Jokes that make physics nerds laugh.
String theory zombies: "Branes. Branes."
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Category: Banalities & Journaling
Caveat: Soup for Nostalgia’s Sake on the Field of Justice
I don't get very ambitious with my cooking, much, these days.
Mostly, every time I buy some food item or attempt to cook some food item, out of craving or whatever, I am inevitably disappointed. Eating just isn't fun – not even the the easiest-to-eat foods, like omelettes or noodle soup (국수) or rice porridge (죽) – at best, they are utilitarian and serve the purpose of providing me with sustenance with minimal discomfort.
So mostly I just don't bother. I have my instant soup mixes and my pasta and my eggs, and I prepare them always the same way and with the least effort required, because putting in extra effort or attention to detail offers no noticeable improvement in quality-of-experience.
Last night I was feeling nostalgic. I had run into a former student, Eunjin, on the street the other day, and she shocked me by running up to me and hugging me (note that Koreans are not, normally, notable for effusiveness in this manner). She is in high school now but she had always been a remarkably motivated student in the years I taught her. She told me she hated English now because of how it is taught in high school, but she missed my classes. That was flattering, I guess.
Then my former coworker Ken stopped by work last night. He's left the English teaching biz and is working for Samsung in some businessman-type functionality. This is probably good for his bank account and his ambition, but may be contrary to his core inclinations. Anyway, although I don't think of him that often, in seeing him I realized I missed the constant dialogue and banter I'd had with him during our years working together.
Anyway, I was feeling nostalgic, and when I get nostalgic, I sometimes find myself cooking, for no good reason whatsoever.
I made pea soup. It wasn't exceptionally fun to eat, but the act of making it was enjoyable, if that makes any sense.
What I'm listening to right now.
Philip Glass, "Satyagraha (Act 1, Tolstoy)."
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: Rogue Teratocytes
I was reading a blog I sometimes frequent, called slatestarcodex, authored by a rather polymathic psychiatrist who has some background in conworlding (which the context in which I first came across him).
He mentioned in one of his collections of links a concept I hadn't come across before, which is the idea of "cell line infections." Since this was clearly related to cancer, and I've become a bit of a glutton for semi-hypochondrial cancer-related online reading, I followed the link and satisfied my curiosity.
Here is the article. I also did some reading in wikipedia.
Cell line infections are scary. The idea is that a given cancer can "evolve" sufficiently that it can be transmitted like other infections vectors – e.g. bacteria or viruses or prions – to other individuals. There are now documented CLIs for dogs, clams, and tasmanian devils (and in the last case, it may be contributing to the rapid extinction of the species). Basically, the idea is that my cancer could end up in your body, and take root there and become your cancer. Infectious cancer. More fun.
From a biological perspective, these cell line infections are weird. These are things that behave, for all intents and purposes, like single-celled parasitic organisms, not unlike infectious bacteria. Yet genetically they are your relatives (well, they are the relatives of the particular individual in whom they first arose). To anthropomorphize a bit, they know you. In the documented instance, the dog CLI knows how to deal with a dog immune system, for example – because it is, in a genetic sense, just a weird manifestation of an actual dog – a sort of single-celled vector of a dog.
Apparently, there is something similar in the always-wacky insect world, among what are called parasitoid wasps. These wasps' eggs and larvae (implanted in other insect species' larvae) send out single-celled vectors called teratocytes that manipulate the host individuals' metabolisms to make it a friendlier environment for the growing eggs. This is not the same as e.g. the infamous toxoplasmosis, which is a case of a kind of mutualistic/parasitic symbiosis between a single-celled organism and several multicelled organisms. Instead, these teratocyte vectors sent out by the wasps are members of the same wasp species, genetically – just a kind of strange phenotype.
So following on that insect-related terminology, maybe these mammalian cell line infections could be called "rogue mammalian teratocytes."
Just when one feels one has a handle on what is biologically possible, something comes along that makes it all seem quite ephemeral, and ungraspable – the cohesive theoretic picture melts into a swirling, incoherent field of possibilities, like a poorly-realized science fiction novel.
[daily log: walking, 7 km]
Caveat: I am not in Florida
… but my brother is in Florida.
He sent me this picture.
One of our bonds, when we were both much younger, was building sandcastles on the beach in L.A. As an example, the below picture was taken at Santa Monica in circa 1994.
You can see the stylistic similarities.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: Out of kindness, I suppose…
Drizzly Sunday, and a typical lack of motivation to do even the barest minimum of things I probably should do.
What I'm listening to right now.
Willie Nelson and Merle Haggard, "Pancho and Lefty."
Lyrics were by Townes Van Zandt.
Livin' on the road my friend
Is gonna keep you free and clean
And now you wear your skin like iron
And your breath is hard as kerosene
You weren't your mama's only boy
Her favorite one it seems
She began to cry when you said
Good-bye, sank to your dreams
Pancho was a bandit boy
His horse was fast as polished steel
He wore his gun outside his pants
For all the honest world to feel
Pancho met his match, you know
On the deserts down in Mexico
Nobody heard his dyin' word
Oh but that's the way it goes
<chorus:>
All the Federales say
We could have had him any day
They only let him go so long
Out of kindness I suppose
Lefty he can't sing the blues
All night long like he used to
The dust that Pancho bit down South
Ended up in Lefty's mouth
The day they lay poor Pancho low
Lefty split for Ohio
Where he got the bread to go
There ain't nobody knows
<chorus:>
All the Federales say
We could have had him any day
They only let him go so long
Out of kindness I suppose
The poets tell how Poncho fell
And Lefty's livin' in a cheap hotel
The desert's quiet, Cleveland's cold
And so the story ends we're told
Pancho needs your prayers, it's true
Save a few for Lefty too
He only did what he had to do
And now he's growin' old
<chorus:>
All the Federales say
We could have had him any day
They only let him go so long
Out of kindness I suppose
A few gray Federales say
Could have had him any day
We only let him go so long
Out of kindness I suppose
[daily log: walking, 1 km]
Caveat: Here Read This
My boss Curt handed me this document and said "here, you can read this."
I think it will take me a long time with a dictionary. It's an excerpt from a teaching innovation periodical… something about some great new teaching methodology or something.
What I'm listening to right now.
Linkin Park, "In The End."
Lyrics.
It starts with
One thing I don't know why
It doesn't even matter how hard you try
Keep that in mind, I designed this rhyme
To explain in due time
All I know
Time is a valuable thing
Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings
Watch it count down to the end of the day
The clock ticks life away
It's so unreal
Didn't look out below
Watch the time go right out the window
Trying to hold on but didn't even know
I wasted it all just to watch you go
I kept everything inside and even though I tried, it all fell apart
What it meant to me will eventually be a memory of a time when…
I tried so hard
And got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter
I had to fall
To lose it all
But in the end
It doesn't even matter
One thing, I don't know why
It doesn't even matter how hard you try
Keep that in mind, I designed this rhyme
To remind myself how
I tried so hard
In spite of the way you were mocking me
Acting like I was part of your property
Remembering all the times you fought with me
I'm surprised it got so (far)
Things aren't the way they were before
You wouldn't even recognize me anymore
Not that you knew me back then
But it all comes back to me
In the end
You kept everything inside and even though I tried, it all fell apart
What it meant to me will eventually be a memory of a time when…
I tried so hard
And got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter
I had to fall
To lose it all
But in the end
It doesn't even matter
I've put my trust in you
Pushed as far as I can go
For all this
There's only one thing you should know
I've put my trust in you
Pushed as far as I can go
For all this
There's only one thing you should know
I tried so hard
And got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter
I had to fall
To lose it all
But in the end
It doesn't even matter
[daily log: walking, 1km]
Caveat: The Coolest Alligator
My notes from a recent staff meeting included a very cool alligator.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: Mean Kids
I had a frustrating day with my elementary kids. I feel like I'm not bad as an English teacher, but sometimes I am befuddled by trying to teach kids other things, like how to be kind to each other.
Several incidents recently have underscored how cruel kids can be, and I am at an utter loss as to how to teach kindness – the one thing I am certain of is that getting angry and yelling and scolding is NOT the way… because, in fact, that is exactly the type of unkindness it is purported to prevent.
Anyway. Shrug.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: Plexiglass Pontiac
"Plexiglass Pontiac" sounds like the name of an alternative rock band from Michigan, but in fact it's a real thing that was made in 1939 to show off the new material called Plexiglass (clear plastic). They called it the "ghost car."
I saw a mention of it on the mymodernmet website. It reminded me of my childhood, indirectly – the exposed innards of pre-WWII cars were a fixture of my childhood, due to my father's hobby (and for a time, profession) of old car collector.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: Criminals can be informed
We had a debate proposition in my Honors1-T반, "Criminals can be reformed." One student, Roy, either misunderstood or took bad notes. He argued the proposition "Criminals can be informed."
The reasons that he gave in his essay were incoherent. I wonder why?
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: Teacher! Kevin hit me
Vona is a first year middle-school student (so, 7th grade). She has been stopping by now and then to say hi, since the middle schoolers are in exam prep right now and I don't see them in class.
Today, she stopped by and she said, "all you do is rest?" I had to show her that I was actually working on stuff and not just sitting idly at my desk in the staff room all evening while the middle schoolers labor away at grammar quizzes in their special prep classes. She nodded, as if not quite believing that I was working. She asked if I had any food. This is a standard refrain from middle school students. I offered to sell her a cookie for alligator dollars, but she demurred. She started to walk away.
Then she turned and complained, as if an afterthought, "Teacher! Kevin hit me."
"That seems believable," I said. "Well, probably he likes you," I mused, teasing.
"Oh." She considered this a moment, as if it genuinely had never occurred to her. "Well, I think it's OK, then."
She walked away.
[daily log: walking, 6.5 km]
Caveat: Karmic Spring
It is spring, I guess. I took this picture from the pedestrian footbridge crossing 일산로 (Ilsan Road) as I was arriving at work. That’s work: “카르마어(학원)” = “Karma Language (Academy)” – the last word obscured by blossoms.
I didn’t have a lot to do today, what I did do was a bit stressful. I’m not happy with my Alpha class. I need to rethink strategies.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: Chicken Bling
This was a flyer left on my door. This is a frequent form of advertising in Korea.
The main text is all borrowings from English: 치즈블링치킨 (chijeu-beulling-chikin = cheese bling chicken). Even the chickens have bling, now, it seems.
[daily log: walking, 7 km]
Caveat: 바보선언
Last night, about 11 pm, I had the TV on, which is becoming a usual thing. Keep in mind that it’s just Korean broadcast channels (I don’t pay for cable), so my level of comprehension of the 99% Korean-language broadcasts is only low-to-medium, and therefore I kind of just keep it on as a background noise. It’s part of my philosophy that one way that my Korean will improve is with maximization of input.
Sometimes these old Korean movies come on, on the EBS network. The one that came on caught my attention, and I sat and watched it, rapt.
It was 바보선언. I guess it could be translated as “Declaration of an Idiot” or “Fool’s Declaration.” The internet translation I ran across was “Declaration of Idiot” but the lack of particle makes me think it’s not a well-thought-out translation. More online research found out about it, here (there’s not much about it anywhere in English).It was directed by Lee, Chang-ho.
The lack of subitles on the television was irrelevant, for once – the movie has almost no dialogue and what dialogue there is strikes me as more absurdist or atmospheric than relevant. Compositionally, with its many non-sequiturs and absurdities, the thing reminded me of something by Ionesco, such as La Cantatrice Chauve, but impressionistically one could say it is a kind of cross be Koyaanisquatsi and a Korean slapstick comedy “Gag Concert.” The show’s soundscape is remarkable, too, and its interesting that it captures the atmospheric of the early 1980s better than most American
movies I’ve seen of the era (keeping in mind that that is my era, having graduated high school in the year this movie came out), despite being filtered through Korean culture.
Further, the movie is quite subversive. It’s important to remember that in 1983, Korea was still a military dictatorship, during its twilight phase after the assassination of Park. As such, for example, the symbolism quite striking in the final scene, where the two “fools” are striping off their clothes and dancing wildly in front of the recognizable icon that is the National Assembly building, gesticulating at it wildly. That building was only 8 years old in 1983, and it must have symbolized an empty promise of democracy to South Koreans then entering their third decade of authoritarianism. How did this get past the censors?
Overall, it is a snapshot of the Korean id, circa 1983. Fascinating.
Oh, and guess what? It’s on youtube, with subtitles. You can watch it.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: tan hermosa que aprendí a cantar
Pasar el horizonte envejecido Y mirar en el fondo de los sueños La estrella que palpita Eras tan hermosa que no pudiste hablar Yo me alejé pero llevo en la mano Aquel cielo nativo Con un sol gastado Esta tarde en un café he bebido Un licor tembloroso Como un pescado rojo Y otra vez en el vaso escondido Ese sueño filial Eras tan hermosa que no pudiste hablar En tu pecho agonizaba Eran verdes tus ojos pero yo me alejaba Eras tan hermosa que aprendí a cantar
– Vicente Huidobro, Ecuatorial (1918)
It was a lousy day – I had been feeling better, but my body is good at recognizing when I have a day off, and it immediately got sick again. Bleaugh.
What I'm listening to right now.
Joywave, "Somebody New."
Lyrics.
With my eyes on the prize
Not a thing to my name
With my head in the clouds
And my body don't waste
Don't wanna ever wake up
Don't wanna ever wake up, I don't
Don't wanna ever wake up
Next to somebody new
Don't wanna ever wake up
Don't wanna ever wake up, I don't
Don't wanna ever wake up
Next to somebody new
With my eyes to the south
And my brain up in space
Flip my nervous hips around
I'm a step out a sync
Don't wanna ever wake up
Don't wanna ever wake up, I don't
Don't wanna ever wake up
Next to somebody new
Don't wanna ever wake up
Don't wanna ever wake up, I don't
Don't wanna ever wake up
Next to somebody new
Don't wanna ever wake up
Don't wanna ever wake up, I don't
Don't wanna ever wake up
Next to somebody new
Don't wanna ever wake up
Don't wanna ever wake up, I don't
Don't wanna ever wake up
Next to somebody new
Don't wanna ever wake up
Don't wanna ever wake up, I don't
Next to somebody new
[daily log: walking, 1 km]
Caveat: Another iteration, this time, a naverly blog
I have attempted to set up and maintain a "work" blog before – as something separate from this personal blog, that would accessible to coworkers, students and parents as a way to keep records as well as a way to let students know what to do.
Previous attempts failed for multiple reasons. Not least, I wasn't ever very good at sticking to it. Yet I stick to this here personal blog pretty well. One issue is that most Koreans – who would be ALL of my audience at a work blog, basically – aren't that comfortable navigating out into the non-Korean internet. So I decided that this time, I would put the blog inside the Korean web. I am using a free blog platform provided by Naver (pronounced by Koreans to match "neighbor", hence my pun in my title). Naver is a sort of Korean Yahoo-meets-Google, a dominant internet portal with its fingers everywhere.
I worked hard, over the last 2 weeks, to transfer the existing content from the previous two iterations of my "work" blog into this new platform. It's hard to use – not least because everything is in Korean. My blog entries, of course, are in English – so you can look at it if you want. From those previous incarnations, there are actually almost 200 blog posts stretching back, inconsistently, for years. So it might be interesting to look at: a lot of minimally edited video of students practicing speeches and roleplays, etc.
Anyway, here it is: blog.naver.com/jaredway.
I will try very hard to update it every day with a "Class Blog" for each class I teach that day. I keep thinking – if I do it with my personal blog, surely I can do it with a work blog, right?
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: With The Forlorn Faces of Hunted Animals
Four times a year, Korean middle-school students undergo the grueling trials and tribulations of exam time, which they call 내신 (nae-sin, which I think might translate more as "transcript building" than "exam" per se). During the month preceding the exams, the hagwon schedule changes and they go into an intensive test-prep period. As a foreign, non-Korean-speaking teacher, I am viewed as useless for this enterprise, which I desultorily concede – it's due to the fact that the quarterly English exam is mostly written in, um… Korean. Which is to say, it's a test of English grammar and vocabulary, in which all the "meta" language (how to answer each question, the grammatical descriptions, etc.) are all in Korean.
Anyway, the consequence of this is that I get an easier teaching schedule for a few weeks, four times a year. After the long, dry, hard-working winter, today my nae-sin semi-, mini- vacation started, and along with it, we had a weird, almost summer-like thunderstorm, which felt quite eerie and alien in early spring, and after a precipitationless 4 months of Siberian winter.
My middle school students pause at this window we have, now, between the staff room and the hallway, in our new building. They gaze at me sulkingly, with the forlorn faces of hunted animals.
Seokho poked his head into the doorway of the staff room.
"Do you miss me already?" I asked, joking.
"A lot," he sighed.
"Four more weeks!" I tried to offer, as upbeat as possible.
I finished posting my term grades and glided home in the rain, feeling as if a burden had lifted.
In fact though, I miss the middle-schoolers, too, when they descend into memorizationland. The whole middle-school teaching thing has grown on me, I guess. The little ones are fun, and I like to play, but the middle-schoolers offer opportunities for communication.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: Breakdancing to Sad Songs About Autumn
Well, the song is "Autumn," which is kind of the wrong theme, for Spring. But I liked this song, and I thought the kids did pretty well. And now it's stuck in my head.
Little Chloe on the left was breakdancing through the whole song, too.
The Sirius Ban, "Autumn."
Lyrics.
The leaves are changing their colors, their colors
And the sky is coming much closer, much closer
It's clear and blue
Wonderful
Autumn is coming to you
(repeat)
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: 一刻千金
I ran across this four-character Chinese aphorism online.
一刻 千金
일각천금
il.gak.cheon.geum
moment-wealth
The second of the two terms, which I rendered, after much equivocation, as “wealth,” is literally “thousand pieces of gold.” The idea is that each moment is precious.
You wouldn’t know that from how I waste my time. Er… or is that the point?
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: Didn´t Wanna Fight
I didn't wanna fight with my laziness. I just let it walk all over me. Yay.
What I'm listening to right now.
Alabama Shakes, "Don't Wanna Fight."
Lyrics.
My life, your life
Don't cross them lines
What you like, what I like
Why can't we both be right?
Attacking, defending
Until there's nothing left worth winning
Your pride and my pride
Don't waste my time
I don't wanna fight no more [x6]
Take from my hand
Put in your hands
The fruit of all my grief
Lying down ain't easy
When everyone is pleasing
I can't get no relief
Living ain't no fun
The constant dedication
Keeping the water and power on
There ain't nobody left
Why can't I catch my breath?
I'm gonna work myself to death
I don't wanna fight no more [x6]
No, no, no, no!
I don't wanna fight no more [x7]
I don't wanna fight, I don't wanna fight!
I don't wanna fight no more [x8]
[daily log: walking, 
]
Caveat: Sociopath?
I had been kind of making a joke about it in class. I was trying to distinguish the meanings of “sociopath” and “psychopath,” which had arisen some time ago in a reading passage in another class the kids had and so they’d asked me.
So I said, “well, Sangjin here is a sociopath, while Jinu, well, he’s a psychopath.” The kids seemed to find this entertaining to think about, as I explained the way the two boy’s personalities seemed to match these concepts somewhat: Jinu is kind of a “wild boy” and rather impulsive and easily distracted, and Sangjin is more just the quietly watching and muttering type, talking about things to himself, but then doing these very charming speeches and showing surprising charisma.
Later, Sangjin came into the staff room.
“Do you really think I’m a sociopath?”
I couldn’t figure out if he was offended or pleased with the idea, so I equivocated.
He said, “I think maybe I am.”
“Well, you don’t have to be,” I said, not sure what tone of seriousness to assume. He’s a very smart kid, but there is something a little bit dark about his personality, for an 8th grader. He’d be a goth if he was an American teen.
“I want to be a sociopath,” he insisted, like a cross between a movie villain and cheerful puppy.
“Hmm. Well, just try to be nice to people,” I said, feeling out of my depth.
I didn’t really know where to go with it. He’s the sort where maybe he was just testing my reaction. If he was willing to work harder, he could be in our highest group of TOEFL students, but he’s not really interested in academics. He draws pictures of explosions on his note paper. This isn’t really particularly disturbing to me – I remember drawing a lot of explosions at that age.
I told him he was very smart, and should come in my TOEFL class.
“That is too much work,” he sighed. We’d had that snippet of conversation before.
[daily log: walking, 7 km]
Caveat: Can’t Find the Garbage
It must be spring in Ilsan. The mormons come out in their noachian pairs and buzz at the major pedestrian crossways, like well-dressed flies that can't find the garbage. I saw three sets today: walking along Jungang-no, at Juyeop station, and crossing Ilsan-no close to work. Sometimes I talk to them, even, but mostly now I don't.
I'm tired although I had a fairly light teaching load today. I guess I'm still not fully recovered from the horrible cold thing I had.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: 너무 많은 기침
Wow what a horrible flu this is that I have right now.
I woke up at around 4 am because I was coughing. I took some cough suppressant, drank some tea, and after a few hours, I went back to sleep again.
I had very strange dream-snippets.
In one memorable dream fragment, a student was following me around, poking me and invading my space and being generally annoying. I had this weird lucid-dreaming insight: I thought to myself, in the dream, “well, this is a dream, so it doesn’t matter what I do…” I spun around and punched the student. There, that took care of that. Actually, I don’t normally harbor impulses like that, but I think I know what it’s about.
I woke up with a kind of spasmodic turn and the sun was shining into my eyes.
I spent the day watching Korean documentaries and sneezing and dozing. I finished that Tolkien book I’ve been reading, but didn’t have the gumption to start something new.
Unrelated quote of the day:
“If I owned a dam and decided to donate it to charity, would I be giving a dam? I’m sure that might be a first because no one really gives a dam.” – the internet
What I’m listening to right now.
Junip, “Always.”
Lyrics.
Droning chords and distant bells
Humming over empty shells
Holding on tight onto a dead sky
Nomadic moves across a lawn
Inch by inch into the dawn
Holding on tight onto a dead sky
Turn a deaf ear no matter what they might say
Always
Turn a deaf ear pushing you further away
Always
Droning chords and distant bells
To what’s been over since the fall
Holding tight to what’s been felt
Holding on tight onto a dead sky
Turn a deaf ear no matter what they might say
Always
Turn a deaf ear pushing you further away
Always
[daily log: coughing, 6k]
Caveat: Spring smog over Hugok
Walking to work, the haze was terrible. Here is a view up 강선로 (gangseon-ro) heading toward Hugok neighborhood, where my work is.
This is why I hate Spring in Korea. The smog is partly natural (the Gobi Desert dust – 황사), but I suspect also partly due to the fact that we are 300 km east of Beijing, and Spring breezes prevail from the west (while in other seasons they tend to come from other directions).
Anyway, I'm sick and grumpy.
I want to sleep.
[daily log: walking, 6km]
Caveat: His Cup Runneth Over
During break between classes, a student named Jinu, a 9th grade boy with a bit of swagger and machismo about him, was standing at the water-cooler in the hall, filling a paper cup with water.
Four 9th grade girls from the HSA class, next door, walked by, giggling and carrying on, and paused to actually talk to Jinu about something.
He was clearly much flattered by the attention. As a result, he didn't pay attention to his cup in the fill-position in the water cooler. The water kept running into his cup.
It ran into the little tray underneath, and filled that, and onto the floor. The girls kept chatting with him, and laughing. Jinu was only paying attention to the girls. The amount of water on the floor reached his shoes. The girls laughed more, and finally one of them gave away the game, pointing at the floor.
Jinu jumped back, embarrassed. The girls laughed more, and ran away down the hall.
I felt like I had watched a vignette in a sit-com.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: 끈 떨어진 두레박
This is an aphorism I saw in my book of aphorisms.
끈 떨어진 두레박
kkeun tteol.eo.jin du.re.bak
cord fall-PPART bucket
A bucket with a fallen cord
Apparently it refers to a person who wanders without friends or relatives. Although I have friends and relatives for whom I am immensely grateful, I admit sometimes I easily fall into a pattern of perceiving myself this way.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: Pumpkin Porridge on a Sunday
I've developed a bit of a tradition (I don't always follow it, but a couple times a month) of spending my Sundays doodling my imaginary maps and architecture schemes, listening to strange music, and buying and eating take-out pumpkin porridge (단호박죽).
So that's what I did with my Sunday.
What I'm listening to right now.
[UPDATE 20180330: Video embed changed due to link-rot. The new embedded video is a different remix of the same song, and not the one in my mp3 collection. It's similar enough, but the lyrics might not match…]
Absurd Minds, "Herzlos."
Lyrics.
Unwahr ist, was nicht meinem Wahren entspricht.
Unwahr nenn ich alles, was das Wahre verbirgt
Und unwirklich, begrenzt oder einengend ist,
was Täuschung und Wahn, was vergänglich ist.
Unwahr ist Begrenzung durch Zeit und Raum.
Unwahr – die Tränen in meinem Traum.
Was unwahr ist, das BIN ICH nicht.
Denn ICH BIN das Wahre, denn ICH BIN das Ich.
So bist du also wieder einmal hier. Und dennoch hälst du an deinem Unglauben fest.
Es ist der eine, starre, unveränderbare Glaube der Welt,
dass alle Dinge in ihr geboren werden, nur um wieder zu sterben.
Und doch ist dieses Leben ein Spiel,
aber du bist zu den Glauben gekommen, dass es die einzige Wirklichkeit ist.
Die einzige Wirklichkeit jedoch, die es gab und je geben wird ist das Leben.
Meißel nun in alle Grabsteine: Hier ruht niemand.
(… herzlos.)
Das verstehst du nicht, denn du bist mein Traum, der zu mir spricht.
(Du bist herzlos.)
Was willst du von mir? Denkst du immer noch ich bin außerhalb von dir?
Das freie Denken kann nicht durch irgendwelche Grenzen gebunden werden.
Die wahre Bewegung, die allen zugrunde liegt, ist die Bewegung des Denkens.
Und die Wahrheit selbst ist Bewegung und kann niemals zum Stillstand,
zum aufhören des Suchens führen.
Deshalb liegt der wahre und wirkliche Fortschritt des Denkens
nur im umfassendsten Streben nach Erkenntnis,
die überhaupt nicht die Möglichkeit des Stillstands
in irgendwelchen Formen der Erkenntnis anerkennt.
Meißel nun in alle Grabsteine: Hier ruht niemand.
(… herzlos.)
[daily log: walking, 1km ; falling down, 1 m]
Caveat: Their blood is red
Discovery
Violin clutched tightly, I wait.
The bus roars up, clattering
Like a broken dinosaur
In bad movies. The stinging
Fumes stab at my lungs
Piercing the sweet spring air.
Climbing the steps make
Mountains seem easy.
Paper wrappers flap on rubber
Treads. The waiting fare box
Grins like a Gothic gargoyle.
Then they yell at me.
I try to give an old
Lady my seat. She has pain
Behind the brown in her eyes.
Bundles and bags spilling from
Skinny arms, pulling her dress
Askew. She yells at me too.
When I go to the back
To slide on the long seat
The way we used to, Grandfather,
The bus driver stops,
Tramps back, grim, gray
Face behind the glasses.
The whole bus begins shouting
At me. The noise settles
Like crows, around my head,
Pecking my bones with sharp,
Shiny, cruel beaks.
He throws me off the bus.
I was lost and had no fare.
Why didn't you tell me,
Grandfather, that people
Are different if their skin
Is like night, like coffee
With cream, like topaz?
Everyone's the same underneath,
Aren't they, Grandfather?
Their blood is red.
This poem was written by my mother. She is remembering being a child in Little Rock, Arkansas, in 1952. I thought it was relevant given the occasion, this week, of remembering the 50th anniversary of the events in Selma, Alabama. I was listening to Obama's speech on NPR.
I had a bad day at work. I don't like being a disciplinarian, but I like even less having other teachers get angry at me for failing to be the kind of disciplinarian they think I should be.
[daily log: walking, 6.5 km]
Caveat: An Assortment of Allegations
These are allegations, left lying around on whiteboards.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: The Algorithms of Beleriand
I spent Sunday doing two very nerdy but utterly unrelated things.
I was reading The Children of Hurin. The author on the book is JRR Tolkien, but I rather suspect whatever he left behind was pretty fragmentary, and I think it would be more realistic to assume this is mostly the work of his son and editor, Christopher Tolkien. Not that that takes away from it – as always, I like these "obscure" bits of Tolkien much better than the famous ones.
And I wrote a computer program in python. Python is a programming language. The program I wrote takes a text file of data points that form a polygon, and "simplifies" the polygon line (reduces the number of points in the line without sacrificing the shape). It's computational geometry, such as is done in graphics programming or, more to the point, GIS (geographic information systems – the tools that we use to present maps online).
It's really the sort of exercise one might do in an Intro to Computer Science course, except that I stole the actual algorithm off the internet, rather than doing the heavy lifting on that front. Mostly I had to familiarize myself with the syntactic features of python, which I've never used before.
Why did I do this? Um… maybe I'll figure that out later.
[daily log: running, 6 nm]
Caveat: After 13 Days
I have worked every day for the last 13 days, either teaching my full class schedule or moving the hagwon over last weekend.
Plus I went to the hospital for my CT scan, and I think they zapped me with more "contrast medium" than usual, it really gave me a heavy-metal hangover.
Therefore I am tired.
Therefore I am uninterested in posting something interesting on this blog. I am going to be super mega lazy tomorrow. That's the plan.
See you Monday.
[daily log: walking, 6 km]
Caveat: Looking More Normal
I did my CT scan, this morning. It's kind of a routine, now, as I've mentioned, but I never enjoy the injection of the contrast medium. It's not painful, per se, but I get this kind of semi-nauseated feeling of imminent-yet-unrealized incontenence, and a kind of burning feeling flowing up and down my body to the rhythm of my heart's beating. It's disturbing and uncomfortable, and it always makes me imagine I'm doing heroin, though I never have done that.
After the CT scan, I saw the radiation guy, Dr. Jo – the german-accented Korean.
He peered at my scans on his computer screens, and poked around my mouth a bit. "It's looking more normal," he assessed. Nothing bad, at all. It's rather comforting, actually, in an understated way.
Then I had a full day of teaching. Now I have a headache, but I guess it's just tiredness and the hangover of the medical stuff this morning.
[daily log: walking, 11 km]
Caveat: Another fine threemonthly visit to room 12
I came to the hospital to get my heavy metals injection and check up.
