A square b&w cellular snapshot of a (mostly-boxer) mutt named Nora, in the foyer.
Door dog
@jckuhn4
Austin Texas. Participating as a private individual and not on behalf of the memory institution that employs me, nor the state government higher ed employer overseeing that archive, library, and museum. No-AI: I’m solely responsible, ftw and / or blame.
A square b&w cellular snapshot of a (mostly-boxer) mutt named Nora, in the foyer.
Door dog
A square b&w iphone snap from above of the head and left front foot of a doberman, on a rug.
Léon
In 2026, colleges must teach students that this is not the end of the world. We must teach hope. Current undergraduates can barely remember a time before the threats of climate change and authoritarianism loomed to catastrophic scale. Since 2010, the future depicted in TV, books, and games has been dystopian or apocalyptic, so for our current students the end of the world feels more familiar and realistic than a future with hope. Now we are asking them to choose majors and life paths when the desirability, indeed the very existence, of whole sectors of employment are in question, due to the overwhelming promises of LLMs and machine learning. As young people hear daily that vocation after vocation may vanish into automation’s maw, and that democracy, liberty, land, sea, and sky are all in jeopardy, despair is growing. Despair is very emotionally tempting. It means freedom from the responsibility to shape the future. This is a terrifying turning point, but many generations before us have faced such turning points, and met them. We can offer our students perspective. Only a few dozen institutions on Earth are more than 900 years old, and the vast majority are universities. The university system is not a house of straw to buckle in this storm: We are the rocks that have sheltered the knowledge, hope, and truth through tumults which have toppled kingdoms while classrooms endured. We can endure this, and be a guiding light through it, but only by recentering, by teaching citizens, not workers; power, not PowerPoint; aspiration, not apocalypse. Despair is how we lose. The classroom is where we battle it. All other battles flow from here. Ada Palmer is an associate professor of history at the University of Chicago.
This, from Ada Palmer as part of The Chronicle's survey of 11 scholars on the future of higher ed, is what I needed to end the week.
A black and white photograph of two dogs, next to a dining table and chairs, sitting on a rug, and staring off towards stage right.
Dogs paying attention, to very little of note (Austin, Texas).
A thrift store painting of a sleepy blue crescent moon in a yellow and black striped nightcap, seesawing in outer space on the fulcrum of the earth with a cheerful sun who is wearing high heels. For sale at the North Austin Goodwill on Anderson Lane.
Thrift store painting (Anderson Lane Goodwill, Austin TX)
A black and white snapshot of a boxer mix mutt, blepping earnestly, pillowed on a couch and comfortable as all get out.
A black and white cellphone pic of a border collie mix rescue dog, eyeing the photographer suspiciously yet comfortably. You do you Jennie and yeah we’ll hope to get there together.
Lay around the shack till the mail train comes back
A square black and white pic of dying roses, in a vase on a backyard patio, after dark.
Cut & wilted
Yeah hard to tell if that was deliberate or an abandoned project?
A square cellphone snapshot of an “I voted early” sticker on the pocket of a blue dress shirt.
OK your turn #VoteTexas
A photo pf clouds and treetops lit by sunset, in Austin.
Up
A thrift store painting of an elephant (Austin North Lamar Goodwill).
A thrift store painting of yellow, purple, red, blue, and green flowing strands and a yellow bulb. North Lamar Goodwill (Austin, TX).
A thrift store painting of a face in right aid profile, surrounded by blue butterflies and against a background in shades of green and yellow and blue and baby blue.
Thrift store paintings (Austin, Tex.)
A b & w cellphone snap of a boxer mix dog named Nora, napping on a couch, and delicately snoring. Sleepy sleepy, Nora.
Repose
A black and white high-contrast cell-phone snap-shot of two dogs, in a sun-dappled backyard, next to a dead potted cherry tomato plant, at the start of another possibly catastrophic Central Texas February (given recent experience) - the shortest but arguably cruelest month, in the only state in the nation that refuses to connect to the national electricity grid. Good dogs.
Yard dogs
A black & white photo of a jack russell terrier squinting in a sunny winter back yard.
Squinty puppy
A backyard unharvested red pepper frozen on the vine after a late January storm. Night shot, Austin Texas, black and white.
Frozen on the vine, after dark
A black and white photo of a dog named Jennie. She’s all curled up on a couch and wishing for a blanket
Couch croissant
A black and white photo of a dog named Nora, dozing quite satisfactorily
Couching hard
A square cellphone snapshot (exceedingly blurry and in black and white) of a backyard patio rose at night, in Austin.
Backyard rose, after dark (Austin, Texas)
Andrea Magee and Ben Jones (Beat Root Revival), at The Saxon Pub, Austin TX.
Beat Root Revival (Austin, TX)
A painting of a field of poppies, signed “B Worley,” for sale at the Far West Goodwill in Austin, Texas.
Thrift store painting (Austin TX)
Square, blurry pic of an Austin TX rose, after dark.
Rose
A snapshot of a rose, lit by back porch lights, after dark in Austin TX.
Rose
A square cellphone photo, more than slightly blurry, of a potted rose in an Austin TX backyard, after dark.
Rose
Lyrics to “Living on the 110,” and drawing by Chuck D, track 4 on the 2017 self-titled release by Prophets of Rage. At the Hip-Hop America: Mixtape Exhibit, LBJ presidential library and museum.
Living on the 110 (Lyrics & Drawing by Chuck D - Prophets of Rage, 2017). #lbjhiphop #prophetsofrage
A square cellphone shapshot of a red-orange rose, in a backyard patio pot, at night, in Austin.
Rose
A boxer mutt and a jack russell mutt, contemplative in black and white.
Granted. But the days are in fact getting longer, so there’s that
A loose print for sale at a used bookstore (“Tortugo” by Eduardo Pingret, Mexico, 19th century). $1.50, catch and release.
Eduardo Pingret - Tutorgo (Half Price Books print drawer - Austin Texas)
A backyard garden pepper, after dark in Austin.
Night pepper
A snapshot of a potted rose, after dark, on a back patio, in Austin TX
Patio rose
A snapshot of a orange Viola wittrockiana in an Austin Texas HEB shopping cart.
Grocery store viola