Ode to a paper deadline

Oh, that you were succinct and timely
Like the full stop of this strophe.

But instead you run on,
and on,
and on,
Needlessly extending,
delaying,
postponing,
Without hint,
or rhyme,
or reason for doing so
Requiring authors to collect,
and analyze,
and run more data
And ultimately to re-write,
re-shape,
re-reflect on their submission
Spending night,
after night,
after exhaustingly late night
Putting in one last chart,
one last plot,
one last conclusion
Before finally,
thankfully,
mercifully,
(and without warning)

You end.

The powers that be, hard at work

Finally, after years of hard work and countless failed revisions, the illustrious University of Texas at Austin has put together a "new Student Honor Code." It is the hope that this well-worded Code will not only inspire students to achieve greatness, but will also mention academic integrity--a fundamental flaw that prevented several other Codes from making it past round 2 of the workshop phase. 

Other codes that could have been approved but were rejected:

• "As a student of The University of Texas at Austin, I shall abide by the core values of the University." (Doesn't include "academic integrity")
• "Let's just be good, y'all." (Again, doesn't mention "academic integrity")
• "A longhorn is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly..." (Again, doesn't mention "academic integrity", and there were also some minor issues with Legal)

The official message announcing this change has been copied below for your convenience:

From: President

Date: September 6, 2013

Subject: Official: New Student Honor Code in effect

Dear Colleagues:

Now that classes are underway, I'd like to announce that a new Student Honor Code has been approved and is now in effect. I'm proud that our students, led by the Senate of College Councils, have taken the initiative to update UT's Honor Code.

The new Student Honor Code reads:

"As a student of The University of Texas at Austin, I shall abide by the core values of the University and uphold academic integrity."

This code is more succinct and explicitly mentions academic integrity, as requested by students. 

The code that we have used for the last nine years is now known as the University Code of Conduct and is applicable to all members of The University of Texas community. It reads:

"The core values of The University of Texas at Austin are learning, discovery, freedom, leadership, individual opportunity, and responsibility. Each member of the university is expected to uphold these values through integrity, honesty, trust, fairness, and respect toward peers and community."

Meaningful words have real power, and I am proud that our whole campus community contemplates and abides by these principles.

Sincerely,

Bill Powers

President

Academic Hazing -- Part II

It's been a while since Part I happened, and I didn't publish it because I wanted to remain in good graces with my adviser. Now that it's officially over, I figured I could post Part I and finish up with Part II.

To keep the three major actors (all advisors) in this play separate, I will give them names. First, my PhD adviser I'll call M, the graduate adviser for the CS graduate program I'll call Al, and the academic adviser (she knows all things rules and regulations) I'll call G.

I got an email from G mid-August, informing me that since I hadn't given my qualifying presentation by that point, I needed to provide the graduate committee with a schedule for when I would accomplish it. I wasn't too concerned--since I had already prepared for it in Part I, I could really do it any time.

But before I could email any response, M preemptively replied to the thread (Al, G, and me) with a two-sentence response:

I am no longer supervising Nathan Clement.  I will be at the meeting.

I spoke with Al and he told me I should probably get my act together, create a plan for how I would fulfill what I previously had considered "arbitrary requirements," and try and smooth things over with M. Since these "arbitrary requirements" consisted essentially of writing a 30-page background chapter for my PhD dissertation in the next two weeks, I sent a sort of extended abstract to M as a token of my dedication. This morning I got an email that simply stated:

Your emails have caused me to revisit events and progress per your research with me.
I come to the same conclusion. I am no longer your advisor.

In talking to a fellow student in the lab, he recommended I still talk in person with M and express my willingness to "take my scholarship seriously," so I waited for him to arrive at his office.


I described the meeting to a friend via text like this:

there's not really much of a story ... I talked to him, he said no, I said "please", he said never, and then I threw his chair out his window. 

maybe the chair part was only in my mind... 

I find it interesting that less than a month ago I was considering what I'd do if "my life were completely and irreversibly turned around."

Academic Hazing - Part I

I just got a scathing email from my advisor. There's a little bit of back story, so bear with me for a minute.

About the end of April, I finished writing a paper describing my research to that point, sent it to my advisor for review, and then set it aside to do some more research.

About the middle of May, I prepared to give a presentation–somewhat equivalent to the qualification exams in most PhD programs–invited colleagues and professors, and was about to purchase fruit and drinks. The night before I was scheduled to give this presentation, my advisor suggested I wasn't ready. Suggested is a light word. He actually forbade me from giving the presentation.

About the middle of June, my dad encouraged me to submit the paper I had previously written to a conference: there was one in Australia and one in Greece. On a whim, I asked my advisor about these conferences, if he had heard of either of them, and which one he thought I should attend. His response was that I don't know enough to submit to either conference and I should instead think about combining forces with another graduate student and submitting to a conference in Colorado (who wants to go to Colorado when they can go to Australia?) I respond with a short message saying, "Thanks. I'll just submit to one of these conferences and see if I can get some feedback on my paper."

About the beginning of July (now), he sends this "scathing rebuke." Apparently, my work to this point has been unsatisfactory, it is clear that I don't know what I'm talking about, my response to his email was "very discouraging," and if I didn't fulfill a set of arbitrary requirements, he was going to metaphorically and physically kick me out of his lab.

As I sat there seething, trying to think of some sort of witty, biting email to put him in his place, I imagined how the "perfect scenario" would play out:

I would write a scathing rebuke to him (my graduate advisor was already CC'd–let that continue), and he would become incensed. The graduate advisor would schedule a meeting in an attempt to mediate between the two of us, but tempers would be high. My advisor would make his first (weak) arguments that consist mostly of things clearly made up on the spot. I would politely wait, a wry smile on my face, then patiently ask, "Are you finished?" when he stopped talking.

And then my turn would come: "Oh. So you say I've not done my part? Well, what part have you done? How do you know I haven't attained the level of scholarship you desire? You haven't even read my work! You won't be able to give me even one detail from my paper that would prove you looked at anything past the abstract–because you didn't! If anyone is to blame here, it's you."

And then I would give him the kicker. I would issue the penultimate threat. I would put him so far into his place, he would have no response but to...

And then I realized. There was no possible way for my "perfect scenario" to end in my favor. At the end, I would tell him he was lousy and should jump off a cliff. He'd tell me I was lousy and didn't belong in his lab. I'd tell him he wasn't kicking me out of his lab cause I'd already left. And then my so-called perfect scenario would be turned completely on its head. Sure, I might have been able to get a couple biting jabs at him, let the graduate advisor know a few things he surely already knows. But I'd be no better off than I would be in any other scenario.


And then I was reminded of my fast-growing comparison between receiving a PhD and getting admitted to an elite club. I've always known it was an elite club, that you had to complete a set of somewhat-arbitrary requirements before you met some completely-arbitrary standard. And I knew that, once you were "in the club," you could get the secret handshake and sit at the secret table and talk with all the super-important people just because you had those special three letters attached to your name.

But until this point, I had never thought there was hazing. Every semester, the school sends out reminders that "individuals or organizations engaging in hazing could be subject to fines and charged with a criminal offense." Causing physical harm to someone else just so they can enter your club is strictly prohibited. But the mental and emotional hazing is part of the game. My last advisor required me to spend a summer unpaid, working on a dead-end project, and didn't approve when I wasn't in the lab every day. Why? Hazing. If you want to join the club, there has to be some sort of (usually unreasonable) mental/emotional/physical harm. And then once you do join the club, you get to inflict the pain on others.


Or perhaps I really do need to better my scholarship and just take it silently.

Le Scaphandre et le Papillon

I watched a movie the other night, Le Scaphandre et le Papillon. It's about Jean-Dominique Bauby, journalist and editor-in-chief of Elle magazine. He suffered a massive stroke that left him with "locked-in syndrome:" he could think, hear, and see, but couldn't move anything but his left eye. Ten days after he finished his memoir (after which the movie was named), he passed away.


A few weeks ago, my right arm started to ache. At first I thought it was carpal tunnel, but the symptoms pointed more toward tendonitis. I looked around on Google hoping for an easy cure (something like, "do arm yoga every morning for 15 minutes") but was sorely disappointed when all sources agreed that "the first stage toward recovery" was to "stop the repetitive actions that caused the tendonitis for at least 3 months." How does a computer science PhD student doing an internship at Google stop typing?

Although it's nowhere near the life-altering condition of Jean-Do, I wondered what it would be like if suddenly my life were completely and irreversibly turned around. Like the construction worker who breaks his back in his late 40s, or the medical doctor who goes blind.  What if I could no longer type? Or even worse--what if I could type, but I'd be miserable the rest of my life unless I chose not to?


Maybe I'll pull an Angelina Jolie an preemptively become a genetic counselor.

On qualification exams

A part of me died last night.

It wasn't really a big deal. Really. I'd been planning for a month or so to give a presentation today–a sort of oral qualifying exam, the only of its kind in my PhD program. I'd been over my slides several times this week with my advisor, and then he finally sort of snapped. The conversation went from "I don't understand this slide" to "You need to do it my way," and then finally ended with a decisive "You're not ready for your presentation tomorrow."

Perhaps his decision was closely linked to our "discussion" earlier, the discussion that started out with ridicule, then proceeded quickly to a heated argument and ended with him walking out saying, "Maybe you need to find someone else willing to bring forward your research ideas." I watched him go in a quandary:  Do I apologize, let him know I'll change my slides to match his desires, or do I just ignore him and go forward with the presentation? He's fairly fickle, and if I could catch him in a good mood, I was confident I could get him to pass me. Besides, I would be presenting to a committee of three professors, and I'm guessing the other two wouldn't have any emotional attachment to my slides.

But then I decided to bow out. I'd had such visions of grandeur up to this point. Coming to graduate school was going to be the best thing I'd done. Sure, it might be hard work, but no longer would I be surrounded by incompetent undergraduates, no longer would my nights be filled with busy work just to get the grade.  Instead, I'd be in an environment surrounded by high-energy, deep-thinking scholars. The only problem I would have is finding enough room on my CV for all the publications I'd be pushing. There would be no drama, no posturing for positions or fighting with the "wunderkind" for an advisor's attention. Just research, and making an impact on the world.

And then I let that dream die.

It was slowly replaced with a kind of saddening understanding. Maybe a PhD program is something akin to the hazing process required for a college fraternity. At times the requirements might not make sense, and they might have nothing to do with the end goal, but if you can only get through the hazing, you'll be accepted by the group and given a lovely PhD diploma to hang on your wall.


Now I have only one question for myself:

Is this really what I want?

Bogo Sort

(This post inspired by one of the latest XKCD comics)

The CS department recently finished our new building, and it's the first time I've actually been seated with my fellow labmates.  As the first item of business, we commenced prototyping our own version of Bogosort.

According to Wikipedia, the expected runtime is (n - 1) n!, so obviously we sought to empirically determine if this was accurate.  Our results showed that for lists of length 10, the number of iterations varied wildly from 1.0 to 315.9% the expected number of iterations, with an average at around 82.8%.  We also found that, for lists of numbers of length 15, nobody had the patience to wait for a single run to finish.  We also empirically determined Python is inefficient and hypothesized that C++ could probably even do the job better.

If you'd like to run the code yourself, you can find it here.

And finally, we determined an even more "efficient" (I use the term loosely, since efficiency for Bogosort is somewhat of a misnomer) Bogosort algorithm:

While not sorted(list):
  Rebuild Universe

Unfortunately, we never made it past the prototyping stage, even after expanding our search to include non-standard libraries.

Bad Labels

Sometimes I think labels are a bad thing.  For example, I realized the other day I'm not homophobic–I'm just not a fan of PDA, and I'm not a fan of kissing boys.  It's the same way you might be grossed out when I eat my corn flakes with water.  Is it gross?  Not at all to me, but you might think so.  Does that make you a corn-flakes-in-water-phobe?  Well, not the negative connotations currently in use with the term.  

Another one I realized I don't like is "you have a problem with authority figures."  I think that title fits me pretty decently, I'd just tweak it slightly:  I have a problem with authority figures who are doing a fantastically terrible job.

Take this morning, for example.  I had two notable experiences.  The first (actually, it happened second, but I want to bring it up first) was a call from StubHub.  Recently, I purchased two relatively-expensive tickets from one Andy T for an upcoming concert.  Andy sent me 4 tickets instead, and I was thrilled because at half price they were almost reasonable.  StubHub called last week with the old "Andy sent you the wrong number of tickets.  Can you send them back?"  I acquiesced, of course,  since I'd hate to be out two great tickets myself.  But...I was at my brother's wedding in another state and I didn't get around to it.  This morning, StubHub called me again.  The conversation went something like the following:

StubHubGuy:  I noticed you haven't sent the tickets yet.
me:  Yeah.  I've been out of town.
StubHubGuy:  Well, you know that if you don't send them, we might charge you full price for the other tickets.
me [here's where the "authority issues" came out]:  I actually am only sending the tickets because I'm honest.  There is nothing in the StubHub agreement that says you can charge me double.  I don't take kindly to threats.
StubHubGuy [now backpedaling cause I didn't lay down]:  Well, I didn't say we were going to charge you double, just that we might.
me:  I think we're done here.


I don't think that's issues with authority, is it?  Maybe I was a little testy because of a carillon issue that cropped up the night before, but "issues with authority"?  He was clearly doing a fantastically terrible job, and I was not in the mood to put up with it.


The second experience actually has been spanning several days now.  Our delightful Guild of Student Carillonneurs has been growing quite nicely for a few years, but the President/Dictator of the Guild (he actually named the typical "vice president" office the "deputy director."  Serious?  Are you looking for a fight?  Do you need a deputy to police our little 9-member club?) has been growing restless.  Just last week, he sent out an email to the Guild that "the inability of recently-inducted Members to fulfill the specified duties of membership...makes those inductions incompatible with the Guild's new Constitution and the mission of the Guild."  Which means that all of the members but himself and me are either kicked out, or graduated.  Including the former Cornell Head Chimesmaster who's doing a PhD in Arabic studies at UT. Are you catching the "fantastically terrible job" here?  This is a perfect case of ex post facto, and an even better case of abusing it to nobody's benefit.

Needless to say, I sent him the following email.  (I spent a good deal of research time on it, but I thought it turned out pretty good, don't you?)

You've made a couple of bad decisions recently, but they're decisions you've made nonetheless, and some of them are impossible to reverse.  Right now, though, you have two paths ahead of you:  that of the mediocre man, or that of a true leader.  Let me describe them for you. 

Your first choice is the choice of the mediocre man.  It is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority (as they suppose), to immediately begin to exert unnecessary dominion.  It is the nature and disposition of almost all men to undertake to cover their mistakes, continually heaping on poor decisions.  When one wrong decision leads to another, instead of taking responsibility and admitting fault, the mediocre man takes the coward's way out, finding excuses for what they've done or allowing others to take the blame for them.  They will not admit fault, because fault is a sign of weakness and the mediocre man does not believe weakness should be expressed.  They may some day become a great politician, but they will not be successful.  And always, always, their organizations are filled with pettiness, back-bighting, and a general poor sense of morale. 

On the other hand, you may choose the path of the true leader.  While this path might be harder in the beginning, it will be so much worth it in the end.  The true leader does not seek to gratify his pride or his vain ambition, he does not seek to hide his faults or cover his wrong choices, and places the desires and needs of his constituents before that of his own.  This path will require you to admit that you were wrong, to offer apologies where necessary, and to mend bridges you have burned.  While it might be tough for you in the beginning, the Guild as a whole will be much stronger because of it.  No true member of the Guild will care about power, because no true lover of music would care about anything but playing the instrument they love.  If you're a good leader, you'll demonstrate this by example.
 

[Name withheld to protect the "innocent"], I'm hoping you'll make the right choice.  I'm hoping for the Guild's sake you'll choose the path of the true leader, but I'm also hoping for your own sake.  If not, the School of Hard Knocks has several tough lessons for you yet to learn.
 

As a wise man has said, I seek not for power, but to pull it down.  I seek not for the honor of the world, but for the satisfaction personal gain can bring.  I seek not for the praise of men, but for the betterment of the Guild.  Let's all have the same goals in mind.

The carillon is located at the top of the famous UT tower, just above the clocks seen on all sides.

A day in the life

Sometimes I love my life.

For example, today.

It quickly became apparent that my cubicle-mate was eating lunch because 1) the overpowering smell of something spicy and very oriental swelled over the dividers, and then 2) the loud and incredibly aggravating probably-culturally-acceptable-in-some-other-part-of-the-world sound of him eating his soup kept time with the clock.

I took a break to use the bathroom, passed the bike in the walkway that hasn't moved in months but instead is defiantly challenging the passive-agressive "Bikes are not allowed in cubicle areas" sign just feet away, turned left at what used to be the US army's "I want you..." poster with "...to stay quiet" below but now reads "Help Create a Culture of Acoustic Courtesy" (I only wish that phrase were enclosed in quotation marks or asterisks), and finally got to the bathroom.  I took care of my business next to a lot of ruckus in a stall, then washed my hand as the now-finished ruckus-maker slurped water from the sink (how he found this more sanitary than partaking from the drinking fountains just outside is beyond me).

And then I got back to my computer where I should be working in Lisp on Recursion and Induction homework but instead am trying to figure out at what sampling rate I need to save an mp3 file so an incorrectly-sampled video can have the audio synced with the speaker's lips (if I reduce the rate to 45960Hz, by the way, it looks nearly perfect).


Swell.  All we need is some of the cribbage players to start up their rousing game in the corner with the cot and one of my other cubicle-mates to start talking on the phone in a language that sounds like it's using the N-word all too frequently.


If that doesn't make you envious, I don't know what will.

I got sunshine in a bag

I have a computer science department mailbox I don't usually check, partially because it's not very convenient, but mostly because it usually just has junk from "Friends of CS" (tech companies pay money to the department for recruiting purposes).  Today I had a couple pieces of mail that were surely, from the looks of it, sent by Friends of CS.  One in particular caught my eye since it had what appeared to be a printing error on the address.  I figured it was just a form-letter that did a really good job of imitating handwriting (I'm always impressed with mass mailings that do a good job of this).

I opened the envelope and saw the following:

My first thought was that someone wanted my money.  No thank you.  On the way to the trash, I flipped it up to read the inside.

This was probably the best way to start an otherwise rough-starting week.  I don't know how long ago this letter was sent (I was the TA for this student last fall), and I'm super glad the department hadn't thrown it away (although they could have tossed the announcement about the pizza party last month).  But mostly, I'm glad this student (I removed his name so it would be anonymous) took the time to express his appreciation.  It was a small thing, but it made a big difference.

Thanks, [name removed for the sake of privacy]!

A- or BUST

In graduate school, sometimes we take hard classes.  Other times, we take classes outside our field of expertise.  Occasionally, we even get around to taking hard classes that are also outside our field of expertise.  Sometimes these classes help us gain valuable knowledge and skills that will forever benefit our skills.  Sometimes they teach us about the frustrations of life.  I think I've had enough of the latter.

The course was Wireless Networking.  The project?  Implementing full-duplex radios in a large industrial (read:  not entirely open-source) wireless simulator.  The problem?  Well, for starters, there needed to be serious changes to the infrastructure of the program including canceling timers at the right interval, sending packets through the correct protocol, etc, etc... But the second problem was just as significant:  I needed to understand the system forward-and-backward just to know what needed to be changed.  

Of course, I didn't start the project until later in the semester than I should have, but the professor made it seem like there would only be "a few small adjustments," and most of the work would be data analysis.  A week before the semester was over, I realized this was far from the truth:  I'd put in a good 20 hours on the project and still wasn't able to perform any "data analysis."  I figured I would just resort to using my powers of persuasion and emphasize some irregularities we'd observed to make a case, but in a class presentation a week before the semester was over, we were cut short by our professor who kindly informed us we were nowhere near finished and would need to complete the implementation by the week's end.

5 1/2 days, 40 hours more (including two near-all-nighters), and still nothing.  I don't think I'm an idiot, and I'm surely not incompetent when it comes to coding in C++ (just ask Smarterer--my score of 612 gives me a "proficient" rating), but I could not slay the beast.  Persuasive powers put to use again, I turned in what I thought was a fairly decent paper considering the circumstances.  When grades rolled around, I got a B in the class.  Not exactly what I wanted, and definitely not what my GPA was looking forward to, so I asked the professor if I could finish the project over the holiday in exchange for a regrade.  She was agreed.

It wasn't until 120 hours later (over my "break") that I finally had something working--and not just hobbling along, either.  I put together a stellar report complete with some of the aforementioned data analysis, and submitted for a regrade.  Within a few days, I got my professor's response:  an A- in the course.

I was thrilled, and so was my advisor (he'd expressed some concerns with my current GPA, but my promises for a higher grade in the class left him satisfied).  I put it all behind me.

Until about a week ago, when I got the following email from my professor (edited for brevity):

I submitted a request to change your course grade to A-. But it was not approved by the graduate office. To be fair to everyone, the graduate office enforced only considering the work done before the end of the semester.

In the past, students informed me in advance that they needed additional time to complete the project due to certain reasons and I assigned them an incomplete grade and was able to change them to a letter grade. Unfortunately, it didn't work in this case since you didn't inform me about the intention to continue the project and a letter grade had been submitted at the end of the semester. 

Sorry that I didn't know about the different treatment in the two cases earlier. If helpful, I'd be happy to write a letter to indicate you did a good job in the course and would be happy to give you A- if I had the option to do that based on the new project submission.

Seriously?  "only considering work done before the end of the semester" unless you have "certain reasons" to ask for "additional time"?  I've heard about this before.  You mess around the entire semester and realize you didn't do anything on your project, ask your professor for an extension, they give you an incomplete and a couple extra months to finish your project.  Apparently, if I would have simply asked for an incomplete and done the exact same work, I could have got an A- in the class.


I'm hoping this isn't the end of the story.  I'm hoping I'll go in and talk to the graduate advisor and he'll push through the red tape.  But I also hoped graduate school wouldn't be so full of drama.

Whatever the outcome, this is strike two against academia.  Why does an institution so "dedicated" to producing scholars have so many artificial barriers to keep you from getting there?


Maybe someday this will all make sense.


That's what I keep telling myself.