I spent five hours today walking around Boston picking out an electric guitar. Actually, Dennis did most of the picking - in both senses - and I did more head nodding and shaking. I'm so excited now, I couldn't focus on my work when I got back and instead listened to music all night. That means two late nights working today and tomorrow, but then I'm back home for four consecutive days for the first time in more than a year.
In commemoration of tonight, here's part of my playlist this evening:
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Doors and Switches
This evening, I quit the Solar Electric Vehicle Team, ending a livelihood since the start of freshman year. The decision may seem rash and sudden to some team members and to friends who knew of my heavy involvement with the team. They might wonder if I'm struggling with my classes, being unreasonably mercurial, or suffering a quarter-life crisis.
But actually, lately I've been often very happy. The choice I made wasn't one I conjured up just now, either; it had been simmering in my mind for some time, and I hadn't acted due to uncertainty -- "Aren't I giving up too early?" "What if it gets better?" "Won't I regret leaving, a week from now?"
I finally put my foot down due to a number of things, one of which is experience from surviving what felt like a pretty brutal freshman year. I learned not to stretch myself too thin, because nothing is enjoyable when you can't get enough sleep. I also truly began to believe that I should do what I love. (It's one thing to be told this, and another to believe it.) Life was miserable enough that by the end of spring semester, I considered quitting violin because it was impossible to imagine finding the time to practice sophomore year, when classes were going to be even tougher. I was showing up at some weekly lessons having practiced just the two hours before. All right, then quit, my friends advised. And so I made up my mind to quit, and immediately reversed it. I knew for sure I couldn't stop doing music because I loved it too much.
On the other hand, I've wavered on the issue of remaining with solar car. I've learned and had fun with the team, but when the car was finished this summer and test driving began, it struck me that I didn't have any desire to drive it. And now, I remain the only one from the team last year who hasn't driven Eleanor. When I joined the team, the project appealed to me because it was a piece of engineering -- it was an "engineering stunt" as Hayman described it. But once the novelty wore off, I found that I didn't have an innate love of cars or racing, and I started to have to force myself to go to meetings without the old enthusiasm kicking in. I was afraid to quit because it would seem a shame, a waste of all the time I had put in already. And the more time I continued to put in, I thought, the more a waste quitting would become.
The pieces were already in my mind, then. A couple of things this week just nudged me over the edge.
But actually, lately I've been often very happy. The choice I made wasn't one I conjured up just now, either; it had been simmering in my mind for some time, and I hadn't acted due to uncertainty -- "Aren't I giving up too early?" "What if it gets better?" "Won't I regret leaving, a week from now?"
I finally put my foot down due to a number of things, one of which is experience from surviving what felt like a pretty brutal freshman year. I learned not to stretch myself too thin, because nothing is enjoyable when you can't get enough sleep. I also truly began to believe that I should do what I love. (It's one thing to be told this, and another to believe it.) Life was miserable enough that by the end of spring semester, I considered quitting violin because it was impossible to imagine finding the time to practice sophomore year, when classes were going to be even tougher. I was showing up at some weekly lessons having practiced just the two hours before. All right, then quit, my friends advised. And so I made up my mind to quit, and immediately reversed it. I knew for sure I couldn't stop doing music because I loved it too much.
On the other hand, I've wavered on the issue of remaining with solar car. I've learned and had fun with the team, but when the car was finished this summer and test driving began, it struck me that I didn't have any desire to drive it. And now, I remain the only one from the team last year who hasn't driven Eleanor. When I joined the team, the project appealed to me because it was a piece of engineering -- it was an "engineering stunt" as Hayman described it. But once the novelty wore off, I found that I didn't have an innate love of cars or racing, and I started to have to force myself to go to meetings without the old enthusiasm kicking in. I was afraid to quit because it would seem a shame, a waste of all the time I had put in already. And the more time I continued to put in, I thought, the more a waste quitting would become.
The pieces were already in my mind, then. A couple of things this week just nudged me over the edge.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Building With Whole Trees
Building With Whole Trees
A man named Roald Gundersen builds houses from whole trees. Besides being beautiful - just check out the slide show - his houses are smart engineering, since "a whole, unmilled tree can support 50 percent more weight than the largest piece of lumber milled from the same tree." Keeping trees whole also reduces the amount of carbon released into the atmosphere in several ways: the wood sequesters carbon, and energy is not consumed to cut down the tree and process it into lumber, or to produce the steel that may have replaced it. Construction costs are low - Gundersen's first home cost him under twenty grand in materials and outside labor. The downside to this method, though, is that it takes a long time to build a single house. The process is labor-intensive and demands special skill, and it's a very organic process; thus, typical suburban cookie-cutter homes couldn't be cranked out this way. However, a house from whole trees would be, I imagine, a dream cabin in the woods.
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Counting Calories and Carbon
Swedes are now adding a new metric to their food labels, alongside nutrition facts: CO2 emissions from the production of food. The hope is that people will tend to buy products with lower carbon footprints. This information has certainly complicated consumer decision-making, as Ulf Bohman, head of the Nutrition Department at the Swedish National Food Administration, articulated: "For consumers, it’s hard. You are getting environmental advice that you have to coordinate with, 'How can I eat healthier?'" Some people report feeling guilty purchasing food with higher associated carbon emissions. Such a metric also causes less visible consequences - farmers have been pressured to adopt low-emissions techniques, which may force them to grow only certain crops. It'll be curious to see whether the metric becomes a permanent fixture that has a lasting impact, or whether it loses efficacy over time.
A man named Roald Gundersen builds houses from whole trees. Besides being beautiful - just check out the slide show - his houses are smart engineering, since "a whole, unmilled tree can support 50 percent more weight than the largest piece of lumber milled from the same tree." Keeping trees whole also reduces the amount of carbon released into the atmosphere in several ways: the wood sequesters carbon, and energy is not consumed to cut down the tree and process it into lumber, or to produce the steel that may have replaced it. Construction costs are low - Gundersen's first home cost him under twenty grand in materials and outside labor. The downside to this method, though, is that it takes a long time to build a single house. The process is labor-intensive and demands special skill, and it's a very organic process; thus, typical suburban cookie-cutter homes couldn't be cranked out this way. However, a house from whole trees would be, I imagine, a dream cabin in the woods.
---
Counting Calories and Carbon
Swedes are now adding a new metric to their food labels, alongside nutrition facts: CO2 emissions from the production of food. The hope is that people will tend to buy products with lower carbon footprints. This information has certainly complicated consumer decision-making, as Ulf Bohman, head of the Nutrition Department at the Swedish National Food Administration, articulated: "For consumers, it’s hard. You are getting environmental advice that you have to coordinate with, 'How can I eat healthier?'" Some people report feeling guilty purchasing food with higher associated carbon emissions. Such a metric also causes less visible consequences - farmers have been pressured to adopt low-emissions techniques, which may force them to grow only certain crops. It'll be curious to see whether the metric becomes a permanent fixture that has a lasting impact, or whether it loses efficacy over time.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Paying Sleep Dues
As I'm currently drawing sums and sums from my sleep bank, this article is an eye-opener. Looks like sleep debts are like credit card debts; interest accumulates.
Fortunately, prior to this and last week, I've been sleeping an average of a bit under seven hours. This week I've sacrificed hours, though, to go running every morning, starting anywhere from 6:30 to 7:30 AM. I think the exercise has done more good than harm from reduced slumber, but it's not possible to keep up this four-hour-a-night deal. I enjoy the early morning weather, though. It's chilly, but not too cold yet that I can't wear shorts. And there's hardly anyone awake or on the sidewalks, one of the few times in the day for solitude.
Fortunately, prior to this and last week, I've been sleeping an average of a bit under seven hours. This week I've sacrificed hours, though, to go running every morning, starting anywhere from 6:30 to 7:30 AM. I think the exercise has done more good than harm from reduced slumber, but it's not possible to keep up this four-hour-a-night deal. I enjoy the early morning weather, though. It's chilly, but not too cold yet that I can't wear shorts. And there's hardly anyone awake or on the sidewalks, one of the few times in the day for solitude.
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