Cajo Snudehygel

I have heard about SLIW for many years (mainly from television) but I have always dismissed it as a problem that affected other people. In fact, for a long time, I doubted its existence, but now I find that I too have acquired the condition. It is clearly not serious and while its impact is real, it is not life-threatening. I am not sure how many sufferers there are world-wide, but one can assume that it is widespread and definitely unreported. It may be a purely psychological condition, but as far as I know there have been no medical studies. My own theory, however, is that it falls in the domain of physics: it has all the hallmarks of a quantum-physical phenomenon.

I am talking, of course, about socks-lost-in-the-wash (SLIW). I have been doing my own washing for a long time now, and I have always managed to keep track of my socks. Over the last two years, however, I have had to make a space in my closet for unmatched footwear. It’s a kind of “singles bar” for socks. Most of these individuals eventually find their match but I have noticed a couple of loners who have been through many, many washing cycles but have taken up pretty much permanent residence among the bachelor socks.

Where on earth do they come from, and what happened to their partners? It is not inconceivable that they are hiding under a bed or behind the couch, but I have checked and the usual suspects are not in the obvious places and vice versa. One possibility suggested itself today.  Our winter is quite warm and I can dry my washing outside in the sun. I wonder if birds may be stealing socks? La gazza ladra. Perhaps SLIW will eventually be solved by zoologists and not psychiatrists or physicists.

I have a mole in my background.  The grass, which hardly existed when I moved in, have grown nicely over the last four years, but I have hardly spent any time in the backyard and so I let the mole dig around.  There is this vague idea that it might actually be a good thing if the soil is turned over somewhat.

I expected the mole to migrate to greener pastures, because for the last couple of year there have been many days when the whole backyard is under water.  Due to the builder’s brilliance, the yard slopes the wrong way and the water collects.  At some point in the future (if I haven’t moved to another spot) I’ll have to do something about that.  My suspicion is that the mole won’t like this state of affairs and, in fact, I think it moved into my yard for exactly this reason.  Little did it know.  Now, however, we’re having the driest winter I can recall in a long time and it looks like it’s the mole who is having the last laugh.

Hmph.  Oh well, we’ll see what happens.

On an entirely unrelated note, I have to record two words that I encountered and never saw before.  One is “retrosexual”, which refers to a man dressing in 50′s style and perhaps also adopting a more 50′s-style attitude.  I’m not sure if this is conscious reaction to metrosexuals (metrosexuality), but perhaps it is some kind of higher-level shift in society.  I’m not so much interested in the philosophical underpinnings as in the witty observation of the similarity of “metro” and “retro”.  There aren’t many other candidate prefixes with this pattern. The only ones I know are “tetro-” (more usually “tetra-”, meaning “four”) and “petro-”.  Perhaps “tetrosexual” is someone who enjoys a foursome? Petrosexual obviously refers to someone who is really into fossil fuels.

The other word is “youtubification”, as in, “The youtubification of the education industry will have a dramatic impact on universities.”  That was not the exact context in which I first heard it, but it seems apt.

After a five-month blog-holiday I’m back.  I think.  Upgraded to the latest version of wordpress.  (The theme is part of the default installation.)  After a long session of blog installation I’m a little tired, so I’ll report on the events of the last few months shortly.

Yesterday I had two visits from roofers. The first one I had to prompt to show up (promised to come Tuesday afternoon, coaxed into coming Wednesday afternoon). But I understand: things happen and plans change. This first guy was a waterproofing expert and couldn’t really help with my problem, and so he referred me to the second who showed up exactly as promised.

My problem is that my gutters are loose. When the wind blows (as it does a lot here in Somerset West; we are (1) in the windy Cape, (2) by the coast, and (3) by a mountain), they make a terrible sound as if they are coming off. The reason for this is that they are coming off. The second roofer explained that they were not attached correctly to the fascia board. He also claimed that the company who installed the gutters are now out of business, something that did not surprise me much.

So next week roofer two is coming to fix the gutters properly, to clean them up, and also to fix one of my downspouts which pours the water directly into the ground. I believe that the regulations are that they must be a couple of centimeters above the ground, but — once again — the company that installed them when the house was build were not too keen on regulations.

At least, I hope that roofer two is coming next week to do all those things. It may be that he comes to replace my gutters if the wind blows them off! I just hope another company installed the roof. Usually the builder does this himself, but usually he also installs the gutters himself! My only consolation is that somebody else’s roof will probably blow off first, giving me a little warning. If that happens, I won’t be paying for the repairs of the roof; my landlord will. But I will probably pay for the property damage inside the house! Ugh.

Long ago my piano teacher (or maybe a succession of piano teachers) tried to explain cantabile to me. It refers to a singing quality of a tnote. (Or a phrase really, but it can also apply to a single note.) You are suppose to rotate your hand in a certain way after you have struck the key. I was able to produce it, but I didn’t fully understand how your hand movement could influence the sound once the hammer has hit the strings. To be honest, I still do not understand it — it is still magic to me.

[I should note that my primary piano teacher was an ancient lady. Some or all of what she taught me during the early eighties is probably interdit nowadays. This may very well include cantabile wrist rotation.]

Somehow the human ear is able to discern the pianist intention. The complex co-mingling of frequencies signal a “cold” or a “warm” attitude. My sister and I used to play a duet together. I was not very good, but — to my mind — her playing was mechanical while mine was (only) slightly more confident and conversational. I think I can say this with modesty, since I could also detect how primitive my playing was compared to that of people who could really play well. It is like climbing a mountain. My sister and I are on the foothills, where the technique is still important, while others have progressed to the lower slopes where playing well is a given and where interpretation starts to matter. And of course there are others at higher elevations; for them it is a whole other philosophical ball game, if you’ll pardon the mixed metaphors.

Listening to a few recordings reminded me of this strange ability to detect the underlying emotion in even a short phrase. In particular, listening to someone like Mario Lanza singing “Drink! Drink! Drink!” from Romberg’s The Student Prince gives me chills down my spine. Even just those long notes he holds toward the end are enough. Or a good rendition of the William Tell overture. There are countless other examples, not only opera/operetta or classical music, but I’m a little too tired to list them now.

I suspect that piano cantabile is a myth, except insofar as it exists in the mind of the pianist. Lyrical quality is probably conveyed by tiny amounts of rubato.

Long day at work. I accomplish so little, but I think I’m starting to zoom in on (one of) the problems. I think my biggest mistake is going to work at all. Interruptions account for most of my lost time. Richard Hamming gave a famous talk that discusses how to be a great scientist. One of the things he said, is:

Another trait, it took me a while to notice. I noticed the following facts about people who work with the door open or the door closed. I notice that if you have the door to your office closed, you get more work done today and tomorrow, and you are more productive than most. But 10 years later somehow you don’t know quite know what problems are worth working on; all the hard work you do is sort of tangential in importance. He who works with the door open gets all kinds of interruptions, but he also occasionally gets clues as to what the world is and what might be important.

This may all be very true, but I think that in the short term (say the next six months) I need to get the work done. My open-door policy will have to change. No more impromptu visits by students without appointments. In fact, I think I shall set up a strict Mondays & Fridays routine, staying at home Tuesday through Thursday.

This afternoon we also held our quarterly faculty council meeting. Surprisingly, the dean was quite quick. I think he realizes that it is mostly a waste of time. Having said that, tradition is not always a bad thing, and it would probably be a mistake to relinquish the final stamp of approval to unseen committees. However tedious the council meeting may be, I actually look forward to it.

So, after an honest day’s labour, the day held two treats. First, I said goodbye to Pieter and Eva. The chances that I will travel to Europe later in the year is about 50/50, but that I will also have the opportunity to visit Switzerland is very low. But my intention is to go to Finland next year if I can wangle it at the local university (and I’m pretty sure I know how), and on the Finnish side (the whole country have had cutbacks so this may not be as easy), and then I will definitely include Zurich on my itinerary. Of course, it is always a little sad to say goodbye to friends, and especially for me. I tend to see all of my friends about once a year, if I’m lucky!

The other treat was a night out with the boys. The “boys” being Jean and Erik. We went bowling…ahem. This was only my third time ever, and apparently it is not like riding a bicycle. Or perhaps it is, and I was lousy the time as well. I’m very sure I’ve been bowling in Switzerland (but I cannot recall the details), and I must have gone once here in ZA as well. Needless to say, it did not go well. Low scores: three games around the 50–60 mark and one game a little better. But never mind that: it was great fun, and also a little strange to meet the other twin. I’ll see Jean again next week, but I definitely also want to have another go at the bowling.