Gluten-free dreaming, Part I: The Cracker

I had a dream last night about crackers.

While walking back to lab through the infinite, I looked down at the piece of cheese I was munching on and discovered a half-eaten cracker beneath it.

"Aw man! I'm eating a cracker!" I thought, and spit out the crumbs into a nearby trashcan.

Five minutes later, I found something crunchy in my mouth again.

"God dammit!" I thought, "I just ate another cracker!!"

title fail

A book of poetry and prose by Native American women, published in 1983:

Tricked-out Barbie Dreamhouse

Of all her gifts, my five-year old cousin Alexis was most excited about this one:

Chillin' in the second story salon (with cameo audio appearance by Alexis herself):

 

My fourth floor apartment doesn't even have a working elevator!! Or a TV!!

Seasons Greetings from Minnesnowta

Snow storm landing

Sub-optimal driving conditions

Snowbanks impede visibility

Two and a half feet accumulation translates to about mid-thigh

Icicles on the Eves

Have a homemade cinnamon bun!

Farewell!

An Ode to Artemis

After three years of subjecting my beloved Artemis [1] to some of the worst conditions that a bicycle could possibly expect to endure, I finally brought her in for her first Cambridge tune-up: new tires (exchanged mountains for hybrids), new chain, new cassette, and a general sprucing up (though in Cambridge I prefer my bikes decidedly unspruced - less tempting to thiefs). I have ridden Artemis in snow, heavy rain (including an eight-foot-high semi-truck puddle tidal wave!), wind and hail (the ice chunks were bouncing off my helmet like ping pong balls). She has been locked up all over Cambridge, inside, outside, often overnight, and is scrappy enough to never get stolen.

I must admit, my reluctance to bring her in earlier was mostly due to a disdain for (and slight intimidation by) the type of snooty hipster fixie fanatics who work places like Cambridge Bicycle. Artemis is a modest bike - a light blue Specialized Hard Rock mountain bike with a tiny frame that my dad bought for me for my twelfth birthday. She has traversed nearly every bike path in Minnesota (plus quite a few country roads to boot), gave me the freedom to explore my adopted city, and kept me close to one of the most amazing people in the world (my dad). But, those shiny high-class road bikes and oh-so-hip lime green fixies staring out the windows of most bike shops don't know this. They look down at Artemis and only see her chubby tires, too-high seat, and think "what a loser." (No I am NOT being paranoid! I can see it in those judgemental handlebars . . . )

But, things were getting desperate. The mesh around the rim of the rear tire was disintegrating, the tube pushing through and deforming the wheel like a tumor. I could feel it as I rode, little speed bumps. Biking home at 2 AM in the 20 F windy Cambridge weather with the clunky chain was turning into an exercise in endurance. My friend Nicole suggested a small bike repair shop in East Cambridge called HubBicycle, which is run by a nice woman named Emily and her one assistant. Emily was listening to "Wait Wait Don't Tell Me" when I walked in, and declared it her favorite show (okay, that is still hipster, but NERDY hipster - my homies!) and her assistant recognized my Minnesotan area code and had a Minnesota cow (not a Minnesotan but married to one - more homies!)

Mug shots: before and after

 My bike was not judged by hipster fixies, I was not forced to buy random junk, and now I have her back, shiny and better than ever. As I pushed down on the pedal to pull away from the shop, I said, under my breath, "These gears feel like butter."

I took a bike ride for fun today, in the 20 F cold. Oh yeah, I am just that hard core.

[1] My bicycle, named after Artemis (the Romans called her Diana), greek goddess of the hunt. Her symbol is the stag. Statues of her were some of my favorite during my visit to the Louvre last November:

Experts at RLP

I stumbled upon this excellent quote while re-watching old episodes of Newsradio (my favorite show in junior high school and still highly recommended - at least until it jumps the shark midway through Season 3):

Lisa: I - I can do it sir, though it does seem completely hypocritical and illogical - I can do it.
Mr. James: Sorry, I'm used to working with Dave, see he's got a true gift for RLP.
Lisa: What?
Mr. James: Reconciling Logical Paradoxes.

Now, it struck me that a gift for RLP is probably one of the most useful talents a graduate student can have. Who among us is not faced with contradictory or nonsensical situations on a nearly daily basis? ("Please complete this experiment which to all intents and purposes is impossible", "Please write this report even though it was due three days ago," "Please start a new experiment even though you already have five underway". And of course, the biggest logical paradox of all: "What I am still doing in grad school?")

It is not therefore not surprising that students (especially in science!) have such a hard time adjusting to the demands of graduate school: we were (educationally speaking) raised in a world of problem sets and lab reports, right and wrong answers, yes or no - with no middle ground (or "higher ground", where the solutions to RLPs are usually found). 

But survival in this world is dependent on RLP - you wouldn't want to be pray to Logic Bombs like a mere android, would you?!?

So, next time you find yourself wondering why on Earth you are throwing away your twenties on an experiment that will never work, just remind yourself: "I am becoming an expert at RLP". (See! I just reconciled a logical paradox! I'm getting good)

P.S. Speaking of logical paradoxes, how is this not cheating?

Kara v. Book #1: November 2010

Nick Hornby writes a column for "The Believer" in which he lists all the books he's bought and all the books he's books read in a given month. It is subtitled "A hilarious and true account of one man's struggle with the monthly tide of the books he's bought and the books he's been meaning to read". Now, I know I am not nearly so awesome as Nick Hornby [1], but I am surely not a stranger to the battle of the books (as anyone who ever seen me flip out in a bookstore can attest to). And so, though I know my book reading habits are not nearly as intriguing as those of a nationally known author, I thought it might be fun to give this a go. Anyone with a violent opposition to literature or reading-related auto-immune disorder is advised to turn back now.

Barley Bear protects (and sometimes samples) my Rilke

I would like to start off by pointing out one key aspect of my book buying strategy, which is this: If I think I will read a book quickly and never look at it again (for example: fantasy novels, mysteries, bestsellers, etc.), I will generally get it from the library. If, however, I believe I will read a book slowly and refer back to certain passages in the future (for example: philosophy, "literature", poetry), I will generally buy it. This leads to an automatic (and somewhat unfair) disparity between the books I buy and those I "complete" - because "completing" a 300 page book of collected poems or a 500 page philosophy anthology in less than one month is paramount to mental suicide, and, in my opinion, ruins the experience of an art form that must at times be savored slowly. So, please have mercy on me for the all the glaring discrepancies - they are there for a reason.

So, with no further ado, here are my lists:

Books Bought:

• Kierkegaard, a very short introduction, by Patrick Gardiner [2] 
• Swann's Way, by Marcel Proust (translated by Lydia Davis)
• Consider the Lobster, by David Foster Wallace
• The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays, by Albert Camus [Used]

I bought the 1991 Vintage edition of Sisyphus particularly for it's cover

Books Completed:

• Darkness Visible, by William Styron
• Gathering Blue, by Louis Lowry
• The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde [Library]

Darkness Visible is currently loaned out to a friend

 Books Read in Part: Kierkegaard: A Short Introduction (30 pages), Swann's Way (10 pages), Considering the Lobster (60 pages), The Myth of Sisyphus (60 pages), A Kierkegaard Anthology (30 pages), and The Elegance of the Hedgehog (30 pages).

Yes, it has happened! Grad school has turned me existential! In the words of Camus: "If I see a man armed only with a sword attack a group of machine guns, I shall consider his act to be absurd." [3, pg. 29] And who, as a graduate student, has not felt exactly like a lone man battling a barrage of machine fire with nought but a dull machete? - if you don't believe me, just imagine your last meeting with your advisor!

Whether or not I am in an "existential crisis", whatever that means, I have been finding a great deal of comfort in Camus and Keirkegaard. These two philosophers double as authors, and so bring their thoughts closer to real life then some of the big boys like Hegel or Kant. For example, a quote by Camus:

"At the final stage you teach me that this wondrous and multicolored universe can be reduced to an atom and that the atom can be reduced to the electron. All this is good and I wait for you to continue. But you tell me of an invisible planetary system in which electrons gravitate around a nucleus. You explain this worl...d to me with an image. I realize then that you have been reduced to poetry: I shall never know" [3, pg 20]

I started this entry too late - I must be getting to bed. But if you would like to know my thoughts on any of the books I mentioned, please let me know in the comments section. I am happy to discuss books at length with anyone with the patience to put up with me.

Cheers!

Notes:

[1] In case you are not familiar with Nick Hornby, he wrote "High Fidelity" and "About a Boy", which have been made into Hollywood films starring John Cusack and Hugh Grant, respectively. He has written a number of other novels, which in my experience are quick and breezy yet still well-written and intelligent - in other words, perfect novels to help you take your mind off of grad school or a depressing job. You should check him out!

[2] I actually bought this book on October 31st, Halloween night, at the Harvard Coop while dressed in my costume! See, I took a picture:

[3] Camus, Albert. The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays.Vintage International Edition, New York: 1991.