What I’m Blogging

It’s the birthday of physicist Stephen Hawking, born in Oxford, England (1942). He went to Oxford University but never attended lectures. He was bored with most of his classes because they seemed too easy and it was only after an oral exam that his professors realized how smart he was. He had went on to get a Ph.D. and he was just starting to find his courses interesting when he was diagnosed with ALS, a disease that slowly destroys a persons ability to move any part of their body, while leaving the brain itself unharmed. His doctors gave him a life expectancy of two to three years.

…just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star…

At first Hawking was utterly depressed and considered giving up on everything. But then his condition seemed to stabilize and he got engaged to one of his classmates. He said, “[I realized that] if we were to get married, I had to get a job. And to get a job, I had to finish my Ph.D. I started working hard for the first time in my life. To my surprise, I found I liked it.”

Hawking decided to focus his studies on the mysterious astronomical objects known as black holes and he developed new theories about how they function and what role they may have played in the origin of the universe.

In 1988, Hawking decided to sum up all the research on physics and astronomy in a book for nonscientists called A Brief History of Time: From the Big Bang to Black Holes (1988). His publishers told him that in order for the book to be successful he had to avoid math altogether. They estimated that he would reduce his readership by fifty percent for every mathematical equation he included. So he included only one: E=MC². A Brief History of Time went on to sell almost 10 million copies.

Stephen Hawking said, “[Human beings] are just an advanced breed of monkeys on a minor planet of a very average star. But we can understand the Universe. That makes us something very special.”

I am a trapped man. Trapped in a bureaucratic maze of paperwork and performance evaluations. Remember the good old days when your manager patted you on the back, told you that you were “OK” and then gave you a raise that resembled paltry crumbs left over for mice? Well now we have to carefully examine every nuance of the professional career of our staff. All accomplishments rated, all goals and aspirations assessed. All written up in incredibly long winded forms that once signed will never again see the light of day.

Ah yes but this new, modern, efficient tool of the Human Resource gnomes will ensure that proper rewards are handded out. That merit will have its due. [sound of breaking glass and screeching brakes]. Nope. We still only get to give out paltry crumbs, but we have to work harder at it than before.

“sic transit gloria management”

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It’s the birthday of J.R.R. (John Ronald Reuel) Tolkien, born in South Africa (1892). His family came back to England after his father died and his mother taught him Latin and converted him to Catholicism. She died when he was twelve and friends said he stayed a Catholic and continued to study languages in her memory.

…Literature stops in 1100. After that it’s only books…

He went on to philology, or the study of the derivation of languages, at Oxford, and it was there that he met his friend C.S. Lewis. Lewis later said, “At my first coming into the world, I had been warned never to trust a [Catholic], and at my first coming into the English Faculty, never to trust a philologist. Tolkien was both.” Despite Lewis’ suspicion they took to one another right away and with a number of other men formed The Inklings, a group of writers who met in a local pub each week to talk about books and read aloud what they’d been writing. Lewis and Tolkien often talked late into the night about the idea that books could be “morally serious fantasy,” dressing correct theology in the clothing of a ripping good tale.

Tolkien’s idea for a novel came from his love for language. He was fluent in Classical Greek and Latin, Old Norse, Old English, medieval Welsh and Anglo-Saxon and an ancient form of German called Gothic, among other ancient European languages. He was so interested in the structure of language that he decided to invent an entire language of his own. He even invented a new alphabet to write in that language and when he began writing Lord of the Rings, he gave that new language to the Elves calling it “High Elvish”. He later said, “I wrote Lord of the Rings to provide a world for the language… I should have preferred to write the entire book in Elvish.”

Many critics now consider Lord of the Rings to be one of the greatest fantasy novels ever written. It’s the story of Frodo Baggins¹, a lowly hobbit who sets out on a quest to destroy a magic ring so that it cannot fall into the hands of the evil Sauron.

It took Tolkien twelve years to write The Lord of the Rings, in part because he was a great procrastinator and refused to take any time off to work on the book. He was constantly stopping his writing in order to research various details he wanted to include, such as the proper way to stew a rabbit. He wrote to his editor more than once to say that he wasn’t sure he could finish the book, but after twelve years he had finally done it. He wrote, “It is written… in my life-blood.”

Tolkien wasn’t sure anyone would want to read The Lord of the Rings since it was hardly the children’s book his editor had asked for. He wrote, “My work has escaped from my control. I have produced a monster… a complex, rather bitter and rather terrifying romance. I now wonder whether many beyond my friends would read anything so long.”

The book was moderately successful when the first volume came out in 1954, but it didn’t become a huge bestseller until the 1960’s when American college students fell in love with it and psychedelic rock bands like Led Zeppelin began writing songs about it. Tolkein never enjoyed having become a cult figure in his own lifetime. He tried to live quietly for the rest of his life.

J.R.R. Tolkein said, “Literature stops in 1100. After that it’s only books.”

He once said, “I am in fact, a hobbit in all but size. I like gardens, trees and unmechanized farmlands. I smoke a pipe and like good plain food (unrefrigerated), but detest French cooking. I am fond of mushrooms (out of a field)…. I go to bed late and get up late (when possible). I do not travel much.”

Notes:

1. Original article listed name as Bilbo Baggins

During the holidays I like to read some light fiction that raises my spirits. Who better to turn to than Terry Pratchett and his Discworld series? Always entertaining, always fast paced and light, always thought provoking after you recover from rolling on the floor and laughing you nether regions off.

My first venture was a an oldie but a goodie, number eight in the series with a bullet (or more aptly a crossbow bolt), Guards! Guards!

Pratchett introduces us to those lovable characters of Ankh-Morpork’s Night Watch; Captain Vimmes, Carrot, Colon and Nobby. It is a study in the pursuit of power versus the rule of law, with a “thought to be extinct” dragon thrown into the mix to bring the tale to a riotous boil. The denizens of the divided city get a little more than they bargained for while searching for a king, a king with an appetite for barbequed virgins. A very enjoyable read.

Wile ruminating on the nature of politics and power I thought, “what would a holiday season be without some kind of traditional holiday tale?” Well Pratchett delivers with all the ribbons, tinsel and other trimmings of the season; like say pigs.

The second dive into Discworld was a timeless story of the true spirit of the holidays. It is none other than the tale of Hogfather, that magical being who flies his hog pulled sledge around Discworld on Hogswatch eve delivering toys to all the girls and boys in all the lands. This Hogswatch, however, something has gone terribly wrong and Death has to fill in as the Hogfather’s replacement. Follow the adventure as Susan, the Raven, and the Death of Rats try to solve the mystery and save Hogswatch and the very existence of existence. Read to find out why “You’d better watch out…”

Tomorrow is “once more into the breech” day. It is the day to return to the office. Return to paper work. Return to the chaos that is Gigantic Concrete. I am not looking forward to it, as I leave the warm safety of family and home top return to the corporate jungle where the only law is the urban law…

…we’re doomed, of course, so I head for coffee…

Poem: “Urban Law” by Alison Hawthorne Deming from Genius Loci. © Penguin Poets.

Urban Law

Rush hour and the urban outflow pours
across the Million Dollar Bridge. I wait
for the walk-light, cross-traffic slight but
caution’s the rule when the city roars
toward all its separate homes. I get
the sign, little electric man, and step
into the street. A woman turns into
my lane, bearing down, eye-contact,
and still she guns it until I stare and
shake my head in disbelief at her
ferocity. She slows begrudged to let
me pass, runs down the window of her Saab
and shouts, “Why don’t you wait for the light?”
and flips me the bird. I feel weepy like
a punished child, mind sinking to lament,
What’s wrong with the human race? Too many
of us, too crowded, too greedy for space-
we’re doomed, of course, so I head for coffee
and a muffin, walking sad and slow on
the return. I’m waiting again to cross,
picking fingersful of muffin from the
paper sack and watching the phalanx of
cars race by, not even a cell of a
thought in my mind that I might jump the change,
when a man who’s got the green stops,
an executive wearing a crisp white
shirt and shiny red tie, and he raises
his palm to gesture me safely across,
making all the cars behind him wait while
I walk, and together at rush hour that
man and I redeem the whole human race.