MoveOn.org is helping to start a new international analogue: www.avaaz.org. They're kicking it off with a petition to try to get the new U.S. congress to stop Bush from implementing his "new" policy of escalation. He'll call it a "surge", but it's an escalation.
MoveOn.org is arguably one of the best things to come out of the U.S. in quite a while; it's nice to see them expand.
In another attempt to make sure that the Democrats actually do what they were elected for, MoveOn.org is organizing a petition to get Congress to pass Nancy Pelosi's "100 Hours Agenda".
Friday, January 12, 2007
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Cambridge Pics
Since there was a break in the rain today, I took some pictures of Cambridge on my way out of town. Cambridge is small and medieval compared to the huge imperialist London. Jess would say that Cambridge is older and crustier.
They close off streets in the middle of town to cars, leaving the cobblestone lanes to pedestrians and cyclists. I love this. I walk a lot, and it always gives me this expansive feeling of release, tinged with a bit of defiance and victoriousness, to stroll down the middle of the street, knowing that the excessive, noisy, polluting cars are banned. 
I love a big trip on the open road as much as anyone, but cars don't belong in cities. It was a tactical error to ever allow it in the first place. But outside the center, the cyclists still have to battle with the cars for the roads. 
As far as I can tell, these canals are mostly used for tourism nowadays. They seem pretty clean to me, compared to what I imagine they must have been like when they were a major source of transportation.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Closed Doors
I like to bask in my lofty delusion that academic information is freely and readily available to anyone who has the time and inclination for it. There are some recent initiatives which have made this more true (e.g., Google Books, Google Scholar and "open course ware" like the program at MIT), and my delusion is helped along considerably by belonging to universities, which provide me with access to loads of information, which, contrary to my delusion, are not necessarily available to everyone. I have certainly come to expect that, even if I couldn't get to the information otherwise, my status as a student should open any doors that might otherwise be closed. After today, I'm not so sure.
The folks at the circulation desk in the maths library at University of Cambridge were eager to help me locate whatever I needed, which I found very encouraging (and supportive of my delusion). Unfortunately, the PhD theses were all kept in the Manuscript Room of the main University Library, which sounded a bit more ominous, not least because when I asked where it was, I was told that it was the building with the Large Brick Tower. "You'll see it."
The library was big, imposing and gloomy in the winter rain. The woman at the front desk, when I explained my situation, wouldn't look me in the eye, but handed me a form and directed me around the corner and down a few stairs to a waiting area for the windowless admissions office. I was told to wait outside until I was called in and that, since I didn't bring with me a letter of recommendation, I might be allowed in anyway, but the tone implied that I shouldn't expect anything and was garnished with a certain disgust for those who try to get around the rules.
The woman in the admissions office displayed the same contempt and impatience. "You don't have a letter?" she asked, incredulous that someone would have the gall to ask entrance to her library without the proper documentation. She called someone else, so that she personally wouldn't be responsible for allowing an uncleared suspect such as myself inside. Having received permission, I was photographed and given a plastic ID card with a barcode and my picture on it valid until tomorrow. She watched me sign the back. As a parting shot, she told me to bring a letter next time. To clear my name (or at least establish my crime as ignorance instead of malicious plotting), I asked innocently, "a letter from my advisor?" I think this helped, as she seemed a bit friendlier on my way out.
With my new status as an ID holder, I returned to the front desk with confidence that now I could pass through with ease. Attempting to scan my card to enter, I was asked politely but firmly to leave my bag in the locker room around the corner before going in. So I did, taking with me only the paper with the information for the thesis I sought and the map of the library with which the woman in admissions had equipped me. I made my way upstairs to the Manuscript Room, where I had to fill out a request form to get this thesis. The gentleman behind this desk very kindly checked to see that it was not one of the few that were already in use. I had to refrain from laughing. The chances of this happening were extremely unlikely; this thesis is not exactly under high demand. Someone else had to fetch the thesis from downstairs somewhere. When they brought it back up to me, I had to sign the form I filled out and then sign the inside front cover of the book as well. Only one person had looked at the thesis before me in the ten years that it has been in the library.
I then filled out another request form to have someone else downstairs photocopy some pages for me. When I signed this form, I had to agree that no one else I knew of was making a similar request around the same time. I was told it would be ready in about half an hour, so I left to wander around the library a bit while they photocopied for me. My bag and, therefore, all my books were locked in the locker room. Having been provided with the clear impression that I did not belong here, was not really welcome here and was certainly not trusted here, I found myself in the unusual predicament of having to kill some time in an enormous library with nothing to read.
My hesitation to go anywhere or touch anything other than precisely what I came for was enhanced by the doors. Everywhere I turned there seemed to be another set of big, heavy, ornately carved doors with small (if any) windows. All of these doors were closed. Doors such as these ask very clearly, "who do you think you are anyway?" Are they locked? What's on the other side? Who's on the other side? Am I allowed through? After navigating around by trying to look natural until someone else who didn't look like they had any more authority than me came along and went through some of these doors, I found myself in a passageway with portraits on one wall and stacks along the other. Each time someone came down, I'd dip into the stacks so as not to impede the way of someone who might actually be allowed here. I thus discovered that this particular corridor had biographies of authors. I only had another 15 or 20 minutes and wasn't much inclined to start reading a biography of Jane Austen. I looked at the dark portraits of nameless white men and, avoiding another presumably authorized patron, ducked into another set of stacks to find, by some fluke of categorization, a copy of Ulysses. After a bit more hesitation (waiting for the people currently nearby to pass), I picked it up and started reading. "Stately, plump Buck Mulligan" made me feel more at home and I sat on the floor and read until I figured that my copies would be ready for collection.
The folks at the circulation desk in the maths library at University of Cambridge were eager to help me locate whatever I needed, which I found very encouraging (and supportive of my delusion). Unfortunately, the PhD theses were all kept in the Manuscript Room of the main University Library, which sounded a bit more ominous, not least because when I asked where it was, I was told that it was the building with the Large Brick Tower. "You'll see it."
The library was big, imposing and gloomy in the winter rain. The woman at the front desk, when I explained my situation, wouldn't look me in the eye, but handed me a form and directed me around the corner and down a few stairs to a waiting area for the windowless admissions office. I was told to wait outside until I was called in and that, since I didn't bring with me a letter of recommendation, I might be allowed in anyway, but the tone implied that I shouldn't expect anything and was garnished with a certain disgust for those who try to get around the rules.
The woman in the admissions office displayed the same contempt and impatience. "You don't have a letter?" she asked, incredulous that someone would have the gall to ask entrance to her library without the proper documentation. She called someone else, so that she personally wouldn't be responsible for allowing an uncleared suspect such as myself inside. Having received permission, I was photographed and given a plastic ID card with a barcode and my picture on it valid until tomorrow. She watched me sign the back. As a parting shot, she told me to bring a letter next time. To clear my name (or at least establish my crime as ignorance instead of malicious plotting), I asked innocently, "a letter from my advisor?" I think this helped, as she seemed a bit friendlier on my way out.
With my new status as an ID holder, I returned to the front desk with confidence that now I could pass through with ease. Attempting to scan my card to enter, I was asked politely but firmly to leave my bag in the locker room around the corner before going in. So I did, taking with me only the paper with the information for the thesis I sought and the map of the library with which the woman in admissions had equipped me. I made my way upstairs to the Manuscript Room, where I had to fill out a request form to get this thesis. The gentleman behind this desk very kindly checked to see that it was not one of the few that were already in use. I had to refrain from laughing. The chances of this happening were extremely unlikely; this thesis is not exactly under high demand. Someone else had to fetch the thesis from downstairs somewhere. When they brought it back up to me, I had to sign the form I filled out and then sign the inside front cover of the book as well. Only one person had looked at the thesis before me in the ten years that it has been in the library.
I then filled out another request form to have someone else downstairs photocopy some pages for me. When I signed this form, I had to agree that no one else I knew of was making a similar request around the same time. I was told it would be ready in about half an hour, so I left to wander around the library a bit while they photocopied for me. My bag and, therefore, all my books were locked in the locker room. Having been provided with the clear impression that I did not belong here, was not really welcome here and was certainly not trusted here, I found myself in the unusual predicament of having to kill some time in an enormous library with nothing to read.
My hesitation to go anywhere or touch anything other than precisely what I came for was enhanced by the doors. Everywhere I turned there seemed to be another set of big, heavy, ornately carved doors with small (if any) windows. All of these doors were closed. Doors such as these ask very clearly, "who do you think you are anyway?" Are they locked? What's on the other side? Who's on the other side? Am I allowed through? After navigating around by trying to look natural until someone else who didn't look like they had any more authority than me came along and went through some of these doors, I found myself in a passageway with portraits on one wall and stacks along the other. Each time someone came down, I'd dip into the stacks so as not to impede the way of someone who might actually be allowed here. I thus discovered that this particular corridor had biographies of authors. I only had another 15 or 20 minutes and wasn't much inclined to start reading a biography of Jane Austen. I looked at the dark portraits of nameless white men and, avoiding another presumably authorized patron, ducked into another set of stacks to find, by some fluke of categorization, a copy of Ulysses. After a bit more hesitation (waiting for the people currently nearby to pass), I picked it up and started reading. "Stately, plump Buck Mulligan" made me feel more at home and I sat on the floor and read until I figured that my copies would be ready for collection.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Japanese Room
I'm staying at New Hall College in the University of Cambridge. In the building in which I am housed, I saw a sign that mentioned the "Japanese room" on the first floor. After searching a bit on the ground floor, which is not the first floor, I realized my error and went upstairs. I immediately found the room labelled "Japanese room" but it was locked and I didn't see any windows to peer through. This is probably fortunate, because it can remain in my mind a beautiful room with wall-to-wall tatami mats, a kaya floor go-ban with slate and clam shell stones in mulberry bowls and a little wall nook with a single seasonal blossom in a simple traditional vase. In reality, it probably has the same dorm furniture that I found in the rooms I could go in, with only a few Japanese language magazines and a cheap imitation scroll thumbtacked to the wall to distinguish it from the meeting room, common room, conference room or dining room. Oh, and, no windows.
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