Northeast to Southwest

During my time as a Cantabrigian, I took some care to try to explore the northeast nook of the country.  Most of this exploration was restricted to the sunny (and not-quite-so-scholarly) months of the summer.  Lots of trips to NYC (short bus ride away), one brief venture to Montreal for the jazz festival, some trips to the White Mountains (among other mountains) in New Hampshire, a bit of time on island with the flora and fauna of Martha's Vineyard, skiing in Maine and Vermont, and even a short journey to Provincetown on the tip of the Cape (grâce à my old adviser).

One thing that slowly dawned on me after a few weeks living in San Diego is that there are such mini-adventures to be had around here as well, if not so densely packed in as in the Northeast.  The first evidence of this was provided by the camping adventure of a few weeks ago, and over the past week I have had quite a bit of additional evidence.

First, a visit to the city of angels (a first for me) because friends from the East Coast were around.  Only a couple of parts (the downtown area, mostly, and a bit of Koreatown, where I stayed) did I really explore, so I'm excited to go back and delve in sometime soon.  The best part was decidedly renting bikes to go down from Santa Monica to Venice Beach (not the last Venice I'd experience in the week).  Absolutely lovely... See picture above, down a teensy little crook of a pathway between lots of houses over-flowing with plants (in the good way).  Somehow I never feel as though the beaches of SD are that available to me, when I really should be making more of them.  Biking around the area's a bit difficult (maybe easier once I bring back Yoshi?) and I hate the idea of driving to the beach -- for some reason it just seems worse than driving other places.  As if the beach is this totally amazing natural phenomenon that I'm lucky enough to live near and then... I have to drive there.  I may crack eventually and decide to move far away enough to live by the beach peaceably, but then I'd have to drive to school...  File under overprivileged guilt, or something.  And just guilt at luckiness.  It really is beautiful here.

A second recent southwest meandering led me to Vegas. V. (former roommate V., not current classmate V.) flew into L.A. the last day I was there, and after a couple of days in San Diego, we headed out for Thanksgiving in Las Vegas.  A weirder Thanksgiving did never I spend.  I've been describing the trip as a great Vegas-y trip (total experience without getting too nuts) but a not-so-great Thanksgiving-y trip (buffet at the Rio had some great stuffing but sheesh, so not the same).  However: It was indeed a fabulous first go at Vegas, and I came away with some first-timer tips:

1. First and foremost: find your place in the gambling sun.  For some, this might involve the sexy cabaret dancers at Paris; for others, the casino next to the amazingly re-created northern Italy setting at the Venetian; and for still others, the sophistication of Caesar's palace.  But when we saw our place, we knew it: Bill's Gamblin' Hall.  After a few minutes at the roulette table we were SURE we had found it -- not only did V.'s $1 bet on black 31 pay off (40 to 1 odds!) immediately, but we were also lucky enough to find a place with karaoke until 2 in the morning our first night there.

2. Leave the table once you quit doing well.  A lucky streak is a beautiful thing; once you feel like you're leaning away from that local maxima, go to a new table (or cash out).

3. Go to at least one truly Vegas show.  We may have hated ourselves a bit for it, but a woman sporting 10 hula hoops at once and a lover/roller-skater duo topped with a juggling pianist isn't a scene to be had just anywhere.

4. Don't pay for any drinks.  There will be plenty of free ones.

5. But don't get too drunk.  And if you do, go home.

A ukulele, an Oedipus complex, and a pomegranate

So play your favorite Beatles song

And make the subway fall in love

They're only $19.95, that isn't lots of money

Play until the sun comes up

And play until your fingers suffer

Play LCD Soundsystem songs on your ukulele

Quit the bitching on your blog

And stop pretending art is hard

Just limit yourself to three chords

And do not practice daily

Better words were rarely spoken.  And thus came into existence my desire to own a bright green ukulele (in bright green case!) shown above.  Apparently Amanda Palmer is not the only one to have written a song about the ukulele -- Stephin Merritt is also excited about ukuleles (me-kuleles?).

There are two primary reasons I decided it was time to own a ukulele.  And two corollaries.

Reason 1: It is simple to play.  Simpler than the guitar, which I would like to play soon.
Corollary 1.1: I found out it only takes 3 chords to play "Absolutely Cuckoo," one of my favorite Magnetic Fields' 69 Love Songs, and that's amazing.
Corollary 1.2: One of the reasons that I want to learn to play guitar is that I once wrote a song (in a moment of doom and gloom... mostly gloom) and I want to be able to play.  Somehow the piano just doesn't cut it.

Reason 2: It cost less than $15.
Corollary 2: Amanda Palmer has sanctioned ukuleles BECAUSE they only cost about $15.  Ok, according to her, $19.95 (and in an interview, that's "plus tax"), and also because of Reason 1: seriously, just learn THREE DAMN CHORDS.

Ok, I think that's enough about ukuleles for now.  On to Oedipus complexes.

In our core cognitive science class (that I have referred to before), we discussed the idea of "conceptual blends" this past week.  Related to metaphor, but not quite the same, conceptual blends involve the simultaneous use of two concepts in a single description.  Fictive motion is once example -- for instance, "trees running down the side of the river" blends the concept of a physical line of trees with the concept of an objet moving down the line.

Well, The Gospel at Colonus was a spiritual (in the musical sense, not necessarily the religious sense) retelling of the second play by Sophocles of Oedipus, after his arrival at Colonus post-gouging-out-his-eyes-upon-realizing-he'd-killed-his-dad-and-screwed-his-mum.  Woops.  A preacher simultaneously took on the role of storyteller and enacter, quoting "verses" which ended up being lines from the drama about Oedipus.  It was a blend of a church service, complete with (amazing!) gospel choruses and bible readings, and of the drama of Oedipus, where Oedipus at times became a Jesus figure, nearly seeming to wander the desert, and his daughters become virgin-Mary-like figures.

It was a play I saw with a friend at the San Diego Continuing Education Educational Cultural Complex (which was a fantastic space!) put on by the Ira Aldridge Repertory Players -- a friend of his was acting in the show, and did a stand-up job.  What was so cool was that there were many San Diego groups involved -- a jazz band, a men's quartet, a gospel chorus, individual soloists and actors... very impressive.

Item #3, the pomegranate, probably sounds the lamest but I'd claim stands an equal ground with fantastic local shows and acquisition of new instruments.  Here is a top-ten-type list of Things Noticed Whilst Eating A Pomegranate.

1. Pomegranates are Active Fruits. (You have to work to eat them!)
2. Plants and animals share some really strange apparently homologous features. (The thin layers of "skin" between seeds in a pomegranate truly _must_ echo the epithelial layers of animals, RIGHT?)
3. Corn kernels and pomegranate seeds are SO SIMILAR.  (Seriously... they are pretty much exactly the same size and very nearly the same consistency.)
4. Pomegranates are neighborly fruits. (I say this because I was invited to share a pomegranate, presumably because eating one is so much damn work that you want a companion in the process.)
5. Pomegranates are SO DIFFERENT FROM OTHER CITRUS FRUITS. (As I typed this I started thinking, hmm... I really hope pomegranates are _actually_ citrus fruits!)
6. Meat rocks maybe aren't that weird after all. (See this article published this past summer.)

Ok, think that's all I got for now.

Becoming a Californian

Shocking, but the longer I live here in Southern California, the more I'm convinced that I actually live here (and that it's not some elaborate dream I'm involved in or some very serious summer camp that I've decided to undertake as an adult).  More evidence to this conclusion came this week when I finally broke down and made it a priority to procure a legitimate digital piano from the bowels of Craigslist.  In addition the choir I joined as soon as I got here in mid-September performed their concert with full orchestra (C.P.E. Bach's Magnificat -- C.P.E., for short, just like "Ben" for "Benjamin," as our lively director put it).  You can't be owning digital pianos and singing in choirs with full-on orchestras unless you actually live in the damn city.

In further evidence, today involved the acquisition of a whole lotta Californian documentation.  Including (but not limited to) license plates for my car (though they expire before the current plates, grr), registration, a title, and some sad piece of paper that passes for a driver's license (they let me keep my Mass license, though it now has a hole through it, just like my heart).  In good news, I managed to miss exactly six questions on the written driver's test I had to take, which is the maximum number of items you can miss and pass (perfection!).

Ah, yes.  Also in other good news, the probabilistic linguistics class I'm in had a great little bit in the homework assignment that was due today.  In the end I think I misinterpreted part of it, which, if true, actually makes the problem even better.  Essentially we were to compute the power (i.e. the sensitivity to a true difference) for detecting the difference between two datasets pulled from two distributions with true underlying differences in mean and/or variance.  Neat, right!?

In other news, tonight a friend of mine and I bailed on our typical Tuesday-night activity of volleyball (with the world- ... ok, UCSD-famous EARTHPIGS of the cognitive science department) and hiked up (hike = drive in SoCal) to Solana beach to see the Devil Makes Three, one of the only "cool" bands I purport to know anything about, play at a place called BellyUp, which was a great venue (though we nearly got knocked over by some overly zealous-turned-angry moshers).  Band was awesome, as usual -- I saw them (once? twice) at Middle East (pretty sure twice) in Cambridge, which is a tiny venue and really great (typically leads to chatting with the band after, if you are so inclined), and once in Brooklyn back in the days of attempting to escape from Boston to NYC as often as possible (aka my second year of grad school).  Either this crowd was a lot rowdier, or I'm just getting old.

i see a red jeep and i want to paint it black

Since we last spoke, there has been some excitement. Live-band karaoke San Diego-style was finally achieved, a visiting friend procured some pine nuts for me, and a camping trip to the Cleveland National Forest (near beautiful Lake Elsinore) was enjoyed by several cognitive science students.  Here's a picture of just one of the small impacts our camping had on the site:

I would place the primary fault of the lack of more recent blog updates on the sheer number of words I've been writing for the "core" / philosophical foundations of cognitive science course this term.  We read something like 100-300 pp a week (in theory, of course) and I believe have had something like four papers due over the last two weeks (including two within the last two days).  I continue to be pleasantly surprised at how engaged in the material everyone remains -- so unlike previous courses like it that I've taken.  I think this makes my 9th (sheesh) year enrolled in some sort of cognitive science program... you'd think I'd have figured out a little more than I do now.

Other efforts have been driven toward obtaining a digital piano, to no avail.  In theory, another couple of grad students and I are supposed to be forming a small music group.  There has been a trip to the library to investigate the music book situation (yielding thus far a nice "real" "fake" book and a James Taylor anthology (though not THE James Taylor Anthology which I played some stuff out of this past summer)); one effort to actually play music together, which included renditions of songs from Clapton to "Rainbow Connection"; and multiple karaoke ventures, including the live-band version referred to above.  Currently I am becoming obsessed with the Dresden Dolls -- funny that I should do so in southern California and not in Boston.  Some of the piano from their self-titled album reminds me of ... Natalie Merchant I think.  In particular, the driving piano beat from "Gravity" reminds me strongly of that of "Thick of Thieves" -- except it might actually be better accomplished by Amanda Palmer.  Just as I wrote that the thought crossed my mind that women seem to kill on piano in rock music, moreso than men -- and then I remembered Matt and Kim, who I _just_ saw live at House of Blues, where Kim kills on drums (she literally does seem to be trying to kill the drums sometimes, jumping all over them with a can of either Coke or the King of Beers in her back pocket), and Matt is one with the synth / keyboard.

"Invidious, insidious, a pretender, an impostor, a quack"

No, those aren't adjectives describing my perpetual impostor syndrome, nor do those words come from a line from another Dorothy Parker poem -- they are, rather, some words on how a philosopher quoted in a 1993 Psych Review paper on concepts described the notion of similarity.  I tend to disagree -- I am quite happy with considering similarity to be a useful notion in thinking about categories.  When we are trying to overcome a tip-of-the-tongue phenomenon (something that happens to me quite frequently, especially when I've been talking a lot), we often try to "grab" words from our "mental hat" (at least, this is how I've conceptualized it) and sometimes miss and grab ones which are similar in some dimension.  At least this is my anecdotal folk theory... though I'm fairly certain that science partially supports my understanding.  For instance -- maybe I'm trying to remember that the capital of New York is Albany, and I'll be reminded of Anaheim, another "A" city which is not the most striking city in a state with a very striking city (NYC, L.A.).  There's something complicated about how that might all break down, but similarity computation seems to be a parsimonious explanation for at least part of that strange cognitive journey.

There are theories in sentence processing which posit that similarity-based interference between structures sharing features (semantic, syntactic, other?) can cause some problems in sentence processing.  Recently I've been thinking more about how similarity might be _helpful_ for sentence processing.  Maybe in some cases, it might be hard to keep track of things someone's talking about because they're all so similar, but in other cases, it might be great that items in long-term memory are stored in such a way that similar things can interfere -- because those other similar things might just be relevant in the near future.

All of these mumblings are mostly due to the "core" seminar class that first-years here are meant to take.  I happen to find the course really well done.  Somehow it is a seminar course which manages really to function as a seminar course, with each of us taking turns leading the discussion (today it was my turn), and everyone reading papers thoughtfully and responding in kind.  I really like the chance to take overview courses (or T.A. them) as it always reminds me about parts of cognition I rarely think about, and how that relates to questions I'm really interested in.  Now off to think some more about feature relevance, event structure, and specificity -- after of course posting one of the cutest little vignettes I have ever come across in psycholinguistics (taken from Nieuwland and Van Berkum, 2007, and originally in Dutch):

"A woman saw a dancing peanut who had a big smile on his face.  The peanut was singing about a girl he had just met.  And judging from the song, the peanut was totally crazy about her.  The woman thought it was really cute to see the peanut singing and dancing like that.  The peanut was {salted / in love}, and by the sound of it, this was definitely mutual.  He was seeing a little almond."

(Guess which continuation was easier for participants?)

Starting a second hat

I guess the story behind this blog is this:  I wrote one this spring and summer, pseudo-themed, and it was fun.  So in some sense, this blog could be a second hat.  This also coincides with my start in the cognitive science department at UCSD, which could certainly be seen as starting a second hat.

The thought of beginning a more traditional web log, with some sort of theme I'll have to come up with at some point, seems intimidating for a couple of reasons, one being that the timing element becomes more important when you don't cheat and post the whole blog at once after you've written the entire thing; and another being that I had to come up with at least a name for it to start.  With the idea of second chances, it first seemed to me that I might want a "second-this-or-that" sort of name.

First I turned to the snark of Dorothy Parker, and she had a catchy title to offer: "Two-Volume Novel."  Beginning a second PhD program seemed to fit with that... but not so much with the actual content of the poem, which, like the majority of Dorothy Parker's poetry, has to do with ironically unrequited love.

This seemed fairly inappropriate for a blog supposedly devoted to Finishing the Hat -- the title of a book of collected lyrics, along with anecdotes about writing them, written by Stephen Sondheim (the book and they lyrics).  A fellow classmate at MIT gave it to me for Christmas two years ago, and inside scrawled, "Dearest Liss, Go make a hat!" With a bit of inference, the metaphor (apologies; I've been reading Lakoff!) is clear... However, finishing the hat may be the goal, but Sondheim also refers to the process of making the hat within this blog's namesake song from Sunday in the Park with George (which I've actually never seen):

Finishing the hat,
How you have to finish the hat.
How you watch the rest of the world
From a window
While you finish the hat.

...

Dizzy from the height,
Coming from the hat,
Studying the hat,
Entering the world of the hat,
Reaching through the world of the hat
Like a window,
Back to this one from that.

...

Finishing a hat...
Starting on a hat..
Finishing a hat...
Look, I made a hat...
Where there never was a hat

So we'll call this studying the hat, for now.  And we'll let hat be interpreted as it may... from studies to things falling into some category called [other].  And for that I'll leave you with one further Dorothy Parker tidbit:

Faute de Mieux

Travel, trouble, music, art,
A kiss, a frock, a rhyme –
I never said they feed my heart,
But still they pass my time.