More Musings

Reading a couple of reviews for "R.I.P.D." has reminded me of a very serious question I've had for several years, to wit, Why exactly does Ryan Reynolds have a career?  Get back to me on that one, would you?

42

Last night, as the All-Star Break continued, WOS and I attempted to satisfy a baseball Jones with "42," the biopic about Jackie Robinson, who, in 1947, became the first African-American to play for Major League Baseball.  The movie stars Chadwick Boseman as Robinson and Harrison Ford as Branch Rickey, the Brooklyn Dodgers' owner, who defied any number of unwritten rules to bring Robinson to the big leagues.

Harrison Ford, of course, has had an illustrious Hollywood career. Simply by virtue of playing Han Solo and Indiana Jones, one could make a case for Ford as the most successful actor in the history of movies.  But he's getting older, and I suspect he'd like to make a case for himself as a legitimate actor capable of playing non-action-hero roles.  Now, I personally think Harrison Ford is a perfectly capable actor and is undoubtedly capable of playing "real people"--or at least I thought this before watching "42."  As Branch Rickey, Ford. . . .

Well, let me put it this way: Years ago, Michael Jordan hosted "Saturday Night Live."  He did a sketch about being "the first black Harlem Globetrotter."  The late, great Phil Hartman played the Globetrotters' owner, who cautioned Jordan about the prejudice he would face: "They're gonna call you names, Kid.  Names like. . .  'Blackie.'  And they're gonna say things like, 'Hey, look at that Blackie,' and 'Who's that Blackie?' and 'What's that Blackie doing playing basketball?'"  It was pretty funny stuff. . . and every time Harrison Ford opened his mouth in '42,' all I could think was, "He's doing Phil Hartman!"  Now, of course, both Hartman and Ford were "doing" Branch Rickey, but the fact that Ford's performance reminded me of nothing so much as a cartoon version of the Brooklyn Dodgers' owner was basically symptomatic of the problems with the movie as a whole.

I assume the film was generally faithful to history in its presentation of facts.  And the movie dutifully checks off all the indignities we would expect Jackie Robinson to have suffered, even if we knew nothing about baseball: He is forbidden to use the restroom at a Southern gas station during his barnstorming days with the Kansas City Monarchs; he and his wife are bumped from their flight to spring training; opposing pitchers throw at him repeatedly; his own teammates are less-than-enthusiastic about Robinson's presence--some going so far as to demand trades rather than taking the field with a black man.

And yet, watching the movie feels like sitting through some dramatized and largely sanitized history lesson: We get the facts (or at any rate, the "facts'), but none of the humanity.  As Robinson, Boseman shows excitement at making the Major Leagues, but we get no sense that he understands his place in history--we get no sense of how he feels about being a symbol as much as a ballplayer.  And the characters are all two-dimensional: Jackie and Rickey are basically all good; the antagonistic, racist ballplayers are all bad; and the teammates who eventually grow to appreciate Robinson as a player and as a man are all likable simpletons.

It's too bad.  Jackie Robinson is a great baseball story.  Maybe someday someone will make a great baseball movie about it.

I Think I May Be onto Something. . . .

From "Dementia's Signs May Come Early," an article on the front page of today's New York Times:

"One of Dr. Caselli’s patients, Roger Siegel, 84, has noticed [memory] problems for at least five years, and said he now remembers about 30 percent of what he would like to, and has trouble concentrating. 'I take a shower and wonder did I wash that leg,' he said. In books, 'many times I forget which character is which.'

"Recently, he bought six packages of pie filling instead of one 'because I asked somebody where would I find it and the answer was Aisle 6, so I wrote down 6, but by the time I got to the aisle, I picked up six of the thing.'”

From the same article: 

"Carol Miller, 61, of Rochester, Minn., part of the Mayo Clinic’s study of cognitively healthy adults, seems more concerned. A registered nurse who retired after being laid off a few years ago, she has forgotten cardiovascular and neurological vocabulary that once 'I would recall very easily,' she said. 'I don’t trust myself as a safe R.N. because I don’t have the knowledge anymore.'

"When shopping for blueberry filling for her daughter’s birthday cake, she twice reached the checkout counter having forgotten it. . . ."

 

Now I'm no scientist, but I'm thinking researchers should investigate the apparent link between the onset of dementia and pie.

 

Up in the Air. . .with Cellos

The other night, "The Colbert Report" featured a story about Lynn Harrell, a classical cellist embroiled in a dispute with Delta Airlines:


I enjoyed the bit, and I hate to nitpick. . . Well, that's not true, I enjoy nitpicking, so here goes:

I wanted more from this story than just the spoof of traditional right-wing hysteria over threats to "traditional" marriage.  I want someone to confront Delta Airlines over the treatment of this wonderfully strange but apparently good-natured individual--who happens to be absolutely right in this dispute with Delta.

I have never bothered to enroll in any "Frequent Flier" programs: I fly infrequently enough--and with no particular regard to which airline I choose--that I would never accrue enough mileage to make enrollment worthwhile.  At the same time, though, I assumed I had a basic understanding of how these programs work: A passenger accumulates miles based on the distance he or she travels.  Airlines offer frequent-flier miles as an incentive for loyalty: The more often you fly a particular airline, the more miles you accumulate with said airline.  Of course, the airline benefits from this arrangement, too, as frequent-fliers continue to fill the coffers of their preferred airline as they accumulate miles.

Now, Delta's position in the Harrell case is that a cello--even one so adorably named as "Cello Harrell"--is not a human being and thus cannot accumulate frequent-flier mileage.  Apparently, Delta executives are unaware that the 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights does not include frequent flier mileage. 

(DIGRESSION: Surprising, but true: When the Declaration was being drafted, the authors debated long and hard over whether to include frequent-flier miles.  They opted to include "Freedom from arbitrary arrest and exile" instead, and we have had to live with the consequences ever since. EOD)

More to the point, if the purpose of frequent-flier programs is to encourage passengers to fly repeatedly with one airline--in other words, to buy more and more tickets on that airline's flights--then what possible difference does it make to the airline whether the ticket being purchased is ultimately used by a person or by a cello--or, indeed, by no one and nothing at all?  The airline still reaps the financial reward it sought when it offered the mileage program in the first place.

My suggestion: If Delta wants to declare that a cello deserves none of the rights and privileges bestowed upon human beings--because it's not a human being--then that's fine. But then the Delta corporation--which is also not a human being--should not receive any of the rights and privileges afforded to human beings, either: No voting rights, no rights to make political contributions, etc.

Looked at this way. . . . Well, Lynn Harrell may just get his frequent-flier miles back, after all.  You're welcome, Lynn.

Advice for New Teachers (Jobhunting Edition): Engage, Engage, Engage

If you apply for a teaching position, you can expect to be asked to do a teaching demonstration.  Generally, the interviewers will ask you to treat them as if they were students--and many will act like students, too, with all the challenges that implies.  When you find yourself in this situation, take it very seriously: It's often the make-or-break moment of the whole application process.

Look, anyone can say the right things during the question-and-answer portion of the interview, and anyone can put together a lesson plan.  These things are not overly impressive.  If you want to impress, the demo is your chance.  It's your audition, your chance to show what you would actually do in front of an actual classroom.  So act accordingly.

I am always amazed when an interviewee spends his or her whole teaching demonstration at the blackboard lecturing.  When I'm interviewing someone, I want to know how that person will engage students.  I don't care if she makes it through the whole lesson plan (or portion thereof) that she prepared for the interview; indeed, an applicant who is doing a good job probably won't get through her whole lesson: She'll be too busy answering the questions I'm peppering her with.  She'll need to take a moment to alter course when she realizes that I'm just not getting it, or she'll have to remind me not to text during class.

Teaching is all about communication--about interactions.  Show your interlocutors that you know how to interact.

Thanks, But No Thanks. . . .Seriously, NO Thanks

I definitely need therapy.  Before you agree whole-heartedly, let me explain:

Being a teacher isn't all glamour.  Oh, sure, students look at us as to gods and goddesses, casting light upon their benighted existences, but you have to understand that there's a fair amount of drudgery, too.  Grading, for example.  There's an experience worthy of Dante--I'm thinking at least the seventh circle.

Beyond purely academic tasks, though, we teachers have various other responsibilities.  At the college where I teach, full-time professors are expected to conduct evaluations of adjunct (part-time) faculty on a regular basis.  Every semester, I participate in two or three such evaluations.  It's no big deal.  Except in those rare occasions when you observe someone truly awful, it's a fairly easy and even sometimes enjoyable process.  And when you DO observe someone truly awful, you have great water-cooler material, so, y'know, win-win!

Anyway, last semester, as usual, I did a couple of adjunct-faculty evaluations, and they were both fine.  I submitted my paperwork and promptly cleared that experience from my memory banks.  (Look, I only have a 32 Mb hard-drive up there, and 20 Mb are already dedicated to pornographic fantasizing; I can't just keep useless stuff floating around!)  Today, though, I received an e-mail from the college's vice-president, thanking me for conducting these evaluations.

Huh?

Now, I know, what you're thinking, and, yes, 40-something year old men STILL devote large portions of their mental storage facilities to pornographic fantasizing.  But that's not the point!  The point is, I have never before received thanks for performing this standard task.  I attribute the note to the fact that the vice-president is new--she just started a few weeks ago--and this is the way she does things: She sends out thoughtful little letters (albeit of the "form" variety) to show employees that their services are valued.  Nothing wrong with that.

And yet, when I received this e-mail, all I could think was, What's THIS all about?  I've never gotten a thank you for conducting evaluations before!  How am I supposed to respond to this?  I'm perfectly OK with being ignored.  But once someone notices me, they start to have, y'know, expectations.  Today, it's gratitude; tomorrow, it's "What have you done for me lately?"  And then we're well on our way down the slippery slope to chastisement and kicks in the teeth.

I told you I need therapy.

Profilin' Bigotry

"Mr. [Mark] O’Mara [a lawyer for George Zimmerman] disputed the notion that Mr. Zimmerman engaged in racial profiling. 'His history was not as a racist,' he said.

He added that if Mr. Zimmerman was black, he likely would never have been charged. 'This became a focus for a civil rights event, which is a wonderful event to have,' he said, 'but they decided George Zimmerman was to blame and to use as a civil rights violation.'”

Well, Mr. O'Mara, you may be right: If George Zimmerman had been black, he may never have been charged with second-degree murder for shooting Trayvon Martin in "self-defense."  And in that sense, Zimmerman is "unlucky" to be white.

 

As unlucky as Zimmerman's whiteness may be, though, it is dwarfed by his good fortune in Trayvon Martin's blackness.  Because let's be honest, Mr. O'Mara, if Trayvon had been white, then Zimmerman would have been arrested immediately, and would right now likely be serving 25-30 years in jail for manslaughter.

Oh, who are we kidding?  If Trayvon had been white, Zimmerman never would have been following him in the first place.