We had been at the picnic for a little while, drinking Fanta, chatting with professors we hadn't seen for ages, wondering when we were going to get to eat already.

I looked up. There he was, one of my professors. The Geophysicist. Yes, I worship the ground he walks on. We have been working on a project together and I haven't been doing much for it since technically I'm supposed to be working on my actual research. I'm terrified that the time will come when he asks me for results. Maybe that he'll finally decide that I'm taking too long and he'll wrest away my project and give it to someone else. He came straight for me. What was he going to say? Was he going to say, "So... how are the analyses going? Did you finally figure out that code you were supposed to have done in May?" Terror! Fright! I am not worthy! I am not worthy!

"Hello," he said. "We're looking for a fourth to play horseshoes. Want to be on my team?"

I love playing horseshoes!

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As the new semester begins here in Providence Town, I must decide upon the particular scheme of self-betterment that I intend to follow for the semester. I have concluded that every semester must have a theme. Previously these attempts at self-betterment had to be a secret from almost everyone. That makes them more fun. But I have decided that these schemes, while remaining a secret from mostly everyone else, must be shared with the citizens of Nutang, because what indeed are the citizens of Nutang but cosmic, faceless readers of the secret inner lives of all?

The fall semester of 2006 was dedicated to improvement of Grace. You see, I found myself to be upon entering graduate school somewhat graceless, and to remedy this situation I secretly took ballet classes. I did not tell my advisor and I skipped the "mandatory" department colloquium almost every time it took place. None of the professors noticed, as it happened. Grace still needs a bit of work, and I may consider signing up for the same ballet classes again. But Grace is more than simply something physical, and in that sense it cannot be mastered, per se, instead it must become imbued in a person... and arise automatically, because every act of a graceful person is merely a manifestation of it. A goal, I think, that cannot be achieved in a semester, and which must necessarily be constantly a work in progress.

The spring semester of 2007 was dedicated to academic enrichment. This I meant in several ways: first, I took a ridiculous number of classes. The shining moment of this semester (academically) took place in its first week when I went to a high floor of the library and set about doing my Interpretation theory of geophysics homework. I had a helpful book which illuminated a sneaky trick that was needed to get through the derivation. It took about four or five hours, this problem set... just me, hunched in my private hutch, a desk lamp against the power-saving darkness. I walked out into the sunshine and concluded that very few people in the world would have any idea what I had been doing and even fewer would know why. It was brilliant. This goal expanded to include secretly taking Spanish classes four days a week at 8 in the morning... la vida secreta, of course. This led to hours upon hours spent on Sundays in the Rockefellar Library (a far away, foreign library), hiding from the other geologists so that they would not discover my secret life. The fact that I almost got caught about three times only heightened the sense of danger inherent in my secret academic life.

The summer of '07 I wished to develop more artistically: I wanted to spend more time writing- writing stories, poetry, vignettes, etc. I wanted to expand into different mediums, so I got involved in DeviantArt and began submitting some old photographs. This began during the academic semester, and it blossomed with spring, because spring happens to be a beautiful thing to take pictures of here in Prov Town. By the end of the semester I was taking and submitting new ones, too. I started passionately reading all manner of books from the public library. All of this was in an attempt to awaken some creativity in my mind, which had been generally slumbering or in lethargy since I was in seventh grade, the single notable exception being during Poetry of the Romantic Period, when I didn’t pay attention and instead scrawled poems and drawings and notes to an unappreciative Auggie, who was trying to follow the discussion.

This semester, the fall semester of 2007, the Year of Our Triumph, is hereby dedicated to the enrichment of my musical life. I’ve begun practicing my flute again, after years and years, and I aim to master the quality of tone that I sorely lack, especially in the high register. Ah, to be my middle school flute idol, Julie Larson. We both had the solo for our respective classes, but her tone was so superior that when the day came I played so softly that only the voice of her flute could be heard, so its beauty would not be diluted. Plus I’ve picked up the guitar (again). Only this time I’m serious. I have a good book. I also have a bagpipe canter and a harmonica. Each of these instruments will get its chance to shine, much to the chagrin of the neighbors and the cats, I am sure. I’ve already re-fallen in love with the coda, especially when I must d.c. al said coda. MAESTRO!

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He was my enemy, but I'm sorry
Now, with all my heart, for the misfortune
Which holds him in its deadly grip. This touches
My state as well as his. Are we not
All living things, mere phantoms, shadows of nothing?

---Odysseus

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So a couple of people in my office are on the team to plan the human exploration of Mars. I was sitting in on the teleconference they had the other day and it was pretty interesting. Of course, some people think that planning some 30 years ahead for the human exploration of Mars is planning a little *too* far ahead, but for a project this large, I'm sure it can't hurt to start a little early.

The idea right now is to build a base on the Moon first. The eyes of the world have shifted back to the moon for several reasons, one, because Chinese and Indians are racing there, much like the USA and the USSR did back in the day, and two, because we've realized that a lot of the technology that we used to get us there in the first place has been lost or forgotten and we have precious little time to pump the guys in charge for that kind of information, because they were all old back then, and it's approximately 40 years later now. Thirdly, we see the moon as the obvious stepping stone on our way to Mars.

Each planetary body has its own challenges. Mars is very far away. That is its main challenge. Just to get there at current speeds it would take about 6 months. Then you'd likely stay on the surface for about a year. Then it would be 6 months back home. During that time in microgravity, your heart would start to weaken. It would weaken because it no longer has to pump your blood against gravity, and like any other muscle, it would start to atrophy and break down a bit with disuse. This wouldn't be a problem if you intended to stay in space forever, but if you ever came back down to the Earth your heart might be overwhelmed with strain and fail. The same goes for your bones. The more weight you carry around, the stronger your bones are, because they build up density proportional to your weight. Weightless, your bones would slowly lose their density until you would return to Earth extremely brittle and possibly unable to stand.

The only fix against this kind of deterioration is constant exercise. You would have to exercise on exercise machines for hours and hours and hours so that your body would stay fit. Forget sleeping through the whole thing... unless they could freeze or stop your normal body processes... you would turn to mush. I guess that's the whole idea behind the "cryo-freeze"-- somehow you stop your body from deteriorating while you're in space.

NASA has been figuring out what astronauts need to do to stay healthy on long space voyages by sending people up for extended stays on the International Space Station (ISS). Sending people up here for stints of 3-6 months has allowed NASA to develop a routine that would keep them in shape.

The other tough thing about the long trip to Mars would be just getting along with your crew mates for that long. NASA, in addition to having all kinds of physical, academic, and skill-oriented requirements for astronauts also has personality requirements. For each mission they choose among their qualified crew members a group that will get along-- i.e., they don't choose two dominant people to go on a mission, or a whole crew of passive or submissive personality types. They have to choose a leader, a mediator, and a "care-taker", in some cases.

Exploration of Mars is still a long way off, to be sure, but if everything goes as planned, you could see it happen in your lifetime. We're already deciding where we want to go and what the astronauts will do when they get there. If you have a suggestion about where you want to go or what information you would like to know about the Red Planet (or any other planet for that matter), I'll make sure somebody hears about it.

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Yep, that's right. I found a feature on Mars that looks like a MUSHROOM:



Pretty crazy, hehn? I know. Prett-y crazy.

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I went to San Francisco for the weekend.
For the soundtrack to this entry, you can listen to the song "The Sound of San Francisco" on the ProjectPlaylist player to the left (it's at the end). Here are some of the highlights of the trip:



















You can invent your own captions.

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So the cat has gone a little insane. He keeps following me around like a dog. I mean-- even worse than a dog, since dogs usually eventually get tired of walking back and forth and settle in a heap on the ground. All the while he tangles himself in my legs as they try to walk, and rubs his body against any and all objects that we encounter. He purrs like mad in this wild, rumbling purr which seems to have no spaces for breath. He rolls around in ecstasy on the ground, letting his claws click in and out and trying to get me to pet him. Sometimes I oblige, if I'm not about to eat or if I'm not reading or leaving.

He's stopped trying to follow me into my room; he knows that is a forbidden zone. I praise him heartily for this new trick.

Then today I was reading my book at the dinner table when he came over and began his purring, sliding, fawning behavior. I bent down to pet him and he rolled over on his back. I started petting his belly. All of his feet came towards my hand. I pet him one last time and started to take my hand away, but he snatched with his front claws and brought it quickly to his mouth, where he bit down hard.

"OW!! [expletive!] WHAT THE [expletive!] was THAT. WHAT THE [expletive!] are you thinking, you [expletive!]!!" I yelled. He had run off under the table and now he came back. He jumped at my leg, claws flashing, slashing my leg. Luckily I had a pair of thick khakis on and barely even felt the attack.

I shooed him away and went into my room to cool off. When I emerged he came over and rubbed against my legs, purring. He has been purring non-stop ever since, and following me wherever I go, weaving in and out between my ankles.

I don't know what's going to happen, but my guess is that this round goes to the cat. Again. I think he's been eating epsom salt. I hid the bag. Maybe Epsom salt makes you have multiple personalities.

Zanzibar: 0, Cats: 3

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My roommate is gone for a little more than a week. During this time, I intend to train her cats. Accomplishing this task will require all of my cunning.

The first day of training went thusly:

I have been trying to train the cats to keep out of my room, aka, "Cat-Free Space". Making the room verboten has succeeded in imbuing it with an air of desirability enough to drive them mad to get inside. They have been clawing at the door during the night. The door is ill-fitting, so it must be firmly closed or they can push it open. This morning I waited patiently for them to claw at the door. At exactly the right moment I slammed my hand against the other side of the door. I could hear them skittering down the hall in terror.

Zanzibar: 1, Cats: 0

After shutting them out of the bathroom, I took a cold shower (as our hot water still isn't on). To teach them an important lesson about walking in the bathtub, I filled the tub up with about an inch of water. I also laid patches of water around the sink. My trap set, I opened the door to the bathroom. The cat sat there. It meekly looked up at me, asking permission to enter the bathroom. It submissively sunk to the ground and rolled over. Ha-ha! At last, the respect I required! I felt a rush of love for the cat, and I petted it indulgently and allowed it into the bathroom.

Zanzibar: 2, Cats: 0

Then I saw my door. Ajar. Inside- cat prints on my fragile fossil. Cat prints on the second shelf around my fragile clock. Then the ultimate insult: dirty little cat prints and cat hair on the BED.

Zanzibar: 1, Cats: 1

Obsequious manipulators!

When I arrived home the bathtub was mysteriously empty of water, the water had evaporated from the sinktop, and there were cat prints in the bathtub. I got out the Fantastic.

Zanzibar: 1, Cats: 2

THIS IS NOT OVER. Their owners, (Thalweg and G) may love them too much to discipline them, but they underestimate me... I don't love them. The only love I have for them is tough love. I will shape them into respectable cats.

Stay tuned for round 2....

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