June 2007 Archives
If mathematics could kill, I would certainly have been vaporized by now. I have been attending about 7 hours daily of lectures in a hodgepodge of mathematics, most of which I do not understand. I think it's good in the long run though. I recently realized that practically all of my formal mathematical knowledge, with the exception of the linear algebra I learned "on the street", is analysis in one form or another. Calculus, real analysis, harmonic analysis, differential equations, some rudiments of functional analysis... it's all analysis. Naturally, this is a problem since most of math is not analysis, and I am pretty clueless about everything else. While I'm fairly bad at it, I have been consequently trying to focus intensely on the lectures involving algebra and category theory. If I can succeed in grasping it, then I should be able to understand the later lectures on topological quantum field theories. Not only are TQFTs interesting mathematical entities in their own right, but I believe they are of some importance in condensed matter physics.
My most recent efforts have mostly centered around category theory, which is absolutely bizarre. Category theory is an even higher abstraction of set theory: categories are arguably the most fundamental constructs of mathematics. A category consists of objects with arrows, or morphisms. There are also a few axioms that the morphisms must satisfy. The level of abstraction is simply ridiculous. The subject often seems more like hand-waving, magic, or philosophy than mathematics.
In most places, panhandlers are fairly innocuous people, sitting on the street holding a sign or briefly uttering a sentence asking for money. Chicago, or perhaps just Hyde Park, seems to be caught in an unfortunate warp of social standards, in which panhandling tactics verge on extortion. Rumors abound about pandhandlers-turned-armed-robbers, those who recite and sell poetry for money, and interminably persistent beggars. My personal experience just took a minor turn for the worse, reinforcing my utter intolerance for these tactics.
About three and a half months ago, in the middle of winter, I was walking to the Reg along University Avenue when I was accosted by this unfortunately loquacious pandhandler. I really wanted to get work done, but I simply couldn't shake him off my track. I ended up talking to him for something like 45 minutes against my will and was only able to escape him by giving him five dollars. I only gave him so much because apparently he wasn't satisfied with two dollars. My only option was to shove a bunch more small bills his way and pretend like I had no more cash.
Unlike most panhandlers who at least construct a facade of poverty, this guy was a terrible at the game. Admittedly, he had a good story. It was about 25 degrees out when we had our unfortunate meeting, and he concocted a plausible scenario about once having slept on heat vents from the skating rink on the Midway. In an attempt to evict him, he claimed that the university had turned off these heat vents at night and that he needed the money for shelter and moving to Atlanta where he could live with his sister. That said, he made some egregious errors. Firstly, when I asked him where these heat vents were on the Midway, he stumbled briefly and then said that they were on the south side of the Midway. This is false. They are on the north side. There is absolutely no reason why there should be any heat vents on the south side of the Midway, and indeed there are none. I even checked later that week. Secondly, his attire seemed incongruous given his alleged homelessness. At the time, he was wearing sturdy leather boots and khakis (I'll grant him that they were dirty).
Okay. Fine. He was an imposter and I couldn't escape his tactics. My perfect record of denying panhandlers my money was shattered. If we fast-forward to today, however, things become worse.
I was trying to go to a different library this time, and the same man accosted me. I again couldn't shake him off my path, this time telling him that I had no money. Again, he suggested the we walk to the ATM so I could get him some. After denying this, he pressed further, so I decided to pull the homework trump card: I said I had a lot of work and no time. In retrospect, that is an ironically feeble excuse to use against panhandlers. The only way I could get away and into the library was by arranging a meeting with him at 10 PM at the ATM in order to get him money. He told me not to worry: "I don't want to rob you." I told him that I might not make it due to "excessive work." He countered by asking for my cell phone number. Realizing that my cell phone was plainly visible in my pocket, I simply denied this request outright.
Moreover, the man continues to fail even more miserably at being convincing. His pity-story again centered on the fact that the heat vents on the Midway have been turned off. Given that it rarely gets below 80 degrees F at night, this is laughable. The move to Atlanta clearly never materialized. And best of all, I noticed that he was wearing a Lacoste striped polo shirt, which, according to Google, run about $85 new. While he is missing a front tooth, that fact only reinforces my suspicion that he is a drug lord.
So here I am, stranded in Crerar, pondering my options. I could stay until very, very late (i.e. 1 AM) to play up my "excessive work" story and hope to avoid him. I could leave now with a higher probability of running into him, but I could explicitly refuse to give him money, invoking his lack of authenticity as an argument if necessary. Or I could seek out the tunnels that apparently go to CIS, then work my way home via the tunnels and bridges that go through Kersten, the Research Institutes, the accelerator building, and the High Energy Physics building.
Never give money to panhandlers. Ever. Never break down under their pressure. After all, they too have an opportunity cost of time.
I think it's time to ask the people at the front desk about the tunnels.
There seems nothing more fitting than me, in my current feverish and delirious state, as I spend the Thursday night of finals week hunched over writing this idiotic paper on the 4th floor of Regenstein. On the upside, I received my grade on that cataclysmic economics exam, and I actually did quite well in relative terms and pretty decent in absolute ones.
Now, in the next 35 hours, I just need to move to a new apartment, finish a paper, turn in a paper, pay people money, go to work, catch a plane, and hopefully--very hopefully--sleep a little. Then in 39 hours, I get to sleep a lot.
Well, at least the quantum mechanics final went alright. I made two idiotic errors, but overall I did fine. Despite my midterm calamity, I should scrape by with a passing grade. Yay!
After contemplating my impending doom on my quantum mechanics examination, I thought I would take a look at the physics GRE out of curiosity. The problems are ridiculously easy and very reminiscent of an AP physics test, or better yet, an SAT II physics examination. So failing quantum wouldn't be the end of the world... but it would be pretty darn close.
You know those nightmares that people have about college, in which they forget to go to the final or write a paper or go to class for the entire quarter? I thought I was having one of those when I opened my eyes this morning at 9:21 this morning to go to an 8AM economics final. I looked around a bit, and indeed the world seemed to be real. I dashed out of bed, sprinted across the Midway and into Kent, only to stumble into the wrong room. I finally found it, though. My instructor thankfully was incredibly nice about the entire debaucle; he gave me the full time and the test was not bad.
But got even worse. He gave me four booklets in which to do the test. Since I was in a hurry, I did the entire test in the first booklet. I finished with 30 extra minutes, and flipped to the front of the test sheet to check my answers. Suddenly I noticed that the instructions at the very top of the page (in bold, incidentally...), said to do problem 1 in the first book, problems 2 and 3 in the second book, and problems 4 and 5 in the third book. So I feverishly recopied problems 1, 4, and 5 into new books, finishing with additional 18 minutes to go. Still, I was able to check all of my answers and catch a couple mistakes.
It has been a painful day.
On the upside, I was very well rested.
"Eh, what is this? Some kind of gypsy wedding?"
--Grigor Grigorov, in reference to a fraternity's precession along University Avenue
