Fuckface

"Hello fuckface."

"Hello cuntdodger."

Alex, despite his English accent (thrust upon him by his English born parents), is as Scottish as a haggis. So, having recently been on an International House retreat where one was supposed to learn about other cultures, and how to partake in them, I gracefully join in with the traditional Scottish mode of greeting a friend.

Alex has had a pretty rough time of it since arriving a year ago, but the long story short is that he split up with his wife, who after a six month trial separation period left only a week or two before I arrived. She was still in the states when I arrived in fact, but on the East coast, doing some sightseeing before she went back to her job.

I stayed with him for the first 5 days before my residency at I-House started and he was very good to me - his professorial salary is ample and he had very little to do before term started. It's good to see that academics can still live the life, at least for a few weeks at a time. I may at some point lay out his fundamental views about mathematics in detail, but suffice to say they are inspiring and the main message is that the answer to the question,

'Why is maths so good at describing the way the physical world works?'

is

'Because the physical world is mathematics.'

Much in the same way humus and falafel go so well together because they are made out of the same thing (chickpee), the world is made out of mathematics, and hence mathematics describes it perfectly. The reasoning lies in the links between number theory and incredibly crazy physics. (string theory, quantum, etc.).


In more mundane news, I've started teaching - it's a course for graduate students, but it's designed for students in soft engineering areas or social sciences who need some basic knowledge of probability to do their research. Quite time consuming but very enjoyable when it goes well. And of course, an important source of income. I think I will do okay for money here, but its hard to tell so far.

So, there we go, I managed to write a sensible post. I expect I'll leave it for a while now.

x

Fog

It was foggy this morning, but just like every other day, by 11am there was blazing sunshine. Not just California sun, Berkeley sun. Sun that leaves it at a perfect 26, that leaves the air dry. Not too hot, but hot enough to sunbathe.

It was foggy this morning, my head. Still integrating duvets and dreaming of foreplay, lounging and hiding, holding on till the last moment of possibility. Fuzzy sets are real things you know.

It was foggy this morning, and in the morning cool I trotted off to class. Is this why I'm here? Rumor has it that most of the probability faculty will leave soon... do I care? Why am I here? With no staff there would just be the town, and the yanks, and the frats, and the co-ops. And me.

It was foggy this morning, when I left my halls of residence: International House. Half foreign half American, half undergrad half grad, half Cripps half Docket. So many people here are just in Berkeley for a semester or two, forming blips in the four year path, temporary friends like the woman on the plane who arrived here in '69.

It was foggy this morning, not like London fog hugging the streets, but far overhead. Not like London at all with its pervading nihilism, the party to end the world. Here the history is not long enough to create an identity, so the identity comes from the Dream for the future, not the horror of the past. The fog here means that you can't see the bay down the hill and it looks like you are on a floating island, far above everything. I am back in a bubble town.

It was foggy this morning, but just like every other day, by 11am there was blazing sunshine. Every glorious fucking day.



more sensible posts will follow



but I need time



x