NPR and Thesis Writing

For years now, I have started the work day by tuning the radio to NPR.  It is soothing background noise, and serves to remind me that intelligent people are out in the world doing important things, not playing solitaire.  This is sometimes a necessary reminder.

Anyhoo, that's all fine and good, and I usually ignore 95% of the sound, unless something momentous is happening.  Today though, is different.  Aretha Franklin is being interviewed about her Inauguration Day performance, and snippets of the song have been played every hour.  "My Count.......try 'tis of thee..."  Without fail, I stop whatever I'm doing (writing about finite element analysis for helicopter blades, which is even more boring than you might think) and snigger.  Except now, I'm not only sniggering, but I'm ready to stuff a sock down Aretha's throat.  

Truly a banner day.  I might even have to put actual music on, just to escape.*

*Don't suggest I just turn the radio off.  I can't work in the quiet- I have to have some noise.  In the absence of anything else, I start singing or humming, but since I can't sing, I don't know any songs except those I was forced to learn as a kid or picked up from musicals.  Thus my repertoire is limited to : the anthem, Oklahoma, and Do-Re-Mi.  Not soothing.

Is there another side to the story of immigrant dominance in STEM grad programs?

A number of recently published articles have explored the large impact foreign nationals have on our economy and the number of start-ups in high tech industries they foster. Many of these articles seize upon the disproportionate representation of foreign nationals in the engineering and science programs at the graduate level at US colleges and universities. In light of current economic depths these arguments have been used to emphasize the importance of expanding immigrant H1-B working visas and streamlining US immigration procedures so that the US can "retain" these gifted scientists, engineers and scholars.

I do think that we need to reassess our legal immigration policies to address the short comings. If a student has done exceptionally well at our universities and upon graduation wants to remain in the US and contribute to our economy then we should encourage it by all means. I don't necessarily subscribe to the idea that the "knowledge" gap between American students and their foreign national counterparts is as wide as it has been made out to be. If it is then Reid Hoffman's suggestion of adding a 10% payroll tax to H1-B visa holders with that money funneled to subsidize continued education of American talent would certainly go toward addressing this gap.

My experience in engineering graduate school and as the spouse of a current engineering PHD student is that the story is more complicated than these discussions let on.

While it is true our high school math and science education are [as evidenced by standard testing] not comparing well on an international basis on average, placement in graduate studies especially at the most prestigious universities is not for the average student from the US or abroad. I think there are some other factors at play that need to be considered:

1) Is it possible that many of our best and brightest students are choosing other fields [finance?] in place of science and engineering? If so recent events may have an impact on that and we may see more American students pursuing post graduate work in Science and Engineering.

2) One observation I have is that many of the professors, often US educated, are foreign nationals and many still retain substantial links to their home countries. Students that come from their home regions or countries may be driven to perform not only because the professor holds their immigration status in their hands but also because of some personal connection. In these cases the deck is stacked against the American student.

3) In many cases it seems easier for a foreign national to get funded research or teaching assistanceships than it is for American students. I am currently still paying for 1 semester of graduate school completed at MIT 12 years ago and am well aware of the difficulty in finding a professor with funding willing to cover the expenses of your tuition. If funding is unavailable except for international students then how can we expect more representation of American students in these areas even if they are academically qualified?

I say lift the H1B cap and look at ways to devote more funding to Science and Engineering. We have always been an inclusive society and present an incredible infrastructure to promote start-ups and hi tech industries. However, please don't believe that American's are too uneducated,too unqualified or simply too unable to perform at the highest levels with foreign counterparts. There are other factors at play.


Reid Hoffman - Let Start-Ups Bail Us Out - washingtonpost.com
Reid Hoffman - Let Start-Ups Bail Us Out - washingtonpost.com

Vivek Wadhwa - They're Taking Their Brains and Going Home
Vivek Wadhwa - They're Taking Their Brains and Going Home

Vivek Wadhwa - Education, Entrepreneurship and Immigration: America's New Immigrant Entrepreneurs, Part II
Vivek Wadhwa - Education, Entrepreneurship and Immigration: America's New Immigrant Entrepreneurs, Part II

SWAT Teams in MD & Beyond

This is a link to a radio show which discusses the use of SWAT teams for regular law enforcement.  One of the guests is the mayor of Berwyn Heights, whose home was raided and whose dogs were killed, by a SWAT team with no warrant.  The raid on his house was conducted because a box of marijuana was delivered to his wife as part of a drug scheme that used random addresses for drug shipments; the conspirators would try to retrieve the boxes before the homeowners came home, or before actual delivery (with the help of deliverymen).  The mayor asked if he would have been justified in shooting the invaders, and if anyone would have protested if he had been killed while trying to protect his home with a firearm.

SWAT Teams in MD & Beyond

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Contradictory Public Policy

There are two public policies or attitudes that are in the news right now, and they seem to be incompatible.  

1. Individual Gun Rights: This is a big deal in DC right now, because Congress and the courts are very involved in overturning DC's longtime handgun ban.  I'm not invested in this issue, since I don't live in DC, but I am not anti-gun.  Crime is not noticeably low in the District, even with a handgun ban.  Anyway, the theory as presented by many conservative politicians and the NRA is that every adult should have the right to protect himself and his family with a handgun.  Fine, whatever.  Seems a little fear oriented and unreasonably optimistic, but fine.  (Optimistic: your regular Joe Schlub will keep his wits and react with cool precision as his home is invaded and stop the bad guys with kill shots to the the body or head, with no collateral damage inside or outside the home.)(Plus, Joe Schlub's gun is loaded and ready to stop aforementioned bad guys when they break in, and he doesn't have to run around the house looking for the key to the gun safe.)

2. The Government Doesn't Need a Warrant for Terrorism Cases:  The idea here being that when apprehending terrorism suspects, the Fed can knock down the door without a by your leave, so the bad guys don't have time to arm themselves, run away or destroy evidence.  All fine and good until... they get the wrong house.  Or the wrong guy.  This is not beyond the realm of possibility.  (Also please remember that many people maintain that the govt can't do anything right.  These seem to be the same people who want to enable the govt to break into anyone's house on suspicion, because they'll always be correct about the targets.)

If you are innocent Joe Schlub, sitting in your house enjoying a little Keith Olbermann and a cold craft beer, and a pack of jack-booted thugs burst into your house with guns and yelling and associated nonsense, do you not reach for your gun?  Isn't this when you are empowered by the 2nd amendment to protect your home and family?  In fact, the fiercest supporters of the 2nd have always said that personal arms are necessary to protect against tyrannical govt, which is well represented by thugs knocking down your door without warning or warrant.  So when Joe Schlub gets his gun, the Feds either a) shoot him or b) get shot.  If they get shot, is Joe in trouble because he assaulted (unidentified, yelling, home-invading) law officers?  Are all the people in favor of guns going to defend Joe for shooting some cops, when he didn't know they were cops?  Or are they going to call for his head?  After all, he's obviously guilty of something, or else his home wouldn't have been invaded.

This question is causing me some anxiety.

A Conundrum

Some weeks ago, we were having a spell of unseasonably warm weather, and son #1 would not go outside to enjoy it.  We kept encouraging him to go out and ride his bike (or skateboard or scooter), but he wouldn't stay out for more than 10 minutes.

One day on the way to school, I asked him why he never wanted to go outside and enjoy the sunshine.  "Well, I don't want to spend too much time in the sun, because I don't want my skin to look like yours, Mom."  You can imagine the stunned silence that met that.  Add in the shaft of piercing pain for hurt feelings (do I not look good?), horror (what kind of racism is this?), self-blame (where have I gone wrong in raising this child?) and extra horror (has he told other brown people he doesn't like their color?) and you just about have the atmosphere.

"Why don't you want to look like me, dear?"  

"Because I like Dad's color better."

No amount of rephrasing could get a better answer.  There was no nonsensically charming flight of fancy, like "I can see myself at night" or "I prefer milk to ice tea."  Just a niggardly* statement that he doesn't like my skin color.  I told him that sunshine and fresh air are good for him, and that he'll probably always be somewhere in between my color and his Dad's.  But... I didn't address the problem.  I'm really not sure how to tackle it, because I'm not even sure exactly what the problem is.  I don't want to start some long discussion on race, heredity, all men created equal, blah, blah, only to find out that that he uses the "flesh" color crayon to draw pictures of himself and is worried that he'll have to use "burned sienna" if he tans too much.  

So for now, this is just a niggling* issue sitting in the back of my mind.  I'm hoping to come up with some sort of approach for the next time this issue arises, if it does.

*Stop sniggering, this is serious.

Bad Mommy

I've long suspected it, but now I know it is true: I am the type of woman that will laugh at the tears of a small child. Heartily. Then fuss him out so that he has something real to cry about.

Today's example was courtesy of the #1 son, who likes the computer way too much. He came home from school and parked himself at my desk, at the neighboring computer, and began to play his games. We've been fighting this battle for 4 months, where I try to kick him out nicely, while explaining that I have work to do and his games (and his commentary on the games) are very distracting. Today I just skipped that part and settled my mind to ignoring all noise to my right. He was able to play quietly and I was able to work, and all was well with the world. Then the nanny (who keeps #2 while I'm working, and gets #1 from school. Truly, she is the shizzle) reminded him to practice piano. Good work, nanny! I don't even mind the small niggle of shame that I didn't tell him this myself. I instantly backed her up, and encouraged him to go play. While holding my gaze intently, he slowly distorted his face and let his eyes fill with tears. I had a brief thought that perhaps he felt rejected, cast out from my shining presence, etc, but then he said, "But what about my cheetos??"

The cheetos that had been untouched next to him for an hour.

This is the point at which my small frond of maternal sensitivity curled up and died, because I told him in order:
1. You must be joking me.
2. Are you seriously crying over cheetos?
3. You better quit that baby stuff because you are way too old to cry just because you've been asked to practice.

At this point the tears were rolling, the hand has been flung across his face for greater effect, and I just laughed in his face. Then I kicked him out and told him to go practice. I don't know which was worse for him- being asked to practice, or being forced to practice without an audience. If a boy plays piano but no one listens, does it fulfill his deep need for drama and attention?

At no point was I able to summon even the smallest bit of tenderness for this transaction. I am pleased with myself however, for not dropping any words like milquetoast, drama queen, or weeping wendy. It might soon be time to introduce the word "putz" though. This might get him to the next level of drama, where he saves it for an identifiable return. I have fond memories of every relative I have addressing me as Putz. As I grew older, my family name changed for a while to Jaye "Don't Be Such a F-ing Putz" Falls, but now I am back to the assortment of loving insults that were bestowed upon me as a young lass. None of this ever hurt me, or distorted my character in any (horrible, paralyzing) way. Perhaps a gentle "doofus" added to the mix would also help dry his tears. I dunno- I don't want to be rude or anything, or scar him for life.

Things That Make Me Cranky

Well, anything really, but I have some specific things in mind:

1. Being told to write 100 pages a week. That was on Monday, and now on Friday, I have written zero pages this week. Yay.

2. My office smells like skunk. It's just my part of the building, and it really, really stinks. I have a headache.

3. Because of 1 and 2, I had a "disproportionate response" to a software problem this morning. I own a copy of Adobe Acrobat Pro, which is awesome because I get to do a lot of great things with PDF files. However, I also have installed copies of Adobe Reader, for simpler things like web browsing. Turns out this morning that the latest update to Reader took over my registry and wouldn't let me use Acrobat Pro. This is a problem since I paid for that software and intend to use it until it's worn out. So in a total flame, I called Adobe tech support.

"Hello, ma'am, may I have your customer ID number?"

"No. No, you may not. This is because I don't have the docs with me and I can't open the application to give you the registration number."

Short silence as Bangalore Kid absorbs my words and tone.

"OK, describe the problem for me."

Which I did, using my nice voice and my quiet words. But...

"OK ma'am, I'm not sure what went wrong, but we no longer support Acrobat 6.0, the current version is 9.0."

"You can support me, and you will."

"But ma'am, that version is no longer..."

"I don't care about that, just fix it."

"Um... it sounds like the new version of Reader has taken over some Registry keys, and the best thing you can do is un-install Reader. For more intensive support, I'll have to charge you $39."

"You must be joking with me. Why would you issue a version of Reader that interferes with Acrobat? That's nonsensical. By the way, I'm not paying for anything. I bought this software just 5 years ago, and it would be perfectly good if you just supported it."

"Um... would you like a case number?"

"Yes, of course. I'll just un-install Reader while I'm at it, and that better fix the problem."

"Have a good day, ma'am."

So just a service announcement: 5 year old software may not be supported by the issuing company.

Of course I know that I could have just uninstalled Reader in the first place, but then I wouldn't have had the pleasure of harassing a perfectly nice kid in Bangalore. Doing it the cranky way got me extra pleasure and a touch of summer, just like a vacation, but cheaper.

All better now, and I bet I can knock those 100 pages out this afternoon.

Me and Dorian Gray

So it's Inauguration Day, and I'm really, deliriously happy. I'm not really going to write about my joy though, because I am finding that my muse prefers to sing when I am cranky. It is as if I don't possess the vocabulary to write about joyful things. I barely have the words to speak of them, and thus it has been a largely silent day.

In particular though, I'm so sceptical about people and life that I have a hard time living in the moment. Yes, it is slightly happy-making that a Democrat won this time instead of a Republican. Yes, it is utterly dumbfounding that we have elected someone who is not white, with an immigrant for a father, so young, so audacious, so relatively untried (actually that last bit is not quite so happy). I live in a country that has moved from widespread segregation and vote suppression to electing a black man in 40 years, and I've watched the inauguration next to the man I wouldn't have been allowed to marry back then. That is just... cool. But tomorrow, real life resumes, and I just don't know if any of us, much less the politicians that we routinely twist into farcical distortions of human beings, can work for something better.

Like I said, my eloquence has left me for the day (speaking of which, does anyone else fall into a flaming rage when a highly educated and/or accomplished black person is described as articulate? Of course they are articulate, you...) (Of course, I'll fall into a flaming rage if I'm stuck behind someone driving 64mph on a 65mph highway, so I may not be the best gauge of intolerable behavior). I perceive myself as a beautiful, rotund (the diet? not working) version of Dorian Gray, radiant and youthful on the outside, with a wizened little nut on the inside where a sentimental heart should be. Perhaps my refusal to fully engage with my "feelings" (cue Yentl) will keep my face young without resorting to surgery and chemicals. The upside here is that my lovely, incredibly unhealthy husband will find himself with a trophy wife in just 10 years or so, without going through the expense and bother of finding a new woman! Now that's change I can believe in.

Quotidienne

Just a quick post to note that I have nothing to say at the moment. The small details of daily life are grinding me into low-quality, grad-school grade flour, and absolutely nothing exciting or even enraging is happening in my life right now.

We started the South Beach Diet again, which is one of my favorite diets ever, for the fact that I really don't have to change the way I eat. I don't care for bread much, am not a big pasta eater, and can ignore rice when necessary. Of course, this means that the diet doesn't actually help me lose much weight, but that's ok at the moment. What it might help me do is kick the pregnancy related sweet tooth. Before Schuyler, sweets were an occasional (and relished) treat. In the last trimester or so, the Man was sent out 4 times a week for dessert. I thought that was pretty crazy, but that things would settle down after the kid was born. Sadly, the bricks of chocolate that have parked themselves on my caboose have shown that this is not the case. So I am undertaking a serious effort to rein in the sweet tooth. To put a cap on it, as it were.

The Christmas decorations were packed away while I was working on the dissertation this weekend. I was glad not to participate, because it always makes me melancholy to dismantle holiday decorations (especially without cookies and alcohol to add cheer). Anyway, as I was up in my fastness trying to wring another sentence out of my dry sponge of a mind, I heard a cry, a thump, a silence, and a loud "What did you do that for?" from the husband. Seems a fly (common house, not rampaging vampiric) had buzzed by my son, who reacted by trying to kill it. Normal enough, I suppose, even if somewhat bloodthirsty. So he threw something at it- the first thing that came to hand: a Christmas snowglobe. Not normal. I can't even express how not normal I find this. Thankfully, three seasons of baseball have left the boy with a throw only his mother could love, and the snowglobe failed to go through a window. It did not fail to break.

So like I said, not much happening on the ranch lately. Just two adults going through bad food withdrawal and a kid who is competing with my cousin for the WTF medal of honor.

Bah * Humbug

This post will be like a Madlib. Whereever I put an asterisk, you put the appropriate participle of f**k. I would just write it, but then I'd have to admit to taking the low road. This way, I can keep in sight of the high road.

This untethered rant comes to you courtesy of the Giant grocery store around the corner from my house. I went there for flour and dutch process cocoa, so I can complete the Great Baking Project of 2008. Flour was easy to find, and I looked carefully on the baking aisle for the cocoa, but there was none to be found. I checked the coffee, tea and cocoa aisle, just in case someone had put the baking cocoa over there, but no * luck. In the meantime, at least 6 store employees walked past me, but none of them could stop to answer my question, because they were too * busy talking to each other. Instead of wasting my time further, I went to customer service to ask for the cocoa. This is a pretty common baking item, mind you, and is chemically different from natural cocoa, so I can't just substitute one for the other. I stood in line waiting for the lottery junkies to conclude their business, and ask the clerk for the cocoa. "What?" she says, dully. *, I think to myself. I repeated it louder and slower (instantly transforming myself into some * version of a * tourist without a grasp of the local lingo), and she repeated it after me. "Oh, that will be either in aisle 6 or aisle 10." Well, I know it's not in 6, because I just spent 5 minutes examining every * box of flavored chemical cake mix and * esoteric flour variety and didn't find it. So I wander over to aisle 10 to look for the * cocoa and lose my tenuous grip on my * mind because aisle 10 is the * INTERNATIONAL FOOD AISLE. Apparently, Little Miss Clerk assumed that "Dutch process" means * foreign, because she sent me to international food to look for it. Is this where she sends people looking for French Roast Coffee, German Potato Salad, or Hawaian Punch? This is what happens when the * grocery store hires * sullen people who can't take the time to look for an item in an index so that they can render something * approaching customer service. *. While I'm being sent all over the durned store looking for this basic baking supply, I've picked up 10 things I didn't come in for, so I can have eggnog and taboule while typing this, thus earning what will no doubt be a * epic attack of dyspepsia. Also took a detour to the produce section to find out that there are no cranberries. What kind of store in America doesn't have cranberries 3 days before Christmas? *. *. Seriously.

Books I Shall Write

1. The Truth About Pregnancy: a comparison of what obstetricians around the world tell women to do, and how (un)connected these commandments are to science. Nonfiction.

2. Non-alcoholic Cocktails: a recipe collection for non-alcoholic drinks, for those who want something to drink besides water, soda, or caffeinated drinks. Nonfiction.

3. How to Pump Breast Milk with Dignity: including a chapter on how to muffle the incredibly loud sound of a breastpump while at work. Fairy Tale.

Glass House Broken, Resident Fails to Notice

When I'm sick, I get stupid (handy excuse, really).

I was at the gas station yesterday, having coasted in on the last fumes. Was standing idly, waiting for full to happen when I noticed the price of $2.15/gallon. Whoa, why does the gas cost so much! (Incredible, when 3 months ago I would have been gloating over that low price) Turns out that I had started to pump high octane instead of regular. So I stopped and attempted to restart with the cheaper fuel. At this point I had a little song and dance with my debit card and the pump, with some apparent silicon confusion over my double purchase. I finally had to go inside and (gasp) speak to an attendant to get the pump turned on. Let's not dwell on how long it took me to identify the pump number, since I haven't had to look for one since 1998.

Came back out, resumed my idle stance waiting for the tank to fill. Noted that the woman in front of me was cleaning her windshield, but had taken the squeegee closest to MY car. "Geez," I thought, "that woman is dumb. Why didn't she just take the one closest to her?" So I decide that I should clean my windshield, and stroll over to get the squeegee closest to HER car. Very slow and deliberate movements, so she can understand the extra steps that she'll never get back into her life. Cleaned my windshield, but not fast enough, because she finished first, and put her squeegee back into the bucket closest to me! What a maroon! How could she fail to notice my elaborate and graceful kabuki meant entirely to educate her? What kind of person takes the extra steps to put the squeegee back into the wrong place? How on earth did she start this ridiculousness in the first place?

I can only imagine that when she got home, she confessed all to the first person she spoke to: "Some bitch tried to start something with me at the gas station, but I decided not to engage, because she was clearly out of her mind."

I'm Sick, and You Should Care

The title says it all really. If I weren't a total baby when I get sick, then I wouldn't be compelled to foist this information upon you, but that would be a different universe, with different constants (a little reference to the Anthropomorphic Universe, which theory totally annoys me).

Anywho, this stupid virus descended upon me at least a week ago, and had taken a leisurely migration from the back of my throat down to my upper chest. This means I am now wracked with coughing spasms several times a day, and continuously at night. What's amusing about this is that I am now coughing so much that I am also tossing up my food. That's right, these coughs come in color. That Devil Baby sure was surprised last night when she threw up on me and I promptly returned the favor. Bet that stops her excessive spitting up. Now she knows if she throws up, I'm going to give her something to throw up about. Or something like that.

So anyway, I dragged my very sorry butt into work today, and have been coughing all over the office. This has not helped my popularity, but has raised my spirits at the thought of all the people who may shortly be joining me in my misery. How sick am I? I'm so sick that I have on my desk a jar of Indian Ayurvedic medicine, provided by the research scientist who works next door. He explained that this medicine was concocted in Bangalore, and is based on the theory of the four humours. This one targets phlegm, with which I am currently well provided (you could say I'm quite phlegmatic, if you wanted to be a giant dork). Did I laugh at him for buying medicine based on philosophies that were obsolete 300 years ago? No! I thanked him humbly and fully plan to take this Bangalore-produced, phlegm-reducing compound.

At least my coughs will taste like spice, instead of 5 day old mashed potatoes.

No Wine for You

Actually, there's plenty of wine for you, if you'd like a white or a red that compliments turkey. We had 10 adults and 6 bottles of wine for 2 days, which I thought would be terribly insufficient. With 4 bottles remaining, it looks like I was wrong. I have strong memories of merry family holidays where the adults got slightly tipsy and stayed up late every night talking and playing games. Well now that my kids are the only ones too young to drink, most of the rest of the crew has gotten too old! The worst part is that everyone can give a litany of pills and conditions that make wine drinking inadvisable, so they have not only gotten old, but they are falling apart, too :(

Still, even without the social lubricant, my highly opinionated and aggressive family managed to enjoy the dinner and the company without cross words: a miracle when all of us are absolute experts (!) about everything (it's them really, I'm very laid back and easy to get along with).

Where's the Balance?

We have my family coming in today for the holiday. This should be a simple, happy thing to look forward to, because I really enjoy all my relatives individually. But because I'm mildly neurotic and they are extremely neurotic, I've got a little tension going. Firstly, I'm low energy because of my 4th cold since Baby Devil was born 3 months ago; the house is even less tidy than usual. This is really saying something, and can't possibly go unnoticed by the Fam. The thing is that we have a slightly strange group dynamic sometimes, where we are all so busy trying to impress each other with our virtues (I keep my house really clean, I work extra hard at my job, I've got more degrees than I have fingers, I have more energy than you and I'm 60 years older), that we forget to just relax and enjoy each other. So I know that even though there may not be much said, at least two people are going to walk into my house and wonder how their virtues failed to come down to me.

The upside is that I have a haircut scheduled for this afternoon, so at least the unspoken criticism hanging in the air won't apply to my grooming, as it did for at least the first 25 years of my life (this may have been justified, as I went through extended periods of very low maintenance and a strange insistence on wearing clothing and shoes until the cloth wore thin and the soles disintegrated).

So why write about it? Because I'm going to take my hostessing duties seriously, and try to keep my guests happy and entertained. I have games (with all the pieces and directions!), I have snacks (sweet and salty, healthy and fatty. Remind me to mention the sweet and salty again*), newspapers, and a little list of current events that might be interesting to discuss without leading to acrimonious arguments. The piece de resistance of course, is Baby Devil, who will smile and spit alternately, thus allowing everyone to be charmed and to indulge in extended conversations about what I am doing to cause all the spitting. The current frontrunner over the phone is that she is probably allergic to breastmilk- convenient theory, given the general familial opposition to breastfeeding... Anyway, I'll even suffer that with a smile, as long as it helps everyone enjoy the holiday. This is a bit of a new venture for me, as most entertainment events in our house involve inviting people over, giving them a bit of food and as much wine as they want, and chatting about whatever occurs. I'm even going to try the major sacrifice of not cracking on my favorite little cousin (who's taller than me, damn her), no matter how easy she makes it. If she talks about going to the tanning salon, I will not laugh (hello, you're black!), if she complains about having no money, but has new tatoos and her fourth hair color since July, I will take a minute to remember how much I love this kid before I wisecrack. Plus, by restraining myself now and not laughing at her right away, I can save up any truly memorable bits to write about later.

So now off to the train station to begin the madness. The order of the day is to enjoy the people I love, without getting caught in the death spiral of mad family competition. No showing off the sharp wit (well, only a little bit), no snark, no secret longing to get back to the dissertation. This is going to be a slightly delicate walk, but I am filled with optimism.

*My grandmother (94) is the Queen of Sweet and Salty. She'll eat a meal and then say she has a taste for something sweet. Normal, right? After the sweet though, she'll have a taste for something salty. You know the next bit- it isn't long before she'll have a taste for something sweet. I remember a time when she could go through 3 or 4 iterations. Just a bite of each, but it would get funnier every time. Her pantry and refrigerator were filled with little snacks and sauces on either end of the spectrum, for when she got a "taste" for something.

**Anyone looking in my pantry might be able to find the same sort of pattern, without trying too hard.

Oh My

Haven't wanted to write about politics, for fear of jinxing things. Now that it looks like the election is decided, I'm overwhelmed. Are you? We could have 4 years of the most ordinary presidency (which could happen, all you left wingnuts out there), and I'll still think this is an amazing moment for us, one that I didn't think was very likely. I'm taking 5 minutes to taste the magic, so I don't forget how this feels.

Back to regular skepticism about politics and people tomorrow.

Twofer Thursday

Mooning about Brad Pitt reminds me of another favorite actor: Keanu Reeves. I think I might have a unique standard of what constitutes good acting because I rarely find anyone who agrees with me about Pitt or Reeves. My favorite movies from these two are those where the characters are sort of... blank. I think Keanu delivers this sort of performance so well that he achieves a Zen state, and I can see through him to the meaning of the whole story. There is no distracting involvement with the character, just lots of head space to think about the story being told and to develop deep thoughts about the themes. The Matrix is his masterpiece in this genre. Can the viewer become emotionally involved with Neo? No, the viewer cannot! Instead, on the surface you can appreciate the visual, but the remaining 99% of your brain can wrestle with the meaning of the matrix, and all the different philosophical ramifications. Pure bliss. A thinking person's movie.

Similarly for Maestro Pitt. He excels with the blank character that draws you deeper into the movie than you otherwise might go. His only real problem is fabulous good looks that tempt the viewer to stay on the surface of the movie. This can be a serious problem, as there is frequently insufficient surface tension to support sustained interest. It is only by going deeper that the reward can be obtained. A River Runs Through It is supposedly about the relationship between a father and his sons. In reality (or my reality, which is close enough for current purposes), it is a meditation piece on the beauty of nature, and the moral necessity of protecting our environment. To access this deeper truth, just stare at Le Pitt as the sun shines through his golden locks: deep contemplation will result in correspondingly deep thoughts. (Seriously. I defy you to try to actually follow the plot. You are obviously meant to be thinking, not listening.) (Legends of the Fall is for advanced masters of this technique. More beautiful, less plot coherence, requiring more discipline to achieve the zen state.)

You can have your method actors and whatnot. All I ask for is an actor who can give me the room to think during the movie and come to my own conclusions. And make up my own story, for that matter. That's way more than two hours of entertainment.

Guilty Pleasures

I'm finding that part of growing old for me is losing that sense that the bad things I do are actually bad. I mean, I'm so obsessed by my weight and unfitness that drinking a milkshake feels earthshakingly awful, but in reality, only a newspaper reporter with nothing better to do would act like a milkshake might cause the end of the world. So there are two things bothering me on this front:

1. The milkshake. I took Hunter to McD the other day, and I ordered a small pumpkin milkshake. Ordinarily, there is nothing at that place I will eat, but add a little flavor to a soy(lent-green) shake and I'm all over it. I saved it for lunch the next day and it was sweet. I figured it would be another year or so before I had another. But then I posted about it on Facebook, and my sweet Sweetness bought me another one! Which I also enjoyed with complete gusto. The "problem" is that I have this feeling of doom now, like I will gain 100 pounds and die of organ failure or something. This seems like an overreaction, right? I attribute this to all of the media stories about fat people ruining the world, and the immediate death that results from eating fast food.

2. I'm going out with friends tomorrow. We have planned for ourselves an exciting evening out without kids or husbands. Is there drinking? Dancing? Half-dressed boys trying not to look obviously gay while we wave dollar bills at them? Not so much. We are going out for dinner and a movie. The thing is that I'm really looking forward to it with as much excitement as I would have for gay dancing boys. Just a nice, suburban night featuring other adults and a movie that isn't for kids.

So here's the problem: I feel like our culture can distort both good and bad things until it is hard to tell which is which. I have overwhelming guilt about two milkshakes, when I shouldn't have thought about them at all once they were in my gullet, because I've been told over and over that only self-indulgent Fatty McMuffins are so sinful as to drink milkshakes. Second, I feel funny about looking forward to a pleasant evening because the plans aren't filled with drama and excitement. It's as if I'm comparing my fun times to some sort of celebrity meter, and because there is no space in my life for Brad Pitt and bright lights, I'm almost embarrassed that such a tame night could cause such anticipation.

Does anyone else ever have this sort of cognitive dissonance?

Anyway, my mid-October resolutions are to not ruin a guilty pleasure by over-indulging in the guilt part, and to enjoy to the full even the mildest, most ordinary social occasions, without worrying about insufficient glamour. And to make more room in my life for Brad Pitt.*


*For the Brad Pitt skeptics, I say only this: Legends of the Fall, A River Runs Through It, etc. Movies that are just as good without sound as with are true masterpieces.

Sarah Palin meets Fargo

Yah... Super..

Perspective

As I was walking from my Siberian parking lot to my office this morning, I was stewing on the day's injustices: creaky knees, infuriatingly painful heel spur, cut off by four different drivers on the road, stuck behind someone driving 30 mph on the bridge who sped up to 60 mph when I tried to pass him. The usual. As I creaked along thinking my grumpy thoughts, I saw ahead of me 3 nasty little coeds completely blocking the sidewalk. "What is wrong with these spoiled brats with their too short skirts and huge senses of entitlement? Why do they think they need to block this SIDEWALK with their inconsequential conversation about their boyfriends and their upcoming winter vacactions in St. Moritz?" As I came closer to them I started to power up my hairy eyeball, the one that can make a grown man cringe in fear and abject apology. Just as I was about to give them a good lasering, I heard the phrase "x-axis", and then I saw that they were all giving each other a hand gesture. Yes, it was the international sign for geek (right-hand), and they were proudly displaying 3 stiff fingers and rolling their wrists around. In that moment, I suddenly saw not 3 nasty little coeds, but instead a group of dedicated scholars discussing fundamental concepts in the lovely autumn sunshine. It was such a sudden shift in perspective that my grumpiness fell away and I glided away to my office with lighter feet. I suppose if I want to find some useless little kids to glare at, I should wander over to the other (liberal arts!) side of campus.

Their skirts were still way too short though. A couple semesters of vector calc, accompanied by weeks of pizza and beer, should take care of that problem.