I, Robot by Isaac Asimov

To begin with, while there are many editions of many books out there, the cover art that normally goes up with these reviews is that of the edition which I read. The physical book beside me right now is the 2004 printing, which my brother loaned to me (thanks Will!). Unfortunately, this was the same year in which a film of the same title, that had little to do with the novel, premiered. As I was holding a cheap paperback in which Will Smith glared at me with a vaguely futuristic and ominous, if worried countenance.

{damnit, Will Smith, cut that out}

Firstly, just about anyone who has read Asimov places him as the father of modern science fiction, and from what I have read of his early work (Foundation trilogy, "Nightfall"), I can agree an overflowing imagination and use of fundamental science are the principles of his work are highlights of Asimovian sci-fi.

More than anything else, Asimov constructs an entire universe around his fiction, in which he employs a similar method as Foundation, as telling his narrative through a series of thematically-related, chronological short stories. The novel itself takes the form of a 2064 interview of the elderly Dr. Susan Calvin, a roboticist who shepherded the dawn of the robotic age. Dr. Calvin's second- and first-hand recollections of twenty-first century history from the simple robotics in the 1990s to the global-scale positronic brains of the 2060s is a series of accounts in which the human creators struggle with, understand, and learn about their own creations through the regular, logical actions of the machines.

Dr. Calvin herself is always described in the text as cold and emotionless, moreso than even her robotic subjects. The ever-logical and steadfast nature of this personality characterizes the book. Central to any of Asimov's description of robotkind are the Three Laws of Robotics:

1. A robot may not harm a human being, or through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm
2. A robot must obey any orders given by a human being, unless such orders conflict with the First Law
3. A robot must protect its own existence, unless doing so conflicts with the First or Second Law

In fact, these Laws are so central to not only robots' existence, but are also entirely central to the plot of the book. Each of the nine short stories are reflections of how humans and robots interact with these Laws, and in each of the nine stories, the reader is consistently reminded of the Laws' text and importance. To be honest, it was a bit irritating after a while (I found myself screaming "Get on with it!" each time the characters reviewed these laws).

The concept of robopsychology as Calvin's field of study seems a bit abstract to me. As the entirety of robot's "personalities" are dictated by the Three Laws (and occasionally hints of the zeroth), one would think that any personality the robot would have would be rather straightforward and predictable, but then again, most of the stories in I, Robot are peculiar cases where behavior is unexplained. Or, I could study a bit more about artificial intelligence, even though it's always made me a bit paranoid. While Asimov's ideals about the Laws dictating all robotic behavior are wonderful (especially the bit about the positronic brain melting before harming a person), I feel that the real history of AI tilts to a more pragmatic robot which gets the job done, as programmed by its creators. Let's not forget that we do live in the future, after all.

The author should not be begrudged praise... this is a finely written book, with an excellent imagination for the era (1950), and if anything, I'm a bit disappointed that robots are not as benign and just as Asimov had hoped. At parts it is a dry read when compared to his more colorful work; but in truth, Asimov was a scientist by training, who saw the world as thoroughly organized and beautiful; while is work wonderfully operates within the laws of nature, I feel he greatly restrained endless possibilities of development by restricting the story to additionally operate within the laws of robotics.

Both the central character's and author's endless reverence for the positronic brain is appreciated, but as it is seen to some degree with Dr. Asmiov and to an almost misanthropic degree with Dr. Calvin, there was an overarching theme that the innate "goodness" of robots was always greater and more concrete than the goodness, abilities and creativity of mankind. Sure, the robots are infinitely rational and selfless and obedient, but don't count humans out of the game just yet. In the constructed 21^st century of the novel, I'm probably one of the cranky old Fundamentalists who don't trust the mechanical men. I'm okay with that though (I'm going to be one of those awesome old guys who's always ranting about something and shaking a cane.... kids of the 2050s, watch out).

In fact, the developing field of artificial intelligence in all likelihood places what will be the real world's equivalent of the positronic brain in an interactive console that a move-around humanoid machine. Although no futurist (ask Ray Kurzweil for more details), the next decade or two will be staggerinly fascinating when a synthetic mind can consider us as we consider it. A field developing faster than the common press can keep up, this brings so much of what "science fiction" is to our daily lives. As usual, the only thing more fascinating than the dreams of fiction writers is when these are written by history.

To finish off, let's hope that these Three Laws do get programmed into our future mechanical overlords, and that we remind them that we are a good, benevolent race of squishy irrationals.

The Revolution Will Not be Medicated

Today's news from the senate chamber is no less than fantastic. Really, I'm happy to see any motion on healthcare reform whatsoever; but to a very specific degree, does anyone else feel that this victory is Pyrrhic? Both the House and the Senate bills, which have yet to be reconciled, were near party-line votes (60-39 in Senate and 220-215 in the House) are the result of compromise followed by compromise, to the point where, while this bill will have its effects, no one really seemed happy with the end result.

Too often when learning/reading/listening about the healthcare debate, I want to throw my hands in the air and forget about it because, simply stated, where is this all going? Would a reform be e true revolution which is necessary. Regardless of one's political ilk, virtually everyone agrees that an overhaul is absolutely necessary, but there is severe disagreement about what to do about Americans' health insurance.

Throw it out.

That's it, throw it out. A certain, calming epiphany when I realized that this was the path-- healthcare needs a complete paradigm shift, a total revolution as to its purpose and existence. Why are we insured at all?

in·sur·ance
1 Coverage by contract whereby one party undertakes to indemnify or guarantee another against loss by a specified contingency or peril

By definition, insurance is an agreed-upon, businesslike gamble. There's nothing wrong with this... in fact, much of modern life and commerce owes functionality to someone gambling that bad things won't happen. Every year, I spend hundreds of dollars on a gamble that I might find myself in an automobile accident-- I'm happy to have lost this wager every year, but it's nice to know that if I "win" and get the insurance company to pay out, it'll be helpful in the aftermath. All insurance is simply a gamble-- this is why certain religious groups such as the Amish and some Muslims do not participate in conventional forms.

Say what you will about gambling... coming from a town that relies on it, I see it as a fun vice when in control (as any other vice), but in the end, Americans can usually tell a good bet from a bad bet. I can wager that I won't crash my car or burn down my house by taking precautionary measures, and the respective insurance companies won't have to pay; in fact, I can continue being safe like this for years or even decades. Health is something entirely different-- sooner or later, everyone taking part in seeing a doctor or an ER or having a baby or whathaveyou.... it's a rare case when an one's odds of losing is 100% on a long enough time-scale.

So the insurance company always loses... and then passes the losses back onto everyone else. It's a guaranteed cycle, under which too many people have figured out how to make money. Now making money's not bad, it's the American Way, after all, but I do not need to renumerate the costs of what the healthcare industry does.

Simply stated, betting against not being sick is an outdated model for insurance companies. Even the insurance companies know this by now, as they no longer brand themselves as insurance industry, but healthcare industry. Keeping one's health no longer a gamble, it must be a service. Homeowner's insurance does not stop my house from being on fire, the community-supported firehouse does. Insurance policies are not without purpose, but where they are now, they are just in the way.

When I was about 10, I considered emergency services, which I think at the time was defined as "when someone is involved with sirens." Aware that the police and fire departments were a part of the city government, I asked my father about ambulances and hospitals being a part of the same structure of public services. He made a remark about the First Lady that I didn't really understand, but I remained even more confused that not dying was something for which you were given a bill.

Rules for insurers, public insurance, reformed insurance. Same song, new chorus. The fundamental idea of how Americans think of how we take care of ourselves simply needs change. This will come, assuredly, but not now; nor will it be easy.

The Revolution Will Not be Medicated.

Unscientific America by Chris Mooney and Sheril Kirshenbaum

My process for reading books is never quite as fast as I would like it to be... this inevitably results in always adding more to the eternally growing list of to-reads. For this reason, as much as I enjoy books of the zeitgiest, they too often loose their great impact before I get a chance to comb through the pages. Unscientific America, in this mold, operates very much within the moment; clearly researched in late 2008, and written/published in early 2009, Mooney & Kirshenbaum's work is an extension from Mooney's 2005 Republican War on Science (recommended reading). However, rather than taking aim at a particular political philosophy, the authors have a greater focus upon the American people's malaise and insouciance of the scientific world.

A relatively short work (about 150 pages), but very clear and to the point, the book rose from the failed effort of ScienceDebate2008, an effort during the 2008 presidential election to bring Senators Obama and McCain to a forum in which the scientific issues of the day were discussed (in the same way of the values debate, economy debate, etc...). The Obama campaign politely declined requests, and the McCain camp simply ignored any discussion of the topic. Good idea though, right? A lot of universities, professional researchers, and members of the educated community thought so too. The simple reason why the campaigns declined (or ignored) the idea of discussing American science in a highly public forum was that there was no reason to-- a presidential campaign is purely an animal of survival-- the quadrennial campaign is as lean and as close to public sentiment as metaphorically possible.

But why don't Americans like to talk about science?

"Of course we're intimidated by science! Science holds itself above everybody else-- above God, evidently. You guys have been kicking ass since the Enlightenment"
-Stephen Colbert

A quick history of the American relationship with the scientific community through the latter half of the 20^th century (although not as cutting or encompassing as in Mooney's earlier work) brings us to the state of science of 2009, after eight years of an outright antiscience adminstration, culture wars on man's origin, stem cells, and some topics you would never think would be debated, to ask where are we now, and where are we going?

[For a full jeremiad about the declining place of science in America, please see older posts.]

While it would be easy to place blame upon the populace for scientific lassitude, Mooney and Kirshenbaum are equanimitous in spreading blame to scientists for popular disconnect. While American interest in scientific advances have consistently slipped in that last fifty years, science itself has become more obtuse-- beautiful, encompassing, and wonderful-- but largely abstract to the general population.

Communication of science, the authors argue, is the greatest failing of the American science-culture system. While science writers have been declining in the waning years of newspapers, the scientists themselves are often left to communicate the wonder of their art to the people, which has simply never been a high priority, as researchers themselves prefer research, and there has always been science writers to serve as a medium.This might be why so many Americans hear "scientist" and think of something like this:
<------------

when, in reality, so many of us are
more like this --------------->

Okay, not always beakers, but beer pints instead, and not as much dyed hair. But we do rock the fuck out.


Anyway, the book. In the end, there really is no one place or person to hang all of the blame for the problems with how Americans do or do not embrace science. For all that we bemoan and cringe at the actively antiscience population, the truth is that most of our countrymen (and women) are actually very respectful of science and interested when it does pop-up in an understandable form. What is necessary is a new culture, which is actually quite fortunate, as American culture has shown us, it is malleable and powerful when concentrated. Let's not let this decade's ascendancy of the geek stop with a complacency that the Bush years are over, there is always a great amount of work to be done. It can always be better. Both scientists and Americans are defined by a strong attachment and dedication to consistent, hard work. Both are capable.

Mentioned yesterday that I was feeling rather philosophical, and I think I'll explore that again. Unfortunately, there's been about 24 hours' worth of lag-time, and I can't quite recall where I was going with such thoughts.

Let's see, yesterday, I wrote about Avatar, so let's see where that takes us...

"Avatar" itself is the Sanskrit word for incarnation, or manifestation as in a god's physical manifestation on Earth. Funny how in the general translations, Christ is never referred to as an avatar, or "god in the flesh." Funny how that comes to mind as I write this week of Christmas (speaking of which, Happy Solstice, everyone).

Religios interpretations aside, the term today has come to represent not so much a manifestation, but as a projection. I can go onto my Facebook friends' list and find at least a half dozen WoW avatars, not to mention the myriad other games where this is commonplace. Moreover, in so many facets of today, our avatar is, in fact, often our digital projection to the world-- it is the form we choose to take in social media, MMOs, message boards, podcasts, YouTube channels, or even of characters in tabletop RPGs

What do we choose to project? So many of us have found Facebook to be a fine replacement for the Class Reunions of generations past (personally, I'm on the fence about what I'd do with a Class of '01 invite). Friends, acquaintances, even enemies are brought together via Walls and Apps and Games which span from the melodramatic years of high school to the quasi-established "adults" which so many of us have become ("and of my goodness, so-and-so has a baby!"). Who are we? Many are mindful of our web-presence, and the most careful of us minutely scrutinize personal information disseminated to the Web.... but where is the line between dissemination and scrubbing?

There are no shortages of anecdotal tales about embarrassing information posted by oneself or one's friends, but from what we control, what is chosen?
"This profile photo hides my double-chin,"
"Am I in a relationship, or an it's-complicated?"
"Why should I post that I still have the same job I did at 18?"
"Let's just make sure that everyone knows I have a Master's degree"
and what is that line between our avatars, the personalities we want others to see, and who we truly are?

Cinematically, an excellent addressing of this idea stretches back a decade (yes, friends, it has been a decade) to 1999's The Matrix. Although this metaphor is quite literally backward-- in The Matrix, we live as digital projections ignorant of our physical reality-- many points still hold. Consider the "residual self-image," how do you truly view yourself? Your mind's projection of your physical appearance... what is seen in the psychological mirror? And do we bend our image to our will, or better yet (as shown by Neo), is our image of the world bent to us? Okay, it probably stretches my point to the edge of breaking, but the question remains.... what is our projection?

In the end, so much of our daily avatars move back to the ancient interpretation-- the mundane actions of a god. As gods of our own universe, like Neo, we define our reality by our interpretation of it; it goes without saying that a physical reality exists of its own accord regardless of whatever interpretations we have have, but as the image which we project to the world, and that of the world which our mind projects to ourselves, one asks, how are these reconciled? Can they be? Should they be?

What's your avatar?

Feeling a bit philosophical today. Also, I had wanted to try out a new format in the form of movie review. What apparently has been James Cameron's baby for the last decade or so, has been the epic-scale science fiction, Avatar.

There's little need to go into particular plot details, as much of this has been hashed-out before, but for the sake of a purposeful review: A paraplegic Marine in the mid-22^nd century (Sam Worthington as Jake Sully) is given an opportunity at life again as a military operative for industry on Pandora, moon of a gas giant orbiting Alpha Centuari (I'm assuming A, due to the color of the star). After a 5-year journey (I figured it out to be v=0.9c, with a time dilation of 60%, so we're in the realms of decent physics here), he is introduced to Pandora, which is immediately painted as a primeval and beautiful place, if exceptionally dangerous, with hints during the hastened exposition of the aboriginal Na'vi, who aren't particularly keen on a human mining operation in their holy forests. Once a part of the program, he is introduced to his avatar-- a Na'vi-Human genetic contruct into which he can "plug himself in" to control while sedated in a remote pod-like thing. The local interstellar corporation is mining for the (creatively named) unobtainium, which lies beneath a Na'vi settlement, and it's Jake's job to go native and git er dun (oh god, spell check accepted that phrase, please kill me) in the American way to extract the ore.

I'm sure that you can extract the remainder of the plot from there. If anything, the biggest failure of the film was an easily visible plotline, however, this was not as crippling as Jake's off-screen spinal injury, as the film moves fantastically and beautifully through the thoroughly imagined and created world of Pandora. For this, Cameron's vision and care for this world is uniquely praised as a fine display of cinematic and technological talent to bring what was clearly a very specific vision of a story to life. I did not, however, see the much-spoken 3D version, although from what I hear, it is well done; considering the immersive nature of the "basic" 2D from yesterday, one can truly appreciate that the film is trying to pull the viewer into the exotic forests of this world.

On the other hand, Cameron also imagined floating mountains. Unless unobtainium is a suspiciously buoyant mineral, I remain skeptical.

More than anything else, I was heavily reminded of the 1992 animation FernGully (anyone remember that one?), with it's ultimately pro-environmental, anti-military-industrial complex ethos, which on a personal level is a very satisfying feeling. Moreover, the "sides" built on the human side are the corporate mercenaries (lots of Hoo-aah!s, no offensive to my serving friends, thorugh, you guys are awesome) who are gung-ho about blowing stuff up and burning epic life-trees (personalized by the"arg, I'm a tough drill-sergeant-esque uber-fighter" Col. Quaritch [Stephen Lang]) vs. the tree-hugging, uber-educated scientists/diplomats who have the audacity to learn about and from the Na'vi people, summed-up by Grace Augustine (Sigourney Weaver, in her best movie since Ghostbusters) distill the reactions of mankind to a new race.

It is awfully nice to see scientists portrayed as major, non-stereotyped nerdy characters, but the sequence of the film's plot begs the questions why did a mining operation get here before the scientists? Oh well, Cameron has left this one wide open for sequels and further exploration of this universe.

In essence, this film is a re-telling of the story which has rung for our culture since the the age of Columbus... just how far does "white man's burden" extend? How idealized is the "noble savage?" What has our modern life sacrificed from Nature? Parallels are easily drawn between Avatar and whatever oppressive colonization in history you want to compare it to, but as a story told on such a grand scale, one can appreciate a unique sci-fi, where we are the evil, invading aliens (or, "Skypeople," as labeled by the Na'vi). In particular, the heavy-handed ecological message is as timely as ever, but is likely to be lost in the cacophonous din of what Hollywood produces on a near-constant basis. I would like to see it again once the ooh-ahh-factor of the first viewing has been drawn out (note: I am certain of Avatar's place in graphics awards this year) to take a deeper viewing of the story itself. There is an enchantment to an unspoiled wilderness that is ready to draw us in, and I'm curious as to what else is there.

The Martian Chronicles,
Ray Bradbury

I've been a fan of Bradbury's work on and off for a long time. A short story he wrote about a girl on Venus struck me in 7^th grade as one of the first literary pieces of science fiction I had read. Fahrenheit 451 is, of course, a classic which will never die, and arguably his greatest work (this novel is particularly interesting as Bradbury more recent activities include being a cranky old man who protests when libraries close).

Last year, my interest in literary sci-fi started again, when I picked-up out copy of The Illustrated Man, a collection of stories told in a fascinating, if dark, prose which tumbled out of Bradbury's prolific imagination. The Martian Chronicles is created along the same vein, in the author's own words, "a book of stories pretending to be a novel."

The series of 26 vignettes are a history of mankind's exploration and settlement of the Red Planet, from 1999 to 2026. A few of these episodes were published on their own as short stories in the late 1940s, and appear primarily as thought explorations for the the future of Mars from the mid-20^th century perspective. When these stories were ultimately pulled together as a single narrative in 1950, Bradbury's presentation of the future is done in the classic futurism stylization of the era.

In many parts, a thinly veiled description of early friction between human explorers and the native Martians is the classic science fiction model of criticism of the present/past (i.e., Manifest Destiny) by stories of the future. Indeed, the chapter "Way in the Middle of the Air" is a direct social critique of contemporary racial attitudes in the era (to the old Confederacy's credit,South which Bradbury paints in 2003 is much worse than it actually turned out to be).

There exists a certain joy(?) is reading of the past's predicts about today. In the often-bemoaned complain of 21^st century life, "where is my jetpack?" decades past has set us up for disappointment (however, let's not forget about our robot cleaner houseservants). From the lens of the futurists of the post-War period, lunar bases and cities would be mainstream by the time of my birth and Martian colonization (if not terraforming) would begin around the turn of the century. As someone with a degree in astronomy, I found myself suppressing the "aw, that's cute" ideas of 1940s planetology which had blue Martian skies, temperate weather, and flowing canals of water (not to mention that this was the Venus was said to have extensive jungles and contant rainfall); however, we always forgive, because Mr. Bradbury was, in fact, using some of the better science of his time, and focus instead on the content of the story.

Early explorations and interactions with native Martian (or Tyrr, as they call their home) peoples are... odd. One would expect our First Contact, of course, to be beyond anything within our experience. These early encounters are somewhat fanciful and bizarre, however, these give way to an eventual human dominance era, in which the drama takes on a more familiar tone (ask a Wampanoag about smallpox if you want to see an older version of the story). Once the Mars is in the hands of humankind, and exploration gives way to settlement and colonization, a darker, if cynical storyteller appears which seems more reminiscent of Fahrenheit 451, and some of the darker stories of the Bradbury canon.

What is the future always about? Today. All considering, this book did actually make me a bit hopeful, for all of the destruction and calamity predicted at the dawn at the Atomic Era-- 64 years since our greatest sin against the atom, and there have only been two cities we've annihilated in this manner. For all of the shiny, Jetsons-eqsue hopes the 1950s had for the present day, there was a bleak, hollowed-out interior of fear as the early Cold War waged more in the minds of the world than on battlefields. For all of the fears and hopes of tomorrow, we've let down many, but in our wisdom, avoided so much more.

It's really easy to forget how quickly things pick-up. Moreover, despite being in hte middle of several books, I haven't quite finished any of them yet, hence the review-less October. However, it is likely to get worse, as this year, I am once again a participant in National Novel Writing Month, the challenge to write a 50,000 word story between November 1^st and 30^th.

I've tried this on three separate occasions before, veering from science fiction to alternate history to sci fi again, and to be fair, I have no idea where I'm going to go this year. The biggest problem for all participants, however, is motivation, so if you know of anyone else doing this, be sure to send them reminder emails to get their ass moving. I'll try to leave notes from the road during travels in whatever holds for my mind.

-Phil

Okay, so updates need more regularity. But I do have a good excuse, as the madness with school has yet again begun.

Anyway, a new book.

Finding Oz: How L. Frank Baum Discovered the Great American Story by Evan I. Schwartz is well, just that. I first heard about this on NPR toward the beginning of the summer, and due to the library's insistence over fines, wound up reading two halves of this book about a month or so apart. The Wizard of Oz itself is so central to our early 21^st century culture, that the allure of discovering its origins was too much to pass up (incidently, both Megan and I were coming home very late that night and listened to the same story in each of our cars).

Finding Oz is as much a biography of Lyman Frank Baum as it is of the story itself. In short, Baum had been a late 19^th century jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none whose career began in western New York as a chicken farmer and veered to playwright, oilman (in New York and Pennsylvania), then a variety shop owner, publisher, journalist, sports manager, and essayist (in Dakota Territory), and writer/traveling salesman/journalist in Chicago. It was at the age of forty, with four sons, a wife, thousands of miles behind him, Frank Baum had failed at just about everything he'd done when he struck upon samadhi in the winter of 1898, and with a single pencil, scribbling on the backs of envelopes and scraps of paper all over his house, created The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

For both Dorothy and Toto, the journey to, through, and from Oz is a transcendent and adventurous experience which ultimately reflected Baum's zigzagging across the cities and frontier of fin de siecile America. This journey indeed, is as much spiritual as it is literary and historical. While Baum's Oz is, at the end of the day, a children's story, it is filled with allusions and intended interpretations as a spiritual search for one's inner Self. What we know today as "New Age" religions aren't really as "new" as the name would imply, but in fact, have their roots in the writings and teachings in a late 1800s school of thought known as theosophy. What began as philosophical wanderings of a Helena Blavatsky fused ancient traditions of occultists, old religions (think pagans), and Eastern thought. Indeed, the American theosophical movement came to a head with the (unrelated and unplanned) arrival of Swami Vivekananda at the 1893 Worlds Fair (Columbian Exposition) Parliament of World's Religions, representing Hinduism (great and interesting sidestories about him too), which introduced to the West Hindu and Buddhist modes of thought.

Schwartz does a wonder job describing Baum's entrance to a metaphysical world was aided by his Matilda Joslyn Gage, his over-the-top (and historically overlooked), crazy-liberal feminist mother-in-law who hung out with likes of Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton. Indeed, Matilda served as the archtype for both the Wicked and evil Witch of the West as well as the saintly, wise, and beautiful Good Witch of the North.

In a book which is a fine mixture of history, biography, philosophy, and literary criticism, Schwartz provides an engaging work which keeps the reader aware of both the beauty of the story as well as its deep, deep roots.

Most of our culture is an import. Throughout an American's childhood, we will find ourselves familiar with Little Red Riding Hood, King Arthur, Rumpelstiltskin, and Snow White, but The Wonderful Wizard of Oz's greatest contribution was the simple matter that it was the first (and perhaps only) thoroughly American fairy tale. Each component of this story sags with the weight of the closing of the frontier, capturing imaginations of the pioneer who was first terrified of the tornado, saw none by grey on the Kansan prairie, in the Exposition, was dazzled by the glimmer of an astounding city powered by power-mad wizards of science and industry, and sought to wash away the embodiment of their deepest fears.

While I know this description is not likely one of my best, this is certainly a good read

More thoughts on a book.

My most recent read took me much longer to get through than I would have liked, but it was well worth it. The Age of Wonder by Richard Holmes is a history of science through the Romantic Era (1780s-1830s) told through English science. Possibly the best nonfiction I've read in some time, Holmes himself appears to be more of an historian of romanticist literature and history, and in the undying words of my brother-in-law, an "englishist." What sets this apart from many of the other scientific histories I've read is Holmes' sense of literature and poetry itself. The story-telling like style (focusing primarily on three figures in English science, Joseph Banks, William Herschel, and Humphrey Davy) does a wonderful job of telling the interconnectedness of science, philosophy, literature, politics, and society readily apparent in 18th century society as it is today. Indeed, it was not uncommon for the likes of the young Michael Faraday or Caroline Herschel to have had dinner parties and correspondence with the literary and philosophical luminaries such as Coleridge, Keats, Wordsworth, the Shelleys, Lord Byron, and Kant.

Personally, I have always had an affection for romanticist works, in its epic grasp of all love, hope, power, beauty, misery and trembling universality. What really pulled this book together was the recognition that science and poetry themselves are in fact two sides of the same coin: in searching for the innate beauty of the world. The story of tropic, polar, aerial, electric, and chemical exploration in as the eighteenth century passed into the nineteenth has a true sense of its place in history as well. Politically, the romanticists saw the mental decline of George III, the loss of the American colonies, Napoleon's rise, fall and rise again, the establishment of the Regency, and eventually the passage into the Victorian era with her coronation in 1837. Moreover, as so many places in history show, a time of philosophical transition (called "paradigm shifts" by Thomas Kuhn) is truly fascinating... in the early Industrial Era, Britain and Europe as a whole was beginning to shake off the last of the medieval hangers-on. Much of science in the early modern era (16th-early 18th c.) was closely tied to philosophy and religion of the time. Many men of science were deeply pious (such as Newton, Kepler, Galileo), and spoke freely of God in their writings; however, their view of the cosmos, as soon through the lens of the natural world led to the rise of Deist philosophies in the 1700s. By the end of the 1800s, "natural philosophy" which often speculated on the nature of Creation and of Man as well as its subject manner evolved into the science we know today, objectively of its own philosophies.

Many interpreters of Romantic poetry cite Coleridge and Keats as decrying science as robbing nature of is mystery and beauty. Holmes, however, attacks this interpretation, showing how in literature itself of the era, scientists are to be highly praised and loved as those who can truly see the magnificent, beautiful, unity of the Universe. Seen through the awe-inspiring knowledge when Herschel announced an infinite Universe with worlds beyond our imagination. It was seen in Davy's initial exploration into gases and human consciousness itself. This was seen when French ballooneers first saw the world from on top.... when looking down, human borders and faults melted away into the beauty of a landscape from miles up.

I've been making mental notes for myself to get poetry books off of the shelf now that I've read this. It is always an amazing reminder to see the world itself as a living poem

It's been a couple week.s The latter half of August was dubbed "vacation." Upon both of our returns to the outside life, I really, really miss Meg. I suppose that it would be nice to be able to commute with her into the city.

So as for thoughts. For a period, I considered posting on here my progress through Dan Brown's bestseller, Angels & Demons, which I snatched-up for a McDonald's nutritional beach reading. The beach never happened and neither did the book. I mean, I would like to finish it up, and it's not that it's a difficult book to slog through, but it's just.... bad. I guess that I should hold out a full review until I've completed the novel, but at this point, it feels more like an assignment than a read.

I also got out the old telescope for some summer viewing. You've likely seen a very bright star in the western sky not long after sunset (last night, it was close to the Moon), this is Jupiter, and it's particularly bright because right now, it's at opposition, meaning that we are seeing the entire planet illuminated (think of a full Moon brighter than a half Moon) while it's opposite us form the Sun (hence its rise as the Sun sets). Anyway, in the two-inch Newtonian, I managed to get a good (although brief, the mirror soon fell out) view of Jupiter and the Galilean moons. Moreover, as this is the 400th anniversary of these satellites' first viewing, I felt this oddly appropriate. There was a fascinating shared connection to astronomers past in doing this. My telescope is a fairly simple one (probably not unlike many in the 17th and 18th centuries), with a relatively low resolving power, so my view of the Jovian system was simple: one large dot with four smaller dots surrounding it in a perfect line. Later that evening, it occurred to me that my generation has, in fact, been spoiled by our view of thew planets. For centuries before, viewing Jupiter and its moons was a simple series of bright dots. While further structure would be determined through better observations, the paradigm shift came with the Voyager 1 and spacecrafts. The close-up views of the outer planets has defined our imaginations of these for the last thirty years. This did no less than a beautiful job in inspiring at least two generations of professional, amateur, and casual astronomers and brought the beauty and magnificence of our corner of the heavens to our front steps.

Re-discovering these as Galileo did was awe-inspiring.

Movies

Okay, so I want to see District 9 . Knowing Peter Jackson's previous work, I'm very excited for this science fiction allegory, which (as put in the words of the Times review) "In place of the usual mystery — what are they going to do to us? — this movie poses a different kind of hypothetical puzzle. What would we do to them?"

Maybe I'm just a fanboy for viral marketing, but this looks good.

So I just finished an interesting biography about John Dee. For those who (understandably) have not heard of Dr. Dee, he was a 16th century philosopher/scientist/sorcerer/astrologer under Elizabeth I. Lately, I've taken a fascination with early modern era science, that is, the beginning of what we consider science. Prior to this, the ideas of "natural philosophy" (as it was called until the 18th century) was largely indistinguishable from magic. Astronomy grew from astrology; chemistry grew from alchemy; this transition I find personally fascinating, and much of the builders of early science had one foot in the rigorous method of experimentation which we recognize today and the other in ancient mysticism which has its roots deep into Antiquity.

The Queen's Conjurer by Benjamin Woolley (2001) is Dee's story, trying to show his roots as both an early scientist and the fount of much modern-day mysticism in the West. It seems to me that John Dee's biggest issue is that he longed to have a full, comprehensive knowledge of Creation, both physical and spiritual (remember, no distinction in the 1500s of natural and supernatural), but never seemed to completely get out of the old ways. This is exemplary of English society of the time, split in a transition from Medieval to Modern, Catholic to Protestant, and even from Old Style calendars to New Style (unlike the Continent, England stuck to the Julian mode). The Jacobean Era beginning in 1604 arouse a different world which would be that of flourishing Galileo, Kepler, and Newton, who while they all had mage-like qualities, were explorers of the new age.

Much like Dee, who seems to see disappointment after disappointment, Woolley doesn't seem to quite get there. I went into this really looking forward to an engaging, mysterious figure who straddled the Old and the New of science and sorcery, but this book is so much more mired in Renaissance politics and the personal failings of Dr. Dee that I felt about halfway through, I was reading more to get the book done. Perhaps it's my interests when reading this sort of history, but the author tends to avoid the science which could have been marvelously interesting.

Dee's life itself is a bit of a disappointment. A true Renaissance man who seemed to be a wonderful polymath, truly devoted to the intoxication of pure knowledge seems like he should have had a much more interesting life. It starts off well, as a young man negotiating his survival in Mary Tutor's court, and early success with Queen Elizabeth. He travels, corresponds with Brahe and others, and begins his journey (I particularly love the story of his ill-fated great library). By middle age, he seems to abandon science for speaking to God's emissaries directly via crystalomancy. For reasons not quite described, he cannot do this himself, so he falls in with a scryer, Edward Kelley, who in my view, appears to be a world class scheister. Kelley sadly seems to control the otherwise brilliant Dr. Dee in the latter half of his life, largely controlling Dee's movements and career decisions, the majority of which appear to be disastrous.

While I certainly understand that writing a biography of a man born nearly 500 years ago, that sources are scantly few and far between, making this sort of work frustratingly difficult (not that I wouldn't be opposed to trying this myself someday), Woolley appears to rely a great deal on his own interpretations and reading between the lines. Don't let this make you think that the work is poorly researched-- indeed, I have a great respect for the book, has an exhaustively wonderful 43 page notes/bibliography section. So much just feels disappointing in that like John Dee himself, The Queen's Conjurer is something that was destined for wonderful things but sadly fell short.

On the other hand, I am now very interested in finding another Dee bio just to have a look at what else it out there.

So as usual, I'm finding myself in the middle of reading several books (The Queen's Conjurer, a biography of John Dee; Finding Oz, another bio of L. Frank Baum; The Age of Wonder, about romantic-era science; Gravitation; and several other books which appear to be on hiatus). Anyway, I've nearly (or possibly, entirely) forgotten why I've begun to write this morning. The books are what's on my mind, as I've had a very productive summer (I think I can count ten books read since the end of the school year.

Does anyone have any suggestions? My to-read list has been growing well into the hundreds for nearly ten years now, but I like the progress I'm making.

Speaking of which, I finally got around to reading Chuck Palahniuk's Fight Club. That's still one of the best movies from the late 90's. But it's been on my must-read for a while now, which is likely why I devoured it in about a day; it's just as dark as the film (perhaps moreso), but a wonderful exploration of the detached nihilism of consumer culture. Sadly, having seen the movie years and years before reading the book, there's always that nagging feeling that it has skewed my perspective of the novel. I do have a slight feeling that when future readers want to see the 1990s from an historical perspective, they'll be likely to pick up Palahniuk's work. Not to say that the previous decade was quite as dark as the novel shows this (perhaps it's colored by seeing it through my teenage years), but the triumph of the yuppie and a desire to destroy that is vaguely reminiscent of the twenties.

Isn't it crazy that the "twenties" aren't that far away?

So I'm painting the porch these last few days. I have some pictures to post of my progress, but that will come in time. I've also signed into Twitter, simply to read other people's but it's just weird to have an account. In all honest, I would rather post here, as the beynd-140-characters allows me to fully express thoughts, like "I like doughnuts" (13 letters, woo!)... so spaces count as characters.

Anyway, I don't think that I'll be participating in any revolutions anytime soon, so I have little interest for now

I am such a geek. Earlier today, I needed tp pick up some supplies for school this year: a 2 inch notebook, some paper, and stickytack (I'm going to have to hang up a lot of posters). Finding myself in Staples, I do what I have done so many times in Augusts dating back to at least junior high-- I look forward to it. I love getting stuff ready for school.... preparing organization, pens, notebooks, and whatever unique items I need for the new school year. I want to go all-out on things I don't need to better organize my life.

This never happens, of course.

But it's probably the single thing I love most of all that draws me to joy in anticipating a new school year: potential. Before you start, or as you start, all things are possible, and so few and yet broken. Details, details....

I have always found temperatures above eight degrees Fahrenheit uncomfortable. Particularly in the evening. A breeze coming through the window right now makes it worth it-- there's really nothing like that in the summer.

Oooh, they're fireflies too.

And the summer wanes. Not really, there is still a full moth left before I begin teaching again; and by "again", there is a bit of dubiousness, as I have recently changed schools, and grade levels for that matter (see posts below). Despite utter confusion about how to teach the new level, at the very least, I feel more focus on the professional aspect of teaching now that the district home seems more malleable. After three years of spelunking through the Massachusetts Department of Education, as well as arguing with my old district's personal Catbert, I've figured out how to move on for an initial and (hopefully soon) professional license. [note, I can never ever spell "license" correct... it's the mixing up the C's and S's).

After this... no idea. But there is a nice focus... I'm finally with a gaming group again, which makes me happy. It's really been a while since I've done the tabletop RPGs and it's easy to forget how nice returning to the hobby is.

Speaking of fantasy, I'd finally given in this summer and read the Harry Potter series. It's not that it isn't good children's literature, it just seemed... out of principle? I guess I still retain a good deal of the ethos of avoiding something that everyone else in the world seems to do. Really was a good series of seven books; I had particularly liked how the story and writing style changed with the age of the characters/intended readers. On the other hand, this has made me more critical of the movies, which I had enjoyed perfectly well until now. Half-Blood Prince, however, I felt would have been unfollowable had I not read the book first... tsk tsk, I'm very disappointed with the adaption.

Funny thing is with fantasy is that now matter how much I love the genre, each NaNoWriMo, I'm still connected to science fiction, which I enjoy, but never held as close as fantasy.

Guess it's easier.

I should really be working right now. I have an entire curriculum to re-develop, but it's hard to know exactly where to start. One of my ideas for this school year (and, alas, all so far) has been to set up a class website, which never exactly goes anywhere.

Other than that, I can't exactly say that there is much to report on today. I'm halfway through the summer and have accomplished virtually nothing which I had hoped for (some weak gardening success, but that's about it). Moreover, the weather has been far from cooperative-- I ask for only five days without rain.

So.... any thoughts on toning physics down to fourteen-year-olds?

A frivolous waste.

This is that which inhibits a writer. I fight the temptation, even now, to type "writer" instead, but this must be fought. This is the entirety of the philosophy behind National Novel Writing Month-- I have too much to do today, I can easily waste my time to write something later, and that day never comes. One will not progress in any discipline without practice and regular discipline of their art, this is why I struggle to write more. With repetition, the words will flow easily.
With repetition, the words will flow easily.
With repetition, the worlds will flow easily.

A professor I once had said, "If you write a poem every day, will you become a great poet? Probably not. If you do not write a poem every day, will you become a great poet? Definitely not." One must keep this up. There are some books out there which will fill you with writing prompts, at which I have scowled and moved on, yet reason must exist for this.

As I sit in my office this beautiful afternoon (I must remember to get on the bicycle today), there is a finely detailed, beautiful fountain pen which Megan gave me years ago. I admire it whenever I sit here, yet there is a certain amount of sadness-- fountain pens are not practical, and it goes unused, never fulfilling its purpose. With the disuse of a beautiful object, one begins to feel that most any use is mundane-- below that of such a wonderful tool. When she and I were apart for a summer, we wrote to one another every day, and each day, I was certain to use a fountain pen and an inkwell, and now no use today seems close to that level. On the shelf next to my desk, there is perhaps a pint of fine ink which is dormant.

I discovered earlier this year that a pint of water weighs exactly one pound. I think this is how one of these quantities is defined. Excuse me, a bottle of ketchup just fell.

Options.


I have decided that i had now had enough time where I am and things need to change. This blog essentially began almost three years ago, with my drawn-out mourning of the premature death of my career in physics. With little idea what I should do next, I chose to apply my wealth of information regarding the natural world to education. Since August 2006, I have had a wonderful career as a high school teacher in Leominster, Massachusetts, learning a great deal about people, myself, and seeing my life-long discipline through a new lens. I have grown, I have changed, and matured.

However, I something else needs to happen. I need to move, a new direction is necessary, a new discipline awaits, evolution must continue. In many ways, this points back to school again; I will be the last to balk at the idea of earning a doctorate or a second masters, but I would rather have a particular focus at this time, as an enormous investment of time, money, and sanity will be given to any continuation of my scholastic career. Or, this could simply be changing jobs, and then finding a new path.

At the core of this is that I am restless. I really do love my job, but I'm simply not sure where it is going. So much of my path thus far is defined by remaining kinetic, and quite simply, there is little room to grow in teaching. Yes, of course, I am (and am always working on) becoming a better teacher, but beyond my current job, the only other options seem to be administration or another job in pedagogy, in which I simply have no interest.

So where do interests lie? This is troublesome. Since junior high school, I had an intense focus upon physics (as lamented in prior posts), so finding a new one is difficult, but I believe I have this narrowed-down to several options:

• History
  Long-time fan. This largely goes back to an interest which has been at a "hobby" level for a long time. I have thoroughly enjoyed every history class I have taken from high school to today, and actively read about the history of science (fascinating topic-- particularly in the Renaissance). In fact, I briefly toyed with minoring in history during college. Exciting stuff, plus on a professional level, I would be allowed, nor encouraged, to dive into academia once again in studying, writing papers, and being an over badass with my mind.
  
  On the other hand, what professional level? A college professor? A teacher again? Perhaps its my poor research, but in pure academia, there is a relatively barren field outside of the physical sciences. No stipend, few scholarships, rare government work, and little to no money. And what will I have then, A PhD? And I have saddled myself with decades of more education debt, with little path. And what if I do no finish? Another doctoral program quite simply terrifies me after my last experience. This idea shows amazing glimmer, but only if it works out the way I want it to. I am no so foolish to think of that again
  
  
• Archivism/Library Science
  Related in the same vein as the last option. I believe that this would lead me a great deal into preservation and study of this field (duh). But the short of it is that I am a bit of a bibliophile. As a child, my family was always certain that a book for me to read was nearby, and later as a teen, I found myself working in the library and spending my breaks at a local antiquarian bookstore. This was one of the the first ties which Megan and I established upon our first conversation. Today, I have about a thousand books in my house and actively read at least two at a time.
  In respect to my prior work, this is a bit different. To be honest, this mixes a long-time interest with pragmatism-- an MLS is marketable. Ideally, I would like to see myself working with a museum (particularly a science museum); in reality, there might even be connections to curatorial studies, which is a true formalism of museum work in the simple act of preserving knowledge. I've done some research, and there is a school in Boston which offers this degree, but again, I am uncertain of job placement and in particular, how and when I could pay for this degree. Speaking of placement, this brings me to...
• Geography
  If I had known that this was an actual field of study ten years ago, my life very well would have taken a different path. Anyone who knows me can tell that that I'm an absolute map geek. Whenever the opportunity arises, I will gladly spend hours staring at maps (particularly antique ones); a few years ago, there was a special exhibition at the Boston Public Library on map history, and was absolutely wonderful. What I know about the professional field is vague at best, but I've meant to learn topography from a mathematical approach for a long time. Most of it involves civil engineering applications, census data, population distribution, trends, etc. Jobs? Well, I have found this, which lists a few options, but I have a feeling that a lot of these jobs are few and far between (or at least the particularly interesting ones), and I simply have no idea where these would go
• Physics
  There is a small part of my mind that still wonders about returning. Seeing my friends from the Brandeis program grow in their research allows a slight sting of envy despite my happiness for them. Still think I'm a bit shaken about the '06 qualifier though. I think this will later be demoted to "hobby." I plan to buy Gravitation one of these days.
  

I guess that I'm done for now. I really could go on, but much of it is speculation. This was probably more of a catharsis of my own sorting process. Let's see if I follow through.

NB-- this blog will return to actual writing, rather than whining soon, I promise!

While we're on the subject of prefixes, one of my new favorite units of measurement is a barn-megaparsec, which has a volume of roughly 2/3 of a teaspoon

This, of course, is only second in awesomeness to the beard-second.

Back on the femtofarm

Coining terms is hard. I was tilling this afternoon (I now laugh at those who told me to have a machine do this-- digging with my own muscle power is wonderful), when the term "microfarm" beamed through my head. I was for a moment, a little proud of myself, thinking of a cute little term like this, and then began to immediately consider what this was.

In the mental definition derived this afternoon, a microfarm is in many respects similar to a garden-- generally small in area (much less than one acre), which can be maintained by a single microfarmer with little trouble. The overarching philosophy behind this was to separate that which myself and many others are doing from gardening. Firstly, I will say that I have no ill-will or disregard for this hobby, but I wonder what happens when a hobby becomes more serious? Avoiding a mental compulsion to work in a garden, a "serious gardener" (doesn't "microfarmer" sound better, though?) is growing for a greater philosophical, social, political and/or economic goals. The microfarmer is focusing on sustainability-- can s/he support him/herself on their homegrown produce? Is this microfarmer intentionally removing themselves from the greater machine of consumerism?

Perhaps this is a bit of naiveté on my part, having only started myself own this path of gardening. I do, after all, have a tendency to do this. I suppose that when many hear the term "gardening," this brings to mind the image of a retiree hobby (my grandfather, incidentally, growing amazing tomatoes), but I hope to be something more, taking on a more serious tone about this. Then again, it would be nice to expand from micro- to macro-farming-- this, of course, is a very long-term goal in the gentleman farmer project (just love the 18th-century phrasing).

Nonetheless, once I had finished the tilling, and cleaned-up, I did a quick check on Google to discover that I had been far from the first to think of a "microfarm." As it turns out, a microfarm is in essence, a small family farm, with a few livestock generally spread-out over an area of two acres or so. Not terribly suprised by this result, I did another search for "nanofarm," which I felt was a more accurate description of my activities in light of what I had just learned (my plot is about 0.003 acres). The disappointment began to become palpable. "What about pico-? That ought to be the new prefix for the next decade!" One would think that the phrase picofarm was never used before. Now frustrated, I had found open territory on the term femtofarm. Granted, I am happy that atto-, zepto-, and yocto- never became options, but at this point, it seems a bit silly, but I will take what I can get

I throw this to the readers-- am I a femtofarmer, or a gardener?

I am debating deleting the prior post. Looking back, this is incredibly sophomoric and childish.

many fears are borne of fatigue and loneliness

The Desiderata. I really should have a posting of that somewhere here in my office, but this appears to be something or another which was never really unpacked. For that matter, something in my classroom as well.

I will thank the counsel of a friend for encouraging me to take up this blog once more. Unfortunately-- as always, lately-- I am short on time. I need to prepare a lecture for Thursday night in addition to writing a test. Not too much to whine about, I know, but I have put this off long enough. This will be my regularity. This will be a bit of healing.

More to come

why did I even pay money (for a year no less!) to someone to host a website which no one ever visited? I'm not feeling sorry for myself,but the fact is that besides my own, there were perhaps two or three hits per month.

So where am I now? Shouting at the darkness? I might as well let go here.

I have no idea why I get down like this-- everything is just the way it should be. I need to improve mystation. I need toexercize. I needtowrite.Ineed to soanything other thanwanderaround the house aimlessly. I don't know if I even can... afteralloftheopportunites and falsestarts, should I have gone somewhere with something bynow?

fuck it iwont even bothertofix the typoes.

fuck it,just fuck it . I'm done