29 November 2010

catch-up blogging: william hague speaks at georgetown.

It is, I think, de rigueur for every university to brag about the famous speakers that it attracts to campus.  In Georgetown's case, there is actually some merit to this boast: during my time here, we've hosted Barack Obama, Hillary Clinton, Condoleezza Rice, Tony Blair, General Petraeus, and, I am sure, many other instantly recognisable names that I cannot recall.  Of course, because my sense of timing is crap -- Blair, ironically, spoke on campus while I was essay crisising at his alma mater, Oxford -- I've managed to miss most of them.  When I heard that British Foreign Secretary William Hague was due to speak at Georgetown on November 17 during an afternoon free of classes & other such obligations, I immediately pencilled the event into my diary and showed up to it nice and early.  Mostly so that I could snap the following photograph as inconspicuously as possible:

william hague speaks at georgetown university.

Because I am a hip and forward-thinking citizen of the twenty-first century, I live-tweeted the event -- and managed to get re-tweeted by the British Embassy here in DC in the process, a brush with useless Twitter fame only rivalled by the time Matt Yglesias and I had a brief conversation about sleep -- but, being, in reality, a rather square person, I also took notes with curious implements known as pen and paper so that I could type up a more thorough recap later.  Given I am writing this almost two weeks after the speech took place, I am clearly fulfilling the promise of "later."

Hague's speech was entitled "International Security in a Networked World," which is a fancy way of saying really nothing at all.  Though he prefaced his talk with a joke about Prince William and Kate Middleton's engagement -- regarding the press coverage surrounding it, he quipped, "Perhaps you're missing [the monarchy] a little" -- and a brief remark about the coalition government ("remarkable general election"), his talk was largely about Britain's place in the current international system.  Two general themes emerged.  The first was, expectedly, the Anglo-American relationship, which, he argued, remains fundamental to both countries.  He furthermore stressed that the UK would never shirk its international responsibilities, hearkening back to the country's "restless and outward looking" orientation. 

The second concerned the new configuration of international relations to which Britain must adapt if it is to remain a strong and effective actor in international politics.  Hague spoke of strengthening bilateral relations with rising powers like Brazil and China, displaying strong leadership within the EU vis-à-vis Iran and the Balkans, and addressing potential threats in a "far-sighted" and "rounded" manner.  Hague concluded by emphasising the need to stand up for British values abroad, noting that influence and leverage in the international system stems from having a moral advantage.

In sum, his speech contained what was more or less standard material, though, as a student of the Georgetown School of Foreign Service -- I usually forget this, as my coursework is typically more mathematical proofs and statistical regressions than foreign policy -- I feel somewhat obliged to provide a marginally knowledgeable opinion on it.  In an interesting coincidence, the one debate I attended at the Oxford Union was about the special relationship between the U.S. and UK, so I suppose I will begin there. 

I've always been of the (admittedly American) belief that the special relationship matters much more to the Brits than it does to the Yanks, in terms of international affairs, simply because the U.S. looms much greater in general British consciousness than visa versa.  In Notes from a Small Island, Bill Bryson wrote that, in the average Briton's mental conception of world geography, the Atlantic Ocean separating him from the U.S. is literally no bigger than a pond, whereas, for instance, the massive body of water known as the English Channel divorces him from continental Europe.  I saw this reflected in the astoundingly widespread coverage that American politics gets in the British press; the most recent general election in the UK partially notwithstanding, I cannot say the same for British politics and the U.S. media.  This is not to say that the U.S. and the UK do not share the closest thing that two states can to friendship -- whatever such a concept means in international politics -- but, rather, that there is a clear imbalance within that friendship.

From a Rumsfeldian perspective, that a middling Old European power wants to establish an independent voice in global politics is perhaps laughable, but, given the constraints imposed on Britain's ability to project power abroad, the concept of cultivating good relations with other countries on as broad a scale as possible is quite logical.  U.S. foreign policy undoubtedly concerns itself with just about every corner of the world, but, to a certain extent, it can more readily focus itself on a few places at the expense of others (e.g., Yemen) or permit a limited amount of deterioration in its relations with, say, China (if campaign rhetoric in the run-up to the midterm elections was any indication).  As a smaller power, Britain lacks this kind of leeway, and the minds behind British foreign policy are acting rather wisely in electing to minimise sources of possible antagonism with other countries.

Anyway, I do believe I've rambled enough for now.  Another foreign minister -- that of Turkey -- is speaking at Georgetown later today, but, alas, a prior time commitment prevents me from being in attendance.

25 November 2010

a note of gratitude.

Here I am, home again for the lovely and all-too-brief respite known as Thanksgiving holiday, extended to us poor university students just as our reserves of sanity are on the brink of total depletion.  Of course, on paper, this year's Thanksgiving is not much of a respite for me -- I have a research paper due on Monday and a presentation to prepare for Wednesday -- but physically being away from Georgetown does a surprising amount of good vis-à-vis feeling at peace with the world.

Therefore, on this chilly and snowy day (the last time I had a white Thanksgiving was likely when I still lived in Canada!), I did want to spare a moment to electronically scribble down a brief message to the very wonderful people in my life, as I'm not sure that I ever articulate on a sufficiently regular basis how unbearable certain aspects of the human condition would be without you and how very empty the more uplifting parts of it would be in your absence.  Therefore, to the veritable strangers whose paths I crossed no more than a few times yet have remained indelibly ensconced in a cherished memory, to the dearest among you with whom I have shared mutually commiserating phone calls and odd hours in the library, to all friends near & far, and to family whose love is unconditionally given and occasionally undeserved: thank you.

21 November 2010

eye and ear candy: francesco piemontesi and other concert pianists.

One of the ways I deal with feeling more overwhelmed by life than usual is to find a much loved and life affirming work of classical music in iTunes, put in my headphones, dial up the volume, set everything else aside for a few minutes, and savour the aural joy upon clicking "play."  As a result, I have a handful of pieces upon which I know I can rely for instant emotional catharsis: the whole of Beethoven's ninth symphony, the fourth movement of Mozart's "Jupiter" symphony, Vaughan Williams's "The Lark Ascending," and so forth.  If I don't have much time to spare, though, the automatic choice is the famous finale from "The Firebird Suite" by Igor Stravinsky (used to great effect, for example, in this scene from Disney's Fantasia 2000; use of the finale begins at around 5:50 in that clip).  It's a very short piece -- shorter than most pop songs on the radio -- and I dare you to listen to it without being moved in some fashion or another.

Anyway, the above paragraph is just a very long-winded way of saying that I was listening it this afternoon when, for some reason, I wanted to look up an orchestral performance of it on YouTube.  What I ended up finding instead was a piano transcription of the last two movements from "The Firebird," the Berceuse and the Finale.  It had never occurred to me that "The Firebird," with its expansive orchestration, could be reduced to a single piano, but, then, I really should learn to never doubt the capabilities of my favourite and native instrument!  This transcription is marvellously faithful to the tone colours in the original and just as arresting in its beauty, and I have listened to it a sufficient number of times today such that I have begun to forget that Stravinsky did not originally write this for piano.

Also of arresting beauty is the pianist, Francesco Piemontesi, at the keyboard, which I noticed about thirty seconds into the video: glasses! concert attire! hands!  He reminds me a little of Cillian Murphy -- though his features aren't quite as ethereal -- and we all know how I feel about him.  Intrigued, I did a little bit of research on Mr Piemontesi and discovered that, at only twenty-seven years of age, he's an up-and-coming concert pianist hailing from Switzerland (I apparently I have thing for the Swiss), with BBC Radio 3 featuring him as one of their New Generation Artists.  Although he has yet to make a debut with a top-tier major orchestra, the reviews of his performances appear to be very positive, and I am rather seduced by both the diversity of his repertoire and the intensity he brings to the piano.

This, of course, led me to think about other attractive pianists; from this girl's perspective, in any case, few features are as alluring as fluency in classical piano.  After some Google images searches, here are four more to consider:

Vladimir Ashkenazy may be well into his seventies, but he is still quite adorable, isn't he?  These days, arthritis in the hands means that he no longer does live performances, but he remains active in the classical music world as a conductor.  Of course, during his days as a pianist, he performed and recorded what seems like virtually all of the great piano repertoire.

Yundi Li is one of many young pianists to have emerged from China in recent years (see: Lang Lang, Yuja Wang, et al).  He is definitely the most gorgeous among them, however.  He has a brooding Romantic air about him, which is appropriate, given the Romantics have been his forté to date.

In his younger days, the notoriously eccentric Croatian pianist Ivo Pogorelich was quite handsome (I actually saw him perform with the Philadelphia Orchestra back in 1999, I think).  These days, he seems to have gone completely off the rocker, but there you have it.

Last but not least, there is Franz Liszt, Hungarian composer and pianistic virtuoso extraordinaire.  The ladies swooned for him as they have for no one else, such were the aphrodisiac powers of his music.  I mean, really: listen to this, one of his twelve Transcendental Etudes, and tell me that you don't want to fall in love.

18 November 2010

mix: we don't know just where our bones will rest.

I've been meaning to post this mix for at least a month now, and, as November wears steadily onward and Christmas decor begins enveloping American retail institutions wholesale (I am not joking about the latter, by the way: I swung by Banana Republic last week to check out the merchandise when some blandly jazzy holiday song filled the store, thereby prompting me to evacuate it with as much haste as possible), the window of time during which it remains seasonally relevant is quickly shrinking.

As I noted in the preface to last year's autumn-themed mix, fall, with all its subtle shades & shifts, is indeed my favourite season.  Where last year's playlist highlighted the season's whimsies, though, this one is altogether more melancholy and contemplative in nature, a soundtrack for sitting on sidewalk curbs while clutching a cup of coffee in slightly numbed-by-cold hands.  Side A is for a gentle, pulling wind; Side B is for stillness.

mums.

we don't know just where our bones will rest
download

--

Side A

  1. The Smashing Pumpkins -- 1979
  2. Death Cab for Cutie -- Your New Twin Sized Bed
  3. Copeland -- Control Freak
  4. The National -- Start A War
  5. Stars -- Wasted Daylight
  6. Mumm-Ra -- Down Down Down

Side B

  1. Ludovico Einaudi -- Fly
  2. Imogen Heap -- Half Life
  3. Michael Nyman -- The Scent Of Love
  4. Alexandre Desplat -- Wong Chia Chi's Theme
  5. Max Richter -- Journey 4
  6. Tori Amos -- Cloud On My Tongue

10 November 2010

ruminations on the crucible of academia-induced sleep deprivation.

Up until recently, I had a Post-It note near my bed that had the following written on it:

两点之前
必须睡觉

For those who do not read Chinese, that translates into, "You must go to sleep before two [a.m.]!"  Why do I say "up until recently"?  A few days ago, it fell off the wall, and I only got myself to pick it up today, at which I promptly tore it up and tossed the bits of paper into the rubbish bin.

This little parable captures quite well my relationship with sleep, coursework, and sanity for the last week.  I hardly had a chance to recover from NCSC two weekends ago when I was presented with a rather demanding slate of obligations: two midterm exams to sit and two maths assignments due this Tuesday, a literature review for an economic research paper due, um, today (still incomplete, as of the time of blogging), a fellowship application due Thursday, and, before the end of the weekend, a background guide for NAIMUN that requires nothing less than teaching myself the finer subtleties of Chinese political history from 1949 to 1964.  Oh, and, at some point, I suppose I really ought to start submitting applications for postgrad if I ever want some kind of future for myself.

The madness properly began on Saturday.  I had spent most of the day in the library, skipped out to make a social call later in the evening, and returned to my room to take advantage of the end of Daylight Savings Time and do extra work.  Sunday involved yet another long stay in the library, and, at around 4:30am, my friend Matt Shapiro -- himself in the midst of an all-nighter -- managed without too much difficulty to convince me that passing what remained of the night in the library was preferable to trudging back to my dorm room in the cold.  (For what it's worth, the couches in Pierce Reading Room are excellent for a bit of a kip.)  Monday and Tuesday have involved similar levels of lack of sleep -- I've been averaging slightly under four hours a night for the past three days, though, thankfully, the last two have been enjoyed in the warmth of my own bed.  All of this has been compounded by the ass kicking that were my midterms, the truly obscene amount of caffeine and nutrient-lacking footstuffs I have been ingesting, and the entropy to which my room, in the course of my negligence towards cleanliness, has descended.  The worst thing is that I am still not done.

On this afternoon, however, I find myself in a curiously chipper state of mind.  The strange thing about these episodes of acute stress and accompanying fraying of the nerves & general mental health is that, at a certain critical point, the entire thing develops a perverse momentum of its own.  Every minute of the day -- except those minutes spent blogging, apparently -- is shackled by omnipresent considerations of opportunity cost; even something as basic as making my bed in the morning is abandoned in favour of not wasting time, never mind that the latter almost always lost via the many inefficiencies that occur during the course of a day.  My understanding of time has been radically altered as I dispense with even the pretence of normalcy.  When I started writing my literature review at 2:30 this morning, for instance, I patted myself on the proverbial back for having begun it at such a reasonable hour.  Even though I have not had a drop of coffee today, I feel more awake than I have in some time -- perhaps, having been perpetually wrung out by exhaustion, I have arrived at a state in which it is possible to transcend exhaustion altogether?

sleep is good for you, kids.

A more likely explanation, of course, is that I actually am going crazy.

5 November 2010

i'm usually not one for gifs --

-- but this one sums up quite accurately how I feel about many things:

I've got a number of blog posts I've been dying -- well, dying might be too strong a word -- to write, but they will likely have to wait until after my last batch of midterm exams are out of the way.  Alas, alas, alas.

4 November 2010

a tea party of economists.

Today, a professor of mine quipped that, "You can't spell 'econometrics' without 'con'."  This was very amusing to me because (1) this is terrifyingly true and (2) it was a reference to Edward Leamer's 1983 paper "Let's Take the Con Out of Econometrics," which I had to read when I was at Oxford.  Anyway, instead of proceeding to pay attention in class, I found myself entertaining a ridiculous notion (I blame it on the hyper-politicised atmosphere associated with the midterm elections): what if economists decided to take to, say, the National Mall and stage a rally of their own?  What kind of signs would they carry?

One of them would obviously have to be: "Take the CON out of ECONOMETRICS."

Here are a few others that occurred to me:

  • Economists: We're Significant as Hell (à la the "mad as hell" Tea Party)
  • Keep Government Out of My Perfectly Competitive Market
  • Hey, Hey, Ho, Ho, Spurious Correlation's Got to Go!
  • Marginal Change We Can Believe In
  • John Maynard Keynes/Milton Friedman/Despised Economist of Your Choice Is a Marxist (there is great potential for irony here)
  • God Hates Macroeconomists
  • Honk If You're Signalling

So, econ nerds in the readership, I challenge you to leave some catchy slogans of your own in the comments!  (For inspiration, see BuzzFeed's The 50 Best Protest Signs of 2009 or this hilarious sign, courtesy of Greg Mankiw, from the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear.)

2 November 2010

five most read posts in october.

For reasons unknown, it is already November.  This means that there are Many Important Things that I have to do this month to which I am not looking forward.  In the meanwhile, though, here is your monthly round-up of my October blogging activities, limited though they may have been:

  1. "i disagree with you, but i'm pretty sure you're not hitler."
  2. episodes in infamy at georgetown university.
  3. sixteen variations on "keep calm and carry on."
  4. oxford academic dress as sartorial statement.
  5. eye candy of the male persuasion: a top ten list.
Interestingly enough, only two of those posts were actually written in October.