Righteous News

Apologies for the delayed update here but these past few days have been busy.  This was the official first week of Michaelmas Term so I now know just how crazy intense the school year gets at Oxford.  Classes are still going really well.  Logic is progressing at a good speed and I can feel the various axioms settling into my mind.  Starting to write little notations like "SP" (suppressed premise) in the margins of other texts I read so retention and understanding is no problem there.  Got to do some observation through small telescopes up at Hanwell and that was wild.  Looked at a bunch of binary star systems and then at Jupiter.  All four of the Galilean moons were clearly visible along the equatorial axis.  Makes for some amazing viewing having all those locked into a belt extending out from the Jovian monster.  I'm keeping an observational journal complete with sketches and that's a fun exercise.

But the big stuff this week was definitely from the rowing corner of my world.  Last Saturday I went down to the Hertford College boat house for a taster session with all the other freshers (although I don't exactly fit the freshman bill, this is my first year in Oxford so that's close enough)  Right off the bat I met an old Hertford oarsman who actually rowed in the blue boat in last years Xchanging Boat Race.  Though Cambridge won the race it was still a huge achievement on his part to have made it to that level.  The Boat Race (no further qualification necessary, as though there are no other boat races in the world) is essentially the grudge match between Cambridge and Oxford that takes place once a year and is watched by pretty much everyone in England.  I was shown around the boathouse and then briefed on Hertford's progress through the rankings at Oxford rowing in recent years.  It was a very warm welcome. 

Having had a grip of experience over the last year rowing with Ron, Brian and some New Trier kids I was the clear standout among the group of about 25.  After some time on the rowing machine we went out in an eight man boat which was a real treat, having never been in one before then.  After that we settled down for some burgers and beers.  I was offered a spot on the primary novice boat which was wonderful, I was very happy with that.

The next day the captain of men's rowing added me to the email list for the senior squad (not senior as in citizen, as in rowing badass) and asked me to come train with them for the week to see if I had what it took to jump up into their bracket.  "Okaay" I said to myself, this was about to get a whole lot more real.  So Friday morning at 0630 I was in another eight, this time with the Sr. Mens team and a visiting post-grad who also had rowed in the Blue Boat last year - different guy than the one I met last Saturday.  Clearly these guys produce world class oarsmen if they sent two guys to that event in one year.  The outing went well, I was rusty from not having seriously held an oar in about two months but it came back quickly.

I went back for some ERG training that night at 1730 and one of their two coaches was there to teach me how a proper Hertford stroke looks and feels.  Did some basic ERG pieces to work out the rhythm and it started to feel real natural.  The coach pulled me and one other new guy aside afterwards and said "You are two guys I want in my boat.  You've got the athleticism and we can teach you how to row at an international level if you stick with us for the year."  I almost hurt myself nodding vigorously.

This morning I was back up and over at the boathouse for some time in a four man boat trying to implement what I had learned on the ERGs the night before.  The mens captain was at stroke position and two guys I hadn't met yet were in seats 2 and 3 which put me at bow seat.  I was the only new guy in the boat so the pressure was on.  It took about an hour to integrate all that was being thrown at me and lay down some good strokes but damn it felt good to connect with the water properly and feel that boat move.  I know I wasn't looking good the whole outing but I let myself be a blank slate for the coach and just tried my hardest to implement whatever he wanted me to do.  Near the end of the second hour we hit a perfect unison for three strokes and the cox yelled "Whoa!  Now that's how you do it boys!  I felt that!"  followed by the coach on the riverbank saying, "I think we just found a new bow seat oarsman."

I'm still grinning over this, probably won't stop til sometime next month. 

All I need is a few little pieces of paper with some signatures on them that say I'm a visiting international student of Hertford College and then I'm officially a member of their Senior Mens squad.  The work certainly doesn't end there.  I'll be training twice a day, five days a week for rest of my time here but its all in service to the grandest dream I've yet brought to fruition.  This feeling lies well beyond even the most superlative adjectives I've ever learned. 

So raise a glass with me this weekend - To the Oarsman!

Incredible is Everywhere

This was the view outside my tutorial room yesterday.  That's the Christ Church Quadrangle.  I was there for a meeting with Leo Huckvale and we had our first real session - an introduction to Astronomy and Cosmology.  Leo doesn't work at Christ Church and neither does Christopher Taylor (they are the two professors teaching my "History and Practice of Observational Astronomy" tutorial).  But Mr. Taylor's wife, Dr. Rowena Archer, she teaches Medieval History at Christ Church and kindly allowed us the use of her office.

The session went really well.  We covered the notable achievements of Hipparchos, Ptolemy, Brahe & Kepler.  Apparently Brahe was such a genius the King of Denmark gave him an island and enough funds to build a castle observatory there.  The castle still stands on the island of Hven (Ven in Swedish).

We spent the bulk of our time discussing stellar magnitudes, which are of paramount concern.  When we gaze at the heavens, some stars appear much brighter than others.  The Greek astronomer Hipparchos created the first catalogue of stars and grouped them according to brightness as seen with the unaided eye.  This was done sometime between 130 and 160 BC.  These stars (the 251 of them that Hipparchos studied) were separated into six groups - the brightest being termed 1st magnitude and the dimmest 6th magnitude.  This system is still used today, although our method for measuring brightness has become more exact.  Hipparchos' estimations of the differences between magnitudes has been verified as almost right on.  He identified a logarithmic relationship between each step up in magnitude.  Since a 1st magnitude star is about 100 times brighter than a 6th, the scale is like the Richter Scale which measures earthquake severity.  So each step up into a new whole number means exponentially more ground shaking, or in this case, stellar brightness.  

But hold on you are saying, just because one star looks brighter than another that doesn't necessarily mean its got a greater magnitude.  A star that appears bright to us could be either a faint star that is close to the Sun or a ridiculously luminous one really far away.  So this system is really about apparent magnitudes.  But with the aid of geometry and calculus we have learned to determine just how far away each star is and thus its actual magnitude.  In fact this system of magnitudes, once aided by the right math, was the source of the first understanding of cosmic distances.


I'm really into this stuff.  Can't wait to learn the math and stand on the shoulders of giants.

Happy Brithday Momma!

I know you read this like five times a day to feel just a little bit closer to me while I'm thousands of miles away.  I may never find a birthday gift equal to that which you have given me by helping me get here.  But you are never far from my thoughts or my heart.  I love you!  This is your day! 

xoxo

Spectacular Vindication of Existence

I did something really stupid today.  I mean this was astonishingly idiotic.  This is not something I am accustomed to experiencing.

I decided to take a ride with a local cycling club that I found on my way to class one morning.  I met the owner, Mr. Flavio Zappi while he made me a breakfast sandwich and I liked the stuff adorning his walls.  They seemed legit.  See for yourself.

http://cyclinginfo.co.uk/blog/cycling/zappis-cafe-cycling-club/
&
http://flaviozappi.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/flyer-front3-20112.jpg

So this morning at 9am I rode over to the cafe and met up with about 25 other riders.  Flavio asked me if I would prefer to ride in the "medium speed" group and I declined, opting for the "fast" crew.  Mistake number one.  The fast group ended up being about ten Category 1 racers.  I was determined not to look like an amateur though, so I stuck with them.  I kept my head down and just pedaled for dear life.  I saved nothing at all for the return trip, thinking I could just hang out in the tiny pelaton and cruise back home once I was too tired to really crank it from the front.  Mistake number two, the big one.  By the time my legs exploded and I had to drop off the pack I was decimated.  I nearly clipped another rider which made me ashamed, but I apologized as they sped on past.

I looked around for the first time and found myself in an amazing place.  It was the English countryside of every postcard or movie I had ever seen where such places were depicted.  The few houses in sight were all made of ancient stone with thatch roofs and high hedges surrounding the property.  The fields were shrouded in mist being slowly burned off by the sun.

I continued riding for a while, thinking the medium group would catch up with me eventually and I could follow them home.  They never came.  I turned around and followed the route back in reverse as far as I could recall.  Eventually I came to an intersection I didn't remember.  I waved down a car and a couple in their fifties pulled over.  I explained the situation to them and asked which road would take me back to Oxford.  I will never forget the looks on their faces when they explained just how far from home I was.  I have no idea how far I had gotten with the fast group when I dropped off, nor how much further I went alone waiting for the medium group to overtake me, let alone how far I had backtracked to make it to the strange intersection.

I told myself that I had gotten into this on my own and I would damn well get out of it on my own.  So I started following the given directions back towards home.  After a few miles muscle cramps and spasms started setting in.  I altered my pedal stride and pushed through them.  Agony followed shortly thereafter.  Then total exhaustion.  This cycle repeated itself several times over the next two hours as I wound my way back.

When I made it to Botley Rd. at the outskirts of Oxford and recognized the landmarks I was exultant.  Traffic was locked up and people were crowding every street on their way into sunny Oxford-town but I felt like the only person on that road.  I punched the sky and screamed my triumph aloud.  When I made it to my door I leaned against the frame and wept.  Tourists eyed me warily.  I tried to explain the ordeal and they nervously said to each other, "I think he's exhausted, he looks like hes in shock."

When I collapsed on the floor of my room my housemates Juan and Katy came down.  Apparently I had been screaming in pain and joy though I didn't realize it.  Juan raced out to fetch Powerade and hamburgers while Katy fed me bananas.  They were very kind and I was immediately thankful to have such wonderful friends.  Though I made it back home on the strength of sheer resolve, I am healthy enough to write this blog tonight because of the loving care of those excellent friends.

***

That unfamiliar place I had arrived at where the couple set me on the right track was at the intersection of Church St. & Fernham Rd. in Shellingford, Faringdon.  Plug it into Google Maps and check out the street view.  Then zoom out and find Oxford to the northeast. 

I am Robert and I am Legend.