Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

Greatest Academic April 1st Joke Ever!

Or at least in the top 10.

Some Brown University mathematics professors were confused and dismayed this month to learn that the university planned to admit 20 percent of its next freshman class completely at random — by putting names in a hat and drawing them out.

The Brown professors were reacting to an e-mail message they received from a colleague reporting on his work on the university’s Admissions Advisory Committee. Complete with the sort of verbiage and citations one might expect in a report from an august institutional panel, the memo outlined the reasons Brown was going to “merit-blind admissions” and the comparable actions of peer institutions. Naturally, professors reacted to this memo, with some expressing concern about random admissions. Had they followed a link provided in the memo, they would have realized that there was no cause for concern. However irrational many people find elite private college admissions, it isn’t in fact being replaced with drawing names out of a hat...

(IHE full article here)

Our Eyes Will See the Glory

(Full text and audio: http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkivebeentothemountaintop.htm)

Martin Luther King, Jr
April 3, 1968
Memphis, TN

Foolish

A couple days ago I got back into town from visiting relatives and was greeted by temps in the 40s and students in shorts and flip flops tossing frisbees. This morning I was greeted by half a foot of new snow, bundled myself and my girls in hats and gloves, and spent 10 minutes clearing heavy snow from my car. Thus, I'm reposting "The Sun Also Rouses" from last summer to cheer myself up about our cruel April Fools joke. Trust, Minnesotans: It will get better...

Sometimes, during our long and cold Minnesota winters, I play a trick on myself. I go out to my sunporch--a small, enclosed, window-filled space that heats quickly if the sun is shining, no matter how low the outside temperature. There I sit on my porch swing, close my eyes, and pretend that the warmth I feel is the warmth from a distant island. I am far, far away from here (I tell myself)...The waves are mere steps from me, and palm trees are swaying languidly overhead, cool breezes carress my skin (I continue in reverie). After some moments of this, I open my eyes. Only then am I fully aware that I am not on some palm-dotted, sun drenched isle, but in the frozen tundra of the northern USA.

This moment of realization always fills me with an oppressive sense of sadness and regret. I tamp down this sense only because I have so much to do--bills to pay, journal articles to draft, children to drop off or pick up. And I figure that at least for the few moments that I was self-fooled, I may have soaked up enough vitamin D to ward off any unpleasant ailments for another few weeks.

A couple weeks ago I was actually sitting on an island in the middle of the sea with the waves and palms and all that. I was vacationing with my family in Hawaii, on the island of Ohau. At one point on the beach, I closed my eyes and pretended I was back home in my sunporch instead, only pretending to sit on a beach. I needed to ensure that I captured any additional sense-details that I could carry with me to use this coming winter.

The first sense I attempt to nail down is the breeze. I conclude that "cool breeze" is different qualitatively and not just quantitatively from either a "hot wind" or "cold gale." In other words, it is not just a wind midway between these two. For example, a cold wind is so unique that I often refer to it with its own folk name, one that--if you do not already use it--is difficult to explain without you just experiencing it first hand: "the hawk." There are also phrases, metaphors and such for the cold. "Cold as a witch's left...um...breast." (Insert other folk name--slur?--for breast.) I am not sure of the origin of this comparison. But somehow it fits, no matter how nonsensical or misogynistic such a statement may be.

There are similar comparison's for heat: "Hot as hell," for example, simply and concisely sums things up. I can think of no such sayings, however, for the cool breezes I experienced sitting on the beach in the city of Ko Olina. But together with the warm sun, such breezes constituted an almost living system-- the sun-breeze continuum, call it--interacting to both calm and excite, keeping me in a perpetual state of intentional, but moderate motion.

Then there were smells...

Over the summer I have gotten in the habit of buying fresh flowers for our home every 2 weeks or so. I was surprised to find how happy seeing these splashes of beauty made me, and I have vowed to continue this habit. But I have also been surprised at how smell-less most of these flowers have been. Perhaps they put something on the flowers to make them last longer (they do stay beautiful a surprisingly long time) that interferes with their scent? Perhaps I am just too spoiled by super strong fake scents that squirt out of a can or waft from a wall plug that I can no longer appreciate the subtlety of "real" flower scents? I do not know. But many times I have been taken by the beauty in my vase, then walk over to bask my face in their scent only to smell only the slightest hint of aroma--or nothing at all.

This lack of smell, however, is not an issue on the island. There the scents are confident...arrogant, even. They will not be ignored. Together with the equally bold colors--and combined with the sun and the breeze--these smells create another active entity enlivening the atmosphere and influencing my actions within it. (The sun-scent-color-breeze continuum...)

And what about those waves? I have read of waves being "gentle" or "carressing," of waves "lapping" at folks' feet, even of ocean water feeling as if it is "baptizing" someone. Well, I think any one of these characterizations alone is not quite correct. The water and waves have a much more complex personality than this. At the point where the waves wash up against the sand they are, indeed, fairly gentle--playful, even. Waves taunt my daughters by--yes--lapping and licking at their toes. Their trickster nature makes them flow over the girls' sand castles, removing from them their form and detail. Yet the waves' builder character enables them to create their own art using sand as medium: cooling hot sand, compacting and smoothing loose sand, even inserting small shell fragments as if adding objects to a sculpture.

A little farther out the water is warm, the waves still gentle--carressing feet, ankles, lower shin. But move still farther out. Now the water is deep and cool--suddenly, as if an absolute dividing line has been passed. The waves are stronger here. They are more insistent, effortlessly moving my whole body with their strength. Schools of thin little fish call this depth their home. They will swim past me, brushing against my thighs with no fear of capture. Farther out still and the waves, cooler still, are king. I do not go out this far, as my swimming skills are not that great. Here, I know, an unexpected tide can carry a person far out to sea. Here is where people who like to court and tame wild waves paddle out on big boards in an attempt to walk on water.

The multifaceted waves add yet another package of senses--combining temperature, personality, tactility and adding them to my complex continuum of sun, scent, color, and breeze. The continuum is almost complete.

The final sense is one that I think will be the most difficult to capture while sitting on my sunporch. Standing at the edge of land and ocean, feeling the sun and breeze and smelling the smells and looking over the water and all of that, makes me feel very small in a very big universe.

Here, the world goes on forever without end, farther than my eyes can see. Water meets sky at the horizon. I see few people, but have the abstract knowledge that at that moment billions are born and living and dying. I see no stars (except our sun) in the daylight, but have the abstract knowledge that they, too, are coming into being, sending their light across space and time, and snuffing out. My concerns--of bills to pay, jobs to progress in, children to care for, tourist attractions to visit, and all manner of other thoughts--seem very small. There seems to be ample time to breathe deeply, to just sit in the warm sun and feel the cool wind tickle the small hairs on my face. There seems to be ample motivation to then stand and move on to the next thing, neither dimimished nor depressed by the transition from my prior state of calm, but instead roused and energized by it.

I can't wait for my sunporch in December.

"This is where we are right now..."

...This is where we are right now. It's a racial stalemate we've been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy - particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.

But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice is we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.

...For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle - as we did in the OJ trial - or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright's sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she's playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.

We can do that.

But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we'll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change.

That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, "Not this time." This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can't learn; that those kids who don't look like us are somebody else's problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time.

This time we want to talk about how the lines in the Emergency Room are filled with whites and blacks and Hispanics who do not have health care; who don't have the power on their own to overcome the special interests in Washington, but who can take them on if we do it together.

This time we want to talk about the shuttered mills that once provided a decent life for men and women of every race, and the homes for sale that once belonged to Americans from every religion, every region, every walk of life. This time we want to talk about the fact that the real problem is not that someone who doesn't look like you might take your job; it's that the corporation you work for will ship it overseas for nothing more than a profit.

This time we want to talk about the men and women of every color and creed who serve together, and fight together, and bleed together under the same proud flag. We want to talk about how to bring them home from a war that never should've been authorized and never should've been waged, and we want to talk about how we'll show our patriotism by caring for them, and their families, and giving them the benefits they have earned.

I would not be running for President if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected....

~Barack Obama, 3/18/08

Happy Pi Day!

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P.S. And Happy Birthday to AE!

Science Friday link

A Gift Bag Full of Feminism

Today is my daughters' eighth birthday. We have already had their party--a raucus affair at Pump It Up! They've taken treats to school today to share with their classmates. This evening my husband and I will take them out to dinner and give them their gifts from us (watches with clock faces/hands and books 5 and 6 of the Harry Potter series) and from their relatives out of town.

But still, I am thinking that I should give them a gift that is more personal...more lasting and important. After thinking about this a lot--especially in light of recent current events--I think I know the perfect gift:

Feminism.

But no, not the used, second-hand feminism that I was given/took/stole, and/or re-fashioned. A new feminism.

This new feminism will not trade paternalism for maternalism, nor tokenism for exoticism.

This new feminism will see that sometimes "assertiveness" and "fiestiness" is really just the same old arrogance and rudeness, just spun and branded better.

This new feminism will not be silent in the face of 24/7 media coverage of the death of one blond-haired, blue-eyed young woman while coverage of brown and black young women who also are found dead is absent.

This new feminism will acknowledge that some fish might like bicycles.

This new feminism will involve neither "choice" nor competition among gender and race and income level and sexual orientation and age or any other aspect of personal and group identity.

This new feminism will not define different opinions as self-delusion.

This new feminism will be as concerned with rights to be mothers as with rights not to be.

This new feminism will embrace the struggles and triumphs of my brothers, fathers, grandfathers and uncles as part of its own.

This new feminism will be as concerned with the women changing some other women's children's dirty diapers, cleaning some other women's dirty toilets as it is with these other women's struggles bumping up against the glass ceiling.

This new feminism will continue to observe how the "personal is political," but will also acknowledge that sometimes your personal "ain't like mine."

This gift of new feminism definitely will not be one size fits all, and there will be no restrictions on exchanges or refunds. I give this gift openly and freely, and without expectations of a thank you card or some other repayment at some future time.

Happy birthday, girls. Hope you enjoy your day and all of your gifts.