Isn’t it strange how this castle changes as soon as one imagines that Hamlet lived here? As scientists we believe that a castle consists only of stones, and admire the way the architect put them together. The stone, the green roof with its patina, the wood carvings in the church, constitute the whole castle. None of this should be changed by the fact that Hamlet lived here, and yet it is changed completely. Suddenly the walls and ramparts speak a different language. The courtyard becomes an entire world, a dark corner reminds us of the darkness of the human soul, we hear Hamlet’s “To be or not to be.” Yet all we really know is that his name appears in a thirteenth-century chronicle. No one can prove that he really lived here. But everyone knows the questions Shakespeare had him ask, the human depths he was made to reveal, and so he too had to be found in a place on earth, here in Kronberg. And once we know that, Kronberg becomes quite a different castle for us.
Niels Bohr, quoted in Wisdom Sits in Places by Keith Basso.
I like footnotes.
They represent a certain amount of nonlinearity in my prose. If I have a point which is relevant, but doesn’t fit anywhere in the flow of thought in the paper, I can separate it out from the text, to be perused at the reader’s leisure.
On the other hand, if I have a point which doesn’t fit into the flow, it begs the question of whether it really is relevant, and if so, whether it should fit into the flow after all. Therefore, I tend to find myself either rewriting footnotes into the main prose or just outright deleting them. On occasion, I have even found myself (on this blog) turning footnotes into separate posts, or even replacing the original post with the footnote, because it was far more interesting.
I like footnotes because they provide a convenient holding place for ideas before they go elsewhere. Not to say that I don’t enjoy a good footnote — simply that I don’t often find a good reason to keep them around beyond the draft stage.
While working through the thesaurus for a project, I came across an entry under “falseness” which I did not expect: ambidexterity
A quick trip to the dictionary confirms. Ambidexterity does indeed have “duplicity” as a meaning, along with “ability to use both hands equally well”.
All I can say is that anyone who has seen The Princess Bride should have a pretty good idea of why this is the case.
In which I take a short break from studying to contemplate something banal which popped into my head.
It seems that I study best in the lofty heights of the D. H. Hill Library. There, accompanied by some sort of caffeine-laden beverage, I can concentrate on getting large amounts of work (or procrastination) done.
My latest study bender — powered by several shots of espresso — reminds me of a sort of journey of spiritual self-discovery. The initiate heads off to some lofty mountain peak, with his stimulants and whatnot, to contemplate life, the universe, and everything, and perhaps achieve enlightenment. Or in my case, heads off to the upper floors of the library tower with an overly strong cup of coffee at some obnoxious time of night to contemplate the niceties of certain Native American languages, a topic which no doubt set my mind on this track, in the hopes of getting a decent grade.
In honor of everyone’s favourite mathematical constant, March 14, or 3/14 is Pi Day. Hooray!
Next up: Tau Day on June 28th, or 6/28. After that we get “European Pi Approximation Day” on July 22nd, or 22/7. Such fun we can look forward to!