Tea, Family.

We have this family ritual called "teatime" or "having tea." It happens anytime after dinner, but generally later at night, at 9 or 10 perhaps. We don't all drink tea, but it started out that way and the name stuck. My older sisters drink tea with whipped cream, but my dad eats raisins and unsalted almonds, my brothers eat either cookies or cereal, and I generally eat fruit. We just kind of hang out and talk. My mother pops in sometimes, but she is generally doing clothes while she watches a cable news program. I'm not exactly sure why, but I got the urge to attempt capturing a small snapshot of tonight's teatime. So here goes nothing.

“Hey Rocko,” (my brother’s nickname for our sister - it’s from Rocky) “who was the brilliant person who left all the recyclables outside the back door? The dog tore up all these milk cartons and left them in shreds across the whole yard!”
“I’m sorry Danny, it was me - you cleaned it up?” she asked.
“Yep - did I mention there were tons of little pieces all over the yard? It was very, very hard work.” he told her in a playfully mistreated, indignant kind of voice.
“I’m sure it was.” she said good-humoredly. “So Esther, you’re almost finished with school for this semester? What are you going to do for the summer?”
“Yo Es, you should get a job at Dunkin’ Donuts.” Dan commented.
“Um, why would I want to do that?”
“ ‘Cuz you could get me free donuts then. Or maybe McDonalds - yeah that would be better.”
“I think a restaurant like Applebees would be more fun than that.”

Le interrupted, “You know what, you’d be great working at Starbucks, Es. You fit right in with all the fruity intellectuals.”
“Gee thanks Leesh,” I said sarcastically. And I’m thinking, hey, look whose talking - I’m a science major, but you took tons of social classes and became a lawyer. Who’s calling who the fruity intellectual? But her description was dead right, as usual. “Actually,” in a more serious tone, “I think I’m probably more of of a fake wannabe fruity intellectual.”
“No, you’re real, you pretty much define it, you’re it sweetie.”
“Wow, that says a lot about how sad fruity intellectuals really are if I define them - I’m not sure who’s getting the worse insult - me or them.”
Whatever.

Le turned to Steve. “So I heard you got a 1250 on your most recent practice SAT.”
I jumped in. “What?!! You didn’t tell me that! What did you get on the math section?” I had been working with my brother on the math section, so I was naturally curious.
“I got a 680.”
I yelled, “Dude that’s awesome!! I can’t believe it! That’s so much higher than last time, and that’s higher than what I got on any of the practice and real SATs.”
“Rocko” asked, “That was after Esther started helping you with the math, right?”
“Steve, you and Esther are definitely studying SATs this Saturday.” Dad interjected in a no-nonsense voice. I could tell he was happy that Steve had applied himself and gotten a good score.
“So this really motivates you to keep studying, doesn’t it?” I asked Steve.
“Yeah” he replied with a suppressed smile of satisfaction.

Lately I have been attempting to convince my brother to become a surgeon. He wants to be an electrician and a small business owner, without attending college.
“But you’d make such a good surgeon, Steve. You do intricate cabinetry and detailed things so well - you made our front door for crying out loud. And you have the brains to go to medical school,” I tell him all the time.
“No, that’s not me, I don’t like school and I’m not very good at it anyway. Dan’s the one to be a doctor. And I can’t stand blood - it makes me sick.” He replies.
Oh well. It was worth a try. He really would make a brilliant business man. The unbelievable discounts on products he wheedles Apple and Verizon (and plenty of other companies) salesmen into giving him never cease to floor me.

"Okay, g'night ya'll, I'm going to go write a paper." I left. And came here.

Happy Mother's Day

To my wonderful mother: you are a beautiful, strong, amazing woman, and I look up to you so much. To my oldest sister: you have done an incredible job raising such precious little girls who love you and their Apah (father) very much. To mothers around the globe: you have my respect and appreciation for all that you are and do.

What a Gorgeous Universe

According to Yahoo News,

This NASA image released on May 4, 2010 from the European Space Agency's Herschel Space Observatory shows the cloud associated with the Rosette Nebula, a stellar nursery about 5,000 light-years from Earth.

Is this cloud not absolutely breathtaking? Makes Michelangelo's Sistine chapel look like crayons in comparison. I simply had to share.

Villette

Bookworm. It’s something I have always been, even before I was interested in science and before I learned algebra (one of my absolute favorite things in the world). I read voraciously as a little kid, and although some of what I read was lit.-lite preteen stuff (think Ramona Quimby), for the most part, I stuck with the classics. Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Leo Tolstoy, the Bronte sisters - they were all my favorites (and remain so). My father encouraged me to read difficult books (rather than “fluff”) when I was as young as eight. Before my twelfth birthday, he promised to let me watch Lord of the Rings if I read the Hobbit and the entire trilogy beforehand. Talk about motivation - I finished everything in three weeks.

Jane Eyre I read when I was eleven and it was an instant favorite. I read some of Charlotte Bronte’s other books. When I came across Villette, I began reading it and finished about one fourth of the book before growing bored; I then broke the unspoken rule of reading, and peeked at the end of the story. I was furious to discover that the main character ended up with the short guy that I disliked intensely. I refused to read anymore of the book. About a year or so later, I picked up the book again and read it through in its entirety. Here is my personal take on it.

THE STORY
The protagonist, Lucy Snow, relating to the reader in first person, begins her story at age ten at which time she is residing with her godmother, Mrs. Bretton, Mrs. Bretton’s teenaged son John Graham Bretton, and a little girl named Paulina Mary who was given to Mrs. Bretton’s care.  We pick up with Lucy as an adult, who, after being forced to eek out a living on her own, leaves for Europe, and is hired as an English teacher by Madame Beck, the headmistress of a girls’ boarding school, Pensionnat de Demoiselles, in the city of Villette.  In the school, Lucy meets Ginevra Fanshawe, a vain, self-absorbed student.  Ginevra takes an interest in Lucy and makes her a confidante, relaying the various tales of her many suitors. 

As Lucy becomes acclimated to living in school, she meets Monsieur Paul Emmanuel, another teacher at the school.  He is a fiery, passionate, noble little man: temperamental and irascible but kind-hearted.  Though she respects him, Lucy initially finds M. Paul and his denunciations and reproofs annoying, but gradually develops a strong friendship with him.  In Lucy’s words, he “... was born honest, and not false – artless, and not cunning – a freeman, and not a slave...his devotedness, his sincere pious enthusiasm blinded his kind eyes sometimes, made him abandon justice to himself to do the work of craft, and serve the ends of selfishness.” M. Paul is around forty in the book - to me, that sounded slightly older than my grandfather, especially since likes twenty-four year old Lucy. Despite that, his personality is very amusing, and he is a much more fascinating character than, for example, the handsome, golden-haired John Bretton.

MY OPINION
So I have to admit, I loved Villette the second time around. It is beautifully constructed and more complex than some of Bronte’s other novels. Various subplots occur.  One of Ginevra’s suitors, “Dr. John,” is revealed to be Graham Bretton, who, at first enamored of her beauty, eventually glimpses her shallow and self-centered character, and rejects her.  Graham befriends Lucy in a particularly lonely and bleak period when she is apparently having some sort of hallucinations, and is able to cheer her up.  Another character is reintroduced when Graham helps save a young lady at a theatre, to find out that she is little Paulina grown into a lovely woman (they eventually get together).     

I honestly consider Villette Charlotte Bronte’s best novel; she skillfully crafted a masterpiece that perhaps outshines even Jane Eyre.  Though Jane Eyre had already revolutionized the literary world with its strong characterization of the female main character, Villette probed deeper into this concept of a woman standing firmly on her principles, wrestling with sorrow, loneliness and despondence and emerging victorious.

The situation and story of Villette is not as melodramatic as Jane Eyre, thus highlighting character development more than plot.  Whereas Jane’s childhood is a tempestuous onslaught of adversity and abuse, Lucy’s is a quieter swirl of sadness and neglect, flecked with a small measure of contentment.  As Lucy matures into adulthood, she is tentative, but displays strength, and will not compromise her morals simply to please others.  Calm resignation overlays her deeply feeling, defiant nature.  She seems to possess a reserved, albeit sardonic, nature, making her desperate outburst toward the end of the book quite powerful.  
THE

DESPERATE OUTBURST

The incident transpires after Lucy discovers that M. Paul, whom she now loves dearly, will be leaving for the West Indies on business. Madame Beck (the lady in charge of the girls’ boarding school), selfishly wanting M. Paul’s hand in marriage and intent on keeping Lucy from him, has contrived every conceivable device to prevent Lucy and Paul from seeing one another. A few days before Paul’s departure, the couple finally meet.  Just as Paul is about to tell Lucy something, Madame Beck intrudes and claims his attention.  Lucy, genuinely fearing that she will never see Paul again, “Pierced deeper than [she] could endure, made now to feel what defied suppression…,” releases her pent-up emotions with her poignant cry: “My heart will break!” This motivates Paul to action; he orders the domineering woman out of the room. Afterwards, Paul shows Lucy a cottage with a schoolroom he has made arrangements for her to live and teach in while he is gone and declares his feelings for her. “Lucy, take my love. One day share my life. Be my dearest, first on earth.”


WHAT’S INTERESTING

However, Villette is not bundled up nicely and neatly. Lucy does find happiness in her love for Monsieur Paul and is transformed beyond recognition by Paul’s love for her, but Bronte leaves the ending ambiguous for the reader to interpret whether Paul returns and marries her or dies on his voyage home in a violent storm.


MY CRITICISM

The only slightly annoying this is that many of the conversations are in French. This was fine for people living in 19th century Britain, but kind of inconvenient for me (even after I took a year of French). Maybe there are some versions of the book that have the translations. If so, it would be awfully nice to get my hands on.




OVERALL

Loved it, loved it, loved it. Throughout the novel, Bronte conveys isolation and sadness without causing us (her dedicated readers) to be depressed; rather, we empathize with Lucy in her struggles and partake of her joy.  The superior handiwork of Bronte is evident in the sharp, witty dialogue of Villette, blended with the melancholy, but ultimately hopeful, tone.

END

In Defense of Scientists

Something discussed in English class sparked my interest. We discussed the fact that science majors seem to be arrogant and look down on English or humanities majors. My first thought was, “Oh c’mon, science and math majors are looked down on as nerds and geeks. It might be more subliminal in college than it was in high school, but it’s still there.”

Then I started thinking that science majors are perceived as arrogant because many of them are arrogant. Since I am a chemistry major, this is kind of personal. There is undoubtedly arrogance and pride in the field of science. Students become puffed up with the knowledge they learn. They grow impressed with themselves for understanding complex scientific theories. I find even myself falling into this attitude at times, viewing what I’m majoring in as more important than what humanities’ students are majoring in. Part of the reason is that in the 7 core classes I have taken so far (classes such as art history, music theory, philosophy, etc), I have noticed that the students in the top fourth of the class are generally science or math majors or doing the pre-med track.

This arrogance is wrong. Dead wrong. However, if anybody were to have the right to be proud (and in my opinion, nobody’s ever got that right), it would be scientists. Statistically, scientists are some of the most highly educated, lowest payed professionals, and despite having up to a decade of education, have a salary similar to that of bus drivers (not that there is anything wrong with being a bus driver - I have lots of friends who are bus drivers). That is partly why I have such a strong admiration for scientists. They are like the Marines of society, suffering greatly at times to provide the rest of us with a comfortable world in which to live. Last semester’s organic chemistry professor looked like a stereotypical mad scientist - he had a PhD from Harvard, and he looked disheveled and wrinkled everyday, having twinkling eyes and wild salt and pepper hair that pointed and curled in every direction. In his lectures, he told us story after story of chemists who had literally died (in various unsavory ways) for science.

Funny thing is, (returning to the arrogant scientist thing), any scientist worth his salt is generally not proud, but humble because the complexity of the universe he studies forcibly imprints on him the awareness of his own inconsequence. Thomas Alva Edison had it right when he said that “We don't know a millionth of one percent about anything.”