In mid-April I (and two other friends from our time in
student government at the University in the early 1970s) had a tour of the
renovated Minnesota state capitol building with a third friend (also from
student government) whose work takes him into the capitol frequently. The
renovation restored a magnificent Cass Gilbert building to its original
splendor and it was (is) breathtaking.
It's one of the few building I've seen here—in Minnesota—that even
faintly compares to some of the awe-inspiring architecture of Europe.
I happened shortly thereafter to read a short article on
state capitol buildings.
States
selected the finest architects of their day to design their capitols about as
often as they selected their finest citizens to be governors—not very
frequently. The vast majority of these buildings were the work of architects of
lesser-to-vanishing renown. There are a few works by eminent American
architects, one by McKim Mead and White, two by Cass Gilbert, and one partially
to Henry Hobson Richardson’s credit. And
yet the first three of those are obvious experiments on familiar models, all
looking far more like the national and state peers than anything else.
It is true
that the Minnesota capitol looks remarkably like the national capitol. Cass Gilbert didn't do the national capitol,
of course—but he did do the U.S. Supreme Court building. Construction of the U.S. capitol building
began in 1793; the Minnesota capitol was started in 1896, with local architect
Cass Gilbert winning the commission.
The
Civil War roughly inaugurated a lengthy and more familiar mode of capitol
construction. Most of the capitols that
rose between then and the early 20th century explicitly aped the national
model. . . . Swelling domes were de
rigueur. Decor was frequently
ornate. Width decisively supplanted depth
as a prevailing characteristic, with wings ubiquitous.
The
two examples by familiar architects stand out.
Cass Gilbert’s splendid Beaux-Arts Minnesota capitol was a personal
showcase for the architect, a son of St. Paul returned from New York for a plumb
commission. The other great capitol of
the era, McKim Mead and White’s Rhode Island State House, . . . [an] Italian
Renaissance capitol, with a dome modeled on St. Peter’s Basilica and Rome (one
of the largest unsupported domes in the world) is a rightful landmark.
One
amusing story my friend told us was about the large marble pillars in the
capitol building. They were carved
abroad (maybe Italy—I don't remember) and then, in order to ship them, they
were cut in thirds. Unfortunately, when
they were cut, the pieces weren't labeled, and the construction crews couldn't
figure out which pieces to put on top of others. As a result, the pillars have top, middle,
and bottom thirds that don't match, because they were just put together
whatever which way.
* * *
We had a
rather bizarre experience. One day last
spring Kathy received in the mail two identical boxes. She opened them; each contained a coffee mug
with the words "You're so fake, you make Barbie look real." She looked at me and jokingly asked if I'd
ordered them. I took her seriously for a
microsecond and responded "why on earth would I order something so
insulting for the woman I love?" Or
something like that. But I knew she knew
I hadn't sent them.
The next
day a third mug, identical to the first two, showed up in the mail. After that they stopped.
We had no
idea who sent them or why. We still
don't. The return address was an outfit
in Indiana that does shipping for a lot of organizations, so that told us
nothing. Elliott hypothesized that they
were simply a screw-up on someone's part; that's probably right.
The other question is when that statement would ever be
funny; I can't imagine circumstances it could be used—the only remote
possibility would be as a joke to someone who had multiple bionic
attachments. But I can't imagine anyone
giving such mugs to a woman without intending offense. (And they must be aimed at a woman;
presumably the reference would otherwise be to Ken.)
Kathy was
sort of hoping that three more would arrive; a set of six would have been
nice.
* * *
I'm impressed by
advances in medical technology. I have
had episodic amazingly sharp pains in my wrist in recent years and I could not
identify what provoked it. I can be
doing something using my hand—changing laundry, putting a key in the door,
feeding the cats—and suddenly have a spasm of pain that takes my breath away
and that makes further use of my wrist quite painful. Until a few weeks ago, either the pain and
weakness would just go away in 15-30 minutes or 600mg of ibuprofen would make
it go away. No problem.
When it didn't go away
even after repeated doses of ibuprofen, I went to the hand-and-wrist physician
I've gotten to know for other reasons (Dupuytren's contracture, a story not
worth relating and not medically dangerous).
I tell her what's up; she says she needs an x-ray. So I walk across the hall and the radiologist
immediately takes three shots of my wrist.
I go back across the hall to the patient room; the physician is in the
room within a couple of minutes. (I was
impressed with the punctuality of the entire sequence of events, but it
probably helped that my appointment was at 7:10 a.m., so there was no backlog).
Dr. Van Heest sits
down and says to me (approximately), "let's take a look and see what the
x-rays show." I tell her I'll be
glad to look but that for me, looking at x-rays and ultrasounds and MRI scans
is like looking at Egyptian hieroglyphics.
She tells me I'll know. She turns
her monitor so we both see it, and immediately points to a blob on the black
and white screen that she says is a free-floating bone fragment that
occasionally gets between the wrist bones, and when it does, it causes
excruciating pain. What's more, it's
very clear to me, too, much to my surprise.
What amazed me in this
process was both the speed and the technology.
I haven't had an x-ray for some time, and I know that the process of
developing them in a dark room and hanging them up with clips has been by the
boards for some time, but I didn't realize the x-ray machines now just put the
results on the medical center server immediately so the docs can look at them.
I knew there was a
reason I liked the time I spent time with (a disproportionate number of) mechanical
engineering faculty members during my career.
* * *
It's true of about 90% of comments sections. There are a few websites where the vast
majority of reader comments are thoughtful and on point and there are
interesting exchanges between informed and intelligent people. Perhaps those are sites where the comments
are moderated and the crap is deleted; I have never checked.
* * *
I was
amused by the little news flap about Mr. Pence never dining with another woman
alone and never attending an event where alcohol was served unless his wife was
present. I did a quick count of women
with whom I have had a meal, just the two of us, even though I was
married. Some of the women were married,
some were not; some of the events were social (and included alcohol), some were
professional (and some included alcohol).
My list ran to 35, and that's only the women I could remember for sure
that I'd shared a meal with (including, of course, the three women friends about
whom I wrote earlier this year).
I won't
say I couldn't have done my job without such events, but business lunches were
always a pleasant way to accomplish things as well as to include social
chat. In none of these settings (at
least on my side, and I'm certain on hers) was there ever even a hint of
anything improper or sexual or anything of the sort. In the case of social events, meals (and
wine) with women friends have been a regular part of my life and contributed to
the ongoing friendship. Surely the
friendships would have continued in the absence of such occasions—but why would
we not have them? In any event, my life
has been much more enjoyable because of these interactions.
One
wonders if Mr. Pence does not trust his self control and must have urges that
he struggles to keep to himself if he feels he cannot dine alone with a
woman. If so, he's not alone. The New
York Times found that Pence's view is in line with that of many
Americans. I must have lived in a
different world. About 25% of poll
respondents said it was inappropriate to have a private work meeting with a
member of the opposite sex (so, OK, about three quarters didn't think
that). "A majority of women, and
nearly half of men, say it’s unacceptable to have dinner or drinks alone with
someone of the opposite sex other than their spouse. . . . Fewer than two-thirds of respondents said a
work meeting alone with a member of the opposite sex was appropriate; 16
percent of women and 18 percent of men with postgraduate degrees said it was
inappropriate."
One problem with this attitude is that it puts women in the
workplace at a disadvantage—and some women were quick to see that. Men can have one-on-one meetings, and talk
about issues important to that workplace and for career advancement, but
one-on-ones, man-woman, are seen by some as risky. Risky for the woman because of the
possibility of sexual harassment; risky for the man because of the possibility
of accusations of sexual harassment.
There is also the risk of insinuation, either at work or outside it,
even though neither the man nor the woman had any thought of anything
inappropriate. "One reason women
stall professionally, research shows, is that people have a tendency to hire,
promote and mentor people like themselves.
When men avoid solo interactions with women — a catch-up lunch or late
night finishing a project — it puts women at a disadvantage."
Of course, as one labor law lawyer observed, any rule or
practice about meetings that only applied to one sex would probably not pass
legal muster. So everybody who has a
worry also has a conundrum.
Not surprising, "if they were above 65, Republican or
very religious, respondents were slightly more likely to say people should take
extra precaution around members of the opposite sex at work. They were less likely if they were young,
students, not religious or registered as an independent." The biggest gap in opinion came on education: the college educated were less concerned
(although even many of those were). But
a guy named Dennis Hollinger, chief executive of a Christian seminary,
recognized the difficulties. He
"said the practice goes beyond what the Bible requires. 'All of us know our ethical and spiritual
vulnerabilities, and the idea of establishing protocols to live out those
commitments can be a good thing. The
negative side is this particular practice really can appear to treat women in
really dehumanizing ways, almost as if they were a temptress.'"
And there are those who are in my camp:
Some
people said the behavior simply did not reflect the world they live in. For
Hannah Stackawitz, 30, a health care consultant in Langhorne, Pa., life without
solo meetings with men is unimaginable.
"I do it every day, honestly," she said, as does her
husband. "There’s no way that women
or men can become their full and best selves by closing themselves off."
I think that's right.
But to say that doesn't dismiss the concerns about harassment or
accusations of it or potential damage to reputation by insinuation.
* * *
A Columbia
University professor and colleagues did an interesting series of studies on
status and concluded that one principal measure has changed: it's no longer the amount of leisure time you
have or the amount of possessions, it's being perceived as "busy and
overworked." "We tend to think
that people who skip leisure and work all the time are of higher
standing." Instead of bragging
about leisure time, "high-status Americans . . . [are today] more likely
to engage in humblebrag, telling those around them how they 'have no life' or
desperately need a vacation."
The shift
is thus from the conspicuous consumption that Thorstein Veblen made infamous to
the alleged scarcity of time, which means the individuals are in demand: "People's social-mobility beliefs are
psychologically driven by the perception that busy individuals possess
desirable characteristics, leading them to be viewed as scarce and in
demand." One also conveys busyness
by using services that save time, such as online food and delivery services
(they mention Peapod, which I'd never heard of).
"Humblebragging"
is the use of social media, often by the "famous," "the act of
showing off about something through an ostensibly self-deprecating
statement." Such as "would
love some free time but has been too busy writing," "Opened a show
last Friday. Begin rehearsals for another next Tuesday. In-between that,
meetings in DC. I HAVE NO LIFE!" "Had a lot going on these past few
weeks and even more these next two… this is wayyyy to much to handle!" and
"I need 2 write a blog with an update on everything!! I have been so ridic
busy w meetings and calls that I have neglected my fans." At the level of the less famous, the studies
demonstrated that people at work who give the impression they are so busy they
have no time for anything else are higher status. It's an interesting evolution in the use of
social media.
Their
research included both Italians and Americans.
(The lead author is an American academic but her name is Silvia
Bellezza.) The Italians, in my view, are
much more sensible: "While busyness
at work is associated with high status among Americans, the effect is reversed
for Italians, who still view a leisurely life as representative of high
status."
I've seen
this phenomenon a lot. I am sure that
when I worked, I engaged in some humblebragging (although through email, which
doesn't fall in the category of social media, so mine was only directed to one
individual at a time, rather than at the world through Twitter or
Facebook). I had never thought about the
practice as "humblebragging," although it surely is, nor about it
conveying higher status. What, someone
is going to say "sure, I can do that, I have plenty of spare time in my
job"?
Whether or
not it was true at the moment, it was always a good excuse to avoid doing
something with people with whom I didn't wish to spend time.
* * *
(Even
though this begins with an obituary, it's not depressing or about death.) There are few or no reasons to read
obituaries in a local paper unless one has lived in the locality one's entire
life, or at least for a very long time.
Because I've lived here all my life, I do scan them every day. I would say that, on average, once a week I
see a notice for someone I know or knew of—former K-12 teacher, classmate,
retired University faculty or staff, friends of my parents, etc.
A few
messages back I wrote about three women who played a substantial role in my
life. An obituary in the local newspaper
in December reminded me of another one, although she had no idea about her
effect on my life. Julie Belle White
died. She was the daughter of Hubert W.
White, who owned a high-end men's clothing store in downtown Minneapolis for
many years. (The store still exists.) In 1975, while working for the dean of the
College of Liberal Arts and in graduate school, I noticed an opening for an
"administrative internship" in the office of one of the University's
vice presidents. I applied.
At the end
of the (small, informal) search, there were two candidates: me and Julie Belle White. The vice president (a guy named Walter
Bruning, who virtually no one at the University remembers because he was only
there two years, from 1974-1976) offered the job to Julie. She turned him down because she'd also been
offered a tenure-track faculty position at College of St. Catherine in St.
Paul. It's evident from her obituary
that she went on to a highly successful career at the college (now
"university") and in general had a remarkable life.
The result
of her decision was that I got the internship (that turned into a full-time
regular staff position within a year), and six months into the job found myself
in the middle of the administration of college athletics (when the University
president transferred line responsibility for athletics to Walt Bruning, who in
turn asked me to handle all the staff work associated with the new item in his
administrative portfolio). I am quite
sure that had I not been offered and taken the position, I would have had
nothing ever to do with college sports.
As it was, I was immersed in it for a decade (and thereafter, off and
on, until about three years ago). The
one benefit of that engagement was that I made some wonderful friends (at least
nine of whom are recipients of these missives:
MDB, HKC, JTD, GD, BE, CHBG, JCH, NT, CW).
Life takes
strange twists and turns.
* * *
Apropos of
my cartoon about algebra and Krystin's humorous little wisecrack, a friend
wrote back after reading it. "Well
. . . I must admit I used the quadratic formula after high school and college
math. Once. For something. I just remember that I pulled out that darned
quadratic formula and it solved whatever math problem was in front of me. Then I got therapy and went on to live a more
meaningful life. :-)"
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