summary thoughts, year 1

(I)

From A Whistling Woman, A.S. Byatt

"So how would you educate the young?”

“I wouldn’t. I’d give them their freedom . To find out what they want, when they want. You only learn what you desire to learn.”

“And things like science? That need technical knowledge –“

“Listen, darling, science is a Bad Thing. The planet is going to kill itself dead with science. Probably they’ll blow us up with nuclear mushrooms, and if they don’t, they’ll burn away the earth’s crust with napalm and extinguish the fowls of the air and the fish in the sea with pesticides. Oh yeah. Science is for two things, human greed and human blinkered arrogance. Don’t teach little kids science. Teach them human things, making love, painting pictures, writing poems, singing songs, meditation. I wrote a poem against science. Do you want to hear it?”

“OK, if it isn’t too long.”

The metal men in coats of white
In shuttered rooms with shuttered eyes
Make metal death with metal claws
Block out the sunshine from the skies.

The children dance in forests free
They smell the sunshine and the rain,
They dance and sing the roots and flowers
Weave magic circles whole again.

The metal men are full of hate
They bind the children with a chain
They clang the institution’s gate
And box the children up in pain.

The children’s eyes are red with rage
They burst the prison-gates and chain
They burn the spectacles and coats
The men go naked in the rain.

The children teach the men to play
They teach the body’s ancient truth
The naked men kneel down and pray.
Rainwashed to innocence, and youth.

“So you think the young may be able to save the world from scientists?”

“Listen, I know. They are saving it. It’s happening. They’re saving it by natural spontaneity. They are putting the blast of the orgasm against the radioactive spout of the bomb. They can do this by just not giving in. By changing our consciousness completely. We will make everything new.”

---

(II)

From The Varieties of Scientific Experience, Carl Sagan

Does trying to understand the universe at all betray a lack of humility? I believe it is true that humility is the only just response in a confrontation with the universe, but not a humility that prevents us from seeking the nature of the universe we are admiring. If we seek that nature, then love can be informed by truth instead of being based on ignorance or self-deception. If a Creator God exists, would He or She or It or whatever the appropriate pronoun is, prefer a kind of sodden blockhead who worships while understanding nothing? Or would He prefer His votaries to admire the real universe in all its intricacy? I would suggest that science is, at least in part, informed worship. My deeply held belief is that if a god of anything like the traditional sort exists, then our curiosity and intelligence are provided by such a god. We would be unappreciative of those gifts if we suppressed our passion to explore the universe and ourselves. On the other hand, if such a traditional god does not exist, then our curiosity and intelligence are the essential tools for managing our survival in an extremely dangerous time. In either case, the enterprise of knowledge is consistent surely with science; it should be with religion, and it is essential for the welfare of the human species.

because i kind of don't believe it

i'm actually going back to singapore. the anticipation of that -- and i'm sure there would have been a good measure of it -- has been lost among the rest of the madness.

but you know, i've accomplished stuff this academic year. not enormous strides in absolute terms, but considering i had classes to worry about, and settling in, and other miscellaneous aggravation, it's not been too bad. perhaps forward momentum is lacking, but the direction has been set, the course plotted. which is something? maybe?

(incid: despite everything, i have a draft of the book chapter. it is, i think, a reasonable first attempt, and i'll pick at it some more when i have time.)

for the eighth time in 6 years, i'm packing most of my earthly possessions into boxes in readiness to move. this is where the chest-of-drawers and assorted sundries come back to haunt me. what i need are one of those coffeehouse cards where you get one stamp for one cappuccino, except that instead of cappuccinos it's new residences. prize: free membership in peripatetics anonymous.

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it's been an awful 2 weeks, with absolutely everything that could go wrong going wrong. the story -- well, the full story comes later, but perhaps an aperitif for now. i had rodents in my apartment on saturday, two big, oily, brazen rats scuttling around my kitchen in full daylight. the first time this has happened to me, and only, of course, when the mother is here and sharing the very small studio. screaming, multiple calls to the landlord ("our hours of operation are monday to friday, 9 to 5:30. if this is an emergency --" OF COURSE THIS IS A &*^#ING EMERGENCY!!!). traps laid down, bloody useless (inhumane) ones with peanut butter that the rats come out and feast on and don't trigger. more screaming. 24 hours later, after erecting barricades and fortifications and actually considering doing guard duty in my own apartment, one of them gets its back broken and the other one runs for the hills. all quiet on sunday, then on monday a carpenter comes and boards up the hole with wood that looks like it came from the raft of medusa.

wednesday: the mother says something smells.
thursday: the mother says something smells.

i was clearly in denial or something, because it's only today, with actual flies buzzing around the apartment, that i finally admit that yes, something smells like it died. i call the landlord ("our hours of operation are monday to friday, 9 to 5:30. if this is an emergency --" OF COURSE THIS IS A &*^#ING EMERGENCY!!!), and they say they'll send someone and here i am now 3 hours later with a dead rat boarded up in my kitchen, and a very long night ahead.

and this is just the tip of the iceberg, but you'll only hear the rest later. i'm tired, and i have to pack, and i have a plane to catch on monday.

From the applyingtograd forums:

weakknees:
If you won an Olympic gold medal, would you mention it on an application to grad school? On the one hand, it's not relevant (maybe to kinesiology, but let's say you're applying to, oh I don't know, history) but then on the other it's a hell of an accomplishment!

apptake2
It really depends on the event. Because of medal inflation, it isn't necessarily a remarkable achievement any more. A friend of mine had two Olympic golds and was rejected from every school he applied to because it was a middle distance event (not very glamorous) and, on the second occasion, he failed to beat his own world record. Really, unless you're a world record holder and have multiple golds in a top-tier event you're not going to stand out from the competition. Bottom line: one gold won't hurt your application, but it won't help either. Having said that, I do know that for most top-25 schools, an Olympic medal of some sort is seen as the absolute minimum (along with an 800 on both sections of the GRE) for admission, but if you want to be competitive for funding you'd better back it up with a 4.5 GPA.

the longer story

i don't like blogging about things as they happen. it's unfair, and asymmetrical. or rather, it's not a drama, it's my life.

what has happened:

i. today: nathan's farewell dinner. ocean harbor on race, decent overall, superb cui pi dou fu. capogiro afterwards: dulce de leche and coconut milk gelato, and cancerous ferrets, and how to cremate a dead billy goat.

ii. last sunday: the mother breezes into town, fresh as a daisy after 30 hours of traveling. we should all be so lucky.

iii. tuesday: mixto, which i now find everyone on earth has gone to except me. perhaps credit card debt really is your friend. incredible plantains.

iv. in between: work -- mostly boring. 2 sessions left of clinical training, and then we're supposed to be to see real patients. they're going to give me a borderline as my first case, i can just feel it. hi, my name is OHMYGODGETTHATKNIFEAWAYFROME. right.

Ursula LeGuin:

The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.

From A Connecticut Yankee In King Arthur's Court, Mark Twain:

Intellectual 'work' is misnamed; it is a pleasure, a dissipation, and is its own reward. The poorest paid architect, engineer, general, author, sculptor, painter, lecturer, advocate, legislator, actor, preacher, singer, is constructively in heaven when he is at work; and as for the magician with the fiddle-bow in his hand, who sits in the midst of a great orchestra with the ebbing and flowing tides of divine sound washing over him - why, certainly he is at work, if you wish to call it that, but lord, it's a sarcasm just the same. The law of work does seem utterly unfair - but there it is, and nothing can change it: the higher the pay in enjoyment the worker gets out of it, the higher shall be his pay in cash, also. And it's also the very law of those transparent swindles, transmissible nobility and kingship.

real work

gave my first lecture ever on thursday. it went pretty smoothly except for one absolutely egregious mistake in my slides which i didn't catch until it was all over. i have taken to giving myself cognitive therapy instead of vicious beatings when things like this happen (too frequently), which is hard, but i reckon better overall for my mental health. besides, i think the kids were entertained, and i admit i did enjoy myself; this speaks well for when i get a class of my own in the fall.

apropos of harry potter & TDH, i have decided to order my copy off amazon instead of wandering around in west philly in the middle of the night. they guarantee delivery on the 21st, and ups usually gets to me before noon, but that still means potential spoilage (remember su-lin's "snape kills dumbledore" story? yes). formal request, therefore: 24-hour blogging moratorium, and no sudden popping-up on IM with OMFG messages, and the like. can? this is the last time.

watching federer-nadal installment umpteen while running on the treadmill today, i was struck once again by how all of us are wrecked by the bell curve. in any field, just by the nature of the distribution of anything, there are going to be one or two people who are so far out in front they're going to be practically untouchable. and sure, you can be good, but you're still going to be there in what we fondly know as the human morass, while year after year those same people, the ones who are operating on a different plane altogether because of good genes and how statistics works, those people are going to swoop in and take all the glory.

i advise you not to think about this too hard, because it's extraordinarily depressing.

at traitor joe's farewell party last night, i learned that paul theroux's son, louis theroux, made a documentary about the bunny ranch in nevada in which he actually stayed with the girls for 6 weeks to get to see them in their day-to-day lives. i was immediately reminded of john irving's a widow for one year, a book i had forgotten i'd even read. this was all apropos of one of the ccn's RAs planning to pull a similar stunt, having already done post-katrina new orleans, and giant redwood trees in the american northwest. i wish my life were unbearably cool too, but alas.

mental sums

lately, i find myself staring into the cart of the person in front of me at the supermarket checkout, trying to figure out what kind of life they lead from the kind of food they buy. trying, i think, to come up with the answer, "less fulfilling than mine", as measured by: tins of chef boyardee ravioli, absence of fresh produce, number of boxes of lean cuisine (extra deductions for getting a week's supply of the exact same meal).

nice retrospective on the sopranos from new york magazine.

[David Chase] was willing to give us what we didn’t want. There are many breeds of TV auteurs: the great mythologizers, Buffy’s Joss Whedon and Lost’s J.J. Abrams and The X-Files’ Chris Carter; the quirky dialogists, like Gilmore Girls’ Amy Sherman-Palladino and the maddening David E. Kelley; deadpan craftsmen like Dick Wolf and sadomasochistic visionaries like Tom Fontana and California dreamers like Alan Ball. There are the utopian solipsists (okay, just Aaron Sorkin). But they all share an essential love for their characters—a natural side effect, one might imagine, of building one story for many years. Their protagonists suffer, but they rarely corrode.

In this sense, Chase was a true iconoclast, a prophet of disgust. He seemed determined to test TV’s most distinctive quality, the way it requires us to say yes each week. To be a fan, we needed to welcome Tony Soprano again and again into our homes, like a vampire or a therapy patient. Chase gave that choice a terrible weight.

... [The Sopranos] was, in fact, truly revolutionary, but not because it was adult or novelistic. [It] was the first series that truly dared us to slam the door, to reject it. And when we never did, it slammed the door on us: A silent black screen, a fitting conclusion to a show that was itself a bit of a long con, that seduced us as an audience, then dismantled its own charms before our eyes.

While I just can't bring myself to watch John from Cincinnati, I do declare that The Wire is a very good show. Caveat: the writers have no qualms whatsoever about killing off likeable main characters in horrible and unexpected ways, and I'm only halfway through season 2.

i had the meeting. the advisor looked at my outline, suggested the reason i was having difficulties was that i was attempting to write a 5,000,000 word review on the sum total of all knowledge acquired across human history, and applied the shearing scissors. (DISSERTATION TIP #6: DO NOT ATTEMPT TO WRITE A REVIEW OF THE SUM TOTAL OF ALL KNOWLEDGE ACQUIRED ACROSS HUMAN HISTORY.) so i feel a bit better, and plus that i now have figures.

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pep talk for self: no more excuses; i have to get writing. i have 4 more weeks before i leave for sg, and i do not want to be fretting over this paper while i'm there. i will write. i will go to mark's, or the other green line, and sit there, and turn off messenger, and write. i will write at least 2-3 double-spaced pages a day. i will not check my e-mail every 2 minutes, or read twop forums obsessively, or go on one-hour hunts for the release date of super mario galaxy. i will not read every review for live free or die hard on rotten tomatoes. i will write carefully and steadily and accurately. i will finish updating my experimental protocol and submit it by next week so that i can collect data in the fall. i will do my clinical homework so that when i finally do see patients i can actually help them. amazon.com is the devil's playground. youtube is instant death.

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in other news, the lab has given me a s'porean undergrad (BONDED) as a personal lackey. i set him to work on spreadsheets, which i don't have time for and hate, and which hopefully will not be bollixed up when i next see them.

why ratatouille rocked (minor spoilers)

i've never been into movie reviews (though i watch a lot of films nowadays), but for pixar i must gush.

so you know how in the witches the protagonist gets changed into a mouse halfway through the book, and suddenly everything changes -- for him, because he now has to navigate being a creature in a human's world, and for us because we have to readjust our expectations of what's going to happen next? well, ratatouille does that trick multiple times, elegantly walking the very fine tightrope that makers of cartoons always dread, the one where animals/inanimate objects have to interact and coexist with human beings. there's remy in the rat's world, and remy in the human's world, and yet the entire piece feels natural and complete seamless (nerdy exercise: when the dvd comes out find all the splice points. i warrant there are dozens more than you noticed on first watching. make it a drinking game!). on top of that, all this is stirred in to a rather complex plot (for an animated feature), with a sly and amusing script. it didn't have as much heart as nemo, and it wasn't quite as fresh to me as cars, but i think that of all the pixar films so far, it may well the most significant in moving the genre forward.

i hardly need to praise everything else, but i have to express gladness that janeane garofalo is continuing to do amazing things post-felicity, and that sir ian holm, as always, deserves encomiums that the english language cannot provide. and pixar, i reaffirm my willingness to follow you wherever you may lead. wall-e: summer 2008!