Seriously, there's nothing to report. We really have no updates for this week. Were you expecting something more? Do you get your kicks from our blog? Can you just not start your week without reading one of my caustic rants? Is your life just falling apart without news from Hong Kong?
Well, tough.
Love,
Colin
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Who bows deeper?
Hello all! I know Colin usually writes, but I wanted to share this clip.
Meryl Streep and Yo-yo Ma recently performed together in a live performance poetry reading accompanied by the cello. In an article written about relations between China and the West, the question was posed, "who bows deeper?"
A wonderful performance with a humorous ending.
Monday, March 26, 2012
On Mountains
Sorry for the posting delay, but the other day I fell off of a mountain. I fell off of a mountain three times.
*cue Cell Block Tango, He had it comin'! He had it comin'!*
Okay, cut the song and dance number. I guess I should give an explanation.
So a bunch of outdoorsy types on Lantau Island got together a while back and decided to create an adventure race called the Lantau 50 or, more accurately, the Lantau 51 (since, ya' know, it's technically 51km). This is the first year it was run and, I have to say, it was pretty brutal. The race goes pretty much all the way around Lantau Island...the hard way. That means it goes over several mountains, one of which is called Sunset Peak, a mountain that stands almost one kilometer above sea level. That's the worst one, but there are several others that are quite massive as well.
Now, I don't mind going up mountains. In fact, I did really well on the flat and on the incline (I was even with the race leaders for a while). It's going down that gets me, especially when I'm running an unfamiliar course for the first time in Vibram Fivefingers that are definitely not meant for those rocky trails, trails so rocky that they literally tore a coin-sized hole in my shoes. Good thing I have a back-up pair. I was lucky that this was the worst gash I (think I) suffered, too, as there were jagged rocks surrounding those narrow downhill passes all over the place. It was in trying to dodge around these that I frequently ended up sliding over the edge and grabbing onto whatever brush I could to hang in there. Personal opinion? Not a safe trail, at least not in my shoes.
I ended up bowing out after Sunset Peak. I hadn't trained for this race, it wasn't my kind of race, and I definitely didn't have the right footwear for it. On top of that, going downhill really took a toll on my knees and ankles. If it weren't for the fact that barefoot running is good for strengthening those joints, I probably would have torn or twisted something. Ironically, the same pair of shoes that screwed me also saved me. I think I'll stick to road races from now on and use caution on mountain paths.
I don't regret the event, though. It was really exciting and the views from where I ended up were absolutely gorgeous. I was telling Carina that if anyone had a reason to come to Hong Kong, those mountains and the view they afforded should have been that reason. Of course, that same view also gave me vertigo (or maybe that was a combination of hunger, dehydration, and oxygen deprivation), but it was all beautiful...and fun...except for the falling downhill part.
Here's another mountain story to go out on, though: As a lot of you know, I have an anger problem that I've been trying to manage for a number of years. I've been getting better, but every day is still a struggle for me, especially when I'm surrounded by agents of frustration (re: almost all of Hong Kong). One of the greatest sources of my vexation is our flatmate, Beanpole, the bane of my existence.
Today I almost lost it and had at him. He makes a mess of things and acts like he doesn't share this flat with anyone and it makes me incredibly angry. I wanted to punch through his door and rip his head off after he commandeered the shower this morning and wasted all of the hot water...to shave (What the #@$% does he have to shave!?). I was really about to go at him, but then I checked myself. I thought, "This is someone's son, maybe even someone's friend. Now, I really hate this guy, but I have no personal quarrel with his relations. If I were to hurt him, how would his friends and family feel?"
I stepped away from the door and went back to my work. Just because you hate someone doesn't mean you have to destroy them, and just because you don't destroy someone doesn't mean you don't hate them. I hate him passionately, but I will continue to afford him what human dignity I can because, as disgusting as I find him, he is human. I am a mountain, I am solid, I will not shift from my composure. Let the anger boil beneath, but may it never overflow, for I have seen the destruction that can follow from such forces being left unchecked, and I know it to be terrible.
...The mountain is a metaphor.
Approximately yours,
Colin
*cue Cell Block Tango, He had it comin'! He had it comin'!*
Okay, cut the song and dance number. I guess I should give an explanation.
So a bunch of outdoorsy types on Lantau Island got together a while back and decided to create an adventure race called the Lantau 50 or, more accurately, the Lantau 51 (since, ya' know, it's technically 51km). This is the first year it was run and, I have to say, it was pretty brutal. The race goes pretty much all the way around Lantau Island...the hard way. That means it goes over several mountains, one of which is called Sunset Peak, a mountain that stands almost one kilometer above sea level. That's the worst one, but there are several others that are quite massive as well.
Now, I don't mind going up mountains. In fact, I did really well on the flat and on the incline (I was even with the race leaders for a while). It's going down that gets me, especially when I'm running an unfamiliar course for the first time in Vibram Fivefingers that are definitely not meant for those rocky trails, trails so rocky that they literally tore a coin-sized hole in my shoes. Good thing I have a back-up pair. I was lucky that this was the worst gash I (think I) suffered, too, as there were jagged rocks surrounding those narrow downhill passes all over the place. It was in trying to dodge around these that I frequently ended up sliding over the edge and grabbing onto whatever brush I could to hang in there. Personal opinion? Not a safe trail, at least not in my shoes.
I ended up bowing out after Sunset Peak. I hadn't trained for this race, it wasn't my kind of race, and I definitely didn't have the right footwear for it. On top of that, going downhill really took a toll on my knees and ankles. If it weren't for the fact that barefoot running is good for strengthening those joints, I probably would have torn or twisted something. Ironically, the same pair of shoes that screwed me also saved me. I think I'll stick to road races from now on and use caution on mountain paths.
I don't regret the event, though. It was really exciting and the views from where I ended up were absolutely gorgeous. I was telling Carina that if anyone had a reason to come to Hong Kong, those mountains and the view they afforded should have been that reason. Of course, that same view also gave me vertigo (or maybe that was a combination of hunger, dehydration, and oxygen deprivation), but it was all beautiful...and fun...except for the falling downhill part.
Here's another mountain story to go out on, though: As a lot of you know, I have an anger problem that I've been trying to manage for a number of years. I've been getting better, but every day is still a struggle for me, especially when I'm surrounded by agents of frustration (re: almost all of Hong Kong). One of the greatest sources of my vexation is our flatmate, Beanpole, the bane of my existence.
Today I almost lost it and had at him. He makes a mess of things and acts like he doesn't share this flat with anyone and it makes me incredibly angry. I wanted to punch through his door and rip his head off after he commandeered the shower this morning and wasted all of the hot water...to shave (What the #@$% does he have to shave!?). I was really about to go at him, but then I checked myself. I thought, "This is someone's son, maybe even someone's friend. Now, I really hate this guy, but I have no personal quarrel with his relations. If I were to hurt him, how would his friends and family feel?"
I stepped away from the door and went back to my work. Just because you hate someone doesn't mean you have to destroy them, and just because you don't destroy someone doesn't mean you don't hate them. I hate him passionately, but I will continue to afford him what human dignity I can because, as disgusting as I find him, he is human. I am a mountain, I am solid, I will not shift from my composure. Let the anger boil beneath, but may it never overflow, for I have seen the destruction that can follow from such forces being left unchecked, and I know it to be terrible.
...The mountain is a metaphor.
Approximately yours,
Colin
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Two Months is Too Much
You've heard it all before. You've heard me rant about how horrid I find Hong Kong and how I can't wait to come home. You've heard about how much I feel this place is killing me.
You haven't heard some of these anecdotes, though.
For your reading pleasure, I've compiled a list of three stories that sum up some of our recent experiences in Hong Kong. I think you'll find them to be sufficiently stomach-churning to the point that you won't want to come here...ever. That's probably for the best, since the only language Hong Kong seems to understand is the all mighty dollar and, if we ever want them to change, we'll have to get them to acknowledge how disgusting they are (kinda' like rubbing a dog's nose in it's own $#!*). So, without further ado, let's begin...
1) What a Pisser!
It had been a surprisingly enjoyable (re: expensive) evening, as Carina and I were on our way home from a great dinner at Habibi, an Egyptian restaurant specializing in Middle-Eastern fare and some of the best cocktails I've had since arriving in Hong Kong (probably because it was not prepared by native Hong Kongers). Good food, good company, good conversation, and a good walk back were making the evening unusually delightful.
This is Hong Kong, though, so no story is complete without some disgusting event involving poor hygiene and mass apathy.
As Carina and I were passing a set of stairs, we noticed a token drunk attempting the ascent and getting nowhere fast. He stumbled, righted himself, and then, as if the most natural thing in the world, undid his fly and let loose a...well, maybe not "let loose" as it was a very weak stream (more of a trickle, really), but he began to empty his bladder nonetheless.
Now, neither of us is exactly unaccustomed to such displays of public intoxication; we went to college. It was still disgusting, of course, and it irked me that someone would have so little regard for the public welfare. That wasn't what really put me over the top, though. What really put me over the top was the fact that two cops on the other side of the street actually watched this guy urinate in public and did nothing! Not a damn thing! Yeah, Hong Kong's finest hard at work, right?
You know why the crime rate in this city is so low? It's because the cops do the best they can to keep infractions like that off the record. They'd rather just ignore this crap than do their damn jobs or, when pressed to act, put the fear of...well, not God since this place is godless...but the next closest thing (money?) into people instead of actually doing up a report! That and the fact that all the real crime is at the white collar level and no one seems to understand the concept of charging people for crimes against humanity and the environment. Okay, yeah, I'm on my moral high horse here, but if you lived where I've been living for two years you'd feel the same way. I challenge any libertarian to come to Hong Kong and live on the same means I've been living on for six months. I guarantee you'll come back with a more socially-oriented political philosophy...
2) The Creeping Death
We've discussed our flat's mold problem before: it grows on the wall, we clean it, it grows back, we clean it again. What we haven't discussed is that Hong Kong seems to breed some kind of super mold that is totally resistant to any kind of anti-microbial solution.
So far we've attempted the following: diluted bleach, straight bleach (ouch), borax (cough), vinegar (mmm, vinegar), dish soap.
I wanted to use hydrochloric acid, but Carina rejected this idea after the near fiasco with the bleach. I told her I was willing to suffer the burns but she remained unconvinced. I think it also had something to do with "not destroying the landlord's property," but I stop listening whenever someone mentions that kind of thing. This entire flat could use an overhaul and it's been a while since I've been allowed to use a sledgehammer. That and I could really use the cathartic experience.
Anyway, yeah, we've been dealing with this bizarre and unearthly mold for weeks now and we can't seem to kill it (I mean, it doesn't bleed. Can we kill it if it doesn't bleed?). In all honesty, the mold has probably embedded itself so deeply in the wall that we'd need to tear a lot of it out to ensure that it stops growing back so rapidly. Personally, I wouldn't mind chiseling it away or taking a flamethrower to it, but I've been told that kind of "do-it-yourself" behavior isn't well tolerated in the homes of others. Bummer, because I'm really good with a chisel.
One option we did briefly consider was a kind of "anti-fungal paint" that some places in Hong Kong allegedly sell. As with all such miracle cures, though, we're skeptical. In fact, you should be skeptical of anything you buy in Hong Kong. That watch? Fake. Those shoes? Knock-offs that'll fall apart in two weeks. That broom? Yeah, it's flammable, so flammable it'll burst into flames when submerged underwater. That's just the way this place is, though, it's fake.
Except for the mold. The mold is very real, much like the health problems it causes. If in any of my photos I look like I have some kind of rash around my eyes, you'll know why.
3) In Cantonese, "Pesto" means "Mayo"
Now, after all of these other stories this one is probably the tamest, but it's also the one that pisses me off the most. Maybe that's because I'd been suffering through everything prior to this for so long that this was just the straw that broke the camel's back, but here it goes.
Last evening Carina and I were coming back from a spur of the moment trip to one of Hong Kong's many tourist traps, The Peak. In all honesty it probably would have been better if we'd gone earlier and completed one of the alleged scenic hiking trails but, as it was, we didn't get up there until around 3:30 PM and only stayed for an hour. Oh well, no big deal.
On our way home we passed through the infamous Shun Tak Centre, a building that is the bane of my existence and beloved by many Hong Kongers. We were hungry, so we stopped at an Oliver's Super Sandwiches for a bite to eat. Not unsurprisingly, their menu was rubbish. I ordered what I hoped would be an at least acceptable panini: grilled chicken, "mixed" mushrooms (whatever that means), and pesto. That actually sounds pretty good. Of course, anything that sounds good is likely to be screwed up by Hong Kong people, who don't seem to know or care about how to prepare food.
During my tedious wait for food I was treated to the lovely Hong Kong chorus of disgusting belching and the cacophonous slurping of soup. I had heard much about such gross behaviors but, until then, I had never experienced them personally. I thought it would be tolerable. I was wrong.
These burps are not like normal burps. These burps put the most inebriated and classless frat boy to shame. These are burps that sound inhuman. A frog could burp and sound (and smell) better than that to which I was sitting next. The slurping? The slurping wasn't even warranted! People slurp food supposedly because it is hot and it's a way of cooling it. First of all, blowing on your bloody spoon is a far more efficient and less obnoxious way of doing that. Second, most of the garbage Oliver's sells and claims to be "food" is served lukewarm at best; you don't need to freaking blow on it!
It's a good thing I was so hungry from all of the walking I'd been doing, otherwise I would have lost my appetite. On second thought, I rather wish I had.
When my sandwich finally arrived it was nothing like what I'd ordered: it was bacon with two shriveled up pieces of chicken and, to top it all off, no pesto. Instead, they'd slathered mayonnaise on the sandwich. <sarcasm> Great, I just love mayonnaise </sarcasm>. I wiped as much of the gunk off of the "sandwich" as I could and then ate swiftly so I could get the Hell out of there. I wanted to wash it down with my "lemon tea" but, of course, they'd served "tea" without lemon, tea that tasted more or less like burnt water. How do you burn water!? It took all of my self-restraint not to go postal on that kitchen. I didn't dare complain about the food because I knew I'd just lose it with them.
The recurring theme in all of these stories is apathy. The grand majority of Hong Kong people have absolutely no sense of pride, passion, or pathos. It is little more than a garbage heap, a zit upon a blue world, but a zit that threatens to pop and spill over, leaking its disgusting pus all over our planet's face. I refer both to the level of pollution and the way people tend to live here. Let Hong Kong be a wake-up call to the world:
START CARING!
This PSA brought to you by Colin
You haven't heard some of these anecdotes, though.
For your reading pleasure, I've compiled a list of three stories that sum up some of our recent experiences in Hong Kong. I think you'll find them to be sufficiently stomach-churning to the point that you won't want to come here...ever. That's probably for the best, since the only language Hong Kong seems to understand is the all mighty dollar and, if we ever want them to change, we'll have to get them to acknowledge how disgusting they are (kinda' like rubbing a dog's nose in it's own $#!*). So, without further ado, let's begin...
1) What a Pisser!
It had been a surprisingly enjoyable (re: expensive) evening, as Carina and I were on our way home from a great dinner at Habibi, an Egyptian restaurant specializing in Middle-Eastern fare and some of the best cocktails I've had since arriving in Hong Kong (probably because it was not prepared by native Hong Kongers). Good food, good company, good conversation, and a good walk back were making the evening unusually delightful.
This is Hong Kong, though, so no story is complete without some disgusting event involving poor hygiene and mass apathy.
As Carina and I were passing a set of stairs, we noticed a token drunk attempting the ascent and getting nowhere fast. He stumbled, righted himself, and then, as if the most natural thing in the world, undid his fly and let loose a...well, maybe not "let loose" as it was a very weak stream (more of a trickle, really), but he began to empty his bladder nonetheless.
Now, neither of us is exactly unaccustomed to such displays of public intoxication; we went to college. It was still disgusting, of course, and it irked me that someone would have so little regard for the public welfare. That wasn't what really put me over the top, though. What really put me over the top was the fact that two cops on the other side of the street actually watched this guy urinate in public and did nothing! Not a damn thing! Yeah, Hong Kong's finest hard at work, right?
You know why the crime rate in this city is so low? It's because the cops do the best they can to keep infractions like that off the record. They'd rather just ignore this crap than do their damn jobs or, when pressed to act, put the fear of...well, not God since this place is godless...but the next closest thing (money?) into people instead of actually doing up a report! That and the fact that all the real crime is at the white collar level and no one seems to understand the concept of charging people for crimes against humanity and the environment. Okay, yeah, I'm on my moral high horse here, but if you lived where I've been living for two years you'd feel the same way. I challenge any libertarian to come to Hong Kong and live on the same means I've been living on for six months. I guarantee you'll come back with a more socially-oriented political philosophy...
2) The Creeping Death
We've discussed our flat's mold problem before: it grows on the wall, we clean it, it grows back, we clean it again. What we haven't discussed is that Hong Kong seems to breed some kind of super mold that is totally resistant to any kind of anti-microbial solution.
So far we've attempted the following: diluted bleach, straight bleach (ouch), borax (cough), vinegar (mmm, vinegar), dish soap.
I wanted to use hydrochloric acid, but Carina rejected this idea after the near fiasco with the bleach. I told her I was willing to suffer the burns but she remained unconvinced. I think it also had something to do with "not destroying the landlord's property," but I stop listening whenever someone mentions that kind of thing. This entire flat could use an overhaul and it's been a while since I've been allowed to use a sledgehammer. That and I could really use the cathartic experience.
Anyway, yeah, we've been dealing with this bizarre and unearthly mold for weeks now and we can't seem to kill it (I mean, it doesn't bleed. Can we kill it if it doesn't bleed?). In all honesty, the mold has probably embedded itself so deeply in the wall that we'd need to tear a lot of it out to ensure that it stops growing back so rapidly. Personally, I wouldn't mind chiseling it away or taking a flamethrower to it, but I've been told that kind of "do-it-yourself" behavior isn't well tolerated in the homes of others. Bummer, because I'm really good with a chisel.
One option we did briefly consider was a kind of "anti-fungal paint" that some places in Hong Kong allegedly sell. As with all such miracle cures, though, we're skeptical. In fact, you should be skeptical of anything you buy in Hong Kong. That watch? Fake. Those shoes? Knock-offs that'll fall apart in two weeks. That broom? Yeah, it's flammable, so flammable it'll burst into flames when submerged underwater. That's just the way this place is, though, it's fake.
Except for the mold. The mold is very real, much like the health problems it causes. If in any of my photos I look like I have some kind of rash around my eyes, you'll know why.
3) In Cantonese, "Pesto" means "Mayo"
Now, after all of these other stories this one is probably the tamest, but it's also the one that pisses me off the most. Maybe that's because I'd been suffering through everything prior to this for so long that this was just the straw that broke the camel's back, but here it goes.
Last evening Carina and I were coming back from a spur of the moment trip to one of Hong Kong's many tourist traps, The Peak. In all honesty it probably would have been better if we'd gone earlier and completed one of the alleged scenic hiking trails but, as it was, we didn't get up there until around 3:30 PM and only stayed for an hour. Oh well, no big deal.
On our way home we passed through the infamous Shun Tak Centre, a building that is the bane of my existence and beloved by many Hong Kongers. We were hungry, so we stopped at an Oliver's Super Sandwiches for a bite to eat. Not unsurprisingly, their menu was rubbish. I ordered what I hoped would be an at least acceptable panini: grilled chicken, "mixed" mushrooms (whatever that means), and pesto. That actually sounds pretty good. Of course, anything that sounds good is likely to be screwed up by Hong Kong people, who don't seem to know or care about how to prepare food.
During my tedious wait for food I was treated to the lovely Hong Kong chorus of disgusting belching and the cacophonous slurping of soup. I had heard much about such gross behaviors but, until then, I had never experienced them personally. I thought it would be tolerable. I was wrong.
These burps are not like normal burps. These burps put the most inebriated and classless frat boy to shame. These are burps that sound inhuman. A frog could burp and sound (and smell) better than that to which I was sitting next. The slurping? The slurping wasn't even warranted! People slurp food supposedly because it is hot and it's a way of cooling it. First of all, blowing on your bloody spoon is a far more efficient and less obnoxious way of doing that. Second, most of the garbage Oliver's sells and claims to be "food" is served lukewarm at best; you don't need to freaking blow on it!
It's a good thing I was so hungry from all of the walking I'd been doing, otherwise I would have lost my appetite. On second thought, I rather wish I had.
When my sandwich finally arrived it was nothing like what I'd ordered: it was bacon with two shriveled up pieces of chicken and, to top it all off, no pesto. Instead, they'd slathered mayonnaise on the sandwich. <sarcasm> Great, I just love mayonnaise </sarcasm>. I wiped as much of the gunk off of the "sandwich" as I could and then ate swiftly so I could get the Hell out of there. I wanted to wash it down with my "lemon tea" but, of course, they'd served "tea" without lemon, tea that tasted more or less like burnt water. How do you burn water!? It took all of my self-restraint not to go postal on that kitchen. I didn't dare complain about the food because I knew I'd just lose it with them.
The recurring theme in all of these stories is apathy. The grand majority of Hong Kong people have absolutely no sense of pride, passion, or pathos. It is little more than a garbage heap, a zit upon a blue world, but a zit that threatens to pop and spill over, leaking its disgusting pus all over our planet's face. I refer both to the level of pollution and the way people tend to live here. Let Hong Kong be a wake-up call to the world:
START CARING!
This PSA brought to you by Colin
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Two Utes
If you don't understand this entry's title, go watch My Cousin Vinny. Do it. Yes, it's a B-movie but...just...just do it. You'll laugh, I promise.
I've been keeping this on the down-low because I have no idea what is considered culturally or professionally appropriate with regard to this kind of matter, but I'm going to put the big news out there for any and all interested: I received an offer of admission at Utah.
Okay, most of our readers probably are already aware of that. I may have either told you directly or insinuated it elsewhere. Still, I just wanted to go ahead and put the information up in case anyone didn't know and was wondering what a lot of my weird Facebook statuses as of late have been about.
This actually semi-completes my hearing back from PhD programs and it's a huge weight off of my back. A definitive "Yes" is a great thing to hear (and the funding isn't bad, either), especially after first receiving a definite "No" and an unclear "Maybe". I can finally rest a little easier at night knowing I have at least one option for my future work and study.
For those of you wondering why I'm considering doing my work at Utah, here's the scoop: There are virtually no programs that provide an environment for students to pursue a project utilizing Chinese philosophy (in philosophy) along with other branches of philosophy and other disciplines. Almost none. The limit approaches zero. Most universities, if they do have a specialist in Chinese philosophy in philosophy, end up being very limited in other options; you're forced toward specialization. Utah is fortunate to have one of the top young minds in Chinese philosophy along with a rather eclectic faculty in philosophy. On top of that, several of their other departments that I may need to draw from, mainly anthropology, are well-respected. The icing on the cake is that UU is very close to some lovely national parks and is infinitely cleaner than Hong Kong Island. Okay, that last part is just a living preference, but you get the picture.
So is it all settled? Utah, ho? Well, no, at least not yet. As exciting and wonderful as all of this is, in fairness I'm still waiting to hear back from UCR about their offer (if they are going to make one), at which time I will compare potentials, consult my friends, family, advisors, and magic highball (no, not eight ball highball. I know what I said). I also want to make sure that, wherever I go, Carina will have opportunities. If there's anything we've learned from our time in Hong Kong, it's that neither of us is going to be the "stay-at-home" type...ever.
That's actually something very important to take into account and, frankly, it's kinda' bugging me that no university to which I have applied seems to be considerate of that factor. Don't get me wrong, I respect that admissions committees look first and foremost at the applicants themselves and their respective abilities. I also know, however, that they take things like educational pedigree, financial status, and certain elements of life history into consideration. I have not, however, encountered any rubric that takes marital status into serious consideration, and I find that troubling. The fact of the matter is that we all too often think of marriage as a "privilege" that should only be doled out under appropriate circumstances. I'm not just talking about homophobic reactions to gay marriage; even heterosexual couplings undergo scrutiny if they do not meet certain exacting standards. As with so many things, what was once a significant tribal custom has become a commodity in the minds of many, even if it's just subconscious.
I'm not saying that I deserve special treatment because I'm married, but I am saying that it would be nice for universities to at least provide support in the form of information and recommendations for espoused students. I'm not married because "I can afford it"; I'm married because I met someone I love and chose to spend the rest of my life with her. I don't think that makes me foolish, just human.
Let's not get too bogged down in this kind of ranting, though. As I said, Utah's offer is very generous and, with any luck, I'll also be hearing about California's opportunities in the next week or so. Regardless of where I end up, I'm sure that both Carina and I will be able to flourish. I wish it could have been closer to home but, then again, anything is closer than Hong Kong.
So, here's to Utah, to potential, to us!
Cheers,
Colin
I've been keeping this on the down-low because I have no idea what is considered culturally or professionally appropriate with regard to this kind of matter, but I'm going to put the big news out there for any and all interested: I received an offer of admission at Utah.
Okay, most of our readers probably are already aware of that. I may have either told you directly or insinuated it elsewhere. Still, I just wanted to go ahead and put the information up in case anyone didn't know and was wondering what a lot of my weird Facebook statuses as of late have been about.
This actually semi-completes my hearing back from PhD programs and it's a huge weight off of my back. A definitive "Yes" is a great thing to hear (and the funding isn't bad, either), especially after first receiving a definite "No" and an unclear "Maybe". I can finally rest a little easier at night knowing I have at least one option for my future work and study.
For those of you wondering why I'm considering doing my work at Utah, here's the scoop: There are virtually no programs that provide an environment for students to pursue a project utilizing Chinese philosophy (in philosophy) along with other branches of philosophy and other disciplines. Almost none. The limit approaches zero. Most universities, if they do have a specialist in Chinese philosophy in philosophy, end up being very limited in other options; you're forced toward specialization. Utah is fortunate to have one of the top young minds in Chinese philosophy along with a rather eclectic faculty in philosophy. On top of that, several of their other departments that I may need to draw from, mainly anthropology, are well-respected. The icing on the cake is that UU is very close to some lovely national parks and is infinitely cleaner than Hong Kong Island. Okay, that last part is just a living preference, but you get the picture.
So is it all settled? Utah, ho? Well, no, at least not yet. As exciting and wonderful as all of this is, in fairness I'm still waiting to hear back from UCR about their offer (if they are going to make one), at which time I will compare potentials, consult my friends, family, advisors, and magic highball (no, not eight ball highball. I know what I said). I also want to make sure that, wherever I go, Carina will have opportunities. If there's anything we've learned from our time in Hong Kong, it's that neither of us is going to be the "stay-at-home" type...ever.
That's actually something very important to take into account and, frankly, it's kinda' bugging me that no university to which I have applied seems to be considerate of that factor. Don't get me wrong, I respect that admissions committees look first and foremost at the applicants themselves and their respective abilities. I also know, however, that they take things like educational pedigree, financial status, and certain elements of life history into consideration. I have not, however, encountered any rubric that takes marital status into serious consideration, and I find that troubling. The fact of the matter is that we all too often think of marriage as a "privilege" that should only be doled out under appropriate circumstances. I'm not just talking about homophobic reactions to gay marriage; even heterosexual couplings undergo scrutiny if they do not meet certain exacting standards. As with so many things, what was once a significant tribal custom has become a commodity in the minds of many, even if it's just subconscious.
I'm not saying that I deserve special treatment because I'm married, but I am saying that it would be nice for universities to at least provide support in the form of information and recommendations for espoused students. I'm not married because "I can afford it"; I'm married because I met someone I love and chose to spend the rest of my life with her. I don't think that makes me foolish, just human.
Let's not get too bogged down in this kind of ranting, though. As I said, Utah's offer is very generous and, with any luck, I'll also be hearing about California's opportunities in the next week or so. Regardless of where I end up, I'm sure that both Carina and I will be able to flourish. I wish it could have been closer to home but, then again, anything is closer than Hong Kong.
So, here's to Utah, to potential, to us!
Cheers,
Colin
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Why I Write
For those of you who closely follow our lives, you know that we undertook another pilgrimage to the Tian Tan Buddha this weekend, that it was awesome, and that there are indeed pictures (lots more of Carina smiling this time...plus dogs). I'll try to get those photos up at some point, but I need to take this space today for the purpose of explaining a few things about why I do what I do (and, yeah, vent).
I have known for a while of quite a few accusations having been made against me and my "work ethic" (whatever that term really means). Some people say I work too hard, others say I'm lazy and carelessly rush projects. Some people say both and yet others say neither. While I'd like to believe that those people who say neither are probably the best to judge, I like to take the views of all into account. This is, of course, a potential flaw for me just as it is for direct democracy, but that's what I get for being brought up on such values. Nevertheless, the point stands that I face occasional, sometimes damning, criticism for the way I do things. Today I want to set the record straight about why I do what I do, and why I do it the way I do it.
I work hard and I work fast. I work hard in that I will put my nose to the grindstone and do all of the research, interpretation, and writing on a project virtually without halting from beginning to end. I work fast in that, because I am driven not to stop until a significant checkpoint has been reached, things get done quickly. I am not a workaholic: I do take occasional breaks and I work with an end in mind; I do seek to have non-work fun. I am not careless: I approach my work with great cautiousness and gravity. I find that the strategy that serves me best is to get the work done and complete drafts for editing as quickly as possible to ensure that the ultimate, refined product is of as high a quality as possible. I am not rushing, I do not lack commitment to projects, and I do thoroughly study the material. I just do it all really quickly and, although occasionally I overlook things, I am frequently accurate. That's just the way my brain works. That just works for me.
It is true that, as a result of this style, I occasionally get wrapped-up in constantly trying to make and move onto bigger and better things and, consequently, denigrate my own accomplishments. Understand, however, that when I do this I am often trying to uphold a standard of my craft, for while some are content to spend their lives re-reading and re-interpreting the same texts over and over again I desire something greater. Nietzsche was my age when he took on his first major position. What have I to show for my effort? True, Nietzsche was quite brilliant, but I refuse to accept that I (or, for that matter, many of my contemporaries) lack equivalent potential. If that is hubris, so be it. I simply believe that I can do great things with my work if people would just give me the stage for it. For that matter, I suspect many people could.
This leads me to another great thinker: Confucius spent most of his life wandering about, trying to find a suitable government in which to serve and enact his philosophy. Had he been able to plant himself in the proper soil, he may have been able to use his remaining years to truly spread and develop his philosophy to its conclusion. Who knows what could have happened? Alas, it was not to be. It took Confucius over seventy years to get as far as he could go with a philosophy that some continue to regard as "incomplete". I think this story serves to illustrate just how long such a process can take, and yet how brief a time we have. In the grand scheme of things, seventy years is not very long. Can it really be held against someone, then, if that that person is simply trying to make every moment count?
The point of this post is not to suggest that I think of myself as being as influential or significant as Nietzsche or Confucius. I am not, or at least am not yet, at such a state. What I do believe, however, is that my hard, good work is deserving of respect and a sufficient venue. I believe that should apply for almost anyone, such a belief is one of the foundations of an ideal meritocracy. I know that it is highly unlikely that everyone will get what he or she deserves, but that does not keep me from hoping. So it is that I keep on studying and writing, hoping that one day my work will be seen. I dare not say, "seen for what it is," because what it is will inevitably be judged by its beholders. I simply desire that I be allowed to undertake the position for which I have trained and for which I am qualified and then make my contributions as best as possible. That is all.
Cordially,
Colin
I have known for a while of quite a few accusations having been made against me and my "work ethic" (whatever that term really means). Some people say I work too hard, others say I'm lazy and carelessly rush projects. Some people say both and yet others say neither. While I'd like to believe that those people who say neither are probably the best to judge, I like to take the views of all into account. This is, of course, a potential flaw for me just as it is for direct democracy, but that's what I get for being brought up on such values. Nevertheless, the point stands that I face occasional, sometimes damning, criticism for the way I do things. Today I want to set the record straight about why I do what I do, and why I do it the way I do it.
I work hard and I work fast. I work hard in that I will put my nose to the grindstone and do all of the research, interpretation, and writing on a project virtually without halting from beginning to end. I work fast in that, because I am driven not to stop until a significant checkpoint has been reached, things get done quickly. I am not a workaholic: I do take occasional breaks and I work with an end in mind; I do seek to have non-work fun. I am not careless: I approach my work with great cautiousness and gravity. I find that the strategy that serves me best is to get the work done and complete drafts for editing as quickly as possible to ensure that the ultimate, refined product is of as high a quality as possible. I am not rushing, I do not lack commitment to projects, and I do thoroughly study the material. I just do it all really quickly and, although occasionally I overlook things, I am frequently accurate. That's just the way my brain works. That just works for me.
It is true that, as a result of this style, I occasionally get wrapped-up in constantly trying to make and move onto bigger and better things and, consequently, denigrate my own accomplishments. Understand, however, that when I do this I am often trying to uphold a standard of my craft, for while some are content to spend their lives re-reading and re-interpreting the same texts over and over again I desire something greater. Nietzsche was my age when he took on his first major position. What have I to show for my effort? True, Nietzsche was quite brilliant, but I refuse to accept that I (or, for that matter, many of my contemporaries) lack equivalent potential. If that is hubris, so be it. I simply believe that I can do great things with my work if people would just give me the stage for it. For that matter, I suspect many people could.
This leads me to another great thinker: Confucius spent most of his life wandering about, trying to find a suitable government in which to serve and enact his philosophy. Had he been able to plant himself in the proper soil, he may have been able to use his remaining years to truly spread and develop his philosophy to its conclusion. Who knows what could have happened? Alas, it was not to be. It took Confucius over seventy years to get as far as he could go with a philosophy that some continue to regard as "incomplete". I think this story serves to illustrate just how long such a process can take, and yet how brief a time we have. In the grand scheme of things, seventy years is not very long. Can it really be held against someone, then, if that that person is simply trying to make every moment count?
The point of this post is not to suggest that I think of myself as being as influential or significant as Nietzsche or Confucius. I am not, or at least am not yet, at such a state. What I do believe, however, is that my hard, good work is deserving of respect and a sufficient venue. I believe that should apply for almost anyone, such a belief is one of the foundations of an ideal meritocracy. I know that it is highly unlikely that everyone will get what he or she deserves, but that does not keep me from hoping. So it is that I keep on studying and writing, hoping that one day my work will be seen. I dare not say, "seen for what it is," because what it is will inevitably be judged by its beholders. I simply desire that I be allowed to undertake the position for which I have trained and for which I am qualified and then make my contributions as best as possible. That is all.
Cordially,
Colin
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