I have some problems with this— it seems to me as if truly local news is as hard to come by as international news in most locales in the US. Instead, what we get is the same top stories repeated by localized talking heads, mostly because it's cheaper. This does present a great way of visualizing the problem, though.]]> http://thispublicaddress.com/tPA4/archives/2008/05/data_visualization.html http://thispublicaddress.com/tPA4/archives/2008/05/data_visualization.html Media Fri, 16 May 2008 10:49:52 -0600 I know the winter was long, but this is more than a little extreme:

A man tried to kill himself with a wood chipper in Roseville Thursday afternoon.

The crew of a tree repair service company was clearing trees in a public area when the man appeared and jumped head-first into the industrial-sized wood chipper.

The workers immediately turned off the machines and called 911.

The man was rushed to Regions Hospital in St. Paul where he remains in the intensive care unit. Officials say he suffered severe, life-threatening injuries to his head and torso.

Roseville Police said the incident was likely a suicide attempt, noting that the man did not leave a note or any indication of his intentions.

Video story available here.

Too many screenings of Fargo, perhaps? This is too hardcore.

I'm not sure we'll be able to have our usual big Midwestern trip this year. Last week, we were in the supermarket and spotted what was (to me at least) a hilarious typo on the cover of a magazine. What seems even funnier to me is that the cashier just didn’t seem to understand why I thought the use of the term “baking” as a trippy activity was funny. See Dave Chapell, I guess, for those who don’t quite get the joke.

My mom turned 85 today. She claims it was her happiest birthday ever. She also claimed a few days ago that my sister-in-law was feeding her black mushrooms that made her hallucinate. I chose to believe one claim, but not the other.

One thing that has really made this class click is the use of more technology—I used google docs for the first time with great success, and Krista has taught the instructions module using wikis. I am a firm believer in technology in the classroom, and this has been effective both as a way of presenting material and concepts, but also in just plain getting the job done. Being separated by several states has not made me lose touch with the class at all. It may have its dark side, but I really do think that technology is mostly good.

In the shower this morning, it dawned on me that at the core I really believe that technology has the ability to tell us more about the world. The danger, ultimately, though is losing sight of the world part of that equation. Fantasy has its uses, but in the end, reality is what matters.

I was blissfully unaware of the fact that there are multiple-year waiting lists for admission into the better class of nursing facilities. Krista explored dozens of options for me, and located only one place where she could have a private room (the minimum standard for a livable arrangement in my opinion). We settled her in there last week just in time for my birthday. Then the onslaught began.

“Are you aware that your condition is terminal? Do you understand what that means?”

About every three hours, some well-meaning social engineer, clergy, or counselor would enter my mothers room and announce the reality of her condition. This went on for days, until we found all the valves to shut off the endless supply of drips landing on her. My mother is a very private person, and does not want any consolation from strangers. Nor does she wish to participate in the social life of the institution she must now reside within. She mostly wants her family to be near. She just wants to be left alone, with her dignity intact. That seems to be nearly impossible.

Day by day her short term memory lapses, while her long term memory perseveres. It hurts to watch her fade out. I’m sad to see her so angry. She’s at peace with most things, but at odds with all these new people in her life’s final stage—and I empathize so much with that. Sometimes silence is much kinder than speech.

Almost as remarkable as the photos themselves is the fact that this is the first ever solo exhibit by August Sander in the United States (the revered German photographer died in 1964). And for this, my fellow Minnesotans, we must thank Mr. Weinstein--because, at least for a few weeks, you don't have to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to see a Sander print. You merely need to make your way to Weinstein Gallery on West 46th Street (there is always parking right in front) and push open the door. Most likely, you'll be alone in the space and surrounded by the paper-people who Sander, so many years ago, labored to see "as they are and not as they should or could be." You've got until April 12th friends. It's always free. Don't miss this one.

Citipages

We didn't, and we were alone. That makes it even more affecting. The most incredible thing was Sander's Christmas card from 1939, the centennial of photography.