The Dark Tower

Reality, aside. I am about to embark on the final leg of the path that leads to the Dark Tower, and boy is it bittersweet. When my head clears from this, someday if ever, maybe I'll return to reality. On the cover of this book is the Dark Tower itself in a field of roses, with The Rose shining in the foreground. I know there will be death and disappointment in this book, as in so many other things, but also redemption, fulfillment, and meaning. If the irregularity of my posts for the last few months irked you ("you" here is reflexive, as well), blame the Tower, blame Roland. I have looked forward to this for so long.

Stephen King pays Trent Reznor's "Hurt" homage in opening page just after the book's dedication. And I've no doubt that it's only gonna get better.


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Update (05/29/2009): There is no greater testament than the Dark Tower standing in the field of roses that meaning in life is gained along the way, not at the end. Ka is a wheel, of course, so it's no surprise that I feel so overwhelmingly bittersweet upon reaching the end of the story, right back where I started. But what it's taught me along the way...

LDOC

If you ever ask me to, I'll recite for you a list that I keep in my head of around four things that are, at that moment in my life, worrying me. Now, before you accuse me of dwelling on the negative or declare me a pessimist, let me explain that I do this for practical reasons, rather than for self-pity or a fear that the world is falling apart. Holding worries in my mind keeps me focused and gives me goals to strive for. Also, I prioritize the worries and treat many of them as problems to be solved, in hopes that I'll grow from struggling with them.. there's an old (Chinese?) adage I learned from Inara in Firefly: Every problem is an opportunity in disguise. Also, four is a good number.. I can consciously think about one or two at a time and let my subconscious swish around the other two, softening them for when my conscious is ready to start chewing again. The combination of prioritizing and keeping four in RAM at all times serves as a built-in safeguard that I don't get overwhelmed, provided that every so often I manage to pacify some worries.

Had you asked me yesterday, I'd have told you that the largest splinter in my mind was the 20-minute presentation I was scheduled to deliver on an experimental aerodynamic measurement technique using pressure sensitive paint. Fortunately, that's over and done with, and I've practically emptied my head of the memorized speech already.

If you asked me now, I'd tell you the two of my four worries that usurped the pole position of the presentation, one a short-term issue and one relatively long-term: (1) I found out what material my final exam in the previously discussed Viscous Flows class covers -- it's going to be messy; (2) I'm afraid this coming summer will mimic the bad parts about last one -- ear-piercing silence, with me by myself, coming home from lab only to eat dinner, sit around, sleep, lather, rinse, and repeat. These issues may appear unrelated at first glance, but they're not. You see, today is the last day of classes (LDOC), and at a previous point in my life LDOC heralded a time of great celebration, beautiful weather, outdoor concerts, and a few days of peace. In contrast, this year's LDOC is hectic with project/paper deadlines and a sense of panic. (Also, in an atmospheric about-face from an hour ago, the sky is absolutely pouring rain and crashing thunder right now. T'was unusually warm and muggy all day.. I should have seen this coming. Not a good omen, though, and now I don't want to go outside to the grocery.) Worry (1) is not overbearing by any means -- actually, the final is surprisingly fair, but unsurprisingly covers the type of matched asymptotic expansion that typically requires a 10-page (no exaggeration) solution -- but it's gonna chomp a considerable chunk of time out of this next week. I've uploaded a scanned page of my notes on thermocapillarity from the class. If you can make sense of it for me, I'll pay you a dollar.



Worry (2) is a little more disturbing, and it has spurred me into action (well, passive action). If I don't resolve it soon, (2) foreshadows the kind of repetitiveness that must have inspired NIN's "Every Day Is Exactly the Same". Now, the distillation of my worry isn't boredom -- I don't usually get bored because, simply, there's a hell of a lot to think about -- it's wastefulness. I've said it in other words before, but I'm paranoid about squandering what precious time I have as a youthful and energetic student by sitting at home, stumbling around the interwebs, griping about how much work I need to do. So the point of all this: I have decided to counteract the force of my nature in what little way I can. I'm going to keep a mental list of the things I'm happy about.

I haven't quite working out the optimal list length or how often I'll swap out the Happy (1), Happy (2), etc., because this list will be have a different purpose than the worry list. Where the worry list continuously adapts to fulfill my OCD need to be productive, the happy list will be more stable.. after all, items on the list won't need to change to keep me happy. Maybe I'll cycle through sets of four on a long list, so I can appreciate all the things that make me happy more fully. Regardless, the decision is now made to maintain said happy list.

As I write this, the thunderstorms rolling over downtown Atlanta have eased up (I'm not a very confident writer, and it takes quite a long time to impose order on these scrambled ideas), and a particularly attractive patch of pink and blue sky is poking out of the darker grey thunderheads. Forget the groceries, I think I'll take some pictures. After all, every problem is an opportunity...


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Update: It was beautiful outside. By the time I was ready to go back inside, it struck me (or didn't, thankfully) that the top of a parking deck covered in 20ft tall metal lightposts was a slightly irresponsible place to be in a thunderstorm.

After a brief pause to smile for my photoshoot, the storm has returned to its full force. No groceries, still.

¡Ole!

I can think of only a handful of landmark situations that have fundamentally changed my view of the world. Weak puns aside, traveling to another country is one of them. This world is such a big and complicated and beautiful place. I've lamented my lack of overseas travel since the first time I went, at the end of my Senior year in high school... since then, however, my recognition for the importance of absorbing other cultures in situ has faded and other priorities have pushed international travel in my life to the backburner. But I spent the last week+ in Spain, and I have no one to thank but Jo for pulling off my blindfold once again.

What follows is an unpolished transcript of our trip, jotted down whenever I had free time (mostly late in the nights, when I had a minute to reflect on the day before the wonder of it all overwhelmed me -- and forced me to sleep). The list served two purposes: to chronicle as many of the amazing details and their order as I could, and to appreciate the sheer number of things Jo and I experienced. We had an absolute blast.

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(warning: this is lengthy, and has very little to do with engineering)
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03/13/2009
Red sunset in Philadelphia on Friday the 13th, very high aspect-ratio wings, cruising altitude of 37,000ft, a good conversation about the state of the world and technology with Nancy from Hawaii (on her way to Salsburg with her husband for an attorney conference), bleary-eyed travelers waking up to the sound of the beverage-cart rolling down the aisle, then sunrise over the clouds over Munich. We were greeted by a beautiful view of a snowy mountain range stretching parallel to our descent path, then enjoyed a flawless touchdown on German soil (concrete). Disembarked, had my passport checked (it’s like a chunk of gold, this thing; I am forever fortunate that it’s got USA inscribed on it), and headed to security to find my gate. Some idiot had a compact metal tripod in his backpack that x-rays could have mistaken for a gun; held up the line for about five minutes. Then, I packed up my tripod and headed into the airport terminal. Anomalies in Germany thus far: Lufthansa, the airline, offers free newspapers and coffee from chic dispensers right here in the airport! Unlike America, few travelers click away on their laptops or PDAs while waiting for flights… as I sit here at the clean and quiet Gate G-26 zone (now, gate change to G-28) for a connection to Barcelona, I’m the only person in sight with a laptop deployed. (Great job of blending in, ol’ boy.) I associate everything German with only the finest engineering, with quality components that are reliable and maintain performance until the day their users die – this airport doesn’t disappoint with all-glass-and-shiny-steel sliding doors and motion-detecting gates. There’s a mall embedded in the airport, though few people are shopping for Gucci watches or lingerie this morning. Life here in the airport seems quiet, collected, and well-paced. (Though I’m on 3:09am EST, it’s a civilized 8:10am in Munich. That’s right, five hours and one minute ahead.) Wish I could spend more time exploring here… Nancy, predicting my future, assures me that I will someday return.

03/14/2008 - Spain
From now on, I’ll list (at least ten) things that made me happy for each day. In Barcelona, in no particular order:
- Jo ran into me (while searching for sunglasses, impatient (rightly so) that my plane was 1.5 hours late) in Placa de Catalunya, one of the main bustling city centers
- A passion for subway travel emerged on the yellow L4 line (La Pau direction) toward Poblenou, toward our fancy 4-star hotel. This passion continued to grow.
- Visitamos Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia. Only pictures can describe.
- We ate Chinese food for lunch, pizza for dinner.
- Jo's impeccable Spanish makes me so happy.
- We walked down La Rambla, the city’s rich-ritzy street
- I drank from a sacred fountain, weaving the strands of my fate so that I will one day return to Barcelona
- Saw one of Gaudi’s houses, La Botllo (based on St. George and Dragons)
- Went to Montjuic – dazzling night view of the entire city and ocean harbors from a mountain top
- Went to crazy festival thrown every weekend in which fountains all over Placa Espana erupt with brightly colored lights and water
- Met Jo’s Spain-friends

03/15/2008
- Woke up in a comfy hotel and went to Mass at Iglesia de Santa Maria del Mar
- Glimpsed traditional dance (and music) performed after Mass at the Cathedral close to Santa Maria
- Park Guell – freaking Park Guell – another Gaudi eruption of genius and creativity.
- Ate pistachio ice cream, while Jo had dulce de leche (I think).
- Jo taught me innumerable things about Spanish history and culture and Gaudi’s architectural inventions.
- Walked to La Pedrera (Casa Milo), another of Gaudi’s very famous houses
- Rode high-speed train to Madrid – cruised at ~300 kmh (~180 mph)
- Arrived in Madrid, took subway to Jo’s house, met Pilar, her awesome awesome host mom, and met Lori, her temporary sister. Ate delicious keish.
- Saw adorable troupe of boy/girlscouts in the subway with packs equally as large as their bodies

03/16/2008
- Woke up early, took subway from hotel to Jo’s school, CEU
- Walked around Suburbia, Madrid, while Jo was in one of her classes. Took pictures and explored
- Attended Jo’s class w/ Senor Ramos, crazy dude who reminds me very much of Professor Bernardo de la Paz from The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress. He rambled while Jo (and some others in class) argued
- Attended Jo’s other class w/ Blanca, art expert, who had many insightful things to say about Gaudi and our trip to Barcelona.
- Learned difference between Gothic arches and Gaudi’s, which were parabolic
- Free lunch, courtesy Pilar
- Walked with Jo to Plaza de Colon, aka awesome, saw the Madrid stock exchange, freaking awesome, and associated buildings
- Went to Parque Retiro, which surprised me by blowing my mind. Had ENORMOUS statues fronted by a man-made lake, where people were row-boating around. This is a park upon which all others should be modeled
- Took many fun pictures with Jo
- Delicous freaking dinner, courtesy Pilar. Met Gabriella, her very nice daughter and Jo’s host sister.
- Found Don Quixote’s great statue, took pictures
- Walked down Gran Via, one of main thoroughfares in Madrid
- Went to Egyptian temples, which for some reason Egypt gave Spain
- Went to McDonalds for a large freaking fry

3/17/09
- Jo sang me songs to wake up
- Ate pasta and tortilla Espanola, courtesy Pilar, at Jo’s house, then left for her class on the metro
- Museo Sorolla with Blanca. Lots of beautiful paintings demonstrating the importance of utilizing light
- Fuimos en el high-speed train from Madrid to Sevilla. Thereon we talked of many things, drew our family diagrams, and stood up in the train’s cafeteria to enjoy the view and conversation. Many olive trees and ancient hills along the way.
- Took a cab from Sevilla, walked around town to see the Cathedral
- Met up with Jon Folsom! He took us through narrow Sevilla streets, past parks, and eventually to his suburb, Montequito. There we decided not to eat shrimp tapas (porque comimos shrimp at Pilar’s table the last night) and returned to the city, where I retrieved my jacket from the hotel
- Split ways with Jon, and Jo and I ate dinner at Glassy restaurant and walked along the (sketchy) riverbank. We retreated to a non-sketchy view of the river from the street after a few suspicious characters passed us.
- Had a beer (and Jo a “Malibu” ~ pina colada) at a hidden gem – a riverbank (literally) not-tourist bar where the two old men who ran it were the only other patrons
- Walked back toward the hotel, stopping back by the Cathedral to see the night lights
- Back to the hotel. Snuggled.

3/18/2009
- Ate cheap, cheap fresh-baked bread and coke for breakfast
- Alcazar ++ !!! for free, even, because we’re students! Spain rocks.
- Riverwalk, singing by the river (and then getting ousted by the police)
- Parque de Maria Luisa, beautiful chill park typical of Spanish cities
- Shitty chicken lunch with patatas fritas at a restaurant near the river. Fat waiter was useless
- To the airport! Got there two hours early, plane was two hours late, but we had fun waiting in the Sevilla airport. Expensive dinner for not-expensive airport bocadillas
- Got to Valencia during Fallas. Absolute chaos ensues.
- Taxi driver at airport had never heard of the hotel we booked or the street it was on. Bad sign. He dropped us off in a city plaza. Which one = unknown.
- Walked for hours with bags through war zone. Fireworks exploded (louder than any sold in the US) constantly and everywhere, and the majority of the city ( > 1 million) were trolling the city center streets. Made Mardi Gras look like a baby shower, no joke.
- Police no help in finding our hotel. Floundered in circles where we thought the hotel was supposed to be (near Teatro Principal) amidst bright lights, towering Fallas, and tank-like explosions. Finally found a hotel, abandoning original plans. This was win.
- Mix of frustration and awe at Fallas. Sweet sleepy snuggling.

3/19/2009
- Valencia and Fallas. Mapped out plan for the day. Zero-order directive was finding a hotel for tonight, b/c the one we’re in only had room for the night we stayed. Checked our bags at hotel, walked around city and found another (which had been full the night before), checked in for outrageous monies, went back and moved our stuff there.
- Walked to Cathedral and Bascilica. Saw huge Virgin Mary built out of flowers, and people filled every street and alley.
- Ate delicious paella
- Walked to the “river”. This was not actually a river, but rather a series of bridges crossing over parks, fountains, children’s playgrounds (including an enormous dead guy), and orange tree orchards.
- Continued walking toward the Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias (or possibly vice-versa). This was incredible. The ultra-modern pristine white buildings were animal-like in architecture and surrounded by light-blue pools and crazy suspension bridges.
- Drank delicious horchata (or in Valencian, orxata)
- Continued walking down to the Aquarium (oceanographia), but didn’t go in.
- Walked to the harbor, where the Americas Cup is held (I think – there were boats everywhere). A building there that Pablo told me about, Veles y Vents, provided excellent vantage for pictures of the harbor, but was itself closed.
- Continued to walk through (rather modern) Valencia to the beach. Then took the metro back to the city center. I love Spain’s metros.
- Stalked the streets, celebrating Fallas. Ate another delicious Valenciano dish with shrimp and macaroni noodles, drank more horchata.
- Then, the burning of the Fallas. Was epic. See pictures for details. Each burning was preceded by a volley of lively fireworks. After the fireworks in the Ayuntamiento, where the largest Falla dominated the plaza, I whistled with all my lungs. While this is an unequivocal indication of satisfaction in the USA, it is a mistake in Spain. Everyone near me turned with a look of amusement, then horror as I continued to whistle.. they then distanced themselves from me. Apparently whistling is an insult to Spaniards somewhat akin to throwing ripe tomatoes at actors after a play. Embarrassment ensued.
- Finally, the largest Falla was ignited. The paper mache caught immediately, and everyone cheered while the wood cracked and the Falla toppled.
- Back to the hotel to sleep for a few hours. Train to Madrid left at 7:50am the next morning.

3/20/09
- Early to train, like troopers we are. Was not high-speed train, but very comfy and quite zippy nonetheless. We slept.
- (This may be in chronological error, but we bought tickets for a bull-fight on Sunday, when the Clarks would be here.)
- Returned to Pilar’s apartment for lunch. Gabriella served a mix of pasta types and vegetables.
- Took metro to Banco de Espana stop, walked to Museo de Prado
- Bought a painting of a kitty for 10 euros. Jo confirmed this was a good deal.
- Learned. Was introduced to Ribera and Rubens’ art, then Jo taught me about the Spanish triumvirate of classical painters: El Greco (1500’s; novel lighting where people (e.g. Jesus) were the sources, disproportionately long bodies, elegant hands that always told a story; did Caballero con mano en pecho), Diego Velasquez (1600’s; arguably the best Spanish painter, very expressive subjects (especially children), said to have painted people’s souls when he painted their faces; did Las Mininas, Apollo en la Fragua de Volcano), and Francisco de Goya (1700’s; began as a happy painter of chipper subjects, but after witnessing/experiencing the massacre of his people at Napoleon’s brother’s hands, turned incredibly dark and tortured; did Mayo 2 and Mayo 3).
- Returned to Pilar’s to collect belongings. Set off in taxi for our rented apartment, outside of La Latina metro stop relatively near Plaza Mayor and the Palacio Real
- Got there with bags after cab dropped us off in over a block away. Keys did not open door.
- No money on Jo’s cell phone, so we walked to ATM. No funciona. Tried pay phone to contact emergency apartment number, but pay phone ate money. Night was wearing on, and sketchy denizens of Plaza Cebada were starting to eye us and our luggage suspiciously.
- Snuck into diner/tapas bar. With help from waitresses, Jo went to find another ATM through which she could charge her cell phone’s minutes. Jo set off, I ordered a coca-cola light ( = diet) and a loaf of French bread (for an amazing 1 euro!). Much later, Jo returned, having contacted mysteriously German-Spanish apartment maintainer Alex, gotten the original key to work in the door (jiggle-twist-half-remove-twist-jiggle, duh), and successfully rectified the situation. We once again had a place to sleep and store our luggage. The building was under renovation ( = looked like hobos and termites infested it), but our room was surprising nice.
- Fancied up, went out to fantastic dinner and drinks with Diana and Johanna at Kogwai’s (will have to verify this name). Spanish boy’s birthday there, and the 30 or so people in his party brought him gifts and sang Brittany Spears’ Womanizer song. Very good time.
- Home to new apartment. Tried to wash pants and discovered this eliminates possibility of hot shower. Slept soundly.

03/21/2009
- Arose before noon, just. Got ready, went to Pilar’s for lunch.
- Witnessed the craziest family meal ever. Pilar, her daughter Gabriella, her mother (who sadly has Alzheimer’s but is absolutely hilarious in her disregard for it and her mannerisms), and Jo were simultaneously talking and laughing and making merry, in Spanish, for almost the entire lunch. It was lovely. I didn't understand anything.
- Tour of Real Madrid’s stadium, trophy halls, and locker rooms (which have jacuzzis)
- Mass at the church just outside of Jo’s house. Worked on Rosary while priest delivered what Jo assures me was a very moving homily in Spanish.
- Dinner there – chicken y queso, tortilla Espanola, rice, strawberries – delicious.
- Plaza Mayor. Just outside of it is the Museo de Jamon, which I remembered from my last journey to Spain
- Walked back to the apartment, showered, dried jeans over heater. Snuggled.

03/22/2009
- We woke up early (but still, actually, late) to pick up Jo’s family from Barajas Aeropuerto! After sleeping little on the plane they were wiped out, so we headed back to the apartment to drop off equipaje and let them freshen up.
- Palacio Real. Granted I haven’t seen that much, but this was the most opulent display of patriotism I’ve ever encountered. First, the Royal Armory: knights’ armor, longswords, crossbows, long rifles, maces, lances, warhorse equipment, and more, dating from the 1500s on, were threateningly positioned all over the large plush rooms. Next, delicious café con leche, which is infinitely better coffee than I’ve ever had in the US. The Palace itself – every wall, ceiling, and piece of furniture – was decorated in gold, brightly-colored porcelain, or centuries-old paintings. Lots of lions. Lots of pomp and the ceremonial lavishness that accompanies anything royal. Spain owned the known world at one point, and they gratuitously graced this palace with their wealth and treasure.
- Went to Pilar’s house. Abuela (whose name we learned was also Pilar), Pilar, Lori, and Gabriella were there, so the addition of myself and the Clarks made the modest apartment an absolute party. Pilar cooked up a feast, lauded Jordan’s good manners, beauty, and loving personality, which made her parents beam. Many Spanish-English jokes were cracked, delicious foods were eaten, Gabriella and I played a duet on the piano, many pictures were snapped, many cheek-kisses were given.
- Pilar drove us to a bull-fight, and we said goodbye. That was the last I saw of her for the trip.
- The bull-fight was an experience I would not care to repeat. I’ve thought about this quite a bit and discussed it at length with Jo. I can appreciate that some people enjoy killing for sport. I can appreciate the depth of tradition that bull-fighting represents in Spain and other Spanish-speaking countries. I was aware a priori that the fight was not fair, and the bull would unquestionably die. I was not, however, prepared for the brutality of the fight and was not prepared for the suffering each bull endured. I was strangely not impressed by the overwhelming arrogance and pride of the matador, despite the riotous cheers from the ring’s audience at each falter of the bulls’ steps. I thought it was ugly, and it was dirty.
- For my own sake, let me explain the “fight”. A bull enters the ring and charges taunting matadors, who hide behind walls just before the bull can gore them. These animals almost certainly have been conditioned to hate, to rage, to attack the matadors’ capes – and they do. This continues around the ring for a few minutes to work the bull up. Then the band blows a few notes, and picadors enter the stadium mounted on padded-armor horses. The matadors tighten the circle on the bull and herd him toward the picadors, who slam their lances into the bull’s back as he charges (and often knocks down) the horses. The horse is injured, sometimes badly – sacrificed would be a more accurate word. The bull bleeds profusely from the engorged muscles rippling in its back. The band plays, the picadors ride out, and the matadors begin to hook the bull. They wield flowery swords with sharply curved ends, and one by one they add their weapons to the pincushion that is the bull’s back. Then the fun starts. The matador of the match, dressed in sparkling gold and bold white, enters the ring with a red cape and a sword. By now the bull’s tongue is lolling, his huge chest is rapidly sucking in air and wheezing it out, and his massive back is soaked and dripping with blood. The creature is exhausted, and it is dying. The matador wears him out with more taunting and cape-chasing, and the crowd ignites when the bull’s knees fall to the ground. It rises and gives chase a few more times, falls a few more times, and finally the matador walks to the side of the ring and exchanges his sword for another long, thin, lethal, and shiny one. He works the bull to a desired position, then poises for the kill. Literally poses: he confronts the bull face to face, levels his sword head-high at a point just above the bull’s huge horns, and waits for the charge. When it comes, he jumps, thrusts his sword hilt-deep into the bull’s thick back muscles (and presumably into his heart or lungs), and runs like the wind. Then, the other matadors return to the ring, teasing and twisting the bull around with their capes, ripping up his insides with the sword lodged in his back. They wear him out for minutes, and he dies a painful death. When he falls, the crowd roars to their feet. The matador struts around the ring, his body tight and his head high. A man runs from the side of the ring and severs the bull’s brain stem with a sharp knife while the bull succumbs to convulsions and bleeds through its mouth. They rig the bull to a trio of horses who pull his heavy, bleeding body out of the ring.
- We left after the second bull fell. I think we were all slightly nauseous and caught off-guard.
- We took the metro to the Parque Retiro, but it was packed with people and by then the Clarks were nigh exhausted.
- We again visited Plaza Mayor, ate McDonalds for dinner, and headed home.
- Noel, Carla, and Pax crashed when they got back to the room.
- Jo and I went out for a long walk, talking of many things. She introduced me to churros con chocolate. Turned out to not be all it was cracked up to be. Maybe our tastes have just changed.
- We returned home on a pleasant walk through Plaza Mayor and got back around 11:00pm. We stayed up talking for another two hours of middle and high school, of memories. We slept.

03/23/2009
- Woke up, showered, said goodbye to Noel and Pax, took the metro to the airport. Carla almost got her purse picked, but saw the guy’s hand. He broke the zipper off her bag.
- Got to the airport.
- Left Jo.

..and then came home. What an enchanting week.. it lasted forever. As I sit in the airport, Barcelona seems like months ago. Valencia closer in memory, but the week gets exponentially further away. I don’t want to leave Spain. I’m currently surrounded by English-speakers with American accents, and even though I’m not yet home, the vacation is over.
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This was an epic trip. I'm still reeling from it. It's slightly disorienting that I was with Jo yesterday, though that was so many miles and so many hours ago. Time and space play tricks like mischievous twins. But it was a blast. I took 3,751 pictures to go along with the above story (and I'll even get around to posting them eventually), and each cursory scan through them re-emphasizes just how much fun our travels were. Also, this wasn't just a trip to Spain -- it was a trip to see Jo and catch a glimpse of her life abroad. (I love how much she's traveled the world and seen some of its treasures.) I wish I were still there, just for another day.. or week. Pablo, from lab and from Valencia himself, joked that once I was in Spain there was no chance I'd ever come back. Next time that very well may be the case.

watch.

Commanding an awesome force of restraint, I'm going to refrain from spilling the whole movie here for those who haven't seen it. Go watch it. Now. I can't be quiet forever, you know.

Also, random people kept asking me what this was all about -- now you know. If you still don't know, then you forgot the above instructions. Go watch it. Now.

"tragedy" does not suffice

Last Friday night, a man and a woman were driving through an intersection in southwest Atlanta on their way to church. They'd been married for decades. Another man, driving a gray truck, sped through a red light into the intersection. He clipped a city transportation bus, went airborne, and landed on top of the couple's car. They were killed. Witnesses say they were holding hands when they died. I'm too scared to conjure up the thought of my parents being taken away at the same time.. but John C. walked into lab today, sat us down in the Mech E. conference room, and told us both of his had been killed in a car wreck.

..have a moment of silence.

For the rest of the day, I focused on my labmates' reactions and their ensuing behaviors -- not to criticize them, of course, but instead because my awareness of them was heightened. Starting with John C., who I admire very much for his razor-sharp ingenuity and his humility despite it. The man is made of air-hardened, ground steel... but he was so human today. He brought us together and told us the bitter news not only because we were all questioning his recent absence, but also because we are his friends (his "crew") whom he trusts. It's a rare gift to look at someone's eyes and know that he trusts you with his hurt. I am so sad for John. He will likely not get a chance to mourn with everyone else. He will play logistician for the next few months (and will no doubt do so with military precision), but I'm afraid by the time his tears catch up with him, his heart will already be parched.

One of my labmates, who usually bubbles confidence, gnawed -- I mean gnawed -- on his lips almost uncontrollably (and almost certainly unconsciously) on the walk back to our office and for a period after. This guy, clearly upset, somehow kept his voice even every time he spoke. Why is it a sign of weakness to show emotion, particularly at a moment like this? [Aside: it makes Jo uncomfortable when people bite their lips like this; she once told me it makes her think the person is psychologically unhealthy. I'm talking baring-teeth-scraping-lips-and-nearby-mouth biting, not just a regular lip-bite.] Another labmate, who was/is perhaps a stranger to the death of someone close, looked from face to face to face, as if he couldn't decide what to think and was desperately searching others' expressions for clues. It added to the discomfort. A third grew uncomfortable with the silence in our office when we returned to it, relieved only when we adjourned for lunch. Another digested the news (perhaps ignored it?) and immediately returned to work. A slightly counter-intuitive response, when this situation clearly renders all other day-to-day business irrelevant; however, distracting our minds by keeping them busy is an effective way to postpone the reality of the trauma. Uncertain if it's healthy.

The "adults" in the lab -- our administrative assistant and the older research engineers -- shook their heads in response to John's account of the accident, open-mouthed in disbelief. They spoke when none of the students would.. the fact that they weren't choked up suggests either that they were no strangers to death or that they didn't know John's parents personally. I suspect also that having children somehow familiarizes a person with the reality of death.. parents understand what it takes to create life, so even if they haven't felt the scythe of death in their own lives, they can understand another losing it. (Or two, in this case. Both parents at once.. I can't shake that part.) My advisor knew the news prior to the meeting; he played his usual part of the manager by filling in the silence and shooing us away when John was finished talking.

Habituation, the mind's ability (and tendency) to "get used to" a stimulus, is a double-edged sword. We become accustomed to the details of the everyday operation of living to the point that the details fly below the radar of consciousness, so that we may focus our attention on the few items we deem important. The danger is becoming accustomed to the entire experience, so that we focus on nothing and live simply to execute the operation itself. The death of a friend's parents dishabituates the mind -- SNAPS me back into reality and the detail of living. This is a lesson to live with your eyes open and mind aware.

My condolences to John and the C. family for the magnitude of their loss. Condolences are meager in comparison. Prayers and thoughts in addition.

metal heart

First law of thermodynamics: energy is always conserved. Second law: energy is always wasted. The night before last, after five years of faithful service and continuous output, my desktop's power supply eeked out its last watt and gave up its ghost. With Juan Enriquez's TED talk predicting the combinination of stem cells, synthetic tissues, and robots fresh in my mind from a dinner-viewing the night before, I set off to repair my poor computer with the idea in my head that it could someday be a quasi-lifeform. (The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress didn't inhibit these thoughts, either. (See previous posts.)) So, I've opened this black box dozens of times -- in fact, I run my compy without its case on for better cooling -- but the last time I messed with the PS was the first time I put the other components in, years and years ago. I'd never pulled the PS out since then, because that basically requires stripping the case to its bones. Dismembering my case to this level felt like cutting open a patient for surgery, and removing the micro-ATX 240W power supply was like tearing out his heart. I'd never thought about it that way before, but a power supply is much like a heart.. even by looks:


I wasn't home when it went out, so I'm still not quite sure what happened. Before I could survey the extent of the damage (fried motherboard, charred RAM, etc.), I had to first acquire another PS. A friendly co-worker generously provided a spare, and my little black compy spent the night with a borrowed heart in the ICU:


Fortunte smiled on the little black compy, for none of its other components were damaged by what appeared to be a simple short in the PS. So I set off to buy a new one and chanced upon the discovery of a lifetime: the circuitry-wonderland that is Fry's Electronics. It's like a Wal-Mart dedicated to computer nerds. I was familiar with the website, but the store blew me away. I picked up a Thermaltake 430W power supply on the cheap... and some blank CDs, and flash drives, and compressed air cans, etc., because you can't go to Wal-Mart and buy just one thing.


This heart is much bigger physically (it doesn't fit in the micro-ATX case) and output-wise, so this happy story ends with a blog post from the back-from-the-dead little black compy.

I couldn't begin to guess (much less calculate with thermo equations.. well, maybe now that I think about it) how much energy I've wasted over the years by allowing my PS to convert precious watts of power into joules of heat throughout each night. But, as the second law guarantees, that heat adds up, and the PS functionality eventually degrades. With my shiny new PS, I won't take my chances again. But I'd better let it run through tonight, just to make sure its heart keeps pumping. And maybe the next couple nights, too. :) Who knows.. some day, it could be repairing itself.

matched asymptotic expansions

Kids shouldn't be afraid of learning, but sometimes material is downright frightening. Remember middle school algebra class, when you were first presented with the Quadratic Formula? Do you remember the trepidation you faced, not only due to the formula's complexity and relentless pursuit of roots, but also of its mere name? H'ok, exaggerated.. slightly. Even if the formula wasn't that intimidating, the memory of learning that particular piece of the mathematical puzzle still stands out in my mind as a slippery challenge. I'd like to believe that I've bolstered my math skills with... what, ten years of continuous math classes since then? Math shouldn't be scary anymore, right? Alas, not the case. I've come across my good friend Fear again this semester, and this time he's taken the form of matched asymptotic expansions.

I want to make matched asymptotic expansions sound tough and scary, but these creatures probably taste like cupcakes to mathmagicians and, as my Viscous Flows professor assures us, are like turning a crank once they're set up. Why, the last "example" we squared off against in class -- a stock second order ordinary differential equation -- took only 8+ pages of (very small print) notes and two class full periods to finish. Admittedly, the big-picture concept isn't so difficult... Fluid flow in what's called a boundary layer -- a region of altered flow near a surface that usually forms in high Reynolds number flows -- is annoyingly/interestingly different than flow far away from a surface. To discover how a boundary layer develops, this process solves for the velocity field far away from the surface, the velocity field close to it, and the velocity field in an invisibly small intermediate layer. Often, one cannot obtain exact analytical solutions to these situations because the governing equations aren't solvable.. instead, with this method, you can approximate conditions as you asymptotically approach the surface of interest and the thickness of the intermediate layer asymptotically approaches zero. Cupcakes, indeed.

I don't have a good grasp on this method, yet.. but it's almost halfway through the semester. After spending another lecture today madly scribbling fractions and exponents involving Greek characters, I'm more than a little unnerved that this class will completely fly over my head. Then again, I would be foolish to ignore the teachings of my amigo the Quadratic Formula: exposure, practice, and yes, more practice will expand my comfort zone with the material. Eventually, matched asymptotic expansions will click, and a solid understanding will make the math much less frightening. Hopefully, this revelation will even occur before finals. Regardless, remind your kids not to be scared of learning.


TL; DR: Math is scary, so knuckle up and work problems. As distraction, look at fun new picture.