late-night kindle addiction

Another day-and-night addiction with Kindle. After Proust's Swann's Way, I dived right into Charles Bukowski's Women––a much easier and straight-forward read than Swann's Way. I feel safe when I am reading on my bed, leaning on a big cushion against the headboard as the clock hit 2 am. I don't have to worry about my body gesture, my dress code, my symbolic behavior. I prefer to read on kindle because it is light-weighted than the actual paperback. It felt much better with a light-weighted reader than a light-headed brain as you went tipsy.

Scanning through rows of words and living vicariously through textual reminiscence is much more reliable and fantastical than dealing with human caprice. Maybe it is the fear of human contact, maybe it is a sign of weakness, maybe it is an indication of character flaws. All I know is that I'd rather spend a saturday night alone on an Asian-colonized library with an e-ink page-turner than going out on Mill Avenue watching young college boys and girls get wasted. For one thing, I feel unrestrained to share the afterthoughts of a (e)-book for reading is a socially sanctioned activity. Unlike carnal activities, reading and writing are vintage skills––they get better and better with more practice and indulgence.

The Cherry Blossom

2008, a German film featuring love, death, and foreign art are the keywords I'd put up for the beautifully presented film "The Cherry Blossom".

Hanami (花見) and Japanese folk arts brought a mourning German man to his recently deceased wife and his (un)timely death. Laid dead by the lake side against the backdrop of snow-capped Mt. Fuji in a female Kimono and courtesan makeup, Rudi returned to the arms of his wife in his final imaginary dance. The background melody––"Little Black Book"–– is captivating. A few simple notes in a serene key correspond nicely with every little body twitch: the turn, the stretch, the drag, the drop. As if time was frozen and reversed by this perfect orchestration, his wife came back from the coffin to join him for the final moment.

The melody stopped. He clenched, and collapsed in her kimono. This is what true love is: transcendental of life and death, outside of space and time, boundless by language and culture, and communicable through arts and hearts. Life is finite, love is infinite.

The Human Experience

I normally don't look up to azcentral.com for their op-ed or reviews, but I am with Lengel on the brief review of "The Human Experience" released three years ago, now on netflix streaming. An attempt to capture the plurality of human experiences in a singular term (we are all human), THE presents a generally upbeat, optimistic meaning-searching documentary. I'd say it's a good film for the chronically depressed but not a sophisticated intellectual examination.

The best thing from watching THE is–get this–Ben Hurlbut's father Dr. William Hurlbut from Stanford Medical Center appeared recurrently in the film. Like father, like son.

A conversation with a co-learner

I came out of a lunch meeting with a fellow doctoral student in our program. I'd say she is one of the very few people (among the few folks in this program) whom I could maybe call friends. She was trying to gather data for her second year project. She asked for my help. My pleasure.

I am not being judgmental. I listened to her project description about how "responsible innovation" is conceived and the personal, social, cultural, psychological factors that contribute to the intricate imageries of "responsibility" and "innovation". She asked me if I can email her my draft for the lab study on the social consensus and categorization of data. It's not that I don't want to share my story with her. But what is the intention? How is it relevant to what she is doing? "Responsible innovation" seems to me more relevant to sociology of institutional management or sociology of business/technology than anthropology of science. Then she said it is to provide a foundational base for her narratives on "responsible innovation". Basically she wants to borrow my (unfinished and unpublished) stuff and get credit without her own hardwork. That's how I interpreted it.

The most horrible thing is that she is not listening. I was trying to be helpful rather than scornful when I suggested that she should read Donna Haraway's "Situated Knowledge" piece as the last part of Haraway's article asserted the theoretical significance of local standpoint in allocation of responsibility. To this she speedily said that time scarcity forbade her reading everything related to the project. That moment I understand Tillman's and Maienschein's admonition on the importance of being earnest and non-defensive. It is clear that she simply does not respect my credibility and contribution. There is no way but to walk away after your sincere contribution was dismissed unreflexively.

Thank you, co-learner. This little role-play exercise sharpens my intellectual and reflexive hone. I should remember not to repeat her mistake of not listening to academic advice (keep your laziness and dyslexia to yourself, how long does it take to read "Situated Knowledge" anyway?). The danger of detachment from scholarship is that ultimately it kills not just your academic competence but what makes you human.

pick a stand

There are times when I regret my aloofness to others. My excessive pride and declaration of independence in confrontations lead to unnecessary deadlock and alienation. I wish I could take my words back if I was given a do-over.

My recent breakup with a friend is NOT one of these moments. A friend of mine in Tempe was furious about my unwillingness to join him for a pre-arranged Chinese new year dinner. So he stopped contacting me and I don't feel obliged to contact him anyway. And there we were, not on the speaking or blinking terms.

Two weeks ago, I seized the opportunity of returning his stuff to write him a letter–not an apologetic letter, more like a greeting card, summarizing our past friendship and wishing him all the best. I was not looking for a reply. Nor was I trying to mend things with him. We did not have anything in common. He was always trying to feed me with his religious sermon or ultra-conservative political views. My view was not respected. It'd be good if I could be a bigger person and accommodate the antagonism. But I am a human being after all. I don't find anything in his friendship worth keeping or saving. Why bother? I may have been rude to him before only because I don't find anything interesting or attractive in what he can offer. Confucius is right in saying "do not attempt to work with people whose way is not your way."

The funny thing is that he ended the reply by hinting that he refused to accompany me in case I wrote the letter because I am lonely. Was I expecting anything in return? I simply feel that it's awkward that we did not even greet each other now. I never thought or wanted things to return to where they were. But it doesn't mean we have to turn into strangers. I thought I was ahead of myself, seems like he is the one who's ahead of himself!

Never stay in a relationship in which you cannot find any commonality. Complementarity and compromise are not the same things. You can compromise your self-absorbedness but not your belief and strength. Pick a stand–even if it means standing alone. I'd rather stand by myself than being shoveled in a crowd of ignorant loudmouth.