How to get girls to like you

This evening my son asked me how to get a girl to like him. Apparently there is a girl in his karate class that he likes. So I suggested he talk with her, write her letters, be nice to her, do things for her (like help her carry something), buy her a granola bar (at which he frowned, and I said, well, chocolates would be good, but in case she doesn't like chocolate), take her to a movie or out for ice cream, or call her on her cell phone. At which he responded, Dad, I'm only 11, I don't think I can take her places. But he did like the other ideas.

I saw a movie preview recently where a boy is sitting on a bench in Central Park, and asks his Dad a similar question. The Dad answers, 'I don't think I'm the right person to ask that'. I could have answered the same, but I prefer to give my children some positive answers.

But truly, you can do all of the things I told Aidan, but in the end, it's YOU that the girl or woman will respond to. The other things just give opportunity for her further study. If she doesn't like you, you are out of luck.

Spring

Spring arrived last week, but the weather remained cold until late this past week. It became possible to wear a light coat, and not feel frozen at night. Plus, the sun rose earlier and set later; at least going to and from work does not feel as confining. While I do like the night, there is something unsettling about darkness starting and finishing the work day.

The warm weather is nice, and everyone gets excited about it, but in a month we'll already be used to it. Furthermore, when it is very hot, we'll all be looking forward to fall. We're just never happy. I think the excitement at spring is just a matter of the change to warmth after the long winter months. After all, no one gets so excited when summer comes, or when fall or winter arrive. It's only spring that seems to wake people up, and then for only a few weeks. Then they slide back into their routines.

It's a rather down way to look at spring, I know, but it's how I feel about it.

Flat tire

I was driving from NYC late on the night of 30 March when I ran over a construction plate on Ft. Washington Avenue. As soon as I did it, as soon as I heard that noise of the tire hitting the corner of the plate, which was raised about two inches, I knew the tire was gone. I cursed loudly. I was not paying attention, I was tired and distracted. But I got onto the bridge and drove as fast as I could, and just as I reached the other side, the noise began. I limped onto route 46 where I knew there was a gas station and pulled into it. I could not have driven another hundred yards. The tire was flat; amazing that it held enough air to get me over the bridge. I went into the station and asked if I could change the tire there; it wasn't a full service station, just a gas pumping one where what used to be the station is now a convenience store. There was a young man who didn't speak English, and the girl at the counter; she told me it was ok. I went out and started, and the young man came out and gestured that he would help. He began to loosen the bolts while I jacked up the car. Unfortunately, a customer came in for gas and he had to attend to that. By the time he was done I had changed the tire. But he did tighten the bolts, and I noticed he was careful about it. So I gave him $20. I felt I was such an idiot that I had to do something right.

My hands were filthy and they made the steering wheel dirty. The next morning I cleaned the steering wheel before touching it. A lot of dirt came off.

I hate getting flat tires. But it always happens, at least twice a year. I suppose it's because I drive so much. But can you imagine if I had not been able to cross the bridge? I guess I am lucky.

Simple sugo rosso

Here is a great recipe for a simple, quick, and delicious red pasta sauce.

First, put on the water to boil for pasta. Be sure to salt it liberally, but not too much. The best salt to use is the large-grained sea salt, like 'Baleine'. By the time the pasta is cooked, the sauce will be done.

In a large frying pan, put enough olive oil to cover the bottom, and a few slices of garlic, salt, and pepper. Heat until the garlic sizzles. Then put in about a dozen small tomatoes - about two inches in diameter would be best; the smaller grape tomatoes will do also. Cook until the tomatoes have fallen apart; you may press them now and then with a wooden spoon to accelerate the process.

By now you should have put the pasta in the water. When it is al dente, drain. If the tomatoes are now completely fallen apart, you can add the drained pasta directly to the sauce. See the photo above for what it should look like at this point. Mix and serve. Best with grated ricotta salata on top.

Very simple, very good. Quite often, simple is best.

You Don't Know Me

Nat King Cole wrote a wonderful song entitled 'You Don't Know Me'. I came across some of the lyrics this past weekend in the newspaper, and tonight Iooked up the rest of them. It's a lovely song. If you have a category on your iPod called 'love songs', this one should be in it. You can pick your artist, though; it's been covered by many, many singers over the years. I can't say that I've sampled them all, but Diana Krall's version with Ray Charles is particularly nice.

YOU DON'T KNOW ME

You give your hand to me and then you say, "Hello,"
And I can hardly speak; my heart is beating so.
And anyone can tell you think you know me well,
But you don't know me
No, you don't know the one who dreams of you at night,
And longs to kiss your lips and longs to hold you tight.
To you I'm just a friend; that's all I've ever been,
Oh, you don't know me.

For I never knew the art of making love
Though my heart aches with love for you.
Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by,
The chance you might have loved me, too.

You give your hand to me and then you say goodbye;
I watch you walk away beside the lucky guy.
You'll never, never know the one who loves you so,
No, you don't know me.

For I never knew the art of making love
Though my heart aches with love for you.
Afraid and shy, I let my chance go by,
The chance you might have loved me, too.

You give your hand to me and then you say goodbye;
I watch you walk away beside the lucky guy.
You'll never, never know the one who loves you so,
No, you don't know me.

David Smith

One of my favorite sculptors is David Smith. The Guggenheim in New York is running a centennial exhibition of his work until May. I cannot wait to see it.

I was first introduced to Smith by my postdoctoral mentor, David Baltimore. It was 1981; I had just moved back to New York and was attending a meeting in Washington, DC. Baltimore was at the same meeting, and when it was over, he asked me if I wanted to see the David Smith exhibition at the Hirschorn. I went, and I was hooked. He told me that he always wanted to buy a David Smith for the Whitehead, the research institute he had started in Cambridge, MA.

After seeing that exhibition, wherever I went, I looked for Smith sculptures. Fortunately there are a few at Storm King, just upstate in NY. This should be a great exhibition at the Guggenheim.

Some Smith quotations:

"Art is made from dreams, and visions, and things not known, and least of all from things that can be said. It comes from the inside of who you are when you face yourself. It is an inner declaration of purpose; it is a factor which determines artist identity."

"If you ask why I make sculpture, I must answer that it is my way of life, my balance, and my justification for being."

Above is a photo of Cubi XXVII, which Smith made from brushed aluminum in 1965. His works in this style are among my favorite.

Borrowed Time

On Saturdays, when I bring the kids to karate, I have two hours to read the newspaper uninterrupted. With that kind of time, I read it slowly and carefully. It's the sort of activity that should be done in the quiet of one's home, with a cup of coffee. But I don't have a quiet home, not with three kids, at least it's not quiet during normal hours. And there are always interruptions. For example, it's now 10:29 AM on Sunday, and the two young children decided to start making a racket as I began this entry.

But I digress. On Saturday I read a review of a book by Robert Goddard called "Borrowed Time". I was completely taken by the story line. It begins when a hiker in Englad comes across a woman on the trail. She says to him, "Can any of us ever stop being what we are and become something else?" She invites him to walk with her but he declines; later she is killed and he regrets not going with her.

Here is the quote again, because it's terrific: "Can any of us ever stop being what we are and become something else?".

I think about this all the time. I often think about being something else. I find the prospect of being one thing scary and boring. Society today encourages being the same, so it takes effort to change. But I don't doubt that I can be something else. I just need to decide what I want to become. It's not easy because there are many interesting possibilities. But once I decide, I have no doubt that I will be able to change.

Frittelle di mele

To make frittelle di mele, select hard yellow apples, peel and core, then make 1/4 inch slices perpendicular to the core. Prepare a thick batter of flour, eggs, milk, salt, grated lemon rind, sugar, and baking powder. Dip the apple slices in the batter, then fry in hot olive oil until golden brown. Remove to a towel and sprinkle with sugar.

Here is an Italian version I found on the internet:

Preparare una pastella abbastanza densa con farina, latte, sale, zucchero e Rhum. Sbucciare le mele, togliere il torsolo e tagliarle a fette sottili. Immergerle nella pastella poi friggerle in olio bollente. Servirle subito, cosparse di zucchero a velo.

These are wonderful, hot or cold. They reminded me of a sweet that my Nonna used to make, which she called 'frittelle'. It was pizza dough made into small flat pieces and fried in hot oil, then sprinkled with sugar. I loved them, but have not had them in years. My Nonna was from Caserta, vicinio di Napoli. Actually not Caserta, but a small town nearby called Puccianiello.

Human partnerships

From the NY Times article today on why men get married, then after a number of years, their gay identity emerges and they leave their wives for other men - the 'Brokeback Marriage'.

"Helen Fisher, a research anthropologist at Rutgers University, said in an interview that human partnerships are shaped by three independent neurochemical brain-body systems, responsible respectively for sexual attraction, romantic yearning and long-term attachment.

"The three systems are very fickle. They can act together, or they can act separately," Dr. Fisher said. This, she said, helps explain why people can be wildly sexually attracted to those they have no romantic interest in, and romantically drawn to — or permanently attached to — people who hold no sexual interest.

"Once the system is triggered, it's so chemically powerful that you can easily overlook everything about that person that doesn't work for you," Dr. Fisher said. "Even straight people have fallen in love with people they could never make a life with," she said."

Shared misery

From the 'Modern Love' column in this past Sunday's NY Times':

"My head held high, I passed them, noting, with satisfaction, as I did, that they were neither holding hands nor standing particularly near each other. I thought about happiness, about how shared misery wasn't the same thing as intimacy.

"I had yet to entertain the much more radical notion that perhaps they weren't miserable, that whatever their difficulties (and clearly they had them) there might be something there worth preserving, that relationships were complex, imperfect systems. And that people were imperfect, that you might not have to be perfect to be loved, that you could be loved in spite of your imperfections or sometimes even because of them".

it may not always be so; and i say

it may not always be so;and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another's,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another's face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be-
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

ee cummings

i have found what you are like

i have found what you are like
the rain,

(Who feathers frightened fields
with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields

easily the pale club of the wind
and swirled justly souls of flower strike

the air in utterable coolness

deeds of green thrilling light
with thinned

newfragile yellows

lurch and.press

-in the woods
which
stutter
and

sing

And the coolness of your smile is
stirringofbirds between my arms;but
i should rather than anything
have(almost when hugeness will shut
quietly)almost,
your kiss


ee cummings

Un-reality

I've been working on my grant application all weekend. I was up until 2 AM both Friday and Saturday. I think I've lost track of reality. It's not much fun doing only one thing, and nothing else, especially when that one thing is difficult and stressful. Your eyes get bleary, your brain doesn't function well, and you wonder what the world is about, anyway. It makes one realize how important it is to have pleasure - however you may take your pleasure. Without it, life becomes dreary and a chore.

Or, to quote a line from the film "Blue Velvet", "It's a strange world".

But there are some things I would not mind doing for days at a time, to the exclusion of everything else. These activities, however, involve pleasure, and for that reason and would not cause the same symptoms as grant-writing for days at a time. On the other hand, they would probably have me wishing for un-reality.

i like my body when it is with your

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like,, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new


ee cummings

Grant?

It's 10:17 PM on Tuesday night. I'm supposed to be writing a grant. It's a big one; the future of my lab depends upon it. But times are hard, and money is scarce. Even if it's great, it might not fly.

So I'm making an entry in my blog. Go figure.

From "Modern Love", NY Times, Sunday, 19 February 2006 (written by Veronica Chambers):

"I didn't want to get married. I'd never been angling for a ring. What I had wanted all through my 20's was a really great boyfriend: someone who called when he said he would, who would get up early and go running with me over the Brooklyn Bridge and who would jump at the chance at weekend getaways in the Berkshires. I wanted someone with whom I could read the Sunday paper in bed, who would sit next to me during foreign movies, who would bring me chicken soup when I felt ill, who would send me flowers on Valentine's Day and sometimes for no reason at all."

Back to work now. Well almost....one more bit of fun writing to do.

Predictions

Tonight I ate Chinese food. Here is my fortune:

"You will always have good luck in your personal affairs".

And while we are on this sort of prediction thing, here is this months Capricorn horoscope from Vanity Fair:

"After months of feeling like a total troglodyte, you have regained your social confidence and are back in the race. You actually feel beautiful again. You're still a Capricorn, however, so you can't spend too long just looking gorgeous. It's time to look squarely at your finances and not shove the checkbook, unpaid bills, and statements into a drawer. Your stock may have gone down, but it's not hopeless. Just find a new angle. You're good at that".

Hmm. It's true, I haven't paid much attention to the bills lately.

And my stock has certainly gone down lately. So I'll find a new angle.

And it's always nice to have good luck in personal affairs.

Isn't it interesting how these impersonal predictors sometimes ring true?

Morning

I usually don't have any morning issues. No matter how late I go to sleep, I can get up if I have to. I take a shower, have a cup of strong coffee, I wake up. I don't ever mind getting up. It's particularly nice to get up early, and sit alone in the kitchen, sipping coffee and looking to see whether the sky will be blue or gray that day. It's always better when the sky is blue.

Lately I have been drinking Illy caffe, which is an Italian blend intended for espresso machines. In fact it works very well in drip coffee makers. It has a wonderful taste, much better than the French roast I usually have, and very little acidity. Grazie mille.

Yesterday, I didn't want to get out of bed. The first time in who knows how long. I'd like to think it was because there was no school, and a lot of snow, and cold, but these things never stopped me before.

Pleasures of the text

I bought a new cell phone back in December, and for the first time began to use 'text messaging'. I have found it to be both useful and fun. Therefore I was glad to read an article by Charles McGrath in the Sunday's Times magazine two weeks ago called "The Pleasures of the Text: Text-messaging liberates communication from intimacy and substance. No wonder we love it".

Here are some interesting quotes from the article:
"...you can conduct your entire emotional life just by transmitting and receiving messages on the screen of your cellphone. You can flirt there, arrange a date, break up and - in Malaysia at least - even get a divorce".

Apparently, America is lagging behind the rest of the world in text-messaging, because we don't have a single, national phone company. Here, voice calls are still far cheaper than text-messaging, unlike in the rest of the world.

Chinese lends itself very well to text-messaging, since in Mandarin, the names of the numbers are close to the sounds of certain words. To say "I love you", just press 520. For "drop dead", it's 748.

Furthermore, in China, people think it is rude to leave voice mail, and it's a loss of face to make a call to someone important and have it answered by an underling. Text messages preserve everyone's dignity by eliminating the human voice.

In the following week's Times magazine, there were letters about this article. Here are a few I found amusing:

"I recently dated an avid texter. Initially, I didn't see this as much of a problem. But the texting was used far more than calling. I liked the sound of this man's voice. I liked getting calls. Soon it became ridiculous. I'd get the 2 AM drunken text and the midday nonsense text, but, alas, no sweet evening call in which we could discuss our days. It got to the point that if I texted him and didn't see a response within 15 minutes, I would worry: Is he breaking up with me? Is he with another girl and can't text in front of her?"

"As a single woman, I notice that dating communication these days is often via text. As your writer noted, texting forces you to be haiku-brief, and therefore, to flirt, you must be very clever".

Venezia

I just finished reading "The Thief Lord" by Cornelia Funke. It's a childrens book, written slightly below the books of JK Rowling. Nevertheless, I find it fun to read. This book takes place in Venice, where a group of wayward children live in an abandoned movie theatre. They get by on the thievery of the Thief Lord, also known as Scipio, who steals from wealthy homes to provide for the younger children.

I like the book because of its dreamy portrayal of Venice. It made me want to live there, either in the old town, or on one of the many islands just surrounding the city. However, I have been told that Venice is not an ideal place to live. During the summers, when the weather is nice, the city is overrun with tourists. There are fewer tourists in the winter, but then again, many of the residents also leave.

I had imagined living in a flat overlooking the water, with large windows. Spending the days leisurely, writing, reading, or walking through the town, perhaps meeting friends in obscure cafés. Drinking grappa late into the morning. The typical Hemingway dream, I suppose. But shattered by reality.

Have to find another fantasy, I suppose. Perhaps warmer? I'll let you know what I come up with.

Tonight at Noon

"Tonight at Noon" is the name of a book written by Sue Mingus, wife of jazz great Charles Mingus, about their improbable love affair, marriage, and his death. I have always thought that their story is special. Here is a description of the book:

"The widow of the legendary bassist, band leader and composer Charles Mingus tells the story of their improbable love affair and marriage. They were an unlikely couple, a debutante from a proper Midwestern family and an antiestablishment maverick from the Watts section of Los Angeles, "jazz's angry man." When they met in 1964, she was puzzled by his anger, outrage and tempestuous life, so different from her own, which had been founded on order and decorum. Yet she was not intimidated by his volatility and ferocious temper. Together they organized a small mail-order record club to market Mingus's work, his way of getting back at the major labels that had cheated him. The author was soon "trapped in the middle of his vast appetites and imagination, his sexuality, his angry intelligence, his nonsense and his pain." After years of an on-and-off affair, they were married in 1975".

And some words from the book:

We walked for a few blocks and caught a cab in front of the Plaza Hotel, where he said it was easier to find a driver who overlooked the color of your skin in favor of the green inside your wallet. In the middle of our ride, Mingus changed his mind about dinner and said there was something important he needed to show me first. He ordered the driver instead to Grand Central Station. When we arrived, he jumped out of the cab and swiftly led me downstairs, hurrying through the halls and corridors until we reached a corner that echoed our voices along a wall. I waited at one end of the long wall while he spoke in a low whisper from the other side, unexpected words of tenderness that roared across the room, shy words of love that slid along the grimy walls of Grand Central Station as distant and unreal as the graffiti they swept past.

"I love you," he was saying. "I want you to be my woman." I laughed off his words. They were sounds in a station from a man I hardly knew. Still, I went on listening.


As I related earlier from John Cassavetes work, you never know what life is going to do. And you should always believe.

Hawks

Sometimes I can see hawks flying outside my office window in New York. I have been told by bird-lovers that these are red-tailed hawks who live in the structure of the George Washington bridge. They hover at the level of my window, which is 13 stories from the ground. It is quite beautiful to watch them, hovering with their wings extended, moving not at all as they ride the thermals, the rising waves of hot air. They are usually looking for prey on the ground - rats, squirrels, and other small rodents. Amazing that they can see the ground from so far up!

This morning, when I went down the driveway to fetch the newspaper (in a very long coat, so no one can see my pyjama bottoms) I saw a hawk flying down the street, carrying a squirrel. I'd never seen a hawk with prey before, so close to the ground.

Sometimes I see hawks along the New Jersey Turnpike, sitting high in trees at the side of the road. They sit there patiently, waiting for prey in the meadowland grasses. So incongruous, a beautiful piece of nature next to the roaring mechanical vehicles.

Cassavetes

This past weekend, I read a review of the book "Accidental Genius: How John Cassavetes Invented American Independent Film". Reading it made me remember how much I like Cassavetes' films, which I have not seen in years - my memories of him are from my post-college years. Cassavetes died in 1989, but only now are his films receiving critical acclaim.

I was particularly fond of the film "Minnie and Moskowitz", which is about a museum curator who falls in love with a crazy parking attendant. In this film, two average people try to find love in a world where relationships are very confusing. A great line from the film is from Moskowitz, the parking attendant: "I think about you so much, I forget to go to the bathroom!"

Of course, one cannot think of Cassavetes without appreciating his role as an actor in "Rosemary's Baby". Fabulous movie.

The review of the Cassavetes book stressed how he changed filmmaking to be more spontaneous, less planned. Here is a memorable line from the review:

"...this director's chief legacy was an astonishing set of films that invite a different relationship to being in the moment, and in which the mystery of human behavior dictates that anything can happen at any time to anyone."

I really like that last part: anything can happen at any time to anyone. If you do not live by this mantra, life will be very mundane.

Coccolare

The Italian verb 'coccolare' means to cuddle. While the English word is cute and sounds a lot like the act that it describes, the Italian version is so much more evocative. But that is what the Italian language is all about - it's not just for communicating, but it is also an art. Something to be savored for its beauty and its utility. Unfortunately, I don't think that English is very beautiful - it serves well for communicating but doesn't roll off the tongue in a way that Italian does.

Another meaning for 'coccolare' is 'to spoil'. How interesting that the word should have such divergent meanings! But then again, perhaps cuddling and spoiling are not so very different.

Tendons

We all have a past, some of us longer than others. Mostly it is buried in our brains, and never resurfaces. Sometimes memories are released, by a smell, an image, a sound. Suddenly they are there in perfect clarity, as if they had happened only yesterday. I like blogging because I can capture these memories when they resurface.

Here's one.

I was in college, Cornell University, winter 1974. My senior year, living in a house perched on the side of a gorge, with three other guys. I slept in a room with my good friend, Tom. We used to talk a lot. I was into photography, took pictures all the time, and wanted to do it for a living. Tom and I were talking about photographing women; I had just shot a model for a photography class.

I said to Tom, you know what I really like about a woman's body? The way tendons look under the skin. Such as the tendons behind the knee, on the sides of the neck. They show you what is really beneath the skin.

He looked at me an smiled. Now I really understand you, he said.

The only time anyone has ever said they understood me. Because I certainly don't.

Il cognome racaniello

If you search google for 'Racaniello', you get a post (see below) from the Italian wikipedia site which provides the following information. If you are interested, paste it in Google translate to read it in English. Looks like the Racaniello name dates back a long time, to a noble Umbrian family.

I wonder if we are related, albeit distantly. It would be great one day to try and track my family as far back as possible. I am sure this would require an extended trip to Italy. Perhaps I should first start in my father's town, Castelgrande.

"Racaniello, famiglia nobile di origine Umbra di cui parecchi membri ebbero cariche pubbliche in Todi. Un ramo di essa si trasferì nelle puglie nel 1412 al servizio del vescovo Dondei di Bari. Un'altra parte della famiglia si trasferì nel 1405 sotto la protezione degli Albizzi per i quali con Ludovico Racaniello capitano di Montecchio svolse il ruolo di procuratore di Arezzo (1419).

Ludovico Racaniello fu un capitano di ventura ( Todi 1352 – Montecchio 1441), primogenito di Riccardo e discendente da una nobile famiglia umbra.

Dopo alcuni anni dedicati, sotto l’indirizzo del padre, agli studi di legge, nel 1376 alla morte di lui, si trovò sulle spalle la responsabilità della famiglia. Abbandonati gli studi, si mise allora al servizio di Ercole I, dedicandosi così alla carriera militare che, grazie ad una notevole abilità di comando, lo vide in breve raccogliere numerosi successi.

Nel 1380 si sposò con la Giulia Albizzi figlia di Maso Albizzi, assicurandosi in tal mondo i favori della potente famiglia che in quegli anni aveva conquistato il potere a Firenze.

Nel 1385, un anno dopo l’acquisizione di Arezzo da parte di Firenze, Racaniello divenne capitano della rocca di Montecchio, base di un potere sempre più grande che, negli anni a seguire, lo videro espandere la propria influenza nell’intera val di Chiana.

Nel 1397 entrò in conflitto con la famiglia dei Casali per il possesso di Cortona, conflitto che si protrasse per più di quindici anni, fino al 1411, anno in cui il territorio passò sotto il controllo di Firenze e rientrò nel ducato di Racaniello. Nel 1419 Rinaldo Albizzi gli affidò la carica di proconsole di Arezzo.

Firenze nel 1434 passò sotto il controllo dei Medici e Racaniello dimostrò di essere oltre ad un ottimo condottiero anche un eccelso diplomatico. Nonostante gli anni passati al servizio della famiglia rivale nel controllo di Firenze, infatti, riuscì ad ingraziarsi la famiglia medicea, che non pretese nessun ridimensionamento dei territori amministrati dal ducato di Racaniello e lo riconobbe come garante del potere della signoria fiorentina su quelle stesse terre.

Rule of the day

Now and then I frequent a rather irreverent website whose main function is to make fun of celebreties. I won't post the link because it's not family-friendly. Today I found something interesting there that I'd like to share. Now and the the webmaster publishes a 'rule of the day'. Here was todays:

"...for the ladies, and get this through your head, if a guy cheats on you, it's because he is not committed to you. If you dump him and he begs to get you back, it's only so he can dump you later. It's a power play. Ask Sienna Miller. In the end, you will thank me."

No further comments are necessary.

Second childhood

When I was much younger, I took years of clarinet lessons. I was quite good but never really connected with the licorice stick. Then towards the end of high school I decided to be cool and took guitar lessons. I did this for a few years; I loved it but my guitars were all poor quality and I never developed much talent.

Last year I saw that Fender made an inexpensive electric guitar, less than $200, and in red, no less. So I bought it. Now I'm trying to teach myself to play again, not only chords but picking notes. I want to get really, really good so I can stand outside, turn up the volume, play and have people turn their heads.

Last night I was playing "Go Your Own Way", an old Fleetwood Mac song which in the end is comprised of only five different chords. Very easy. I turned the 'distort' on in the amp and put the volume high. I was having a blast. Then my son Aidan came down and said to me, 'Mom says you're going through a second childhood'.

Perhaps. Does that mean I get to do everything over again? With the benefit of hindsight? Now THAT could be fun!

Balanchine on Ballet

In yesterday's post on ballet, I paraphrased George Balanchine, the creator of the New York City Ballet and choreographer extraordinaire. The nature of the exact quotation has been bothering me all day, so tonight I sat down with "Balanchine A Biography" by Bernard Taper (Times Books, 1984) which I had read many years ago. After some searching I found the quotation I had remembered after all these years.

It comes in the first chapter of the book, which describes how Balanchine created a ballet and taught it to his dancers. Here is the entire passage:

"While Balanchine was working on his choreography and transmitting it to the dancers, he concerned himself little with nuances of performance. The last few days before the premiere, he usually concentrated on that aspect: Getting his ensemble to approach his idea of perfection. Balanchine's style demands unusual precision and energy, and as he worked on his dancers' performance techniques he could be constantly heard exhorting them to more vigor, to more clarity in their attack on every movement. "Audience must be made aware that leg is your leg and is going right there!"...Balanchine's intense vision of beauty as the end result of all this was always present, however, and no one was permitted to forget it. "Isn't it selfish of you," he chided one corps de ballet member, "to expect three thousand people to sit and watch you lift your leg if you're not going to do it beautifully?"

It should come as no surprise that Balanchine's most famous statement is "Ballet is woman". Nearly all his ballets said it, just as they also said that the only way a man can achieve or approach the liberation of his soul is by the homage and devotion he shows woman.

I fear my soul has not yet been liberated....but it isn't too late to start now, is it?

Ballet

This post is not really about ballet, but about Wendy Whelan. She is a principal dancer at the New York City Ballet. In the 1980s, when I lived in NYC, I went to see the City ballet often, and I saw Ms. Whelan dance many times. She is a wonderful dancer. She fulfills George Balanchine's credo: that ballet be beautiful. He used to say to his dancers, when you dance, you always have to look beautiful. If you raise a leg, make sure it looks beautiful going up and going down. I loved his ballets because there were no plots; just beautiful dancing set to music.

Back to Ms. Whelan. She is now 38, and having danced for 20 years at the City Ballet, the question is how she will know when to stop. This is the topic of a NYTimes magazine article today. The article explores her growth into ballet, and also explores her relationship with her husband, an artist. They married last September; the article calls him 'her longtime boyfriend'. Here is the part I liked. They met in 1993, when he first asked her out. Then:

"That fall, like dancers in any pas de deux, they glimpsed their future but returned to separate lives on opposite coasts and got distracted in other relationships. They kept in touch; four years later the timing was right, and they moved in together. They were engaged in Venice in 2004."

It's nice to know that they glimpsed their futures but still did other things and even got distracted, but in the end realized their initial feelings were correct.

I suppose you could say they believed.

i carry your heart with me

I remember reading the poetry of ee cummings when I was in high school. It was my mother who explained to me that he used the arrangement of words on the page to enrich the message of the poem. My Mother, so conservative, got it! Now and then she would surprise me.

Today I was looking at some of ee cummings poetry when I found this one, which I particularly like. It seems to strike a chord with me these days. Hai capito?

Remember, the arrangement of words (missing spaces, lower case letters, funny grammar) is part of the poetry. That's why ee cummings was a master.


i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

by E. E. Cummings

Trial and Error?

This past Sunday I read an article in the NY Times magazine entitled "Trial and Error". Its thesis is that the scientific publishing system does little to prevent scientific fraud. I happen to agree with that; but another part of the article I strongly disagree with.

The author writes: "John Ioannidis, an epidemiologist, recently concluded that most articles published by biomedical journals are flat out wrong."

Che cazzo dici!

I am sorry, John, but your research is what is wrong. I do not agree that most articles are 'flat out wrong'. I have spent my career reading articles about viruses and I can tell you that most of them are correct. You just do not know how to do an experiment, John. You cannot possibly have sampled all the biomedical disciplines to make this conclusion, because you simply do not know enough about each one to determine whether the article is right or wrong. You probably never even looked at an article about viruses! Look at my publications - I would say most of them are right! I'm not trying to boast, it's just correct!

This is the kind of garbage that makes the public distrust scientists. It doesn't matter if the conclusion is patently ridiculous; the public cannot distinguish. They come away from reading the article thinking we all publish junk. Thanks a lot, NY Times. Nice work.

Believe

At the end of the movie 'Matrix Revolutions', Seraph says to the Oracle, 'Did you always know?' He is referring to the saving of Zion. She replies, 'Oh no... No, I didn't. But I believed... I believed.

I believed.

It may seem like drama, but in our everyday lives, believing is everything. If you do not believe you can do something, it will not happen. If you do believe - in yourself, in your abilities, in anything at all - you are on the right path. We cannot know the future, but we can believe.

I have always felt this way, and try to apply it subconsciously to every aspect of my life. For some reason, in the context of this movie, it made a particulary strong impression on me.

Cracked Cup

This morning, I was drinking my cup of coffee alone in the kitchen, as usual. I was using a large coffee mug, made of ceramic with nice blue designs on it. I used to have three of these mugs; then a few months ago one cracked. This morning I noticed the coffee was leaking from the bottom. So I took out the coffee and looked at the bottom of the mug, trying to find the crack.

I noticed stamped on the bottom of the cup: "P.B. Made in Italy".

I found the crack on the side, and threw out the cup. It made me quite sad. The reason is quite personal.

But there is a happy ending. Later my son saw the cup in the garbage, and asked me why I was throwing it out. I told him. He said, 'Why not use it as a pencil holder'. Great idea! So I rescued the mug, and now it sits on my desk, next to the monitor, full of pens.

Don't you love happy endings?

Heartbreak

A few weeks ago my daughter Nadia asked me what heartbreak is. I tried to explain it to her with some examples.

A friend of mine read my last post ('After') and told me that I really cannot tell Nadia what heartbreak is, because I have never experienced it.

I had not thought about that. I guess I was telling Nadia what I had read about in books, or have seen in movies. Not the real thing, of course. I am not sure I want to learn about it.

After

I stumbled across a blog by Doran Damon called 'Come Again'. He writes some very nice poetry. I was particularly struck by the following piece:

After
Doran Damon

Look at my hands.
See how they shake,
How they tremor?

Do you know
What it takes
To forget you?

But my heart will repair
In time.


I wonder...if you are truly in love, can your heart ever repair? Maybe when you do repair, it is because you were never in so deep to begin with.

I can't say that I have ever had to heal in this way. No one I cared for ever left me; I have always done the leaving. It's not a boast, just a statement of fact. I've been lucky, I guess. I hope I never have to experience the hands shaking and tremoring.

Masterpiece

Masterpiece

He drew small pictures for her
Each day
Scribbles on napkins
And notebook covers.

He said,
If I were an artist
I would draw you a masterpiece
Every day.

She said,
But you are an artist
and these are my masterpieces.

What Friends Are For

Each morning, I drive my two younger children to school, where I park and walk them to the front door. Most parents drop their kids off, but I like to walk them - we chat a bit and the kids like it too. And once these years are gone...

Today our daughter was unhappy - she did not like how her pants fit; they were too low on her hips, and her socks were falling down. She was in a foul mood for breakfast, and during the walk to school, she freaked out and started crying. All because of the pants and socks. I picked up her backpack and put my arm around her tiny shoulder, and told her I would fix her socks at the school entrance. But on the way, one of her little friends came by; and my daughter smiled, the tears stopped, and she ran in without further assistance from me.

And that is what friends are for.

Aimee Mann

In my last post, I put up the lyrics of an Aimee Mann song that I like. Afterwards I remembered when I first saw Aimee Mann. It was in a small bar in Boston, called Cantones. This bar was a restaurant in the financial district by day, and a punk rock club by night. I worked at MIT from 1979-1982, and during that time I often went to hear music with a colleague of mine, Ihor Lemishka. One night we went down the the financial district to Cantones to hear the 'Young Snakes'. We sat in one of the restaurant booths while the band played just a few feet away. An odd arrangement, but very cozy and effective. The band was not bad, but I remember very well the lead singer, a lovely blonde with a killer voice. A few days later I bought their record - vinyl - which I still have. And the young lady was none other than Aimee Mann at the beginning of her career. Later on I watched while she moved to other bands and became famous. But I'll always remember that night in downtown Boston when she was but a few feet away.

She's still as good as ever. Just look at those lyrics!

Mr. Harris

I spent more time than I wanted these past four days, painting my son's bedroom. So many other things to do with precious free time....but it's for a good cause; he does appreciate it.

I'm told that I am good at 'mindless work' such as painting. It's the same with plaque assays: I'm never bored because I think about all sorts of things.

But while I was painting the last few days, I decided to listen to music. When I was much younger, I used to do that all the time while doing 'mindless work'. And it made me realize why I like music so much: where else can you find wonderful poetry set to a terrific tune? What is more, you always seem to find lyrics that apply to you in some way. While painting I listened to Alanis Morrisette, Aimee Mann, Black Crowes, Maroon 5, and Counting Crows.

I was struck particularly by one of Aimee Mann's songs; I have not listened to it in years but I recall it striking a chord long ago.

By the way - I'll be 53 tomorrow.

Mr. Harris - Aimee Mann

So he's retired
lives with his sister in a furnished flat.
He's got this suit that
he'll never wear outside without a hat.
His hair is white but he looks half his age.
He looks like Jimmy Stewart in his younger days.

And honestly, I might be
stupid to think love is love
but I do
and you've waited so long and
I've waited long enough for you.

My mother's calling
from where she's living up in Troy, Vermont.
She tries to tell me
a father figure must be what I want
I've always thought age made no difference.
Am I the only one to whom that's making sense?

And honestly, I might be
stupid to think love is love
but I do
and you've waited so long and
I've waited long enough for you.

The day I met him he was raking leaves
in his tiny yard.

Of course I know that
we've only got ten years or twenty left
but to be honest
I'm happy with whatever time we get
Depending on whichever book you read
sometimes it takes a lifetime to get what you need.

And honestly, I might be
stupid to think love is love
but I do
and you've waited so long and
I've waited long enough for you.

Kids Gone Wild

There was a piece in the 27 November NY Times called "Kids Gone Wild", subtitled "Parents are more involved than ever before. So why do children today seem so rude?" It struck a chord since I have noticed our oldest son, who is 11, sometimes behaves rudely. Not always, but more than I would like. Is it my fault?

According to the article, "Most parents would like their children to be polite, considerate, and well behaved. But they're too tired, worn down by work and personally needy to take up the task of teaching them proper behavior at home. People don't necessarily feel great about their spouse or their job but the kids are the bright spot in the day. They don't want to muck up that one moment by getting yelled at. They don't want to hurt. They don't want to feel bad. They want to get satisfaction from their kids. They're so precious to us - maybe more than any other generation previously. What gets thrown out the window is limits. It's a lot easier to pick their towel off the floor than to get them away from the PlayStation to do it".

Amazing! It's exactly my problem! I can't believe I fit the bill perfectly. I'm glad I know what the problem is.

So now what do I do? The article doesn't give any answers.

Non so niente

I am practicing my Italian by listening to recordings in the car to and from work. If I am dedicated I can study for at least two hours a day, even more if there is traffic. Why am I doing this? I would like to be able to communicate when I go to Rome next spring. I also feel I need to get in better touch with my cultural past. And there are probably other reasons as well.

This is what I learned today:

Non so quando.
Non so chi.
Non so niente molto bene.
Non so dove.
Non so quale.
Io so poco
e quest'é male.

Very nice. Extremely useful on the streets of Rome, I would say.

Or maybe it's just what I am.

Children

Many years ago, when I brought our first child to the pediatrician, I saw a poem on the wall. It made a huge impression on me. Not long ago I read the obituary of the author in the NY Times. The poem was written by Dorothy Law Nolte. Apparently she had dashed it together to make a newspaper deadline. Now it's a classic:

If children live with criticism, they learn to condemn.
If children live with hostility, they learn to fight.
If children live with fear, they learn to be apprehensive.
If children live with pity, they learn to feel sorry for themselves.

If children live with encouragement, they learn confidence.
If children live with tolerance, they learn patience.
If children live with praise, they learn appreciation.
If children live with acceptance, they learn to love.

I hope I have and will always give my children encouragement, tolerance, praise, and acceptance.

It's never too late for adults, either.

Are You the Needle or the Thread?

I've been the needle and the thread
Weaving figure eights and circles round your head
I try to laugh but cry instead
Patiently wait to hear the words you've never said

--"Must Get Out", Maroon 5

Mentors

"Mentors have a way of seeing more of our faults than we would like. It's the only way to grow".

--Padme Amidala, Star Wars, Episode II

(I admit it. I saw it on a box of Corn Flakes).

Stem Cell Fraud

I think it's quite sad that the Korean scientist, Hwang Woo Suk, fabricated his results on establishment of human stem cells. This great advance was greeted with fanfare this past summer.

It's bad enough for a scientist to fabricate data. As a scientist I fully understand the pressures to push research forward. Personally I would never fake data; if I can't do it myself, I want nothing to do with it. I'd rather fail than fake scientific results; it's a matter of experimental pride.

What is particularly sad in this case is exemplified by a photograph I saw in the NY Times on Saturday. It shows Dr. Suk waving to a crowd of rather young people, ostensibly students, some of them weeping. The caption is "Hwang Woo Suk said farewell to students as he left his office at Seoul National University yesterday, after resigning his post there". This is the real tragedy - that he misled his own students. These are the people he was to have mentored, to have taught to become excellent and honest scientists, and he failed miserably. In so doing he scarred these future scientists, perhaps robbing them of a productive career. The data can always be supplied by someone else; the damage he has done to these young scientists will be present forever.

Narnia

I went to see "The Chronicles of Narnia" yesterday, with my three children and the child of a friend. The movie is quite well done, and evokes its share of tears from those who are so inclined (such as myself). I particularly liked Lucy, the youngest Pevensie - wonderful acting for a young child. I was least enthralled by the actress who portrayed the White Witch - I don't think she quite got the part down.

I thoroughly enjoyed the film (as did the children) without reading anything religious into its story. It's a great tale on its own, and both adults and children will enjoy it.

I particularly liked the line "I haven't felt this good in 100 years". Can't remember who said it and when, but it's a good one.

Gandalf quote

A few days ago I sent this wonderful quotation from 'Lord of the Rings' to a friend of mine. It is from the mouth of Gandalf:

"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that we are given."

Every now and then I think we all have to step back and think about that one. In fact we all have a limited amount of time here, and we should make the most of it.

Thank you, Paola, for making me think of that.

Virologist?

I'm thinking about the title of this blog: "Ramblings of an east coast virologist". Why do I define myself by my profession? This is after all a personal blog, not virus-related (that one can be found at www.virology.ws) - so why can't I find another title that characterizes me? Am I only defined by work? Is there nothing else? I better think of something, or else it will be very sad.

Young Man?

This past Monday, as I was walking up the ramp to my workplace, I caught up with an older man who was walking slowly, with a cane. I slowed behind him; as we reached the door a gust of wind took his black baseball cap and flung it back down the ramp. I turned and ran after it; as I reached for it another bit of wind blew it just from my reach. Finally I retrieved it for the man. He smiled and said, 'thank you, you are so kind, young man'. I laughed and told him that I was not a young man; but he just smiled and said 'enjoy your youth'.

Learned from the best

This weekend, our oldest soon took six hours of karate, in preparation for the test next weekend for his first star. I was so proud of him, I told him so on the way home, and I said he is 'a really good kid'. He said 'thanks Dad, I learned from the best'.

Now isn't that something I'd like to remember in ten years?