Keeping Fit

I'm off to play football quite soon, and so, obviously not wanting to start any work before then, I decided to trawl through the archives of xkcd some more. I just hit the random comic button a few times, and the following came up.

This is exactly how I thought about the gym when I was going there regularly, before I decided that I actually preferred competitive things other than watching a digital readout click over...

Boys Don't Cry

I saw another of the Metropolitan Opera's "Live in HD" performances on Saturday, and once again I was not disappointed. I didn't really know the story of Manon Lescaut, or of Puccini's adaptation, but my mum knew something of it and had picked this one out as one of the four she wanted to see for this season.

As with Eugene Onegin last year, I was completely entranced from start to finish. So far this year I have already seen operas of Macbeth and Romeo & Juliet, but somehow they didn't quite match up to the Manon Lescaut on Saturday, and all have failed to capture me as Eugene Onegin did. I'm not sure why exactly, but I wonder if it is precisely because I know the stories of Macbeth and Romeo & Juliet so well that they didn't grip me as much; I was always wondering (knowing that adaptations take small liberties) "Is that character going to appear?" "I wonder how they will do this?" and so on. Not knowing Eugene Onegin or Manon Lescaut beforehand perhaps allowed me to just soak it all in without thinking about what was to come.

One thing that both Onegin and Manon Lescaut have both managed to do is get me really choked up. Now, I'm not a macho guy by any stretch, and I'm not so reserved as thinking that there is something wrong per se with men crying, but I like to keep my tears to myself if at all possible. Onegin and Manon Lescaut involved me so much that I almost lost it; Des Grieux's grief and pleading at the end of Act III on Saturday was so emotional that it was as if it had cut me to the quick. Similarly, there were several moments in the performance of Onegin I saw last year that almost reduced me to tears, even more so than Manon Lescaut.

I'm not about to expouse some great theory about all this, but I think that there is something profoundly amazing with art/media - be it opera, theatre, film, literature, whatever - if it can effect an emotional response in a person to move them to tears or have them welling up. Comedy, drama, an interesting philosophical notion that makes you think for hours afterwards, all of these are good... But to move a person to tears is something else altogether; I think it's maybe because tears are such a private thing, we associate them with such personal events in our lives.

I don't remember the last time I watched a film that moved me that much*. And I could count on one hand the number of times a book has moved me so profoundly ("Flowers For Algernon," "Earth Abides," the last few chapters of "The Return Of The King").

How about you? What art/media moves you?

More soon.

*OK, I do remember, it was Terminator 2 when the Terminator is lowered into the steel at the end of the film. "I know now why you cry... But it is something that I can never do."

In my defence, I was a kid at the time!

More xkcd

After not writing for several days I think I am entitled to post twice in quick succession, especially when the second post is just a short one containing the following (in my opinion) hilarious picture from xkcd.

Right, now I'm off home. Thirty-three pages of typesetting computer programs is enough for one day.

Wordy Wednesday

Sigh. How did it get to Wednesday already?

So far this week has just been about my thesis. I've gone home two nights on the run just thinking about it, which is either really good or pretty bad, I've not decided which. In any case, yesterday I gave my fourth drafted chapter to my supervisor for him to look over. That officially puts me over the halfway mark in my book, and the good news is that the three remaining chapters have been worked on to some extent so I am not starting any of them "cold" so to speak.

Meeting with my supervisor tomorrow morning to talk about corrections to the three latest chapters I've handed him, and rather than start on work for the final three I decided to spend a few days working on my appendices. A large part of the work for two of my chapters was in developing algorithms for calculating knot polynomials, and so as well as theoretically come up with the methods I had to implement them in a computing language.

My task for the last few days has been commenting and annotating the code for some of these procedures: it's quite satisfying to recline in my office chair knowing that my thesis has increased by 57 pages in three days! Less satisfying when I see that 50 of those are for the appendices, but still, it's all important stuff and had to be done at some point.

I look through my blog fodder folder and see that there are a few BBC News stories that I have been meaning to share for a while now, and then there have been three this week that have set me thinking in one way or another.

Today's story of a Marilyn Monroe expert mistaking a poster of Madonna for Marilyn is quite astounding; I can sort of get how the guy who initially found it might make the mistake, an initial excitement and then a strong willingness for it to be something valuable could blind one to the truth. I don't get how the expert on Monroe could not notice it though, but then suddenly go, "My word, you're right!" when journalists said, "Isn't that Madonna?" Weird world.

Not as weird as the natural world; this picture of a prehistoric "frog from hell" made me long for a time machine to go back and see all of the amazing creatures that are no longer here.


In my travels through time I would, however, avoid the giant prehistoric scorpion from this article...

This story confirms something that I have long suspected about tattoos of Chinese words. My big question for this is why the artist used the word for "supermarket" - there are much more humourous things that that one could do with the situation.

The news story that has really got me thinking today is the British government's proposals for "British citizenship tests" which has been the main story on BBC News online all day. I don't object to making some kind of requirement of language exams, or even the idea of some kind of fund (with money coming from increased visa fees) which offsets some of the impact of large groups of people moving into an area.

The phrase which concerns me is "...future migrants would need to 'earn' citizenship..." I can understand a minimum set of requirements (language, finances, ability to earn and contribute to economy etc), but there is something else implied by earn citizenship that I find a bit unsettling, something that I can't quite express.

Perhaps it was reading on and seeing that the process would be easier for migrants (and have "full access" to benefits) if they could show that they were "active" citizens, by participating in charity work or being involved in the local community. My worry is that I might be deported because I am involved in neither! How can you make these almost requirements for citizenship of people who want to live in the UK when they are not requirements for people who are citizens of the country by birth? It doesn't quite seem fair.

Ugh, and the phrase "earn citizenship"... There's something incredibly dystopian about that phrase...

David Bowie's "Life on Mars?" has been running through my head all week (and coming out of my speakers thanks to Youtube); I really like it a lot. I've finally got into reading the webcomic xkcd as well; today's strip, was just a blinder.


More soon.

A Wunch of Bankers

So, congratulations are in order. I am now the owner of a bank.

Well, technically so are around 45 million other Britons. But still. Something to celebrate, don't you think?

Yes, that's right, the failed bank Northern Rock has now been nationalised and the government has become its only shareholder - not incidentally guaranteeing £110 billion (that's £110 BILLION) of taxpayers money in order to protect depositors and investors.

Now, I'm the first to admit, I know next to nothing about banking. But what I do know is, if a business fails ordinarily, there are generally pretty awful consequences for those concerned. People lose their jobs, CEOs get dragged over the coals, and legal action of all descriptions might result. And yet it is now apparent that the banking industry is different: a poorly run bank that makes idiotic choices about who to loan money to and gets involved in something as ridiculous as the sub-prime loans crisis not only survives but gets shored up by the taxpayer's money. The shareholders don't lose anything, the depositors don't lose anything, and the board escapes scotch free.

Seems a bit odd to me. In fact, it seems to utterly go against everything we know about free market economics. Isn't the whole point of buying shares that it's a risk? Isn't the point of a board accountability? Isn't it the point of a business that it can succeed or fail on its own merits? If a car manufacturer, say, goes out of business, the government don't nationalise it to protect shareholders and employees. Apparently that rule doesn't apply to banks.

In truth, I'm glad that the ordinary depositors who have savings in the institution are safe. But it seems to me that Northern Rock (and all banks) has a responsibility to its depositors to behave sensibly with their money and treat the implicit faith and trust they place in it with respect: it hasn't done so, and now it's got away with it. And we collectively have to shell out £110 billion. It's scandalous, actually. The board should be in prison, but instead they are, if you'll excuse the pun, laughing all the way to the bank.

Not-Very-Many-Words Sunday

My blogging partner has been doing 'Wordless Wednesday' posts for a while now. This post isn't entirely wordless, but nearly so. Here is a picture taken by the British photographer Tim Hetherington, of a bunker operated by the US Military near Korengal in Afghanistan: I saw it earlier today and had the bizarre thought, what a beautiful place to have a war.

Friday Already?

Where did the week go? It's the weekend once again, and I'm just amazed. It's a weird time at the moment.

My nan, who is in the end stages of Pick's Disease, had to be admitted in to hospital for an emergency hernia operation last Sunday. At the same time they resectioned her bowel and removed her appendix; we had to go in and see her when they admitted her, and they explained the risks and everything. They told us about how they wouldn't be using any extraordinary measures in the event of her getting into any difficulties - and in her condition that is not what we would want or she would want, but at the same time it is one thing knowing that and another thing accepting it when you're being told by a surgeon or an anaesthetist.

Five days on and she is still very poorly. The Pick's has brought her to the point now where she can't talk, certainly no more than yes and no answers, and one would have to wonder if she understands a question when it is asked of her. When she sees us I'd like to think that there is still that recognition in her eyes, even if it is just that she knows we are family. She's not eaten anything all week or got out of the bed, and has been asleep for most of the time.

It feels like we're all just holding our breath, waiting...

Technology let me down yesterday, and the Valentine ecard that I tried to send never made it to its recipient. First time in five years that I like someone and think that they like me, and the Internet decides to hate me. Well, have decided that the Internet can get stuffed, it's not going to beat me. I'm seeing her after the weekend and I'm just going to tell her.

(yes, I probably should have just trusted the Royal Mail but I don't know her address - the age that we live in I suppose - and yes, I really should have just told her in person anyway that I like her... As noisms will testify, this is my normal pattern of behaviour when I life someone, i.e., not saying a thing to them and hoping that they will notice something in me in some way because we spend time together. The difference with this one is that I am going to do something about it)

The Kodo Drummers were absolutely spectacular. The dedication, the skill, the sound... If they had been playing on Tuesday night I would have gone back to see them, and if they return to Liverpool or anywhere near where I might be in the future I wouldn't hesitate to see them again. I quite like listening to percussion pieces, and have seen a few performances at my sister's music college before, but nothing like the taiko drumming that the Kodo Drummers did.

And... I might be applying for a job. It's a teaching position at a university in the south of the UK, a fixed term position where I would be a member of teaching staff (not doing, or at least not getting paid to do, research) and it would involve, by the sounds of things, a lot of teaching with a lot of admin, but it would be a start.

Weighing it up at the moment; the application deadline is three weeks away, and the start time would be September this year. Thesis submission is probably two months away now, but with probable viva dates and then time to get corrections finished it doesn't leave a lot of time for sorting out somewhere to live, moving etc. Still, you make time for what's important, right?

The big thing that I'm weighing it up against is my desire to travel for an extended period... If I don't do it now when will I do it? But how often does the possibility of a decent job like this (which is right up my street) come along?

Will let you know how my decision to apply for it goes in the coming weeks...

Finally, I've just finished reading "The Man Who Was Thursday" by G. K. Chesterton; I liked it a lot, even though the direction of the story was quite obvious from about halfway through, it was a really funny tale and had a lot of really profound moments too. The following, which is in the context of people, is the one that just jumped out of the page at me as I read it.

It may be conceded to the mathematicians that four is twice two. But two is not twice one; two is two thousand times one.

More soon.

Okinawa

Kanagawa prefecture, where I live, is a little hot spot for US military activity. Jets and helicopter gunships fly by on a daily basis, on training missions from the local air base (at Zama); there is also a big naval base at Yokosuka where you can often see aircraft carriers and AEGIS cruisers resupplying (or doing whatever they do). After 60 years they're still here, and probably will be indefinitely; surprising as it may seem the Japanese government prefers to have a US military presence in the archipelago because it means they don't have to face up to one of their major long-term problems: the lack of a real army. While America has a stake here they can duck the issue, which they're more than happy to do.

Still, there are problems associated with this, especially for Okinawa. Okinawa was actually only 'returned' to Japanese sovereignty during the mid 1970s, and it still bears a disproportionate weight in terms of US military presence. (Despite having only about 1% of Japan's total land area, the prefecture has about 75% of all the land taken by the American armed forces in the country.) It also bears a disproportionate amount of crime and social disorder associated with the occupying troops. (Rape is particularly common.)

What many people don't know about Okinawa is that until the 1970s it was actually technically an independent state (despite being a vassal of Japan). Indeed, for most Okinawans, the American occupation was just the replacement of one hated outside army by another, and many in the prefecture were hoping that the US government could be persuaded to give the islands back the independence that was taken from them during the early 20th century. But the world of the 1970s was markedly different to that of 1945; the US and Japan were no longer enemies but allies in the Cold War, and so Okinawa was 'returned' (actually given over) to Tokyo when occupation was deemed no longer necessary.

You can still see relics of Okinawa's past if you go to the islands. Each island had its own language and king, and distinctive-looking palaces, castles and temples are dotted around the archipelago. You can also see more recent relics of Okinawa's painful history in the form of cave systems where local civilians used to hide from the fighting during the Battle for Okinawa in March-June 1945. It is estimated that 140,000 civilians were killed in the battle (along with around 60,000 Japanese and 12,000 American troops), many of them at the hands of Japanese soldiers (who also forced thousands of them to commit suicide). They used to take shelter in remote caves under cliffs and in other inaccessible positions, and these days those places are treated as shrines to the war dead.

Hi! China!

So the Olympics have become political again, and there is once again an opportunity for Westerners to feel self-righteous and point their fingers at another country, this time China. How we love an opportunity to duck our own responsibilities and foist the blame on somebody else. We in the West have singularly failed to do anything of worth to help the Darfur situation, despite being the best placed to do so, and rather than stand up and admit it we pass the buck to China; could anything be more childish and pathetic? And that's exactly how it looks to people in East Asia, I can personally confirm.

What especially annoys me is the hypocrisy. The Olympics after these will be held in London; how many countries in the world will listen to the invective being directed in China and think to themselves, "Why not boycott the London Olympics because of what happened in Iraq?" But no, different strokes for different folks: when the London Olympics come around, all the talk will be about the spirit of sport and apolitical competition - you can pretty well guarantee it. You can straight away bet your house on Stephen Spielberg not having much to say.

In any case, the point of the Olympics is that it is the world's chance, once every four years, to put aside politics and compete as equals. That never works in practice, but we should at least be working towards that goal; Darfur and Iraq are to be discussed at the negotiating table at the UN - all I want to hear about at Beijing 2008 is fat women hammer throwers from Belarus, British rowers and sailors getting gold (our only medals), Japanese getting a clean sweep at the judo (their only medals), some US sprinter or other breaking a world record, and beautiful Eastern European pole vaulters.

Extremes

Since the ancient heating system was turned on in mid-October we have had problems in our office; when it was first turned on, it was quite stifling at times, and we complained and asked if there was anything that could be done about it.

We were told that people had been complaining about the heating system for over fifteen years, and nothing had happened yet, but that "they" would look into it - I'm really not sure who "they" are, "they" could be goblins for all I know... Not once in our discussions did we find out whether it was a university service we were waiting on, or if outside people were being hired in to try and fix it.

In early November the top two floors on our side of the building went cold. Previously the other side of the building had been cold, and now they had heat (at a reasonable temperature too). For three months in our office (which is over 2o square metres) we made do with one little electric heater, and every other week we were told that someone was going to take another look at the heating system.

On some days I knew of people who were wearing coats in their offices at their desks in order to stay warm... Until finally on Thursday last week I came in to the office and my officemate Helena said, "The wall started making noises a few minutes ago." The central heating system runs the full length of one wall and so I went over and experimentally put my hand over it... A thin trickle of heat was coming out. We danced a little dance and turned our one bar heater off, and thanked God that finally the thermostats were fixed and we could work in comfort.

On Friday morning I got up to the office, opened the door and was almost floored by a rolling wave of heat. Of course, my desk is right next to the heating... Today, coming in to the office first thing was even worse, the heat even more sweltering. Just above the heaters running the length of the wall we have four large windows. They're all open and it barely makes a dent in the temperature.

We've all fired off emails, but haven't received a reply as yet. At the University of Liverpool, things often just go from one ridiculous extreme to another...

Anyway! Sorry to bore you with this little slice of life from the fifth floor. I'm off out in about ten minutes to meet a friend for dinner, and then we're going to see the Kodo Drummers at the Royal Liverpool Philharmonic Hall!