Mississippi Weather

Here, in Michigan, it's Mississippi Weather--two below.  "Tupelo," get it?  OK, that's a rotten joke, but it is cold.  My car's thermometer in the driveway read "-2," while Karen's read "-4."  Michael noted, on the trip to the bus stop, the reading was "-5."  I think those qualify as cold.

I had a common-sense conversation with one of the workers at school last week.  He said, "I heard 'It feels like it's 18 below our there this morning.'"  We had just mentioned that I had 2 degrees at home.  He added, "You know, if 'it feels like 18 below,' it is '18 below.'"  Yep......

Today is Electrical College voting day.  I still can't get my mind around a "President Trump."  It is far too much for me to grasp.  I told someone the other day, "I don't know if I would have found it more or less repugnant had Clinton been in line to be President."  And, I really don't.  I do know, the Clinton-supporter to whom I told that gave me a look of disbelief.  Where are the front-page stories of Electors who have been harassed and even threatened, if true?  They are supposed to vote against Trump, anybody, I guess, except Trump.  Some states require their electors to vote for those states' popular vote winners.  And, as I've noted in the past, how ridiculed Trump was for suggesting he might not accept the results of the election if he lost.  

We were out, socially, this weekend.  For the briefest of times, several folks brought up Trump and, not at all a surprise, were disgusted with his win.  That's fine; this is America and we have the right to be disgusted.  But two things, both of which I brought up, bothered me a lot.  One, these people never, and I mean never, even when confronted with reality, acknowledge that Clinton is not "St. Hillary."  And she's far, far from it.  They ignore her sordid past or even, lamely, try to defend it.  (My favorite was the woman who claimed, in response to Hillary's actions after Bill's sexual assault episodes, "What woman wouldn't defend her husband?  "Of rape?" I countered with a great deal of incredulity.  She ended the repartee with "Yes!"  OK......  Two, when I found Obama's election, particularly his re-election, to be disgusting, why was I, if not openly, at least covertly viewed as some sort of "bigot" or "racist?"  What does race have to do with someone I think has been a lousy, lousy President?  I never brought it up or bring it up.

Why can't politicians be tried for fraud?  OK, I really do mean broken campaign promises they make which they never in the least intended to keep.  But even more I mean lies, open lies, that they tell to the American people.  Can't we nail them on some sort of perjury, esp if on they lie, openly lie, on the floor of the US Congress?  What about fraud?  I'm not at all talking about differences of opinion, viewpoint, or policy, but blatant lies.  I am reminded of Harry Reid, who when asked about his lie regarding Mitt Romney's failure to pay income taxes, one of those blatant lies.  He just smiled and said, "It worked, didn't it?"  Talk about "disgust......"

And why is Obama now, only now, talking and taking a hard line about the Russian hacking during the campaign/election?  He, according to all accounts I've seen, knew about this even before the election.  Was it that the hacking was no big deal since Clinton was assured of winning?  Hmmm......  Once again this appears to be another case of selective outrage.  More important, are the Russians accused (There's never been any proof, has there?) of tampering with vote totals?  Maybe, even with the Trump victory, it's no big deal?

I saw a list of the "most sinful cities" in the US, from the cities, I think, with populations of 100,000 or more.  It wasn't a surprise to see Las Vegas heading the list.  I'm not naive, but number one?  I've been there more than 20 times in the past 8 or 9 times, so I think I've seen the city and know what goes on there.  But we don't engage in what might be considered "sinful" activity when we are there.  No doubt others do and maybe that's even why a majority of people go there.  But why is Las Vegas the "most sinful?"  What about the cities that have far, far higher numbers and rates of murders?  I would think that killing people is more "sinful" than gambling, lewdness, etc.  But maybe that's just me.  Why wouldn't Washington, DC or Chicago or my own Detroit be more "sinful?"  Is there a day that goes by without a murder in Detroit?  Not according to my daily newspaper; many days have multiple killings.  And I wonder how many are not reported, drug deals gone bad that nobody knows about, corpses be dumped in dumpsters without any knowledge of them, etc.  For that matter, and I know this is a stretch, but why not also, in this list, consider cities that show all that smut on television?  Other than what goes on behind closed doors in Vegas, why are these televised shows any less "sinful" than "Sin City?"  And, to boot, people go to Las Vegas; the television shows are piped into homes, although I suppose the argument can be made people can watch the Food Channel.

Another of my professors from Amherst died, at the end of November.  I just discovered that the other day.  Professor Pemberton likely never remembered me from his Religion 16 course, "The Western Tradition."  Over the years I've joked with one of my buddies about Martin Buber and "I-Thou" and other things we remembered from our similar courses.  But I was saddened a great deal to hear of Professor Pemberton's death.  I remember three things, at least, about him, other than what I retained from his course.  One was that he was a great lecturer.  I know most of my Amherst classes were seminars, with 12 or fewer students.  Religion 16 was larger, maybe 50, although I'm guessing it wasn't quite that big.  It was a lecture and, c'mon "The Western Tradition," Martin Buber, "I-Thou," etc., I don't remember sleeping or wandering off or doodling in my notebook.  I might well have on occasion.  But what I recall most is being transfixed.  Hey, how else would I remember "I-Thou?"  Another was that Professor Pemberton always wore sport coats with patches on the elbows.  Oh, the coats weren't threadbare, just stylish.  I've always though that was cool.  I have a couple of sport coats now, well past their primes, I haven't tossed or donated only because they, you guessed it, have patches on their elbows.  A third was Professor Pemberton's erudition.  He was brilliant.  Like many, but not all, of my professors at Amherst (and far fewer at the three different graduate schools I attended) I marveled at how intelligent they were.  How do people get to be so smart? Yet he was approachable and, although I'm sure he'd never recall me, always had time to talk.  I don't know how successful I was or even that I specifically tried to emulate Professor Pemberton, but I tried to conduct my teaching-self in ways that reflected my professors at AC.

Two other things and then it's out to run.  No, I won't let sub-zero temperatures keep me locked in the house for the day.  And Carrie told Karen she want's to run today, but it might be closer to 20 degrees then.  Both have to do with Amherst professors and me.  About two years ago (Can it be two years already?) another Amherst professor died, Professor Olver.  I never had her for a seminar, but she did lecture in a number of "Problems of Inquiry" courses I took.  Yes, that is right; I did write "her."  I was surprised when she died that her obituary made a big deal out of the fact she was the first full-time tenured female professor at Amherst.  Yes, it is a big deal.  But I think it's a far, far bigger deal that I don't ever remember thinking, "Hey, she's my only female professor."  In fact, I don't recall any students saying that; some might well have, but I didn't hear anything of it.  I think that's a big deal, that she was so good nobody even considered her gender.

I received a nice pre-Christmas note/e-mail from Professor Czap.  He was my Russian History professor, two courses.  And he, for a while, was my adviser--I didn't declare a history major until my junior year and had another adviser then.  One of his sons was also a bat boy, with some other prof's sons, on the baseball team, too.  I remember his office, often an obstacle course of sorts, with toys and things on the floor.  He lived on Pleasant St, right across from his office in Faculty House, adjacent to the gym.  I remember him as one of my great professors.  Somewhere in the basement I still have my Russian History notebooks and at least several of my papers from his course(s).  In grad school, to get graduate credit for taking an undergraduate class (Russian History) I had to do extra work.  One of my "extras" was to write a long term paper.  The other was to teach a class.  I taught my class on Stalin's Purges of the '30s.  I used my notes from Prof Czap's class and a paper I had written for it, which I had turned into one of my comprehensive essays (20 pages--or was it 40?  I'll have to go downstairs and check.) for graduation.  Let's just say my graduate professor was very impressed; but I knew it wasn't me.  It was Professor Czap.  It was all so easy because I had Professor Czap.

I spoke with one of my roommates/teammates and a great life-long friend yesterday on the phone.  I think we caught up, as usual, with some banter, again as usual, about the good old days at Amherst.  I was very pleased to hear him say he's "envious" that I have maintained a relationship, still after all these years, with some of my Amherst professors.  I have several thoughts about that.  I am lucky to have these contacts.  I was lucky to have these professors, who were so instrumental in my life direction--professionally and otherwise.  I regret I was not able to tell more of them how much they have/had influenced me, in such wonderful and positive ways.  This is my attempt to do so now, without being obsequious about it, as seems to be the trendy thing to do now.  I know this sounds very strange, but when they call me "Ron" in e-mails or conversations I get excited; but I still refer to them as "Professor," despite what many of my classmates/schoolmates do--now calling each other by first names.  I can't call the gods by their first names, no matter how old I get.