The Final Word in the Final Sentence

...is no longer "scar." But we knew that a while ago.

Review, Discussion, and Plenty of Shameless Spoilers: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Come on, guys. If you haven't read the book yet, don't say I didn't warn you. And now it's time to have a little chat, in what I promise will be the last Harry Potter post for a long, long time.

Let's start with that "scar" while it's fresh on my mind. I can't quite comprehend why the last word wasn't "scar" anymore. I mean, it's not as if "scar" was erased from the epilogue--at least in the British version, it was on the very same line, for goodness sake. Rowling could easily have rewritten it to keep her ten year old promise to us. Instead we came away with "all was well."

Really, that unexpectedly weak last sentence underscored an unexpectedly weak epilogue in general. Samantha eloquently characterized it as "Grade F fanfiction." (As if there were some other sort.) Intellectually, I realize this is probably Rowling's attempt at a "feel-good ending" for all the little kids who got screwed up by all the Bad Things that happened during the book. Literarily, it was sort of a letdown after a powerful final installment that could have easily stood on its own without "awww, Harry and Ginny made some babies."

Now let's talk about the title. Thinking back on it, it was foolish to assume that we could guess what the title meant. There was no way we could have guessed what the "Chamber of Secrets" was based on the first boo. No way we could have guessed the "Goblet of Fire" from the first three, etc. And yet, the fan community was adamant that it knew what the Deathy Hallows were before reading the book. Half of it (myself too) thought it meant Horcruxes, half thought it meant Godric's Hallow, and both camps were completely wrong in a sort of interestingly half-correct way.

Thinking back to the earlier books in the series, remember how every book was considered "the darkest book yet"? The first one, sure, a few creepy things happened, but it was essentially a children's story. The second and third, creepier stuff happens, like possession. Then, at the end of book four, somebody finally dies. A couple more deaths, now significant ones, in five and six. And by maybe a third of the way into Deathly Hallows you find yourself thinking "wait, we thought a single death was 'dark' before?" The first three hundred pages or so of the seventh book were far more intense than the rest of the series, put together.

I think a lot of what made the series succeed in the past was the fact that there was a lot of "normal school stuff" balanced with "heroic saving the world." The seventh book had none of the "normal" stuff, which made it sort of weird. Like I've said before, one of the strongest points in the series has always been its immersive depth of setting, and Hogwarts was the critical element of that. People commented that it didn't make sense for Harry to go back to school, because he had more important things to worry about than Potions essays. The thing is, one of the reasons the books were so good in the past is because all of us have had our Potions essays to trudge through, our Draco Malfoys to combat, our Hermione Grangers to try and live up to. The first six books had some of their most brilliant moments in offhand comments made by some Weasley, in History of Magic lectures that you swear you've had to sit through, in Minerva McGonagall's mood swings.

It's clear from the start that if the seventh book is supposed to succeed, it's going to have to carve an entirely new path for itself, utterly abandoning everything we already grew to love about the series. And that's not exactly a reassuring thought. Ultimately, Rowling succeeds in concluding her series, but at the cost of systematically breaking down each and every reason we read the first six books. Or is it "with the added benefit of redefining why we liked the first six books?" Tough to say. If she was going for "make you feel utterly hopeless by the halfway point," then she did a really good job. You know that Good has to triumph over Evil in the end, but around that halfway point, you're not entirely clear on how that's going to happen.

Rowling's greatest strength in this book, then, is making the reader feel exactly as demoralized or emboldened as the characters are at any given point. And at that halfway point, when we meet the white doe, the grand pendulum starts to swing out of "sheer desperation," for both the characters and the reader. Only then do Good Things start happening instead of death and flight everywhere. How incredibly significant that white doe seems when you think about it, and who it symbolizes, after you've finished the novel. Of course, that symbolism is Lily Evans through Severus Snape.

The other assertion that I've made about the series is that Severus Snape is the only interesting character. I don't actually think that's true, after reading the final book, but he was undoubtedly the most complex. And... well, I got my wish, didn't I? Snape, neither truly good nor truly evil. Working for the Good Guys, yes, but not because of a desire to do good. The book's most interesting issue to think about is Snape's ultimate motivation in his actions for the last fifteen years. Was Snape actually in love with Lily, or was it a sort of obsession instead? Did he actually want to honor Lily's memory, or was he instead disgruntled with/fearful of Voldemort and wanted a back-end way to work against him? I'm mostly satisfied with how our friend Severus turned out, although I do find one thing a little strange. Whether is was obsession, fear, revenge, or actual love, does it make sense to have one and only one goal drive all of your actions for fifteen years of your life? I can't see it, at least for myself.

And now, death. It's in the title, so you've got to be expecting it. I think the many deaths in this book can be roughly divided into a few categories:

1) Characters I expected to die who did. I thought some member of the Order would probably die, such as Moody, Lupin, or Tonks. Turns out we hit the trifecta. I thought some Weasley would die, because it's so improbably for all of them to have survived--probably Molly. We got Fred instead. Voldemort. Bellatrix (though I thought for a sense of poetic justice, Neville would have brought her down). And finally, Snape, no matter what side he turned out to be on.

2) Characters who I never saw it coming. Hedwig? Seriously, Jo? I mean, damn. She didn't even have a noble death--just green flash, squawk, thump, boom. And... Dobby?

Finally, I really appreciate the new dimension we got for so many of the main characters. Who'd have thought the exalted Albus Dumbledore would have been simultaneously into immortality and a massive coverup to hide his family secrets? And who'd have thought that Neville was actually a hero?


Currently listening: "Black Wave" and "Split Needles" from Wincing the Night Away, the Shins

Eighteen Come April

You probably haven't heard of the English folk song "Seventeen Come Sunday." I hadn't until I played it as part of Ralph Vaughan Williams' English Folk Song Suite in concert band. On a side note, this is one of the best wind band pieces I have ever played or even heard... incredibly complex counter-melodies, "hummable" melodies, intriguing dynamic and solo work. If you have heard and liked Holst's Suites for Military Band, Folk Song Suite is more of the same, and probably better.

And even if you have heard of "Seventeen Come Sunday," probably by means of Folk Song Suite, you probably didn't know that it had words. I didn't, until one of those famous Wikipedia binges, where you start on "hydrofuran," end up on "Voltaire," and pass through "Mythology in Final Fantasy X" in the process. On one of those excursions, I discovered this, which lists all the lyrics to this song. They're absolutely hilarious. I figured that if it had words, they would probably be about war, because it was a march. Given that the title was "Seventeen Come Sunday," I figured it had a coming-of-age theme, and so I assumed that the narrator of sorts was off to join the army as soon as he was old enough. Turns out that's not exactly incorrect...

Here's the Reader's Digest version: some guy is walking through an English village one morning, and he sees a cute girl.
Guy: Hey, what's up?
Girl: Oh, not much, just doing some errands for my mom.
Guy: Right... how old are you?
Girl: I'm seventeen come Sunday.
Guy: Yeah, about that... do you really want to be doing errands for your mom?
Girl: Well, I guess not. Let's screw.

And now we turn our attention to the lovely Miss Emma Watson, who plays Hermione in the Harry Potter movies. She, of course, is eighteen come April.

Now, Emma Watson being not quite eighteen, I obviously don't have a thing for her. Not until April 15 2008, that is. This is an unfortunate temporal arrangement, but it doesn't preclude me from planning for the future. Interestingly, hers is a very badly-written and edited website. It needs someone else to maintain it... me, for instance. And if I'm going to be applying for this job in 38 weeks, I'm going to need to do a little background research. Here are a few of Emma's favorite things, taken from the website, and with my own commentary added below.

1) Colour: pink
Fabulous. This suggests that she's girly, and that's instantly attractive.
2) Band: the Postal Service
Amazing. She likes good music, too. I'm holding out hope that she too detests the Black Eyed Peas.
(skip a few that I haven't heard of)
5) Musical: Chicago
Acceptable. I might have preferred something satirical like The Producers or Spamalot, but at least it's not something totally lame like South Pacific.
6) Actor: Johnny Depp
Excusable. For all the overhype he receives, the man actually does know how to act.
(skip a bunch about which I'm unqualified to comment, like fashion)
14) Food: spaghetti
Delicious. Who doesn't like spaghetti... and yet putting it as your favorite food is sort of gutsy.
15) Comfort food: Toast and hot chocolate
Intriguing. I'm going to have to try this.
16) Drink: orange juice and lemonade
Imaginative. As long as it's not "cheap beer" I have no objection.
17) Car: I don't know anything about cars.
Fine. Neither do I.
18) Holiday destination: France
Disappointing. Hopefully this is a product of "lack of worldly experience" and not "genuine love of France." Unless she's flutently bilingual, which would be totally hot.
19) Sport: field hockey
Unusual. Though not entirely bad. I wonder what she thinks of good old American football?
20) Animal: cat
Adorable. How can you not love cats?
21) TV show: Friends
Unfortunate. There's a lot out there that's a lot funnier.

And finally, she is apparently artsy, too, having drawn an illustration for her own website. Lovely. Of course, we already know that she's a sort of artsy, being an actress and all...


Review: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Let's be honest here, seeing the movie was not the primary reason I went to see the movie. It was so I could go the wonderful Utopolis theater in Luxembourg, which it turns out is an amazing little slice of America. Liter of Coke for 3 Euros? It just doesn't get any better than that. Well, okay, it does, but only in American grocery stores. In super-expensive Europe, that drink price is even cheaper than American theater drink prices! Add theater-style (read: drenched in butter) popcorn, and you've got a great reason to skip Thermo.

And even so, the movie turned out to be pretty good too. Primarily, I think it was as true a 2 1/2 hour adaptation of an 800 page book is going to be. And that's going to be the main reason anybody is going to want to see the movie. They're not expecting astonishing cinema; they want an adaptation. The movie had its strong points--the wizard duels were particularly convincing, and the Department of Mysteries was exactly as I think it should have been. It had its weak points, too--I take issues with how the centaurs are portrayed. In the books, they're supposed to be incredibly intelligent and rightfully offended when Umbridge calls them "creatures of nearly-human intelligence." In the movie, they're portrayed as just that; merely grunting and shooting arrows at her.

I don't have an eye for good/bad editing, but even I saw a few clumsy transitions and the like. A few scenes I think really should have been in the movie, like Harry's emo rage when he smashes all of Dumbledore's crap in the office, or when Harry finds Sirius's mirror, or when Harry and Cho start screaming at each other on Valentine's Day. Finally, the whole Cho thing seemed a bit odd; making her out to be the traitor tidied things up cinematically... except that it didn't, because of the equally as bizarre use of Veritaserum. In the end, though, that's probably a minor point.

I get it from a reliable source that Rupert Grint is supposed to be attractive, and I get it from an equally reliable source that Daniel Radcliffe is supposed to be attractive. My feelings on the matter? Rupert Grint looks sort of dorky--how else do you describe a guy whose hair comes down to his nose? And Daniel Radcliffe looks sort of geeky. Yes, there's a difference. A little more on casting decisions: my feelings regarding Emma Watson are well known. I think that Luna was cast perfectly (apparently Rowling thinks so too). She's young, but has lots of attractive-potential, possibly more so than the character warrants.

Next post, of course, will be the fourth Harry Potter-themed one in a while, where I very carefully discuss the new book without spoiling anything. Or completely open the floodgates on what happens and give my opinion on all of it; I haven't decided yet. At any rate, there's no point making predictions at this stage, when spoilers are probably abounding all around me anyway.


Currently listening: Love, The Juliana Theory

Expatriation

Think of the strangest 4th of July experience you could have as an American citizen. You may be having fanciful visions of oppression in Iron Curtain Europe, or malaria in the jungles of Panama, or subsistence in some remote African village where they may not even know it is the Fourth of July, or even care for that matter. And yes, you'd be right, those would be strange Fourths of July indeed. How about sitting in the common room of a French campus of an American university? This would involve colored mood lighting--not red, white, and blue, mind you, but red and orange. It would incorporate that most American of music genres, jazz, as performed by a duo of French musicians. The food would not be entirely out of place: sausage, chicken, and pork on the grill, but with a strange European twist of paprika-flavored potato chips. (This was later determined to be a conspiracy, as these tasted strangely similar to barbecue chips back from the States.)

And the day's entertainment? No fireworks, of course, but that can almost be excused on the basis of a rainy morning and afternoon. This rainy morning and afternoon, spent in the World War I battleground of Verdun. Verdun is a strange choice for such a day of American patriotism, as no American regiments actually fought at Verdun. One American was killed at the battle, an ambulance driver who volunteered with the French army, but the good old AEF would not enter the way for another year at that point.

More than just being a strange place to celebrate American patriotism, Verdun is a strange place to celebrate much of anything. I think the operative word here is "somber." Touring the inside of Fort Douaumont is at least historically interesting, and the memorial has plenty of military relevance in the form of artillery and old uniforms. Taking a look around, though, you see acre after acre of shell-shocked land, miniature hills and valleys that have been a part of the landscape since 1916 that nobody has any reason to think will ever go away. Then you come to the graveyard: row after row of "mort pour le France," "mort pour le France." Taking all of this in combination with weather that Seattle seems to have modeled itself off of, and you get a 4th of July that's more depressing than anything.

And apple pie? Forget about it, though there were some tasty apples available; imagine crust and cinnamon and sugar and you're almost there.


Tangent: I just found the drop-down that lets me access Blogger in English. This made me very, very happy, despite the cloud cover that is still reminiscent of an Atlanta February.


I know when I've been beaten, and it looks like time to clarify my position on the Harry Potter finale just a little bit. It's interesting how negative the reaction has been to using Norton's standards of "classic" to describe the Harry Potter books. Even so, I believe my argument remains essentially the same, even disregarding the entire "classic/not a classic" framework. To quote Nick's comment from the previous post, "there is substantial difference between a book that is enjoyable and layered throughout [...] and a book that sacrifices all of that hard work for the sake of a pat and satisfying ending." And to me, making Snape a clear-cut Good Guy or a clear-cut Bad Guy is doing exactly that: taking the only morally intriguing character in the series and defenestrating everything that was interesting about him.

One hallmark of a good piece of literature--whether a "classic" or whatever else you want to call it, is allowing the reader to consider what's happening in it and make his own conclusions about at least a few points. In Harry Potter, we're told virtually everything else outright; allowing her readers to make their own conclusions regarding Snape is the least Rowling could do.

One comment Gina made on the Book of Faces goes like this: "Snape is too intelligent not to understand the bigger picture and to have an opinion on it." Too true. And the only thing that makes sense, given everything that we know about his character from books 1-6, is that this "opinion" is "how do I manipulate everyone so that I come out the best for myself?" He's a Slytherin, so he's nothing if not ambitious.

One further comment by Gina: "If she does have him turn out to be good, it further enforces what Sirius (or perhaps Lupin) says in Order of the Phoenix, 'The world isn't broken down into good people and Death Eaters.'" This one I definitely disagree with. If he turns out to be a Good Guy (or a Bad Guy, for that matter), it shows that the world absolutely is broken down into Good Guys and Bad Guys. When I read that quote, I immediately thought of Snape. Virtually everyone else we know of it one or the other (aside from the people at the Ministry of Magic, who are probably the least compelling and developed characters in the series). I still argue that not only does the setting Rowling has created benefit immensely if he's somewhere in between, it actually suffers if he's not.

A final question on the issue: what does everyone think about having Snape's allegiance go completely unresolved? What if Rowling were to kill him off before we knew for sure? We already know that this isn't going to happen of course, but I'm interested how people would see that. A cop-out, merely a literary trick to escape making a tough narrative decision? Or an act of realism, a final stroke to give the reader something to think about once the book is finished?


Currently listening: "Kalimba Story," Earth Wind and Fire

Sound the Keening Bell

...for Harry Potter, of course. The release of Book Seven, alternately known as Deathly Hallows in English and Relics of Death or even more morbid options in other languages, is probably the biggest book news of the year, maybe of the decade. It marks the end of one of the most successful literary enterprises, ever, probably next to Gutenburg's rendition of the Bible. And I'm really, really apprehensive about how this book is going to turn out.

First, a little background of my experiences and interactions with the Harry Potter series. Like almost every semi-literate twelve-year-old, I picked up the first book when it came out, and liked it. I kept reading the books, faithfully, from the second to the fifth. I considered them to be truly good books, and they held my interest over half a decade. My peer group and I, of course, are exactly the right age to enjoy the entire range of the series, from its innocuous childlike inception (when we were in middle school) to its dark and somewhat depressing antepenult (when we were nearing the end of high school and ready to handle such heavy matters).

Enter Patrick Norton, one of my five most respected high school teachers, who taught my AP Lit class. One of the obvious foundations for an advanced treatment of English is its classic literature, and to understand that you have to first define what a classic is. Norton used the counterexample of Harry Potter to define what a non-classic is. To be a classic, among other criteria, a book must have a point beyond mere storytelling, it must be unique or at least creative and lucid in making that point, and it must show us rather than tell us why that point is important. Harry Potter does none of these things, according to this instruction.

Why use Harry Potter as this counterexample? First, because of the contemporary relevance of the series. For an intelligent bunch of teenagers in the mid-2000s, there was a good chance that their recent literary development at least had a flavor of Harry Potter in it, if not outright dominated by it. Second, because of its overwhelming popularity and fanbase. People are fanatics about these books. Sure, John Grisham, Robin Cook, and Dan Brown, just to name a few, have their loyal readerships. But nobody's proclaiming The Firm, Toxin, or even for all its attached controversy and resultant staggering popularity, The DaVinci Code a classic. And yet, Harry Potter apologists are more than willing to do so for their books.

So, according to Norton at least, Harry Potter is not a classic... not that there's anything wrong with that. The immediate follow-up to the "what is a classic" discussion was the "what makes a book good" discussion. Just because a book isn't a classic doesn't mean one can't find it entertaining, exciting, or even thought-provoking. And just because a book is a classic doesn't mean one has to agree with or enjoy it.

At the time, though, I wasn't so ready to accept Norton's assertion. After all, these books did have characters that were at once deep and relatable, they had literary devices peppered throughout, and they had a staying power that far outmatched most popular fiction. Didn't that qualify as a classic? Once I finished that class, I read the sixth book in the series. This one was even darker than the previous, bordering on horrific (or at least occult) in some places, and it introduced a completely new plane of moral ambiguity into the series. That much further emboldened my intellectual position that, if Harry Potter wasn't a classic, it at least had admirable classic-like qualities.

So, the more Harry Potter I read, the more convinced I was that the series shouldn't be immediately dismissed as non-classic. And now, the more I read about what book 7 is going to be like, the more convinced I am that JK Rowling is sabotaging her own position. The biggest fear I have about this book is that it's going to attempt to explain too many things, to tie together too many loose ends. Loose ends are okay. In the real world, things don't come together nicely. Granted, a world with wizards and flying brooms and evil necromancers isn't real, but once you accept the premise of those things existing, you can at least shoot for verisimilitude. Explaining every last unknown destroys that.

To paraphrase JRR Tolkien, the undisputed founder of the modern fantasy genre and an author to whom JK Rowling owes virtually the entirety of her inspirational credit to, "in a fantasy setting, there are some mysteries that don't need to be explained." Tolkien cited Tom Bombadil, the yellow-booted primordial guardian of nature, as one of those mysteries. He's been there as long as Iluvatar (God) himself. He played into the main storyline of the series, but wasn't central to it. He comes and goes as only a being that ancient and powerful can please. None of this is addressed in the books, and Tolkien correctly asserts that it does not need to be. That's because Tolkien was building a setting in which the reader was supposed to believe that many things were happening: the story of the One Ring, and many other complex lives, tales, and events that didn't necessarily interconnect. That's the mark of good world-building.

Rowling had the potential to do the same thing. Her world is cleverly crafted, and from the start of the first book, we're awash in believability of setting. With her promises to make things all come together at the end, though, it's clear that she's crafting a story, not a setting. Take her mention of bringing Dolores Umbridge back. In the real world, a character like Umbridge would come and go, making her indelible mark on the environment, and then departing when the time was right. If Rowling brings her back, it's only for fan satisfaction and the exploitation of an inside joke.

Finally, there's the Snape dilemma Rowling has worked herself into. If Snape turns out to be a Good Guy, then there's an inconsistency with him having been so much of a jerk to everyone of the other Good Guys. There hasn't been any narrative justification for him to have switched to the Good Guys; nothing in it for him. If he turns out to be a Bad Guy, then Dumbledore, the smartest, wisest, and most amazing Good Guy ever, was wholly wrong for decades. There hasn't been any narrative justification for Dumbledore to even be capable of making a mistake that big. My own feelings on Snape are well known; it only makes sense for him to be out for himself and playing both sides. And it makes the world more believable. If Rowling neglects this opportunity to make Snape neutral, she's put the nail in her own "Harry Potter is nothing but popular fiction" coffin.


Completely unrelated to Harry Potter, a loyal reader may have noticed that I never posted a review of 300. That's because I didn't have a lot to say about it. The first time I heard of this movie was at a friend's apartment, when I was shown the trailer for what was proclaimed to be "the most amazing movie, ever." A lot of people still held that view after they saw the movie. I was not one of them. I was skeptical of the movie from the first time I saw the trailer, and I still held that view after I saw the movie. But posting a somewhat negative review of 300 on the "This! Is! Sparta!" obsessed Internet would be akin to posting a critique of the Church's position on birth control somewhere in Vatican City. It just wouldn't have any impact.

Someone with a larger reader contingent than I do, though, may get noticed. Take, for instance, someone who had been noticed by Digg. Someone like these guys, who feel exactly the same way about 300 that I do. Give their review a read.


Currently listening: "Clark Gable," the Postal Service

Bong Hits and Americanism

No, I'm not into illegal drugs. And apparently, even if I were, I couldn't advertise it on a school campus. If you haven't heard about the "Bong Hits 4 Jesus" case, now would be a good time to familiarize yourself with it. Here, the Supreme Court limited rights on student free speech, or so it would seem. If you read the deliberately sensationalist headlines on any news reporting service (CNN included) it would seem that it was a new development that schools were allowed to censor their students.

If that were the case, then why hasn't this become a Constitutional issue already? It has never been allowed, for instance, for a student to wear a shirt with a pot leaf on it. This is a clear limitation on that student's free speech, though, so is that a Constitutional issue? A friend of mine reported Southern good old boys being very disappointed indeed when shirts bearing "Old Dixie" on the front and a picture of black people working in a cotton field on the back were banned. A certain Georgia Tech fraternity may also have been dismayed at this news, but it was of course widely supported at the school. Nevertheless, isn't this a limitation on free speech, too?

Looking at other Constitutionally guaranteed rights, students can't bring guns to school. Neither, for that matter, can teachers, staff, parents, or visitors. But that's a limitation on everyone's second amendment rights to keep and bear arms, right? A minor cannot sue anyone for a perceived injustice against him, and neither can a second party bring a suit against a minor. Is this a limitation of a student's eighth amendment rights? Finally, the ninth and tenth amendments reserve non-enumerated rights to the people. But there are all sorts of laws telling minors what they can and cannot do--driving a car, getting married, and entering contracts, to name a few. That should be an abridgment of a student's Constitutional rights too.

In conclusion, of course a government has an ability to limit the rights of its minors. Whether that's right or not is another issue, and one that I'm not well enough versed in Constitutional law to comment on. But the fact is that it exists, for better or for worse.

Now for the kink.

If you dig a little deeper into this case, the incident took place outside of the school. Granted, the students were participating in a school function at the time, and that's what actually makes the case interesting. To me, this was less a case of how a student's rights can be limited, and more a case of how far a school's jurisdiction extends, and under what circumstances. Of course, the Justices thought it was about drugs, and we'll have to assume they know more about the law than I do.

Said Chief Justice Roberts: "[the principle] failing to act would send a powerful message to the students..." About what? It's not like this kid had a bong to offer hits from in the first place. Said Justice Stevens, in dissent: "[this case establishes] a special First Amendment rule permitting the censorship of any student speech that mentions drugs..." And here, I disagree too, because I still maintain this case is not about drugs.

Regardless of which side you back, the one person who was clearly wrong in all of this was the student. He contends, ""I find [the sign] absurdly funny," which it's simply not.


One topic that's always interesting to think about is the degree to which politics are acceptable in music. On one hand, I've always been adamantly "keep your mouth shut and sing" or act, direct, or otherwise entertain. On the other hand, politically-driven music can be remarkably good. One of the best examples of contemporary politically-motivated music is, of course, American Idiot by Green Day. I like American Idiot for the most part. "She's a Rebel" is probably among my top twenty favorite songs, and of course "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" was near-ubiquitous my senior year of high school, so it has a sort of pleasant nostalgia associated with it.

That said, it's way too political for me. Regardless of how you interpret its message and if you agree with it or not, this album produced the unfortunate contradiction between "this is music I like" and "this was produced by means I disagree with." It's recently come to my attention that the lead singer of the Killers, another band I really like, had something to say about American Idiot too. According to Brandon Flowers, the album displays "calculated Anti-Americanism." He further goes on to assert that "[English and German] kids aren't taking [the message] the same way that [Billie Joe Armstrong] meant it. And he knew it." Well done, Mr. Flowers.

I contend that neither Sam's Town nor American Idiot is anywhere near as representative of slices of American life, of joy, of change, and of heartbreak as Sufjan Stevens' Illinoise is. But that's just my indie-pop sensibility.

One more note on indie-pop: Of Montreal's Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer isn't as bad as it was as I first listened to it. I think the reason I hated it so much for so long is due to a recency effect. Even after a second chance (one that redeemed most of the album), "Faberge Falls for Shuggie" is truly a horrible song. And the track titles are too pretentious. And there's too much unwarranted use of gapless playback. And a lot of the harmonies are so thick that they become dissonant. But other than that, it's not a bad album.


Currently listening: "Suffer for Fashion," Of Montreal

How to Change a Life

I'm not going to assert that Barcelona was disappointing. On the contrary, it was a lot of fun, a thoroughly enjoyable trip. Evidently it was supposed to be a "life-changing" experience, though, and that it just wasn't. Maybe if you're the type that organizes weekend trips around bars and getting drunk, Barcelona is the place to be. I don't necessarily subscribe to that method of travel... oh well. Then again, the guide to Bruges told me not to spend any money on chocolate (and spend it on beer instead) and that I didn't care about the Michaelangelo sculpture in the cathedral. So perhaps I just don't fit into the "backpack across Europe" stereotype either.

So far, Rome has been the closest thing to "life-changing" that I've seen. It was a Bad Idea to attempt to see all of it in a day, that's for sure. How do you do Rome in a day? Simple: skip the Fountain of Trevi, the Pantheon, the Circus Maximus and Old Appian Way, the Capitoline Museums, and the Vatican Museum. Clearly, that's not idea. So, in the spirit of the multitude of travel guides that I've relied on thus far, here's my advice on seeing Rome.

Before you arrive, you'll need to consider where to stay. There are three things you want in a hotel: location, quality, and value. Pick any two. You will not be able to find a cheap and decent hotel in the city center. For that matter, you will probably not be able to find a cheap hotel at all, regardless of quality, in the city center.

Don't try to see the Eternal City in anything less than three and a half days. Arrive one day in the afternoon or evening, and don't rush out to any of the premiere destinations that day. Instead, get some coffee or gelato, wander by the Fountain of Trevi, or do anything else that doesn't demand a huge investment of sightseeing effort.

The next day, wake up early enough to get in line for the Colosseum the second it opens. The line for the Colosseum is enormously long, though it moves faster than you might think. Gawk at the men who have the best jobs in all of Rome: the costumed gladiators who point their swords in the right direction to get in line. Once you're inside, have fun archaeologing it up. The ticket costs eleven Euros, and don't bother trying to get a student discount unless you're a student who lives in an EU country. That doesn't include taking classes in an EU college if you're not a citizen. If the eleven Euros doesn't seem quite worth it once you've gotten there, I sort of agree. For pure ruin potential, Pompeii is much better and a Euro cheaper. Luckily, that ticket also allows you admission up the Palatine Hill and the gardens and ruins there. You'll see the Roman Forum below you; don't be tempted to see that today. Spend a little quality time on the Palatine: after you've walked around the Colosseum and up the Palatine, the gardens are an excellent place to relax. Eat. Now go a bit to the south, and see even more of the ancient landmarks, like the Circus Maximus and the Old Appian Way.

Next day, devote the entire thing to the heart of the ancient city. Start with the Roman Forum, and see the temples, the Arch of Septimus, the New Senate House, and the original SPQR arch. If you can, try and stumble upon a guided tour. I managed to find one that was at once free and extremely informative.

I'm a bit of a Roman history/culture geek, and even I learned some things about how ancient Rome worked. For instance, the reason the Christians were persecuted in Rome wasn't because of their belief in Jesus. On the contrary, the Romans were the most religiously tolerant empire until the Mongols, twelve centuries later. The persecution only came when they refused to bow before the image of the God-Emperor Julius Caesar. The tour guide likened this to JFK in America: an extremely popular leader who was killed. What if his successor, Lyndon Johnson, built a temple to JFK in the National Mall near the Capitol building and made the entire country pay their respects to him as a god?

See the rest of the Forum. Eat. Now walk up the next hill, the Capitoline, and spend the rest of the day in the museums there. You can see ancient artwork and statue dating back from Etruscan times.

Last day, see the Vatican. If you're of a religious (ie, Catholic) bent, go to a Mass here; you'll need a special pass that you can only get a few days beforehand. I don't know how to go about that. The Basilica itself is too touristy, with a line almost as long as the Colosseum to get in and half of it roped off at any give point. But it's still impressive. Be sure to see the Pieta. Go see the treasury, which showcases the immense power and wealth of the early church, located in the basilica itself. Gawk at crystal monstrances and cloth of gold vestments. Afterwards, climb the steps or take the elevator to the dome. Finally, see the grotto, with tombs of most popes since 1300. Eat. Devote the rest of the day to the Vatican Museum, which is supposed to be really impressive. Just be sure to make sure it's open. Specifically, don't go on Sunday, unless it's the last Sunday of the month. Get there before about 2 pm; otherwise you might not be let in.

Now have some more coffee or gelato, and you're done!


Currently listening: "Oh Comely," Neutral Milk Hotel

Nostalgiae

A few weeks ago, in the Gwinnett section of the AJC, a graduating senior from UGA offered a column of her advice to graduating high school seniors. This proved two things: 1) the high school-college transition is about the same level of "complete paradigm shift" no matter where you're leaving from or going to, and 2) people from UGA actually can do at least a few things well. I have my own spin on this, in part inspired by the recent high school graduation of many of my friends, and in part by things I miss from back in the States.

To begin, enjoy your high school graduation. Yeah, I know that's a couple weeks late (but hopefully not too many dollars short)--maybe make some internal conversions to past tense or something. Two years ago at this time of year, I started to run out of sheet cake from my own graduation... hopefully you still have some left. This is almost certainly the biggest event of your life to this point. Aside from your birth (which I'll wager you don't remember too well) and perhaps a handful of religiously significant occasions, this is the one time where so much attention has been focused on you. High party concentration, lots of generous relatives, and the chance to see all those people one last time is sure to be memorable.

Advice for graduating seniors regarding the summer:

First and foremost, appreciate your hometown. You know that "barely a step above ghetto" movie theater downtown? The one where at any given time for the past five years, you had a decent shot of knowing at least somebody working there; the same one where sneaking into movies wasn't even worth the challenge because it was so easy? As strange as it sounds, you're going to miss it. Because, wait, that was also the place where you had your first real date. The place where your friend famously smuggled in a pound bag of ginger snaps and a quart of milk. Heck, for its sort of crapped out condition now, you remember when it was built when you were just a kid.

You also, of course, know that Steak and Shake right next door to it; the only place in miles (besides any one of seven Waffle Houses) that you can get any food after your 9:30 movie finishes; the one where you actually started to get to know the waitress because it seemed there were only ever two people working there at midnight. Remember that Steak and Shake well.

Maybe you've taken an interest in local politics, maybe not. Maybe you use your county parks, and maybe you don't. Maybe you care about local events, new businesses, fairs, and hometown doings, and maybe you couldn't care less. Chances are, though, your little corner of the world means at least something to you, and you might be surprised at how much you miss it in the fall.

Appreciate your car, too. As a graduating high school senior, there's a good chance that you at least have access to a car. By "have access to" I don't necessarily mean your name is on the title. You may or may not be the primary driver. But to get to any given place at any given time, there's at least a decent chance you can procure some manner of motor vehicle. That's not necessarily going to be the case in college. On some campuses, parking is so abundant, affordable, and convenient that there's practically no reason not to bring your car. At others--my own Georgia Institute of Technology among them--it's damn expensive to get a space that might be a half mile walk from your dorm room anyway.

Therefore, the corollary to "appreciate your car" becomes "get used to walking." Things are surprisingly far away when you start having to hoof it over there on your own. Oh, sure, you can rely on your college's bus/shuttle/trolley/generalized people mover system, but it turns out that one Immutable Law of College is your college's public transportation is never effective. Maybe it's inefficient, maybe it doesn't go the places you need it to, maybe it's overcrowded, maybe it's on the unsanitary side. Probably, it's some combination of the above to which any given college student can add his own bdelygmia.

This summer, watch what you eat. Dietarily, I recommend eating less popcorn and fewer Pop-Tarts, cutting back on macaroni and cheese by at least half, and avoiding ramen entirely. No, this blog hasn't turned into Health Food Lovers Anonymous. But you will eat more of those foods in college than you ever thought possible. "Wait, Easy Mac and ramen, that's a total college kid stereotype!" Well, yes, it is. It also happens to be entirely true. The girl who wrote the article in the AJC suggests "Eat your mom's cooking. You will miss it. A lot." That's excellent advice too.

While you're busy eating your mom's cooking, do as little as possible this summer. Okay, I don't actually mean that. A better phrasing might be "do as little as possible that you don't want to do." Specifically, don't be in any sort of hurry to get a job. If you genuinely like working, sure, keep your job. If financially you need it to support your Out of State habit, that's acceptable. But between summer internships, summer classes, study abroad programs, and finding yourself by backpacking from Dar es Salaam to Nairobi, you're going to be awfully busy during your college summers. After you graduate from college, let's face it, there's not going to be any summer discretionary time anyway.

Finally, have fun preparing for college. Take advantage of any parental offers to buy anything for you, whether it be dorm furnishings, food, clothing, books, or whatever. As that AJC article pointed out, this is going to be the last time until your wedding that your parents are going to be so willing to spend money on you. And that's probably a long way away.

Now a few things not be to be so nostalgic about:

Forget high school sports. Maybe not entirely--it can be a lot of fun to go back and see a football game. If you went to a Shiloh-style high school, you can relive the good old days of having about a 3 in 4 chance of watching your team lose. You're probably thinking "but I like high school football! I always had fun there." Probably. Once you've been to a college football game, though, this will make perfect sense. From the scent of frat-boy flasks being broken out in the first quarter to their drunken dates asking you what inning it is; from screaming your lungs out with friends to "instant social program" with the residents; from devastating defeats to thrilling last-minute comebacks, there are reasons why the football game is the premier college entertainment. And aside from trying to predict whether your team will lose by four or five touchdowns, high school football doesn't hold a candle to it.

Bid a good riddance to high school drama. (This isn't about theatrical productions, but those are probably better in college than in high school too.) Oh, that's not to say that drama doesn't exist in college--quite the contrary. It's just better drama. Often, high school drama isn't all that far removed from "Do you like me? Check yes or no." College drama, on the other hand, isn't too far removed from that guy you've known since he was 13 getting married. Of all the things to leave behind from high school, being that 15 year old emo kid who spends the night with friends talking about which girls you love and how you;re never going to get any of them... that's a good one to forget.

In the fall, look forward to a sort of companion piece to this one, which will be a discussion of what to do once you're actually in college. For now, enjoy the summer... you'll miss them.


Currently listening: "Jenny Was a Friend of Mine," the Killers

Things Liked and Disliked, In Brief

Europe is a lot of fun, no doubt about it. But if there were an official Bureau of Complaints Against Europe (such a thing probably exists in Brussels), I would have the following to register:

Graffiti. Seriously, people. Spraypainting "socialisme" on a fence on the outskirts of Barcelona is not a cutting-edge political statement. If you've never been to Europe, think of the intersection of Boulevard and Memorial Drive and multiply the amount of graffiti you anticipate by about ten. I don't know if it's more graffitiers, fewer resources dedicated to getting rid of it, or just an overabundance of spray paint available. It's a big problem, whatever is causing it. It makes otherwise beautiful and historic cities look rundown.

And on the other side, for the Bureau of Good Things about Europe:

Old-fashioned granny-run hotels. It's nothing short of amazing when you can hand a little old lady a 50 Euro bill and get a medieval looking key to a three bed room in return, no questions asked. No Spanish? Doesn't matter. As long as a private shower and a fancy bar of soap to take home aren't your top priorities, you're good to go.

Look again at Photobucket, this time updated with Spain picutres.


Currently listening: "Sea Songs," Vaughan Williams

Insights from a Master of Trivia

Review: Brainiac, by Ken Jennings

On my British Airways flight across the Pond, halfway between the free wine and free cappuccino, I started to read Ken Jennings' book. If you haven't heard of Ken Jennings, here's a quick primer: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ken_Jennings. In a nutshell, he's the guy who won Jeopardy! seventy-four consecutive times and raked in over two and a half million dollars. His book integrates three "spheres" of trivia culture: his own Jeopardy! experiences, various depictions of the American trivia scene (mostly focusing on college quiz bowl teams), and actual trivia questions to be answered by the reader.

It's a wonderfully entertaining book, and I'm not surprised. Looking at Jennings' demeanor while he was on Jeopardy, he's easygoing, conversational, and clever. In fact, Jennings reminds me of myself... granted, a somewhat more knowledgeable and much more successful me. He writes a lot like I do, too, with the critical distinction that he actually has something worthwhile to talk about.

One of the main themes of the book is the relationship between intelligence and success on Jeopardy. A cursory look at the situation would probably suggest that of course a smart person is going to succeed at Jeopardy because he knows lots of things. Jennings disputes this, saying that there is indeed a link between intelligence and Jeopardy success, but that it has comparatively little to do with knowing stuff. He himself knows a lot of stuff, and he's a smart man. But knowing stuff doesn't exactly translate into being intelligent, or vice versa. Jennings admits to being a "pretty mediocre computer programmer," acknowledging that his success in trivia and his mastery of information doesn't necessarily make him good at anything except knowing things.

Knowing things, of course, is a valuable skill to have on Jeopardy. But it's not the only skill. Another skill, the one that does have a direct connection to intelligence, is knowing how to play the game. It's things like knowing what time to press the button, how to wager well, and what the questions are going to be about. This last one was particularly important to Jennings: the most-asked topics on Jeopardy include US presidents; opera, ballet, and 19th-century poetry; and alcohol. The first was an old standby from college quiz bowl days, so that was an easy one. The next three didn't naturally appeal to Jennings as a computer programmer--who knows what the differences between Wordsworth, Keats, and Longfellow are? The last presented a problem as a Mormon--after making mixed-drink flash cards to study from, Jennings says that he could make a hell of a bartender even though he hasn't actually tasted any of those drinks.

Anyone who's ever planning to go on Jeopardy should probably read this book to follow Jennings' advice (look at the number of records on that Wikipedia page). But even if you're not a Jeopardy aspirant, this book is entertaining, insightful, and absorbing. Test yourself as you go through the book (there's even a question about Georgia Tech!) and allow yourself to be amazed by the utter trivia obsession of some of Jennings' contemporaries.


Currently listening: "Run," Snow Patrol

I Just Can't Wait to be (Deputy) King

Tanna, obscure island in Melanesia. Part of Vanuatu and famous for cannibalism, resistance to modernization, and John Frum cargo cults. And I have a tenuous connection to its royalty.

I know a guy (Forrest) whose dad knows a guy (Dr. Heinz Egli) who may or may not be king of Tanna. He's deputy king at the very least. On this island, there was a legend of a white man who would appear on a raft after an earthquake and a volcano eruption. Enter a man whose name I forget, who is clever enough to sit on a raft during an earthquake and wait for the volcano to erupt (as it does every few minutes). Sailing up to the island, he is hailed as King. Things are happy in Tanna for a while.

Now enter the British, who colonially own the island. They're afraid of an armed rebellion--as well they should be, with the one rifle on the island. A detachment of one hundred soldiers lands on the island to seize its rifle and flag, but the King will have none of it. He gives the British a day to withdraw and return the rifle and flag or he will declare war on them--and on the French for good measure. And after a day of noncompliance, the King of Tanna writes a letter to the Queen of England, the President of France, and the Secretary-General of the United Nations to declare war.

The war is ended in a day when British troops arrest the king and imprison him.

Now enter Dr. Heinz Egli, international activist and advocate for Tanna's traditional movement. He manages to get the King out of jail and help the natives a bit, and for this, he is rewarded the title of Viceroy. A bit of a snag here: he's Swiss, and like the Americans, the Swiss can't accept foreign titles. But a loophole presents itself: the Swiss government wouldn't object to a title that they didn't know the significance of, and English not being an official language of the country, Dr. Egli can accept the title of Deputy King.

Sadly, the King passed away a few years ago, and astonishingly, lines of succession aren't clear in Tanna. Should the Deputy King become King? The King's son? Should an entirely new legend be written to predict the next king? Until this matter is resolved, Dr. Egli is content to be Deputy King.

His duties? Go there once a year and help them to advance while still maintaining traditional customs. Oh, and have songs composed and pigs slaughtered in his honor. Sounds like a fine job to me.

Pictures of Dr. Egli's castle/current home can be found at the Photobucket page: http://s183.photobucket.com/albums/x157/Teravius/ Those interested are encouraged to check the page repeatedly, as new pictures should show up at least weekly for the whole summer.


Currently listening: "Piano Concerto in F," George Gershwin

Transalpine Gaul

Naturally, if I'm going to be blogging from Europe, I'm going to use the most pretentious terms possible to describe what's going on. And technically, Lyon and Grenoble are not in the Roman province of Transalpine Gaul, but close enough. A few scattered impressions to start things off:

France is energy-conscious, it turns out. Obsessively so. You can't leave the lights on in the hallways, no matter how hard you try: most of them are equipped with 60-second timers. Now, turning off the lights when you leave the room is one thing; not having air conditioning is another entirely. The only building in GTL that's air conditioned is the computer lab, from whence this entry originates. Dorm rooms? Nope. Classrooms? Out of luck there too.

I also don't know how these people stay hydrated. Water fountains are as rare as air-conditioned rooms, and a bottle of water is something extortionary like 2 euros. That makes old water bottles and sinks very valuable things.

The Decemberists have it right: Orangina is an amazing beverage.

The Brits, on the other hand, have some very bizarre tastes in beverage. Here's a new one. The guy next to me wanted tomato juice with his pretzel snack (I got Sprite). I thought that was a little weird, but whatever. The thing is, the attendant, without missing a beat, asks "Worcester and lemon?" to which the guy responds "please." She then proceeds to shake in a few drops of Worcester and put in a slice of lemon and hand it to the guy. Then the same scene repeats with a woman two rows behind me.

On my quest to become a wine snob, I've bought one bottle. It was a Pinot Gris from the Moselle (the river that runs through Metz), a white that was really good chilled. I don't know how to properly use words like "crunchy" or "refreshing minerality" yet, but I'm sure it was both those things too.

The French, for some reason, really like their pizza. But it's bizarre pizza, like Roquefort cheese and onion pizza. As for food, apparently Lyon is the cuisine capital of France, or something. So at the restaurant we went to, I decided to have a Lyonnaise specialty of "(word I can't read) sausage (words I can't read)." This turned out to be tripe sausage, which I believe to be rolled up intestine in a sausage casing. It was chewy and a little bitter, but not terrible.

One of the weirdest things is the cars you see, like Renault, Peugeot, and Citroen. It's almost a breath of fresh air to see good American cars like Toyotas and Mercedes.

And I'm going to be staying in a castle for the weekend.

For those interested, here are some pictures from the first week: http://s183.photobucket.com/albums/x157/Teravius/


Currently listening: "My Slumbering Heart," Rilo Kiley

Tingling

Review: Spiderman 3

I don't know how spoilery I want to get here, but some of this is just too amusing not to talk about. First of all, Spiderman 3 is not a great movie. You probably weren't expecting it to be, granted. It's one of those movies that couldn't possibly be released in any month other than May (except for maybe June), one that probably cost five hundred million dollars to make but will rake in two thirds of a billion, one that has virtually no cinematic artistry to it but is based off a character and setting that were successful in another medium and so will be successful here, one that people who otherwise aren't movie people will go in droves to watch because it's the Summer Blockbuster.

I seem to remember talking about one of these around a year ago. Coincidence?

This one was in the previews, so I don't feel too bad about discussing it. At some point, Spiderman gets some black gunk over him, which of course makes his suit change colors too. In turn, this leads to a Personality Change and an Internal Conflict. The payoff here is awesome, not for any rhetorical or artistic purpose, more for the amusement. Peter Parker is usually this happy-go-lucky kid, but now we get Emo Peter Parker. And Spiderman is usually good, but he becomes pretty damn neutral in the middle of the movie. Neutral Spiderman is a sight to behold. Can we say "retribution"?

As usual there were special effects, and as usual I didn't care. We've seen it all before.

If there's some attempt at moral message here, it's most likely something along the lines of "Revenge is bad, mmmkay?" The symbolism is stifling here: when Spiderman has the need for some good old fashioned vengeance, he puts on the black suit; when he puts on the black suit, he gets less good. I liked it better the first time, when it was called Star Wars. (Although Harry did bust out a rather lightsaberish dagger during one fight scene.) On a whole, the plot was predictable. Of course Spiderman is going to have his Spiritual Redemption and become good again. And of course he's going to win the Final Battle.

Finally, where's the vaunted Spidey Sense? It didn't tingle once this movie. And boy, would it have helped in more than a few situations.

A bit of commentary on Mary Jane. That girl is ridiculously needy. Poster child for "high-maintenance." Not to mention jealous and mentally unstable... Peter Parker would to well to break up with her. I mean, if he's going to be busy being Spiderman and saving the world, the last thing he needs is some overdependent girlfriend to weigh down on his emotions. Evidently the man's got no trouble picking up girls... why settle for a mental case?


Currently listening: "Red Oyster Cult," Guster

Projection and Attraction Theories

An opening note: nothing in this post has anything to do with quantum mechanics. No virial equations of state here.

A point of interest in roleplaying is the presence of the female avatar. Quick operating definitions: "roleplaying game" is any sort of game where you, as a player, construct a character then play the game as that character. This can range from Web MUDs and their successors like Kingdom of Loathing, to console RPGs like Final Fantasy, to MMOs like World of Warcraft (my second-favorite game ever, next to Halo), to tabletop games like Dungeons and Dragons, to creepy live-action roleplaying, or LARPing. "Player" is the real-life person who is playing the game, and "character" is the in-game character that the player creates. "Avatar" is your character, or more precisely in the context of electronic RPGs, the visual conception of that character. It stands to common sense, reasoning, and conventional wisdom that most roleplayers are male... but there are many, many female characters out there.

Statistics back this up. According to Andrew--and realistically, if you're going to listen to anyone on the topic of WoW, it should be Andrew--about 90% of WoW players are male, but the male:female character ratio approaches gender parity. Assuming that almost all female players play a female character (and I'll explain in a bit why this is a good assumption to make) then fully 44% of male players are playing as a female character. Of course, nothing prevents a male player from playing as more than one character, so maybe one male player has two characters, one male and one female. Or maybe some males play exclusively female characters, and some, exclusively male.

Regardless of the distribution of number of players versus number of characters, the fact remains that probably a third of males--and quite possibly more--are playing at least one female character. The natural question is why? Andrew says the prevailing opinion in research on the subject (yes, apparently such a thing exists) is that it serves as an outlet for gender role reversal, something that everyone is socialized from a very early age to avoid like a high-maintenance girlfriend. That is, otherwise masculine males take this opportunity to act in a way that would otherwise get them suspicious looks at best and completely ostracized at worst. I disagree with that explanation for three reasons.

First, I've noticed that willingness to play an opposite-gender character decreases with increased personalization of a character. In a tabletop setting, which is much more intimately social than a computer setting, male willingness to play a female character is comparatively low. This is because in addition to looking like a female, players in this setting are supposed and expected actually to act like a female. In games like Kingdom of Loathing, on the other hand, males play female characters completely without reservation. This even changes among different incarnations of the same character. A reasonable explanation for this is that KoL is only tangentially an RPG. You get to watch the numbers go up, there's some sort of tun-based battle system, and a large focus of the game is on quests and equipment. But there's really very little role-playing involved.

Second, attention. In any MMO, there are a lot of emo little fifteen year olds as players, not-quite-men who don't have any female friends, much less girlfriends, and are convinced their lives are beyond redemption because of it. Therefore, they will take any available opportunity to interact with girls. Even supposed, electronic ones. Female characters, as their players of either gender will tell you, get a whole lot of attention. And most males who play female characters will admit that this is the worst part of playing as a female. Regardless of anyone's individual position on MMOs, it's pretty easy to agree on a position of being hit on by an emo fifteen year old: avoid it at all costs.

Finally, that prevailing opinion assumes that every male has some sort of secret inner desire to act like a female. Freud and Jung would doubtless agree. I do not.

My counter-explanation for this? The female avatar in RPGs fulfills the same role that the Mary Sue does fiction. That is, the female character is some sort of wish or unfulfilled fantasy that can really only come true in an unrealistic setting. During character creation, great care is often given to making the character look as "hot" as possible--never mind the fact that she's made from pixels. One the developer side, items that the character can acquire--armor is often particularly egregious--are designed to enhance this "hotness." The most ridiculous part is the "dance" that MMO characters inevitably perform. While male characters' dances are often designed to look as silly as possible, females are actually constructed to include a large element of sensuality. Remember those fifteen year old emo kids, who really want nothing more than to spend time with girls? The Mary Sue MMO character is a projection of that desire: if they can't spend time with real girls, it might as well be with electronic ones, and if those girls are going to be fake anyway, they might as well be as unrealistically perfect as possible.

So why does this only happen with males playing female characters? Surely there's some fifteen year old girls who are equally as emo as those boys? Undoubtedly. Why, then, wouldn't a female project that desire into a male character? The answer lies in the same attention reason that I don't buy the gender reversal explanation for males playing female characters. Females are going to get a whole lot of attention in an MMO... especially if they're actual girls. Therefore, there's no reason for a female to pretend to be a male. Furthermore, if that doubtlessly Freudian/Jungian idea of an inner desire for gender role reversal were true, we'd see about a third to half of female players with male avatars. That just doesn't happen.


Currently listening: "Everyone's A Little Bit Racist," Avenue Q

Goals, Leadership, and Finding Yourself

In other words, three of the greatest sources of crap to be perpetrated on American society besides MTV in the last decade or two.

Goals are at least real. It's perfectly natural to think "I have a B in this class, and I want it to be an A." Or "I'm going to study my tournament bracket even harder next year so I won't be in danger of losing to a girl." Or even "I'm going to level twice in WoW tonight so I can go on that awesome raid tomorrow." Whatever floats your boat.

What's crap about them, though, is the thought that goals are mandatory. Setting a goal in some way implies that what you're doing at the time isn't good enough. Clearly I recognize that nothing is perfect. You can't be completely awesome in everything all the time. But if you're content at any given moment, both at the current state of things, and the current direction that things seem to be proceeding in, what's the need to express an explicit change that needs to be made? Forgive the physics analogy, but an object with motion will maintain that motion unless an external force acts upon it. If your current "motion," that is, your methods, actions, and ideas, are taking you exactly where you want to be, what's the point of setting forward a goal to say that? In other words, I see the point of goal-setting as a reactive measure, but as a means of forcing progress, it's unwarranted.

Leadership, too, is real. Some people do indeed lead others, and others follow. History is full of great people who have made a difference in their situation because of outstanding leadership: Washington, Genghis Khan, Hannibal, and the list goes on and on.

Here's a harsh truth to both the freshmen of Georgia Tech and the faculty/staff that insist this is all necessary. Nobody here is going to become the next Genghis Khan. Freshmen do not need six different leadership organizations shoved in their faces and basically told "If you want to be successful at Georgia Tech, you will join one of these." Never mind that they all do some facet of the same thing. It's not localized to Georgia Tech, I'm sure; that's merely what I'm familiar with. The biggest issue I have here is that not everyone needs to be a leader. Those that truly want to lead, or that have an actual talent for it, will become involved in organizations that they enjoy, then seek leadership positions within those organizations. Real leaders, after all, need people to lead. And even leaders need to do something besides lead every once in a while.

My personal approach to leadership? First, gain the respect of those you're trying to lead through a show of competence and ability. Then translate that respect into solidarity toward a cause.

Finally, maybe someone can clarify for me what it means to find yourself. I'm right here. No, really. Here I am. Look! I found myself, and I was sitting in Glenn Hall all along! Clearly, the intent is deeper than this. I know it has some sort of ridiculous pseudo-spiritual motivation, designed to represent some sort of inner emotional awakening, and to inspire a change in course of life. (Maybe an inspiration to set a Goal.) Often, it's coupled to an outlandish trip to Ass End, Zimbabwe; or Malaria Village, Honduras; or Really I'm Not Here To Find A Prostitute, Thailand. Even the friendly local branch of the student travel agency here on campus has an endorsement from some guy who went to Tanzania to "find himself in the beauty of the East African sunrise."

Good job. If you're in East Africa, and it's early morning, you're probably going to find yourself in a sunrise. I could go find myself in the beauty of a Downtown Connector sunrise tomorrow morning, if I really wanted to. Here's the thing: you can't make a spiritual journey happen. It's like a Zen master would say, if you're looking for enlightenment, you've already missed the point of finding it. Vacations are a wonderful thing: taking a break for a while to ignore those TPS reports, or that Thermo homework, and just chill. Seeing the world, being immersed in cultures, and that sort of thing, is amazing. The opportunity to get to know what all is out there is a great experience. But call it what it is. If you're trying to make yourself have some sort of awakening, great, more power to you. If you go to Whale Blubber, Alaska to try to force that to happen, then chances are you're just having a really cold vacation. Not that there's anything wrong with that; just call it what it is.


Currently listening: "Dani California," Red Hot Chili Peppers

On the Appropriateness of Thought

Think back to its unfettered infancy! When Isoceleria, in its bright salad days, offered posts that approached weekly? One movie review that was offered talked about whether or not it was appropriate to discuss moral heavyweights in the context of a lighthearted comedy. My answer at the time was no (although in a different context it would be yes), and I haven't wavered from that opinion. I also never gave a satisfactory explanation for why exactly that was the case. After a talk with my friend Brian, I'm finally equipped to give a good argument why.

The question is, when is it appropriate to have ethical or moral discussions about should the topic arise? Put slightly more tritely, when is it okay to think? To the scholar or the metaphysicist, the answer is always. If the question comes up, it must be answered; it must be answered immediately, to the best of the intellectual ability of everyone involved. After all, if not to examine the condition of life, what is the purpose of life at all? To the pragmatist or the cynic, the answer is never. What good is morality when you're dead? There are more pressing concerns, more important questions to answer now than "is (whatever) appropriate?" And to the idealistic-realist (which is what I've termed my own school of thought), the answer is completely contextual. It is always good to think, but in certain situations, the necessity of thought is better fulfilled with a different discussion than the one that presents itself.

Naturally I'm maintaining a sort of middle ground, finding a way to shift my argument centerward. People are always more willing to discuss when your opinion more closely matches theirs. My personal feelings on the matter allow for the sort of intellectual discussion that I prize to thrive, while also making sure I'm not wasting my time. And what would be considered an example of either? Arguing the ethics of a mechanic within a MMORPG is certainly the latter. The chat I had with Brian was regarding another discussion he had within the context of my second-favorite video game ever, World of Warcraft (my first, of course, being a tie among all of the Halo games). According to Brian, this discussion was regarding a certain practice in WoW that I'm not entirely familiar with. When presented with an argument like "People should frown upon (insert practice here)," Brian was irritated. I would have been too, though for a different reason. I don't think Brian would disagree with my placement of him into the pragmatist/cynic category. (To some extent, I'm a cynic too. Then again, I have some of those "scholar" characteristics as well. I see it as a continuum.) So it was understandable that he didn't want to have that discussion at all. My personal reason for not wanting to have that conversation would have been that having it wouldn't get you anywhere. While the argument of "supporting a practice against the will of the general public" is one that's generally worth having, contextually it's wholly irrelevant.

In this (as far as I can tell, mostly one-sided) debate, Brian was asked to present a counter-argument. Even though I know nothing about WoW, and though arguing it within the perspective of a video game is ridiculous, I respect the idea behind the general precept of this discussion. Here's my go. Saying that a large population "should" or "should not" adopt a certain stance is dreadfully difficult to argue. If the individuals within the population cared enough, the population would collectively change its mind. Because presumably this hasn't happened yet, it probably will not happen in the absence of some external galvanizing force. In other words, to effect this change, you must not only convince people that you are right. You must first convince them that they want to care at all.


Currently listening: Wincing the Night Away, the Shins

Reflections about Video Gaming

Inspired by (well, okay, straight copied and pasted from) an email exchange with Nick:

I honestly don't play video games that much anymore. For one, I don't have a television, which makes things a little tricky. Secondly, I don't really have time for them. Darn "homework" and "classes" and "housing job." The only new-generation console that I even considered getting is a Wii, and that's because of two things: 1) virtual console and 2) new incarnations of Smash Brothers and Mario Kart. Seeing as how the virtual console isn't at full capacity yet, and the other two haven't been released, it's not worth buying for the time being. I basically hate the Xbox (except for this brilliant thing on their classic arcade called "Geometry Wars" which is like Asteroids on LSD). I don't see the value in spending any money on the PS3, let alone $600. Ooh, it does Blu-Ray. Because I care about that.

Some people might attack any sort of video gaming at all as a waste of time, a completely non-constructive futility. I agree that doing nothing but play video games isn't constructive, hence my dislike of WoW, which I believe lends itself to doing nothing but itself. But I think that about pretty much anything. A frat guy who spends all of his time at the "house," an athlete who spends all of his time at practice or in the gym... none of that seems like a good idea. The primary values I get from video games are either the "this is slightly more intellectually stimulating than sitting on my chair and staring at a towel" single-player idea or the "this is slightly more interesting than watching a movie and talking about D&D" with my friends. The first case, I have approximately zero time for anymore. I'll start the day with 8 am Numerical Methods, finish at 9:45 pm with a staff meeting, and at that point, sitting in my chair and staring at a towel isn't out of the question.

As for multiplayer games, my main "group of friends" isn't really that into them (except for my favorite game of all time, Halo, and even that they're not as interested in as they might have been a couple of years ago). We might play video games, or card/board games (my friend Walter frequents game shops and regularly has these crazy games that shouldn't be nearly as fun as they are), or play D&D, or talk about D&D, or watch a movie, or have the occasional 4 am talk about morality and ethics. I don't see any of those as inherently better or worse than each other, and in fact an evening/night with that group of guys might well encompass most or all of them. The question is whether or not a social event is an end in itself or rather a means to some sort of more significant goal. I would argue that if it does further some sort of other goal, wonderful, but if it doesn't, that doesn't mean it wasn't worth doing.


Currently listening: "Plane Crash in C," Rilo Kiley

Signatures and Reactivation

People take their email signatures way too seriously. O Georgia Tech student, do I really need to know your school, department, residence hall, and expected year of graduation every time I receive and email from you? O Georgia Tech Housing staff member, in addition to the aforementioned glut of information, do I really need to know about your affiliation to the Freshman Experience program, your area of work? In any case, do I need three phone numbers at which I can reach you whenever I want? The answer is no.


Imagine the following scenario. Your friend tells you about a fantastic new product he's discovered. He ensures that you'll really love it, and though you have doubts about how much your new hobby might end up costing you, you decide to give it a shot. (The first few times are free, anyway.) Almost immediately, you find yourself immersed in a bizarre subculture, complete with an idiosyncratic jargon/slang, a power structure and social hierarchy, and an economy almost as complex as that of an industrialized country.

And in the coming months, most of your peers and acquaintances complain that you're spending too much time on this hobby, and that it's affecting you in a bad way. Your personal resources are drained, but you honestly feel like it's worth spending what time and money you do. All through your day, you look forward to those few hours you can devote to this new cursus. It's become compulsive... addictive?

Sounding a bit like an after-school special or public service announcement? Warning about the dangers of drinking or drugs, perhaps? Add another item to that list: World of Warcraft.

"Hey, let's go get something to eat." "No, I can't, I'm on a raid."

There's been an expansion released that's poised to let even more people spend even more of their time in the World of Warcraft. And so let the reactivation of millions of idle accounts begin. To be clear, I of course respect WoW from a business standpoint. Eight million active accounts pre-expansion? That's a capitalist success story if ever I heard one. And while it's not nearly as overrated as Halo (which Jick from the Kingdom of Loathing correctly describes as "the single most overrated product ever"), is World of Warcraft that good? Hard for me to believe.

For all you WoW players out there, here's the question I pose. What makes World of Warcraft good? More specifically, what makes it uniquely worth your $15 per month and many hours per day that you undoubtedly pour into it?


Currently listening: "Sun" from Destination: Beautiful, Mae

So this is the...

...first anniversary of Isoceleria! (And you thought I was going to go for the Death Cab reference.) I'd like to commemorate by talking about music: the worst of 2006 and the hopeful best of 2007.

First, there were decent and good things happening in 2006 in music. The American releases of Rosenrot and Eye to the Telescope marked the best in old music that recently made it to the States; Light Grenades, Sam's Town, and Under the Iron Sea, three albums that I didn't necessarily like so much but that sort of grew on me as I listened to them more; the over-rated (but still appreciated) appearance of The Fray; and of course the (mostly) brilliance of The Crane Wife and Ganging Up on the Sun. Oh, and Lordi wins Eurovision, proving that guys playing hard rock in monster costumes are freaking awesome (as if we needed any proof). Now on to the not-so-decent parts.

Did we really need sexy to be brought back? Moreover, did we need it to be brought back by Justin Timberlake? I think there are about twenty words in this song, sixteen of which are a thinly veiled S&M fantasy. Timberlake was often praised as being having the best voice of whichever boy band he hailed from (because that's high praise). And this monstrosity of a song makes it so you can't understand what the hell he's saying anyway. This is one of the most vapid, hideous songs I've ever heard, and somehow it became one of the best-known and most widely played songs of the year.

I didn't really have anything against Nelly Furtado until that "Promiscuous" piece of crap appeared halfway through the year. Great. You're a ho. That means you have a good song?

The Black Eyed Peas need to be stopped. Now. What kind of a title is "My Humps" for a song? I know that "Let's Get it Started" was not from 2006, but people still play it in commercials and other high-visibility locations. And give me a legitimate definition of "phunk" as a verb, and I'll pay you five bucks. Interestingly, the one factor that might contribute the most to the Black Eyes Peas' downfall is Fergie's solo career. Ever heard the phrase "out of the frying pan, into the fire"? I don't know what's worse: "Don't Phunk with my Heart" or "Fergalicious." Why anyone would willingly submit himself/herself to listening to anything involving Fergie is completely beyond me.

Okay, so everybody knows how much all those other bands suck; here's a more controversial nomination. I think one of the worst "alternative rock" songs that received commercial publicity this year was "I Write Sins Not Tragedies" by Panic! at the Disco. The first time I heard this song, my initial reaction was something like "oh, wow! These guys sure know big words!" In the same way that Nelly Furtado's unabashed prostitutitude does not make her song good, Panic's cramming words like "rationality" into their chorus does not make their song good. To be fair, I've never seen Panic live, nor have I seen an interview with any of their musicians. But I have a funny feeling that Panic's vocabulary (and their unnecessarily long song titles) is an outgrowth of their arrogance; not the intentional grandiloquence of the Decemberists or my playful pass at elitism, but rather the egomania akin to Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.

The preponderance of rap on the singles charts need not be mentioned. The rap culture is so fleeting that artists popular now are not necessarily worth formulating an argument against because they'll be gone in a few years anyway.

So we're in pretty bad shape for the next year, right? Maybe not.

Singularity by Mae. Enough said. April 2007.

Coldplay has an album coming out in October. Popular opinion about X&Y was sharply divided; I rather liked it, but I know a whole lot of people who didn't. Hopefully the new one will be more universally seen as good.

Something Corporate is a band I believe to be vastly underrated. Jimmy Eat World is one that a lot of people recognize is good. Motion City Soundtrack is somewhere in the middle, not vastly popular but appreciated. And all three of bands are rumored to have something coming out this year. I'm looking forward to those.

And finally, if you're interested in pursuing this further (perhaps because your musical tastes are slightly off from mine) you can check a much more comprehensive list at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2007_in_music.


Currently listening: Transatlanticism, Death Cab for Cutie

User-Defined Realities

Time Magazine just named me Person of the Year, Nick is sitting on chairs, we're starting a radio show... and Borges is attempting a "Refutation of Time."

Granted, only three of these things are happening in the present and future. As a special advance notification to readers of Isoceleria, be on the lookout for two fresh and wonderful Web 2.0 new-new-economy user-created-contents. The first is "Palatial Beachfront Property," a podcast radio show dedicated to talking about the most important issues of our time. And if you're reading Isoceleria, you know what sort of things are considered "the most important issues of our time." The second, the ILSOC project, is a bit further from my personal sphere of influence, so I'll reserve commentary on it until more work is complete. Know that if nothing else, it's going to embody the ideals of the user-created content paradigm.

(I'm terribly sorry for having used the word "fresh" in that misguided context.)

Time Magazine wasn't faced with a particularly good slate of candidates this year for Person of the Year. George Bush? Oh, you mean the President of the United States is an important guy? I never would have come up with that one on my own. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad? Kim Jong-il? Both slightly crazy leaders of countries with powerful armies that threatened to develop nuclear weapons but couldn't quite back themselves up on it. I think their votes cancel. Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, John Edwards, Al Gore, and any other number of prominent politicians? The Democrats taking Congress was significant, no argument there. Let's wait and see what that means for the country before we start handing out Person of the Year like it's candy.

Except, wait, that's exactly what Time did.

As everyone has probably heard, you are Time's person of the year. Yep, you. Look on the cover of one of the magazines, and you'll magically see yourself! And if you don't know why you were selected, it's because you make content on the Internet. ("Wait, I've been making crappy websites for ten years now! Shouldn't that make me Person of the Year ten times over?" Yes, yes, it should.) That's what makes the Internet great in the first place: dynamic and interactive content generation. Ever posted to a message board or forum? Done something as simple as voted in a poll? Engaged in such foolish behavior as making a blog? Congratulations, sir or madam, you have helped make yourself person of the year.

But more than fora, polls, and blogs, the Time Person of the Year and the conventional wisdom behind it is enamored with YouTube. YouTube has its place; don't get me wrong. But I'm scared of it. A couple of years ago (and still to some extent today), the Internet rage was the Flash cartoon: the sort of garbage you could find on Albino Black Sheep or Ebaum's World. If you've seen Badger Badger Badger, then you're familiar with this sort of thing. (If not, you're probably better off for it.) It seemed like there was an almost weekly rush of "Look at this awesome Flash cartoon I found!" Except, of course, it wasn't really awesome. It was comedic drivel, the sort of junk that violates a central precept of comedy: in order for something to be funny, it must be funny for a reason. "Random" does not cut it. Back in the Flash Cartoon Age, we only had to deal with these sorts of abominations from a subset of Internet users: the ones with enough specialized technical knowledge to make a Flash animation and the time and willingness to sit down and do it.

That's not so for YouTube. It requires exactly two things: a video camera and a connection to the Internet, neither of which is exactly a rarity these days. And it's going to let an even bigger "Look at this awesome video I found" phenomenon flourish uncontested.


In A Personal Anthology, a book that includes many short stories by Jorge Luis Borges, and which after a year and a third of hostage status from Samantha I am finally getting around to reading, Borges attempts a "New Refutation of Time." And before you start thinking "Wait a second, he's using a temporal idea to refute time," he defends that in this prologue. Borges bases his central argument on Idealism, which he interprets to hold that the perception of an object is all that really exists, and adding a physical quantity called an object is superfluous. In other words, pretend you're looking at a leaf. The leaf's existence is then defined by your observation of it: what the leaf smells like, looks like, sounds like, feels like becomes the leaf to you. Then, because in your world, the leaf already has a definition and state of being, considering an actual "leaf" to exist in the universe is redundant because its existence has already been defined.

Borges extends this reasoning to deal with time. He argues that time is supposed to be a sequence of all events that have happened and will happen, but if the perception of an object is in effect the criterion for making an object real, why shouldn't the perception of an event be the criterion for making an event real? Frankly, that's a tough argument to buy, both the idealist basis and Borges's extension of it. It's difficult to know whether Borges's ideas about time were outgrowths of (or at least influenced by) his pre-relativity lifetime. Did Borges, through this "Refutation," reflect a prevailing philosophical opinion of that era, one that was less informed than current civilization about the nature of space-time? Or was his argument not scientific at all, and would he have made the same argument today given the nature of physical evidence that suggests the opposite?

The most interesting thing about Borges's essay is that it highlights the impact of temporal influence on modern thought. In discussing Borges's essay, for instance, I used the words "pre-," "lifetime," "era," "current," and "today." So this essay is valuable not exactly in proving that time doesn't exist but instead in that modern culture has a lot of preconceptions about time, most of which we've never actually examined.

And to make things even more interesting, quantum physics would argue that Borges, or at least his Idealist basis, is actually correct. After all, if you're not directly observing something, how can you empirically prove its existence? That tree crashing in the middle of the woods with nobody watching? Not only might it not make a sound, but it may not even exist.


Currently listening: Light Grenades, Incubus

Decemberisms

Warning: parts of this article contain Sushi Evangelism. Reader discretion is advised for sensitive groups.

It's becoming very easy to find places to eat sushi. It's even easy to find places to eat good sushi. There are lots of little restaurants where you can get some and think "yep, that's pretty good raw fish." But when does sushi transcend "pretty good raw fish" and become an excellent meal? Here's the part where I think every sushi eater has a completely different opinion: that their preferred sushi house/bar/restaurant is the very best there is, and that you needn't waste your time at any other locales.

Yeah, I'm no different.

And so when I volunteered my dad's lunch hour to buy me some free food yesterday, my obvious choice of restaurant was Wasabi House. There's really nothing obviously distinctive about Wasabi House: it's neither super-commercial nor "hole in the wall," there are appropriately Japanese people working and appropriately Japanese decorations on the walls, and the front of the place has a large cutting board, several large knives, and lots of rice and dead fish.

The thing that stands out about Wasabi House is the quality of their most basic types of sushi. Sure, they've got their house specials (one of which is something delicious called "dragon roll" that is certainly worth trying), and it's not hard to pour effort into one or two rolls and make them outstanding. Where Wasabi House becomes wonderful is in things like spicy tuna and spider roll. Every self-respecting sushi place has these... and yet, at Wasabi House, they're just better than anywhere else I've tried. Again, I believe that any sushi fan probably has the same opinion of their favorite place, and that brings me to a question. How do you differentiate high-quality sushi? If it's amazingly good at everywhere you try (and I'll be the first to admit that there probably are places as awesome as Wasabi House), how do you determine what's truly the best?


Following the Asian food theme, after a particularly difficult Problem 3 on a diff eq exam earlier this week, a few friends and I went to a place called Spoon. "Wait... that doesn't sound Asian!" No, it really doesn't, which is why this really is a paradox of a restaurant. It's clear that this restaurant is torn between wanting to cater to some sort of trendy urban crowd and wanting to sell high-quality Thai food. I'm not exactly trendy, so I can't comment on the former, but the latter is a resounding success.

First, a bit about the atmosphere. We've got a nonsensical English name, a full bar featuring American alcohol, and decor and background music that appear to have been inspired from Sprockets. And for all that, the quality of Thai food for the money is excellent. The menu is simple, serving Thai dishes for eleven dollars each (Pad Thai is cheaper, and there are a few more expensive seafood options) and all of the ones that I tasted were delicious. I had chicken Panang, which was basically chicken and vegetables in some chili-coconut sauce (granted, that's an accurate description of about half the Thai dishes out there), and there's no question that I'd order it again.

Now let's talk about "authenticity." A lot of snobs would probably complain that I wasn't eating "authentic" Thai cuisine. The same people would likely argue that my favorite Chinese place, Big Joy, isn't really Chinese. So my question here is define authenticity. One common criterion is "you know a Chinese restaurant is 'authentic' when you see Chinese people eating there." Or for particular dishes: a dish isn't "authentic" unless it originated in China. So look at Maggiano's, a popular (and delicious) Italian restaurant. I've seen Chinese people eating there, but I'm not sure if I've ever seen any actual Italians there... does this mean Maggiano's isn't authentic? Italian people don't really eat lasagna and chicken parmesan?


If you've been looking at what I've been listening to the past few weeks, it's been Christmas music. 'Tis the season, after all. Here are three of my favorites:

What's It Gonna Be, Santa? is probably the best contemporary Christmas CD out there. It has a mix of secular and religious, mostly well-known music but a few originals, too. Of course I'm biased toward Chicago being a trumpet player: most music can be greatly improved with a little brass added. Surprisingly, I've heard some of this music on the radio lately, where it is a refreshing alternative to hip-hop Christmas and 40's crooning. One note in particular: "Child's Prayer" from this CD is one of the only situations I can think of in which I don't mind children singing.

If you're looking for traditional Christmas music, there's really no place to go better than the ASO under the direction of Robert Shaw. Both The Many Moods of Christmas and Christmas with the ASO are among the best in this subgenre, with Many Moods featuring more well-known music and Christmas with the ASO showcasing orchestral music befitting the season. The ASO's renditions of "O Come, O Come Emanuel" and "Adeste Fideles" are both particularly worth listening to.

And if you ever have the chance to hear the ASO do it live, the Morehouse Glee Club's "Betelehemu" is absolutely not to be missed.


Currently listening: "Three Doors," VAST

Reading... for fun?

I like to read. It's just that going to Tech does not afford one much time to read much of anything. So when my literate friends ask me what I've been reading lately, I'm usually forced to respond with Physics for Scientists and Engineers or suchlike trash. Dead week being what it is, though, I've finally found time to read a book that's not describing the wonders of electromagnetic induction and how to calculate Faraday's Law integrals. My friend Nick gave me Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer ("a most ingenious Jew") as a Christmas gift last year... and I'm just now getting around to reading it. This book so far is one of the more entertaining books I've read recently, and Alex is becoming one of my favorite book characters ever, ranking right up there with such notables as Jaime from Song of Ice and Fire and Mr. Lockwood from Wuthering Heights.

I currently have Everything is Illuminated on my desk. Last week, one of my residents comes into the room and sees that I have the book. He points to it and says "You could have asked. I have the book." I have no idea what he's talking about, but I take the bait. "Why would I have asked you if I had that book?" "So you wouldn't have to buy it." "Actually, I didn't buy it, it was given to me as a gift... but why would I want to know if you had it?" At this point, I'm more confused than I'd been since 11 am, when Physics II lecture let out that day. And another resident comes into my room.

"Oh, you're reading that for English class," he says, more presumption than question. "No, I'm not." "Why are you reading it then?" "Well, because my friend gave it to me... and he thought I'd enjoy it?" Now the first guy explains his unorthodox line of questioning: "Yeah, I thought you were reading it for English, too. That's why I said you could have borrowed it for me." "No, I'm reading it on my own," I reply, a bit more emphatically. "A good friend of mine said I'd enjoy it, and it's supposed to be a good book."

Shouldn't that be enough?


Currently listening: What's it Gonna Be, Santa?, Chicago