button it up

There's quite a bit I remember from eighth grade, when Omaha kids took the required US History class, and my teacher was Mr. Roslowski. We know about state capitals, but what that great American hero who followed in the syllabus after capitals: Johnny Tremain. I don't think we spend enough time to think about, or take days off, to celebrate his contribution to American history. His contribution to my life is that every, single time I hear about internships or apprenticeships I think Johnny Tremain.

L is heading up to Vermont next weekend for what I'm calling her "Johnny Tremain" moment. It all started on our last journey in early March when she first visited the legendary fabric mecca; she met the Eleven there as I was choosing which stunning Indian fabric to collect. X was determining the best options for a new lining (and buttons) for her winter dress coat. The fine proprietor/purveyor was in the midst of a lake of buttons attempting to make some artistic sense of the waves. L noted the expanses of button puddles - what is on display is sorted and held in glass/crystal finger bowls - and immediately decided that this was her type of place, never mind the masses of beautiful fabrics and bits of unassembled creation. That day appeared to be a small step in the sorting, managing, and display of some portion of thousands of artisan, collectible, and finally curated buttons. This would not end without some kind of contribution on L.'s part. And so it is that she'll spend two weeks finger-to-finger with buttons, overhearing talk of fabric and art, touching and learning vicariously about fabrics, all while imagining how and where it all happened. Her chance to have such a wonderful guide on this tour of art is something she'll never forget. I've assigned her daily writings about what she's learned, loved, or wondered. As that happens (I not-so-subtly created her a blog), we can hopefully follow along.

Time will tell.

a union of none

I’ll come clean to start: I think all colleges and universities should do away with scholarships for athletes. I also despise the NCAA. 

The recent talk about the Northwestern football players unionizing is interesting on a number of levels. First, it appears that the adjudicating NLRB court for the Chicago area determined that since the players are paid (read: scholarships) they are considered employees and now have the right to unionize. That unionization leads to negotiating contracts, pay, and working conditions for players. Assuming this idea carries forward, where do both the players and universities end up? Well, if I’m a university I can simply withdraw all athletic scholarships – and the included training facilities, supplied food, provided housing, etc., and then enter into negotiations with the union. As a university overlord I can come to some pay structure and then the athletes can pay for each piece of football pie: training, food, housing, physio, travel, money to eat on the road, hotels, uniform rental, etc. As a player, what are you getting in the deal right now? You are getting the training required in order for you move forward in what is most likely your chosen profession (even if you are dreaming way too big…). In order to do that training the university is providing you with at least three years (football) of tuition (whether or not you attend), room, board (at BCS schools probably a private dining facility), travel expenses, per diem when travelling, private physio facilities and trainers, uniforms, etc. Excluding private BCS schools, my back-of-the-envelope calculations say that you’re getting (being paid) somewhere around 60k per year to be trained; over three years we’ll call it about $200,000. (This number assumes a BCS-level, state school, with players coming from outside the state.) Not bad, right? Go to the first half of this paragraph – I’ll pay you $65,000 per year to play here – and you then pay for the training, just like every other student at the university (barring academic studs).

Second, and I call this the “Reggie Bush” syndrome, is the idea that somehow a player is more than the university. Until very recently I couldn’t come up with an example of a player that made or created a big money NCAA football program – lately, Johnny Manziel made me think he may the one, but honestly, Texas A&M was a Big 12 program and had already moved to the SEC by the time he showed up, so even he doesn’t count. Reggie Bush felt that USC was making oodles of money from his likeness, or his jersey. This is a hollow argument – USC was a massive program before Bush showed up, it is a massive program after his departure. The horse is USC; Bush is a wagon. Nobody was knocking down the door for Reggie Bush jerseys prior to his star turn at USC.  Even for superstars, they aren’t making the university money, the university is the already created monster that they simply ride.

Last, and most importantly, athletic departments don’t make money. There are loads of sites that cover reported expenses and incomes, but beyond a small percentage of universities, athletics is a financial loser. Here’s a link to a shortish report from economists at Holy Cross that addresses the issue – even big-time football and basketball programs lose money. Sure, this is three years old, but the ideas haven’t changed.  

I don’t know where this will end up. The NCAA can go away for all I care. Universities can drop athletic scholarships. The can drop athletics for all I care. It’ll be fun to watch.

as if time doesn't pass

I'm re-posting this from a very good friend's storytelling on Facebook. The reason I'm doing so - and choosing it from amongst all his great stories - is because you realize, oftentimes while writing a post about a trip and/or kin - that even with goddamned cameras in our beloved phones we never take pictures. I'm horrible, truly. In the grand scheme of things a picture is fine within even a Snapchat realm - something only seen for a few seconds, but something that tells a nice story. And something that lets everyone say, "Oh, there they are." I think this story might be enough to straighten us all out..

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After work last night, Diana attended a visitation for a colleague's husband, who, by all accounts, was a wonderful person and taken far too early, as so many seem to have been over the past few years. When she got home, she seemed subdued.

"You okay?"
"Yes. It was kind of sad and happy at the same time."
"How so?"
"Well, during the visitation they ran a montage of pictures of them on a screen. They were smiling and just looked so happy together. You can tell they really loved each other."
"Yeah."
"And then I got to thinking..."
(Oh, crap.)
"...You don't ever smile in our pictures."
"Sometimes I do."
"Rarely... and only after I nag you to do it. And even then, it's only a half-smile. And now I'm worried that I'll be standing there at your visitation, with all these frowny pictures of you scrolling on a screen in the background, and everyone will think you were miserable with me."

Now, after 31 years of marriage, I have learned that normally when Diana unburdens herself or brings some problem to my attention, she is not necessarily looking for a solution. Usually, she just wants to sound the problem out. My job is to nod and reassure her, but not try to fix it (because then I get irritated when she doesn't take my perfectly good advice). But her eyes were getting all teary, and I could tell, in this one instance, she was looking for a solution.

"Darling, I promise that will never, ever happen to you."
"Because you're going to start smiling in our pictures?"
"No, because I plan on outliving you by at least three years."

Well, that made her cry and laugh at the same time, which is better than just crying.

"Do you promise?"
"I promise."
"Wait a second..."
(Oh, crap).
"... If it's my visitation and people don't see your smile in our pictures, how will they know we were in love and happy together?"
"Because they'll see YOUR smile... and they'll know."

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Oh, there they are....

reset

The Eleven spent last Saturday night in Baltimore. I know what your thinking about our tours of east coast blue-collar, hardworking, formerly (and future) great cities (more on that later). What with Pittsburgh in February and Wilmington, DE next weekend you might offer us a grander vacation on a beach or mountainside somewhere else; we’d decline that offer.

Baltimore is a city that appears on the edge of becoming quite alluring. (This is the later part, see above.) It went through a first re-invention in the early 1980s (?) when it redid the Inner Harbor area and anchored it with the National Aquarium. Just down the road a piece from the Inner Harbor sit Camden Yards, which spawned the entire retro-baseball park idea, and M&T Bank Stadium (the NFL’s Ravens’ home). These fairly specific areas draw lots of tourism and spending, but I feel the Inner Harbor, at over 30 years old, is fading a bit; and, this brings me to where the city seems to be now. With its various universities, neighborhoods, water access, I-95 access, and a lower cost of living than DC it may be poised to make some noise. The museums are great and I sense a hipster vibe just on the doorstep – hipsters ain’t bad – with places like the old Union Mill popping up. If played correctly, the attraction of areas like Mount Vernon could pull the city up quite a bit. We’ll see – revisit this post in five years’ time.

We did the normal thing for us and wandered around Fells Point for a bit with the weather throwing out a beautiful 70 degrees and sunshine. We bought G. what should be a highly cherished, actual top hat at Hats in the Belfry. I managed any number of CDs at Sound Garden, we did some coffee at Daily Grind, and patted some of the gazillion dogs out for the day before heading to our digs. Julie the Cruise Director booked us into the BlancNoir in Little Italy, and JCD will get a very nice comment card for said actions. We stayed in the New York room which was perfectly lovely – massive king bed with great linens, coffee, water (free; well, you know what I mean), great HDTV (we will watch trashy TV in hotels), slippers, robes, excellent temp control, and a massive bath with Jacuzzi and a two person, 12-head shower. Great place. Breakfast was almost over the top (we were the only visitors that night) with fresh everything: fruit, muesli (homemade), yoghurt, bread, cheeses, eggs to order, and veg sausage (they knew we were coming). As far as rooms and B&Bs go – about the best I’ve seen.

We then met up with my Baltimore-based cousin for dinner at Helmand in Mount Vernon - our second visit intended to verify just how great we find the food. With a near repeat on the selections we have confirmation that it’s fantastic. We had a long and wonderful conversation as we worked through the courses, wine, and dessert. I count it as a great success in my attempt this year of keeping touch with people in my life.

Sunday morning took us to coffee to Artifact Coffee in another part of town, and then back Mount Vernon for the Walker Art Center. I’m not sure how to summarize the Walker aside from saying it may be the best museum (layout, crowds [very small], admission [free], exhibitions, and tone) I’ve ever been to. We spent a nice chunk of time in the lower galleries and the 19th century collection before calling our normal hour-and-a-half eye candy limit. We will no doubt be back to cover the other 80% of the museum, including an entire Asian art building next door. With kids. Very pleasant, indeed. I think my next entry may address the lack of umph provided by the Pittsburgh Museum of Art…

Seven days to Wilmington.

Peace.