An Accounting of Time

I know many of you have been wondering where I've been for the past few months. I don't blame you; I've been wondering that myself. It's been a while since I've let anyone know what I've been up to. I'm not a mysterious person, I just haven't had the time. So, I'd like to take this opportunity to let you know how I've been keeping busy these past few months.

First off, you should know that I'll be graduating soon, so I've been busy preparing for the professional world.

You can never practice office skills too much.

 I've also been working on one of my long term goals, learning how to cook. This has been going fairly well, judging by the fact that I have not set fire to everything in my room.

Frijol à la Jorgé is my most successful recipe to date.

Most surprising is the family of bears that's moved in with me. I have no idea where they came from, but they are sweet, so I've tended for them as well as I can.

Victor and Margaret, my most recent companions.

 Really though, I've had a lot of things come up this year. I've been pulled a lot of different ways, and it really taxed my time management skills and problem solving abilities. I think it was really beneficial for me in the long term, though. I learned a lot about how much I can handle and how I cope with such a full schedule.

How I face the challenges of everyday life.

I hope that explains why you haven't heard from me recently. As you can see, my days have been packed. Expect more updates from me soon, because I'm about to have more free time than I'll know what to do with. And oh, if you have any jobs lying around, please let me know.

Hope all is well!

Dealing with Celebrities: The Sasha Baron Cohen Edition

So I was hanging out in my local dive this past Saturday night trying to hit on my favorite bartender for what was probably the millionth time. She dismissed my usual advances, then leaned in a bit closer.

"Brendan, do you know Sasha Baron Cohen?" she asked me.

"You mean, Borat?" I replied.

"Yeah. Look to your right."

So I peeked furtively to my good side, and there, 20 feet away, was Sasha Baron Cohen himself. All 6'4'' of him (or some stupid number of meters, as he would probably say). He was dressed in a tweed jacket with a vest and a paperboy cap, as inconspicuous as a tall, goofy looking guy who looks exactly like SBC can look. From the looks of it, there was some sort of small party going on. He and his friends had brought a few boxes of pizza with them, and they were all casually standing around eating some slices, drinking some beers and chatting normally with each other. I'm not great at picking up subtle clues, but that's an invitation to be interrupted if I've ever seen one... right?

But really, I thought about it. Every time someone would put on a goofy accent and say "Hi-five!" I would have a story. "I saw Sasha Baron Cohen! He was in the same bar as I was!" I mean, that's cool, but it's not much of a story. What is this, catch-and-release fishing? "Yeah, Sasha Baron Cohen was there! He was like, this big *stretches arms out*" If it was going to be a good story, I knew I was going to have to talk to him. Or mount him on my wall, but one seemed more feasible and less likely to get me in arrested.

So no shit, there we were. Me and SBC. He was talking to his friend, I was creepily looking over his shoulder. I tugged his sleeve discreetly, and he turned towards me, pulling off a mask that covered his face to reveal that he was actually an alien.* I looked at him, and bashfully started to speak.

*this last bit about him being an alien is not true. Just making sure you're actually paying attention.

"Excuse me, I don't want to make a big deal of this," I started.

He interrupted me to say, "No, don't make a big deal of it, it's fine" (in writing, that makes him sound like a jerk, but he really said it in a nice, encouraging way).

"But, do people ever tell you you look like..." I paused a second. "You look like a dick in that cap?"

He looked at me with a straight face for a second.

"Actually, my father tells me that all the time. That's actually why I'm growing out my beard; I want to make my chin look like hairy balls," he continued, scratching at the scraggly growth on his face.

"It's working," I replied. "If you really want to make it better, I can give you the name of a plastic surgeon, and he can give you a great cleft chin."

Neither of us seemed to be a novice at bullshitting.

So we shot the shit for a a bit more, just talking about how he could look like a dick. My friend joined us, and we got into a two minute conversation about who we were. I really didn't want to overstay my welcome, so we left a few minutes later.

Now, I had just insulted a complete stranger. He took it well, but he didn't know me, so thought an apology was in order. On my way out, I decided I really should tell him I was sorry. Fortunately, some more people had come into the bar. A group of them was wearing dumb hats. Like, really dumb hats. Straw farmer's hats and pirates hats and whatnot. I pushed my way to the back of the bar again, found him and tapped him on the shoulder again.

"Listen, you know, I'm really sorry. I said you look like a dick earlier, and I was wrong. You don't look like a dick. Those guys look like dicks," I said, gesturing towards the pirate fAARRRRRmers (heh heh) in the front of the bar. He thanked me for apologizing and told me not to worry about it.

"I never caught your name, by the way. I'm Brendan."

"Sorry, I'm Mohammed."

Damnit, and I thought I had a story about talking to Sasha Baron Cohen!

About the Nude

A month ago, I hosted an event in my capacity as an RA. People who live on my floor had complained about the lack of decoration in the hallways (apparently, cinder block is not an appealing pattern. You learn something every day!), so I told them I would buy some art supplies and we could all decorate the hallways together (awww). The resulting event was wildly successful; everyone had fun, someone painted a portrait of me, and the halls looked pretty darn cool. I congratulated myself heartily, submitted an evaluation telling my bosses how wonderful I am, and assumed I had heard the last of the event.

Time passed. My portrait was ripped down :( . Life continued. Weeks later, I received an email from my boss.

Hey, Brendan -

Can you tell me a little about the nude that's in one of your murals? I'm not quite sure what to make of it. When you get a chance, can you fill me in?

Thanks,

(your boss)*

*This is not the actual signature.

In case you were wondering, this is the offending mural:

Carman 12, by Auntie Lay Zee*
*This is an anagram of the artists name for privacy's sake

Here, unedited, is my response.

Hey (Boss)*

*not actual name
Your prompt was a little vague, but I answered to the best of my ability.

Carman 12 is a relatively new work from upcoming artist Auntie Lay Zee (*see above). The painting is done in acrylic paint on butcher paper, a medium that showcases Zee's versatility and skill. The materials are of poor quality, indicating that Zee probably received them from an RA working on a limited budget with no knowledge of good artistry supplies. The work was begun and finished in her studio, Carman 12, during a floor arts and crafts event.

Carman 12 creates a frantic, nightmarish feeling using a few, relatively simple elements. The painting has two separate spaces. Zee uses the boundaries of the paper to frame the foreground upon which the woman runs across the space; the background is determined by the dark red stripe of ground upon which the snail crawls, and out of which the horrifying plant/monster grows. The painting is united by the warm palate of colors and the smooth, flowing lines that characterize much of Zee's work.

The painting speaks to the themes of sexuality and drug use that so occupy the minds of freshmen. The nude is both sexual and abhorrent. She has over-exaggerated womanly curves and soft-toned skin; the only clothing she is wearing are the high heels, footwear commonly associated with the sexual nature of women. At the same time, she has features often derided in popular discourse on sexuality of women; her flaming “ginger” hair, unshaven armpits and her bold unibrow make her not only unappealing, but terrifying.

At the same time, her genitalia are covered with what appears to be a marijuana leaf. The marijuana leaf is not the only appearance of mind altering substances; in the background, one sees a snail munching happily away on a magical mushroom. The swirl of colors surrounding him are evocative of a halucination. The effects of the trip are most clearly seen on the flower to the right of the painting; these drugs have the ability to turn mundane, perhaps beautiful things into frightening monsters. The continuum of possible effects is showcased in the background. On the left, there are abstract, non representational forms that seem to emit happiness like a ray gun emits lasers; it is only as one’s eyes move to the right does one comprehend the abject dread of a trip gone bad.

In this light, one possible interpretation of the marijuana leaf covering her genitalia becomes clear: what should be sexual is replaced with drugs. Zee brilliantly relates the darker undertones of sexual awakening so many first-years go through with the dangers of drug use that many are exposed to for the first time. The painting juxtaposes sex with drugs, but glorifies neither. Alternatively, it is possible that Zu'is RA was uncomfortable with a depiction of female genitalia in a public space and asked Zee to cover it up. X-Ray analysis would be a good way to determine the history of this portion of the painting.

According to Zee herself, the painting deals with several issues, ranging from the ‘dehumanization of gingers’ to “the extreme dearth of palatable males at Columbia and excess of ugly and pretty girls alike desperate to ‘get some.’ ” For Zee, this is what makes women a frightening subject: the uninhibited desire of the female libido. Zee writes, “She's savage and a reason to be afraid because girls are vicious and savage in pursuing their desire.”

As far as the value of the work, it has been lessened by contributions from Zee's understudies. As you can see, some of the brushstrokes, particularly in the area around the snail, are less masterly, and seem to have been painted by her apprentices in her studio. A reasonable estimate of the actual value of the painting would be someplace around $50-100.

Hope that helps!
-Brendan

So I know it's been a while since I've posted anything. I'd like to say it's because I've got bigger fish to fry, but that's not true. The real issue is bigger fish are trying to fry me. Yeah... But, I hope you're all doing well!

Also, (boss), if you're reading this, I meant this in good humor!

Small Consolation in the Research World

I've been hitting the books hard recently (it hurts me more than it hurts them, but at least it vents my anger) for research purposes. I decided to read the introduction to a massive textbook dedicated to the Appalachians for kicks, and I came across this great anecdote.

"Every geologist who has conducted field work for any length of time in this region has had at least one unique experience to be remembered for a lifetime. Perhaps the late Hugh Miser said it best, "I'll tell you; it humbles a man." That conclusion followed a succession of events, beginning when he made many friends among the farm families while doing field work in the DeQueen and Caddo Gap quadrangles in Arkansas. After the report was published, he gave a copy to one of the families who had shown more than passing interest in his work. On a subsequent visit, Miser discovered in the outhouse that his report had been partly used up. As he explained, 'they had finished the section on stratigraphy and had started on the structural geology.' With equal humility, we hope the present volume will prove at least as useful to future generations of geologists."

It's good to know mine is not the only research paper destined for such a fate.

Mentioning the Unmentionable

"Players gonna play, haters gonna hate, complainers gonna complain," as Benjamin Franklin was famously quoted as saying. I've been complaining and hating a lot, recently.

Complaining: Mostly, I've been complaining about my thesis. As it turns out, my thesis is similar to a Hydra; every time I chop off one head, two more grow in its place. I don't know how to complete the metaphor, because I don't think I've even come close to chopping off one of my thesis' heads, but you get the idea; it's a never-ending string of work*. And, despite a streak of optimism in my spirit that urges me to accept candy hidden in the trunks of stranger's cars, I've been feeling pretty down about my thesis recently. As you can expect, I've also been complaining about it. That's where the complaining has been coming from.

*Also, like a hydra, the only way to kill it is to burn down the entire department.

Hating: What I hate is that when I complain about my thesis, I always get the wrong response. It's never, "Oh, man. That sucks. I can help, though. Here's a forty page, previously unpublished bunch of research I've compiled." It's always "Yeah? What's your thesis about?"
Really? Didn't I just mention the fact that I hate my thesis? Since when did me mentioning the fact that I hate something become a good segway into talking about that thing in any detail? Imagine telling someone that your ex is a total bitch who would sell herself but she can't because some STI made all her teeth fall out so no one wants to look at her, and hearing the response, "Yeah? What's she like? Did you two have the same taste in music?" That's how I feel when people ask me what my thesis is about. So yeah, I've been hating on those conversations a lot.

Anyway. Hope everything is peachy with all three of the people who read these posts!

Settling for Superpowers

I won't lie; I've wished for superpowers for a really long time. That's not unusual, I don't think. Everyone wants superpowers. Up to now, none of my prayers have been answered though. I am not faster than a speeding train, I cannot shoot X-ray beams out of my eyes (Cancr-man!), and I can't fly. Lord knows I've wished hard enough.
This all changes now. I've realized that it's my fault I don't have superpowers. It's because, for the past 18 or so years of my life, Ive been asking too much. The person in charge of distributing super powers looks at my requests and laughs. "Ha! Like I'll give this loser the power fly! I'm just gonna make him extra resistant to paper cuts..." he decides. From now on, I'm going to start asking for less extraordinary super powers. Superpowers that the person in charge of distributing super powers will be more likely to bestow upon me. Such as...

Power: Levitation (up to 3 inches off solid ground).
Superhero Name: The Human Hovercraft.
Pros: I wouldn't need to walk around puddles, and it would be a pretty cool trick to whip out at a party.
Cons: It's mostly useless for everything else, and I'd be the go-to person to clean up broken glass at parties.
Arch Rival: Gravity.

Power: The ability to cure hiccups by touching someone.
Superhero Name: Dr. Quack-cup
Pros: People will love me for 30 seconds approximately once a month.
Cons: Doubters will claim my power is mere coincidence, and dismiss me as a folk remedy.
Arch Rival: Spicy food (it gives me the hiccups. Really.).

Power: The ability to juice fruit with my bare hands.
Superhero Name: The Juicester.
Pros: I would have fresh juice all the time, and I would probably give the best handshakes ever.
Cons: Any idiot with an electric juicer rivals my powers.
Arch Rival: Carrot-top.

So if you have any reasonable super-power requests, I'd love to hear them. Then, I'm going to ask for them. Anyway, my life is devolving into a blur of business, so I apologize if the writing has been choppy recently. Chances are good that won't change anytime soon. But, as always, I hope all is well with you!

Awards? Sign Me Up!

So, for some reason, I was nominated for an award. I'm not normally the sort of person who's eligible for awards. Normally, people who report information that leads to my arrest are eligible for rewards. It's a bit different. But yes, as a graduating senior, I was asked to submit a personal statement as to why I should be given cash (!) and recognized as awesome. Writing something along those lines was harder for me to write than you might imagine (mostly because I wrote it while watching the super bowl and had Dorito dust on all of my fingers but my pinkys, so I was only typing with those). Still, I thought I'd share it with you, because it's just serious enough not to be thrown out, but just shitty enough not to be taken seriously (I'm not even going to mention the joke of a resume I submitted.) So here you go: my analysis of my four years at Columbia and what they've meant to me.

I didn’t want to go to Columbia. I grew up in this city. Why should I stay here for college? Then, I started to consider the other colleges I was admitted to. This one is too small. This college exists in a bubble. What would I do there for four years? One by one, I eliminated every other school from the list of colleges I wanted to attend until only Columbia was left. Then, I signed above the line, dropped an envelope into a mailbox, and I was committed to going to Columbia. At the time, the decision seemed anti-climactic. With the hindsight granted by four years, I see how fitting it is that I began my adventure at Columbia in that manner.

“Adventure is, by its nature, a thing that comes to us. It is a thing that chooses us, not a thing that we choose,” G.K. Chesterton wrote; my experience at Columbia only shows how right he was. I arrived on campus with a jaded attitude, a spoiled child given a gift he does not appreciate, though only because he doesn’t know how to appreciate it (sort of like how I cried when my grandmother gave me blocks when I was little). The four years I have spent at Columbia were a gradual process through which I learned how to appreciate the adventures of friends and learning that Columbia offers (I also ended up really loving the blocks).

I initially searched for people with the same values as mine at Columbia, and at the end of my freshman year, I had a circle of friends not much different than my high school friends. This changed sophomore year, when I became an resident adviser. I naively thought that I would be giving back to Columbia by being an RA; in reality, I took much more from the job than I ever could have given. Through residential programs, I met some of my closest friends, many of whom I had little in common with other than being an RA. I was arrested with one of those friends. If that doesn’t mean I met one of my best friends through Residential Programs, I don’t know what does.

Unlike most of the people I spoke with when I was a first year, I had no idea what I wanted to study. It seemed that everyone else had their goals set, and I was the only student wandering around lost. I took classes, I learned, and I got decent grades, but I didn’t take pleasure from my coursework. After having considered a majoring in German, French, physical education and math, I abruptly declared my intention to major in Earth Sciences. Then began the adventure. Unfortunately, I can’t explain how drastically my attitude about learning changed once I started studying something I was passionate about, especially within the confines of one page. I will only say that, as a sophomore, I felt ready to graduate; as a senior, I wish I had three more years.

Ultimately, I came to Columbia to learn (this is where I tie this all back to the core curriculum; get ready). As a senior, I’ve learned how little I know compared to how much knowledge is out there. Had I paid more attention reading Plato’s Apology (an addition to our lit-hum syllabus) or to the Zhuangzi taught in Professor de Bary’s colloquium on major Asian texts, I would have learned my lesson much earlier. Socrates was proclaimed the wisest of men because he knew he knew nothing; Zhuangzi wrote “Your life has a limit but knowledge has none. If you use what is limited to pursue what is infinite, you are in danger.” Columbia has given me the humility to understand how hard I need to work if I wish to accomplish anything great (like graduate, for example). Well, good. I have the friends I made here. I have what knowledge comes from four years of applied studies. To the world that awaits me after I graduate, I say, “Bring it.”

On an unrelated note, someone arrived at my blog by googling "Brendan is uncool." Thanks a lot. Dick. But hey. I hope all is well with you guys.*
*except whoever searched "Brendan is uncool."