"...the one moment in a relationship when it's all over and there's nothing left, and you no longer have that tiny piece of something that makes it work, that quantum of solace..." --Daniel Craig, interview with Jay Leno
I am exercising extraordinary constraint in not speeding down to Metropolis and watching the new Bond movie all by myself, all else be damned. Oh but the anticipation! I remember my excitement when I first learned about the new movie, an excitement which has not been subdued by months of awaiting the release and now two more weeks' self-control. I got through today; I can go another sixteen. ...Damn, I thought it'd be fewer.
But it'll come, oh it'll come. And when it gets here, my patience will be rewarded.
I've always liked the new Bond, but the title of this movie struck me with a special resonance. Craig's Bond is fearless, decisive, and focused, all qualities which I have long lost. But he is after all, just a man, and as such is subject to pain, both corporeal and intangible.
What defines a meaningful relationship? At what point can someone say with certainty that either something is there, or that it has disappeared? Married couples joke that "that magic" is gone; old friends become lovers one day as if "a switch has been flicked somewhere"; those that go their separate ways often cite that, though they love each other, they're not "in" love. Couples fight all the time. They bicker and quarrel over the most trivial things sometimes. They question in which direction their life is going. The more significant disagreements can cause a rupture that may be irreparable. And yet, those relationships that are meant to last always recover from those deadly blows. What is that mysterious element that is so discrete and powerful?
A quantum of solace, that "spark of niceness in a relationship."
Bonds that cannot be broken, ties that are meant to be...all attributed to a single moment in time when a person finds that quantum of solace in the other. Perhaps that is the act of falling in love. It is this element of time and space, of emotions and acts, of memories and hopes, like a shining sigularity at the heart of the universe, holds the relationship together when all the rest start to tumble.
(to be continued...)
Friday, November 14, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Rekindled
It had been some time since I had a serious look in my PHYS305 textbook. I had told myself that that was it, we were through, because I could not put up with any more intellectual abuse. Today I spent a good, solid three hours with it, whereupon all is forgiven, and we're back together again, I with deeper love and appreciation, and it offering more than I was ready to accept three years ago.
Coincidentally, I had been accosted by some Jehovah's witnesses and given a flyer which asked if I would like to know the Truth. I couldn't help but smile: if only the poor old ladies knew what a irreparably degenerate atheist I am and will likely always be! Nonetheless, it made me think.
"Energy, Information, Life." Thus runs the subtitle of my favourite science textbook. What is life, really? Dad and I have had numerous discussions over this topic, and like pretty much all of our conversations, they ended in the mere command "Go to bed, it's late" issued to me, while the commandant himself continued parlance with Mr. Daniels or the Beefeater. Putting aside the scientifically challenging (and rather irrelevant) topics of mind, consciousness, volition, etc., I asked myself what are the physical parameters of life? A standard enough question for a life-science student, but the physics part of it, that order and complexity that appear daunting to mankind, how would we explain that? Must life necessitate a Creator?
The text has an interesting "excursion" (Sec. 1.3) that inspired me like it would have done in days of old, when I was still naive and full of wonder. --That life can be deciphered and reduced to neat physical laws! Is not this far more attractive than Creationism on the organismal level? Imagine a nature that not only put us into being, but did so in such a way that, if we worked hard enough, we can eventually understand the process by which we ourselves came about. Is it not much more awe-inspiring than a genesis rooted in congealing out of the mind of some whimsical and all-powerful being outside of what we can even comprehend as reality? God works in mysterious ways. --But why? Why can't He tell us His rules? What is He afraid of? And why are we incapable of figuring them out? --Or are we not allowed? Principles of nature are freely accessible to us and have enriched our lives considerably during our quest to uncover them. No, I will not accede to supernatural causes.
I looked up from my book and breathed in a good lungful of air, with as much sorrow as pride. I come from a long line of human beings whose fascination lies in uncovering the most intimate aspects of science: the physical laws of life, how the rules that govern inanimate objects from atoms to the universe underscore the highest, possibly most intelligent and complex form of being as we know. It is an ambitious endeavour, one from which I have informally withdrawn due to a foreseeable lack of contributions to the movement. ...Pity. In the fleeting moments of confidence, I want to charge at it again. I wish to wield all my strength and penetrate the forbidding exterior of mathematics and bask in the embracing warmth of a phenomenon explained. But the rigor soon dissipates, and I am left alone again, dejected and confused, wondering how I got to this step and what to integrate next.
Biophysics will always be my first love, the one that filled my heart with an indescribable joy, even as I struggled with where it might lead me and leave me. Though it is no longer an option to spend my life with this particular interest, I allow myself to revisit it from time to time, and to relish in the experience that for a few years, I, too, have delved into the mysteries of life.
Coincidentally, I had been accosted by some Jehovah's witnesses and given a flyer which asked if I would like to know the Truth. I couldn't help but smile: if only the poor old ladies knew what a irreparably degenerate atheist I am and will likely always be! Nonetheless, it made me think.
"Energy, Information, Life." Thus runs the subtitle of my favourite science textbook. What is life, really? Dad and I have had numerous discussions over this topic, and like pretty much all of our conversations, they ended in the mere command "Go to bed, it's late" issued to me, while the commandant himself continued parlance with Mr. Daniels or the Beefeater. Putting aside the scientifically challenging (and rather irrelevant) topics of mind, consciousness, volition, etc., I asked myself what are the physical parameters of life? A standard enough question for a life-science student, but the physics part of it, that order and complexity that appear daunting to mankind, how would we explain that? Must life necessitate a Creator?
The text has an interesting "excursion" (Sec. 1.3) that inspired me like it would have done in days of old, when I was still naive and full of wonder. --That life can be deciphered and reduced to neat physical laws! Is not this far more attractive than Creationism on the organismal level? Imagine a nature that not only put us into being, but did so in such a way that, if we worked hard enough, we can eventually understand the process by which we ourselves came about. Is it not much more awe-inspiring than a genesis rooted in congealing out of the mind of some whimsical and all-powerful being outside of what we can even comprehend as reality? God works in mysterious ways. --But why? Why can't He tell us His rules? What is He afraid of? And why are we incapable of figuring them out? --Or are we not allowed? Principles of nature are freely accessible to us and have enriched our lives considerably during our quest to uncover them. No, I will not accede to supernatural causes.
I looked up from my book and breathed in a good lungful of air, with as much sorrow as pride. I come from a long line of human beings whose fascination lies in uncovering the most intimate aspects of science: the physical laws of life, how the rules that govern inanimate objects from atoms to the universe underscore the highest, possibly most intelligent and complex form of being as we know. It is an ambitious endeavour, one from which I have informally withdrawn due to a foreseeable lack of contributions to the movement. ...Pity. In the fleeting moments of confidence, I want to charge at it again. I wish to wield all my strength and penetrate the forbidding exterior of mathematics and bask in the embracing warmth of a phenomenon explained. But the rigor soon dissipates, and I am left alone again, dejected and confused, wondering how I got to this step and what to integrate next.
Biophysics will always be my first love, the one that filled my heart with an indescribable joy, even as I struggled with where it might lead me and leave me. Though it is no longer an option to spend my life with this particular interest, I allow myself to revisit it from time to time, and to relish in the experience that for a few years, I, too, have delved into the mysteries of life.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Science Fiction
I just watched Star Trek: First Contact again, which brought back so many memories.
Lately I have been complaining of the quality of science fiction on TV. Unfortunately I don't get Space any more, so hard-core sci-fi is out of the picture. But of the much anticipated, general, crime-centred science-fiction shows, such a large portion is simply a waste of airspace.
Take Fringe for example. The premise cannot be more alluring: teleportation, talking to the dead, ... --fringe science, they call it. Has the show delivered its promise? Gee, I wonder if there were some profundity in microwaving a papaya, or keeping a large cow in the lab, or perhaps any one of the pee jokes. If the science is sound, all that would be permissible and filed under quirkiness of the ingenious mind, but sadly, there is very little science at all. No-one seems to know what is going on, and if someone did, they always fail to explain it adequately. The scientist is senile and his logic hops around more erratically than a drunken flea. The son, brilliant and handsome as he is, cannot stop rolling his eyes and dismissing his father's seemingly far-fetched ideas without even honouring them with a proper debunking. Agent Dunham is way too tense and has no sense of humour, not to mention any real grasp of anything scientific. So far the most lovable character is Charlie the FBI agent: at least he doesn't pretend to understand the strange happenings. For all the above reasons, I have stopped watching this show. It's a real pity because it has so much potential, yet so little substance.
What about the Eleventh Hour, featuring a representative of that beloved and awe-inspiring profession--biophysicist--oh right, and yet another FBI agent. ...Why is the FBI always involved in these things? Granted, Jacob Hood is a charming fellow (--there, see what's wrong already?) but how is he anything even close to a biophysicist? Are young people supposed to get the impression that biophysicists are often under the protection of a stunningly beautiful though trigger-happy blond FBI agent, and that the job itself involves knowing all kinds of obscure facts? It bothers me even more that the science is sometimes so far off course that I can't even take the show seriously. The last episode, which sparked tonight's rant, actually showed smallpox viruses under a compound light microscope in the same field as several red blood cells just for the sake of showing size comparison--that they're similar, except the virus looks cubical and yellow. --Are the writers out of their poorly educated minds? The diameter of smallpox viruses is on the scale of a tenth of a micron, whereas that of an RBC is around ten--that's a hundred-fold difference! You'd be lucky to even spot a shadow of it under the light microscope, not to mention that most microscopes don't show specimens in colour and certainly not that glossy 3-D computer-generated effect. It's not hard at all to find an existing image of a pox virus, so I can only assume that the show's producers were too lazy to look. And the maudlin conversations on the burden of being a scientist--just spare me! They overestimate the importance of the scientist! The weight of the world on their shoulders? They'd have to share that with the principal investigator, the collaborators, and all the graduate and (if they're kind enough) undergraduate student-drones in their labs--that is, IF they can get the funding to start with! But I digress. Don't believe everything you see on TV, kids: biophysics isn't that exciting at all.
These two failed shows bring me back to the point that the era of great science fiction is behind us. Imagination and educated creativity have given way to the glamour of computer-generated graphics and Apple Store veneer (see photos from the new Star Trek movie). Think back to the Next Generation (how ironic!) and the X-Files. The dialogue was well written, the characters multifaceted, and the science--oh the wonderfully probable science! TNG taught me the meaning and value of humanity through interactions with the not-quite-human, and the X-Files gave me something to research on every week, from vocabulary to Bible verses to "rational scientific explanations." Even the music inspired me, and lift my spirits still, with the wonder and the promise that science offers in the betterment of mankind, both through expansion and through inward reflection.
Gone are the days of Captain Picard and Agent Mulder. --Or, perhaps it is I who have changed. Perhaps I now know too much real science that I have become the skeptic, the lame co-star on the show who rolls her eyes at the puerile albeit passionate pursuit of the ever-expanding edge of the unknown. I would very much like a return to innocence, if only I could suspend my belief, and distance myself from the nagging pains and discomfort of this cold and unimaginative reality.
Lately I have been complaining of the quality of science fiction on TV. Unfortunately I don't get Space any more, so hard-core sci-fi is out of the picture. But of the much anticipated, general, crime-centred science-fiction shows, such a large portion is simply a waste of airspace.
Take Fringe for example. The premise cannot be more alluring: teleportation, talking to the dead, ... --fringe science, they call it. Has the show delivered its promise? Gee, I wonder if there were some profundity in microwaving a papaya, or keeping a large cow in the lab, or perhaps any one of the pee jokes. If the science is sound, all that would be permissible and filed under quirkiness of the ingenious mind, but sadly, there is very little science at all. No-one seems to know what is going on, and if someone did, they always fail to explain it adequately. The scientist is senile and his logic hops around more erratically than a drunken flea. The son, brilliant and handsome as he is, cannot stop rolling his eyes and dismissing his father's seemingly far-fetched ideas without even honouring them with a proper debunking. Agent Dunham is way too tense and has no sense of humour, not to mention any real grasp of anything scientific. So far the most lovable character is Charlie the FBI agent: at least he doesn't pretend to understand the strange happenings. For all the above reasons, I have stopped watching this show. It's a real pity because it has so much potential, yet so little substance.
What about the Eleventh Hour, featuring a representative of that beloved and awe-inspiring profession--biophysicist--oh right, and yet another FBI agent. ...Why is the FBI always involved in these things? Granted, Jacob Hood is a charming fellow (--there, see what's wrong already?) but how is he anything even close to a biophysicist? Are young people supposed to get the impression that biophysicists are often under the protection of a stunningly beautiful though trigger-happy blond FBI agent, and that the job itself involves knowing all kinds of obscure facts? It bothers me even more that the science is sometimes so far off course that I can't even take the show seriously. The last episode, which sparked tonight's rant, actually showed smallpox viruses under a compound light microscope in the same field as several red blood cells just for the sake of showing size comparison--that they're similar, except the virus looks cubical and yellow. --Are the writers out of their poorly educated minds? The diameter of smallpox viruses is on the scale of a tenth of a micron, whereas that of an RBC is around ten--that's a hundred-fold difference! You'd be lucky to even spot a shadow of it under the light microscope, not to mention that most microscopes don't show specimens in colour and certainly not that glossy 3-D computer-generated effect. It's not hard at all to find an existing image of a pox virus, so I can only assume that the show's producers were too lazy to look. And the maudlin conversations on the burden of being a scientist--just spare me! They overestimate the importance of the scientist! The weight of the world on their shoulders? They'd have to share that with the principal investigator, the collaborators, and all the graduate and (if they're kind enough) undergraduate student-drones in their labs--that is, IF they can get the funding to start with! But I digress. Don't believe everything you see on TV, kids: biophysics isn't that exciting at all.
These two failed shows bring me back to the point that the era of great science fiction is behind us. Imagination and educated creativity have given way to the glamour of computer-generated graphics and Apple Store veneer (see photos from the new Star Trek movie). Think back to the Next Generation (how ironic!) and the X-Files. The dialogue was well written, the characters multifaceted, and the science--oh the wonderfully probable science! TNG taught me the meaning and value of humanity through interactions with the not-quite-human, and the X-Files gave me something to research on every week, from vocabulary to Bible verses to "rational scientific explanations." Even the music inspired me, and lift my spirits still, with the wonder and the promise that science offers in the betterment of mankind, both through expansion and through inward reflection.
Gone are the days of Captain Picard and Agent Mulder. --Or, perhaps it is I who have changed. Perhaps I now know too much real science that I have become the skeptic, the lame co-star on the show who rolls her eyes at the puerile albeit passionate pursuit of the ever-expanding edge of the unknown. I would very much like a return to innocence, if only I could suspend my belief, and distance myself from the nagging pains and discomfort of this cold and unimaginative reality.
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