Reunion summary, part II

Months of persistent nagging, often several times a day, was insufficient this time. Most of the class defaulted and failed to submit any self-summary for our next reunion (and accompanying book). This forced the alumni office to give us an extension and step up the guilt-tripping to previously-unexplored reaches of extremity.

Lo! and behold: it worked. Well, a bit. I'll admit that I didn't put as much pizzazz and creative obfuscation into this one as the last one. (In my defense, I now have a job which offers me a lot less free time for creative writing projects on the side.)

My quest for evil mastermindhood continues apace. I have maximally levelled up on the education ladder, and collected one degree of each type (arts, science, philosophy); I now demand to be addressed by my full title ("Professor Doctor Master..."), which is becoming an onerous time-delay during dramatic entries.

Since last we met, I moved to Canada, and then, when that proved insufficiently French, I moved to Paris itself. O! that epitome of French stereotypes: the glorious boulevards, the wine/bread/cheese, the magnificently sneery accents. Many truly marvelous adventures were had, which this margin is too narrow to contain. After nearly a decade abroad, I reluctantly returned to domestic shores in pursuit of that most elusive of quest objectives: tenure.

I return to the US a well-travelled, multilingual, and even-more-highly educated person, all things which serve me well for making small talk and getting pigeonholed. As a professor of computer science, I know a lot about both pigeons and holes. Ask me sometime.

I promise to give you homework. (Due date: the next reunion.)

If unnamed editors change anything, that'll pretty much determine my non-participation in future editions. (Last time they threatened that editors might take action, but the final version was what I had submitted, ridiculosity unchanged.)

These periodic check-ins seem decreasingly relevant in the networked social media sphere in which I dwell: everyone I want to hear about, I already do hear about; we are already in touch. And everyone else? Reading about them in the paper-printed book (!) will be useful, but mostly for tracking how many future CEOs and congresspeople I knew in their early 20s.


This post's theme word is aesculapian, "relating to medicine," or "a doctor." I usually introduce myself as "a doctor, but not the type that helps people", but I am considering condensing this to "a non-aesculapian doctor", to alienate all but the most erudite.

Reunion summary

Months of persistent nagging from various Harvard offices have yielded results. I wrote my 5-year reunion summary of myself. Apparently there will be a book printed and mailed, containing these self-reflecting essays. Here, for your enjoyment, is my submission:

I continue my quest to become an evil mastermind. After obtaining a M. Sc. degree in 2009, I took a brief break from permanent studenthood. During the summer, I set a new world record for hot air balloon distance, travelling from Uqbar to Toronto, Canada in several difficult weeks. Returning to a Ph. D. program that fall, I continue to advance the boundaries of mathematical computer science. Summers are spent strengthening my secret lair, the Gulf coast campus of which was unfortunately broached in 2010, resulting in the tragic loss of my oil collection.

Few people thus far have complied with my desire to be addressed as "mistress (of science)." I hope to finish my next degree soon, so that I can insist on being called "doctor" instead. I continue the development of the chaturathalon, combining alpine skiing, archery, synchronized swimming, and rugby -- truly a sport for all seasons!

I am currently accepting minion applications. Benefits of the position include: unlimited pie, lending library access, and strong encouragement to participate in the employee fitness program. Minions thus far have assisted in writing a short novel of octopus-themed (and -targeted) erotica, executing art projects, and participating in a delightful email list. (Like most email lists, this consists mostly of sharing YouTube videos.) Future plans include creation of matching hats for all minions.

The submission page warned that unnamed editors may change my entry. I wonder what the published one will say.


This post's theme word is vitiate, "to spoil or impair the quality or efficiency of," or "to destroy or impair the legal validity of." Certain claims may vitiate my autobiography.

More nice writing: Jerry Holkins

Jerry Holkins is a man who knows his way around a sentence, often by leaving gigantic sesquipedalian monoliths strewn hither and thither to mark his loquacious route. See for example this:

My mind is generally in geosynchronous orbit, watching the unseemly exertions of this body with my metaphorical nose wrinkled in disgust, engaged in cognition about cognition and issuing rudimentary commands over the high-latency link. I wish very much that this last sentence felt less true.

Doesn't your heart leap at such prose?

Well, mine does.


This post's theme phrase is ex cathedra, "spoken with authority" (adverb/adjective). I read Tycho's posts in an ex cathedra tone.

Office of typos

I happened upon a building labeled thusly:
What was it? Further investigation suggested that it was a local (or national?) broadcast TV company. But why buy 5-foot-tall letters to spell "typos" on the side of the building? (It doesn't seem to be an actual Czech word that unfortunately spells an English word.) This just seems to be asking for trouble, or perhaps in a more positive light, excusing mistakes before they're made. Every time a typo occurs, people just point to the side of the building and shrug.


This post's theme word: otiose, "superfluous, indolent, futile."
This post written like David Foster Wallace.

Positive

I feel that my last post was rather negative and stressed, so I'd like to counter today. I spent from 5am-6am this morning listening to my through-the-wall neighbors have a shouting match/breakdown, ferociously angry, punctuated by full-body sobbing. Then, since my attempts at pillow-over-the-head were unsuccessful, I got up and found my earplugs, and went back to sleep.

I have a lot to be positive about, and am in general a positive person (dark sense of humor notwithstanding). Having passed the one-year warm-up mark, I find myself increasingly comfortable in academia, with the idea of independent research, and with the concepts and tools of my field. (And now I have a group of comfortable friends.) I am in good health, and (nearly) able to be as active as I want to be. My friends and family are also in good health, in good situations. I find myself happy with life and my position in it, though of course there's always that little apprehensive dread of what the future may bring. And I can remember the last time I was as upset, and distraught, and angry as my neighbor -- I was 14 or 15.

So life is good, happy, healthy, peaceful. Busy. Today is my birthday-eve, and I'm celebrating by going to my old house and packing my remaining belongings into boxes. Then I'll go to my lovely new apartment and sleep in preparation for a long day (parents, moving, Ikea) tomorrow.

This post's theme word: salubrious, "healthy."

International Day of Sadness

Commemorating bad feelings experienced on this day, I declare it to be an International Day of Sadness.

My motivation is that one day a year, I should gather up all my sadness and regret and just get over it. Today is that day, a day for wallowing and self-pity. Tomorrow will be a new day. This date nicely coincides with the beginning of a new academic year almost everywhere (a little late for A., just about right for me, a little early for E.).

I had decided on this strange holiday a few months ago; I knew I'd probably feel bad today, and resolved at least to feel better tomorrow. Ever self-thwarting, my subconscious arranged it so that I awoke this morning feeling great. I am fairly certain that my stepped-up workout schedule is to blame for that; I am sore all over, and energetic, and sleeping well.


This post's theme word: roborant, "strengthening."

Another one bites the dust

On Friday, we helped A. move in to college. His dorm is clean and new and designed for socializing nicely (but not for study; we'll see how that plays out). It was delightful. It reminded me how great Freshman week was -- I remember one of my upperclass peer advisors saying, "this is the most fun you'll have until Senior week," and that proved to be fairly accurate. (There were a few exceptions, but overall, my four years were spent busily learning, working, and living; those two bookend weeks' demands were social only.)

One day, A. and I will found a group to legalize recreational whale torture (citation: 30 Rock). It's pretty much the most difficult cause to get anyone to sign off on (save for causes involving cannibalism, babies as projectiles, etc.). In that spirit, I encourage him to take marine biology, philosophy, and pre-law classes. For his gym requirement, maybe boxing? Bow & arrow or rifle-shooting?


This post is dedicated to that age-old battle: Capulets VS. Romulans (ibid).