Boston

I went to Boston this weekend to visit one of my oldest friends (we've known each other for most of our lives). It was wonderful to experience a different city with someone who knows the lay of the land. Here are some highlights of the weekend...

My trip apparently coincided with a major sporting event, so there were people wearing Boston gear all over the city. Someone decided to clothe the Public Garden's decorative brass ducks:

And this is what looks like a ballroom in the main branch of the Boston Public Library:

It's a stunning space, with wood panelling and frescoes running the entire length of the walls. I could imagine a medieval ball being held here.

This library could give the New York Public Library at Bryant Park a run for its money. It has an interior courtyard that looks like it was airlifted from Renaissance Europe:

I'm reminded of the courtyard of the Frick Museum. I could imagine Juliet leaning on the rail of the balcony on the left, beckoning to Romeo in the garden below. I've never been to Verona, but in my mind, it looks something like this.

Boston is also home to the world's only Curious George store! I didn't know this a few days ago.

This was taken on a bridge over a particularly scenic stretch of the Charles River:

I believe it was the Longfellow Bridge, which was named for the poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He was one of the preeminent poets of his day; one of his most famous works, "Paul Revere's Ride," is a classic in the American canon. There is a plaque in his honor, and the poem is engraved on a stretch of the footpath on the bridge. I didn't think to get a photo of it at the time; I was too busy walking backwards reading the poem!

And that was Boston. It's such a quaint place (cobblestone streets! trolleys!) with so much history tucked into the fabric of the city.

New York in Pictures

The past two weekends, I had two of my friends from college stay with me for a few days each. We explored the city, of course. It's always refreshing to experience one's hometown from a non-New Yorker's perspective. Much like how one gains a different understanding of one's native tongue in teaching it to a student of the language, there are certain aspects of place that are easily overlooked if one is immersed in it every day, that

Julie and I went for a bit of a hike in Central Park. We happened upon this interestingly-shaped copse of trees, and I couldn't resist a photograph:

Naturally (no pun intended), I was reminded of one of my favorite Robert Frost poems, "The Road Not Taken." (A pity it's not autumn; it would have been a beautiful picture with the thicket melting red and yellow around her.)

I also took her to see Alice, one of my favourite statues in the Park:

One of these days, I will sit by (on?) the Alice statue and reread Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. (It's somewhat fitting, methinks, that there's a little girl (wearing purple, Julie's favorite color) climbing on the sculpture in the background.)

There were a few highlights that I ended up visiting twice in as many weeks, but they were absolutely worth seeing more than once. The High Line is, for instance, one of my favorite places in New York. This is probably the cleverest billboard along the path:

And yes, it's situated above one of the few street-level car parks in Manhattan (which appears surprisingly empty).

Lucas and I also spotted this intriguing bit of text writ large on a dark wall across from the High Line:

It's ironically (or perhaps intentionally) located next to a tavern/restaurant called The Half King (its sign is partially visible in the lower left).

I also went to the Met twice in as many weeks, because if you have out-of-town visitors, they absolutely must see the Met. We ended up in the musical instruments section twice as well, and Lucas and I had the same thought about this sculpture:

Air guitar! Given the style of the statue and the position of the hands, there was probably a lyre or a harp at some point. A disappointment for all of the Guitar Hero players out there, I'm sure.

We spotted this on the subway, and my first thought was naturally, "it's a policy tub!" (A debate thing. I did LD, PF, and college parli, mind you -- not CX.):

Julie had a bit of a laugh at my expense. I don't mind at all. :-)

I love having friends in from out of town. Come visit me more often!

The Oven Bird (by Robert Frost)

I'm taking a Poetry and Poetics course this quarter, and I just finished writing a paper on this particular Frost poem. I'd never read it before this class, but I've come to really like it. (That's the funny thing about papers/assignments; by the end, you come to either love or hate whatever it is you've been working on.) Anyhow, I thought I'd share:

The Oven Bird
by Robert Frost (1916)

There is a singer everyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
He says the early petal-fall is past
When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers
On sunny days a moment overcast;
And comes that other fall we name the fall.
He says the highway dust is over all.
The bird would cease and be as other birds
But that he knows in singing not to sing.
The question that he frames in all but words
Is what to make of a diminished thing.

Frost, here, is lamenting the end of an era, which I thought was eminently appropriate to our impending graduation. (Does putting it in writing make it real?) Perhaps that's why the poem resonated with me so, more so than it might have at another point in my life. I know well that Frost is writing about being a middle-aged poet, thinking he's past his prime or being eclipsed by the younger generation of more experimental contemporary poets, but it's a similar sentiment. There's this sinking feeling that accompanies the idea of leaving the Stanford bubble, of being a continent away from the people I've come to know and love. It does feel like the best few years of my life might be slipping through my fingers -- though of course, I hope I'll do greater things with myself in future. I have regrets, I have anxieties, and I have the deep-seated, overwhelming sense of nostalgia for a passing age that Frost portrays so well in "The Oven Bird."

Washington Post: Ospreys Nest on a D.C. Crane, Halting Construction

An inspiring tale of government bureaucracy pulling together to save endangered animals:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/ospreys-nest-on-a-dc-crane-halting-construction/2011/05/07/AFQeSMKG_gallery.html#photo=1

Sometimes it's the little things for which it's necessary to move mountains.

Happy Earth Day! or, Nature (by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

Today is Earth Day. Given my various posts on the subject in the past, it's self-evident that the earth, and therefore this holiday, is something I care a lot about.

In honor of the occasion, here is an appropriate poem I quite like:

Nature
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1900)

As a fond mother, when the day is o'er,
Leads by the hand her little child to bed,
Half willing, half reluctant to be led,
And leave his broken playthings on the floor,
Still gazing at them through the open door,
Nor wholly reassured and comforted
By promises of others in their stead,
Which though more splendid, may not please him more;
So Nature deals with us, and takes away
Our playthings one by one, and by the hand
Leads us to rest so gently, that we go
Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,
Being too full of sleep to understand
How far the unknown transcends the what we know.

A beautiful poetic interpretation of the expression "Mother Earth," which many of us take for granted. But not today.

NYTimes: Morality and Human Nature

I found this really interesting article a long while back, on the origins and development of the sense of morality in humans:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/09/magazine/09babies-t.html?hpw

It's really validating for an optimist; I've always believed that people are fundamentally good. We are, methinks, born with a sense of natural law, of right and wrong -- and this is only a small exaggeration. It is usually those with innate psychological imbalances, or those exposed to corrupting social influences, or those who have been driven by circumstances to desperation and folly, &c., who do evil. Humans tend not to be evil by choice; evil is often motivated by lesser vices, such as laziness, pride, and so forth.

Anyhow, you should read the article for yourself; they talk about a lot of interesting case studies and experiments therein.

Camera Mounted on a Peregrine Falcon

I would recommend skipping this one if you have severe motion sickness.



One of my dearest childhood wishes was to be able to fly, under my own power. I loved the Daedalus and Icarus (or more properly, Daidalos and Ikaros) story. I used to try to fashion wings for myself, out of cardboard, popsicle sticks, Halloween faerie wings, whatever else I could find. I can imagine -- almost remember -- my father being tolerantly amused (he had been an engineer, once upon a time), and my mother rolling her eyes and cleaning up the messes that must have ensued.

I wish I could show my five-year-old self this video.

MSNBC: New Species from New Guinea

And this is why conservation matters:

http://cosmiclog.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2010/10/05/5235675-new-species-from-new-guinea?GT1=43001

 I especially like the "bug with bugged-out pink eyes". It's actually kind of pretty, in a bright, insectoid sort of way.

Today is World Animal Day, and the Feast Day of St. Francis of Assisi

It's pretty self-explanatory: it's basically a day to spread awareness of conservation efforts and animal rights, observed by a variety of organizations (such as animal shelters, wildlife conservation groups, schools, churches, &c.) as well as individuals from all walks of life.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_Animal_Day

Interestingly enough, it is no coincidence that today is also the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi, the much-beloved Italian monk who founded the monastic order that bears his name, and who is the patron saint of animals, nature, and the environment at large. He's another of my favorite saints; I tend to prefer the ones, I find, who did great and charitable works out of compassion and love, rather than merely being martyred for their conviction in their faith. (The exception would be saints who had particularly witty last words; see St. Lawrence.)

NYTimes: Purple Martins, a Hobby

Taking birdhouses to an extreme:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/08/12/garden/12purple.html?hpw

It sounds like a wonderful way to enjoy nature and contribute to conservation. Not to mention that purple martins are quite pretty.

BBC: Spider Size is a Question of Gravity

A (surprisingly) new and beautifully logical theory on why male spiders are so much smaller than female spiders:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-10845694

Sometimes, the simplest solutions really are the best ones.

Al Jazeera: Nations Back UN Biodiversity Panel

This is last month's news (I'm a little behind in terms of posting), but still noteworthy:

http://english.aljazeera.net/news/asia-pacific/2010/06/201061413183923975.html

It's a step forward on endangered species protections. I don't think it'll be the harbinger of biological justice that some people tout it as, of course, but I don't think it'll be quite the disappointment that, say, the League of Nations was. It's more of a symbolic victory in that the international community is finally recognizing the need for global protections and legislation, rather than the regional efforts that have been occurring thus far.

Let's see where it takes us. Fingers crossed.

BBC: Meerkat Culture

Yes, you read that correctly. Meerkat groups have been shown to transmit behaviours and non-genetic memes. They have, in essence, been forming cultural groups.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science_and_environment/10529154.stm

It's a striking discovery. (And they're so cute!)

Romantic Gardens Exhibit at the Morgan Museum

I do believe I've mentioned the Morgan Museum before. It was the private estate of the millionaire banker J. P. Morgan before he bequeathed it, in his will, unto the people of New York as a museum. It always has interesting exhibits, even though it's much smaller than, say, the Met. There's one in particular that's showing this summer, that I especially want to see. It's on the landscaping and outdoor architecture of manor estates during the Romantic period:

http://www.themorgan.org/exhibitions/exhibition.asp?id=27

BBC: Sexier Birds are Poorer Fliers

A very interesting take on evolutionary biology:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/earth/hi/earth_news/newsid_8738000/8738613.stm

Basically, Mother Nature is running P&L (profit and loss) calculations, balancing in the male bird population the need for speed and the need to impress girls. Come to think of it, human society acts much the same way. Men who dress very well will impress (certain types of) girls, increasing their breeding potential, but dressing very well will also attract the attention of thieves and brigands, not to mention lighten one's wallet, so to a certain extent, only people with means (both to purchase and to avoid getting mugged) will dress well. At least, that's how it should be. Humans are not always the most logical or intuitive of creatures.

NYTimes: Summer Shakespeare, Outside and Urban

One of the many things I love about summers in New York:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/04/theater/04shakespeare.html?ref=nyregion

I intend to catch at least one play this summer. Anyone want to come?

NYTimes: Planting the Strip Between Sidewalk and Street

I've always thought that the little strips of grass by the curb are rather lonely and neglected. The trees planted there sometimes create cracks in the sidewalk, and the grass is always rather thin and the soil rather loose. I'm glad people are reclaiming it, like so:

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/27/garden/27garden.html?hpw

Maybe that can be another new project this summer. We have a good few yards of grass strip in front of our house.

A list of erosion-controlling plants: http://www.theodorepayne.org/plants/plants_for_erosion_control.htm. The monkey flower is very pretty, but requires a lot of water.

BBC: Butterflies!

I've always had a weak spot for butterflies. I used to sketch them, at the Museum of Natural History (They had a butterfly conservatory exhibit a year or two ago, and it was glorious.), and out of books. I had put that aside for a while, but this makes me nostalgic for sketching at museums. (I wonder whom I might rope into accompanying me this summer?)

http://news.bbc.co.uk/earth/hi/earth_news/newsid_8730000/8730259.stm

The Morpho anaxibia's blues are absolutely breathtaking, and the Cithareas are just exquisite. Any favorites?

The World is Just Awesome, Take Two

There's another one!

The Daffodils (by William Wordsworth)

Another nature poem:

The Daffodils
by William Wordsworth (1875)

I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:—
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company!
I gazed, and gazed, but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

I first read this poem in the fifth grade (gosh, that was nearly a decade ago, wasn't it?), and something about it resonated with me even then. I was too young to really appreciate much of the poetry that I came to love later, seeing as I was still rather too immature for love poetry (I read "Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day" around then, as well, and thought it rather too mushy for my tastes), but I thought "The Daffodils" singularly inspired.

We had daffodils growing on our front lawn, then, and the lawn-mowing people would mistake the early shoots for particularly obstinate weeds, and cut them down before they bloomed. I cried -- I remember it distinctly. I would come home from school and kneel in the freshly cut grass, running my fingers over the ragged ends of those yellow-green shoots and wishing for daffodils. Then my mum would shout through the screen door that I was getting grass stains on the knees of my jean -- didn't I know that they were so hard to get out, even with a stiff-bristled brush? -- and I would go back inside the house, lock the bathroom door as I ran my hands under the tap, and cry for the daffodils that wouldn't be blooming this year, again.