Rare Cloud Formations

Spotted on Wired: Weird, Rare Clouds and the Physics Behind Them.

Morning Glory


Lenticular


Noctilucent (Creepy!)

Aliens in a Crowded Establishment

I recently read John Gatto's Weapons of Mass Instruction: A Schoolteacher's Journey Through the Dark World of Compulsory Schooling (2008). See a short, interesting guide here. The indoctrination of mass consumerism starts at a very young age in America. I always knew that high school was always about being popular and having the clothes/toys/things of the moment, but now I understand why.

The Scholar's Desk

Some interesting things that I've seen in professors' offices over the years:
-Dog testicles from a neutered pet, dipped in gold and framed on a plaque. (She was a veterinarian/evolutionary biologist)
-6-foot tall Greek sculpture
-Academic regalia (perfect for those days when you're out of normal clothes, or when they're being laundered)

My desk is my creative space, my Paracelsan alchemical laboratory, my place to think and tinker. I'd actually prefer to have the thing entirely clean and clutter-free, that is, without a single object in sight - but at times, when one gets writer's block or needs to take a break, it's better to have some kind of inspiration than to stare off into space (or at the very worst, a blank cubicle wall). Blank, empty spaces are supposed to be better for sparking one's imagination, but I have too much junk and distractions on my desk. Toys are good for breaks, too (think of slinkies, rubik's cubes, and puzzles that you turn over in your hands, such as the breakable sphere, Jacob's ladder, infinite edamame toy, etc).

Worst possible thing for "inspiration" breaks: picking up any kind of handheld electronic device such as an iphone, checking e-mail or FriendFace.

Here's what's in my workspace. Even if you are not Dan Brown, feel free to interpret the symbolism of each object.

Framed painting of Darwin

Color-changing LED eggs

Vase with no flowers, at the moment

Framed family/friend photos

Stuffed Chihuahua, an old friend

To add:

Sculpture #1: Glass sculpture of embryo inside a round-bottomed flask

Never:
Food, with the exception of coffee/water/tea

Funnies for Friday

A Caveman Can
September 3, 2009

While channel-surfing, my dad stops at an educational channel that’s showing a documentary on Neanderthals—at a part of the documentary that happens to be without narration. After two full minutes of watching a Neanderthal going about his business in silence, Dad uttered: “This is a really long Geigo [sic] commercial.”

Why Puccini makes me cry.

Spotted at MedGadget: Latest Print Ad Campaign for the Zurich Chamber Orchestra.

Metaphors of Mind

M.C. Escher

Excerpted from Roger von Oech's A Whack on the Side of the Head: How You Can Be More Creative (Hachette Book Group, 2008, p. 56):

The models people use to understand mental processes often reflect the technology of their time.

For example, in the 17th century, people thought about the mind as though it were a mirror or lens, and this "reflects" the advances made then in the fields of optics and lens making.

The Freudian model of the mind, developed in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, seems based on the ubiquity of the steam engine locomotive. Ideas billow up from the subconscious to the conscious in the same way steam moves from boiler to compression chamber.

In the early twentieth century, the mind was viewed by some as a vast telephone switching network with circuits and relays running through the brain.

For the past forty years or so, we've had a new model of the mind: the computer. This model does a good job of describing certain aspects of our thinking. For example, we have "input" and "output" and "information processing." There is also "feedback," "programming," and "storage." This is fine as far as it goes, but some people take this model literally and think that the mind really is a computer. Indeed, they may not only dismiss the soft types of thinking for not being "logical," but even treat other people like machines.

I believe that the mind is not only a computer that processes information, it's also a museum that stores experiences, a device that encodes holograms, a playground in which to play, a muscle to be strengthened, a workshop in which to construct thoughts, a debating opponent to be won over, a cat to be stroked, a funhouse to be explored, a compost pile to be turned, and forty-one others [including a drunken crazed monkey that has St. Vitus' Dance, cavorting in a cage. Take that as a compliment, human.]
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I'm guilty of thinking of my mind as a machine. Why do we bang our heads repeatedly against the wall when we're frustrated, or against a desk? It's like when we smack a vending machine to get it to work, futilely.

I've also thought of my brain as a huge filing cabinet, one of those memory-ball keeper things from The Neverending Story, and a labyrinth with many unknown rooms to be discovered. If only we could. My brain is aware of itself? Sorry, it's getting pretty embarrassed right now.

My hair's way too long, therefore...

It's within one's capacity, as a native speaker of English, to understand and explain the difference in meaning between the following two sentences:
1) I really don't like pizza.
2) I don't really like pizza.

However, how would one explain the following difference? I've been thinking about this all evening.
I freaking need a haircut.
I need a freaking haircut.