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 advocating the devil

My friend recently wrote a blog post condemning The Devil's Advocate.  It hit a particularly sensitive nerve as I have been censured several times (including by the author of the post) for "wrongly" taking this position.  My comment on her blog was getting fairly lengthy, so I decided to post it here.

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As an advocate of the devil myself, I am going to respectfully disagree with you, and propose two reasons for such advocations that go beyond those expressed in your post.  Each of these reasons suppose that, instead of being limited in his understanding, the devil's advocate actually possesses greater insight into the situation.


First, one might play the devil's advocate for pure sport.  Let me ask you when the last time was you successfully "convinced" someone of an alternative position.  It's going to be rare--not only because convincing someone is a difficult task, but because typical "discussions" lack a definitive "right" or "wrong," being instead guided by opinion (which can be neither right nor wrong).  In this scenario, the devil's advocate is perfectly aware of the futility of change, so he shifts the parameters to create something accomplishable.  As a sporting event, the game can be likened to a digging expedition:  how deep are this individual's convictions? are they rooted in something substantial?  do they understand that many of their so-called "scientifically-based and entirely-reasonable" conclusions have neither a foundation in science nor logical basis?  One might think changing the rules to a sporting even is unfair, but on the other hand (as a wise man once said), the purpose of a true scholar is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comforted.


My second reason is closely linked to the first:  the proposition that all positions are insubstantially-founded.  As a good friend once quoted,

"All articulated positions emerge from social process, and even the attempt to elaborate foundations must ultimately beg the question of how its elaborations are to be warranted. This scarcely suggests that we should abandon the positions we occupy. Rather, it is to become aware that we live within traditions that may or may not be adequate to the contingencies of today. Reflection, curiosity, and doubt must all be encouraged." – Kenneth Gergen

The devil's advocate, then, has a greater understanding of this claim.  As he pushes the limits of his own understanding, he is able to identify the areas of his arguments constructed by social processes that might not be globally accepted and/or understood.  He also knows that in agreeing with the current social norms or trends (ie, going along with the conversation without exploring the alternatives), he is preventing himself of empathizing with others.  Frequently, the devil's advocate will propose the following thought-question:  "Assume there exists a logical, well-founded, unbiased individual with an opinion opposite to my own.  How is it possible for them to arrive at their current position?"  The opponent of the devil's advocate will rarely be able to admit—and even less frequently answer—these questions.


So, to my blog-writing friend, I am going to have to respectfully disagree.  On the off-chance you don't accept my respectful disagreement, I'm going to have to disrespectfully disagree.  And, if you continue to pursue the subject even further, I am going to vehemently disagree and suggest that, perhaps, you should participate in a simpler sport or entertain less empathetic conversations.

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?

MR-ADAM

Dear C++ MapReduce:

All your base are belong to us.

EOM

Next on the Bucket List: The Down Under

I was listening to the radio last night on my way to basketball (there wasn't anything situationally-appropriate to play, so I shamelessly listed to NPR) and it was all about homing pigeons.  In summary, they don't know how pigeons always manage to return home (even sedated during the trip out, they still make it back), but they think it has something to do with a "built-in compass."  Apparently, pigeons aren't the only creatures with this sort of auto-nav.  An Aboriginal community, the Prompuraaw, has a language that is largely impacted by 16 different words for cardinal directions.  Instead of saying "How are you" as a greeting, the typical question is, "Where are you going?" and a typical response would be, "Southsoutheast, in the middle distance." Literally, they always know where they were heading.

Anyway, this got me to thinking about my own sense of cardinality.  Ever since I can remember, I've been confused by north and south.  Not in a "I can't tell my way around town" sort of confusion—in fact, I always know which direction I'm going.  But I always think north is south and east is west.  It's really easy to fix when giving directions, for example, because I just reverse my intuition and it's all smooth sailing.  But this radio program made me wonder if, perhaps, my internal sense of direction really was correct, I was merely living in the wrong hemisphere.  Needless to say, I added "visit the southern hemisphere" to my bucket list (anyone up for a trip to Sydney?).

But there's another interesting phenomenon that has been troubling me lately.  Whenever I think of a dream or a memory, I always think in 3rd person.  When I remember my brother and I rolling down the stairs on our stomachs as a kid, I don't feel the stairs hit my stomach, I watch happily from a distance.  When I'm running from a killer witch in a nightmare, I don't look down at my feet and wonder why they won't move, I watch myself from a distance, trying to will myself to run.  

It's not really a problem (it has gotten me into trouble a couple of times...like when, as an 18-year old at the family dinner table, I "remembered" my parents wedding), but it does concern me because this implies that none of my memories are actually real.

What does that even mean?

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.