marvel at the awesomeness that is smugopedia

i don't think anyone who reads this blog particularly cares about baseball (von? grace?), so you probably don't know that the phillies are one game away from winning the world series for the first time since 1980, and that the excitement in the city is reaching fever pitch. game 5 -- the deciding game -- began on monday, and was called at the bottom of the 6th because of rain with the score tied at 2-2. it rained yesterday as well (mercifully, or house would have been pre-empted, and i would have stomped around all night unhappily), but the teams are in business and playing the remaining innings now. i think christian and co. are out in a pub somewhere, but my plan is to avoid riots and drunkenness and getting trampled to death (i was in ten stone/bard's last thursday after game 2 and was already getting a little nervous). also: have never really understood the appeal of a sport where 98% of the time nothing very much happens. i tried to get daniel and stephen to explain the attraction before supervision on monday, and we got into a discussion about strategy and designated hitters and whatnot, and i came away feeling educated but like i still don't really care. i do, however, like hot dogs and beer, so maybe i'll tag along to a regular season game next year if anyone's going.

in other news, batman RIP + the movie franchise have made me decide to start buying comics by the issue again, so well done grant morrison and christopher nolan.

who would be a good robin in the 3rd batman, if, despite all of christian bale's protestations, there is one

sean faris: 9/10
joseph gordon-levitt: 7.5/10
ben barnes: 6.5/10
shia labouef: 0/10
zac efron: -∞/10

having to give therapy -- and having to get supervision for it -- is a completely different matter from simply doing assessment and diagnosis, an exercise where you see a person a few times and never have to deal with them again. therapy is unpredictable, taxing, and above all, terrifying on many different levels -- am i messing up the patient's life? am i saying stupid things on tape? do my colleagues and supervisor think i'm an idiot?

what ends up happening, therefore, is an exercise where, as you're trying to help the client, you're simultaneously giving therapy to yourself, trying to superimpose a framework of cold reason over the emotional chaos. the reality, hard to believe, is this: the client believes you're a real psychologist, which in itself is a huge effector of change; everyone thinks they've said stupid things on tape, and sometimes you actually have, but it's not a big deal; everyone is afraid that they look like an idiot without thinking anyone else in the practicum actually is one. and training in therapy is just that: saying these things over and over again to yourself until you believe them, so that you can focus on the client instead of your panicky, useless thoughts. terror is incredibly unproductive. i hope i get over it soon.

saffy

von tells me that he's not on the hilary mckay bandwagon after all, so i excuse him, with apologies. with some sadness, i confess that i don't really see what the fuss is about either, and will beg off reading the rest of the series in preference for delights such as Y: The Last Man, which i highly recommend to one and all.

american

i was eating dinner alone today after work -- salad with cold roast chicken, corn, black beans, croutons, hard-boiled egg, russian dressing -- drinking a glass of white wine (durbanville cab sauvignon '01), and reading the new yorker, when i was suddenly overcome with a feeling of how american the scene was, like something out of a nora ephron movie, the quintessential bleeding-heart liberal moment. very disturbing. i need to go listen to some j-pop or something now to cleanse myself.

the su-lin/minz/von gang have been badgering me for years now about the saffy books, how i have to read them, how people in remote amazonian villages have read them and pass the stories down to their kids, etc., so i finally caved and ordered a one-penny (w/o shipping) copy from amazon to see what the fuss is all about (the penn library doesn't have the books. would you believe that?) i tried to get the relatively adult-looking cover, but ended up with the hodder edition which is scintillatingly pink and very hideous. this now means that i cannot read the book anywhere except in my room under thick sheets with the door locked, which i will do tonight after the amazing race and if i can finish prepping for my client tomorrow.

***

in other news, obama was at a rally yesterday not 7 blocks from where i live. i was tempted to go, but a phone call to the other housemate, who was there, convinced me that the nearest i could get to the stage would be about a block away.

i realize now that this isn't actually very exciting, and stop.

although my heart does go out to anyone who may have lost half their life savings in last week's hurly-burly, i feel that it's only fair for me to comment that it was one of the very few times in my life when i was glad that i have no real money to speak of. given how much (unintended) gloating i've had to endure over the years from friends and acquaintances, i find it only just that i take a moment to revel in this bear market, at least until i discover i have run out of funding/don't have a job.

the other housemate is busily studying for his GREs, which means that the house is redolent with the smell of coffee, and every so often i reach behind the cushions or underneath the couch and pull out a flashcard that says PULCHRITUDE or ELEEMOSYNARY or FURFURACEOUS. oh, how i hated that exam. you would think that living with two grad students for a year would be a severe disincentive to anyone considering jumping into this particular hell, but apparently, we're paragons of mental well-being, or something. also:

still not working on my quals

the closest equivalent that science-type people have to minz/fadiman's handshake game is calculating our erdos number. according to wikipedia (the fount of all knowledge):

In order to be assigned an Erdős number, an author must co-write a mathematical paper with an author with a finite Erdős number. Paul Erdős is the one person having an Erdős number of zero. If the lowest Erdős number of a coauthor is k, then the author's Erdős number is k + 1.

although technically applicable only to mathematicians, the fact that natalie portman has one (apparently 7, not 9) makes me feel entitled to at least try calculating mine. the problem: unlike six degrees of kevin bacon, there is no convenient way of doing this. obviously, it goes me, the advisor, and from there probably to one of the two-process model papers he's collaborated on, those being the only vaguely math-y things he's done, but after that it's mist and fog.

in any case, the game can now be played with connecting me to famous psychologists through co-authored publications. people i'd like to try off the top of my head: miller, beck, rogers, lacan, zimbardo, james (??). i understand this is a bit of a cheat because i've published, like, nothing, but i'll count my upcoming neuroethics paper with martha and that will at least give me more than 2 launching points.

i note, with some small measure of dismay, that nothing of great interest happened this week. thomas and i went to hear neil gaiman do a reading of his new book; it is more stardust and less american gods, which is a good thing. he did a very funny q&a, and i have now promised to not diss him quite as much in casual conversation, and focus more on the fact that he has his not-uncommon moments of brillance. (last complaint: no spoilers on whatever happened to the caped crusader. boo.) on thursday, sarah palin did not make a jackass of herself. on friday, there was capogiro and nodding head and being bored to tears by baseball (again). could someone out there please give me a satisfactory explanation as to why they like baseball?

anyway, you're bored by things like that, so let's write about something else. i have a new theory that practically anything tasty can be made even tastier by transforming it into a casserole. i tried reuben casserole for the first time last week, and much as i love reubens, reuben casserole = win. mexican torta casserole > mexican tortas. turkey, cranberry, sweet potato and stuffing casserole > thanksgiving dinner (i'm not even kidding). why? -- because casseroles are liberating. they're not weighed down by tradition. you can put all kinds of extra layers of tastiness into them and there are no purists to cry foul. also: everyone loves bubbling cheese.