It's far too easy to forget that you care about things sometimes, and if you do remember it can become a bit fuzzy as to why you care. I've been back in Aberystwyth for extended periods twice now since finishing my undergraduate degree and only two nights ago did I remember just why I love it so.
On the first occasion I was here, I was on a short postdoc and it took place mostly over late February to June and it was all quite summery. The area was beautiful and the weather was dry and I just didn't reconnect to why it was awesome. Yes, there are lovely walks across the hills and bike trails but that's not the heart of living in Aberystwyth.
There is a key experience to being here, which I only am a few nights a week, and that is to walk along the promenade on a cold wet windy night, to get splashed and catch mist in the face from water slapping against the great containing wall. To smile ridiculously into the night and wait to catch some more. That's how I remembered I loved Aberystwyth on Fireworks Night and it will stick with me now until I have to leave again, for parts unknown. It is sublime for someone of my perverse nature, and was compounded with some student fireworks going up from Constitution Hill. Then I got splashed some more. It was lovely.
The only equivalent experiences I can came is far more touristy and schlocky but just as enjoyable. If you go to Barcelona in Spring or Autumn, eschewing the horrors of the summer, there are two experiences of a most enjoyable nature. They both involve rain. I really love rain. First of all, if you are walking down Las Ramblas and the tiniest speck of rain falls from the skies, everyone runs for cover like scared little children, and then they look at you like a mad person if you don't. Madness! Secondly, you can visit La Font Magica - the Magic Fountain - and watch its illuminations as the day transitions through dusk, and somehow move on to another plane. The music, the gathering gloom, and the lights conspire to make some other experience of it all, and one to be cherished.
Still, given the choice between a magic fountain and a wet, cold, windy night on the seafront the choice will have to be the seafront. What an awesome place!
O.
Thursday, 7 November 2013
Tuesday, 5 November 2013
Story: The Disappearance (XIII)
(Part XII , XIV)
The story according to Rolf McGonagle:
It all started out very innocently. As I sit here held captive it all seems quite unbelievable. My father, the great Zod McGonagle called me into his office and said that he was going to retire but that first there was a secret that had to be passed on. He put on his most solemn and pompous expression. "Rolf, my boy," he said to me, "we have a secret partner in the business. You'll come to know them as you go forward in running this place. For now I shall simply introduce you to your cousin Dabney Sheldon."
I looked at Dabney Sheldon and saw someone utterly unprepossessing. He was of nondescript years and a little hard to pin down. Over the following years though, he exposed and used a will of iron on numerous occasions. Dabney's involvement was to bring an extra source of unbelievably inexpensive and reliable ingredients from an unknown origin, which he would not reveal for obscure reasons. And it was impressed upon me that we could not reveal said source without unbelievably bad implications for all concerned. I would not be assuaged and probed further, but the methods by which Dabney enforced the secrecy of the project first appalled me, and then beguiled me. The disappearances of detectives and innocent bystanders became less of an outrage and more of a price that had to be paid.
Dabney would discover someone had been asking questions and after a few questions of his own would then calmly order they be 'slipped the biscuit', and a few bystanders too for camouflage. His eyes never seemed to change as he gave the order but his lips did twitch. I suspect my lips twitch a little now too, as that responsibility has devolved unto me. Dabney left us many years ago. One day he was simply gone, and there was an order left on my desk to 'carry on and keep the schedules'. I gather now he was a transitional advisor sent to help me when I took over.
Even though the dirty tricks had long ceased to be a problem to me, the mystery of it all was too intriguing so as I followed the schedules I tried to learn more about what was going on. One evening on a routine walk around the tertiary supply dump I saw the supplies materialising from thin air and then never looked back. Ha, the future! Who would ever have thought it! Every time we sold something now with cheap food from the future we made a profit and became exponentially richer as a family fifty years from now due to the wonders of compound interest. Eventually I hitched a ride to the future and got the whole story, and then slowly took charge of both ends of the operation, taking over from a ruined and ancient version of myself there of course. The timeline would take a battering but who would care as we were getting richer!
My niece Agnes may look at me as if I were dirt, but money is power, and we need to be powerful in the future. It was worth it. It's always worth it. And if not, then the white knight always need someone to tilt at. And you'll never be able to stop us. It's all in place now. You'll never stop us, and if there's a singularity that kills thousands of people then that's worth it too, and from my point of view... Well, it's neither here nor there.
More will follow...
The story according to Rolf McGonagle:
It all started out very innocently. As I sit here held captive it all seems quite unbelievable. My father, the great Zod McGonagle called me into his office and said that he was going to retire but that first there was a secret that had to be passed on. He put on his most solemn and pompous expression. "Rolf, my boy," he said to me, "we have a secret partner in the business. You'll come to know them as you go forward in running this place. For now I shall simply introduce you to your cousin Dabney Sheldon."
I looked at Dabney Sheldon and saw someone utterly unprepossessing. He was of nondescript years and a little hard to pin down. Over the following years though, he exposed and used a will of iron on numerous occasions. Dabney's involvement was to bring an extra source of unbelievably inexpensive and reliable ingredients from an unknown origin, which he would not reveal for obscure reasons. And it was impressed upon me that we could not reveal said source without unbelievably bad implications for all concerned. I would not be assuaged and probed further, but the methods by which Dabney enforced the secrecy of the project first appalled me, and then beguiled me. The disappearances of detectives and innocent bystanders became less of an outrage and more of a price that had to be paid.
Dabney would discover someone had been asking questions and after a few questions of his own would then calmly order they be 'slipped the biscuit', and a few bystanders too for camouflage. His eyes never seemed to change as he gave the order but his lips did twitch. I suspect my lips twitch a little now too, as that responsibility has devolved unto me. Dabney left us many years ago. One day he was simply gone, and there was an order left on my desk to 'carry on and keep the schedules'. I gather now he was a transitional advisor sent to help me when I took over.
Even though the dirty tricks had long ceased to be a problem to me, the mystery of it all was too intriguing so as I followed the schedules I tried to learn more about what was going on. One evening on a routine walk around the tertiary supply dump I saw the supplies materialising from thin air and then never looked back. Ha, the future! Who would ever have thought it! Every time we sold something now with cheap food from the future we made a profit and became exponentially richer as a family fifty years from now due to the wonders of compound interest. Eventually I hitched a ride to the future and got the whole story, and then slowly took charge of both ends of the operation, taking over from a ruined and ancient version of myself there of course. The timeline would take a battering but who would care as we were getting richer!
My niece Agnes may look at me as if I were dirt, but money is power, and we need to be powerful in the future. It was worth it. It's always worth it. And if not, then the white knight always need someone to tilt at. And you'll never be able to stop us. It's all in place now. You'll never stop us, and if there's a singularity that kills thousands of people then that's worth it too, and from my point of view... Well, it's neither here nor there.
More will follow...
Sunday, 3 November 2013
Television: 'Sherlock' 2x01 - A Scandal In Belgravia
As I sit, trying and struggling to get into the pilot episode of 'Elementary', I'm more and more forcibly reminded about this superior example of the original contemporary Sherlock show in this phase of Holmesian adaptations. 'A Scandal In Belgravia' is by far the best example of the BBC television movies, written by the ever excellent Stephen Moffat and directed by the now moved-on Paul McGuigan.
The joy of the BBC 'Sherlock' is in the sheer joyful blending of the modern canonical details with present day Britain, and the modern substitutions that it possible to be so authentic. Text messages are an automatic replacement for telegrams, while the Internet is an easy substitute for tabloid papers. Finally, it was possible for modern Watson to be returning from service in Afghanistan just as the canonical Watson did. It's an easy fit now, after decades of adaptations being not quite right. Even the lauded Rathbone and Bruce Holmes films struggle in the imperfect calendar setting.
Looking at 'A Scandal in Belgravia' specifically, we see an intricately constructed film that integrates elements from the story 'A Study In Scarlet' with a massive number of original elements, and the prevailing loneliness of the Holmes brothers. The massive enlargement of the role of Mycroft Holmes is one of the most endearing aspects of 'Sherlock', allowing massive insight into the background of Sherlock without ever spelling it out explicitly. The surest way to kill an iconic character is to explain them, and that is never done here. We see the things that motivate them without understanding the reasons why. Also, Mark Gatiss is brilliant in the role, a far better performer than he is writer in fact. The epic nature of the story, spanning months, and the entirely new character of Molly also allow access into Sherlock's development without really explaining any of it.
The other thing that elevates the marvellous 'Belgravia' is the usage of Irene Adler, known forever to Sherlock and his fans simply as 'The Woman'. Here she is woman amped up to the extreme, powerful and vulnerable, and the only one to crack through the imbalanced mentality of Sherlock. She is the Woman, and defeats him at every turn until the end. The underlying story of 'Sherlock' is that he is a man missing a part, that he will never become fully normal, but this is an interesting waypoint on the way to his ultimate destiny. The final reveal at the end, motivated as it is by Sherlock having been told his own earlier undoing at Adler's hands, is all the sweeter in combination with what is perhaps the most sumptuous music to ever be scored on a television show. He wins, but destroys himself in the process.
When we look back at 'Sherlock', after its full run of twelve or fifteen films has been completed, it is very likely that this episode will stand as the pinnacle of the bunch. No-one writes Sherlock Holmes like Moffat, unshackled as he is here by the content restrictions he normally has on 'Doctor Who'. The other writers pale in comparison, even when they turn in solid examples. Strangely the next film, 'The Hounds of Baskerville', was critically lauded while being deplorably bad. It's sad, really, that glitz can overrule judgement so thoroughly and in direct contrast to 'Belgravia'.
It's time to stop, as the pilot episode to 'Elementary' winds down without ever really winding up. Strange and mercenary thing to do, manufacturing a second updated Sherlock Holmes television show. Maybe it will become more engaging? But never as much as 'A Scandal In Belgravia'.
Roll on, series three, it's long past time!
O.
The joy of the BBC 'Sherlock' is in the sheer joyful blending of the modern canonical details with present day Britain, and the modern substitutions that it possible to be so authentic. Text messages are an automatic replacement for telegrams, while the Internet is an easy substitute for tabloid papers. Finally, it was possible for modern Watson to be returning from service in Afghanistan just as the canonical Watson did. It's an easy fit now, after decades of adaptations being not quite right. Even the lauded Rathbone and Bruce Holmes films struggle in the imperfect calendar setting.
Looking at 'A Scandal in Belgravia' specifically, we see an intricately constructed film that integrates elements from the story 'A Study In Scarlet' with a massive number of original elements, and the prevailing loneliness of the Holmes brothers. The massive enlargement of the role of Mycroft Holmes is one of the most endearing aspects of 'Sherlock', allowing massive insight into the background of Sherlock without ever spelling it out explicitly. The surest way to kill an iconic character is to explain them, and that is never done here. We see the things that motivate them without understanding the reasons why. Also, Mark Gatiss is brilliant in the role, a far better performer than he is writer in fact. The epic nature of the story, spanning months, and the entirely new character of Molly also allow access into Sherlock's development without really explaining any of it.
The other thing that elevates the marvellous 'Belgravia' is the usage of Irene Adler, known forever to Sherlock and his fans simply as 'The Woman'. Here she is woman amped up to the extreme, powerful and vulnerable, and the only one to crack through the imbalanced mentality of Sherlock. She is the Woman, and defeats him at every turn until the end. The underlying story of 'Sherlock' is that he is a man missing a part, that he will never become fully normal, but this is an interesting waypoint on the way to his ultimate destiny. The final reveal at the end, motivated as it is by Sherlock having been told his own earlier undoing at Adler's hands, is all the sweeter in combination with what is perhaps the most sumptuous music to ever be scored on a television show. He wins, but destroys himself in the process.
When we look back at 'Sherlock', after its full run of twelve or fifteen films has been completed, it is very likely that this episode will stand as the pinnacle of the bunch. No-one writes Sherlock Holmes like Moffat, unshackled as he is here by the content restrictions he normally has on 'Doctor Who'. The other writers pale in comparison, even when they turn in solid examples. Strangely the next film, 'The Hounds of Baskerville', was critically lauded while being deplorably bad. It's sad, really, that glitz can overrule judgement so thoroughly and in direct contrast to 'Belgravia'.
It's time to stop, as the pilot episode to 'Elementary' winds down without ever really winding up. Strange and mercenary thing to do, manufacturing a second updated Sherlock Holmes television show. Maybe it will become more engaging? But never as much as 'A Scandal In Belgravia'.
Roll on, series three, it's long past time!
O.
Friday, 1 November 2013
Verne and Wells
It doesn't always feel that I do subjects justice on the Quirky Muffin. Sometimes something promising gets shrunk or cranked out due to time constraints or just wanting to go to sleep and be done with the day. Not this time.
Jules Verne pioneered science fiction in a few of his Extraordinary Voyages stories. He did it unwittingly and comparatively seldom but he travelled to the centre of the Earth and sent ships around the moon. His influence was enormous and his most famous stories are clearly adventures as opposed to horrors or tragedies. Years after Verne's prime and death, John Dickson Carr declared adventures impossible to write as the World Wars had made the planet too small for anything or any journey to be romantic, but he forgot that stories didn't need to be realistic to be stories, and that adventures could still work in other more speculative kinds of fiction. Adventure would go on, and they would be repopularised by Star Trek of all things, a clear successor to the wanderlust of Jules Verne's novels as well as the daring exploits of Horatio Hornblower. Star Trek was positive where so much other science fiction was dystopian and that was why it was popular. In America they freed science fiction from the shackles of horror and it prospered.
How had science fiction become so shackled to horror and dystopian visions of the future? Perhaps one of the main reasons was the grand success of H.G. Wells, who coupled fantastical ideals to catastrophic events. His journeys inevitably saw the protagonist go too far and retreat stumbling while the problem either crumbled away of its own causing or simply ended in tragedy as in the case of 'The Invisible Man'. These landmark stories coupled horror to grand speculative ideas and they remain coupled to this day. In Britain we never had Star Trek of our own, but instead had Doctor Who, which of course is steeped in rich layers of body horror and monsters almost every episode. We were never really liberated, and nothing has ever challenged Doctor Who as THE British science fiction program.
In Star Trek and Doctor Who do we essentially see the duelling spirits of Verne and Wells, grappling over how we should approach stories and ideas ahead of their times? I can not even attempt to disguise my lack of interest in the Wells stories, being as they are so dismally pessimistic. Why read along to the desolation of Britain under alien invasion when you can travel under the oceans for twenty thousand leagues or discover the Lost World with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Is this the juvenile and immature choice to make? Perhaps, but it is definitely the most enjoyable choice.
It certainly feels as if Wells is felt everywhere except in Star Trek, as if those bold voyages are the only place for some kind of Verne-ian ideal to prosper openly. Perhaps the 1960s were the only time when such a series could launch into the popular culture and become an archetype to test time itself? Only the primal idea of Superman even seems to approach that optimism, defeated though it has been in recent incarnations.
Despite all this, and the dreariness of the sci-fi landscape as a whole, you can't help but admire HG Wells for the impact his style and works have had, from The Twilight Zone to Doctor Who to Farscape and beyond. He created modern science fiction. Jules Verne inspired Star Trek though, and for that he's the winner in my eyes.
O.
Jules Verne pioneered science fiction in a few of his Extraordinary Voyages stories. He did it unwittingly and comparatively seldom but he travelled to the centre of the Earth and sent ships around the moon. His influence was enormous and his most famous stories are clearly adventures as opposed to horrors or tragedies. Years after Verne's prime and death, John Dickson Carr declared adventures impossible to write as the World Wars had made the planet too small for anything or any journey to be romantic, but he forgot that stories didn't need to be realistic to be stories, and that adventures could still work in other more speculative kinds of fiction. Adventure would go on, and they would be repopularised by Star Trek of all things, a clear successor to the wanderlust of Jules Verne's novels as well as the daring exploits of Horatio Hornblower. Star Trek was positive where so much other science fiction was dystopian and that was why it was popular. In America they freed science fiction from the shackles of horror and it prospered.
How had science fiction become so shackled to horror and dystopian visions of the future? Perhaps one of the main reasons was the grand success of H.G. Wells, who coupled fantastical ideals to catastrophic events. His journeys inevitably saw the protagonist go too far and retreat stumbling while the problem either crumbled away of its own causing or simply ended in tragedy as in the case of 'The Invisible Man'. These landmark stories coupled horror to grand speculative ideas and they remain coupled to this day. In Britain we never had Star Trek of our own, but instead had Doctor Who, which of course is steeped in rich layers of body horror and monsters almost every episode. We were never really liberated, and nothing has ever challenged Doctor Who as THE British science fiction program.
In Star Trek and Doctor Who do we essentially see the duelling spirits of Verne and Wells, grappling over how we should approach stories and ideas ahead of their times? I can not even attempt to disguise my lack of interest in the Wells stories, being as they are so dismally pessimistic. Why read along to the desolation of Britain under alien invasion when you can travel under the oceans for twenty thousand leagues or discover the Lost World with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Is this the juvenile and immature choice to make? Perhaps, but it is definitely the most enjoyable choice.
It certainly feels as if Wells is felt everywhere except in Star Trek, as if those bold voyages are the only place for some kind of Verne-ian ideal to prosper openly. Perhaps the 1960s were the only time when such a series could launch into the popular culture and become an archetype to test time itself? Only the primal idea of Superman even seems to approach that optimism, defeated though it has been in recent incarnations.
Despite all this, and the dreariness of the sci-fi landscape as a whole, you can't help but admire HG Wells for the impact his style and works have had, from The Twilight Zone to Doctor Who to Farscape and beyond. He created modern science fiction. Jules Verne inspired Star Trek though, and for that he's the winner in my eyes.
O.
Thursday, 31 October 2013
Book: 'Journey To The Centre Of The Earth' by Jules Verne (1864)
Jules Verne is effectively the origin point for all science fiction. His pioneering blends of speculation and real world science of the mid-Nineteenth Century struck a resonance perhaps unparallelled in the history of fiction. His influence is incredible and yet mostly forgotten as the dystopian and dark science fiction of HG Wells currently prevails. More on that tomorrow, for now we are going to talk about one of Verne's most legendary works.
'Journey to the Centre of the Earth' was first published in 1864. For a moment please consider that year. 1864. Wow. 'Journey' was the third in his series of Extraordinary Voyages novels, during which his readers would travel beneath the sea in a magnificent submarine, be shot to the moon inside a massive artillery shell, or travel through interstellar space while trapped on a comet. In this one, the discovery of a centuries old runic document sends famed geologist Professor Lidenbrock and his nephew Axel on a subterranean journey ostensibly to the centre of the world. Entering the underworld via an extinct Icelandic volcano, in the footsteps of Arne Saknussem of ancient fame, the adventure reveals underground seas and primeval monsters galore. They're saved from an eventual unpleasant demise only by being shot to the surface via an eruption and finding themselves near Bologna.
It's charming, it really is, and so unlike the science fiction that would follow. In the new terrain forged by HG Wells and Asimov and Arthur C Clarke, unbounded optimism is almost the antithesis of science fiction. Excepting only the Verne influence on Star Trek, we are faced with monsters and mutations and disasters galore in the years ahead. Only badness can come of science and space, is what they say, and that's what we watch and read and listen to.
The optimism of 'Journey' is in the journey, in the idea that these things are possible and can be lived through, and in the naivete and originality of the writing. 'The Lost World' of Conan Doyle was written in 1912 but living prehistoric life appears here first. Axel almost dies of starvation several times, suffocation and heat prostration a few more, is trapped alone in the labyrinth and all the while is missing his fiancée Grauben who he will marry upon returning home a hero with her guardian the professor.
'Journey' is my favourite of the Verne stories that I've read, lacking as it does the moodiness of Captain Nemo from 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea' and the sheer madcap and breakneck pace of 'Around The World In Eighty Days' and replacing it with... geology. The geology is cool. Any story that features some basic geology should be lauded up into the clouds and beyond. The impetuousness of the journey is staggering but it does harken back to a time when being able to do something almost demanded that it be done, and that without the inevitable nasty consequences. Yes, that's a symptom of the mindset that has left us in environmental crisis now but it didn't have to end up like that.
For every mad adventurer like Lidenbrock or Phileas Fogg there was a stalwart companion like Hans or Passepartout. The human race would work it out, even lacking the feminine half of the species who were rather passive back in those times. Now woman is emancipated but not in time to be in Jules Verne books equally; We'll file it under 'Sometime life just stinks' and move on. Indeed there are some questionable (or plain outright wrong racial stereotypes) in some of the Verne novels but we're dealing with a nineteenth century man here, and in many ways a progressive one.
What is the best part of 'Journey' and what is the most challenged? Personally the most interesting and fascinating part is the introduction and the runic puzzle, simple though it may be, which is only challenged by the storm sequence on the subterranean sea. For bad parts, and remember we're dealing with translations for the most part, the least engaging portion is the ride back to the surface through the volcano and most scientifically wrong is the whole concept of disproving the central fire of the planet. But still, it is at heart a children's story and an excellent one at that.
O.
'Journey to the Centre of the Earth' was first published in 1864. For a moment please consider that year. 1864. Wow. 'Journey' was the third in his series of Extraordinary Voyages novels, during which his readers would travel beneath the sea in a magnificent submarine, be shot to the moon inside a massive artillery shell, or travel through interstellar space while trapped on a comet. In this one, the discovery of a centuries old runic document sends famed geologist Professor Lidenbrock and his nephew Axel on a subterranean journey ostensibly to the centre of the world. Entering the underworld via an extinct Icelandic volcano, in the footsteps of Arne Saknussem of ancient fame, the adventure reveals underground seas and primeval monsters galore. They're saved from an eventual unpleasant demise only by being shot to the surface via an eruption and finding themselves near Bologna.
It's charming, it really is, and so unlike the science fiction that would follow. In the new terrain forged by HG Wells and Asimov and Arthur C Clarke, unbounded optimism is almost the antithesis of science fiction. Excepting only the Verne influence on Star Trek, we are faced with monsters and mutations and disasters galore in the years ahead. Only badness can come of science and space, is what they say, and that's what we watch and read and listen to.
The optimism of 'Journey' is in the journey, in the idea that these things are possible and can be lived through, and in the naivete and originality of the writing. 'The Lost World' of Conan Doyle was written in 1912 but living prehistoric life appears here first. Axel almost dies of starvation several times, suffocation and heat prostration a few more, is trapped alone in the labyrinth and all the while is missing his fiancée Grauben who he will marry upon returning home a hero with her guardian the professor.
'Journey' is my favourite of the Verne stories that I've read, lacking as it does the moodiness of Captain Nemo from 'Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Sea' and the sheer madcap and breakneck pace of 'Around The World In Eighty Days' and replacing it with... geology. The geology is cool. Any story that features some basic geology should be lauded up into the clouds and beyond. The impetuousness of the journey is staggering but it does harken back to a time when being able to do something almost demanded that it be done, and that without the inevitable nasty consequences. Yes, that's a symptom of the mindset that has left us in environmental crisis now but it didn't have to end up like that.
For every mad adventurer like Lidenbrock or Phileas Fogg there was a stalwart companion like Hans or Passepartout. The human race would work it out, even lacking the feminine half of the species who were rather passive back in those times. Now woman is emancipated but not in time to be in Jules Verne books equally; We'll file it under 'Sometime life just stinks' and move on. Indeed there are some questionable (or plain outright wrong racial stereotypes) in some of the Verne novels but we're dealing with a nineteenth century man here, and in many ways a progressive one.
What is the best part of 'Journey' and what is the most challenged? Personally the most interesting and fascinating part is the introduction and the runic puzzle, simple though it may be, which is only challenged by the storm sequence on the subterranean sea. For bad parts, and remember we're dealing with translations for the most part, the least engaging portion is the ride back to the surface through the volcano and most scientifically wrong is the whole concept of disproving the central fire of the planet. But still, it is at heart a children's story and an excellent one at that.
O.
Tuesday, 29 October 2013
The Perils Of Lecturing
There are many things that can go wrong while lecturing. First of all, you can discover that your prepared notes for the display are riddled with errors. Secondly, you can get panicked when you see the room full of apathetic faces staring blankly back at the screen. Thirdly, you can have talkers, which is the worst thing of all, for talkers force you to make a decision. If you let them go then you obviously don't care enough about the whole thing, but if you shush them then you need to succeed in shushing them or face total disaster thereafter. But this is all beside the point.
It is a Tuesday and Tuesdays mean travelling. Part of the problem of a temporary job is the lack of motivation to move properly and so instead for a couple of months I have forced myself to commute for four nights a week. For the most part it is fine except for this week where I am forced to move halfway through the sting, from my plush self-catered hotel to a bed and breakfast over Halloween. I blame Halloween for it all of course. The travelling isn't too bad, as good as a two hour service bus ride can be, but it does leave little time to prepare for the Tuesday lecture.
Ah, Halloween, the one night of the year you don't want to be in a Halloween town. The very though is terrifying in the extreme. Despite eight years of university education I have never actually been out on a Halloween night. The active parts of social evenings start so incredibly late! As someone who tries his hardest to fall asleep at the natural time of nine o'clock (morning or evening, it doesn't matter), it's dispiriting to have to wait until eleven o'clock or midnight for people so I almost never did, apart from when held at the threat of blackmail.
Blackmail... Slipping back into a Sherlock Holmes frame of mind for a moment, that last passage reminded me of the second greatest Sherlock Holmes villain of the stories: Charles Augustus Milverton, the master blackmailer. In many ways he was a far more defined character than Moriarty ever was, and it will be interesting to see what they do with him as the presumably ongoing antagonist for the next series of 'Sherlock'. Which reminds me in turn that the episode 'A Scandal In Belgravia' deserves a blog article all of its own, representing as it does the very best of the series.
Presumably the last lecture I give here will also be my best, as there is an upward trajectory to my successes so far. The real challenge is in addressing the differential in the group, comprising as it does people with very little of mathematics and people who need their mathematics rubber stamped to progress and who know most of it already. It's very hard to make everyone happy in those circumstances, especially when you have too many errors in your presentation, and a magic whiteboard to maneuver around. Or I could just be making excuses. You decide.
Oh, magic whiteboard, you are wonderful but also so so useless.
O.
It is a Tuesday and Tuesdays mean travelling. Part of the problem of a temporary job is the lack of motivation to move properly and so instead for a couple of months I have forced myself to commute for four nights a week. For the most part it is fine except for this week where I am forced to move halfway through the sting, from my plush self-catered hotel to a bed and breakfast over Halloween. I blame Halloween for it all of course. The travelling isn't too bad, as good as a two hour service bus ride can be, but it does leave little time to prepare for the Tuesday lecture.
Ah, Halloween, the one night of the year you don't want to be in a Halloween town. The very though is terrifying in the extreme. Despite eight years of university education I have never actually been out on a Halloween night. The active parts of social evenings start so incredibly late! As someone who tries his hardest to fall asleep at the natural time of nine o'clock (morning or evening, it doesn't matter), it's dispiriting to have to wait until eleven o'clock or midnight for people so I almost never did, apart from when held at the threat of blackmail.
Blackmail... Slipping back into a Sherlock Holmes frame of mind for a moment, that last passage reminded me of the second greatest Sherlock Holmes villain of the stories: Charles Augustus Milverton, the master blackmailer. In many ways he was a far more defined character than Moriarty ever was, and it will be interesting to see what they do with him as the presumably ongoing antagonist for the next series of 'Sherlock'. Which reminds me in turn that the episode 'A Scandal In Belgravia' deserves a blog article all of its own, representing as it does the very best of the series.
Presumably the last lecture I give here will also be my best, as there is an upward trajectory to my successes so far. The real challenge is in addressing the differential in the group, comprising as it does people with very little of mathematics and people who need their mathematics rubber stamped to progress and who know most of it already. It's very hard to make everyone happy in those circumstances, especially when you have too many errors in your presentation, and a magic whiteboard to maneuver around. Or I could just be making excuses. You decide.
Oh, magic whiteboard, you are wonderful but also so so useless.
O.
Sunday, 27 October 2013
Real Time
It's nice to be back on real time. It is a liberating experience to finally not be involuntarily keeping two time zones in the mind simultaneously, the clock time and the 'real time'. There's no point harping on it though. As stated previously, British Daylight Savings time is a nightmare for some people with inflexible body clocks.
Now to state the obvious: Writing an exam is hard. I honestly thought it would be easy but it seems that finding a new set of numbers for an existing question type, that will produce a nice answer all the way through, is quite fiendishly difficult. Obviously details can't be entered into at this time - my students might look me up - but there are still questions to finalise, and they are proving recalcitrant. Not as recalcitrant as the salmon in the kitchen, but indomitable never the less.
Lecturing has been quite an experience so far. From the first faltering steps of finishing twenty minutes early (at least) three times in a row, my typing up is now so far advanced that I can occasionally just load up the next lecture and keep going and filling up any slack time that occurs. It will cheer my lovely students to no end to know that there is no reserve material for this Tuesday so the dreaded worked examples could come into force with a vengeance. Actually it's nice to do worked examples, but not when you're without a marker whiteboard and stuck with the dreaded magic electronic version instead. Electronic whiteboards are great for straight lines but horrible for writing. <Imagine a great sigh in this space, building to a crescendo before dying out in apathetic fashion.> Graph sketching will be a tour-de-force, no doubt.
Real time. For a few brief months that are unfortunately in the dead of winter, the clocks will make sense and gibe with everything once again. It will be glorious. Christmas is coming, hot on the heels of the ever disappointing Halloween, and then lengthening days before Daylight Savings Time again.
Mutter mutter.
O.
Now to state the obvious: Writing an exam is hard. I honestly thought it would be easy but it seems that finding a new set of numbers for an existing question type, that will produce a nice answer all the way through, is quite fiendishly difficult. Obviously details can't be entered into at this time - my students might look me up - but there are still questions to finalise, and they are proving recalcitrant. Not as recalcitrant as the salmon in the kitchen, but indomitable never the less.
Lecturing has been quite an experience so far. From the first faltering steps of finishing twenty minutes early (at least) three times in a row, my typing up is now so far advanced that I can occasionally just load up the next lecture and keep going and filling up any slack time that occurs. It will cheer my lovely students to no end to know that there is no reserve material for this Tuesday so the dreaded worked examples could come into force with a vengeance. Actually it's nice to do worked examples, but not when you're without a marker whiteboard and stuck with the dreaded magic electronic version instead. Electronic whiteboards are great for straight lines but horrible for writing. <Imagine a great sigh in this space, building to a crescendo before dying out in apathetic fashion.> Graph sketching will be a tour-de-force, no doubt.
Real time. For a few brief months that are unfortunately in the dead of winter, the clocks will make sense and gibe with everything once again. It will be glorious. Christmas is coming, hot on the heels of the ever disappointing Halloween, and then lengthening days before Daylight Savings Time again.
Mutter mutter.
O.
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