Not three years ago, the idea of a sold-out Rutgers stadium was pure fantasy. That a sea of scarlet-shirted fans would flood the field after a huge upset victory over a top-5 team... well, that was just crazy.
The Rutgers football team brought New Jersey together in a way that nobody could have anticipated. I mean, come on, this isn't Texas or Ohio. This is a state better known for media darlings (Bon Jovi and the Sopranos come to mind) than for athletics. Two NFL teams play in our state, but both claim to be New York teams. Something about the "New Jersey Jets" was too distasteful or embarrassing.
Now that Rutgers football is winning games, the whole state is rallying 'round the flag. You know what? It's fantastic to have a bandwagon to jump on. I don't care that there's controversy about a proposed new stadium, I don't care about the artificial correlation between athletic and academic reputation, I don't even care about Saturday morning tailgate parties outside my on-campus apartment.
It's just nice to be able to support a winning sports squadron. I did my undergrad in Cleveland, at a DIII school whose students would rather pay to watch Ohio State play 3 hours away than walk 50 yards to our school's free, empty bleachers. When the team won the homecoming game my freshman year (the only win that season), I was one of six people to rush the field.
Graduate school at Rutgers has been good to me so far - good academically, athletically, and socially, to say the least. This whole "football" thing is a very welcome icing on an already delicious cake. I wear clothing with Rutgers logos proudly, and I've even gotten used to the stupid new Block R that replaced the badass-looking knight.
When Rutgers loses, the whole state goes into mourning. This is to be expected, silly though it may be. What is surprising is that the day after a loss, if someone notices my Rutgers jacket, they'll ask, "what happened to Rutgers yesterday?"
How did they know of my secret friendship with Coach Schiano? Did they see his surreptitious 4th quarter phone call to me, asking my advice on a 3rd-and-long? Do they blame me for the bad play? Perhaps they're just idly wondering if I might have special insight into the football team because I live 5 minutes from the stadium.
My answer is always the same side-step. "Well, I wanted to play, but Schiano benched me. Wish I could've helped."
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Graduate Chic: Facial Hair
(with thanks to Ben, my unwitting model)
I was asked by my friends at GQ to write about the latest trends in Men's Fashion. At first I was reluctant, because why should I give Joe Schmo any insights into my closely-guarded secrets of style? On the other hand, everyone who reads this already has great taste. Or is too far gone for my help anyway. Or is a girl.
Then, as a choir of heavenly angles sang "Back in Black" in 4-part harmony, the truth became clear: The world would be a significantly sadder, emptier place if I didn't put pen to paper and proselytize about facial hair.
Any fashionista worth his salt will tell you that for better or worse, image is everything. This is the case even somewhere as insular and idealistic as academia. The t-shirted TA is no less disadvantaged than the salesman with the mustard-stained tie or the stripper with the Caesarian scar.
Having nestled willingly in his perpetually mid-foodchain niche, the graduate student is certainly no exception. The fashion-forward grad knows that his best accessory is the beard on his face.
More affordable than a gold watch, more convenient than an attache case, and somewhat manlier than a purse, the beard can make or break a grad student's look. By observing a few simple guidelines, you too can be the "it" researcher in your lab.
Your project is going to take anywhere from 1 to 6 years to finish, and this process may not lend itself to progress reports. It's often impossible to tell the difference between a week of productivity and a week of youtube-surfing. Perfect in a pinch, the Two Day Shadow says "I'm getting so much done that I have neither time nor energy for shaving". Be careful, though, as the Two Day Shadow's effectiveness is tied to its shock value; it only works as a stubbly contrast to your normally clean-shaven skin. Don't be the boy who cried wolf.
Letting your follicles grow unchecked for more than two weeks results in the faux-pas known as Tenure Beard. Full, unkempt beards make you look like a homeless vagrant, or possibly a clergyman from a religion with Middle Eastern origins. The trend-setting professors you see in the tabloids sport this style, with beards that scream "I don't care", and indeed they don't care - but they don't have to, they have tenure. You, on the other hand, can't not care. You've got a thesis to write.
The new trend for the Fall is that sweet-spot beard somewhere between the Two Day Shadow and the Tenure Beard. Called the Fellowship Fuzz, this hot new look has been spotted already in the runways and labs of Paris. It's versatile, as suitable for holding Office Hours as it is for holding a swank after-party. It's a look that quotes Nietzsche, solves Fermat's Last Theorem, and condescends to everyone in the room, even as you silently sip your obscure Belgian ale.
There are more options, of course. Sideburns are very 1992, but the right person can always pull them off - the bigger the chops, the better the effect. They add youth and vigor to an embattled grad's weary face. Be wary of looking like your undergrads, as they might not believe you're the TA and worship you as such. Similarly, mustaches have gone the way of the dinosaur, and they only appear now in hipsters going for the "irony" look. You don't want to look like a hipster.
While this piece is being written for the stylish Hard Sciences student, it applies to other disciplines as well, albeit with a few modifications. For business students, the Two Day Shadow is taboo; shave regularly, and make your dare-to-be-different statement with a blue dress shirt and khaki pants. Liberal Arts grads enjoy more follicular freedom than most, especially vis a vis sideburns and mustaches - then again, the Liberal Arts grad isn't far from a Barnes-and-Noble barista, is he?
Future installments will include "Blazers in Academic Couture" and "Jeans for Jean-iuses". Stay tuned!
I was asked by my friends at GQ to write about the latest trends in Men's Fashion. At first I was reluctant, because why should I give Joe Schmo any insights into my closely-guarded secrets of style? On the other hand, everyone who reads this already has great taste. Or is too far gone for my help anyway. Or is a girl.
Then, as a choir of heavenly angles sang "Back in Black" in 4-part harmony, the truth became clear: The world would be a significantly sadder, emptier place if I didn't put pen to paper and proselytize about facial hair.
Any fashionista worth his salt will tell you that for better or worse, image is everything. This is the case even somewhere as insular and idealistic as academia. The t-shirted TA is no less disadvantaged than the salesman with the mustard-stained tie or the stripper with the Caesarian scar.
Having nestled willingly in his perpetually mid-foodchain niche, the graduate student is certainly no exception. The fashion-forward grad knows that his best accessory is the beard on his face.
More affordable than a gold watch, more convenient than an attache case, and somewhat manlier than a purse, the beard can make or break a grad student's look. By observing a few simple guidelines, you too can be the "it" researcher in your lab.
Your project is going to take anywhere from 1 to 6 years to finish, and this process may not lend itself to progress reports. It's often impossible to tell the difference between a week of productivity and a week of youtube-surfing. Perfect in a pinch, the Two Day Shadow says "I'm getting so much done that I have neither time nor energy for shaving". Be careful, though, as the Two Day Shadow's effectiveness is tied to its shock value; it only works as a stubbly contrast to your normally clean-shaven skin. Don't be the boy who cried wolf.
Letting your follicles grow unchecked for more than two weeks results in the faux-pas known as Tenure Beard. Full, unkempt beards make you look like a homeless vagrant, or possibly a clergyman from a religion with Middle Eastern origins. The trend-setting professors you see in the tabloids sport this style, with beards that scream "I don't care", and indeed they don't care - but they don't have to, they have tenure. You, on the other hand, can't not care. You've got a thesis to write.
The new trend for the Fall is that sweet-spot beard somewhere between the Two Day Shadow and the Tenure Beard. Called the Fellowship Fuzz, this hot new look has been spotted already in the runways and labs of Paris. It's versatile, as suitable for holding Office Hours as it is for holding a swank after-party. It's a look that quotes Nietzsche, solves Fermat's Last Theorem, and condescends to everyone in the room, even as you silently sip your obscure Belgian ale.
There are more options, of course. Sideburns are very 1992, but the right person can always pull them off - the bigger the chops, the better the effect. They add youth and vigor to an embattled grad's weary face. Be wary of looking like your undergrads, as they might not believe you're the TA and worship you as such. Similarly, mustaches have gone the way of the dinosaur, and they only appear now in hipsters going for the "irony" look. You don't want to look like a hipster.
While this piece is being written for the stylish Hard Sciences student, it applies to other disciplines as well, albeit with a few modifications. For business students, the Two Day Shadow is taboo; shave regularly, and make your dare-to-be-different statement with a blue dress shirt and khaki pants. Liberal Arts grads enjoy more follicular freedom than most, especially vis a vis sideburns and mustaches - then again, the Liberal Arts grad isn't far from a Barnes-and-Noble barista, is he?
Future installments will include "Blazers in Academic Couture" and "Jeans for Jean-iuses". Stay tuned!
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Craigmeur Report
Not to sound too emo, but I've been feeling like there's a part of me missing. Fortunately, I've figured out what it is... a large chunk of skin from my left knee.
The flesh is currently located in the gravel by the barn at the Craigmeur course. I miss it. If you find it, please contact me (ninjarelations@rutgerscycling.com).
The good spin: I crashed while being aggressive. When I crash in Mountain Bike races, it stems from timidity. I ride like a nancyboy and lock up the brakes, and then I hit the dirt. At least today I took myself out by sprinting too hard in the gravel. That's a man's crash.
Also, my team rode fantastically. Congratulations to Jenks and FarmerAndy on your podia!
The bad spin: The spinning of my rubber-side-up wheels as I lay prostrate in the gravel. That was bad spin.
Like MacArthur before me, I shall return!
The flesh is currently located in the gravel by the barn at the Craigmeur course. I miss it. If you find it, please contact me (ninjarelations@rutgerscycling.com).
The good spin: I crashed while being aggressive. When I crash in Mountain Bike races, it stems from timidity. I ride like a nancyboy and lock up the brakes, and then I hit the dirt. At least today I took myself out by sprinting too hard in the gravel. That's a man's crash.
Also, my team rode fantastically. Congratulations to Jenks and FarmerAndy on your podia!
The bad spin: The spinning of my rubber-side-up wheels as I lay prostrate in the gravel. That was bad spin.
Like MacArthur before me, I shall return!
Saturday, October 27, 2007
I am going to regret this
And now, to alienate the vast majority of my audience.
It is hard to be thin. I'm not saying that it is a challenge for me to prevent weight gain - on the contrary, I've been eating as much as possible, hoping to bulk up, since 1999 (although from 2001-2002, the eating wasn't about weight gain, but about the munchies).
I contend that society hates skinny people.
This is where a paragraph about the underlying causes would go. This would be a sentence about how anorexics have given endomorphs a bad name. Here is a reminder of man's craving for inclusion, the ubiquitous us-vs-them mentality. There is no way for me to write this paragraph without the sort of assumptions and generalizations that place my foot in my well-fed mouth.
Instead of pontificating about the origins of my pariah status, I'll amuse myself by bemoaning the repercussions. Forget the patronizing "you're too thin!" accusations. Forget the unspoken rule that we must never speak of our own condition for fear of offending those friends with whose dietary woes we regularly sympathize. We're going to talk about clothes.
One caveat: I generally try to dress-to-impress by giving the illusion of wealth, but I don't actually have wealth. While I'll (probably) have a (somewhat) respectable (lower-middle class) income somewhere down the line, for now I'm stuck buying my yuppie-looking clothes at sub-yuppie department stores.
The frustration from this infra-yuppie shopping comes from the paltry choices available to someone my size. For example, I like dress shirts, but I like inexpensive dress shirts that one can get at unreasonably low prices. The cheap ones come in Small, Medium, and Large, rather than the neck-size / arm-length measurements of the classy shirts. I, being a thin man, buy the Small shirt... and then I ask my seamstress [read: mother] to add darts that make the waist slimmer. The Small-sized sleeves are always too short, which I sidestep by rolling them, but the torso is always a little too short as well. Without periodic maintenance throughout the day, my dress shirts all come untucked.
Similarly, I buy Small polo shirts. Occasionally, I get lucky and find a shirt that almost fits. It is far more likely, though, that a shirt that fits my chest and shoulders will leave enough room in the gut to house a third-trimester pregnancy.
Addressing the lower body is a little simpler. Anything dressier than sweatpants comes in waist-and-inseam sizing, which gives even the frugalest grad some control over fit. The challenge, however, is actually finding the pants that are in your size. The next time I go shopping, I'm bringing a Powerbar and a bottle of Accelerade.
Clothiers make clothes to match demand. Retailers stock clothes to match demand. I'm not saying that they should waste money or space on the needs of people in the fringes of society. It's just a shame that being thin means that I'm in the fringes.
Having written this completely self-indulgent diatribe, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that I am well aware of how lucky guys have it. Yes, we have chests, stomachs, waists, hips, butts, and legs, just like the womens. Getting clothing that fits these features, though, must be infinitely simpler for us than it is for the fair sex. Plus, we're better at driving.
It is hard to be thin. I'm not saying that it is a challenge for me to prevent weight gain - on the contrary, I've been eating as much as possible, hoping to bulk up, since 1999 (although from 2001-2002, the eating wasn't about weight gain, but about the munchies).
I contend that society hates skinny people.
This is where a paragraph about the underlying causes would go. This would be a sentence about how anorexics have given endomorphs a bad name. Here is a reminder of man's craving for inclusion, the ubiquitous us-vs-them mentality. There is no way for me to write this paragraph without the sort of assumptions and generalizations that place my foot in my well-fed mouth.
Instead of pontificating about the origins of my pariah status, I'll amuse myself by bemoaning the repercussions. Forget the patronizing "you're too thin!" accusations. Forget the unspoken rule that we must never speak of our own condition for fear of offending those friends with whose dietary woes we regularly sympathize. We're going to talk about clothes.
One caveat: I generally try to dress-to-impress by giving the illusion of wealth, but I don't actually have wealth. While I'll (probably) have a (somewhat) respectable (lower-middle class) income somewhere down the line, for now I'm stuck buying my yuppie-looking clothes at sub-yuppie department stores.
The frustration from this infra-yuppie shopping comes from the paltry choices available to someone my size. For example, I like dress shirts, but I like inexpensive dress shirts that one can get at unreasonably low prices. The cheap ones come in Small, Medium, and Large, rather than the neck-size / arm-length measurements of the classy shirts. I, being a thin man, buy the Small shirt... and then I ask my seamstress [read: mother] to add darts that make the waist slimmer. The Small-sized sleeves are always too short, which I sidestep by rolling them, but the torso is always a little too short as well. Without periodic maintenance throughout the day, my dress shirts all come untucked.
Similarly, I buy Small polo shirts. Occasionally, I get lucky and find a shirt that almost fits. It is far more likely, though, that a shirt that fits my chest and shoulders will leave enough room in the gut to house a third-trimester pregnancy.
Addressing the lower body is a little simpler. Anything dressier than sweatpants comes in waist-and-inseam sizing, which gives even the frugalest grad some control over fit. The challenge, however, is actually finding the pants that are in your size. The next time I go shopping, I'm bringing a Powerbar and a bottle of Accelerade.
Clothiers make clothes to match demand. Retailers stock clothes to match demand. I'm not saying that they should waste money or space on the needs of people in the fringes of society. It's just a shame that being thin means that I'm in the fringes.
Having written this completely self-indulgent diatribe, I'd be remiss if I didn't point out that I am well aware of how lucky guys have it. Yes, we have chests, stomachs, waists, hips, butts, and legs, just like the womens. Getting clothing that fits these features, though, must be infinitely simpler for us than it is for the fair sex. Plus, we're better at driving.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Sweet Soul Music
If you haven't picked up on the recent theme, I've been spending a lot of time in the lab over the past few weeks. In the lab, by myself, late at night. Truly it is a glamorous life I lead!
It's easy to lose focus at times like these. Luckily, I have Pandora. After a few weeks of personalizing the playlists, some patterns have emerged, most of which don't surprise me. Apparently, I like slightly-electronic "indie" music with a hint of folk, as well as pop-punk and a smattering of late-80s rap.
What surprised me most was my fondness for Motown. When I've selected my "Temptations" playlist, the fingers start flying about the keyboard, time flies by, and before I know it the program is complete and the sun is rising.
No, I don't like pulling all-nighters, but it's a small price to pay for software-related success.
The next time you have a big task ahead of you, try listening to the musical stylings of Mr. Arthur Conley:
Enjoy.
It's easy to lose focus at times like these. Luckily, I have Pandora. After a few weeks of personalizing the playlists, some patterns have emerged, most of which don't surprise me. Apparently, I like slightly-electronic "indie" music with a hint of folk, as well as pop-punk and a smattering of late-80s rap.
What surprised me most was my fondness for Motown. When I've selected my "Temptations" playlist, the fingers start flying about the keyboard, time flies by, and before I know it the program is complete and the sun is rising.
No, I don't like pulling all-nighters, but it's a small price to pay for software-related success.
The next time you have a big task ahead of you, try listening to the musical stylings of Mr. Arthur Conley:
Enjoy.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Um... Ouch?
I'm pretty much juggling four projects these days. Of those four, one is all but done, and one is being saved for Summer '08. One is a totally sweet project that I've been working on since August, and one - let's call it The Abyss - is a long story.
Don't worry about the gory details. They may serve to explain my lack of enthusiasm about The Abyss, but mostly they'll just bore you. In short, The Abyss project should have been published in 2006. Now we're redoing it.
So it goes.
Today, I was cc'ed on an email between two of The Abyss' collaborating Principal Investigators. Here are some highlights:
Don has finally finished w/data
First of all, burn on Don? Second of all, no, Don hasn't finished with the data. Don is working on a different, 100% Don-controlled project. It seemed pretty clear from the way things were handled last year that The Abyss isn't exactly a priority, so Don treated it as such. Third of all, seriously? Burn on Don? Really?
we will send results soon
No we won't. Results aren't ready to be sent, and so they won't be sent.
Oh hell, who am I kidding? Of course I'll have the results ready to be sent. It's simply a matter of going sleep-deprived again. I just wish I'd been consulted before my time and energy were promised away.
Deep breath.
Here is how it is: I am my PIs' bitch. I am in the lab at midnight again. I am a PhD student.
Oh well, at least I'm not an undergrad!
Don't worry about the gory details. They may serve to explain my lack of enthusiasm about The Abyss, but mostly they'll just bore you. In short, The Abyss project should have been published in 2006. Now we're redoing it.
So it goes.
Today, I was cc'ed on an email between two of The Abyss' collaborating Principal Investigators. Here are some highlights:
Don has finally finished w/data
First of all, burn on Don? Second of all, no, Don hasn't finished with the data. Don is working on a different, 100% Don-controlled project. It seemed pretty clear from the way things were handled last year that The Abyss isn't exactly a priority, so Don treated it as such. Third of all, seriously? Burn on Don? Really?
we will send results soon
No we won't. Results aren't ready to be sent, and so they won't be sent.
Oh hell, who am I kidding? Of course I'll have the results ready to be sent. It's simply a matter of going sleep-deprived again. I just wish I'd been consulted before my time and energy were promised away.
Deep breath.
Here is how it is: I am my PIs' bitch. I am in the lab at midnight again. I am a PhD student.
Oh well, at least I'm not an undergrad!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Monday Night Dilemma
I like the television. I also like reading, going outdoors, exercising... all of those things that people neglect when presented the opportunity to watch TV. It's just that I really do like the television.
So sue me.
Monday night presents me with a unique dilemma: too many options. Normally, as my roommates will gladly attest, I am content to sit in front of the TV and flip through the channels in a seemingly-endless loop, complaining all the while that there is nothing on. Occasionally, in a fit of desperation, I'll plead "please stop sucking!" - sometimes I try to command "stop sucking now!" - but inevitably the TV does not stop sucking.
This is not the case on Monday nights at 8. There's Chuck on NBC, which is tempting, in that cute "turn off your brain, here comes an hour of boobs and explosions" way.
On BBCAmerica, if you're lucky enough to get it, there is Top Gear. I would describe this programme as a cross between a car commercial, a teenage boy's asexual fantasy, and a standup comedy special... all with a budget that is way too big for its own good. Want to compare insanely expensive supercars both on a test track and in the narrow back-alleys of Paris? Want to see who'd win a bike vs car race between Gee Atherton and Jeremy Clarkson on an urban course in Lisbon? Want to find out exactly how much abuse a Toyota Hilux can take, including flooding, fire, and head-on collisions? Wish you could play 5-on-5 soccer with cars? Then Top Gear is for you.
Unfortunately for our Limey friends, my affinity for flamboyantly creative car shows is outweighed by my affection for that which is awesome. The people who brought you such gems as "Suit up!", "Legen - wait for it - dary", and my personal favorite, "True story" never fail to impress. They've got plot-lines that are relevant to my life. They've got Doogie f'in Howser hitting on random bar floozies. They've got Cobie Smulders.
Game, Set, Match to How I Met Your Mother.
Of course, there is a fourth option: grade homeworks for the class I'm TAing. Homework, it seems, will always have to wait for 8:30.
So sue me.
Monday night presents me with a unique dilemma: too many options. Normally, as my roommates will gladly attest, I am content to sit in front of the TV and flip through the channels in a seemingly-endless loop, complaining all the while that there is nothing on. Occasionally, in a fit of desperation, I'll plead "please stop sucking!" - sometimes I try to command "stop sucking now!" - but inevitably the TV does not stop sucking.
This is not the case on Monday nights at 8. There's Chuck on NBC, which is tempting, in that cute "turn off your brain, here comes an hour of boobs and explosions" way.
On BBCAmerica, if you're lucky enough to get it, there is Top Gear. I would describe this programme as a cross between a car commercial, a teenage boy's asexual fantasy, and a standup comedy special... all with a budget that is way too big for its own good. Want to compare insanely expensive supercars both on a test track and in the narrow back-alleys of Paris? Want to see who'd win a bike vs car race between Gee Atherton and Jeremy Clarkson on an urban course in Lisbon? Want to find out exactly how much abuse a Toyota Hilux can take, including flooding, fire, and head-on collisions? Wish you could play 5-on-5 soccer with cars? Then Top Gear is for you.
Unfortunately for our Limey friends, my affinity for flamboyantly creative car shows is outweighed by my affection for that which is awesome. The people who brought you such gems as "Suit up!", "Legen - wait for it - dary", and my personal favorite, "True story" never fail to impress. They've got plot-lines that are relevant to my life. They've got Doogie f'in Howser hitting on random bar floozies. They've got Cobie Smulders.
Game, Set, Match to How I Met Your Mother.
Of course, there is a fourth option: grade homeworks for the class I'm TAing. Homework, it seems, will always have to wait for 8:30.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Superman Traction and a Late Night in the Lab
They don't call him CaptainChaz for nothing. He's the self-declared Captain of our Mountain Biking team, much like Mark is the self-declared captain of our Cyclocross squadron, and I am the self-declared captain of our Rubik's Cube brigade.Unlike me, with my vow to take the secrets of the Cube to the grave, Charlie makes a habit of teaching his teammates the way of the Fat Tire. Earlier this summer, he took Andy and me around Chimney Rock park to give us roadies a fighting chance at racing. Along with some dropping some knowledge about cornering and descending that seems to have stuck, Charlie taught us how to climb.
Climbing seems like it should be straightforward... just point yourself uphill and pedal. If necessary, pedal really hard. To climb well, spend more time pedaling really hard than your competitors do.
That works well enough on road, and it does translate to the dirt reasonably well, but there is another wrinkle when riding the trails... momentum. Roadies know inertia only in the sense that it's better to exit a corner at 25mph than at 20, so don't brake, and if you do brake you have to shout "SLOWING" and blame someone else (please don't actually do this or I will punch you). Mountain bikers, on the other hand, are familiar with momentum as that peculiar possession that, once lost, can create a huge gap to the next rider. Lose momentum in a corner and you'll lose a handful of seconds. Lose momentum on a climb and you may suffer the indignity of walking.
So here's the trick, as taught to me by that beacon of knobby-tired wisdom, CaptainChaz: Superman Traction. Killing yourself on a steep hill is way more frustrating when roots and rocks and small woodland creatures make your rear tire slip. By gaining momentum on the easier parts of the climb, the flatter sections or the patches with the most grip, you can make the overall endeavor that much less taxing.
Sure, when the going gets tough, the tough get going... but that doesn't mean you can't get ahead of the game by pushing yourself when the going is easy!
Over the past few weeks, I've been applying this philosophy in the lab, of all places.I started with some wires, some sensors, and an idea. Within two days I'd learned a new programming language and had a working demo. Momentum. I kept chugging along over the rest of that week, making progress without really making any breakthroughs, or needing to.
So last Wednesday was the usual Rutgers 'cross practice, and I did the usual dig-too-deep thing, resulting in the usual crankiness. After a quick, large dinner, I jumped in the shower with the intention of calling it a night.
Then I hit some Superman Traction. Ideas that had been floating aimlessly somehow congealed into a plan. Snippets of code had structured themselves over the course of a shower. My project suddenly seemed easy.
Is it crazy to walk to the lab at night, armed only with a head full of blueprints and a vanilla milkshake? Is it crazy to stay until 4am, with no looming deadline or external impetus?
It is not crazy. It is Superman Traction. I'm going to need to accomplish a gajillion tasks between now and graduation (what hubris I have, to dare even write the g-word)... why not get as many of them done as possible while things are going smoothly?
Now the real trick is going to be keeping this momentum. One never knows when they'll come across a hurdle (or a sandpit).
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Tying Up Some Loose Ends
Exactly 1 month ago, I posted about PIRG. I discovered its insidious little secret, and I wrote about it here, back in September.
Today, they wrote about it in Rutgers' daily, the Targum.
Let me just point out that I was first. More importantly, I'm not the only one! Vindication! It kinda makes me feel legitimate as a writer... more on that some other time (much, much more).
Also, when I bemoaned a photo of the world's ugliest bicycle back in July, calling it an "unholy bicycle", Clara asked what I would consider a "holy bicycle".
This, Clara, is a holy bicycle:
What makes this bikes so sacred, you ask? It's nice enough, but it's nothing spectacular... or is it? I'll tell you, Clara, what makes this bike a little slice of heaven right here on your screen... the end-caps:
The end-caps are made of Chimay beer bottle caps.
If I had a chance to own this bike, I would build it a temple, with gilded buttresses and stained-glass windows and an altar for animal sacrifice. I would start a cult for this bike, and we'd walk around airports shouting "Chimay Krishna!" and playing tambourines.
In fact, this cult already exists.
Join us.
Today, they wrote about it in Rutgers' daily, the Targum.
Let me just point out that I was first. More importantly, I'm not the only one! Vindication! It kinda makes me feel legitimate as a writer... more on that some other time (much, much more).
Also, when I bemoaned a photo of the world's ugliest bicycle back in July, calling it an "unholy bicycle", Clara asked what I would consider a "holy bicycle".
This, Clara, is a holy bicycle:
What makes this bikes so sacred, you ask? It's nice enough, but it's nothing spectacular... or is it? I'll tell you, Clara, what makes this bike a little slice of heaven right here on your screen... the end-caps:
The end-caps are made of Chimay beer bottle caps.If I had a chance to own this bike, I would build it a temple, with gilded buttresses and stained-glass windows and an altar for animal sacrifice. I would start a cult for this bike, and we'd walk around airports shouting "Chimay Krishna!" and playing tambourines.
In fact, this cult already exists.
Join us.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Verb Symmetry
This semester, I'm taking a class on Cognitive Science, because I'm a glutton for punishment. It won't do anything for my dissertation, nor will it be even remotely useful in my future research. Basically, it's a 3 credit class with no homework and no tests. I am an academic sandbagger.
Actually, that's not entirely true. The coursework is a real challenge, especially given that I have almost no background in Cognitive Science. In fact, the one course I've ever taken in that field was a surprising mix of physiology and Electrical Engineering.
This class, on the other hand, is beter suited to AngryMark the English student (or Pluto, the blog-lurking Psych student) than to Engineery ol' me. It's a course for linguists and philosophers, not biomechanicists.
I'd be in over my head, if there was any homework or any quantitative assessment of my grasp of the material. Instead, while I can't swim, I'm really only wading in ankle-deep waters.
The first few weeks were really interesting, from what I could understand. We learned about the notion of causality, both in the physical world and in language. It's too long to reproduce here but next time you see me, ask me the story of the Rabbit who was gorping the Duck. Yes, gorping.
Now, thought, we're deep in the world of linguistics. I'm so lost. I'm missing a lot of basic vocabulary, and it's reached the point where I can no longer fake familiarity. It's frustrating, not at all because I'm worried in the least about my grades, but because there are so many better things I could b doing with my time than sit in a conference room and daydream.
For example, I could write a blog post. This blog post, to be specific.
In today's entire 2.5 hour lecture, I successfully absorbed only one idea... and I use the word "successfully" about as liberally as an unwashed tie-dyed barefoot hippie.
I learned about symmetry in verbs. Being a "hand-on" sort of student, it behooved me to come up with examples to illustrate the lesson, which I will share with you now...
example 1: Don matches Jay. Don and Jay match.
Here, the verb "match" is totally symmetrical. Don matches Jay, and at the same time, Jay matches Don. They match.
example 2: Aaron kissed Will. Aaron and Will kissed.
Just because Aaron got a little friendly doesn't mean that the second sentence is true. "Kiss" is not symmetrical. Aaron kissed Will, but Will did not kiss Aaron.
example 3: Don danced with Jenks' mom. Don and Jenks' mom danced.
I'm not certain, but I think the symmetry is a function of the need for the word "with". In a sentence of the form Subject Verbed with Object, the verb is of some unique type, I think.
example 4: Don slept with Will's mom. Don and Will's mom slept.
Clearly, the above rule doesn't apply to slang or euphemisms like "sleeps with". After all, when I sleep with Will's mom, neither of us actually gets any sleep.
Actually, that's not entirely true. The coursework is a real challenge, especially given that I have almost no background in Cognitive Science. In fact, the one course I've ever taken in that field was a surprising mix of physiology and Electrical Engineering.
This class, on the other hand, is beter suited to AngryMark the English student (or Pluto, the blog-lurking Psych student) than to Engineery ol' me. It's a course for linguists and philosophers, not biomechanicists.
I'd be in over my head, if there was any homework or any quantitative assessment of my grasp of the material. Instead, while I can't swim, I'm really only wading in ankle-deep waters.
The first few weeks were really interesting, from what I could understand. We learned about the notion of causality, both in the physical world and in language. It's too long to reproduce here but next time you see me, ask me the story of the Rabbit who was gorping the Duck. Yes, gorping.
Now, thought, we're deep in the world of linguistics. I'm so lost. I'm missing a lot of basic vocabulary, and it's reached the point where I can no longer fake familiarity. It's frustrating, not at all because I'm worried in the least about my grades, but because there are so many better things I could b doing with my time than sit in a conference room and daydream.
For example, I could write a blog post. This blog post, to be specific.
In today's entire 2.5 hour lecture, I successfully absorbed only one idea... and I use the word "successfully" about as liberally as an unwashed tie-dyed barefoot hippie.
I learned about symmetry in verbs. Being a "hand-on" sort of student, it behooved me to come up with examples to illustrate the lesson, which I will share with you now...
example 1: Don matches Jay. Don and Jay match.
Here, the verb "match" is totally symmetrical. Don matches Jay, and at the same time, Jay matches Don. They match.example 2: Aaron kissed Will. Aaron and Will kissed.
Just because Aaron got a little friendly doesn't mean that the second sentence is true. "Kiss" is not symmetrical. Aaron kissed Will, but Will did not kiss Aaron.example 3: Don danced with Jenks' mom. Don and Jenks' mom danced.
I'm not certain, but I think the symmetry is a function of the need for the word "with". In a sentence of the form Subject Verbed with Object, the verb is of some unique type, I think.example 4: Don slept with Will's mom. Don and Will's mom slept.
Clearly, the above rule doesn't apply to slang or euphemisms like "sleeps with". After all, when I sleep with Will's mom, neither of us actually gets any sleep.
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