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Happy Birthday, Wolfgang Mozart!

Mozart Statue outside the Salzburg Museum | Salzburg, Austria | September 2009

My favorite composer, I have read every book written about him and, by the second year of graduate school, had memorized many of his works, right down to the Kochel number. Today, I listen to Piano Concerto No. 26 in D Major, K. 537 as performed by Wanda Landowska. It is by no means one of Mozart’s best works, but I feel only Ms. Landowska could play Mozart’s compositions as he himself would have. She owned those notes with playfulness and took them out of formation in clever, heartful cadenzas, unlike the dour, reverential, “so lofty, they sound as if they shit marble” moods assumed by other pianists.

Wonder who Mozart would be today and in the future?  Read Mozart in Mirrorshades by Bruce Sterling and Lewis Shiner in Mirroshades: The Cyberpunk Anthology.  Whomever stole this book from my library is hereby authorized simply to mail a copy back to me anonymously or place it on my doorstep.  a) I promise not to beat you. b) You know who you are.

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Here Comes the Snow Again

This morning, I opened the front door to another fresh, breathtaking blanket of snow.  Figures, the last holdout of ice from previous storms had just melted and all was clean and visible once again.

Sitting in the utter, enveloping whiteness of snow-covered everything is like being in your own personal limitless isolation tank. Thoughts come and go, some settling like the snow into the furrows of a glove.  Only this is important, not your worries, not what lies ahead.  For what is ahead or behind in this colorless, dimensionless universe, at the interface of billions of years of earth and the atmosphere rushing into your face?  To know this beauty, to be a part of something so big and small that it makes scale immaterial.

And then to rise and acknowledge that which lies beyond this moment.  The walk.  Through the snow and through life, with a resolution to keep this feeling in the back of your head.  Good luck with that.   Brimful and I are in the same orbit today, at least when it comes to snow and metaphorical snow, although we ramped into it from different perspectives. I will let her finish.

You could meditate on such things when enveloped in a cloud of snow, in the blanket of white that makes everything look clean, pristine, untouched once again. It’s a blank slate, a slate wiped clean. You can take it as a sign and forge a path.

Or you can just take a deep breath of the fresh mountain air and behold the beauty of the temporary. Because you have been here before. You know it won’t last. Remember that this slate is really just covered, not clean. You know what lies beneath. But that doesn’t make you jaded. It makes you more aware of how precious, how amazing. So look at the impossibly blue sky and feel the biting wind from the lake, and let your eyes burn from the blinding reflection of the white.

It’s hard work, walking through a snow drift. And once you’re in deep, once you are in the heart of the forest, it’s like so many other difficult journeys- you must finish, simply because you have no other recourse, no other options that require less of you. It’s exhausting and after a while, you feel as though you simply can’t continue. But you stop, and take it all in, embrace the moment, and then you start again. And you keep going until you reach the end. And when you reach the end, it feels such a relief, it feels as though you will never feel so happy to be on pavement.

But the next day, you do it all again.

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The New York Times | N.F.C. Championship Final: Saints 31, Vikings 28 (Overtime)

This win is for you, Professor Morris. Each time the Saints faltered, I touched the big fleur de lis on my shirt and said, “Come on, Ashley, give them a nudge.”  You came through.  You are our twelfth saint.  As an offering, I will make absolutely sure your friend and mine, Loki, is dressed as a Saintsation on Super Sunday and, if he reneges, drive to Cincinnati and accost him with a wig and a tube of lipstick.

I’m screaming for you and New Orleanians everywhere, big man. So loud and often and hours later that I am hoarse.

Chicago Tribune | Super Bowl Matchup: New Orleans Saints vs. Indianapolis Colts: A young kicker named Garrett Hartley is the most valuable person in New Orleans right now.  His kick sent the Saints to the Superbowl.  The Saints defense worked their butts off as well – according to my stats team (that would be D and @NOLADishu), the official #FavreOnTheGround count stands at 12.  To count, his ass had to make full contact with the turf and his eyes with the Superdome’s ceiling.  Pierre Thomas, Devery Henderson and Jonathan Vilma, good work.

The real credit for beating the Vikings, however, goes to Favre himself.  As a fiercely loyal Green Bay Packers fan and former Favre fangirl who suffered many a loss with him at my team’s helm, let me assure you that #4 did today what he does best in the post-season: throw grounders and interceptions at crunch time.  This game nicely encapsulated his career to date.  So, just you go ahead, sports media, and wipe, powder and kiss the Packers Jets Vikings Oh Who Knows Probably The Bears This Year quarterback’s tush before, during and after his LOSS.  There’s probably a special place in Hall of Fame Heaven reserved for your story of Aging Superhuman Reviled By Many.  Hell, it probably makes your ancient behinds feel good, too.  But don’t you ever insult your viewers and pretend you didn’t anticipate his loss.  And don’t you ever ignore a team and its quarterback through the entirety of a championship game only to wear its beads, talk of its city, sing its songs and praises (but not really) and party in its streets after it wins.  For marginalizing this New Orleans Saints team even when it wins, you’re on notice.  Especially you, Joe Buck.

Then again, I smile knowing that Jon Gruden cries himself to sleep tonight with an 8×10 glossy signed “Hugs & Kisses, Brett” on his bedside table.

NYTimes | Did The Officials Bungle The Game For The Vikings? Let’s not even talk about the reffing tonight.  I have no embolisms left.  If anything, the refs tried really hard to give the game to Jesus Brett, but the Saints prevailed.  So, so, so proud of Drew Brees and his great team.

New Orleans, you fill my heart and soul tonight.  I wish I could be there to celebrate with you Right Now, but it will have to wait until Thursday night when I arrive to walk in Krewe du Vieux once again.  Our theme this year is All Fired Up.  Now I wonder why we bothered making costumes when each one of us is going to combust between now and then.

Watch out, Miami, THE SAINTS ARE COMING!

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Polyphonic Lithium

Hey, Osstralya, New Orleans will be in your neck of the woods at the end of February.  The New Orleans Bingo! Show, that is, will perform with The Polyphonic Spree for Southern Comfort“s Australian Carnivale Tour, Feb. 17 28 at a number of locations on your island-continent-nation.

Often covered in colorful, flowing Jesus-gospel robes and a happy demeanor, the Spree reminds me of a cross between Heaven’s Gate and the Teletubbies conceived under the influence of grape KoolAid.  Don’t drink it, Mr. The Turk, don’t drink it!  D didn’t know who they were so went on a Googlaphonic Spree and unearthed this online gem, a remake of Nirvana’s Lithium.  With sock puppets.  Friend Mark wonders, “Maybe if Kurt had approached his work from this direction, he wouldn’t have blown his brains out?”

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In A Rant About Women, Clay Shirky observes that women do not mimic specific bombastic aspects of their male counterparts  in order to get ahead.  This isn’t about female diffidence, Shirky argues, but the apparent inability of many of us to be self-promoting assholes.

And it looks to me like women in general, and the women whose educations I am responsible for in particular, are often lousy at those kinds of behaviors, even when the situation calls for it. They aren’t just bad at behaving like arrogant self-aggrandizing jerks. They are bad at behaving like self-promoting narcissists, anti-social obsessives, or pompous blowhards, even a little bit, even temporarily, even when it would be in their best interests to do so. Whatever bad things you can say about those behaviors, you can’t say they are underrepresented among people who have changed the world.

Now this is asking women to behave more like men, but so what?

The whole article is worth reading in its entirety, but its bottom line is captured in the quoted portion above.  It would be easy to negate Shirky with some hocus-pocus female social psychology.  Half-heartedly mumble something about women being honest, forthright, social, parallel-thinking, consequence-foretelling creatures who like to maintain equality and peace and move on, right?  Wrong.  Women can and want to get ahead just as much as men do, and are equally cut-throat if not more devious in some situations, but this is about unabashed self-promotion and the social perception of such behavior.

Three things came to mind and stuck as I read this article:

1. When advising them on their resumes, I tell other women to go for the moon, hell go for the next galaxy!  Sell, sell, sell, sell everything you have and more because you know you can get there once you have the job.  I cannot for the life of me do this with my own resume.  This is very telling.

2. The Girl Who Conned The Ivy League and how proud, not scornful, I am of her.

3. How my mother and I worked our tails off and have often cavalierly stuck our neck out there in selling ourselves, how this has worked with disastrous and stupendous results, and how we deal every single day with who we have become in the process.

This last thought is what I want to explore some more in responding to Shirky’s post.

When young scientists, my mother and I just did science – we studied hard, aced our tests, spent inordinate amounts of time in laboratories doing more than we were asked to do, raised our hands to ask pertinent and impertinent questions, graduated with honors, entered competitive graduate programs, published papers – and expected that the rewards would come automatically.  Not so.  As Richard Hamming from Bell Labs said in his You And Your Research talk, “The fact is everyone is busy with their own work. You must present it so well that they will set aside what they are doing, look at what you“ve done, read it, and come back and say, ‘Yes, that was good.'”  Fair enough.  Mom and I took our loud chutzpah and pitched our work.  I am the best representative of a certain department or for a certain conference for these reasons, mine is the ideal method to move this project forward and here’s why, I am the best-suited actor, play director or accountant because of this.  This energy worked wonders in getting ahead but, simultaneously, that’s when things started to fall apart in the interpersonal relations department.  Other people, men, women and bosses included, began to see us not as team players, but uppity blowhards because we knew we were better at something and chose to push ourselves ahead of the proverbial herd.  When guys in our peer groups did the same thing, but with lots less qualifications backing them, they were just being guys.  I tell you, Hell is other people.

Shirky addresses the Other People problem in his rant and advises, “The fact that [they] get to decide what they think of your behavior leaves only two strategies for not suffering from those judgments: not doing anything, or not caring about the reaction.”   True, but then he starts the next paragraph with “Not caring works surprisingly well.”  Actually, it does and it doesn’t.  “Not caring” is often a lonely place to be.  But that’s not the point here, either.   I’ll bet you lunch that the reality is that we women sometimes do nothing and other times  do something and don’t at all care about the reaction, popularity be damned.   The real predicament lies not in not doing or not caring, it’s in whether our behavior meets expectation at any given time.

Some examples: I used a certain tone and sales pitch to land a job once.  When I employed a similar optimistic level of enthusiasm on another project with the same manager, I was yelled at and sent back to my office.  A few months later, I was given a promotion but also told that I kept my head down too much.  In another job, one for which I was hired to be smart, a big criticism of me was that I talked too smart.  I would love to know how many guys are told these same things; I’ll bet you another lunch that that number is minuscule in comparison.  In effect, career women are expected to be assertive to get ahead but, when we are, it’s looked on as insubordination or cockiness.  Whether it occurs knowingly or not, a woman not caring about her self-aggrandizing behavior does have very real consequences on her job reviews and satisfaction and, ultimately, her job itself.  So, women do desire getting ahead as much as men, and in the process undergo some stress-filled, uncertain days nervously wondering if and when the axe is going to fall because we tapped our inner nutsack. That’s a huge surcharge.

Especially in this economy, cross-disciplinary innovation is key and college degrees do not guarantee career success.  I’ve taken risks and gone from biology to geology to 3d modeling to geophysics to project management to physics to geospatial technology to get where I am today, and I still don’t know where that is, but I get paid to be a scientist and invent technologies, it’s fun and I’m learning a lot.  So, I encourage everyone, not just women, to follow Shirky’s advice and take “opportunities which [we] might in fact fuck up if [we] try to take them on, and then try to take them on.”  This comes naturally to assertive, confident, social people who want to change the world.

But, once a woman is on that journey, channeling that aggressive behavior into immodesty to get ahead happens at great personal risk.  The weird, complex ecosystem of workplace expectations and interactions makes sure that she is rewarded rather capriciously, a lot more so than men in the same situation.  This deters some women and only makes others fight more and harder.  You want obnoxious car saleswomen?  Fine.  Then, this culture, this moody bigotry of “you’ll get ahead if you’re more assertive but to a point or only on the days when society is feeling particularly advanced” has to stop.  Asking women to change their behaviors, while excusing the fickleness of workplace responses as a given which we have to fight against, is a horrible double standard.

As hard as it is even for highly-educated, self-assured women of my generation, it’s not.  Consider my mother: A twiggy 24-year-old Indian woman in a sari and bindi in early-1960s Kuwait, leading a part-competitive, part-lazy horde of Arab nutritionists in the fight against the awful food choices of an increasingly oil-wealthy populace.  We have money, let’s eat Burger King, all the time!  So that her workers would understand her and each other and to keep them from plotting behind her back, Mom learned seven different dialects of Arabic and translated and placated over and above her actual work.  Volatile meetings, backstabs, obscene anonymous phone calls, death threats sent to the house, she withstood all of that, but what I think cut her the most was having to hand over credit for her work to Kuwaitis.  No way they were going to let a brown woman take bows on behalf of The Emirate.

America used to be like this, but it changed.  It has evolved to where someone like me has worked with and for black, Asian-American, Hispanic and white women in a traditionally-male-dominated oil industry.  It has transformed into older men working for younger women, a lot of ceilings removed.  There is a great power struggle yet among bosses, workers and colleagues, and this can never be taken as a given.  Ten or twenty or even a hundred years from now, no woman should have to say, “I guess I am used to temperamental, latent and unconscious bigotry, so I just work around it.”  Working around something is oceans away from being an arrogant, self-promoting jerk and getting rewarded for it.  I can behave like a man with the best of them.  The question is: Are they willing always to treat me like a man when I do?

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