Education

Why don’t I want you to know about me?

I wanted to be a PROFESSOR.  You know.  Authoritative.  Knowledgeable.  Respected.  Tweedy. Ok, a little intimidating and sort of aloof.  You know, A PROFESSOR.  I was only 27.  I was worried students wouldn’t take me seriously — some weren’t that much younger than I was.  So I only told them professional things — like what I studied, where I did my graduate work, the latest communication theories I ascribed to.  The really exciting stuff, right?  I told them the PROFESSORy kind of things — and I got on to the lectures.  I showed them Dr. Shamp — I wasn’t Scott to them.  I thought if they knew about real me, it would change the way that they interacted with me.  So I kept my personal life private.

It’s all about ME! Relevance as the new media aesthetic.

I almost missed the High Balls.  My favorite 80s band played at the Melting Point and I didn’t know until the last minute.  Unforgivable.  Believe it or not with all the music swirling around the Classic City, Athens does not have many places where you can go to dance.  And I came within a few hours of missing the chance to strut my stuff to “Boogie Ooogie Ooogie.”  And for all of you whose stomach just turned over at the thought me cutting the rug, I have it on good authority that I am a pretty good dancer.  Let’s just say that all those seasons of “Dancing with the Stars” have not been for naught.

Universities in the “Free” Era

Old Spice & BYU: What message goes viral

In 1985, I was in Salt Lake working on my Ph.D. at the University of Utah — with a beard.  My major professor and mentor, Bob Tiemens, was doing a collaborative project with Brigham Young University (BYU) in Provo, UT.  He planned a class trip to BYU to collect data.  The day before we were to visit, he called me into is office — he had some paperwork for me to fill out.  He didn’t need to see anyone else but me — kind of strange.  Now my mind is a little hazy.  The late seventies to early eighties were filled with many experiences that now seem more like dreams than reality.  But my recollection of the paper work is that it was an official BYU form entitled “Permit to Deviate.”  No  kidding.