Classes: "will to the thinkability of all things"

I've been trying out the local wireless internet service. I take the laptop down to Fine Hall and watch chess in the afternoons. In case you haven't heard (huh), the 'world championship' (long story) is taking place right now, in Argentina. (No more games played in east Siberia being over before I wake up in Pacific time zone.) As I type it's mid-evening here and Topalov seems about to pick up his second win in as many rounds -- against Leko and Anand, respectively, canonically described as the principal competition, which one would think would put him far ahead of the pack (twelve rounds remaining notwithstanding). It seems Topalov is playing like a man possessed, not exactly by Caissa, but with boundless fight -- today he refused to take back the exchange he sacrificed even when it seemed that he no longer had any compensation, just, somehow, to keep fighting. And it seems to have paid off, as Anand proves that not even Anand can play fifty moves of perfect chess. What an allegory: "If I can't be right, at least be bold--"

Which brings me to the list which has dominated my attention for the past week:

• Analysis -- since the instructor was still unable to manipulate the digits of his hand, he -- got someone else to teach the class. It turns out that there is a class in algebraic geometry basically at the same time which I might go to instead. I had some notion that I should take some analysis-type class with an eye to that part of the general exam, but the overlapping of material seems to be non-existent, to the extent where one hardly even needs to recall the material salient to one side to execute the tasks on the other. So it looks like I just spend some time with Folland or Rudin (textbooks) sometime between now and next October (or whenever).


• The Very Bad Characteristic -- a very pleasant surprise. It seems this class will be very accessible and very interesting. It is only too bad that it is so early in the morning, I can hardly wake up early enough to eat breakfast, make and drink my tea, walk over there, and so forth. (Today one of these got cut out. "Walk over there" wasn't it.)
  
  While there is a lot of mathematics that I enjoy -- I don't hold with those who disparage commutative algebra or whatever -- I've a special fondness for Galois theory, (roughly speaking the study of symmetries of algebraic numbers), which I first learned as an impressionable young undergraduate. It is the most beautiful mathematical theory I have known, something which by the maxim "excess is proof of itself" demonstrates a fortiori that there is beauty in mathematics. To work on a problem in this field would be satisfying, indeed; and that it relates deeply to the study of algebraic geometry, the field I'm slighting when I say "most beautiful," well,...
  
  Something, as we say in our reserved language, to keep an eye on.


• Representation theory -- which I attend because my advisor is teaching it and it seemed like the politic thing to do. I think by the end I may be believing that "to impress this person" is one of the classically idiotic reasons to do something. Or some reflection along these lines (append some caveats and provisos). It is not yet clear where we are going with this theory so I'll soldier on for now, especially since my resolve to stay with the class in the previous bullet point means I won't be able to attend the "introduction to algebra" class further.
  
  The trouble is that it feels like everyone else in the room is there because they're Really Serious about representation theory, whereas I'm halfway there on a lark, not a total lark, I like it fine, but it's pretty far from being a career interest of mine. It's a pervasive feeling, though.


• Discrete math -- seems like a lot of fun, as discrete math often is. Rapid-fire graph theory. In the afternoon but not late enough that I can take a nap after the morning classes.

That's about where it lies. I bought some books online (what a miraculous form of commerce), and picked up a little something else, too -- Verdi's Rigoletto, and, under the hypothesis that the neighbours don't like Verdi like I like Verdi, some headphones. Not "extremely good" ones but not disposable, either. Seems like pretty good sound, right down to the singers' steps on the stage and the coughs in the audience.

Got to keep entertained here, you know.

I'm sitting here, kind of in disbelief, because it seems like Topalov may manage not to win after all. Such a sad story. Sitting partly entranced by what is happening and partly because Blogger is undergoing maintenance, preventing me from submitting this for the moment. Fortunately, I still don't know what's going on in Morozevich's game. Yet mysteries of the universe. ("--try to solve them, but can you? -- nope; they're mysteries.")

Intermezzo

Weekdays they serve continental breakfast down at the dining hall: cereals, bagels, bread, last night's dessert (?!), from time to time a piece of fruit -- grapefruit or melons or something. It's far from fancy but I appreciate their consideration. It's a minor disappointment that they don't continue on weekends, leaving their students to forage. I am no good at foraging. I'm not even allowed to install a refrigerator here.

On the credit slate, it removes all compulsion to awake and arise by a specified hour, say, in time for half past nine, (when they stop serving breakfast). So the day can grow organically, like a malformed metaphor, without the spark of internal combustion polluting the pond, nor the lure of activity descending below the surface to catch an unwary fish or snag a plant reaching too high.

This morning I watch chess online ("European Club Championship," very exciting). Later I read books. Yesterday I went to the library in the vain hope of finding something I might potentially possibly be able to decipher on the subject of Galois representations. I was thwarted in this hope. Perhaps what I was looking for does not exist. All I know is I'd have had a better time of it if they'd bothered to put the math card catalogue in the math library, say where they currently keep the biology card catalogue. So I'm stuck with my current books. I got the compilation of Feynman's letters. Feels a little voyeuristic when he's writing to his wife and fifty pages of "congratulations on winning the Nobel" was slightly too many. But it makes something of a contrast to, say, Napoleon's memoirs.

By Tuesday there should be more work to keep my attention. A pretty pace they'll (I'll) have to make to make it worthwhile by December. Meanwhile: still sleepy, not quite prospering, just -- languid Saturday....

Lectures: "bounded in a nutshell"

Sunday brunch included salmon. Smoked.

Classes at the math department, I am told, traditionally start a little later than usual. At today's class the instructor told us that he would be away at a conference next week, so there wouldn't be any lectures, but this was just as well, since we started early.

Yesterday I attended one class, so-called "Introduction to Analysis." They call it "introduction" but keep in mind that it is no such thing. Evidence of this arises from a member of the faculty mentioning that they would not be covering Lebesgue integration and other "boring stuff" like that. Anyway, this class meets once a week for a 2.5 hour lecture (?!) plus potentially a seminar for the students. The instructor began by telling us that he would not be writing anything on the board today, "for a superficial reason," he explained, "namely that I cannot raise my right arm." Consequently after fifteen minutes or so he left. Commence students agog wondering mock agawk: "So, what is wrong with your left arm?" and "Can't you dictate it to one of the students to write?"

The real shame was that this meant there was really no reason not to have gone to the other lecture I was interested in, on finite simple groups, which would have overlapped in the last half hour. "I wonder what it's about? Presumably he's not going to prove the classification." -- every single person I've discussed this with has made this joke. Yes, it was the first thing I thought of, too. For the normal people among readers, the classification of finite simple groups is touted as one of the most remarkable intellectual achievements of man by Those In The Know and is currently spread out across some fifteen thousand pages of articles in mathematical journals, written by about four hundred authors. (Highlights include the Feit-Thompson theorem, "every odd-order group is solvable" (255 pages), and the Thompson theorem, "if every subgroup of G generated by two elements is solvable then G is solvable" (475 pages), not to mention the discovery of the Monster "sporadic" simple group, with about 8 * 10⁵⁴ [if I counted right] elements in it.)

This morning, as I mentioned, there was another class, an introduction to algebraic geometry. (It is actually just called "Introduction to Algebra," keeping in line with their spectacularly mistaken nomenclature.) I don't know if I will be continuing to attend these lectures since there are one or two other classes at overlapping time slots which look very interesting. One of these is the one recommended to me (described in the previous post, below) and another is a class on representation theory being taught by my first-year advisor. I haven't actually seen him (he's on vacation at the moment) but conceivably this might be a prudent thing to look into. Anyway, this algebra class went fine, until the very end, when he tried to squeeze in a proof of the Nullstellensatz (a fundamental theorem of algebraic geometry) and stated and proved a lemma which is obviously false. That was somewhat confusing.

Afterward I was wondering what to do. Since I hadn't slept very well (a partial consequence of some racket outside at six o'clock and then continuing interruptions as people wake up and open their doors which then close by themselves with an apocalyptic thud) I was hardly in a mood to sit down and read my textbook (still Šafarevic). I was pacing aimlessly outside when I ran into a colleague and his wife, who very kindly suggested that if I was going for a walk then I should borrow their umbrella since it seemed about to rain. For my part I didn't think it would rain (it was cloudly overhead, but that means nothing in a land without mountains, and it was moist in the air, but it's been stultifyingly humid ever since I got here) so I thanked them and begged off.

But I still thought I should take a walk, and thought maybe they were right and it would rain, so I returned home to pick up my umbrella. (It's about 15 minutes or less between Fine Hall and the Graduate College, depending on the vigor of your pace and the efficiency of your path.) I arrived without incident and was making my way back when I thought that while I was here I should refresh myself and bring to mind an actual proof of the Nullstellensatz. So I returned and did so. Having satisfied my curiosity, I stood, collected my umbrella again, and left.

An instant before that apocalyptic thud I realised I, my thoughts still among the corners of affine spaces, had left my keys on my desk when I was looking through my algebra text.

After some fierce self-flagellation, I took my amateur medieval monk self over to beg the appropriate authorities resolve my predicament. This they promptly did, according to their schedule, anyway, which scaled to about two hours of Me Time, which I spent pacing up and down the halls. This created a burning in my legs which took my mind off my burning shame. I think it may have had a different effect on the few neighbours still in their rooms at the time.

Having cursed life, death, creation, and locksmiths everywhere, I once again set off to Fine Hall. For one thing, I had left my bag there. For another, there was afternoon tea which I hadn't quite missed yet. This tea (and cookie, Oreo brand) was adequate and took my mind off my troubles a little.

By this time, of course -- "Look, Sulu, it's a miracle." The sun came out.

I hope they have more salmon this week.

Cherubim: "a mountain range out of ever more sacred mountains"

Somehow I've gotten out of the habit of writing my chronicles. I think the angst went out of my existence when my boxes arrived, safely.

I should have taken a picture of them to go with a little elaboration on this last. The contents arrived safely, seemingly without any wear or tear. A few shirts had a few more wrinkles, and one or two books the same, but otherwise everything was intact. My ceramic and grass knicknacks might as well have been riding on cushions of state. The very boxes themselves, however, were in quite rough shape. I had hoped to reuse them in the coming summer (whether I have to store things or just move them to a new domicile on campus) but a substantial fraction of them will not see service again without liberal applications of duct tape; in fact would not have made it with their contents whole without liberal applications of duct tape. For all the bitterly bilious thoughts I've thought at them over the past two weeks, in the end the courier concern came through.

The delivery itself went smoother than planned. They were just plunked without ceremony outside the mail room. I got them from there. Since the mail room was closed that hour, I in fact have not yet signed for my boxes. This would trouble me if not for the "all's well" observation that cools the worry wort living in my heart. It was a bit of a walk. I tried to carry them two at a time, on the hypothesis that it would take forever otherwise and after all when packing them I tried to dilute the book boxes with lighter (less dense) articles. Thus I was never actually carrying three cubic feet of books. (I think my brother just shuddered. My cheeks are forming a grimace just thinking of it.) This was Monday night. I was feeling a little beat up.

Fortunately, another hobgoblin of these pages, Dining Services, finally did something in effort to make themselves merely goblins, namely, open the dining hall for dinner. One or two people have referred to said hall as a cafeteria. I made what must have seemed a pretentious correction. One day soon I will take a camera down with me and show you why 'cafeteria' is too unbecoming for, say, the huge stained glass window dominating the room. It depicts the Seven Liberal Arts (no correspondence to deadly sins to my knowledge) and has a Latin motto inscribed underneath. While we're on the subject, the food is fine. I sense a certain limit to the variety, and they have some rather uninspired dishes floating around. However so far they have had at least one stand-out each day; for example, yesterday's flounder Florentine. I know some of you were worrying about this, or maybe maligning the name of Princeton. (Tiger!-siss-boom-ahh! -- skyrocket cheer -- yes it does; sound it out.) Some more of you possibly feel chagrin that you weren't worrying. This is all right. I worry about myself and you so that you don't have to worry about me, although since I am unreliable you should continue to worry over yourselves as you see fit.

But, we have to go back in time a little bit to pick our story. When we last left our protagonist he was about to embark to a rite of becoming, the Math Department orientation lunch. This trial turned out to be somewhat less a firey Polynesian odyssey than a repetition of many things I already knew. (This seems to characterise every "orientation" I've been to this week, which constitutes, if you haven't been counting, a substantial sample size.) I did see Andrew Wiles. I didn't embarrass myself too badly, else he would have remembered me, and he didn't. Not surprising: I was at the very opposite end of a very long table, with multiple other students leaning forward to look down at his end, thereby obliterating my view.

You may rightly wonder how I know he didn't recall. You can ponder this mystery of the universe while I segue to -- pictures! ... of some buildings. From the top of Fine Hall, the forbidden Professors' Lounge. You need a key to make the elevator go to this floor.

	We begin our tour with the view south-south-east. I know this because I know in which direction the sun moves during the day. Guildenstern would be proud. (Or maybe Rosencrantz.) The large colloseum-like thing on the left is an actual stadium. Otherwise unremarkable. As always, click through for a bigger view.
	Here is an actual sporting field. (It is a jock school, or so I've heard. uhh, tiger-siss-boom-ahh?) The trees are entirely characteristic: you can see them in every direction. It seems that we are in the midst of a clearing in the forest. The railing here runs along the outside of the suite, but these pictures were taken from behind glass -- it was not possible to get outside. It seems there is some concern about depressed mathematicians. I appreciate their consideration. Or perhaps it's just very windy on the twelfth floor.
	The view west. The buildings directly in front are labs (not sure what kind). The double row of trees overlooks a very efficient Graduate College-Fine Hall walk path which I found using the aid of a backward searching algorithm. In the distance you can see Cleveland Tower, where the Graduate College is. (By the way, it turns out it's named after Grover Cleveland, former American President, and was paid for by donations. You can go up to the top of it, too, if you borrow a key to get in.) The thing to notice here is how much smaller this mighty vallation is than the math building.
	The building on the left is Frist Campus Center. It's a nice building in its own right. If it looks "not too small" by comparison, keep in mind it's sitting on a sizeable hill. I know the size of the department's endowment isn't everything, but it's especially delicious when you remember that --
	-- Princeton is a jock school. This behemoth is Princeton Stadium. Yes, directly east of Fine Hall. All it's missing are some pendants, eagles, and an Imperial box.
	This has nothing to do with the previous series. It's the exterior of Alexander Hall, where Tuesday morning's orientation was held. The inside, Richardson Auditorium, is quite striking, but unfortunately my batteries died. That's why this doesn't constitute a separate series. However, since I will doubtless be back here (they have myriad performances throughout the year) we will just have to be patient.

This brings us to Tuesday night in our story and the resolution of a cliffhanger. This was the Math Department reception, a key opportunity to schmooze and eat more cheese than I'll see for the next three months. Since my boxes had arrived I even had something to wear. Things were looking up.

Unfortunately, the flaw so difficult to avoid I feel with respect to it almost fatalistic emerged. This party was far too crowded, being confined to two and a half rooms, not small rooms, but not with few guests, either -- all the faculty, graduate students, some graduate school officials, and associated hangers-on were invited. Consequently it was hot, noisy, and without room to maneuver: my bête noire. I made a valiant try to keep up but somewhere in the second hour my strength started to sap, revitalised only by such nuances as the John F. Nash, Jr. being less than a metre away from time to time.

There was a quite accidental happy ending, whereby a lady who I presume is Andrew Wiles' wife notices me sitting on a couch in the hall as they're leaving and asks if I'm all right. I can think of better ways to get introduced, but considering I fobbed the ball all evening long, I'll take what I can get. Anyway, I spoke with them for a few seconds. Very pleasant people. He is quite soft-spoken but confident. When asked after my interests (the fourth question everyone asks, behind (1) what program; (2) what year; (3) where from) he even suggested a course I should look into this term. If I understood him correctly, he meant something entitled The Langlands Correspondence in the Bad Characteristic. I have no reason to believe that I misheard him other than the obvious -- that title is all the more intimidating to me than to you because I "know of" the Langlands correspondence.

That, by the way, is due to Robert Langlands, member of the Institute for Advanced Study, proponent of the system of conjectures called the Langlands program, and, incidently, formerly of Vancouver.

Suddenly I'm thinking of going to bed. Certainly I've left out some things which I will get to anon. (Somehow this story ended two days ago?!) But I should explain that skyrocket thing before you think I'm just batty. (Batty-plus-something-else, now --) Here's the exegesis, lifted shamelessly from this page on Princeton iconography.

This Princeton cherub is calling out the Princeton skyrocket cheer, which was adapted from the cheer of the New York City’s Seventh Regiment in the Civil War. As those troops traveled through Princeton on their way to Washington in 1861, they captivated the College’s students with their cheer, which was supposed to imitate the sound of fireworks: “sis,” the rocket zoomed into the sky; “boom,” the explosion; and “ah,” the crowd expressed its pleasure for the resulting light show. “Tiger” was a frequently used word in cheers of that era and soon caught hold at Princeton College, where athletic teams often wore orange and black. By the 1890s, the skyrocket cheer was transformed into the “locomotive,” a chant whose word repetition and increasing speed emulated the sound of a train pulling out from a station: “Rah, rah, rah; tiger, tiger, tiger; sis, sis, sis; boom, boom, boom; ah!” [followed by three shouts of “Princeton!” or class numerals]. The unknown artist of this 1909 postcard incorporated Princeton iconography with more generic, spirit-evoking images of the day—cherubim and football.

It almost makes me want to go to one of these sporting occasions, just to see if it's real. And then leave promptly, of course. Especially if it's basketball. I don't know if they play baseball here.

Transition: "to flicker like small flames on high masts"

If I keep making updates in the comments below, we'll always have a megabyte plus of pictures sitting on the front page. So I'll start up here, even though like every day this week it's a story of gradual evolution of circumstance.

When last I left you there was one more day of the "international student orientation." This time around I learned fascinating things like how America uses "Western medicine," that Americans are individualistic and friendly but that this should not be taken to mean they are superficial, and that there is no socialism here. I feel nervous. In Canada, when I have to comply with the perverse and draconian dictates of a foreign dictat and submit myself to an immunity titer I just show up with my CareCard and am out of pocket absolutely nothing. Here I tremble thinking what it might cost just to talk to someone who can tell me what the same might cost. I think I join all my expatriot fellows and European brethren in asking America to, as quickly as possible, get itself a real health care system. If you are uncertain how to pay for it, perhaps consider not building as many aircraft carriers. I doubt that will quite do it but then you'll also build slightly fewer aircraft.

Anyway, I'm glad that part is done. It left me feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Perhaps as Richard remarks in time I might come to feel more "international." On the other hand, just today I was speaking to a new colleague (first-year math grad), bemoaning and bewailing as usual the state of my boxes, when he remarked this was strange, since Canada is such a close neighbour (or something to this effect). I think that I do not actually want to feel "international." I want to feel "North American," or barring that "European" (if they'll have me). Somehow I feel strongly, as an old Italian restauranteur remarked, that "peoples is peoples."

As you may recall, by virtue of living in this place, the Graduate College, I am compelled to buy into their meal plan. Considering this, and the extortionist nature of their racket being reflected in their fees, I would have expected a little more courtesy on their part; for example, that they would actually supply meals during certain holidays, or, say, from the time that I actually arrive here. Beginning yesterday they have started to do something about this: Friday and today they held barbeques on the south lawn. This was pleasant -- where I met the aforementioned new colleague (more than one, actually). (So for the first time in a week or so I've spent a few hours chatting, a pleasant change.) Tomorrow they offer a "soup and bagel" brunch. I hope I'm not inconveniencing them too much. There's nothing we Canadians hate more than to feel like an inconvenience.

Speaking of which, there was a suggestion that the space crunch I referred to (too many students, not enough desks) may not actually amount to anything because some students wouldn't want to use that space. This was not something that came to my mind. I learned the trade from Richard Anstee, who would make certain to stop by and chat a while with some frequency. (How are you today? What's this you're working on? -- no, no, don't read that; it's all wrong; I just didn't get around to erasing it from the blackboard--) So maybe some will be recluses. Math department orientation is Monday. We'll know more about lots of things then.

I'm sure I'll have a lot then. In the meantime I don't even have any new pictures. I haven't visited any new exotic locations. I was going to snap a few of the desk I claimed and its environs but frankly the place looks a little Dickensian and I wanted to put some space between it and the pre-Victorian pictures below. (Got to watch out for the anachronisms.)

We'll call it full there for now. It seems that irrespective of what's happening outside and about I can manage to talk it up. I was feeling a little sluggish this week but better now, a little isolated but now relaxing, feeling more menschlich, less allzumenschlich. Thanks to everyone who wrote. See you anon.

Arrival: "as much like Oxford as monkeys could make it"

Pictures, pictures! He held the camera in his hand and felt a giddy rush. Let me chronicle the world, he said. Later he sorted through them.

Here's my journey, up to now. Click images for a slightly larger view. (I took them all at 22xx by 17xx but obviously I'm not hosting something like that.)

I wonder if they cap my bandwidth each month, or just get angry if I use too much. Judging from the sustained 1 megabyte per second transfer I got downloading a patch earlier today, though, they're not in much of a position to carp.

There seems to be a high gap of white-space between here and the start of the table. Someone give me a clue? HTML and me, huh --

[Postscript. Some small edits Monday morning. I feel particular shame over my inability to reason spatially in a certain skew shot near the top.]

patience on the runway
	On the second flight of the day, Toronto to Newark, I had a window seat. In fact, an emergency window seat. The flight attendent quite earnestly asked me if this was all right. "As long as it's not used," I quipped. Here we're waiting on the tarmac. Later he explained how to remove the window. As it turns out, it was not used.
ascending to the heavens
	Take-off is pretty exciting when you're there, somewhat less so when you're not. Obviously, the anticipation and the power of the engine and the floor not being down anymore are integral to the experience. I guess this captures that last a little bit. Anyway, Toronto looks like a nice place from the air. If only its citizens didn't have that infernal gall of theirs. Vancouverites know better: their city is best, or maybe would be if Zurich vanished.
suspended o'ertop
	And here's proof. Take a look at that. No mountains in sight! They've got some water, sure, (it's not really near an ocean,) but where are the mountains? Without them, those dangling clouds are cute, not an antediluvian menace.
modern world at a glance
	My worldly American neighbours might find this charmingly rustic, provincial, even parochial. Just like the lady at the shuttle bus company who asked for my phone number (to look for it in the database: still trying to find my reservation at this stage) and, upon receipt, said with fatigue bordering on contempt: "Area code..."
not upside down
	I took a lot of clouds pics, more or less under the hope that one or two might turn out all right, interesting, etc. A few did the former but the clouds that day just weren't so exotic or photogenic. This is the fluffiest of the bunch. As you can see, its chief redeeming feature is the novelty that it looks like it's upside-down, taken at sea, but it's not. The clouds are below us, ho-ho.
clouds swim among clouds
	I'm on top of the world, looking down on Creation, bum bum, bum,...
not actually inside Miniluv
	Just after putting my bags inside, I snapped this shot of the sterile-looking hallway. There is one more pair of doors behind me, making ten in all. (Those keeping track will realise I mistakenly put myself "third from the back" previously. Shucks.) Fortunately, at this stage my large suitcase was propping the door open, preventing me from, say, accidentally locking myself out.
evidence those stains are not my fault
	It's slightly fuzzy, and the colours aren't totally right, but we work with the single shot we snapped before moving in. (I'm not taking another one and revealing to the world that even without any of my boxes I can still suffer the shame of an untidy room.) Still, the calm, cozy feel is apt. Careful examination will reveal that there are two chairs, not one, and pretty comfortable ones, at that. The closet and drawers are on the right, blocked by what looks like the door, still propped open by my luggage. All in all, much better than I had feared. Shortly afterward I tried to relax. Rather thirsty from the long trips through a sun-drenched world, I stepped out to fill my mug from the washroom sink. My luggage was no longer adjacent to the door.
idyllic Elysium
	Go down the humourless hallway, through the menacing firedoor, into the atrium, and look left. This is the pleasant slice of pastoral New Jersey that you will see. I went on a walkabout today [Sunday -- this entry posted early Monday morning], snapping photos as I went. It was very bright out, very summer-like.
brick and mortar, arch and lamp-post
	Not quite like the buildings back home. This is still on the grounds of the Graduate College. The architecture is entirely typical of more-than-every-other building on campus. I'm sure in a few months I will be quite oblivious to it, so a few shots to send Back Home are in order.
Tower of Babel Cleveland
	Jutting up to heaven, Cleveland Tower looks o'er the Graduate College. I assume there was a person named Cleveland, who possibly donated some money. Most of the buildings around here have plaques ready to inform us of the buildings' history. No doubt a cursory examination would have revealed the sordid story of this bright tower, but I had an agenda. Today I wanted to find a first-approximation of an efficient route to the math building, Fine Hall.
archaic meets modern among architects
	More or less, I planned to just "walk over there," taking what few turns I might need to. Alas, it did not turn out that way. Here I get distracted by an anachronistic juxtaposition.
just pleasantly archaic
	After just a couple of left/right decisions, I was getting onto the wrong track. My path-finding algorithm didn't seem to be so good. This makes concrete some of the jokes I was telling just yesterday: "Ah-ha! A solution does exist!" ("but it runs in n2 factorial time!" -- true story from commutative algebra. -- or something like that; I just remember hearing it from Zinovy Reichstein.) Anyway, I amused myself by taking some pictures along the way. This made me feel slightly more productive. However, given the sun I would have traded it for actual productivity.
more detour
	A slightly more-grand-than-typical building. I like the turrets. If I had turned right 'round about here, I would have been peachy. But I decided to circle back and try a different path after consulting with my map.
same detour
	But why would you do that, I hear you asking. After all, it's counter to the algorithm. The first reason is that there is a solid black line of a building where I thought I was on the map. The second reason is carefully hidden in this shot of yet another building I thought looked nice, the rube I am.
malformed, wicked lion-beaver-things, defend us!
	Here's detail on the guardian figures by the road of the shot above. I have no idea what those things are, but I'll just call them lions, because they don't look much like tigers. They don't look so much like lions from this angle, either. I think I just called them lions because I'm accustomed to seeing statues of lions. They're certainly not hoary marmots. Note, while we're here, the forbidding DO NOT ENTER (on pain of horrific things, they evidently didn't have enough space to elaborate) sign.
flying beasts, defend us!
	By this time I was keeping an eye out for that old standby, the gargoyle. It didn't take twenty seconds to find this example. I think it's some sort of lizard-snake-dragon-thing.
more ostentation
	This is one entrance to the Frist Campus Center (yes, that Frist), where apparently all the happening things happen, like the chess club. At this stage I knew again where I was -- this building is quite close to Fine Hall.
a fine hall
	At last, that veritable holy place. It's a huge building. I didn't take any shots from high-atop, on the theory that I had to save something for later. I was also rather hungry and wanted to get home. Consequently after collecting my snippets of mail from the box here I made my way to a small Greek diner I had noted from the Guide to Everything I received when I checked in. (It is aptly named.) I also found a helpful list of incoming graduate students. Apparently there are fifteen of us. Long-time readers will realise that this ameliorated a potentially awkward situation that had been on my mind.
en avante, lion-things
	On the way back, I found a quite acceptable route, very direct, west across campus, although not quite at the north/south level I'd want. It was not until I passed through these curious-looking statues that I realised I had very nearly been here before. The fools! Their sign was wrong!
sweet home again
	Finally, I returned home. All told I was out for a little more than 1.5 hours. It felt like a little longer than that. I'm still not quite on their time. Today otherwise I've been reading and resting. I took a brief nap, more or less by accident, which was probably not a good idea; but it did leave me alert enough to hammer out this update. It is now past midnight, Eastern. I'll have to change Sun-Drunken time to that of the East coast. I confess I'm still mentally subtracting three every time I look at a clock, even though they're all Eastern, but there was a time this afternoon when I took my watch at face value. The assimilation proceeds.

Toward the Rising Sun: "adieu, adieu, remember me"

Dear friends,

It is about that time. Shortly the music will stop playing and the light will surrender as night descends on Vancouver for the last time. (For me.) The next time you hear from me I'll have been eastward-bound.

Early tomorrow, about 6 o'clock, we'll be leaving here for the airport. Putter around for a while until the 8 o'clock flight. If the headwinds are all right and the organisation proficient I'll be in Toronto in under 4.5 hours. There's a too-brief stop here, a little more than an hour and a half, to get my way to the next terminal and through customs (and get myself that F visa). Then another flight, under 1.5 hours, to Newark airport. I have a ticket for a bus to Princeton which will be leaving at 8:15 (Eastern), somewhat after I arrive, so there's a bit of room here.

Then a little over an hour to Princeton, call it a twenty-five minute walk to the Graduate College complex where I'll be living -- it is not actually that long but I will have two rather heavy bags with me -- and a few minutes longer -- navigate the complex, trudge up the stairs -- those first timid steps into the hallway I'll come to know very well -- and there, on the left, third from the back: Room 2716, my 11 by 10 dwelling. Key in door. Opens. Musty air escapes. There's no light streaming through the window. I scan for a light switch -- there. The incandescent bulb lights again, but it's still dark-like, it's not the soft and familiar glow of the bulb behind and above my head right now, halo-like. Still, there's a bed; and I'll hobble to it, leaving my bags on the ground, and sit down. Take stock. The mattress is slightly too hard. I'm slightly hungry. It's not quite home. But that's all right: it will be. So I open the larger suitcase -- where are my pillows? -- that chair looks uncomfortable, and I have some work to do. The music starts playing again, an ancient baroque canon I sometimes listened to in the dark.

I bet it won't take half an hour to get the internet connection up.

I'll see you on the other side. Good night, everyone. Triumphant dreams.

Impatience: "nothing is beautiful but man alone"

Listening, as I sometimes do, to my favourite thing in the world, my disc of excerpts from Bach's Art of Fugue performed by Glenn Gould (piano and organ), I was struck by the desire to stop waiting. There's a thing whose time has come. I want to be in Princeton and I want to have my speakers back. If there's anything as silly as an extended farewell, it's listening to the unfinished contrapunctus through laptop speakers.

Funny how the oddest things can make conflicts pass to the conscious mind. Every now and then I need someone to tell me: "You've lost perspective!" These things happen. It's not hard to enumerate some reasons why: Bacchanalia, denial, tree/forest distinction, absurd justice, allzumenschlich syndrome, clawlessness, whatever. Make your own list. Don't feel compelled to share it, except with yourself.

It's very late to me now, since I didn't sleep very well at all last night. I don't expect to sleep so well tonight, either, or tomorrow. I think I will try to eat as little as possible, too. That might make it easier on me.

Judging, by the by, by the stunned silence, I believe there was remarkably little interest in the byline on 37. This is OK with me. I think it is healthy to write, every now and then, on something no one cares about, so long as it is not a pathetic indulgence (see above list). It shows some independence, fortitude. Gut. So, in which category does the rest fall?