New Forecast Icons: the Mythic Journey

I look at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration weather forecast a lot on any given day. There’s the usual–do I need an umbrella or not? What should I wear? Does my son need to take his jacket or his coat? Or, during the winter especially–am I going to be able to get to work? Get home from work?

Also, as weather forecasts go, it’s pretty reliable. Nothing like the weather when I used to work at WMIX in Mt. Vernon, Illinois. We had a dartboard with weather labels, and more than once I saw the news director, Bob ______, throw a dart and then use that in the forecast. At least that’s how I remember it. It was more than 30 years ago. Maybe it was a DJ instead. Or maybe it was an episode of WKRP. Or maybe it was on WKRP and then we adopted it. The station manager at the time wanted us to call him “the big guy,” like Mr. Carlson, and I don’t think he realized that wouldn’t be a compliment, if we ever took him up on it.

But here’s the big news. They’ve changed the forecast icons! For the most part, I like the change. Here’s this morning’s forecast, for example:

Forecast for 7/8/15

Forecast for 7/8/15

They weren’t far off, though the sky here at the moment isn’t quite so rich a sky blue as the icon:

A beautiful day here at UW-Bitchland.

A beautiful day here at UW-Bitchland.

I like the way the new icons seem more narrative, almost metaphorical. Tonight, for example, it’s going to be foggy. The picture seems to tell a whole little story:

You're out driving and it's foggy and the car in front of you puts on its brakes--good thing you're not following too close.

You’re out driving and it’s foggy and the car in front of you puts on its brakes–good thing you’re not following too close.

Oh–before it’s foggy tonight, it’ll be cloudy and the moon will be peeking out from behind the clouds. That’ll be nice.

Later on in the week, things get interesting. We have chance of storms, and LOOK! FOUR DIFFERENT STORM ICONS! It’s not just night and day difference. You can go to the NOAA explanation page to find out that the differences have to do with how much cloud cover there is during the storm. My inexpert assumption would be that in a thunderstorm, cloud cover = a lot, but no–apparently there are levels.

My personal favorite, not currently in the forecast for this week, will show up when
(Cloud cover < 60%)
Thunderstorm in Vicinity
Thunderstorm in Vicinity Fog
Thunderstorm in Vicinity Haze

(NOT all three at once, I presume). I’ve never actually seen this:

This is the new one for wind. wind_sct I’ll miss the fellow in a trench coat struggling against a Chicago-style breeze, but wait! He’s back, only now when we see him it means COLD:
cold

The tornado is very dramatic, of course: ntor This is the tornado at night, so lightning has to be striking or you wouldn’t see it. Or I guess maybe if it was stirring up dust and powder, you’d see it. But in any case, in this one, lightning lights things up.

fc This is the image for a funnel cloud. Ahem. Reminds me a little of the wind sock….

hot HOT is the only one that I think is really a failure. I think this should just be a picture of someone looking miserable, with a fan and a cold beverage. Or maybe a heat rash.

fzra Freezing rain never looked so lovely.

ra_fzraBut not so lovely if you’re driving now, is it?

fzra_snIce and snow. Look how pretty.

ra_sn This is like a mashup between a Christmas card and a nightmare.

ovcLook how gloomy this one is. It’s for “overcast.” Think I’ll go write a poem.

But now for the hero’s journey. Here he is, struggling along: cold

Or wait!  It occurs to me that figure is a little androgynous.  So let’s just say she is struggling along when a giant penis drops down from the sky fc and her mood is decidedly mixed fzra_sn But the sun finally comes out bknfrom behind the cloudsovcand her mood picks up! (This is actually funnier if our hero is male. Oh well.)wind_sct

WAIT! The world’s become so much more interesting–let’s just say our hero is a woman with a penis because then the windsock is funny again AND we still get to have a woman on the hero’s journey. So, anyway, now she knows she must drive between the pillars of rain

until she gets to the twin lightning bolts,ntsraso that when she wakes up in the hazy city,hzshe will finally know nbknthat she’s home and also it’s apparently Halloween.

Every Time You Thank a Teacher

A small white flower blooms somewhere,
in some ugly, neglected spot .

A paparazzo sets his camera down,
and a famous baby gets a private smile.

Every time you thank a teacher,
she finds the energy to do just one more thing
before she goes to sleep.

Every time you thank a teacher,
the darkness slides a little back.

A fussy child eats five carrot sticks
and barely even notices.

Every time you thank a teacher,
he makes another phone call,
for the student who has no one,
literally no one, else who cares.

Every time you thank a teacher,
an astronaut tightens a bolt,
a fledgeling just totally sticks it
landing on a flimsy limb,
a desperate person’s car starts one more time.

But every time you could have
thanked a teacher and didn’t,
and every time you thank a teacher
without even trying to do your part,
your small part (voting?), to deal with
the colossal amounts of garbage
teachers have to deal with all the time,
well, you’re the one to blame because
that pretty little flower’s dead.
That famous baby grows up weird,
and the teachers just can’t even, not tonight.

The darkness grows darker and more.

That fussy child grows up to be
a generally unpleasant person,
the space station is less secure,
and the fuzzy wuzzy fledgeling falls to its death.

Look–there’s that sad sack, late for work,
with a car that will not turn over
not this time, not at all, it’s just dead.

The car’s dead.
It’s all dead and
it’s all your fault.

FullSizeRender-4

A Letter to the Joint Committee on Finance

Kelly Wilz has written a terrific blog on the whole UW Colleges/UW System situation:

http://dissentandcookies.org/2015/05/28/letter-to-the-joint-committee-on-finance/

NOT THE EASIEST WEEK AT WORK? YEAH, ME NEITHER

“I was in the house when the house burned down”
Warren Zevon

The gears are grinding hard today, the sound
of conflict, disruption, and general unrest
is metallic, shearing, unpleasant at best.
The eruption of what used to be safe underground
is nothing like a garden coming up in spring
and also nothing like a shy girl speaking up.
It’s not a birth and also not a blossoming.
It is something like taking a painful dump.
And yet it’s very nearly exhilarating
to watch someone say “Enough. No more.
I’m done. Just stop .” Even for those who think
they could endure.

It really does and doesn’t matter.

You’re just trying to enjoy your sandwich, to appreciate
the privilege of being alive on this crazy day.

______

Because Letterman ended last night, I’ve been thinking again about Warren Zevon. We told our son at breakfast this morning that we considered “Zevon” as a first name for him, as well as “Warren.” We went with Wendell instead, but we’re guessing by the time he’s in college, he’ll have met at least a couple of Zevon’s.

Crazy week at work. So crazy, I probably can’t even talk about it. But wow.

Anyway, this Rolling Stone compilation is nice, of some serious moments from Mr. Letterman, and in the Zevon one, he says his famous line, “Enjoy every sandwich.”

_____

Even broken glass can be pretty.

Even broken glass can be pretty.

(image by Duke Lenoir photo from Creative Commons–attribution license.)

Spit in its Mouth

In the story I tell myself about myself, I’m on the side of all that’s good and holy. Or at least pretty good and not evil.

One of the reasons I’ve loved teaching at UW-Richland LO THESE MANY YEARS (I started in 1992) is that we take turns with a couple of other campuses being the smallest in the UW System. We’re the little guys. We’re the farm club. We’re the M*A*S*H* unit. We’re the ones who turned our garage into a beauty parlor and the wisdom of the ages can’t compete with our conversations.

In so many workplace narratives, the good guys are doing the hard work fighting some sort of external enemy, and then it turns out that there’s an internal enemy–usually the “higher ups.” (NOTE: does not apply to Truvy’s, since she’s the owner/operator.)

I’ll leave it to other folks to say smart things about the specifics in the UW System right now. I’ll just say that I’m heading into what is likely to be another hellish week at work, so I’m taking inspiration for survival anywhere I can.

For instance, James Lee Burke’s The Neon Rain, which I’m re-reading now that I’ve spent time in New Orleans (it is very fun recognizing street names and locations!). These two quotes are just really resonating with me–Dave Robicheaux is all the time bucking up against authorities and oppressors of all kinds–sometimes external to his job, sometimes internal.

I’ll just let these speak for themselves:

“If it’s not moving, don’t poke it. But when it starts snapping at your kneecaps, wait till it opens up real wide, then spit in its mouth.”

“What nails me about your kind is that you’re always willing to sacrifice half the earth to save the other half. But you’re never standing in the half that gets blitzed.”

Oh, so true, so true.

So I’ll be thinking about those quotes and this song–Tracy Chapman (who is aging SO nicely–it made me so happy somehow to see gray on her sweet head!) singing “Stand by Me” to David Letterman who will soon not be on the air. I’m dedicating it to all my colleagues, my work-darlings, of whom there are many, many, many.

Translated into Chinese!!!!!!

I was wrong about which blog post it was, but I’m STILL freaking excited that my colleague at UW-Richland, Faye Peng, translated some of my writing into Chinese!

It’s the post previous to this, “Here’s What It’s Like” (which is, as of this moment, up to 228 views).

She didn’t translate the whole thing so I’ll just say that I know budget cuts aren’t really like the things I described. Oh–also–not sure how the movie references play in translation–there are references to The Titanic (which I’ve never actually seen), Seven (which I have seen), and Sophie’s Choice (which I’ve seen a LOT).

Here’s how I was wrong. I first thought that my found poem using all direct quotes from the amazing TV show The Wire), “Contemplating the Declining Percentage of Investment in Higher Education and in Particular Legislators and Governors who Nevertheless Cheer Hard for their Sports Teams, While Also Mulling the Curious Maneuvers of University Leadership that May or May Not Yield Good Results for Those of Us in the Trenches, So to Speak,”  had been translated into Chinese.

_____

 

威斯康星大学预算削减的痛

这种疼就像,
他举起手,
你以为他要说“停下”,
但是他挥拳打向你;

对终身教授,
这种痛就像,
你坐在救生艇上,
你看着其他人被淹没,
你可以紧闭双眼,
你可以捂住你的双耳,
可是他们正在被淹没;

这种痛就像,
你抱着孩子逃离火车,
可是你不得不决定,
你救哪一个孩子,
放弃哪一个孩子;

这种痛就像,
你面对系列杀人犯,
他让你决定从你身上的哪一个部位切下血肉
[发怒][发怒][发怒][大哭][大哭][大哭]

Here’s What It’s Like: UW System Cuts

Here’s what it’s like. You thought he was raising his hand to say “stop” but he hit you instead.

Here’s what it’s like to be a tenured UW System faculty member right now. You’re in a lifeboat. Other people are drowning. You can close your eyes. You can cover your ears. But they’re still drowning.

Here’s what it’s like. You get off the train holding your children’s hands. You’re forced to choose which one lives and which one dies.

Here’s what it’s like. A serial killer makes you choose which pound of flesh you will cut out of yourself.

It’s not really like that, of course. No one’s dying. There’s not physical violence.

Moreover, I don’t know what it’s like to lose a child or be left alive when someone else drowns (though I read Ordinary People about six hundred times when I was 13).   I do know what it’s like to be hit–one time I thought a man was raising his hand to motion “shush,” but he punched me instead (Carbondale, Halloween). I have no experience with serial killers.  So–sorry if I’m seeming melodramatic.

But the proposed cuts to the UW System?  And my institution’s range of possible responses?

It feels awful.

Here’s what it’s really like.

The street in front of my house is torn up right now because the village is putting in storm drains and widening the street a bit. Trees were cut down last fall. It’s ugly right now, and it will never again be as pretty as it was, with the canopy of mature sugar maples making the entrance to downtown Spring Green the very picture of “small-town tree-lined street.” If that’s part of what you loved about the Spring Green Art Fair—sorry. No more. At least not on my end of the street. I’m skeptical whether all the trees really needed to come down, because the people in charge of projects like this don’t seem to have the same feelings and beliefs I do when I comes to trees. Nonetheless, we’ve been told the replacement trees will be native (smallish—not full-sized sugar maples, but still native—and especially NOT suburban-looking ornamental pseudo-trees). Overall, I’m o.k. with what’s going on. Storm drains will be FANTASTIC. No more navigating lakes and frozen lakes and partially frozen lakes to get the mail or get in and out of a car at the curb.

But what if I found out all the destruction, all the tree demolition, was for no good reason? What if the trees were needed only because someone had a jones to show off their wood chipper? What if I found out that there’s no longer a plan to re-pave it all?  Or there’s a plan to pave it lightly, right on top, with no foundation below? What if the whole street were getting demolished simply to provide dirt for a big hole somewhere else?

I would feel like I feel right now about the UW System.

Angry. Distraught. Relatively hopeless and helpless.

The UW Colleges is facing cuts that I think we cannot survive.

Here’s the worst part at the moment—our institution is going implement massive changes soon because we can’t afford not to, just in case the cuts are as bad as Governor Walker’s budget requested. Or, even if they’re not THAT bad, even if they’re half as bad. We’re still implementing cuts.

The specifics of it are not firm yet, but it will be ugly and awful and bad no matter what.

And once you’ve cut those trees down, well–it will never be the same.

I have a lot of respect for local legislators. Howard Marklein and Ed Brooks came to my campus and listened to us, and I know they’re trying to do what they can.  I was impressed with both of them.

There’s talk of holding the UW Colleges harmless in the cuts, and while that might mean we actually live to fight another day, it also feels awful. (I mean—we kind of all know that Jan died, too. And this feels so much like Scott Walker’s tried-and-true method of divide and conquer—we’re like rats in a tub fighting over baubles and moldered scraps.)

I just don't want to be the very last rat on the sinking ship.

I just don’t want to be the very last rat on the sinking ship.

But however much respect I have for my local legislators–that budget hole they’re filling? Their party created it. They’re fine with tax breaks the state couldn’t afford. They’re fine with refusing to take federal money for Medicaid. They won’t do what Minnesota has done.

Here’s what it’s like. Have you ever had a nightmare where someone bad is chasing you and you’re so freaked out you just fall down and think “just kill me. Kill me now.”

It’s not like that, not really. I’m awake, for one thing. But part of me wants to fall down and say “Just do it. Close my campus now.”

We’re supposed to feel good, apparently, about the fact that closing a campus isn’t on the table or in the plans.

But if you were to cut down trees and tear up a street and dig giant holes and abandon any pretense of putting in pipes or repaving it at some point—who would want to drive there? Who would want to live there? Who would hold an art fair there, if there were any other street available?

And if you cut my campus so much that it’s just a shell, who would want to go to school there? Who would want to work there?
_____

For an ongoingly good voice about all this, check out Chuck Rybak’s blog.

_____
Posting this while I eat lunch, btw. It’s a really good lunch.

_____

Maybe I’m wrong about how awful it’ll be.

I don't want to look.

I don’t want to look.

Leaving the French Quarter

New Orleans, sexy tuba, shiny and hot,
I love your blackened bologna, your powdered sugar kiss,
but this is not my life. I’m glad it’s not.

I’ve rubbed fat blisters on both my feet
rambling the Vieux Carre. Such sweet excess,
New Orleans! You’re a sexy tuba, shiny and hot,

redirecting traffic so the music doesn’t stop.
I love every one of your Marsalises.
This is not my life. I’m glad it’s not,

but watching a finger of fog pointing at the top
of the St. Louis Cathedral, I know I will miss
New Orleans, sexy tuba, shiny and hot,

whose sweaty kiss gives my hair ringlet-
driven waves and curls, which I love, but this—
this is not my life. I’m glad it’s not.

There’s music everywhere. Even the drinks
sound like songs. Contessa. Sazerac. O absinthe!
O New Orleans, sexy too muchness, already hot—
this is not my life. I’m glad it’s not.

 

_____

This was my first time at the conference for the Popular Culture Association–it was pretty great. I heard a lot of really good poetry & was so happy to meet new poets and talk poetry.  Went to good panels–I have such smart colleagues in the UW Colleges!  And of course I enjoyed the food and beverage and music aspect.

 

Let me say a little more about the Blackened Bologna.  It was a house special at Evangeline, and I would recommend the restaurant and the dish, invented by an old friend of mine, Jim O’Shea.  We hung out in Carbondale about a million years ago (well, 30+) and haven’t seen each other since, but thanks to Facebook, I knew he was a chef in NOLA, so I made a point of going to Evangeline & I’m glad I did. I talked all my UW Colleges peeps and some new friends into coming along, and everyone’s food was good.  I could NOT resist ordering the Blackened Bologna–too hilarious.  But it actually tasted really good, and if you’re having nostalgic thoughts of friend balonie curling up in the pan, forget that–this is a serious hunk o’ meat.

 

But, even though I had an awesome time, I am happy, happy, happy to be going home to my family and to Wisco, even though there are budget cuts looming like a thunderhead, and even though everything is still early-spring cold and raw and brown and gray.

The funniest thing was every one of us was wearing black the morning we got these.  Rookie mistake!

The funniest thing was every one of us was wearing black the morning we got these. Rookie mistake!

The Contessa from the French 75--now I now what to do with all the rhubarb that SHOULD be coming up soon in Wisco!

The Contessa from the French 75–now I now what to do with all the rhubarb that SHOULD be coming up soon in Wisco!

A sazerac from the Mahogany Bar.

A sazerac from the Mahogany Bar.

I got to see the Jason Marsalis Vibes Quartet--phenomenal!

I got to see the Jason Marsalis Vibes Quartet–phenomenal!

Best use of flamingos award.

Best use of flamingos award.

The river this morning.

The river this morning.

Fog coming in off the river.

Fog coming in off the river.

CONTEMPLATING THE DECLINING PERCENTAGE OF INVESTMENT IN HIGHER EDUCATION AND IN PARTICULAR LEGISLATORS AND GOVERNORS WHO NEVERTHELESS CHEER HARD FOR THEIR SPORTS TEAMS, WHILE ALSO MULLING THE CURIOUS MANEUVERS OF UNIVERSITY LEADERSHIP THAT MAY OR MAY NOT YIELD GOOD RESULTS FOR THOSE OF US IN THE TRENCHES, SO TO SPEAK

—a found poem using direct quotes from the first season of The Wire

The game is rigged. But you can’t lose if you don’t play.
You don’t hand no money to nobody that matters,
you don’t get no product from nobody that matters.
We ain’t got shit. But is there any other fucking way?

You start to follow the money, you don’t know
where the fuck it’s going to take you. Shit.
I’m starting to worry more about the ones that claim
to love me than the ones that don’t.

You come at the king, you best not miss.
You know something? You’re no good for people, man.
I mean, damn, everybody around you. Christ.
You’re back from the dead. You rolled away the stone.

All I know is I just love the job. I know the shit is weak
but shit is weak all over. Cool. Whatever. Shit. Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fucker motherfucker fuck me.
So you write everything down? Yeah. Everything.

Sparrow on barbed wire. By See-ming Lee from Flickr, Creative Commons

Sparrow on barbed wire. By See-ming Lee from Flickr, Creative Commons

_____

If you want a good voice that isn’t quoting lines from The Wire, check out Chuck Rybak’s Sad Iron blog.

Daylight Savings and Loan

They say you get the hour back in the fall
but it’s so old by then you’ll hardly know
it’s yours. Remember when your postpartum ghost
convinced you that you’d been sent home, arms full
of someone else’s baby? That wasn’t true.
Come fall, don’t fret that time. Just sleep right through.
But what if we got to pick which hour to lose?
The wasted hour? The bad phone call? (To choose–
as if we could control the clock–but wait–we do.)
What interest would that time have then accrued?
Would we regret the moment and the choice?
Would we learn how badly our intentions screw things up?
Yes, and yet–we want to scream it–Cease! Desist!
to our mistakes, to family, friends, and also, yes,
to the officer who shot to kill and not to stop.

—–
I feel the need to say this very carefully.

Another young black man has been shot and killed by the police. There are peaceful protests planned.

I am praying today for the family and for the city of Madison.

I can say, carefully and logically, that I am not anti-police, that I truly appreciate how they put themselves in harm’s way so many times to protect the people they serve.  I understand, logically, and legally, that a police officer can have just cause for shooting. But as much as I believe those sentences, I also know I  write them from a position of middle-class white privilege, so I almost wanted not to write this paragraph at all.

What is more important to say, for me to say, is that the reason police keep NOT getting the benefit of the doubt is because of persistent racism.  That’s what they just found in studying Ferguson.  And there are ongoing conversations about the problems in Madison related to race.  This latest round of talks was sparked by a special editorial by Rev. Alex Gee in the Cap Times called “Justified Anger.”

I find that editorial thoughtful and disturbing. It should disturb me. It should move me to act, but I don’t always know how to act. Or when.

I might not know what to do, but I did know one thing not to do.

I’ve been thinking about Daylight Saving Time, which I hate, and I’m working on some flash fiction about it, and the first two lines of the above poem occurred to me yesterday, and as I began writing it, I wanted it to to be a mildly thoughtful but mostly silly poem about the urge to mess with time, to stop time, to take things out of time.

But what would that mean, to write a mostly silly poem when once again another young black man is dead at the hands of the police, and this time, really close to home? I couldn’t do it.

It’s not much, but I made this poem and this post not totally about me and my silly thoughts.

Of all the recent hours I’d like to lose, I’d like to lose the one where Anthony Robinson died.

Tony Robinson, in a picture from his mother's phone.

Tony Robinson, in a picture from his mother’s phone.