--- Ah, Monday. I̢۪m late in getting things done today because I was
up late again reading Quicksilver (The Baroque Cycle, Vol. 1)
last night. It took seven hundred pages for this book to really get
into its groove, and now it̢۪s chugging along quite nicely. Although,
being the complete and utter math weenie that I am, the bits about the
calculus that are so integral to the plot are still baffling me. The
discovery and subsequent development of calculus is the one major
subplot of this book: it comes, it goes; it pops its head in unusual
ways while the rest of Europe is en fuego with wars, religious
conflicts, court intrigues and, of course, lots of sex. A pretty good
book on the whole, but the math is still baffling me, and hence makes
for difficult reading when I get to a portion of the book that chats
extensively about it. I never got beyond Trig in my study of
mathematics. Well, I did, but it was to matrix algebra, which I have no
clue as to if it was a step back from Trig, or a step up. And, fourteen
years after I took this course, I still fail to see why getting rid of
the x̢۪s and y̢۪s and bracketing the problems is a worthwhile subject
for a college freshman to study. It makes no sense: the x̢۪s and y̢۪s
are there for a reason: they represent variables on the Cartesian
plane. If you̢۪re still going to use the Cartesian plane to describe
how to work out the problems, why the hell did you get rid of the x̢۪s
and y̢۪s? Like I said, it makes no sense, but I digress, as usual. My
questions about the value of studying this type of math aside, it
should give you, my faithful audience, a reason as to why I proceeded no further in the study of it.

That, and the fact that Calc was just not a requirement they thought we liberal arts majors needed to fulfill.

Thanks be to God. Anyway, I was reading a portion of the book to
the husband that described the various bits and bobs calculus measures
(I think), parabolas, hyperbolas, and ellipses, and once again, I was
struck down by the sheer brilliance of the man I married. For the love
of God, one paragraph into the descriptions, he had the diagrams in his
head (conveniently printed on the next page for us dummies) and
understood precisely what Neal Stephenson was describing. Oh, except
for one diagram: he had mistakenly turned it upside down. Pffft. Now,
the husband has never taken calculus, yet he understood it. {shudder}
And if you want a solid, concrete example why standardized testing to
determine the course of study a child should follow is a bad idea, you
need look no further than the husband. The husband is brilliant. He̢۪s
predisposed to logic and as a result, likes things like math and hard
sciences. In the past, he̢۪s read physics textbooks for fun. To
paraphrase his description of his intelligence: he likes seeing how the
clock is put together, and the world is just one big pile of clock
parts. But he was never allowed to study how the clock goes together at
a level suiting his intelligence because he couldn̢۪t do his
multiplication tables fast enough. Yep. That̢۪s right. We lost out on
all of his potential scientific brilliance because some dolt at the
Iowa Department of Education decreed, once upon a time, that no child
who couldn̢۪t do their multiplication tables in a set amount of time
should be allowed to study higher math. As the husband will tell you he
didn̢۪t memorize his multiplication tables: instead, he worked the
problems out when he took the test. It took him a few moments longer
than the standardized amount of time would allow for and bam! he got stuck in math classes that bored him. For the duration of his elementary and secodary education.
Compounding this decision, his parents never moved from the town he was
tested in. Hence, there was no need for retesting.
And by the time he got to college, well, he had no desire to fight for
the right to study such things. What was the point? He was already
seriously behind. Hard math and interesting sciences were lost to him
as a potential course of study and all of the things that could have
followed because he didn̢۪t memorize his multiplication tables.
Grrrr. Anyway, I know this stuff probably bores my audience to no end.
But it̢۪s always shocking to me whenever he takes a problem that̢۪s
baffling me apart and solves it quickly---and easily. I had a
significantly higher G.P.A. when we graduated. I have taken graduate
level courses: technically speaking, I̢۪m more educated than he is.
But I̢۪m nowhere near as naturally smart. It̢۪s always stunning when
you̢۪re humbled in that fashion. I have no idea what lesson we̢۪re
supposed to learn from this sort of thing, because you know, there is a
lesson here. Perhaps, if nothing else, it should serve as a cautionary
parable to those reading this thing that a person̢۪s level of
intelligence is not easily quantified. I wonder how many other people
have been shunted by our school system, just like the husband. He
can̢۪t wait to read Quicksilver, by the way. He̢۪s
anxiously awaiting me to finish up so he can dive in.
And now that I̢۪m almost done with it, well, I̢۪m pissed that
Stephenson wrote the trilogy all at once and that they̢۪re not
releasing the next one until April.
Grrrr. --- So, anyway, since I was up late again last night, I woke up
late and this was the scene that greeted me when I spied out the
window.

Oh, happy day, says she with more than a fair amount of sarcasm.

--- I did some interesting research this weekend. And was recognized for it as well

I was reading the Instapundit on Saturday morning. A reader had sent in the cover of an issue of The Saturday Evening Post
from January of 1946. One of the headlines on the cover was “How We
Botched the German Occupation,” by Demaree Bess. The Instapundit was
curious to read the article and asked if anyone had it. I did some
quick Googling, nothing popped up, then I went to the Post̢۪s
website and saw that if I wanted a copy of the article, I would have to
shell out ten bucks for a reprint and then wait a goodly amount of time
for it to arrive via snail mail. (When are these print publications
ever going to learn?) So, instead of putzing around, I went to the
Mecca of all information in the Twin Cities: the Hennepin County Library Website. I did a quick scan of their resources and found that the Saturday Evening Post was not electronically archived before 1983, but
they did have microfilm copies going back to 1897 at my branch.
Woo-freaking-hoo. This was particularly interesting and convenient as I
already had to go to the library anyway to do some research on the
manuscript: I could do this, it wouldn̢۪t cost much and I could get in
good with the big dog. Pie---a slice of, please, in other words. It was
serendipity defined. As I was driving down to the biblioteca, however,
I became a wee bit dismayed: it had, after all, been ten years since
I̢۪d done research of this sort. Sure, it was easy in college, but
that was ages
ago. And besides they had all those really hunky guys working at the
microfilm room at Parks Library at Iowa State who were always willing
to help out when you jammed up the machine. It could be a lot
different nowadays. Technology has advanced in regards to all sorts of
things: just because this is microfilm doesn̢۪t mean they haven̢۪t
come up with some scary new viewer that will confuse the ever-living
daylights out of you. This could be a very bad idea.

All sorts of nerdy questions then decided to pop up in my brain, like dandelions on a pristine lawn:
What sort of index would they use to catalog the microfilm? Would it be
hard to find? Would I, horror of horrors, have to actually ask the
librarian for help? Because you know all reference
librarians---particularly microfilm librarians--- are hassled
individuals, and as a result are as cranky as a cat that̢۪s just been
doused with a pail of water. They hate it when people ask questions.
They think everyone should know exactly where things are, how to use
the machines and that if you don̢۪t, you̢۪re the equivalent of an
amoeba on the evolutionary scale. You are a single celled being in
their eyes; worse than a slug because you have no idea of how to find
something without relying upon their skills to find it. Nevermind
that̢۪s what they̢۪re there for: they̢۪re the keepers of the
information and they don̢۪t let just anyone in to view it. So, as
you can see, I really can work myself into a tizzy over just about
anything. Anyway, on the basis of past performance in the field of
microfilm research, I boosted myself up and tentatively made my way to
the reference section, found the microfilm, found that there was no
arcane separate index/oracle that needed to be consulted to find the
reels I was looking for. Surprised, and thanking my lucky stars, went
to a microfilm viewer. I must have looked like a complete eedjit as I
stood there, my mouth gaping open, because the technology had advanced
in only one way: I could---holy of holies---make copies directly from
my machine rather than having to submit a request to the librarian to
make them for me. You see, at ISU, they kept those super-special-secret
machines to themselves: you had to submit a request for copies, after
you̢۪d already done the hard work of finding the article on the reel.
Not so at the Hennepin County Library. You can make your own copies. Hot Damn!
I sat down and five minutes later I had what I wanted, had replaced the
reels in their place of origin and went about the rest of my research
without issue. The plan was to call the neighbors and use their scanner
(ahemâ€Â¦hint, hint to the husband/chief technology
purchaser---Christmas is just around the corner) on the articles and my
mission would then be complete after a quick email to the Instapundit.
Alas, however, it didn̢۪t happen. I wound up typing the things into
the computer---four thousand plus words per article---and attached them
that way. So, the point of all this would be, I got in good with the
big dog himself and was educated a bit on how important tone is to
critical pieces of journalism. Demaree Best was, indeed, critical of
the American Occupation of Germany, but he or she did not feel it
necessary to vent their bilious humors in their writing: their
criticism was timely, accurate in scope and still holds up. More than a
few journalists reporting in Iraq should read this piece as I believe
it idealizes a higher standard of journalism than we see today. Now, I
will grant you, the media is a completely different beast nowadays and
spectacularly craven reporting does boost ratings and sell newspapers,
but it̢۪s nice to see, that at one point in time, it was possible to
be critical without the need to flog an agenda simultaneously.
Honestly, there are days when I wish Woodward and Bernstein had just
kept their big mouths shut. Because that̢۪s when it all changed. Now I
don̢۪t think this because I̢۪m a big Nixon supporter, or because I
think the media should always tippy-toe around difficult issues. I
don̢۪t think that: not at all. I think this because Woodward and
Bernstein, depending upon how you look at it, either raised or lowered
the bar in terms of reporting. Thirty years later, their style of
reporting has permeated into all journalism, from big exposé’s all
the way down into innocuous wire articles. Nixon, and subsequently,
Woodward and Bernstein, took everyone for a ride, and as a result, all
journalists are now, even thirty years later, completely critical of
every move the Government makes because they̢۪re on the lookout for
the next big burglary at the Watergate: that one tiny story that will
bring a President down. It̢۪s tiresome, to say the least. And perhaps
if the media changed its style of journalism, they, in time, would stop
being barraged by the equally tiresome charges of being biased in one
direction or another. But that̢۪s just me. Other people see it
differently, I know, and I should perhaps keep my opinion to myself
because I was just a baby when Watergate happened and what the hell
would I know about it anyway. Wellâ€Â¦I don’t know. Like I wrote,
it̢۪s up to you, but something̢۪s got to give and this is as good as
a place as any to start an actual debate on what has gotten us to this
place and what we should do to get out of it. Now, as you can see, the
Instapundit did not want to do more than excerpt the one article I̢۪ve
sent him so far. He felt posting the entire article went beyond fair
use. Ok, fine, I can see that, but here̢۪s where I hope he will agree
to a disagreement. If memory serves a copyright is viable for
seventy-five years, and then it̢۪s open season for anyone who wants to
republish the piece of writing in question. I̢۪ll grant you, it
hasn̢۪t been seventy-five years since 1946, so Bess̢۪ copyright and
that of the Saturday Evening Post
is still valid. But to my mind fair use is fair use---and honestly,
when was the last time this article was “in use?” It’s not like
this is a commonly referenced article that is in circulation today,
where people still need to make money and will hold the copyright dear.
There is a difference. If you want to be all legal about it, the Saturday Evening Post
for a fee, offers access to this article. Or, if you live in a large
city like me, you can find this sort of thing at the library. They̢۪re
easily referenced, in other words: I̢۪m not cutting into anyone̢۪s
paycheck by republishing them, so, “How We Botched the German
Occupation,” and its sister article, “How Long Will We Stay in
Germany?” can be found here
and here respectively.

Use them responsibly.

And if you know any journalists, forward them the links.


--- Here̢۪s your Chuckle for the Day.

Vlad the Impaler?

Ouch.

Posted by: Kathy at 05:08 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 2473 words, total size 16 kb.