You know how Turning Point USA has a McCarthyite list of academics they don’t like, and also publishes the salaries of those faculty? I guess it’s to make citizens outraged at how much money they’re paying to support radicals in the ivory tower. Just to put it all in perspective, though:

Those football coaches are probably more conservative than the professors, though, so that makes it all OK.

---

I thought about it some more. It’s not going to work. There are 1½ million professors in the US. If some filthy rich multibillionaire decided to try and influence us all by sinking a billion dollars into bribing us that would only be $666 each, in a one-time investment in one year.

Suddenly it all makes sense. Far cheaper to buy a few influencers, give them a prop fake university — a Prager U or some right wing think tank — and get them to spend all their time promoting pseudo-intellectualism to the rubes. In case you were wondering what the Intellectual Dark Web is actually all about.

There are underwater microphones installed around San Juan Island, and they are streaming live continuously to the internet. It’s called OrcaSound, and it’s supposed to be about hearing whale songs, but I’ve been listening for the last hour and all I hear are boat engines. It’s soothing, actually: a kind of continuous rumble, with a rhythmic throb. One boat just went by that has a weird syncopated rattle, and it slowly rises as it gets closer and fades as it passes by. And just now a second engine has joined the chorus — it sounds like sawing wood. If you like percussion and a good background drone, check it out.

I’d probably be startled out of my zen state if a whale started singing.

Also, one has to wonder whether the orcas are fans of all the noise pollution in their neighborhood since the apes started flopping around in their ocean.

Uh-oh. It’s getting intense right now. Gotta zone out.

Her daughter has written about Maureen Brian’s funeral, making me sad all over again. She was a wonderful person, for those of you who recall her participation online.

Stan Lee has died.

Although…who knows about the cameos? He was in the habit of filming bunches of them well ahead of the movie releases, so he may surprise us for a while to come.

It looks like Fargo out there, everything coated in white with a stiff breeze and sub-zero temps, so I’m going nowhere today. Instead, I’ll sit in my office and invite the world to come tell me thrilling stories…noon central time, right here:

If you’re interested in being on your webcam with me, drop me a line, maybe I’ll send you a linky.

Oh, how I wanted to like this movie. I remember watching the moon landing in 1969. I had the mission profile memorized. I built the humongous Saturn V model, the one with the detachable stages and the lunar module you could dock with the command module. I had a larger scale lunar module on my bedroom dresser. I listened raptly to Walter Cronkite. This was my jam in the 1960s-70s.

That was a good thing, too, because this movie would have been incomprehensible without that background knowledge.

The story focuses (I used that word figuratively) on Neil Armstrong. Unfortunately, the story is told with lots and lots of closeups on Ryan Gosling’s face — we are apparently supposed to figure out what is going on from the expressions flickering across that face, and the faces of the other astronauts and engineers. It doesn’t work for a couple of reasons: 1) they’re all^* playing stolid engineers who clearly don’t believe in emotions. Gosling in particular is a repressed robot who occasionally has to let a drop of lubricating fluid trickle out of his eye-holes. 2) We get no context, very few names, very little about the situation. Oh, hey, there’s another robo-astronaut whose name we don’t know, let’s try to guess who it is from the pattern of pores on his nose. 3) Except we can’t actually see those pores, because of the liberal use of shaky-cam. Blurry shaky cam. Sometimes the only action in a scene is the way the lens meanders in and out of focus while the camera wobbles about.

But…big rockets, you say. There must be some wonderful thrilling big-machine-flying-into-the-sky cinematography. Not really. The guy who made this movie seems to think we want an astronaut’s eye view of three Phillips-head screws holding a bracket to an interior wall vibrating wildly. I almost walked out a few times when the shaky-cam got so insane I was starting to feel nauseous.

You want to watch a movie about the space program? Go see Hidden Figures again, or The Right Stuff. They actually manage to tell interesting human stories, and focus the camera at the same time.

---

Except for Clare Foy, playing Armstrong’s wife, who does express the fact that she’s getting increasingly pissed off as the movie goes on. I identified a lot with her.

I got called up again to participate in jury selection today. I almost made it on to a jury — I was on the last panel before the final selection. And then the prosecutor started asking questions.

“What 3 things come to mind when you think about law enforcement?” He asked a few people. They said various platitudes, like “protect and serve”, “help the community”, etc. Buncha timid suck-ups. Then he asked that anyone who held a different opinion should raise their hand … which I did, because I was going to answer honestly. And I said some combination of words like “avoid”, “mistrust”, and “bias”. Later he asked the panel in general about the legal system as a whole, and got more affirmative nods and comments, and he zoomed in on me and asked my opinion, and I made some flippant remark about how it might be OK as long as this case wasn’t going to the Supreme Court.

This was a sexual assault case, by the way.

Thus endeth my opportunity to participate in the courts system.

Don’t look at me that way. How can anyone answer that kind of question without serious reservations in the state where Philando Castile was murdered?