This is a wall.

It is a very nice wall. 

It is slightly abused and dirty at the moment from kid grime and drywall dust and chunks.

But that is not the problem. The problem is that it hides a Very Bad Thing. What is it that it hides? Why, two runs of very crappy pipe. The water lines for the upstairs bathrooms run down the inside of this wall.

But you would never know this unless you happened upon some accurate blueprints somewhere. Even if you knew the pipes were there, you wouldn’t know they were crappy without evidence of failure elsewhere.

It looks harmless, does it not? More than that, it looks to be doing its job holding up the ceiling and keeping the door to closet separate from the door to the bathroom. What more could you really want?

You don’t know what’s going on until you open things up occasionally and take a look.

Or something bad happens.

Like the plumbing breaks and you find out the pipe is crap.

Or you learn you have a brain tumor and you feel that you have an invader in your head or body is attacking itself.

I suspect the students, staff, and faculty of Sweet Briar understand this feeling. It’s something that could have been solved with transparency and openness. The decision and announcement still would have been painful, but probably not as painful.

Surprises like this just suck.

When the plumber gave us a rough estimate of replumbing the entire house, he said, “A lot of times I give that figure and come back and find a for-sale sign. Some people just don’t want to pay for a new plumbing.” Unfortunately, I am going to have to guess that rarely, if ever, do potential buyers get told of major plumbing needs. After all, it is all behind a wall or ceiling and it might just be okay. I just could not do that to someone. It’s wrong on so many levels.

Anyhow, I feel that if you can’t trust a wall, you can you trust?

Yes, this is pure snark. It’s been building and I am tired.

Maybe it is just my experience, but I don’t assume we all see the same things.

Sometime in 1986-87, give or take a semester, one of my art classes went to Wildcat Glades to draw and paint. The instructor set to work right away with paper and oil pastel to recreate the waterfall. His colors were surprisingly way off for his normal style. In fact, when this was mentioned, he questioned the commenter, quite doubtfully. After all, it looked normal to him.

Until he removed his sunglasses.

“Oh wow! I never really thought about the way these filter color, nor have I worn them for color work before.”

Kind of an important lesson for all of us.

A couple years later, when I was at the The University Museum at SIUE, we were talking about the design of the new art building under construction. Tremendous amounts of glass blocks were to be used to give it a light and airy feel with a very contemporary design. And a tremendous amount of greenish light. The administration and architects seemed uninterested in listening to the experts who tried to explain that this might not be a good thing. It was finished after I left, so I hope it all worked out (I think they did use a different glass block). [These were the same people planning a gallery with lights at 24ft height, but only noted storage for a 12ft rolling ladder. We joked that the plan was to hire at least 12ft tall grad assistant each year.]

The lesson is that we need to be careful of being overly confident in what we (think we) see. Or measure.

If you assume that we all see the same thing the same way, you are probably wrong.

When I was a cocky, snarky, difficult to get along with art student, I would insist that I only saw six colors.  I don’t really recall what they were, it was just an annoying way to justify my choices in palette and design. It was also a way I chose to think about things because it had become clear that not many people saw things the way I did. (I’m not saying my was better. It was simply right.) Talking with other artists, I learned about their conceits and world views that informed how they saw things.

We all understood that light has different colors and it was fairly easy to change how someone perceived art by changing the qualities of the light on the art.

So before you damage a relationship by insisting something is one thing while someone else insists the opposite, maybe you should consider the lighting.

And just to be clear, this post is not about #TheDress. It is about #PIRS. And any other attempt  of rating, ranking, or measurement.

So. We have decided to stay. We have begun the house modifications, albeit a little sooner than anticipated. A week ago we had a pipe break in an upstairs bathroom. Just hours after a new accessible shower was installed. The pipe didn’t freeze, it just broke, snapped, while I was moving stuff in the vanity. Later that night, it did the same thing to the plumber as he was working. Fortunately the water was off when it happened to him. Another snapped a week later when bumped by a contractor laying a new a floor in the adjacent bathroom. (I think this is bad pipe.)

So, the CPVC in the house has me a bit freaked out and we have started having it replaced. Especially with a big section of living room ceiling missing, it is a lot more cost effective to do that now.

As we consider choices for replacing the living room floor (half of which has been torn out) we have to think about choices that will handle a wheelchair, if needed, without damage. This takes laminates out, and probably all of the snap and click floating floors. This leaves vinyl, tile, and hardwood (glued or nailed). If I could find our existing tile it would probably be an easy decision to use tile, but alas it is no longer made. Bamboo is probably the winner.

Meanwhile, the upstairs bathrooms have much wider doors. Wide enough to get a walker through. We are still considering quotes on the chair lift and thinking about geometry and cost. It is not a big house, although now somewhat bigger than we need, and areas like the entryway are small and the footprint of a chair lift has to be carefully considered to avoid obstructing wheelchair access.

The big project will be to slightly enlarge the small downstairs bathroom and make it wheelchair accessible. We have a plan and it is reasonable in cost and approach. We are also considering other modifications to the kitchen to help ensure she is able to easily self-manage when I am not around.

Throughout all of this I have begun to learn about the concepts of “aging in place” and “visitability.”  We also think a lot about furniture layout and how traditional homebuilding practices do not enhance accessibility.

I also learned that Virginia offers up to a $5,000 for permanent visitability adaptations for new construction and modifications to existing structures. It is the “Livable Home Tax Credit.”

I think this will all work out. I hope.

They’ve got cookies…and you are going to be assimilated anyway.

So, what good is sitting, all alone in your room? Go on and join the data fray, become part of the collective.

Consider, if you will, the Kit Kat Club its celebration of sexual fetishes of all stripes.

Or, if a more dystopic future is your choice, maybe a visit to the Milk Bar with Alex and his droogs.

Across the net tonight data is flowing in unimaginable numbers of bytes. From simple communications like text messages and email, to the buying and bartering of 80 million Anthem records. Others are working with data, writing stories about data. Still others are creating and running organizations to encourage the collection and use of more data, while other organizations are opposing them.

With good reason on both sides.

My friend Barmak and others talk about the fetishism of data (or big data) frequently in the context of education data. Even though I am a data guy, I see his point. Once upon a time, when I was much younger, we learned about being parsimonious or frugal in our datasets for research. Today that seems completely out the window. There is a lot we can learn from big data, and a lot we can learn from much smaller datasets that are less intrusive that pose less risk to those we are trying to help by using their data. I suspect most of the time we can learn more from the smaller datasets where we sit and think about what we are doing.

Of course, while I write this, I am also working on a projection model based on more than 20 years worth of data that will produce results I am confident will be wrong in 15 years. The question is just how wrong and so I struggle to minimize the wrongness. There will be something like five million moving parts (with agency and motives of their own) affected by forces that have changed dramatically over the last two decades and others that didn’t exist.

Oh well, love is an imaginary number and the eagle arrives daily, and I remain modern and unbound…at least to the fetish of big data. I have a lot of data to work with, but it does not, I think, rise to the level of “big.”

While reading a completely unrelated blog post about Dominion and Eminent Domain, as granted to private companies (allegedly operating in the public service) I got to wondering about this. Are forces in motion to allow private companies, to declare eminent domain as it relates to data? Is it that much of leap to believe that some corporation is trying to find a way to ensure access to all the information it doesn’t have about us to better target its advertising? Perhaps Kroger or Food Lion argue that they need access to our health records to help us make healthier grocery purchases. Certainly that would be considered in the public good and if a power utility is a public service company, how is a grocery not? Food is far more necessary to the individual than power delivery.

Btw, how can one not appreciate the phrase “Dominion and Eminent Domain?”

Some of you will think less of me for this. “Joe Versus the Volcano” is one of my favorite movies. I know a lot of people didn’t like it, probably still don’t like it. I am not a movie critic like my nephew, so I won’t attempt to justify the movie’s goodness through its repetition of themes and icons, or its characters. It’s simpler than that. But how can I not like a movie that starts out under driving rhythm of “Sixteen Tons” sung by Eric Burdon?

Some things defy explanation or just don’t need it.

When I was a child in Oklahoma I remember watching Tennessee Ernie Ford sing this song and others on television. Later I rediscovered Johnny Cash and  his cover of Sixteen Tons. It is one of those songs that has always resonated with me. Perhaps because it is, in part, about the inability to catch up. There is always more to do.

Sixteen Tons is also one of the (many) reasons I love the movie “Heavy Metal” because of its thematic connection to the Devo cover of “Workin’ in a Coal Mine.” I just wish the movie held together better overall. However, it is more probably a bit more successful than “American Pop” which tries to do much and doesn’t really satisfy.

Anyhow, whatever you tomorrow, Monday (2/2), don’t drive angry.

I leave too many browser tabs open on my phone. I’m also far too-focused on comments my father makes about my posts via email. Even at the age of 53, some things don’t change.

So anyhow,  I finished reading the article at InsideHigherEd about Carol Swain’s  comments about Islam, and as I flipped through browser tabs I saw this one explaining how we are all confident idiots. I’ve kept it open because I like it so much as an explanation for much of what I see and hear. Especially about politics. And religion. And education.

The article also reminds me to a bit more doubtful about the things I “know.”

I was also terribly amused by a Twitter exchange the other night. Actually by two or three different exchanges. I won’t name names, but there was an awful lot of confidence expressed about things where I certainly was not convinced that such confidence was deserved, there were  just too many shades of grey possible. It is often clear when believing has replaced knowing. But not always. And that is the scary thing to me, not knowing enough about someone or something to be able to discern belief from knowledge.

Yes, there have been many times in my life when I have had the arrogance of conviction in what I thought I knew. This alleged knowledge was stuff I could and would, ad nauseam, express without thought of nuance. As if I were ignorant the word. Looking back, it seems that there really were only a handful of times when I actually “knew” anything. In those cases that come to mind, they were about action, but while I knew what to do without question, I could not tell you why I knew what to do.

One of those is the story of becoming an art major. I am reminded of it because of today’s story in the Chronicle, Drawing a Path to College.

In August of 1985, I was five months out of the Army and returning to college. I was suffering though the ending of am unhappy marriage and the beginning of an unpleasant divorce. I wasn’t clear as to what I was returning to do, other than I was probably not heading back down the physics/math double-major rabbit hole, unless it was pre-engineering. On the first day of class in Art Composition to pick up a missing gen-ed requirement, when the professor passed around a sheet for the art majors to sign, something happened to me. I experienced a moment of clarity and commitment. I was an art major. Of course, I really didn’t know why I reached that decision, and I still don’t.

When I told my father that I had become an art major, the response was a bit less than supportive: “What? You’ve never shown any talent! What were you thinking?”

Sometimes intuition is better than thinking.

There have been other times when I had that same level of clarity in decisions. They seem to have gotten less frequent as the years have gone by. Today, that clarity is greatly desired. Or, in the place of clarity, the sure knowledge of the possible futures related to certain choices.

As my wife continues to recover from two surgeries to rebuild her foot and give her something of an arch, it has been become clear that the predicted knee replacements will not wait long. The inactivity and lack of normal walking associated with 11 weeks in a non-weight-bearing cast (for the second time since the first surgery failed) combined with her connective tissue disorder, has caused too much deterioration. Two knee replacements are ahead, followed by two more quite significant foot surgeries. There is also an abdominal surgery in the very near future. So, the question is, “What to do about our house?”

A two-story house is not ideal for someone with serious mobility issues. Most houses are not particularly well-designed for accessibility. We have spent the last months sleeping downstairs in what used to be my office and much of the time since surgery in May she has navigated life with a rolling knee walker. That is, until the cartilage in her knees gave out and we had to resort to a wheelchair until she was in a walking cast and could begin to use a regular walker. This was actually a terrible struggle, for her physically as well as technically. Neither a walker or a wheelchair will fit through a 24″ bathroom door. So I added grab bars allowing her to support herself on those and the vanity while she balanced and shifted around on here one good foot, but bad knee (actually “worse” knee).

Looking forward to the next two or three years I wonder where money and effort are best spent. It seems easiest to think about moving to a single-story house, but unless it is already fully accessible, it is simply more of the same. Lots of modifications to make. (And no, I am not ready to consider moving into a senior community where the houses are most likely fully accessible.) Adding on a new first-floor master suite seems doable, but very expensive. Likewise, converting the garage is doable, but expensive, and may hurt resale. Finally, I could keep making changes to our house to that make it more accessible (although it would never be truly fully accessible without some very major changes apart from additions).

In the end, I believe the net costs and return on investment of each choice is not so different, even with the work already done, to make the decision easy.  So I am left wondering what the right decision is. If I knew the future, it would no doubt be easier. It would also be easier if the housing market was in better shape locally, if the houses in my neighborhood would move off the market more quickly than they do.

Also, it’s not the money. It’s my wife’s comfort and ability to be at home.

With the aging of the Boomers, and I guess I am one, barely, there are a lot of products available for “aging in place” that help solve the accessibility issues. I keep sorting through those to study the options and to build a plan. I also run across references to “universal design” that I now wish were much more universal in their application and use. As I have said before, I have learned a lot about what accessibility really means  over the last eight months. So, it has been tough deciding what can be done, what should be done.

I keep waiting for that moment of clarity. The most recent time I recall it happening was when I was about to leave my neurosurgeon’s office at the end of our first meeting.

“Thank you for your time, doctor. I’m not sure, but I think I am looking forward to this.”

“Mr. Massa, I’m looking forward to this, as quite frankly, cases like yours bring out the best in me.”

A bit of honest arrogance. That was something I understood. The clarity that had been building by him saying many of the same things that specialist in Los Angeles had said had now clicked solidly into place. The surgery and my recovery, justified everything.

So, I am doing my due diligence to find clarity and not be too stupid. (I have learned a lot from stupid decisions though, I just prefer not to make them a habit.)

And the man on the radio won’t leave me alone
He wants to take my money for something that I’ve never been shown
And I saw my devil, and I saw my deep blue see
And I thought about a calico bonnet from Cheyenne to Tennessee

The news I could bring I met up with the king
On his head an amphetamine crown
He talked about unbuckling that old bible belt
And lighted out for some desert town
Out with the truckers and the kickers and the cowboy angels
And a good saloon in every single town

And I remember something you once told me
And I’ll be damned if it did not come true
Twenty thousand roads I went down, down, down
And they all lead me straight back home to you
Twenty thousand roads I went down, down, down
And they all lead me straight back home to you

Gram Parsons – Return Of The Grievous Angel 

Wait.

Yes, Just wait. Sara Goldrick-Rab and others have made the same point on Twitter and elsewhere to those wanting details. Details would be nice, but at this point, but I think they would be meaningless. First, Congress will do what Congress will do, whether it makes sense or not. Along the way a lot of lobbyists and special interests will provide help and guidance and so what passes Congress in a year or 20 may have little semblance to what is proposed now.

More importantly, the states will also be involved in deciding what they may be able to accept as a new federal role in state higher education.

I think the first step is perhaps just getting enough people to agree that “two years of universal postsecondary education” is  desirable goal, perhaps even a citizen right. “Free community college” makes a nice talking point to have that discussion, but it does turn some folks off.

I’m enjoying the discussion, but my natural cynicism tends to dominate as I consider that the proposal is really about “free community college tuition and fees” which really only gets us part of the way to what is needed to support students enrolling full-time. I also appreciate those that have written about over-reliance on part-time faculty in community colleges. We need to address that situation.

Of course, another approach might be to simply a propose a model yourself. One does not have to respond the to details of a model if they are unavailable. How about just suggesting how you would do it?

I want to believe, I surely do, but I just have yet to find a free lunch. From what I have pieced together today, it seems that the President’s proposal is more of a trick to drive more control to Washington. Free community college, from the student’s perspective is a good thing, but it is still only a fraction of the cost of attendance. That should be our target.

I have little else to say on this that isn’t said better by Brando.

On the day I left home to make my way in the world, my daddy took me to one side.

“Son,” my daddy says to me,

“I am sorry I am not able to bankroll you to a large start, but not having the necessary lettuce to get you rolling, instead, I’m going to stake you to some very valuable advice.”

“One of these days, a guy is going to show you a brand-new deck of cards on which the seal is not yet broken.”

“Then this guy is going to offer to bet you that he can make the jack of spades jump out of this brand-new deck of cards and squirt cider in your ear.”

“But, son, you do not accept this bet because, as sure as you stand there, you’re going to wind up with an ear full of cider.”

…

Nathan: A guy without a doll… If a guy does not have a doll, who would holler on him?

Sky:  A doll is a necessity.  I am not putting the knock on dolls.  But they are something to have only when they come in handy, like cough drops. And the proof that I am right is that dolls are available as far as the eye can see.

Nathan: Not dolls like Adelaide.

Sky:  Nathan, nothing personal and no offence, but, weight for age, all dolls are the same.

Nathan:  All dolls are the same, huh?

Sky:  As far as the eye can see.

Nathan: It seems to me the one place a doll would come in handy would be in Havana.

Nathan:  So how come you ain’t got one? How come you are going alone, without a doll?

Sky:  A matter of choice. I choose to travel alone, but if I wish to take a doll, the supply is more than Woolworths has got beads.

Nathan:  Not high-class dolls.

Sky:   There’s only one class: interchangeable. A doll is a doll. All dolls, any doll. You name her.

Nathan: Any doll? Will you bet on that? Will you bet a thousand bucks that if I name a doll, you can take the same doll to Havana with you tomorrow?

Sky:  You’ve got yourself a bet.

Nathan: I name her.

Sky:  Her?

Nathan:  Sergeant Sarah Brown.

Sky:  Daddy! I got cider in my ear.

Because I have, or will haven, hitchhiked the length and breadth of the galaxy, I always have my towel handy, and will glad to help you dry your ear.

Jimmy Brown, made of stone
Charlie clown, no way home
Bring on the dancing horses
Headless and all alone
Shiver and say the words
Of every lie you’ve heard

First I’m gonna make it
Then I’m gonna break it
Till it falls apart
Hating all the faking
And shaking while I’m breaking
Your brittle heart

 Echo & The Bunnymen – Bring On The Dancing Horses

With the close of 2014 and the conventional change of the calendar to 2015, people are partying, reflecting on 2014, or making predictions for 2015.  I’m not very good about such short-term predictions, so I will leave those to others. I’m not partying because of my role as a caregiver and an ongoing lack of sleep. It’s also not my style. I’ve already reflected on 2014 through stating 27 of my 95 grievances (don’t worry, I will keep the other 68 to myself). So instead, I will engage in a few guesses.

First, I think the first draft of PIRS is going to shake things up when it hits the street. I’m confident it will get released, if only in a fit of anger to say, “See, we told you we could do this!” However, the graduation rate metrics that will be derived from the National Student Loan Data System (which was designed for purposes specifically NOT like this) will cause a great gnashing of teeth and rethinking of what folks really mean when they say they want something better than IPEDS. My hunch is that they will not like these metrics much and institutional research offices across the country will spend August trying to duplicate the metrics and create new ones that presidents will claim to be “better.”

They will need only to look at SCHEVResearch to see examples of what is possible.

I think PIRS will also send a very strong message: “If you don’t like these metrics, give us better data.”

Conquistador your stallion stands
in need of company
and like some angel’s haloed brow
you reek of purity
I see your armour-plated breast
has long since lost its sheen
and in your death mask face
there are no signs which can be seen

And though I hoped for something to find
I could see no maze to unwind

Procol Harum – Conquistador

SACS or another of the regional accreditors is going to do something that seems to be of unheard of: they will take action on an institution based on academic issues instead of merely fiscal issues. At least, that will appear to be the case for a few days. And it may even be a public institution. Too many lawmakers in Virginia have asked about the role of SACS in ensuring academic quality and been unimpressed and unsatisfied with the response.

Well you thought the leaden winter would bring you down forever
But you rode upon a steamer to the violence of the sun

And the colors of the sea blind your eyes with trembling mermaids
And you touch the distant beaches with tales of brave Ulysses
How his naked ears were tortured by the sirens sweetly singing
Sparkling waves are calling you to touch her white laced lips

Cream – Tales Of Brave Ulysses

2015 will not be the third consecutive year in which a private, nonprofit college closes. I think. There are several on my watch list though that I consider to be at-risk (Undergraduate only, fewer than 2000 students, first-year retention rate less than 60%). If I am wrong, and one does close, then I think we can formally declare that “a trend.” For the record, it was Virginia Intermont College that closed in 2014, and Saint Paul’s College that closed in 2013.

And throughout the year, we will see a lot of dancing ponies and dogs in tutus (disguised as technological solutions) as this will help draw attention away from the real issues.

Came the last night of sadness
And it was clear she couldn’t go on
Then the door was open and the wind appeared
The candles blew and then disappeared
The curtains flew and then he appeared
(Saying, “Don’t be afraid”)

Come on baby
(And she had no fear)
And she ran to him
(Then they started to fly)
They looked backward and said goodbye
(She had become like they are)
She had taken his hand
(She had become like they are)

Come on baby
(Don’t fear the reaper)

Blue Oyster Cult – Don’t Fear The Reaper