A Personal Taste of Wonderland

It is a brick building, an old building, five stories high and full of rooms and mysteries that I will never know. It is a world of its own, full of tea-drinkers and puzzle-solvers, men in collared shirts who feel quietly important, offices and rooms for learning that have chalkboards, not whiteboards, with real chalk and erasers.

The first floor is more like a basement, in terms of access to the outside, and houses the locked door to a Foucault pendulum, which is suspended from the ceiling and has been inactive for years.

The second floor is the main floor. One major entrance leads to the landing between the first and second floors, and the other, on the opposite side of the building, leads straight to the second floor. On the second, third, and fourth floors, between the two flights of stairs heading towards and away from each floor, there is a row of chairs. That row on the second floor is especially good for sitting. It is prime for watching people, the people who belong to that place and the people who don't, and it has a view of that second main entrance, the ramp that goes straight to the second floor. There is a brick arch over that ramp, which connects to brick ceiling and brick walls and the rest of the brick building, and sitting in that row on the second floor allows a perfect view of the slanted natural light on the large alcove beyond the arch. You see, when walking into the building, from that ramp, the main doors are to the left of the arch. When sitting in that row of chairs inside the building, the main doors are directly in front of you, placing the arch beyond the doors and to the right, sunlight slanting in like something magical, something unreal. Especially, it is something beyond what one expects to see in this city.

The first through fourth floors all have normal purposes, but the fifth floor is small, tiny, in fact, and holds only a door to the roof, a door to a room of excess furniture, and a door to the place of the building's inner workings. The floor itself is merely a partial room with a brick floor, good for thinking alone. It is the one place that I can find true solitude in the middle of the day.

There is more to this place than just the physical building. To breathe its air, to learn of its world, to meet its true inhabitants, is to begin to fall under its spell. I have breathed this air, had tea with the puzzle-solvers and believed I too belonged there. But I have not visited it for days now, and in breathing the air that is fresh, I begin to wonder--is that the world in which I belong?

They did welcome me. Oh, how they welcomed me. It would take work, to join them, but it was perfectly possible, even for one so young and ignorant as I. And others congratulated my choice--to have a woman among them would be marvelous, and unexpected. I received smiles, I received guidance, I was handed a perfect plan for solving the puzzles with them, for the rest of my days if I chose. I need give up no other dream, merely the time and money it would take to gain the necessary skills. And then, I could live in their world for real.

But I have not visited for days now. Maybe weeks. I have been thinking. As fresh oxygen reaches my lungs, instead of their stardust, their chalk dust, I have begun to wonder if that world is where I belong.

What I want to do is to do as I am doing now, at this very moment, as I am putting these letters in this order. I want to write. "How vain it is," spoke Thoreau, whom I seldom believe but for this, "to sit down to write, when you have not stood up to live." I want to live in all worlds, to experience all good things, and to breathe the beauty of every good place. This world of brick and puzzles and magic, which I have grown to love, will never be thoroughly known to me, for I have other worlds to taste, and other beauty to see.

This building is the Math and Physics building at my university. It means nothing to so many students; it has been Narnia and the Wardrobe itself to me. I briefly thought I should do this for my life, that I should get a Ph.D. in mathematics, that I should be one of these professors, living in my office every day, solving puzzles for the world and teaching students how to solve puzzles of their own. It sounded beautiful, it sounded perfect. The epiphany hit me as I sat within that building, breathing in its spell. As I rule, I don't trust epiphanies, but I chose to trust this one anyway.

But I have not visited it for days now, and I can breathe air again. So back to my original plan I go. I would like to be a writer. I want to solve puzzles in my free time, of mathematics or cryptography, but if I never have the time for such things, I want writing and exploring to be the main takers of my time.

I don't much care whether you disagree with me. I have missed breathing proper air.

The Laissez-Faire Approach To Academic Administration

Schooling is compulsory, in the United States, through high school. College is optional. You may not be able to get a halfway decent job without it, but it is not truly required, in the get-arrested-by-the-truant-police sense. We choose to be here, we pay to be here, we went through a rigorous (or not-so-rigorous) process to get accepted here, and whether we learn the things that are being taught generally requires us to pay attention, do the homework, and actually try to learn.

So what I don't understand is why some professors, and some school administrators, are still trying to keep things compulsory. Consider, for instance, attendance policies. I complain about them every semester. If I can pass your tests and succeed on your projects and homeworks without attending your lectures, why should I go? If nobody will attend your class if the attendance isn't part of the grade, then you should make your class more interesting. I have had classes, required for my degree, that embodied this painful paradox. I could have easily passed the tests without attending each deathly-dull lecture, yet attendance was a large part of the grade, so I had to go. I have hidden headphones beneath my hair to listen to music or watch television shows on my laptop during classes like this, and I've read books, checked my e-mail, done other homework, or any number of things, just to turn the useless lecture into a productive (or at least entertaining) period of time.

This is college. No class should be boring enough, and easy enough, that you need an attendance policy just to fill the seats. You can put a unique spin on anything. If your class is bored, you have two good options: entertain them or challenge them. Successful professors do both, and the students learn.

But, if you do have a boring class, and an attendance policy, at least don't ban laptops. This is another practice by professors, and perhaps some administrators, used in an effort to make presence compulsory--as if only the presence of the student is necessary for learning. Laptops let good students take notes in a speedy and organized way--and it is also "green," if you're into that. Laptops also let bad students--or students who already know all your material and are just there to get their ticket punched--play games, hang out on Facebook, examine TVTropes, and just generally ignore you. Count it a blessing; otherwise, they would either be talking to their neighbors, thus disrupting the education of those around them, or harassing you while you lecture. Banning laptops (and banning sites like Facebook, if you have such power) will certainly get students to hate you. It will not get them to respect you or pay attention any better.

The better approach is this: make your class as good as you can, and otherwise keep your hands off. You want the students to learn, but if they already know the material, you can't teach them more by holding them captive in a classroom. Moreover, if students don't care to learn, or will learn better from the book at home, by all means let them skip class or use their laptops for silly things. If you do your tests properly, the grades will reflect what they should.

One final note: I do believe in taking attendance for the purposes of knowing which students are "good" students. Attendance does not correlate with grades for every student, but if a student is failing, and he never shows up for class, you have no reason to give him an extra credit opportunity when he comes begging to your office hours. Conversely, if a student does show up to every class, and seems to be putting in the effort, it would be reasonable to push them from a C- to a C, to let them pass the class if you see fit.

Cooking and Swimming

Cooking and swimming are similar. Before you know how to do either, you desperately hope you won't be thrown into a situation where such knowledge is required of you, and do not know what you will do if it happens. You may depend on frozen dinners or life-vests, and certainly on other people, seeing the skill you lack as something large, mysterious, and perhaps altogether impossible.

Then, once you learn it, you realize it isn't so difficult after all. I can't cook like Julia Child or swim like Michael Phelps, but I can cook well enough to feed myself and swim well enough to have fun and not drown. I can't remember what it feels like to not be able to swim, as I had proper swimming lessons when I was perhaps eight or nine years old, but I definitely remember my paralyzing inability to cook, which has only been changing this school year.

Before I started learning, I had this idea that cooking was some big, difficult, mostly magical process that was easy to screw up. I had no idea if, once I learned some basics, I would be one of those women whose cooking was playfully mocked at every dinner party--as if I even attend dinner parties. I thought perhaps I'd be able to follow a recipe, if I know how to "braise" or "sauté" or how to cook multiple dishes at the same time, but I didn't know how some people can make up their own recipes and have them taste good. I didn't know what tasted good together or how much salt to add or how to cook a piece of chicken so that it was safe to eat and not too dry. None of it made sense. Are all spoons and spatulas simply magic wands disguised?

This past summer, I suppose I decided that I didn't want to spend another school year living on Easy Mac, Rice Krispies, and Chick-fil-A, and that it was high time I, too, learned the wizardry of the kitchen. My mother taught me how to cook chicken and steak on the stove, and I realized that to cook meat, you basically need to make sure the outside is cooked and the inside is safe, and if you can do that with a stove or a grill or a campfire, you're fine. During the school year, I started to realize what kinds of things can be mixed together. If things taste good together, put them together. If you can blend them with a sauce, go for it. Little rules started pulling themselves together. It was like realizing that all you have to do to "swim" is push the water down and backwards.

Now, I'm no fancy cook. I can't do anything à la anything, and I still can't determine how many people a recipe will feed. But I can cook well enough to eat decently well, and I know enough that I am not afraid of the whole institution anymore. Similarly, I don't know the difference between the butterfly stroke and the freestyle, and I'm pretty sure my "backstroke" is completely wrong except that I actually go backwards, but I can stay alive in water, and I can maneuver comfortably.

Moral of the story? If you don't know how, try it anyway; it's less scary than it sounds. Also, don't do it alone if you don't have to, just to make sure you don't drown or burn down your kitchen while you're still learning.

Similarities Between Firefly and The OC

I have finally seen the series Firefly, and I have noticed some similarities between it and something else. We all know Mal and Han Solo have a lot in common (for the uninformed: they're both gun-happy space smugglers), but what about comparing another old Fox show--The O.C.? Fans of The O.C. and fans of science fiction don't usually overlap, but since I saw the The Doctor from Star Trek: Voyager in an O.C. cameo, I've realized that all bets are off.

• Nandi/Julie Cooper: This is probably the most direct similarity. Nandi, from the Firefly episode "Heart of Gold," and Julie Cooper, a regular character on the O.C., are both played by the same woman, the lovely Melinda Clarke. Both characters are rather promiscuous (Nandi is literally a whore), yet despite the things they may do wrong (including Julie's constant conniving), they both have some good at heart, and you can't help feeling bad for them. These characteristics are rather more subtle in Julie Cooper.
  
• Tracy/Oliver: Tracy, Mal and Zoe's war buddy from the Firefly episode "The Message," is a cowardly, selfish guy who is willing to indirectly break the lives of the people around him. He clearly shouldn't be trusted, but sweet, sensitive, and so naïve Kaylee starts to like his awkward charm just a bit too much, especially after her fight with her love interest, Simon. Oliver, a character who appears in one arc of The O.C., is a cowardly, selfish guy who is willing to indirectly break the lives of the people around him. He clearly shouldn't be trusted, but sweet, sensitive, and often-naïve Marissa starts to like his awkward charm, and wants to save him and protect him, especially as her love interest, Ryan, constantly protests, causing them to fight. Fortunately, Tracy lasted for far less time than Oliver did; both are utterly detestable. Side note: If I remember correctly, The O.C. had another character like Oliver in the third season, when the show was basically repeating itself and everyone had run out of ideas.
  
• Mal/Ryan: Malcolm Reynolds is the main character of Firefly. Ryan Atwood is the main character of The O.C. Mal likes to punch people. Ryan likes to punch people. Mal loves a high-class girl but the series ends before they realize they should be together. Ryan loves a high-class girl but her life ends before they realize they should just be together (thank goodness--I hated Marissa). Mal has a goofy friend named Wash. Ryan has a goofy friend named Seth. Mal is in a world--really, a galaxy--that rejects him and his crew. Ryan is in a world--really, a city--that rejects him, his manners, and all he knows. They even look similar:

If you can think of any more similarities, add them in a comment!

P.S. The O.C. lasted for multiple seasons, and I wish Firefly had that in common as well. :(

Analogies for Pointers in Computer Science

As part of an argument with an acquaintance for why C is better than Java, and why it is worth the hassle to use pointers, I quickly came up with a few analogies for pointers and why they are cool. My programming prof liked them, so I am providing them here for your enjoyment. If you don't know what a pointer is, see Wikipedia.

On using pointers:

• +It's like texting your roommate to say "There's cake in the fridge if you want some" instead of actually bringing him/her the cake.
• +It's like passing around a kite string, and then everybody gets to fly the kite without moving the actual kite at all, just the string.
• +It's like Rickrolling in that you can pass around the same link with many names, and still end up in the same place.

If you have any more, you should totally add them in a comment!

(And if you want to use these for your class or tutorial, feel free, but please cite me!)

On Fixed and Wandering Churches

When a church has a building, it has security. It has the ability to run multiple morning services, Christmas Eve services, Sunday School, mid-week services, VBS, youth group, staff meetings, and anything else necessary in the same building without giving it a second thought. Churches who don't have buildings of their own, those who meet in homes or colleges or places that they rent, have no such security. They don't know if they can count on having the same place for Sunday service a year from now, and they often have to scrounge for places to meet for anything extra. Holding a VBS of their own is essentially out of the question. For some of these churches without buildings, their size is simply much too small to warrant one; for others, they are growing and could use one, but the financial situation makes it impossible.

However, a church without the security of a building has to rely somewhat more on God, not knowing where they will be in a year, or what they will do for a location if they are blessed with more growth, and that can create a better spiritual foundation for the church. On the other hand, churches with buildings may have paid more than they could reasonably expect to afford, getting space for more people than they could reasonably expect to have, and if it was pride rather than God telling them to go ahead with the building project, they should not be surprised if the security that they expected never shows up.

If, while the weather is dry, God says to Noah, "Build an ark," and Noah complies, he can trust that the floods will eventually come. Conversely, if Noah decides on his own to build an ark while the weather is dry, expecting that the floods will come, but has no word from God that he should do such a thing, why should he expect the floods to come? If God tells Noah to build an ark of a certain size, and he chooses to build it bigger or smaller, should he expect to survive the flood? Should he expect to be blessed?

If a church does everything that God asks of it, if the leaders pray and listen before taking the steps to gain a building, and the reply is "Yes, build," and they are good stewards of what money they have, the church ought to be able to trust God that the finances will be worked out, regardless of their apparent state. Yet, if, out of pride, they build when they should not, or if, from lack of faith, they do not build when they should, they surely can expect the growth of their church to stagnate. Are we not instructed to be faithful even with little?

The church is the people, and moreover, the relationship of the people with God. The temple would not have been built if the building meant nothing, and yet, the building would be nothing without the people in it to learn and to worship, and the building is nothing without the presence and the blessing of God.

The Collatz Conjecture - A Poem

The Collatz conjecture is pretty cool
And number theory is entertaining
Though I won't be famous like George Boole
The conjecture does need explaining.