Writing this now 'cos I'll be busy later.
Before Kelly arrives and I forget about them, some thoughts;
The fun of physics is all about a good pen. Revealing the elegant fundamental principles of material energy is rewarding in other ways also, of course, but the fun of it is in the pen. Writing anything with a good, satisfying pen is okay, but writing out the complex progression of mathematical derivations with such a pen is somehow infinitely more sublime. The matter-of-fact penstrokes following dictums of necessity reaching down to the very core of the physical world, the curve and blot of the ink evincing the whole of the hand's dexterity, the resultant page of symbolic proofs which- if done well- is machine-like in its perfection yet unmistakably human. A wizard inscribing mystic sigils with giant-feather quill pens would hardly have more writing-satisfaction.
I've labored long and hard this term to be more open and talkative, but I'm not sure if anyone has noticed. It works sometimes, but it is hardly a consistent thing, and recently- partially due to sickness, with the resultant sore throat and lack of energy- I've probably been as bad as at start of term. I mean, even at my baseline level, I consider that I say what needs to be said as loudly as it deserves to be said, but this leaves me as a softspoken introvert, which is not altogether satisfactory. It takes energy to jump out into the perennial game of back-and-forth spontaneous free-association of which most conversation is made. Some people have gobs of this energy, have it shooting out their pores and orifices in shimmering gouts of charisma, but its not something which comes naturally to me, it seems. And yet, with full knowledge of how banal and silly it is, I really want to do it. Argh.
The fun of physics is all about a good pen. Revealing the elegant fundamental principles of material energy is rewarding in other ways also, of course, but the fun of it is in the pen. Writing anything with a good, satisfying pen is okay, but writing out the complex progression of mathematical derivations with such a pen is somehow infinitely more sublime. The matter-of-fact penstrokes following dictums of necessity reaching down to the very core of the physical world, the curve and blot of the ink evincing the whole of the hand's dexterity, the resultant page of symbolic proofs which- if done well- is machine-like in its perfection yet unmistakably human. A wizard inscribing mystic sigils with giant-feather quill pens would hardly have more writing-satisfaction.
I've labored long and hard this term to be more open and talkative, but I'm not sure if anyone has noticed. It works sometimes, but it is hardly a consistent thing, and recently- partially due to sickness, with the resultant sore throat and lack of energy- I've probably been as bad as at start of term. I mean, even at my baseline level, I consider that I say what needs to be said as loudly as it deserves to be said, but this leaves me as a softspoken introvert, which is not altogether satisfactory. It takes energy to jump out into the perennial game of back-and-forth spontaneous free-association of which most conversation is made. Some people have gobs of this energy, have it shooting out their pores and orifices in shimmering gouts of charisma, but its not something which comes naturally to me, it seems. And yet, with full knowledge of how banal and silly it is, I really want to do it. Argh.