Tom and Ray Magliozzi have the most contagious laughs in the history of laughing

Here's a way to test your poker face. Listen to this clip and try to make it all the way through without smiling. I've listened to it probably 10 times and I still can't do it.

An enemy for which even the Taliban are no match

I was reading today that 23 South Koreans were kidnapped by the Taliban while travelling in Afghanistan. The first hostage they killed was the pastor of a church, but - get this - his family, even though his body was returned to them, refuses to hold a funeral or even a memorial service for him until the Taliban release the other 22 hostages.

I am convinced this degree of altruism and love simply is not possible for humankind alone to achieve. Even in the face of imminent torture and murder of their own father, brother, husband or son, these people simply cannot be broken. It leaves me utterly awestruck.

My pianobrain, and "Phone-A-Friend"

I spend hours every day learning how to play Robert Schumann's Piano Concerto in A Minor. It's terribly addicting. I can't play it as well as Artur Rubinstein, mind you, but even being able to play small segments of the concerto as well as he does makes buying this piano completely worth it. The same goes for Schumann's Träumerei. As short as it is (just one page), it is deceptively difficult to play the way he meant it to be played, as I quickly learned. Still, I am determined to learn both pieces (though I'm sure mastery of the latter will far precede that of the former).

I should also note a new tactic upon which I stumbled during my early struggles with this concerto. There are certain portions that seem almost absurd - one hand spanning several octaves in the same measure playing nothing but sixteenth-notes, for example. I realized, however, that if I train my eyes to pinpoint the target keys just before my hand reaches them, the accuracy of my fingers increases logarithmically. I know this sounds petty, but it's something I rarely do with simpler pieces; my eyes tend to wander and focus on several groups of keys at a time rather than on one specific key. With this new technique, my eyes are quite literally playing the entire concerto one step ahead of my fingers.

In other news, this morning Ralph (our technician), Swetha (our biotechnology grad student) and I were in the lab, and Jeff walked in and said, "I have a favor to ask of you three. I know somebody who is appearing on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? and I'm one of the candidates for his Phone-A-Friend lifeline. So if the phone rings today anytime between 11 am and 7 pm, make sure I'm the one who answers it."

That, I must admit, was not even in the same league of favors I expected him to ask of us. How bizarre.

I agree with Donald Trump? Wait, what?

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I agree with Donald Trump. I feel all weird now.

My PI worked for two (2) Nobel laureates

I already knew Jeff got his Ph.D. at MIT, but what I didn't know is that both of his mentors were Nobel laureates: H. Robert Horvitz and Eric F. Wieschaus. Wow. I had seen publications with Jeff and Dr. Wieschaus's names on them, but I never knew who that guy was. Now I do, and now I am fearful.

Today was a "people day"

I didn't get much done at work today. I spent a good long while during the afternoon discussing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows with the scholar Ms. Sarah Fettke, who pointed out a great many subtleties in this last book I would never otherwise have noticed. I wrote Bravo, Mrs. Rowling (pt. 2) this morning when I got to work, and I wrote a few e-mails too. I also got to chat a bit with Tammy, the Ph.D. student who just finished her rotation in our lab a couple weeks ago. When I got home from work I played Super Smash Brothers Melee with my roommate Cody for a while.

It was a people day, and it was long coming. Even I need one every once in a while.

P.S. If you would like to witness the phoenix-esque transition occurring within the blues world, feast your ears upon this:

P.P.S. I haven't quite figured out why I'm postscripting this. It's not even a letter. Oh well.

Bravo, Mrs. Rowling (pt. 2)

I spent the rest of last night trying to figure out why the Harry Potter books are so devilishly addicting. I think it really boils down to one thing: imagination. Mrs. Rowling can spark the reader's imagination like no author I know.

I don't know exactly how she does this, but without a doubt the most significant factor I personally have noticed is all the names. Whether characters (Neville Longbottom), institutions (Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, or SPEW), spells ("Expelliarmus!"), items (Marauder's Map), towns (Hogsmeade), buildings (The Leaky Cauldron), or anything else, Mrs. Rowling brings Harry Potter's world to life with names I'll never forget.

There are certainly other tactics the author employs to suck the reader in, but it's really hard for me to describe them. I've found that, when I pick up the book, it takes only about three lines for me to become completely and hopelessly immersed in the story. It's as if there's a movie playing in my mind, and all I have to do is sit back and watch. My imagination goes wild, and it seems as though instead of the words on the page forming the images in my head, the images are themselves so vivid and detailed that my brain is actually interpreting them as words that appear on the page. There are times I'm convinced there is no way this story could be fiction; surely the author must be able to see inside my head and she is simply transcribing the events. This is also why I will never watch the Harry Potter films: no amount of CGI or acting talent will ever be able to produce a graphic recreation of this epic that is not utterly eclipsed by that which has been crafted in my brain. Anything the cinema folks manage to create, even if it's the best film ever made, will be inexorably disappointing.

In any case, I applaud Mrs. Rowling, not only for creating such an unforgettable, truly epic tale, but also for something even more important: for reminding kids, teenagers, and adults alike of the raw power of the human imagination.

Bravo, Mrs. Rowling (pt. 1)

So I just finished reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Absolutely unbelievable. I have to go to work now, so I'll write more (no spoilers, mind you) later tonight or tomorrow.

The best package ever, and that obnoxious Fifth Amendment

So my Piano Concerto in A Minor (Opus 54) by Robert Schumann came in the mail today. Schwing! It is glorious. The pages are weathered a bit and it feels very... seasoned. So nice. I love it already. Even though I can only play about the first four measures, it's still the best thing ever.

I've been trying to keep this blog free of politics, but some things simply must not go unnoticed. This past Tuesday, for example, the President issued this executive order, which says:

...[A]ll property and interests in property of the following persons, that are in the United States, that hereafter come within the United States, or that are or hereafter come within the possession or control of United States persons, are blocked and may not be transferred, paid, exported, withdrawn, or otherwise dealt in: any person determined by the Secretary of the Treasury, in consultation with the Secretary of State and the Secretary of Defense,

(i) to have committed, or to pose a significant risk of committing, an act or acts of violence that have the purpose or effect of:

(A) threatening the peace or stability of Iraq or the Government of Iraq; or

(B) undermining efforts to promote economic reconstruction and political reform in Iraq or to provide humanitarian assistance to the Iraqi people;

(ii) to have materially assisted, sponsored, or provided financial, material, logistical, or technical support for, or goods or services in support of, such an act or acts of violence or any person whose property and interests in property are blocked pursuant to this order; or

(iii) to be owned or controlled by, or to have acted or purported to act for or on behalf of, directly or indirectly, any person whose property and interests in property are blocked pursuant to this order.

(b) The prohibitions in subsection (a) of this section include, but are not limited to,

(i) the making of any contribution or provision of funds, goods, or services by, to, or for the benefit of any person whose property and interests in property are blocked pursuant to this order, and

(ii) the receipt of any contribution or provision of funds, goods, or services from any such person.

CliffsNotes: The Secretary of the Treasury can now seize your property if he feels you threaten the stabilization of Iraq.

With that in mind, here is the last bit from the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution:

...nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.

So let's see, the NSA's President-authorized warrantless wiretapping program is illegal under the 1972 court ruling of United States v. United States District Court, the Military Commissions Act of 2006 suspends habeas corpus even though we are not experiencing rebellion or invasion (the only concessions the Constitution allows), and now this executive order utterly usurps our Fifth Amendment right. This President sidesteps any laws he wants to, always for the sake of "protecting" us from the "terrorist threat." Right.

The absolution of fat people playing tennis

Last night, probably for the first time, I witnessed a group of really fat (borderline obese) people playing tennis. It went pretty much the way I expected. Nobody bothered a return attempt on balls that were more than about two paces away from wherever they were standing. I don't quite understand why they chose to play tennis, of all sports - it is one of the more merciless sports when it comes to fitness, along with soccer. In any case, I would normally be characteristically critical of them and say things like, "Stop stuffing your face, then we'll talk tennis," but the obese guy who was playing made a comment along the way that inflated my respect for him logarithmically:

Girl 1: "Eww, Brian [not me] did you spit over here?"
Brian: "Only once."
Girl 2: "What, is there spit all over the court?"
Girl 1: "No, just one big one."
Brian: "That's what she said."

Brian, wherever you are, I applaud you. All of you.

Tennis is not for macho men, and MIT's OpenCourseWare

Or perhaps I should say, "Macho men are not for tennis."

I see this all the time, and, just like farts and Chuck Norris jokes, it will never ever stop being funny. Last night Matt and I were playing tennis on the courts at the TTU campus, and a trio of really manly-looking men strutted onto the court next to us. One was talking on his phone, another one brought his dog (what the hell?), and the third was wearing a cutoff tee and looking extra manly. After a few minutes of awkwardly hitting a few balls against the wall, they decided to pit Chatty Cathy and Rin Tin Tin against He-Man.

It was at this time that I realized there are few things in life more satisfying than playing a sport several orders of magnitude better than the guys next to you who look like they could benchpress you and your partner together with one hand. Matt and I both were playing exceptionally well that evening, pounding the ball up and down the court like we were Roger and Rafa, while the trio next fumbled nearly every stroke and cranked balls over the fence like Albert Pujols. Hey guys, did you get the memo? The baseball field is down the road.

In completely unrelated news, MIT has started a program called OpenCourseWare in which they digitize lecture notes, blackboard notes/drawings, homework assignments and solutions, syllabi, and other stuff for almost every course in every department. The best part is, as the name implies, it's free to the public. Very cool! The reason I know about this is because I visit the MIT website almost every day. I'm going to do my darnedest to get into graduate school in physics there.

An apparently ambiguous two-way stop

The TTUHSC parking connects to the Texas Tech parkway at a two-way stop, even though it is a T-shaped intersection. The parking lot street forms the base of the T and the parkway forms the arms. One direction of traffic on the parkway does not have a stoplight (the right arm), so people turning left from the parkway into the parking lot always have the right of way. Since this is can be a rather precarious intersection, there are several brightly colored signs facing the opposite direction of traffic on the parkway (the people who have to wait for the left-turn-ers) that have flags around them and they say

ONCOMING TRAFFIC DOES NOT STOP

I never knew there were so many different ways to interpret this. Just today I was coming back from lunch, and I was going the direction that doesn't have to stop. There are two lanes of traffic that go the opposite direction on the parkway (the direction that does have to stop), and the car in the left lane had stopped and was waiting for me to turn left, but the guy in the right lane started inching into the intersection before I got there. By the time I got to the intersection and was ready to turn left, he had almost completely blocked me from turning left. The best part is, he saw me coming, and I expected him to just finish pulling through, but instead he just stopped. I had to veer left and then snake around the intersection just to avoid hitting him.

I used to think Kansas drivers were the worst, and then I moved to Oklahoma and I thought Oklahoma drivers were the worst, but man oh man, I think Texas drivers take the cake.

CNN vs. Michael Moore

I'm cautiously pleased with CNN. It's not because I have anything against Michael Moore (I don't), but rather because, for the first time in ages, a major news corporation has put a noticeable amount of effort into preserving its journalistic integrity.

Our kitten is easier to train than our dog

Having lived with Cricket (a kitten) and Zora (a young sheltie) for over a month now, I can safely say Cricket is much, much easier to train. Why? With a puppy, you have to train him to do things. With a kitten, you only have to train him NOT to do things. We've been teaching Zora how to pick up her chew toy and put it in our hands, and to do that, we have to make her do it over and over and over again. When we want to train Cricket to do something, we just have to smack him every time he does something else. I've found that a simple five-across-the-eyes or even a thrice-pimp-slap carries with it a pretty clear message. Controlled violence, it seems, is an effective vehicle of communication that transcends all language barriers.

Beeps, car sounds, my annual splurge, and a most unfortunate deadpan

A few times per week I eat at a Wendy's restaurant down the street from the Health Sciences Center. Every time I park and get out of the car, I hear a strange beeping coming from somewhere in or near the parking lot, but for the life of me I can't pinpoint it. Strange.

Today I realized I need to drive with my windows open, for two reasons. First, the car runs more efficiently without the compressor turned on, and second (much more importantly), my car's engine sounds unbelievably awesome. Seriously. I wish I could describe it, but I can't. It just has a very unique, rich, melodic whir, and I love it to death.

Ever since my passion for the piano was reignited several months ago, I've been mulling the idea of buying a digital piano to take with me to school, since I don't have ready access to a piano there. So I decided to buy this yesterday, and it is simply sublime. I forgot how much I suck, but that's okay because I'm going to get way better. Plus, I have tons and tons and TONS of free sheet music to choose from! I am so pumped. This school year is going to be wicked fun. Physics + piano + no dorms = heaven.

Another conclusion upon which I arrived today is that my deadpan expressions are WAY too melancholy-looking. The reason this has become an issue is because I wear my funny shirts on occasion, and I firmly believe anybody who wears funny shirts is morally obligated to accompany said shirts with a happy demeanor. It just doesn't work otherwise.

Things that are awesome

• the smell of clean laundry
• the smell just before it rains
• rosemary
• aged humidors
• Robert Schumann
• the Maglev train
• Enrico Fermi
• Seattle
• Vancouver
• Artur Rubinstein
• calligraphy
• left-handed things
• Germany
• eyeglasses
• Eric Clapton

More to come.

Kevin, furry alarm clocks, and the loudest cereal ever

So I dreamed this morning (I think) that I had four envelopes in my hands, and the inside of each was colored. The first one was blue, the second, red, the third, blue again. For some reason, Kevin Malone from "The Office" was there (wherever "there" was), and I said to him, "Hey, I'll bet you $20 the fourth one is green." He agreed, and when I opened it, it was indeed green. He reached for his wallet and I remember being surprised because I didn't think he'd actually pay, but I had to maintain my deadpan because if he knew I didn't expect him to pay up, he probably wouldn't have.

Right after he gave me the money, our lovely resident stray cat sprung up from the floor and landed on the bed about an inch from my face (in real life, not in the dream), and it scared me almost to tears. I had to stare at the ceiling for a few seconds until I stopped shaking, and then I threw the stupid cat out. Thankfully for her, she managed to poop in the living room (again) before she went out. Fortunately she woke me up at 6.51 and my alarm is set for 7.00, so it worked out pretty well.

Yesterday at the supermarket I found "Oh's!," which very well may be my favorite cereal ever. I ate some for breakfast this morning, and I forgot how loud they were. Holy cow. Chewing "Oh's!" almost makes my ears ring. If an ax murderer rampaged through the house while I was eating breakfast, I would be blissfully unaware of my impending grisly doom until it was way too late.

Why I wish I were a physicist in the early 1900s

So I've been reading this mammoth of a book by Richard Rhodes called The Making of the Atomic Bomb. Here is an excerpt I particularly enjoyed:

The British flew their diplomatic pouch [58-year-old Nobel laureate Niels Bohr] back and forth from Stockholm in an unarmed two-engine Mosquito bomber, a light, fast aircraft that could fly high enough to avoid the German anti-aircraft batteries on the west coast of Norway - flak usually topped out at 20,000 feet. The Mosquito's bomb bay was fitted for a single passenger. On October 6 Bohr donned a flight suit and strapped on a parachute. The pilot supplied him with a flight helmet with built-in earphones for communication with the cockpit and showed him the location of his oxygen hookup. Bohr also took delivery of a stick of flares. In case of attack the pilot would dump the bomb bay and Bohr would parachute into the cold North Sea; the flares would aid his rescue if he survived...

The Mosquito flew at a great height and it was necessary to use oxygen masks; the pilot gave word on the inter-com when the supply of oxygen should be turned on, but as the helmet with the earphones did not fit [Bohr's] head, he did not hear the order and soon fainted because of lack of oxygen. The pilot realized that something was wrong when he received no answer to his inquiries, and as soon as they had passed over Norway he came down and flew low over the North Sea. When the plane landed in Scotland, [Bohr] was conscious again.

UC Berkeley a cappella attack

"Live Earth" scares me

The most unifying idea of our age probably isn't even true.

Scary.

Man-made global warming has become, for all intents and purposes, a religion, complete with the token brazen claims of dubious factual basis; millions of mindless, salivating zealots ready to maul the unbelieving heretics at the drop of a hat; and lots and lots of propaganda. It also already has a savior (Albert Gore, Jr.) and even its own sacred scriptures (An Inconvenient Truth).

I would suggest finding a copy of the BBC documentary The Great Global Warming Swindle for any who wish to put their faith in REAL science, but nobody actually will, so I will summarize its arguments here:

• The percent of total carbon dioxide released into the atmosphere every year by human beings is minuscule compared to naturally produced emissions from flora, fauna, and other natural events such as volcanoes.
• Al Gore was correct in his declaration that there is a conspicuous correlation between atmospheric carbon dioxide levels and temperature levels, but his implicit conclusion, that the former causes the latter, is incorrect. There is significant evidence suggesting that CO2 changes actually LAG BEHIND the temperature changes.
• After World War II, when industry began to proliferate on a logarithmic scale, global temperatures actually began to DECREASE.
• If we are to violate the fundamental statistical dictum that correlation DOES NOT imply causation (the central argument of man-made global warming theory does just this), then we should also take note of a far more pronounced correlation between temperature and solar activity (i.e. the presence or absence of sun spots).

It scares me profoundly that so many people have become so fanatical about an argument supported by such flimsy and questionable scientific evidence. It makes me think that, perhaps subconsciously, humanity as a whole has been searching for such a unifying cause for a long time, and having become desperate after ages of failure, we have begun to grope in the dark for something - anything - to which we may firmly, and more importantly, COLLECTIVELY, attach ourselves. While it is undoubtedly admirable and refreshing to see that, despite our vast differences, human beings from so many different places in life do indeed possess the capacity to overcome said differences for the sake of some "greater good," it is equally horrifying to consider that we have chosen to do so under the deluded assumption that we are ultimately effecting our own demise through, of all things, global warming.

If I had to predict our apocalypse, I would put my money on a nuclear holocaust arriving far sooner than lethal climate change.

The logistics of pooping in a litterbox, and the Scoop-n-Throw

So we're about this close (*holds thumb and index finger closely together*) to getting rid of our stray, un-potty-trained, un-spayed cat. We're going to keep one of her kittens for the time being because Cricket knows how to use the litter box and doesn't puke all over the living room like his mother does.

Unfortunately, understanding the purpose of the litterbox and exercising that knowledge are two entirely different things. This morning I was eating breakfast and I watched Cricket climb into the litterbox to go #2, but while all four of his feet were inside the box, his butt was hanging off the edge. He pooped neatly just next to the box, then tried to cover up his mistake by throwing litter on it. I suppose I have to give him credit for at least standing inside the box when the deed was done.

Cricket has also taken a liking to the mess of cords that sits behind my computer desk. If I leave my door open at any time while he's in the house, he bolts into my room and bee-lines it for the cords. It gets really annoying because he tends to tangle himself up in them and pulls my (computer) mouse off the desk, so I have to climb under the desk and untangle him and pull him out. In recent days I've actually come to develop a technique I call the Scoop-n-Throw, which serves to preempt the situation entirely. If I'm using the computer and I see him in the corner of my eye making a run for the pile, and if I'm quick enough, I can snatch him off the ground with one hand mid-gallop and toss him out of my room (it's about an eight foot throw, but his landings have smoothed out dramatically with some practice) without even getting off my chair.

Alan Johnston freed!

Hooray!

A new low (if that's possible)

The President didn't even wait until his last days in office to pardon Lewis Libby. I often append discussions of virtually any of the President's recent activities with a phrase somewhere along the lines of "absolutely unbelievable," but, sad as I am to say it, this man has made a believer out of me.

On the degeneration of intellect

A few days ago my housemates invited a few of their friends to the house for a little driveway barbeque. One guy brought his girlfriend (I'm assuming) along, and I overheard a conversation between her and Matt's wife Sandra regarding her plans after graduation. She said that she never studied in high school or in her first year of college, but when she started her nursing classes as a sophomore she realized "it was too much work," so she switched to psychology because she "wanted something easier."

...

I will ignore for the moment the irony here, in that a psychology degree is utterly useless unless one goes on to graduate school to get one's Psy.D. or Ph.D., both of which require 4-5 more years of school than a nursing degree.

My big question is: why don't people care anymore? Seriously. I'm not being rhetorical or theatrical or glib. I've always assumed human beings, even non-scientists, were infused with an utterly insatiable curiosity about the unknown. I mean, heck, watch little kids open their wrapped birthday gifts. They're ravenous, and I don't think that is entirely attributable to greed or materialistic tendencies - I think that's a burning desire to make known what was formerly unknown.

Take, for example, an article I found in The Observer yesterday. One researcher said the average American today knows less about biology than the average American did TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO. It's nothing short of astounding to me, and I'm not easily astounded by the stupidity of my fellow human beings.

Man. I need to take a break. I have much more to say about this, but if I try to do it all at once I'm bound to knife somebody.

The renegade bluesman

John Mayer is changing the blues genre. The change is taking place not through his music itself - it's actually very faithful to the genre - but rather through his lyrics. Here are a few examples of songs written by Eric Clapton:

Come on in the back of the '57.
Let me show you the way, the way to heaven.
You're looking so sweet, yes you are.
I'm sure that you've got some heat.

- "Marry You"

Let's make the best of the situation
Before I finally go insane.
Please don't say we'll never find a way
And tell me all my love's in vain.

- "Layla"

No matter how I try,
My heart just don't see why
I can't forget you.
If ever it should be
You want to come back to me,
You know I'd let you.

- "Got You On My Mind"

Now here are some examples from John Mayer:

You take your sweaters,
You take your time.
You might have your reasons,
But you will never have my rhyme.
I’m gonna sing my way away from blue,
I’m gonna find another you.

- "I'm Gonna Find Another You"

And if you want to know the moment
I knew that I was still alone,
I found I'd never learned your number,
I only stored it in my phone.
You'd think by now
I'd know the shape of calling home.

- "Tracing"

Had a talk with my old man.
Said, "Help me understand."
He said, "Turn 68,
You'll renegotiate.
Don't stop this train.
Don't for a minute change the place you're in.
Don't think I couldn't ever understand.
I tried my hand.
John, honestly,
We'll never stop this train."

- "Stop This Train"

Notice any difference? EC's lyrics, along with most blues lyrics in general, tend to be... simple. The purpose of blues is to let the guitar do the talking more so than the mouth. In doing so the artist is allowed an almost limitless amount of space to explore and expand every aspect of his playing style.

John Mayer brings with his astoundingly mature playing ability an ability to compose lyrics that resonate with people at a level of profundity that most bluesmen can't even approach. For example, when I listen to Eric Clapton, I regard the lyrics as "his" lyrics - they belong to the song and are ultimately irrelevant outside of that context. Without the melody playing, I have a great deal of difficulty recalling the words at all. John Mayer's lyrics, on the other hand, I take to heart. I can quote most any song without even replaying the melody in my head at all because my brain has decided, "What he says has applications beyond the song itself. There is wisdom in these words."

I honestly don't think JM goes out of his way to push the boundaries of blues, because when I listen to him speak in interviews and behind-the-scenes videos, his colloquial vernacular is exactly the same as the lyrics he writes for his music. I bought the Village Sessions EP on iTunes a few days ago and it came with a twenty minute video documenting his composition of In Repair (which, interestingly enough, he wrote entirely in one day, both lyrics and music). I watched the intermittent sit-down interviews about three times and I still haven't figured out exactly what he said. He would say things like:

Part of going into the studio without an idea is going into the studio with as many different stimuli as you can go in with, and for me as a guitar player, I really wanted to have as many different sounds as I could pull from, and maybe see what those sounds brought out of me as a composer.

and

I remember at that point thinking that this had become a really big song. Not big in terms of what it would do on the radio or how many records it would sell, but big in the sense that it's expansive, and with the kind of vastness of the song that was being created, it really did a lot for the lyrics because the song became very sweeping. It now has kind of movements in it, which my songs don't usually have, or hadn't had up until that point.

and, my personal favorite,

The lyric idea for In Repair came from... it's kind of knowledge about the way people are - that we're always either on the way down or the way up, and you never really enjoy the moment when it's all put together, because it probably never really is. Those moments where things come apart are only setting you up for that moment when you put it back together again, and you're so surprised that it's coming back together again. There's this beauty in the idea of being in repair.

I still don't get it. Maybe one day I will. Until then, I can listen and enjoy without feeling stupid about singing along.