Monday, October 30, 2006
The Great Alkali Robbery
Ah, fall break. After spending 11 hours or so in the library, I'm pleased to report that I have finished an 8 page handwritten outline of my first graduate school paper. And all without seeing that shiny yellow orb you call "the sun." Sure, that may sound like a negative thing, but because of all the work I got done I can now write an account of the most fascinating and terrifying event to occur at Underwood High School since my departure. An event that will go down in history as the Great Alkali Metal Heist of 2006.
I have heard multiple versions of this story, both from my girlfriend (who is still teaching statistics) and the actual victim of the robbery, a well meaning fellow who has taken up residence in my old classroom on the second floor as well as my previous roster of ninth grade physical science classes. Unfortunately, despite all of this, some of the exact details remain rather garbled, so if anything does not make sense, feel free to e-mail and I will be more than glad to investigate further.
What is certain is the following: Readers of this blog are no doubt familiar with my old nemesis, the school district core curriculum. For those of you staring blankly, I will summarize by saying that one never knew until the day or two before school started precisely what content you would be expected to teach, much less the order in which they would be taught. The first year I taught, it did not exist for science so I got to teach what I wanted, when I wanted. The second year, it started with earth science and ended with physics and chemistry, with random digressions into astronomy and environmental science in the middle. The third year, it started with chemistry, moved to physics, and then ended with earth and space science. This year, it appears they kept the order relatively constant, meaning that my successor is right in the midst of teaching his students about the periodic table.
Now one of the wonderful things about working as a science teacher at Underwood was that one had access to all manner of interesting chemicals, only some of which were dangerous and/or illegal for public schools to possess. One of the departments' prize possessions is locked away in the chemical locker. To all outward appearances, it is an empty cardboard box of the sort that might hold a coffeemaker. But what is inside this box is no mere appliance, but a brass cylinder and a pyrex jar. The jar is filled with paraffin wax and small silvery chunks of elemental sodium. The cylinder, which must be nearly as old as the school, has a screw top lid. Unscrewing it reveals a second, smaller container similar to the sodium jar, but this one contains elemental potassium. Neither of these elements is particularly safe, but the members of Underwood science department have made sure to protect the box because (as I posted a long time ago), mixing alkali metals with water provides one of the most explosive chemistry demonstrations around!
So my successor is working with his students on the periodic table or chemical elements or some such thing and decides he's going to show them the alkali metals. And he does the normal things: small piece of sodium (fizz), large piece of sodium (cool orange flame), small piece of potassium (bigger purple flame), larger piece of potassium (apparently this one broke the beaker!) And needless to say the kids are impressed! You can't really blame them...alkali metals are indeed quite awesome. (Just ask Humphry Davy.)
None of this would be a problem were it not for one small detail the teacher noticed only after his class left. After cleaning up the demonstration table, it was soon discovered that something was missing. Something that rhymes with "you're gassy...ummm..." Yes, that's right. As you should already have deduced from the title of this post, the potassium had been stolen. STOLEN, I SAY!
Before going any further, allow me to provide this convenient link to a material data safety sheet for elemental potassium. (here)
Key points to consider:
Stability Stable. Moisture and air-sensitive. Spontaneously combustible through the generation and ignition of hydrogen. Reacts violently with water and acids, alcohols, carbon monoxide. Store under oil.
Toxicology Very harmful by ingestion or through skin or eye contact. May cause irreversible eye damage. May cause serious skin burns.
This is a metal that should only be directly handled wearing safety goggles and gloves, and even then it's still not exactly safe due to its violent tendency to react with oxygen, particularly that found in water, and burst into flame. And now this incredibly unstable element was in the hands of equally unstable ninth graders who had no idea of the danger into which they had put themselves and the school.
Fortunately, they moved as a group to their next class and the teacher decided to be nice and asked them to return the potassium and if they did so before the end of lunch, it would be no questions asked.
Anyone care to guess if the kids took him up on this?
Anyone?
Anyone?
Of course not.
So now we have a situation. Somewhere in the middle of lunch, the teacher reports the situation to the head of the science department who (justifably) flips out over the missing potassium. Because of the safety issues involved, he in turn reports this to the principal and school security, who take it upon themselves to hold the science class in the lunchroom until this whole affair can be settled. As police searched student backpacks and escorted the kids to their lockers in search of the missing metal, the principal contacted the fire marshal who (justifiably) flips out further since no one knows how to neutralize a potassium fire. I would have assumed the fire marshal would know how to deal with flammable metals, but apparently this was not the case as he apparently started yelling at the hapless teacher that he sure as heck had better find out how to stop a potassium fire...RIGHT NOW! All in all, rather stressful.
The ending of the story is where things get hazy because it seems that the jar was in fact recovered in a student's locker and "most" of the potassium was still in it. Here's where my understanding gets a little hazy because if only "most" of it was recovered, then "some" of it might still be missing. Apparently, from what I gather, the students involved had disposed of some of the potassium in the toilet, which makes complete and total sense when one thinks about the list of possible disposal sites available to a typical freshman. I'm not sure if there were still some pieces missing beyond that or if the non-exploded potassium had been further subdivided prior to its recovery.
But the ending of the story is that as far as I know Underwood is now no longer in possession of its potassium as it seems almost a certainty the fire marshal confiscated it. The students involved in the theft were suspended, although I fear it will not discourage others from their thievery since the poor teacher, after trying so hard to come up with a lesson his students would enjoy and getting yelled at by every administrator, from the regional superintendent on down, had his laptop stolen within the next two days.
There is a small part of me that is tempted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but ultimately, I can only sympathize because hell, I've been where he is, and after all, if I had not left then perhaps that could have been me dealing with kleptomaniacal students and a sudden, dangerous potassium deficiency.
Ah, fall break. After spending 11 hours or so in the library, I'm pleased to report that I have finished an 8 page handwritten outline of my first graduate school paper. And all without seeing that shiny yellow orb you call "the sun." Sure, that may sound like a negative thing, but because of all the work I got done I can now write an account of the most fascinating and terrifying event to occur at Underwood High School since my departure. An event that will go down in history as the Great Alkali Metal Heist of 2006.
I have heard multiple versions of this story, both from my girlfriend (who is still teaching statistics) and the actual victim of the robbery, a well meaning fellow who has taken up residence in my old classroom on the second floor as well as my previous roster of ninth grade physical science classes. Unfortunately, despite all of this, some of the exact details remain rather garbled, so if anything does not make sense, feel free to e-mail and I will be more than glad to investigate further.
What is certain is the following: Readers of this blog are no doubt familiar with my old nemesis, the school district core curriculum. For those of you staring blankly, I will summarize by saying that one never knew until the day or two before school started precisely what content you would be expected to teach, much less the order in which they would be taught. The first year I taught, it did not exist for science so I got to teach what I wanted, when I wanted. The second year, it started with earth science and ended with physics and chemistry, with random digressions into astronomy and environmental science in the middle. The third year, it started with chemistry, moved to physics, and then ended with earth and space science. This year, it appears they kept the order relatively constant, meaning that my successor is right in the midst of teaching his students about the periodic table.
Now one of the wonderful things about working as a science teacher at Underwood was that one had access to all manner of interesting chemicals, only some of which were dangerous and/or illegal for public schools to possess. One of the departments' prize possessions is locked away in the chemical locker. To all outward appearances, it is an empty cardboard box of the sort that might hold a coffeemaker. But what is inside this box is no mere appliance, but a brass cylinder and a pyrex jar. The jar is filled with paraffin wax and small silvery chunks of elemental sodium. The cylinder, which must be nearly as old as the school, has a screw top lid. Unscrewing it reveals a second, smaller container similar to the sodium jar, but this one contains elemental potassium. Neither of these elements is particularly safe, but the members of Underwood science department have made sure to protect the box because (as I posted a long time ago), mixing alkali metals with water provides one of the most explosive chemistry demonstrations around!
So my successor is working with his students on the periodic table or chemical elements or some such thing and decides he's going to show them the alkali metals. And he does the normal things: small piece of sodium (fizz), large piece of sodium (cool orange flame), small piece of potassium (bigger purple flame), larger piece of potassium (apparently this one broke the beaker!) And needless to say the kids are impressed! You can't really blame them...alkali metals are indeed quite awesome. (Just ask Humphry Davy.)
None of this would be a problem were it not for one small detail the teacher noticed only after his class left. After cleaning up the demonstration table, it was soon discovered that something was missing. Something that rhymes with "you're gassy...ummm..." Yes, that's right. As you should already have deduced from the title of this post, the potassium had been stolen. STOLEN, I SAY!
Before going any further, allow me to provide this convenient link to a material data safety sheet for elemental potassium. (here)
Key points to consider:
Stability Stable. Moisture and air-sensitive. Spontaneously combustible through the generation and ignition of hydrogen. Reacts violently with water and acids, alcohols, carbon monoxide. Store under oil.
Toxicology Very harmful by ingestion or through skin or eye contact. May cause irreversible eye damage. May cause serious skin burns.
This is a metal that should only be directly handled wearing safety goggles and gloves, and even then it's still not exactly safe due to its violent tendency to react with oxygen, particularly that found in water, and burst into flame. And now this incredibly unstable element was in the hands of equally unstable ninth graders who had no idea of the danger into which they had put themselves and the school.
Fortunately, they moved as a group to their next class and the teacher decided to be nice and asked them to return the potassium and if they did so before the end of lunch, it would be no questions asked.
Anyone care to guess if the kids took him up on this?
Anyone?
Anyone?
Of course not.
So now we have a situation. Somewhere in the middle of lunch, the teacher reports the situation to the head of the science department who (justifably) flips out over the missing potassium. Because of the safety issues involved, he in turn reports this to the principal and school security, who take it upon themselves to hold the science class in the lunchroom until this whole affair can be settled. As police searched student backpacks and escorted the kids to their lockers in search of the missing metal, the principal contacted the fire marshal who (justifiably) flips out further since no one knows how to neutralize a potassium fire. I would have assumed the fire marshal would know how to deal with flammable metals, but apparently this was not the case as he apparently started yelling at the hapless teacher that he sure as heck had better find out how to stop a potassium fire...RIGHT NOW! All in all, rather stressful.
The ending of the story is where things get hazy because it seems that the jar was in fact recovered in a student's locker and "most" of the potassium was still in it. Here's where my understanding gets a little hazy because if only "most" of it was recovered, then "some" of it might still be missing. Apparently, from what I gather, the students involved had disposed of some of the potassium in the toilet, which makes complete and total sense when one thinks about the list of possible disposal sites available to a typical freshman. I'm not sure if there were still some pieces missing beyond that or if the non-exploded potassium had been further subdivided prior to its recovery.
But the ending of the story is that as far as I know Underwood is now no longer in possession of its potassium as it seems almost a certainty the fire marshal confiscated it. The students involved in the theft were suspended, although I fear it will not discourage others from their thievery since the poor teacher, after trying so hard to come up with a lesson his students would enjoy and getting yelled at by every administrator, from the regional superintendent on down, had his laptop stolen within the next two days.
There is a small part of me that is tempted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but ultimately, I can only sympathize because hell, I've been where he is, and after all, if I had not left then perhaps that could have been me dealing with kleptomaniacal students and a sudden, dangerous potassium deficiency.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Fun With Calendars
This is the last full week of October. In normal places, this would not hold any particular import. There are no federal holidays this week. Any religious observances are minor and will not interfere with the regular workday. But if there's one thing I've learned over the past few years, it's that schools, no matter how high up they are on the hierarchy, do not operate like anywhere else in the world. Consider the following three examples.
1. Underwood High School has a half day tomorrow and a professional development day on Friday. Due to previously scheduled professional developments there has only been a single full week of school in the month of October. November is also looking rather precarious because of another planned half-day plus Thanksgiving. And then it's only 3 weeks until Christmas.
2. Most colleges are about halfway through the semester. Midterm season has certainly arived at my alma mater, which if memory serves was always a time of bustling excitement combined with intense bursts of industrious panic. One of the ways that Old Ivy differs from my alma mater is that as of Friday, there is a fall break. A full week off for undergrads and grad students alike! Apparently back in the idyllic days of the 1960s, students demanded for a week off before Election Day to campaign for their candidates. But now it's devolved into just a week to laze about and do plenty of nothing. Except for graduate students with papers due the Monday immediately following. They will be writing with the same frenzied intensity of yore during their break. After all, if the grade is below an A-, they could kick me out...or so it has been implied. (Perhaps more on that later...)
3. So speaking of calendars, apparently both of the above scenarios are relatively sane compared to some of those adopted by the positivists in 19th century France. Submitted for your approval, the calendar of the twice-committed founder of sociology, one Auguste Comte. Comte thought the calendar system in use in France was not particularly logical...so he "fixed" it. His plan?: Increase the number of months by one, make all the months have the same number of days (28), plus one day added on at the end of the year to honor the dead. It does add up to the requisite 365, and it seems he also had plans for leap years to be dealt with properly. What's amazing about this system is that each month was named for an outstanding personality from the course of human history and each day had its own secular "saint" associated with it. So for example, today it is not October 25, 2006. It is really Descartes 18, 218. (Year 1 was equivalent to the start of the French Revolution.) Oh, and 18 Descartes celebrates Nicolas Fréret, an early 18th century French scholar. Don't worry if you haven't heard of him...the next few days feature more recognizable modern philosophers like Montesquieu and Leibniz.
If you want to play with the positivist calendar, check out this nifty converter. It's no more nerdy than figuring out how to spell your name in Morse Code or checking the stardates on a given episode of Star Trek. And if nothing else, it's yet another example of the interesting stuff one can learn in a history of science graduate program!
And for those of you scratching your head and wondering what this has to do with educational institutions and their relative chronological craziness compared to the rest of the world, Comte wanted to institute this system so as to improve the educational well-being of all humanity. It was part of his very detailed program. And if that explanation seems unsatisfying, I apologize...the last time I tried to write a thematically coherent blog post based around a specific literary conceit, people spent more time commenting on the theme then on the content, which was really not what I intended. At least, not in that case.
More ramblings later including an exciting tale of alkali theft at Underwood High and predictions of the apocalypse circa the 1830s. Happy Fréret Day, all!
This is the last full week of October. In normal places, this would not hold any particular import. There are no federal holidays this week. Any religious observances are minor and will not interfere with the regular workday. But if there's one thing I've learned over the past few years, it's that schools, no matter how high up they are on the hierarchy, do not operate like anywhere else in the world. Consider the following three examples.
1. Underwood High School has a half day tomorrow and a professional development day on Friday. Due to previously scheduled professional developments there has only been a single full week of school in the month of October. November is also looking rather precarious because of another planned half-day plus Thanksgiving. And then it's only 3 weeks until Christmas.
2. Most colleges are about halfway through the semester. Midterm season has certainly arived at my alma mater, which if memory serves was always a time of bustling excitement combined with intense bursts of industrious panic. One of the ways that Old Ivy differs from my alma mater is that as of Friday, there is a fall break. A full week off for undergrads and grad students alike! Apparently back in the idyllic days of the 1960s, students demanded for a week off before Election Day to campaign for their candidates. But now it's devolved into just a week to laze about and do plenty of nothing. Except for graduate students with papers due the Monday immediately following. They will be writing with the same frenzied intensity of yore during their break. After all, if the grade is below an A-, they could kick me out...or so it has been implied. (Perhaps more on that later...)
3. So speaking of calendars, apparently both of the above scenarios are relatively sane compared to some of those adopted by the positivists in 19th century France. Submitted for your approval, the calendar of the twice-committed founder of sociology, one Auguste Comte. Comte thought the calendar system in use in France was not particularly logical...so he "fixed" it. His plan?: Increase the number of months by one, make all the months have the same number of days (28), plus one day added on at the end of the year to honor the dead. It does add up to the requisite 365, and it seems he also had plans for leap years to be dealt with properly. What's amazing about this system is that each month was named for an outstanding personality from the course of human history and each day had its own secular "saint" associated with it. So for example, today it is not October 25, 2006. It is really Descartes 18, 218. (Year 1 was equivalent to the start of the French Revolution.) Oh, and 18 Descartes celebrates Nicolas Fréret, an early 18th century French scholar. Don't worry if you haven't heard of him...the next few days feature more recognizable modern philosophers like Montesquieu and Leibniz.
If you want to play with the positivist calendar, check out this nifty converter. It's no more nerdy than figuring out how to spell your name in Morse Code or checking the stardates on a given episode of Star Trek. And if nothing else, it's yet another example of the interesting stuff one can learn in a history of science graduate program!
And for those of you scratching your head and wondering what this has to do with educational institutions and their relative chronological craziness compared to the rest of the world, Comte wanted to institute this system so as to improve the educational well-being of all humanity. It was part of his very detailed program. And if that explanation seems unsatisfying, I apologize...the last time I tried to write a thematically coherent blog post based around a specific literary conceit, people spent more time commenting on the theme then on the content, which was really not what I intended. At least, not in that case.
More ramblings later including an exciting tale of alkali theft at Underwood High and predictions of the apocalypse circa the 1830s. Happy Fréret Day, all!
Monday, October 16, 2006
Anyone getting married?
Interesting stuff from last week in the life of the Invisible Ben as passed through the lens of a wedding-related cliche. Do not question the structure of this discussion. Just accept it for the literary conceit it is and move on.
Something Old
Well, it's not quite Halloween yet, but there was probably no better way to get into the spirit of the season then by watching scary movies. And while some of my friends might hold massive marathons of franchise films featuring cutting edge of the seat kills and gallons of synthetic blood, I was lucky enough to catch a screening on Friday of one of the first horror movies ever made: The Phantom of the Opera. Not the whiny Andrew Lloyd Weber version. And none of your pesky "dialogue" either. This is the classic 1925 version with Lon Chaney as the Phantom. Now, I own the flick on DVD and have screened it before, but this was a special treat because the screening was in the Old Ivy University Chapel with live organ accompaniment! And let me tell you, when the opening chords of that Tocatta and Fugue, it confirmed once and for all that this was the way the film was meant to be seen, with the sound of the accompaniment sweeping over you in a way that film music today just can not accomplish. All in all a great viewing experience, except for the hard wooden pews. I would still definitely appreciate the chance to recreate the experience, perhaps with a comedy, but I have a feeling that there is a shortage in skilled silent movie accompanists in today's economy. Maybe we could outsource?
Something New
So in case people were wondering how the Invisible Ben has been wasting his minimal free time of late, allow me to introduce you to my new favorite toy. Audience...this is Celestia. Celestia, say hello to the nice people.
Celestia is an open source planetarium program, with a twist. It's 3-D allowing you to fly around the solar system. And if strafing planets proves confining, you can always take off for other star systems. Quick trip to Alpha Centauri sound interesting? How about Aldebaran? How about Babylon 5?
Scifi fans fear not...that last one was not a typo. In addition to space probe models, improved planet texture mapping, and new planetary data, you can also add fictional elements like space elevators and non-existent planets.
I haven't played with it that much, but so far it's been a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to tinkering. My only regret is that I didn't have it to play with last year when I was teaching astronomy.
Join the fun by visiting the Celestia homepage here.
Something Borrowed
So as you may have guessed, graduate student life in the liberal arts consists of a lot of reading. A LOT of reading. Today I read a book on atomic theory during the early 19th century. Tomorrow, I plan to read an article or two on property rights and then another book on the development of thermodynamics. The trick isn't reading this stuff...it's keeping track of everything. There's a lot of information in these things and contrary to what undergraduate life may have taught, professors in graduate school will not put up with any crap during discussions. You want to make a sweeping generalization? Fine...but be sure to defend it with details or you will lose respect.
And possibly your graduate stipend.
I realized last week that this is only going to get worse, especially as I start cramming for general exams, so I need a system to keep track of all this new information that I'm supposed to be assimilating. So what does a good historian do? He looks to the past and adapts a tried and true method. In this case, my old legal implications of technology class saved the day and I decided to follow the suggestion of my T.A.'s from junior year.
That's right you legal eagles...I'm briefing my grad school reading. It takes a little bit of extra time (maybe an additional hour per book), but when I finish, 500 pages of reading are distilled onto 1 page for easy access. Some squinting required, but the font generally settles around 8 point, so it's not even that bad. Now I don't panic when professors ask me the structure of a book or its main argument or what have you...I just flip to the brief in my binder.
Yes, it's nerdy...but it works. And people say lawyers never helped them out...
Something Blue
This blue dot is something that until last Wednesday I had never seen directly with my own eyes. I have been interested in astronomy for the past 18 years or so. I have stayed up obscenely late to watch meteor showers and earned a detention for watching a solar eclipse. I used to give star tours to counselors at summer camp. And yet, despite nearly two decades of astronomical enjoyment and access, during the majority of that time, to an ideal viewing environment with minimal light pollution, it took a trip to the Old Ivy astrophysics' department public telescope viewing for me to finally check out the dot above.
For those of you wondering, it's Uranus. (You may snicker now...) And the view I got of it wasn't nearly so sharp. The observatory had a 12 inch reflector which is plenty good for observing under optimal conditions. However, the observatory is right by the football stadium, and we had to put up with a great deal of light pollution. (Yay...sodium vapor lamps!) Still, the planetary disk was quite visible, and quite blue. The upshot of which is that now I can finally say I saw all of the planets capable of being viewed with the naked eye.
Later on, I'll have to write an entry about the book I found on the library shelves that was published when Uranus was still being referred to as the furthest planet from the sun. But that would not fit into this writing frame and thus will be postponed until later.
Interesting stuff from last week in the life of the Invisible Ben as passed through the lens of a wedding-related cliche. Do not question the structure of this discussion. Just accept it for the literary conceit it is and move on.
Something Old
Well, it's not quite Halloween yet, but there was probably no better way to get into the spirit of the season then by watching scary movies. And while some of my friends might hold massive marathons of franchise films featuring cutting edge of the seat kills and gallons of synthetic blood, I was lucky enough to catch a screening on Friday of one of the first horror movies ever made: The Phantom of the Opera. Not the whiny Andrew Lloyd Weber version. And none of your pesky "dialogue" either. This is the classic 1925 version with Lon Chaney as the Phantom. Now, I own the flick on DVD and have screened it before, but this was a special treat because the screening was in the Old Ivy University Chapel with live organ accompaniment! And let me tell you, when the opening chords of that Tocatta and Fugue, it confirmed once and for all that this was the way the film was meant to be seen, with the sound of the accompaniment sweeping over you in a way that film music today just can not accomplish. All in all a great viewing experience, except for the hard wooden pews. I would still definitely appreciate the chance to recreate the experience, perhaps with a comedy, but I have a feeling that there is a shortage in skilled silent movie accompanists in today's economy. Maybe we could outsource?
Something New
So in case people were wondering how the Invisible Ben has been wasting his minimal free time of late, allow me to introduce you to my new favorite toy. Audience...this is Celestia. Celestia, say hello to the nice people.
Celestia is an open source planetarium program, with a twist. It's 3-D allowing you to fly around the solar system. And if strafing planets proves confining, you can always take off for other star systems. Quick trip to Alpha Centauri sound interesting? How about Aldebaran? How about Babylon 5?
Scifi fans fear not...that last one was not a typo. In addition to space probe models, improved planet texture mapping, and new planetary data, you can also add fictional elements like space elevators and non-existent planets.
I haven't played with it that much, but so far it's been a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to tinkering. My only regret is that I didn't have it to play with last year when I was teaching astronomy.
Join the fun by visiting the Celestia homepage here.
Something Borrowed
So as you may have guessed, graduate student life in the liberal arts consists of a lot of reading. A LOT of reading. Today I read a book on atomic theory during the early 19th century. Tomorrow, I plan to read an article or two on property rights and then another book on the development of thermodynamics. The trick isn't reading this stuff...it's keeping track of everything. There's a lot of information in these things and contrary to what undergraduate life may have taught, professors in graduate school will not put up with any crap during discussions. You want to make a sweeping generalization? Fine...but be sure to defend it with details or you will lose respect.
And possibly your graduate stipend.
I realized last week that this is only going to get worse, especially as I start cramming for general exams, so I need a system to keep track of all this new information that I'm supposed to be assimilating. So what does a good historian do? He looks to the past and adapts a tried and true method. In this case, my old legal implications of technology class saved the day and I decided to follow the suggestion of my T.A.'s from junior year.
That's right you legal eagles...I'm briefing my grad school reading. It takes a little bit of extra time (maybe an additional hour per book), but when I finish, 500 pages of reading are distilled onto 1 page for easy access. Some squinting required, but the font generally settles around 8 point, so it's not even that bad. Now I don't panic when professors ask me the structure of a book or its main argument or what have you...I just flip to the brief in my binder.
Yes, it's nerdy...but it works. And people say lawyers never helped them out...
Something Blue
This blue dot is something that until last Wednesday I had never seen directly with my own eyes. I have been interested in astronomy for the past 18 years or so. I have stayed up obscenely late to watch meteor showers and earned a detention for watching a solar eclipse. I used to give star tours to counselors at summer camp. And yet, despite nearly two decades of astronomical enjoyment and access, during the majority of that time, to an ideal viewing environment with minimal light pollution, it took a trip to the Old Ivy astrophysics' department public telescope viewing for me to finally check out the dot above.
For those of you wondering, it's Uranus. (You may snicker now...) And the view I got of it wasn't nearly so sharp. The observatory had a 12 inch reflector which is plenty good for observing under optimal conditions. However, the observatory is right by the football stadium, and we had to put up with a great deal of light pollution. (Yay...sodium vapor lamps!) Still, the planetary disk was quite visible, and quite blue. The upshot of which is that now I can finally say I saw all of the planets capable of being viewed with the naked eye.
Later on, I'll have to write an entry about the book I found on the library shelves that was published when Uranus was still being referred to as the furthest planet from the sun. But that would not fit into this writing frame and thus will be postponed until later.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
¡Dos!
More good news from the powers that be! I got the news on Friday afternoon that I passed my Spanish language exam. That's right, folks...two for two!
Now all I have to do is figure out if there's any way to incorporate Spanish into my graduate dissertation and everything will be perfecto.
(Although if push comes to shove, I could always just look for Italian sources. They're almost the same language, after all.)
More good news from the powers that be! I got the news on Friday afternoon that I passed my Spanish language exam. That's right, folks...two for two!
Now all I have to do is figure out if there's any way to incorporate Spanish into my graduate dissertation and everything will be perfecto.
(Although if push comes to shove, I could always just look for Italian sources. They're almost the same language, after all.)
Monday, October 09, 2006
Bonne Nouvelle!
So I got the news today. Apparently, I passed my French translation exam. Yup, looks like four months of independent study were sufficient after all. Now all that remains is my Spanish exam, which I confess would be rather embarassing to fail considering the six years of study, both in high school and as an undergraduate.
Still, the hard part is over and hopes are high that everything will turn out well on this front as well. I'm sure that I'll be letting you know if this whole optimism thing works out shortly.
So I got the news today. Apparently, I passed my French translation exam. Yup, looks like four months of independent study were sufficient after all. Now all that remains is my Spanish exam, which I confess would be rather embarassing to fail considering the six years of study, both in high school and as an undergraduate.
Still, the hard part is over and hopes are high that everything will turn out well on this front as well. I'm sure that I'll be letting you know if this whole optimism thing works out shortly.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Maintenant, j'attends...
(Ahora, yo espero...)
So Wednesday I took my langauge exams in French and Spanish. The graduate program I'm in requires mastery in "two languages related to [my] area of research." Most people go with French and German. Since I do not know exactly what my area of research is, I decided to slam through those two first and deal with German later. After six years of Spanish and a rather intensive self-training in French, I figured I'd be ready for whatever they had to throw at me. Especially when I learned the general test format in advance: two passages, 45 minutes a piece. One with dictionary. One without. 90 minutes total
Before taking the exams, the passage which permitted dictionary use did not worry me. The one without seemed like it would be more difficult, especially if idiomatic language or the like were included.
After the fact, I'd say the opposite was true. The real problem was the dictionary section because to compensate for any advantage working with a lexicon may have provided, the professors made sure to pick works that used strange grammatical structures or were just insanely long.
But I finished both exams up on time, delivered them back to the secretary in the program office, and they will be in the professors' hot little hands come Friday afternoon. Eventually, they'll send an e-mail saying whether I failed or passed. If the former, I may sign up for a reading course next semester, but since they give the exams a month into the semester, I'm not sure what short term benefit that would provide. If I pass, then I get to plan my next move. (Ich liebe Deutsch!) Unfortunately, there's no way of knowing how long it will take for the results to be reported.
And so, for now I wait for the results. And so must you.
(Ahora, yo espero...)
So Wednesday I took my langauge exams in French and Spanish. The graduate program I'm in requires mastery in "two languages related to [my] area of research." Most people go with French and German. Since I do not know exactly what my area of research is, I decided to slam through those two first and deal with German later. After six years of Spanish and a rather intensive self-training in French, I figured I'd be ready for whatever they had to throw at me. Especially when I learned the general test format in advance: two passages, 45 minutes a piece. One with dictionary. One without. 90 minutes total
Before taking the exams, the passage which permitted dictionary use did not worry me. The one without seemed like it would be more difficult, especially if idiomatic language or the like were included.
After the fact, I'd say the opposite was true. The real problem was the dictionary section because to compensate for any advantage working with a lexicon may have provided, the professors made sure to pick works that used strange grammatical structures or were just insanely long.
But I finished both exams up on time, delivered them back to the secretary in the program office, and they will be in the professors' hot little hands come Friday afternoon. Eventually, they'll send an e-mail saying whether I failed or passed. If the former, I may sign up for a reading course next semester, but since they give the exams a month into the semester, I'm not sure what short term benefit that would provide. If I pass, then I get to plan my next move. (Ich liebe Deutsch!) Unfortunately, there's no way of knowing how long it will take for the results to be reported.
And so, for now I wait for the results. And so must you.
Monday, October 02, 2006
A Fast Day
Yom Kippur has come and gone, but for the first time in three years the classes I had today were not cancelled. I guess that's just one of the many differences between the public school system and the realm of elite academia; the show must go on here come hell, high water, and most holidays, be they federal or otherwise. Although that brings up Old Ivy's tradition of a fall break, which I will discuss at length when the time draws nearer.
In any case, the name of the game today was repentance. So, as has been my custom as an undergraduate, I participated in the traditional fast from sundown yesterday until sundown today while simultaneously attending classes and a departmental seminar. This would have been much more bearable if I didn't have to give a presentation on an influential history work in my life (I chose Connections by James Burke) in my morning class, and if that class did not provide its regular spread of delicious-looking sandwiches around noon. As it was, by the time the aforementioned seminar rolled around, my stomach was growling loudly enough for other people to notice. It was rather embarassing, but fortunately the discussion of that afternoon's paper (regarding the role of women astronomers in the late 19th century), was heated enough that my hunger pains could be ignored by all.
Unfortunately, I didn't leave much time in my day for reflection and repentance. This was partly deliberate, in the sense that if I paused to reflect, I probably would not have been able to motivate myself to go to any of the other things I had to do during the day. I would not be surprised however, if part of the motivation behind this was a subconscious desire not to reflect on the things I did wrong (and the things I did right) during the course of the year. Because let's be blunt...I did not have a blame-free year, especially where Underwood was concerned. There were times I treated my students harshly or overreacted to staff members. There were times I disregarded my friends and families or lashed out at them when the going got rough and I was too angry at myself to think straight. And this is ignoring the relatively minor incidents with people whose names I don't even know. (I wonder if pub trivia bouncers even read this blog. Not likely...) All in all, not a perfect year for the Invisible Ben.
But despite my lack of conscious refleciton on the subject, if Yom Kippur can teach me anything, besides the limits of my own physical and mental endurance during a full day of highly intellectual conversation and without the benefits of nutrients or hydration, it is this...there is always room for improvement. Sure, I may have screwed up. I might have lost my temper or crossed several fine lines in my attempts to be funny. But I'll be damned if I'm going to say that's the best I can do...I quit...I'm done. Yom Kippur isn't about suffering for the sake of suffering. It's about the hope of doing better.
So, just to clear the air here. If I wronged you somehow this past year...I'm sorry. I'll try to do better.
And if somehow I didn't wrong you...well, consider this an apology in advance for anything I may do later. Hold on to it tight. Put it in your sock drawer or something. I'll remind you about it in about one lunar year.
Yom Kippur has come and gone, but for the first time in three years the classes I had today were not cancelled. I guess that's just one of the many differences between the public school system and the realm of elite academia; the show must go on here come hell, high water, and most holidays, be they federal or otherwise. Although that brings up Old Ivy's tradition of a fall break, which I will discuss at length when the time draws nearer.
In any case, the name of the game today was repentance. So, as has been my custom as an undergraduate, I participated in the traditional fast from sundown yesterday until sundown today while simultaneously attending classes and a departmental seminar. This would have been much more bearable if I didn't have to give a presentation on an influential history work in my life (I chose Connections by James Burke) in my morning class, and if that class did not provide its regular spread of delicious-looking sandwiches around noon. As it was, by the time the aforementioned seminar rolled around, my stomach was growling loudly enough for other people to notice. It was rather embarassing, but fortunately the discussion of that afternoon's paper (regarding the role of women astronomers in the late 19th century), was heated enough that my hunger pains could be ignored by all.
Unfortunately, I didn't leave much time in my day for reflection and repentance. This was partly deliberate, in the sense that if I paused to reflect, I probably would not have been able to motivate myself to go to any of the other things I had to do during the day. I would not be surprised however, if part of the motivation behind this was a subconscious desire not to reflect on the things I did wrong (and the things I did right) during the course of the year. Because let's be blunt...I did not have a blame-free year, especially where Underwood was concerned. There were times I treated my students harshly or overreacted to staff members. There were times I disregarded my friends and families or lashed out at them when the going got rough and I was too angry at myself to think straight. And this is ignoring the relatively minor incidents with people whose names I don't even know. (I wonder if pub trivia bouncers even read this blog. Not likely...) All in all, not a perfect year for the Invisible Ben.
But despite my lack of conscious refleciton on the subject, if Yom Kippur can teach me anything, besides the limits of my own physical and mental endurance during a full day of highly intellectual conversation and without the benefits of nutrients or hydration, it is this...there is always room for improvement. Sure, I may have screwed up. I might have lost my temper or crossed several fine lines in my attempts to be funny. But I'll be damned if I'm going to say that's the best I can do...I quit...I'm done. Yom Kippur isn't about suffering for the sake of suffering. It's about the hope of doing better.
So, just to clear the air here. If I wronged you somehow this past year...I'm sorry. I'll try to do better.
And if somehow I didn't wrong you...well, consider this an apology in advance for anything I may do later. Hold on to it tight. Put it in your sock drawer or something. I'll remind you about it in about one lunar year.
