Recent additions to the blog roll

The last few days have yielded several interesting discoveries: the difference between black Angus and bed Angus beef (the color of the steer's hide); the amount of money in the last of my chests of coins gathered in childhood ($88.94); and two new blogs, which I've added to the blog roll to your right. 

The first is called Mr. Money Mustache, a personal-finance blog by a former software engineer who "retired" about 7 years ago at the age of 30. Interviewed recently by the Washington Post, I looked up this Mr. MM's blog and found it brilliant, albeit at times a bit preachy. The basic idea underlying Mr. MM's approach involves unlearning habits and expectations which make life expensive and complicated. Among other things, he advocates living close to work (and biking whenever possible), getting rid of television, and treating debt as "...a huge emergency, like running around with your hair on fire. Or like standing in an enormous cloud of killer bees, which are stinging every square inch of your body." Living "below your means" need not be a sacrifice, but rather a way of achieving a sustainable financial life. And the reason I put "retired" in quotes earlier is because--to Mr. MM anyway--retirement is just a point at which money is no longer an issue.

From reading "Mr. Money Mustache" I came across the second blog added to the rolls, "Raptitude," by   David Cain. This one is harder to characterize, but no less interesting than MMM. David is a great writer, and distills a long tradition of self-help and reflection into interesting posts. By his own admission, these posts focus on five general themes: 

"-Learning what humans are not so good at, and getting better at those things
-Moving away from conformity and convention and other human limitations
-Appreciating humanity in spite of its faults
-Cultivating self-reliance and a healthy mistrust of the status quo
-Examining what makes humans tick on the micro and macro levels"

"Raptitude" makes for interesting reading, and in many ways compliment Mr. MM's blog. Both urge readers to challenge conventional thinking about happiness, limitations, and what we want in life. Similarly, both advocate a more positive attitude (see here and here) in everything we do; that optimism makes life feel less difficult and more fulfilling. And finally that in the end it isn't money that makes us happy, but rather the lives we live, and choices we make. 

Pay attention, stay positive, and waste little; those are the basics of these two blogs as I understand them in a nutshell. They've both inspired me, and perhaps they'll inspire you too. Enjoy :)

The Emerging Private-Public Sector Partnership in Spaceflight Today

In May 1996, the X-Prize Foundation offered to pay $10 million to any non-governmental agency that could twice in two weeks launch a reusable, three-manned spacecraft 100km above the earth. Redubbed the "Anasari X-Prize" in May 2004, the prize sought to spur private innovation in manned spaceflight. On the 4 October 2004--the 47th anniversary of the launch of Sputnik 1--Burt Rutan and Paul Allen's Tier One Project claimed the prize with their space plane SpaceShipOne, essentially paving the way for non-governmental activity in space.

On 25 May 2012, Elon Musk's California-based Space Exploration Technologies Corporation (SpaceX) became the first private company to dock with and resupply the International Space Station. With its Dragon spacecraft, SpaceX is currently under contract with NASA to resupply the station 12 times for $1.6 billion. By 2015, SpaceX hopes to have a manned version of its Dragon capsule for delivering astronauts, as well as cargo, to the station.

In January 2013, NASA announced the signing of a $17.8 million contract with Bigelow Aerospace, a Las Vegas-based firm, to have an experimental inflatable module attached the International Space Station by 2015. Called the Bigelow Expandable Activity Module (BEAM), the technology has the potential to revolutionize space-based habitats, not only by vastly increasing the square-footage of future space stations, but also by dramatically reducing the cost of launching components into orbit.

And finally this past Sunday (21 April), Orbital Sciences--a 30-year-old aerospace company from Virginia--conducted a successful test of the Antares rocket, a platform designed to carry its Cygnus resupply ship. The company is currently under contract with NASA to fly eight resupply missions to the International Space Station for $1.9 billion.

Why do these matters of news interest us? Chiefly because they reveal an emerging and quite possibly thriving commercial space industry developing in the United States today. Barely nine years after the Anasari X-Prize was claimed, one private company (SpaceX) has already helped resupply the International Space Station, with a second firm not far behind. SpaceX is also developing a manned version of its Drago spacecraft, and has plans to cooperate with NASA on an unmanned mission to Mars in 2018. And as an extension of its plans to test an inflatable module on the International Space Station in 2015, Bigelow Aerospace already has plans to build extensive inflatable stations of its own (it already has two test stations in orbit).

That all this has happened within two decades of the X-Prize's first unveiling is somewhat surprising, given the virtual monopoly governments have had on spaceflight in the preceding four decades. What is more surprising, however, is how little this innovative private-public partnership is cited or explored by those looking to solve our country's looming challenges in healthcare, infrastructure, and education. Partisan arguments (to say nothing of Newt Gingrich's moon colony proposal) miss the point by enlisting an older, nationalist view of space exploration; said Mr. Gingrich on the campaign in January 2012, "By the end of my second term, we will have the first permanent base on the moon. And it will be American." Yet if developments from the last ten years are any indication, space exploration (and commercialization) works well when private and public entities cooperate, each working problems for which they are best suited.

This approach informed President Obama's 2010 space policy. Among other things, it:

"...directed NASA to work toward getting astronauts to a near-Earth asteroid by 2025, then on to the vicinity of Mars by the mid-2030s [by] developing a huge rocket called the Space Launch System (SLS) and a crew capsule called Orion, which NASA hopes will begin carrying astronauts by 2021." Furthermore, "The Obama Administration has also encouraged NASA to hand over crew and cargo activities in low-Earth orbit to private American spaceflight firms. The goal is to have commercial spaceships fill the shoes of the space shuttle, whose July 2011 retirement was set in motion by the Bush Administration back in 2004" (source).

In other words, using the public-sector (NASA) to expand the boundaries of manned spaceflight, while seeding private-sector (SpaceX, Orbital Sciences, Bigelow Aerospace ect.) efforts to commercialize and reduce the cost of orbital delivery and habitation. The approach in concept seeks to take advantage of the strengths of each sector: public investment for important-albeit-not-immediately-profitable ventures, and private competition and innovation for improving efficiency and reducing costs. Both have their place, and commercial spaceflight in the United States today seems to provide a useful example of how such a partnership can work. It is a story warranting greater attention that it currently receives, and might serve as a model for future partnerships in other fields.

Boston Marathon 2013: Come Together, Never Forget

Kathrine Switzer once said, "If you are losing faith in human nature, go out and watch a marathon." To this I say "too true." Haile Gebrselassie called it "the king of the distances." John J. Kelly, winner of the 1952 Boston Marathon called it "...another form of insanity." Kiyoshi Nakamura deemed the marathon "an art; and the marathoner an artist," and Hal Higdon said, "The marathon never ceases to be a race of joy, a race of wonder."

It is within this tradition that we are confronted with the act of terror perpetrated in today's bombing of the Boston Marathon. To see a celebration of human endurance and transcendence so maliciously violated is beyond comprehension. That spectators were purposefully targeted--those spirited supporters who make the race so meaningful for those who run--is truly horrible. Preliminary reports suggest at least three people have died, and 130 injured.

In the coming days we will know more. Until then, there seems little we can do but come together and endure. Yet if the great tradition of this sport is any indication, these very qualities are at the heart of the marathoning spirit. To take on the "king of the distances" may well be "another form of insanity," yet it is also "an art" that changes the participants as well as those who spectate. And on top of the horrific events which happened today, there is the further tragedy that going to watch a marathon may no longer restore our faith in human nature, as Kathrine Switzer believed. The bomb blasts at the finish line of the 117th Boston Marathon can naught but shake our faith in the better angels of our all-too-human nature.

Yet from the ashes of those blasts today, perhaps there is hope too. That from this sad day we will as a community rally behind the victims, as well as the noble cause of again making the marathon the testament to human resiliency and courage is as always been. So let us come together friends and mourn the dead, pray for the injured, and give thanks for those spared. And let us never forget.

My First Half-Marathon: Bucks County Half 2013

The mass of runners from the start strung first into a line, then into a scattered collection of ones and twos. Ahead, a man wearing a yarmulke and short-shorts urges a curly-haired friend up the first hill of the day. To our right a stream flows lazily by, with fishermen here and there up to their waist in the  chilly waters. Up the hill we go, then down a long stretch to a sign reading "Mile 3," and a table fronted by volunteers in lime-green shirts holding cups of water and gatorade. The sun shines into my eyes as the volunteers fade into the distance behind. "10 more to go" I whisper to no one in particular. "Time to see what these legs will do."

On this beautiful day in mid-April I completed my first half-marathon. In truth that is something of a misnomer, since in the two marathons I've attempted I managed to run the entire first half of both. Yet today was the first in which I could cross the line at Mile 13.1 and call it a day. The prospect excited me, since it meant even with limited training I could actually race a bit. And so that is precisely what I did.

The day began before daylight. The past few days had proved distressing, and sleep had not come easily. Today I shook awake in the dark before the dawn, hearing robins singing outside and seeing "4:37 AM" on the clock. With only a 15 minute drive separating me from the start-line, I could have gone back to sleep another hour and still been ahead of schedule. Yet sleep would not return, so I rose to watch the sun-rise and have a light breakfast.

By 6:45 I stood near the start, glancing across fields which last summer grew thick with soybeans. Lines formed outside the porta-pods, and serious folk in singlets and sunglasses did warm-ups with a purposeful look; not as many as in bigger races, but a few. Sunlight flecked the distant clouds to the east with red and gold, like heated wires smoking in the chilly air. On the grass hung thousands of droplets of dew, moistening the shoes of everyone as they proceeded to the start. While chilly at first, the air grew warmer as the day grew older.

A little after 7:45 we began the race. I elected to go in the second wave, with folks supposedly looking to run "8-9 minute pace." Well that plan went to hell for many it seems, as half of them galloped through the first mile between 7:00 and 7:35. Admittedly the first two miles are all downhill, but the first sign of even a moderate change in incline left the rabbits wishing they'd taken the downhills easier. Live and learn I guess, as I too was to discover.

The race proceeded well through the first 10 miles. While the opening miles  go mostly downhill, miles 5, 6, and 7 go almost exclusively uphill. This kicked my butt more than I realized at the time, though it became plain by the start of mile 10. See, the course comprises three loops, with the first and third repeating. Therefore those challenging hills through miles 5, 6, and 7 become a devilish 10, 11, and 12. Well despite my best efforts, the second go-around with those hills took the wheels right off me, as some runners would say. My stride lost its spring, my breathing felt labored, and my stomach did a barrel-roll and a half. Where before I'd averaged 7:25 on the downhill miles and 7:55 for the uphills, I slowed in the final three miles to something akin to a snail's race pace. Folks I'd passed ages ago suddenly started catching me from behind, huffing and puffing and pouring with sweat. I gave a "good job ol' boy" to the guys and "well done" to the girls, but no one seemed spirited enough to respond. I understood them completely.

In any case, while I'd hoped to finish in about 1:40 or better, with the late-stage blowup I settled for 1:44:37 (7:58/mile)  instead. In truth it was not a terrible showing considering the course and my single-digit mpw training. More importantly was the experience itself, which while tough at spots was enjoyable on the whole. I like the half-marathon distance, and look forward to giving it another crack in September.

A love poem

My thoughts am Freitag turn to you,
The Venus of my life, it's true.
Yet from a distance must I stand
Beyond the glimm'ring promised land.

Where is this promised land you ask?
To tell is not a tricky task.
Before your eyes I'd like to be,
And see you smiling happily.

And what a smile you can flash;
To my throat does my heart dash.
My thoughts go all to mush you see,
You make a stuttering fool of me.

Your eyes are warm, your face is fair,
With rounded cheeks and flowing hair.
And skin as smooth as milk and cream,
Or so from here it seems to me.

Yet by your side is not my place;
'Tis written sadly on your face.
I am a friend but nothing more,
Your path goes through a different door.

But Time is strange and changes much,
Someday--perhaps--our paths will merge as such.

Some thoughts on "The Next Generation Science Standards"

A few months ago we reflected on Sara Mosle's piece in the New York Times regarding the new "Common Core State Standards" for reforming math and reading instruction in the United States. This past Tuesday, science educators released their standard reform guide, called "The Next Generation Science Standards" (NGSS)

As reported in the Times, "Educators involved in drawing them up said the guidelines were intended to combat widespread scientific ignorance, to standardize teaching among states, and to raise the number of high school graduates who choose scientific and technical majors in college, a critical issue for the country’s economic future."

Furthermore, "The focus would be helping students become more intelligent science consumers by learning how scientific work is done: how ideas are developed and tested, what counts as strong or weak evidence, and how insights from many disciplines fit together into a coherent picture of the world."

Broadly speaking, the new approach might be summarized by a line from the standards' website:

"The focus on a few Disciplinary Core Ideas is a key aspect of a coherent science education."

By this the authors appear to mean trading breadth for depth. They claim for instance that, "Historically, science education was taught as a set of disjointed and isolated facts." Between Kindergarten and 12th grade students get a smattering of nearly everything, from dinosaurs and volcanoes to stars, galaxies, chemistry, and photosynthesis. By contrast, the new standards seek to capture the big, unifying ideas in science today:

"To develop a thorough understanding of scientific explanations of the world, students need sustained opportunities to work with and develop the underlying ideas and to appreciate those ideas’ interconnections over a period of years rather than weeks or months."

According to the New York Times piece this may engender controversy, because many such "underlying" ideas--such as evolution and climate-change--rankle some conservative and religious groups. 

In addition to the big-ideas-at-the-expense-of-detail approach, the NDSS seek to more fully integrate engineering and technology with the teaching of science. Says the NDSS website, "This integration is achieved by raising engineering design to the same level as scientific inquiry in classroom instruction when teaching science disciplines at all levels and by giving core ideas of engineering and technology the same status as those in other major science disciplines."Among other reasons, this elevation of engineering design, "...provide[s] opportunities for students to deepen their understanding of science by applying their developing scientific knowledge to the solution of practical problems" (my emphasis). This is important, the report goes on, because:

"There is no doubt that science and science education are central to the lives of all Americans. Never before has our world been so complex and science knowledge so critical to making sense of it all. When comprehending current events, choosing and using technology, or making informed decisions about one’s healthcare, understanding science is key. Science is also at the heart of the United States’ ability to continue to innovate, lead, and create the jobs of the future. All students no matter what their future education and career path must have a solid K–12 science education in order to be prepared for college, careers, and citizenship."

As with the Common Core State Standards for English and Math, the NDSS seeks to make science education focus on practical applications of knowledge; the two standards are in fact "aligned" by design. Furthermore, both view applicable education as vital to the future prosperity of citizens, and the  country at large. Both will suffer without this ability to apply knowledge to complex issues, because frankly, the world of the future is looking to become very complicated.

I think there's something to be said for this practically-minded approach. An increasingly knowledge-based economy seems to demand that a greater and greater proportion of the population take on intellectual and engineering disciplines; that for better and worse, our future is likely to be full of technology and dominated by scientism.

There is also merit I think to the big-ideas method of teaching. A smattering of detail from all the sciences can be stimulating and full of interest, but application requires deeper understanding. If application and practical knowledge is what we're after, teaching the big ideas in cycles over many years seems like the way to do it. Detail comes with exposure and exploration, and both I think would be facilitated by emphasizing the ideas which link disciplines. I suspect this won't be easy, because students experience many science teachers in their schools, and each has a different manner about their pedagogy. Training may help, but that does not fully address the differences in temperament each teacher brings to their profession, or the circumstances under which they must teach.

The NDSS report states that they "... are student performance expectations – NOT
curriculum," and that, "Additional work will be needed to create coherent instructional programs that help students achieve these standards."

So the NDSS is but a guide to standards reform, not a fully-developed explanation of policy. Their aim is to make science education more practically-minded, and rooted in the core ideas which integrate its parts. The assumption is that the future prosperity of anyone in any country will depend on the capacity to apply scientific knowledge to real-world problems. We shall see how this goes.

My First Hanami: A Day-Trip to Washington D.C.

In Japanese culture, the cherry blossom has long held an important place. With the emergence of so-called "rice-culture" 2,000 years ago, the sakura (Japanese for "cherry") blossoms were thought to house the rice harvest gods. According to a pamphlet, "The word sakura is thought to be derived from sagami 'God of the rice fields,' and kura, meaning 'seat, storehouse or vessel.'" Following the practice of Chinese nobles--who held viewing parties of plum blossoms--Japanese nobles began holding cherry blossom viewings around the 9th century. For this practice of cherry blossom viewing the Japanese offered the word hanami.

This past December I thought it might be nice to take a hanami of my own. With some convincing of the family, we managed to arrange to go see one of the most famous collection of cherry blossoms in the United States, located in Washington D.C.

The cherry trees of Washington D.C. were gifted to the city from the mayor of Tokyo in 1912 to celebrate continued friendship and goodwill between the United States and Japan. In 1935 the National Cherry Blossom Festival was begun. Except for a period during and shortly after World War II, that festival continued unto this very day. I decided this particular collection of sakura would be the place for my first hanami.

So we left for Washington D.C. around 9am on a bright, cloudless morning, the 6th of April, 2013 (of all dates, my mother's 60th birthday). A light wind blew in from the west, and many birds sang in the trees around the house. We had hoped to leave earlier (since Washington is over three hours away by car), yet it was not to be and that was that. A curious byproduct of a hanami I've found is a somewhat greater acceptance of nature's pace; the blossoms will bloom in their own time, and we'll get to Washington when we get there.

Along the way I watched the scenes go by, many hills covered in trees laden heavy with buds. Several hawks also made an appearance, perched majestically among the higher branches. I marveled at their universally excellent posture, among other things.

Around 12:30 we arrived in Greenbelt, MD, the start of the green metro line which passes through the District of Columbia. Long lines of people waited at the ticket kiosks, cursing audibly as their attempts to purchase metro passes failed again and again. Two of the kiosks stood open, mechanics inspecting inside while an armed police officer stood by guarding metal cases full of coins. We were fortunate to have an operational kiosk, and a friendly attendant who explained how it worked. So unlike the experience of many that day with metro technology, ours proved simple and easy.

After a 25 minute metro ride and some lunch, our "pilgrimage" route involved a circumambulation of the D.C. tidal basin, a man-made reservoir on the north bank of the Potomac river. The basin is almost completely ringed by cherry trees, as well as the Jefferson Memorial, the FDR Memorial, the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial, and the George Mason Memorial.

After completing the tidal basin loop we proceeded to visit the National World War II Memorial, an interesting structure designed in the shape of an ellipse, with two "gates" representing the Atlantic and Pacific theaters, and two sets of columns extending from either side of the gates with a bronze wreath and name of each state and territory that contributed to the war effort. In the middle is space for a pool and two fountains, though no water stood or flowed in either. From the World War II memorial we followed a long, narrow reflection pool to the Lincoln Memorial, where a marching band performed on the plaza and thousands of people crowded to see the giant marble statue of the 16th president inside. The statue of Lincoln cuts an impressive figure, and on either wall of the memorial's interior can be found the Gettysburg Address, and a passage from Lincoln's second inaugural address.

From there we passed through the Vietnam War Memorial, which consists of a statue of three soldiers, a women's monument, and a 246ft, 9in (75m) wall of polished gabbro stone on which the names of every know deceased American service member from the Vietnam War is etched. The memorial actually consists of two walls, one pointing toward the Washington Monument, and the other toward the Lincoln Memorial. Each begin as only a few inches tall, becoming taller until they meet in the middle at a 125° 12′ angle, with an apex of 10.1ft (3m). Two ladders are kept near the wall should someone wish to touch or copy a name which stands too high for them to reach. As we passed along, I observed several people stop and solemnly touch a name, while one couple stood fixed for a long time in audible prayer. It was an intense scene.

Upon leaving the wall, we made our way over to the White House to see the presidential residence. There's quite a lot of security along the road, and hidden among the gardens are cameras and doubtless other sensors that cannot be seen. I happen to look up into a nearby tree and saw what looked like a hornets' nest, but would not surprise me if it were some camera disguised as a hornets' nest. In any case, I enjoyed seeing the place and its lovely gardens.

At this point I left my family to make the long the trek down Pennsylvania Ave to the Capitol building. The rest of my family proceeded to Ford's Theatre, where President Lincoln was assassinated in 1865. I wanted to see this sight too, but I had a rendezvous to make, and alas it was at the Capitol. So off I went striding down the street, passing many interesting buildings (among them, the FBI Building, the National Archives, and the Canadian Embassy). Along the way a man about my age approached me and said, "Dude, you are a hippy I bet. You must really love the rain-forest." I'm not sure why he thought this way; perhaps it was my hat? In any case, the remainder of the walk proceeded without incident.

At the Capital Building I sought my friend Rachel, who goes to school in the area. I saw her last almost two years ago, so the opportunity seemed good for a meeting. Looking across a street, a girl wandered slowly who matched my memory of Rachel's appearance in a general way. So in forgetting the cherry blossom message that nothing-in-nature-is-rushed-yet-all-is-accomplished, I called out to this girl from across the road. She did not respond to "Rachel!" or "Hey! Over here!," so I called Rachel to see if the girl's boots and jeans matched those then worn by her. Alas they did not ("Nah, no jeans. I'm kinda wearing all black..."), and I felt a bit foolish. Later however, we found each other by the tall bronze statue of Ulysses S. Grant by the reflecting pool adjacent to the Capitol building, and taking a seat on a bench in the shadow of the Capitol, we talked at length of all that had happened the last two years.

The shadows grew long when we parted and I returned to my family, who brought photographs of the bed where Lincoln died. We took a few minutes to recover our strength (we'd either been walking or sitting uncomfortably all day), and then sought out a place to eat. A local sports tavern looked promising, but it proved so packed that sardines would likely call it roomy. So instead we returned to the metro station to begin our long journey home.

On the whole I found the journey to the capital both exhilarating and full of interest. I sought foremost to see the cherry blossoms, yet the city's history and culture could hardly be ignored; indeed, they seemed only to heighten the pilgrimage quality of the whole trip.

Yet the two also yielded tension. Part of the cherry blossom's symbolic importance in Japanese culture is as a metaphor of the ephemeral nature of beauty and life. Like blossoms, we too bud, bloom, and pass away into the winds of time. Meanwhile the great statues and buildings of Washington D.C. seem to speak of a thing more permanent--the memory of those who came before. Permanent and impermanent, both ideas seem important. The cherry blossom shows the frailty of life, while the monuments show the endurance of memory and foundational ideas. I think in life we must keep both thoughts--though contrary--in mind, so that we may remember our mortality while honoring the thoughts and deeds of our ancestors. This double-vision is difficult I think, but somehow essential, and keeping them balanced in our mind is perhaps a wholesome purpose for a hanami in Washington D.C.

In either case it proved a good day, and I'm glad I made the journey. The Cherry Blossom Festival in Washington, D.C. is a wonderful experience, and recommend it to any who have a taste for such things. You may find it speaks to you in new and interesting ways.