Appropriate sanctions

In the context of my job, I have been doing a lot of research into training delivery through the Internet. One of the professors I’ve watched is a guy named Walter Lewin, a professor of physics at MIT. His recorded teaching was energetic and fascinating and even a lot of fun. He had some truly delightful recorded lectures on the Net and I thoroughly enjoyed them.

And now, for the most part, they’re gone.

It turns out, this guy had been using his cachet as a ‘great professor’ and his access to lots of eager students to feed his penchant for sexual harassment. I won’t go into it here – you can easily look him up – but suffice to say the guy is a real pig. And when one of the women complained, MIT conducted an investigation. When they determined the charges had merit, they disassociated from him, taking away his emeritus status and disavowing him. They couldn’t fire him, since he’d retired in 2009. What they did was erase his standing and to a guy like this, standing is everything.

So far, so good. But then, MIT started a campaign to further distance themselves from this guy by pulling down any and all of his lectures, presentations, in fact any and all reference to him in any way being connected to the Institute. Not that they hid from their long and mutually profitable association, they stood up and announced exactly what he’d done, what they did when they found out and why. Follow the link below if you’re interested. They announced to the academic universe that they were determined not to be in any way associated with the scumbag.

(Sorry, Doctor Scumbag. Harrumph!)

The rub came recently when some misguided folks, including some of his colleagues among academics around the world, complained that by taking down his recorded courses and demonstrations, the Institute was actually hurting the students, present and future who might benefit from his enlightened teaching. At least one guy posted a diatribe in which he hinted that Lewin’s foibles paled in comparison to the greater good to be gained from continued availability of his recorded brilliance.

MIT won’t budge. Not only did his actions violate their principles and policies regarding proper conduct and their duty to protect each other from harm, but the investigation found that he actually used MIT-x and Ed-x channels as part of his harassment scheme. So down he came. And this all happened quickly, by investigative standards. The first whisper of all this came to MIT officialdom’s attention in October and now, three months later the investigation has been conducted, measures decided upon, the severance of ties announced and while you can still find Lewin all over the Net because that’s the nature of the Web, nothing by or concerning him other than the severance announcement can be found through MIT’s website.

 A creep like this lives for his fame and stature. And losing it all, including the esteem of most of the academic community (whatever, there will always be a few chowderheads), is a fitting end to a career that as it turns out, never should have been celebrated. The only sad element of MIT’s response is that it did not involve forfeiture of any tender body parts.

Where’s the ol’ gelding knife when you really need it?

  http://newsoffice.mit.edu/2014/lewin-courses-removed-1208

Things that are flaccid

NFL footballs, apparently. At least the ones used by certain teams.

I’m learning much more than I ever wanted to know about football inflation of late. Seems like the major news organizations consider this an item of some import. Between CNN, Reuters (yes, Reuters?) and various online versions of soon to be defunct newspapers, I am very well informed concerning the ‘mystery’ of the somewhat underinflated balls.

This is an entertainment enterprise through which we pay guys who never grew up millions of dollars each year to run around on a big lawn, throwing and kicking said balls and pushing each other down. And we’re supposed to feign surprise when one or more of them lets some of the air out of a few balls.

Some folks seem to choose really odd things to worry about.

Excuse me, I have a really important yawn coming up.

The Friendship Nine

Fifty-four years ago, nine back men sat down at a ‘whites only’ lunch counter in Rock Hill, South Carolina and asked to be served. The lunch counter sit-ins that began in Greensboro, NC some years earlier had begun to lose steam, having devolved to a familiar formula – sit in, arrests, fines paid, done.

What was different about the Friendship Nine is that they decided that in order to have the most profound impact, they needed to put it on the line in the same way that Martin Luther King did in Birmingham, a sojourn that gave rise to some famous letters. So they decided not only to sit at the counter but to refuse to move when so ordered by the police, to demand their own arrests.

Then – and this was the capper - once they got to jail, they refused to pay their fines. This “jail, no bail” approach brought their protests immediate widespread coverage and put the issue of segregation right back where it belonged, in the spotlight. They did this at a time (1960) when people of color who stood up for their rights too frequently disappeared without a trace or found themselves struggling to breathe at the end of a rope under a gnarled branch while a small crowd of grinning yahoos looked on and cheered.

Now, according to various news sources, the five survivors of the original nine are going to court to be exonerated for their crimes.

Exonerated for their crimes.        

Is it just me or is there something twisted about them needing to be exonerated for anything? Should not the city of Rock Hill and the State of South Carolina and every other city or county or parish or state that participated in these historical atrocities be offering their very public and abject apologies to these men and millions more?

Really, is it just me?

Books

It’s no big secret I love to read. Said reading, combined with my penchant for keeping stuff, has resulted in shelves and stacks of books in every room of the house. In nooks and also crannies, on tabletops and under other books and in drawers and boxes and bins.

Okay, before you start thinking you might see me showing up on a reality show sometime soon, it’s not actually THAT bad! Let’s just say we’ve accumulated more books of varying types and topics and descriptions than a body actually needs.  So at the moment – or rather, over the course of the last week or so – I’m going through the process of figuring out which books mean something special to us, which I’ll keep for reference, which I haven’t read yet (and which I’m not that likely to read) and so forth.

Many of the books pass quickly and easily through my hands, either because they’re not special and go right to the giveaway stacks or because they are and I put them in one of the sort-for-shelving stacks. Others require a minute or two to figure out if I’ve read them and if not, whether I am likely to in future. Some I think I’ll keep in my reference collection, only to find out a couple stacks later that I’ve two copies or a later revision of the same book. After all, I probably don’t really need two editions of the same writers’ stylebook.

Dictionaries represent a challenge. It’s a good thing to have several, since the compilers take different points of view and a vibrant lexicon cannot be captured in a single Webster’s. I’m thinking seven is about the right number of dictionaries for a household and I’ll donate the remainder. This is not including the massive 1920s library model with which I will NEVER part. Yeah, seven is good; it’s not like the girls are still living here and need them for school use.

I admit my collection of Heinlein is for old times’ sake and being paperback, they don’t take up much room. But Uris and Michener are outta here, not because I don’t cherish them but simply because I won’t read them again and someone needs to. My Amy Tans and Anita Desais go to an old friend. Twain and Solzhenitsyn and Plato and my Gary Larson compilation go to Goodwill where one hopes they’ll find their audience. Most of my old textbooks also go to Goodwill, hopefully to find a second life as doorstops or bed levelers.

Coffee table books are tough. Most were gifts and some are actually cool but the truth is, we don’t have a coffee table. I’m determined to make it through Les Miserables so it stays, for the moment. Daughter One’s Stephen Kings and Two’s Orson Scott Cards will be preserved for the moment. And of course, yearbooks – I really wish I still had mine from my senior year.

We hope we’re going from five bookcases to two with no excess in odd locations around the manse.

Wish us luck with that, won’t you?

The third grade comparison

For whatever reason, I sometimes tend to draw comparisons between where I am now and where the third grade me might have thought I’d be today. For example, when I see homeless people, I can’t help wondering what the third grade version of that person wanted to be when they grew up. I’m sure I’ve talked about this sort of thing before.

So, tonight as I sit in my room d’hotel contemplating flying home tomorrow night, I found myself thinking about eight-year-old me once again. I don’t recall being the tidiest person back then. So, what would  flood-tide Michael have thought if he had known that one day he would be sitting alone in a hotel room salivating at the thought of spending the weekend upcoming sorting stuff for give-away and rearranging rooms and cleaning nooks and crannies we haven’t seen in some years because they’re behind, say, my Aunt Suzie’s vanity that we never move because we’re afraid it will finally fall apart and besides, it’s heavier than (insert something that you think of as really heavy and make it something interesting, not heavy as ‘hell’ or heavy as ‘all get out’ because even though I loved my Mom and would give anything for another moment with her I have to admit that I never really understood what an ‘all get out’ was or how one might determine its weight) so absent a really good reason we wouldn’t even be moving it now?

I think I would have shaken my head at that thought as I tossed another gum wrapper under the bed.

Solitude while not alone

In the course of using my portable music device as a defensive weapon whilst riding the bus next to an insistently talkative transit denizen recently, I got to thinking. Not that there was much else to occupy me, owing in part to the fact that we were at that moment passing through a very long tunnel with no particularly interesting features, and in part to the fact that the battery of my player was not just merely dead, but really, most sincerely dead. So as I said, I got to pondering and the subject of mine pondering resulted in (yes, I know you guessed it but sheesh, just let me have my moment of faux suspense) a list, the subject being:

The following may provide solitude while not actually, you know, being alone

Earphones – As explained above, even if no music is issuing therefrom

Looking out the window of the bus, plane, car – Also as explained above

A function you got roped into attending while conversation goes on around you – Make sure to keep an insipid smile plastered to your face and nod slightly every now and then

Watching television in the same room but not together

When there’s something awkward remaining unsaid but the two or more people within earshot are each determined not to be the one to break the silence

In bed, staring at the ceiling while your love sleeps but you have the thinkies and an hour has gone by…and now another…and now only thirteen minutes…

On airplanes, most flights (thankfully)

In the company meeting room, during most meetings

In a crowded mall, while all the zillions of people walk past in sublime ignorance of your august presence

Almost anywhere, when a really killer idea comes to you, no matter how inopportune the timing

And just for the record, I rather enjoy solitude in most of its forms.

My holiday epistle

Okay, yes, I know I meant to actually send out cards or at least a newsletter this year and yes, I understand the disappointment of those of you who counted on receiving my card as evidence of your continued residency on the A List.

Get over it.

And I mean that in only the most loving way. In my defense, I have been busy basically since the surprise visit for Thanksgiving of Daughters One and Also Two. I just never got revved up on lots of things I’d meant to do. So you see, card-writing is not the only holiday activity that sort of fell by the wayside. We got the outdoor lights up in true Griswold fashion and the tree up and trimmed, but we never set out the rest of the Christmas deco and went through the big day with green and red storage bins still sitting in the front room.

You might say we just sorta ran out of steam. Which is not the same as saying that we didn’t enjoy the season. With One and Two here - a BIG surprise for moi – Thanksgiving was the best one we’ve ever had. Since the visit was a surprise, we hadn’t lined up a lot of planned activities. So as I said in an earlier post, it was just a lovely, relaxed visit.

Mary and I spent a week in the Boston area and really enjoyed walked, talking, and gawking – the three awks of relaxed tourism. I did a PILE of location research for my writing, we saw Two’s a capella group sing and attended her senior design project presentation. Met or refreshed our acquaintance with a number of her friends and enjoyed being a couple on vacation.

Then Two came home again for a week between end of classes and departing for Orlando and Miami, where she is now just finishing visits with One and also with their respective boyfriends.

Odin the Large and Lazy had a couple of office procedures and finally major surgery, his recovery from which required us to operate a doggie sick room for a spell. Thankfully, Two was home to help nurse her boy and just today, we were able to take off his cone, for which our home furnishings and door jambs are thankful. On a more somber note, the surgery did not remove his malignancy, so there will come a time for a tough decision. But not today. Today, he’s back to being his usual, dumb-as-a-post-but-lovable-as-a-… well, as a big galumphy Great Dane, I guess, self.

Zoey is Zoey. Eager, fun, annoying, loving, frightened of fireworks and thunder, and absolutely a wonderful companion.

Mary’s new job seems to be a great match and she’s really enjoying it. I’m enjoying having a second salary in the household after a lo-o-o-ong stretch of decidedly lean times.

My book project has really taken off and I’m having a wonderful time with it. Sublime torture, writing is. And I truly love it!

Life is good and I hope that is also true for each and all of you!

Happy New Year! And I’ll try to do better next year.