so you have a full set of cutlery in your top drawer.
2. A video of guys throwing pens and caps so one lands on the other. Basically the ballpoint pen version of trick shots.
3. A medical journal article describing the removal of inhaled pen caps from children using rigid bronchoscopy. No: this was not a control/treatment experiment.
4. A discussion about changes in pen cap design in the future (or made larger as a by-product of time traveling).
5. Several others that include the same images as in #1.

Suffice it to say that pen capping is not an isolated concern and is probably deserving of attention. I was even surprised to discover that Nirvana recorded a song called "Pen Cap Chew" which, not surprisingly, never contains "pen cap" in the lyrics. Now, I have three offerings to make for the pained and stained reader (and his long-suffering family and colleagues).

FIRST.

Clothing stains are a solvable problem, even when traveling. Proctor & Gamble even sells an "instant stain remover" that you might be surprised to discover that your roommate had in his shaving kit. It has been well-received and seems to perform as promised. Admittedly, its effectiveness and longevity will be reduced if one fails to put the cap back on this "laundry pen."

SECOND.

Decent fountain pens exist that have overcome the mess of dipping the nib into the well and making sure the ink is of the proper viscosity. Of course, purists and those who are "green" may object to the notion of a disposable fountain pen. But the one sold by Pilot is pretty good. Some folks use them for everyday writing; I keep a couple around for those rare occasions where I need to sign a document with a flourish. Once again, their utility will shrink in direct proportion to the failure to replace the pen cap.

THIRD.
Pens must be treated with respect. Admittedly, retractable pens have added blotches to the thighs of a couple pair of my jeans. It wasn't because I fiddled with them but because, in sitting down, the ink dispensing portion pushed free of its housing and the ink pooled like the blood from the handiwork of an assassin, ala Jason Bourne. And I carry the guilt of puncturing a guy's front seat because I was carrying a pencil in my back pocket. The lesson is that it all comes down to vigilance and care. The man who produced this thatched room did so to create a cap for the pig pen. Even if he had used the right materials and carried vast experience and credentials, if he failed to pay attention and allowed lapses in concentration to occur, there is nothing that can be done. Use a pencil, buy a fancy fountain pen, do whatever you feel is right. But you and your science pants are doomed if you can't find ways to quit your fidgeting.

what you should do

After removing the outrageous conference registration fee from my travel reimbursement form, my last jaunt before my sabbatical ended cost exactly $1000. Well, maybe more but I can't claim alcohol and dispose of those receipts before anyone gets wise to those charges. As others have very eloquently noted, the camaraderie and revelations that arose from this trip make the excursion worth every minute and penny. A particular portion has moved me to think about what drives some of us in our work, to-wit:

May we celebrate the gardeners of hope,
that sow seeds of promise,
that commit their dreams to the development of the potential of others,
and breed possibility.

Soaking in the coffee shop afterglow of the third Crossroads, the moment when I believe we really hit our stride, someone was a little hasty in offering some advice for future meetings. In particular, I realized how adverse I have become to comments directed at me that begin with, "You know what you should do?" One reason this irritates me is that I am very sure about the many things I should do.

• I should be more generous toward family members.
• I should stop creating excuses for avoiding the necessary (e.g., straightening the basement).
• I should avoid sweets.
  
• I should be more attentive in the moment rather than discover later just how great it was.
• I should be careful about mockery that I mean to be funny but might seem cruel and/or offensive.
• I should complete important and enduring tasks before detouring into foolish follies.

Suffice it to say, I feel I have burdened myself sufficiently with "should do's" without needing for someone else who is less circumspect to add to my teetering heap of inadequacies. There is the gospel about taking care of your own problems rather than pointing out the flaws in others. But now, I can look back on this scene without having it filtered through red fury. It all comes down to punctuation.

I'm not as generous as Zero can be about assuming good intentions in others. Hell, I even refuse to engage in problem-solving with callers when they mistakenly dial my phone. I just say, "Nope, wrong number" and disconnect. Certainly there are many who game the system for personal gain. Professionally, such individuals provide a tepid offering to the research community so as to bilk their employer for travel funds. But, without invoking deficit thinking, I doubt there are many who really know what to do. Or maybe it would be more accurate to suggest that they are unsure why they might. They do without a sense about why. Or they do and there is not even a subconscious why involved. There is to try. There is to do since there is no try. But then there is to do because one should, for reasons one knows without being fully aware.

Here now is my new form of advice. Maybe it's a slide in a future presentation:

You know what you should do?
versus
You know what you should do.

That is pretty much what I have to offer. I don't know much about the possibilities of science for children with autism. I don't understand hermeneutics nor can I begin to appreciate what is required to persist when the system is designed to push me out. What I can do is recognize in others what I believe reveals itself on occasion to me. And that is the ability to know what the right thing is to do and then to act accordingly. I lack the wisdom to offer guidance beyond listening to the circumstances, asking questions to bring options to the surface, and then granting my support to whatever choice you know is the right one. I know what I should do and you know what you should do. All I know is how great it can be when those who know what is right decide to follow that voice.

trying to stay current

Revising a well-received textbook offers challenges I had not expected as a co-author. For one, our Editor explained that we should not dramatically change the book because this is to be a 2nd edition, not a new book. Certainly, we don't want to be those kinds of authors who simply put a new cover on a rapidly aging manuscript. While I had hoped revising would allow us to bring some material up to date, this is turning into a mixed bag.

Early on, I had imagined we would omit the occasional blurbs about the old National Standards and replace those with the new ones. That would certainly have been a timely move -- except that to make this text ready for fall adoptions, it must be well into production long before the new national material is released. A much better sequence would have allowed us to drop the new stuff in and put us ahead of all our competitors which would have been an impressive accomplishment for students and professors this fall. Alas, the exact opposite will occur. Ours will be the last science methods text to ever be published under the old regime and the furthest from current as can be imagined.

Fortuitously, there are unexpected gems that arrive at just the right moment. For example, a recent article in Science News indicated some tiny adjustments in atomic weights as well as the formal naming of the latest element: Copernicium. How glorious it is to show the tentativeness of science via this example. I especially like this because the Periodic Tables in chemistry classrooms always seem so permanent — and these stories shows the plasticity of scientific knowledge. And a physics example of tentativeness just came to my attention this morning. Turns out there is now a 13th sign in the zodiac that has been named Ophiuchus. Coincidentally (perhaps) my co-author just forwarded to me the revised commentary to be embedded in the Nature of Science chapter. Juxtaposing his fine contribution with this new constellation framework could only be better if I could show how this contributor's sign changed with the new arrangements. At best, I'll have to editorialize by commenting how the tentativeness of science has even forced me to change from a Cancer to a Gemini. This nicely suits my fascination with the 1960s space program. So while we'll miss the boat with the new national science frameworks, we'll still be able to incorporate enough contemporary science tidbits to show how up-to-date the second edition is even in something as "unchanging" as astronomy.

someone else's shoes

Treading 'cross the years
Feet clad in thrift store loafers
Without empathy

amateur poetry analysis

This summer I stumbled across a free downloading of Bonnaroo songs c/o Spin magazine. At the time, I was chasing down tunes by Tinariwen — and how I got there is a mystery. And actually immaterial. As often happens, my immediate reaction to new music rarely lasts. Stuff I like immediately wears thin. Occasionally there is a song that I find myself enjoying and I am unaware that I have heard it before. So it was with the Bonnaroo stuff. I had unchecked a song by Mumford & Sons but have since become somewhat of a fan. And The National has become a group I appreciate even though the meaning of "Bloodbuzz Ohio" is up for grabs. But as the old iTunes shuffles through my large music library, I found myself enjoying a song from the download that is over-the-top country, complete with steel guitar.

The song is by Jamey Johnson and when I ask the iTunes genius to create a mix starting with this song, it nominates artists such as Steve Earle, Dwight Yoakum, Waylon Jennings and Lyle Lovett. I love this song yet it's full of contradictions. First, it sounds a little like Jimmy Buffett and the first verse reminds me of Joe Walsh "Life's Been Good" about living the kind of life possible from great fame and wealth. But there are only two verses which leaves an entire third of the tune with twanging guitar and humming. And here's the kicker, the verse that is lodged in my mind:

Place Out On the Ocean
I been riding down a two-lane highway
For pretty much all of my life
Trying to do things my way
Wondering if I'll ever get anywhere but where I came from
I hope I'm sane by the time I'm done

Many of us live with the fear that someday we will be uncovered as frauds. I don't mind the reminder that for all I may try to do, in the end I may end up very close to my roots. But with that rueful admission, there is the clear wish to not go crazy at the end. "Dear Lord, if your plan is for me aspire to someplace big and wonderful but ultimately drag my ass back to the equivalent of my dull hometown, at least when you do that, don't take my sanity from me." That's how I interpret this verse.

What really puzzles me is the meter and rhyme here. It absolutely works and is lovely. But when I try to unpack it, I'm lost. The "scheme" might be ABACC which apparently has no formal label. Who doesn't feel badly for "life" being left to dangle at the end of line 2, never to hitched to another? OR, if the line breaks after "anywhere" to cause the last two lines to rhyme then I think this becomes ABACDD. But probably not since I have little idea why I'm writing about.

No real moral here except perhaps to realize that some things can be really good for reasons we cannot fully explain.

belly laugh

Every time there’s a small amount of leftover money from a project, my institution creates a new account for me. My logic is that I should spend down the one that is closest to expiring. But I was warned that accounts that have not been active might become swept up by the university. Certainly a perverse academic version of Robin Hood. That was the signal and license to order some books without having to explain at home why there was a sudden burst of online bookstore activity.

Our administrative assistant emailed me on Thursday that the books had arrived. Here are the titles were worth the trek to campus:

1. Cooking for Geeks: Real Science, Great Hacks and Good Food
2. Start Where You Are, But Don’t Stay There
3. Someone has to Lose: The Zero-Sum Game of Public Schooling
4. On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen
5. The Warmth Of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration
6. A Body Worth Defending: Immunity, Politics and the Apotheosis of the Modern Body

Book #1 and #4 are part of my reading as background for a future proposal on “public understandings of science” which, if funded, would allow me and some fellow enthusiasts to visit several microbreweries to determine how the workers there apply science knowledge. Book #2 and #3 are by amazing authors who write with great clarity yet always blow my mind. Book #5 will help fill in some gaps in my own understanding about why so many of my students of color in Cleveland has such strong southern accents. And Book #6 (which I previewed through interlibrary loan) explains how the metaphor of the body’s immune system as being a form of defense has political roots. Realistically, I am unlikely to finish all of them. But they hold so much promise and intrigue. For example, both cooking books have extensive information about yeast and fermentation. Yippie!

Not surprisingly, I bumped into a couple of friendly colleagues and they were caught up in another internecine situation. I'll try to recreate the storyline here. First, an applicant to our doc program had very weak credentials and the committee chose to not admit. Second, an administrator submitted a letter supporting the candidate (long after the deadline) and pretty much said he would take on this candidate and personally (not programatically) lead him through to the PhD. Third, the next layer of committee also rejected the applicant, the administrator's support notwithstanding. Now at the moment I was present, the committee's "no" letter was resting in the administrator's mailbox and an eruption was imminent. Fourth, someone else revealed during this hallway discussion that the math dept (where said administrator held a joint appointment) has recently been approved to initiate their own math education PhD program. Normally, a duplicate program would require approval from the now redundant program. Fifth, my own department chair had just learned about this situation and was said to be sputteringly livid. Sixth, the math department does not list this PhD program on its website even though it was cleared by the Provost's Office. Seventh, there was evidence that students were being admitted to this mystery program … and when someone said they heard a student has already graduated from this program, I was laughing so hard I couldn't catch my breath.

With all the grief I have received and wrath that has rained down for what was perceived as my attempts to work around or beat the system, I discovered I had turned an emotional corner. As people have been asking how sabbatical has been, I sincerely explain that the true test will be in how things go for me once sabbatical had concluded. I suppose the reason I felt I needed to bookmark this incident was a reminder about how far I have progressed and that I need to stay on this path. I already see it will be tricky because I need to keep limits on my indifference because uniform apathy is a poor corollary to uniform anxiety and anger. A whole new type of balance I had never imagined could exist. Finding ways to notice the foolhardiness and laugh accordingly, as well as being vigilant about what is offensive and calling it for what it is -- well, maybe that's where sabbatical has left me.

there are 3 options around here

Thanks for stopping by. At that last program meeting, I sensed you were getting frustrated. You haven't been here all that long and maybe my perspectives will make you happier in the short run — and keep you around for the long haul. I'm not going to try and convince you about the issues that arose. Instead, I am hopeful that my insights as a veteran might help you understand how decisions are made around here.

It is perfectly natural for people to see things in slightly different ways. My belief is that what is important is to distinguish between the possible and the unrealistic. This is completely different from issues of right or wrong. The reason is that if someone new to our organization, such as yourself, is quick to take offense and sense an "injustice" about something that's going on, the frustration is only going to grow if you don't know where to invest your energy. I am not suggesting that you give up on your ideals. Instead, if you position yourself on the wrong side all the time and nothing ever goes your way then you'll kill yourself from the stress. What I am going to offer you are three options that are always available. As long as you use these as way to filter your ambitions, you can avoid needless stress.

Let's think back on the program meeting. The crux of the issue was adjusting courses so that the sequence was more in line with what other places have undertaken. You proposed that we switch the timing of field experiences. In fact, if memory serves, you wanted to move the big clinical a whole semester earlier and create a capstone course for the following and final semester. There was not much support for that idea. I really don't want to rehash the various arguments and personalities. Instead, just as an exercise let's explore together three general options as I see them.

Option 1: Keep with Tradition. It is generally not a good idea to try change a system that serves us well. Change for the sake of change just does not make sense. Now if our accreditation found us to be out of compliance then it would be prudent to make adjustments. In this particular case, we have a steady stream of students who come to us fully of enthusiasm and leave very happy with the program. We don't receive many complains and the occasional problem is dealt with without fanfare. But in the end, the program first developed in the 1980s continues to serve our population and constituency. Once you come to recognize these factors, then you will avoid getting all worked up when you have the ambition to switch things around.

Option 2: Choose to Do Nothing. I know this may sound contradictory because doing nothing might feel like giving up. But it IS a choice we have. Think about it: when somebody claims they are "pro-choice" that does not mean every woman decides to get an abortion. Instead, they have an option -- which includes not having an abortion. The option of doing nothing and exercising that option is one of the greatest freedoms we have in this country. In fact, it might be worth contemplating whether we ought to exercise that choice more often. Cicero wrote "He does not seem to me to be a free man who does not sometimes do nothing." And the greater writer Oscar Wilde claimed: “To do nothing at all is the most difficult thing in the world, the most difficult and the most intellectual." If you are looking for a challenge and you wish to be recognized for your intellect, then the option of choosing to do nothing is a huge one to consider.

Option 3: Follow the Tradition of Doing Nothing. This can be a real win/win option because it takes the best features of Option 1 and Option 2. You might think of it as 1 + 2 = 3. Choosing this option not only creates the least disruption but it honors the traditions of our place. For me, this is my default and look how happy I am. I have almost no stress and life is good.

Do you feel better now that we've talked?

mi familia

Stories can sometimes capture the essence of even the most complex human interactions. In the retelling, words can be changed, tone can be adjusted, and the original incident may depart from its reality. But technology can capture what might otherwise slip away: movie cameras, videotapes, and now, social networks. What follows is an unexpurgated exchange with identities obscured. Additional commentary and contexts appears immediately after.

Sister #1
So, I've worried all day that my vision was getting much worse. Just now realized I'm missing a lens from my glasses. What an idiot! Wednesday at 10:47pm via iPhone. Friend TN likes this

Friend ZZ
LOL!!!!!! I love you! :P Wednesday at 10:50pm

Friend JI
That is something I would do Wednesday at 11:30pm

Friend MJF
How much u been drinking??? Lol jk jk Thursday at 2:36am

Big Brother
OMG that sounds just like 200 or more professors that I know. Thursday at 7:06am 


Mother
Didn't you feel a draft on your lensless eye? Dad llost his lens at [Sister #2]'s last week - didn't know it, but I saw a lens on the carpet andd asked whose it was. Eye doctor is closed untill Monday, - luuckily has a second pair. Thursday at 11:59am


Sister #2
It was the heavy lense that Dad lost, so his glasses were pretty crooked while he was here. 3 hours ago

There is a lot happening here and not all can be fully captured in a way that won't exceed the reader's limited attention span.But here are some insights and insides:

1. The comments are from friends and co-workers of Sister #1 ... until Big Brother weighs in. Then once the family lumbers onto the scene, everyone else disappears.
2. Not only does Mother find a way to inflict a slight jab (didn't you…?) but then discloses that Sister #1 shares characteristics with her doddering daddy.
3. Sister #2 supplies the enriching imagery of said father walking around with droopy spectacles, presumably reducing what little correction would offered by the eye behind a heavy lens.

There is a lot happening here and not all can be fully captured in a way that won't exceed the reader's limited attention span.But here are some insights and insides:

1. The comments are from friends and co-workers of Sister #1 ... until Big Brother weighs in. Then once the family lumbers onto the scene, everyone else disappears.
2. Not only does Mother find a way to inflict a slight jab (didn't you…?) but then discloses that Sister #1 shares characteristics with her doddering daddy.
3. Sister #2 supplies the enriching imagery of said father walking around with droopy spectacles, presumably reducing what little correction would offered by the eye behind a heavy lens.

Little Brother is missing from the exchange. For his part, he shared a story of co-workers bringing in favorite Christmas photos from when each was young. Lil Bro had his picture taken seated in front of a Christmas tree weighted down by tinsel and bulky lights. He had good memories of all this. But then a co-worker asked about the packages in the background: "Did your family wrap gifts in newspaper?" Blind to that tradition, the scene was now one of shame. The only shining spot was that being cheap can also appear to be a environmentally-conscious lifestyle. No, there are no transgendering meanderings here. Just uncertain clarity and vision.

when I came to, I tasted wild berries

The college classroom is typically a place of great safety and over which the professor exerts considerable control. Violent events at colleges (Virginia Tech or Huntsville or UGA) are especially terrible because they destroy the general sense of calm and well-being we associate with campuses. Incidents in college classrooms are very rare — which makes the following story all the more unusual.

Dr. M has long experienced an unpredictable medical condition: his shoulder pops out of place. It would happen when he’d play pickup basketball. He even had to give up golfing because during big tee-offs, his shoulder would disconnect from its socket. His friends said it looked like he had been shot as he would swing and then crumple to the ground. There was only slight discomfort (aside from the embarrassment) and Dr. M could put the joint back into place. The ease with which it came out meant it could be returned without much exertion.

Given that in the past, a dramatic physical movement caused the shoulder to dislocate, it was quite unexpected when Dr. M felt his shoulder pop out while gesturing during a class. He assured his class that the shoulder would pop back into place in just a moment There was no need for alarm. But then he fainted and came to while on the floor. He tried to explain that the chair he was in had wheels and that was why he fell. As he got up to move to another chair that was more stable, he reiterated that his shoulder would pop back momentarily. And he passed out a second time.

As he awoke, Dr. M realized his shoulder had returned to its rightful place. But he was also struck by the smell and taste of wild berries. No, it wasn’t that he had struck his head and was having a neurological response. Because when he opened his eyes, he discovered he was face-to-face with one of his female students. She looked very upset although relieved her professor was alive. Apparently, when his eyes rolled back and he collapsed, this young lady perceived that he was having a heart attack and initiated CPR. The berries happened to be the flavor of lip gloss she was wearing, some of which was transferred while she performed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Whether Dr. M actually had stopped breathing or not was somewhat immaterial because he was down before the lip-lock and he came to immediately after.

The class insisted that Dr. M remain on the floor despite his attempts to reassure them. The voice on the cell phone of the student who had called 911 reinforced the recommendation that he rest until the paramedics arrived. He checked out fine and acknowledged to the ambulance driver that he would indeed consult with an orthopedist about the shoulder. Presumably the interruption had broken the flow of discussion. Dr. M let his students leave fifteen minutes early. The balance of the semester proceeded without incident and Dr. M has resumed the weight-lifting routine that had been previously prescribed to strengthen muscles to avoid shoulder dislocations.

doing some busting

Maybe it is because we upgraded to more channels that I have noticed a lot of busting as of late. Of course, there's Mythbusters (which is rendered almost unwatchable by the college-aged sidekicks) and for some reason Ghostbusters is popping up a lot. While I missed my favorite scientist scene of all time, YouTube allows me hear it again and again. And I briefly entertained the notion of having a ghost containment box installed in my office, with a waiting smoking ghost trap occasionally propped on my desk. Alas, the plans online seem either too complicated or inadequate (e.g., no blinking lights). But how great it would it be to roll one of these babies near somebody who is running over their time at a conference presentation, or running over my tolerance during a department meeting. Sigh.

As the seasonal celebration of miracles, notably the Jesus/Santa combo, my textbook co-author and I foolishly discover how frantically we must work to meet our February 1 deadline. While I harbor reservations about doing so, the Nature of Science chapter has been elevated to Chapter 2. I have to make heavy edits because when it was Chapter 8, phrases starting with: "as we have already described…" made sense and now they would elicit scorn. Despite the tedium of such vigilance, this does afford me a return to some myth busting of my own with "the scientific method" as my favorite target. And in a new chapter on Experimenting, I was struggling to describe why "hypothesis" is such a contentious term. For some reason, I equated the adage that it's an "educated guess" with the myth that Eskimoes have a hundred words for snow. I discovered that a woman who led the charge to unpack this particular myth was an anthropology professor from Cleveland. Best of all was this list of snow words proposed by somebody who must annoy his spouse/partner and amuse his peers. Here's an excerpt:

ashtla          expected snow that's wagered on (depth, size of flakes)
huantla       special snow rolled into "snow reefers" and smoked by wild Eskimo youth
tla-na-na    snow mixed with the sound of old rock and roll from a portable radio
depptla        a small snowball, preserved in Lucite, that had been handled by Johnny Depp

We move forward in our lives, homes and courses, navigating between beliefs and evidence. Evidence can be turned onto beliefs, busting them to bits like a beer glass dropped on a stairwell. Miracles and myths would appear to be almost defenseless against the boot-kicks of empiricism. Nevertheless, we find ourselves clinging to beliefs and hopes in order to keep us moving along. Knowing that death is final and cannot be avoided by being good and doing onto others in a like manner, we deliberately advance into the dark and the cold in an effort to lead others to the warmth, light and comfort that comes from knowledge. Plans for a new course are infused with promise and possibility — and we believe in in the myth that ignorance is the enemy and wisdom will make the world a better place. We bust our humps preparing and worrying about the prospects for everyone this semester. Believers and skeptics lay awake the night before class, wishing for a miracle but preparing nonetheless (nice pants, neat syllabus, novel introduction) to make this course the one that changes the world.

anything is possible

I enjoy sports but only pay attention to those teams that are close to where I live. In Boston, we watched every Celtics game on the local Fox affiliate during the early 1990s. In Cleveland, we watched the Indians go to the World Series, and the Browns go to Baltimore. In Utah, we cheered the home team during the 2002 Olympics. And in Connecticut, without a single major league professional team, we follow UConn. The end of 2010 and the start of 2011 has been rough on our 3 biggest programs: the women’s basketball team ended an amazing winning streak, the men’s basketball team were proven to not deserve their No. 4 ranking, and our football team lost badly in its first BCS game. Somebody is bound to suggest that there is some connection to the revelation that we are hiring our first woman as president. Cause and effect or another sign of a loss for the institution -- I’ll let others weigh in.

The Fiesta Bowl is sponsored by Frito-Lay and features their Tostios chips. We compromised and munched on nacho cheese Doritos until we were queasy. (Not many know that the name of the chip comes from the Spanish “Doritos” which roughly translates as “salty, orange, triangles of cocaine-like goodness”). When I was a youth, college bowl games were named after naturally-occurring foods: Orange, Peach, Sugar, Rose, etc. Naming rights for a bowl have long been determined by who wanted to shell out the crazy amount of money. The same is true with stadiums and fields as the owners often have first crack at having their names over the entrance. Corporations can also spend enough to have that right. When the new Cleveland baseball park opened, it was named Jacobs Field after the owners. Now it is Progressive Field, named after the insurance company that also supports NORML legislation. What startled me while watching the Fiesta Bowl, besides the fact that no one had turned the facility into a giant bowl of chips with salsa in midfield, was the name of the place.

University of Phoenix offers online education for adults. Somehow they can issue education degrees which lead to certification. That doesn’t trouble me because I believe it’s on the schools themselves to decide whether they want to hire someone to teach children who earned their bachelor’s while at home, in their pajamas, and eating Doritos. Instead, I cannot quite wrap my head around that fact that the Fiesta Bowl was played at the University of Phoenix Stadium, an institution which has no intercollegiate athletic programs. Truly, my mind is so jolted by this that I am unable to think of a parallel that is equally incongruous. Okay, how about Freedom Mortgage Company’s name on a prison? Or BP’s name on a water park? Just goes to show about anything is possible in 2011.

reaching an end

Endings and beginnings are very odd pairings. In some cases, a beginning is loud and dramatic while the end is indefinite and discrete. Examples include human life (the screaming moment of birth and the quiet exhalation at death) and the calendar year (fireworks for January 1 compared to a flipped calendar page for December 1). We celebrate new arrivals and weep at the departures.

In other cases, the transition from start to finish is a crescendo with the UConn Women’s Basketball team as a poignant example. Under great national attention, Stanford ended the Husky win streak at 90 games. [It was surreal to watch Condoleezza Rice celebrating, maybe vindicated for her failed Iraq efforts?] In contrast, our local PBS station just re-broadcasted the first game in the streak from November 16, 2008. It was a very typical game with no one sensing where it might all conclude, and nobody imagining that it would almost 1000 days later.

Each year, the media lists the more famous who have walked among us but have died over the preceding 12 months: actors, scientists, artists, etc. Almost inevitably, we are surprised to discover someone’s passing. People like the woman who played the wife and mother on Leave it To Beaver have been such a presence over the years that it is almost as startling to realize that she is a living person as to simultaneously discover that she is, finally and forever, not. As struck as we can be by an ending this is often followed by the sense that things continue. Maybe we believe the UConn win streak would go on forever, despite the coach making it clear that someday it would have to end. We were fooling ourselves into believing that there might be a basketball doxology:

As it was in the beginning
Is now, and ever shall be,
World without end …

On the night of the famous loss, I went to bed heavyhearted with condolences arriving through the ether. And the next morning we realized we were going to be okay. The coach was quick to recover, quipping at the post-game press conference: “This losing stuff is getting old: I hate it.” Other basketball games are on the schedule and we have six pairs of tickets on the refrigerator waiting to be used — including the first appearance by the team after their spanking by the Cardinal.

What remains unclear is whether anything new really begins and if endings are especially final. Stephen Jay Gould himself charted this by examining time as an arrow or as a cycle. In relation to geology, he appreciated the dichotomy of the metaphors and praised the tensions it generated. And that worked well for Dr Gould in his professional life; in his personal life he has ceased to be. And yet, he persists in his works which continue to education and enlighten.

An acquaintance expressed astonishment that I was not regularly archiving my computer files. I discovered I had the software that just need to be reloaded. The hardware was already on hand but never put into automatic action. I also ran an anti-virus program as recommended and came back with a completely clean bill of technological health. Now I can virtually thumb back through several years of syllabi and manuscripts and conference proceedings. But Time Machine only looks backwards. On January 1st, it is all about possibilities. I am curious to discover a year from now what has been added and what is changed.