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Things that Happened Today

1. Woke up and discovered that I couldn't hear out of my left ear. Hiccuping hurts like hell for some strange reason
2. Got to work planning on instituting a form for field instruction at the School of Social Work in its SharePoint site. Never got around to it.
3. Discovered that a coworker's new Dell Studio One automatically ejects any disc inserted into it, much like a child with strained peas or a Baptist with alcohol. Toted the whole case, with all peripherals, which weighed close to 35 lbs on my shoulder all the way across campus to the Union. Once there, was told that unless my coworker had registered it online, they couldn't do in-house maintenance. Hauled back across campus.
4. Let some grad students use my personal PC to edit their PowerPoint presentation, because they didn't know the computer lab downstairs had Office '07. Neither did I.
5. Ate at taco Tuesday at Qdoba's. For the hell yes.
6. Set up a computer downstairs for dedicated work-study use. Windows 7 elicited oohs and aahs. As it rightfully should.
7. Came home and vegged instead of working on re-evaluating my sources and direction of my research project. God. That stack of sources doesn't look inviting at all, and the thought of rearranging them either by topic or time period doesn't exactly have me jumping out of my seat and dancing for joy.
8. Wrote this, and wondered when this thing when from being some sad attempt at comedy to some run-of-the-mill "this is what I did today" blog.

Any time Arkansas wins, I sleep a little better. Stay thirsty, my friends.

Daily Mugshot

The Fall of Heroes

The petition for an Alan Turing apology has been gaining steam and press coverage as of late. It certainly makes one think about how we truly treat heroes in this world. There's an old adage that people will kill their own prophets. If they don't kill them, they're more than happy to exile them, destroy them or otherwise discredit them for a few years. Turing is certainly one of the more tragic examples of this, but he certainly isn't the last nor the greatest.

Alan Turing was, in a word, amazing. One of the first pioneers of what would become computer science, the man had keen insight to the language that they would use and the mathematics behind the first programs written. His insight was almost preternatural, and he would find life-saving applications for his work at Bletchley Park.

Bletchley Park was the first ever electronic warfare center. Based northwest of London, the men who worked there were ceaselessly breaking Nazi codes, analyzing information, and passing the pertinent facts on to the Allied armed forces. With some help from the tenacious Polish Resistance, the wizards of Bletchley Park were able to provide priceless information on U-boat operations, Luftwaffe attacks, and Wermacht positions as the Allies first struggled to survive, then sought to drive straight into the heart of Germany. Turing was a key figure in this, and some have said he was THE main mind behind one of the most important advantages the Allies held during World War II.

What did he receive in return, this techie hero? After the war, he was outed as a homosexual. He lost everything. His pension, his benefits, his recognition, everything. On top of it all, he was forced to undergo chemical castration in accordance with British laws at the time. For the lives he saved, the efforts he made, the intelligence he provided, he was rendered sterile and chemically imbalanced.

We shouldn't act surprised at this, unfortunately. Turing is, after all, just another glorious person who meets an undignified end at the hands of the people they've saved. Look at Simon Bolivar, the man who single-handendly liberated most of South America from Spain. Heavily influenced by the American Revolutionary War, he hoped to create a confederation across all of South America out of the newly-liberated states. Unfortunately, petty rivalries among the nations not only drove him from power, but halted his dream of a unified South America until the recent formation of the Union of South American Nations. He died alone from tuberculosis, nearly broke and reviled among the nations he helped to free.

Recently, historians have begun to put Benedict Arnold into this category. There is no doubt that, at first, Arnold was the most ingenious commander of the insurgency and completely devoted to the cause of colonial independence. His capture of Ticonderoga and ability to turn what a rout into a strategic withdrawal should have placed him in the highest honors, alongside Washington. This man even funneled his own personal funds into his army, when the Continental Congress could no longer allocate funds. In thanks for his efforts, he was investigated by Congress, passed over for promotion, and watched as credit that was due to him alone went to opportunistic, back-stabbing politicos in the Continental Army. Benedict Arnold didn't become a traitor because he saw the cause failing or because he was offered money. Benedict Arnold switched side because the British offered him the decency that the Americans just wouldn't give him.

These aren't the only cases, though. The English sailors who defeated the Spanish Armada were left to languish onboard their ships, unpaid and suffering from scurvy and plague. The Native Americans of the American armed forces were left to the reservations after every war, dying like Ira Hayes out of desperation and alcoholism. There are countless others that have done more than anyone should have ever asked them to do, only to meet an inglorious and unbefitting end.

It makes one think twice about doing anything for anyone, doesn't it?

Poetry Time

A Haiku

By Marion Berry

No, officer, no!

Don't use your handcuffs on me!

Bitch done set me up!

Invictus

Another weekend in Fayetteville. Recorded an episode of "Doctor Who" off of SciFi/SyFy in HD, ate at Mellow Mushroom with the parents, and did nothing, more or less.

Oh, yeah. There was that whole pull-my-hair-out-because-of-my-lost-history-seminar-paper-which-might-be-the-fulcrum-of-my-admission-to-a-reputable-graduate-school-and-whatever-hair-isn't-out-goes-gray scenario. Nothing big.

I've already been accepted to Australian National University's Master of Diplomacy. It's good, it's credible around the world, and its alumni seem to really go places. Double masters in one and a half years in Canberra, ACT, Australia. Every alumni I've talked to has had no problem coming to the States, finding prestigious jobs, and moving up in life. The very things I want, dammit. For some reason I can't explain why I'm still fighting tooth and nail to get into Melbourne's history program. My referees (as in, a letter of referral) want me to stay away on the basis of the quagmire that was their report, some ANU alum have told me to pick ANU over UMelb (not like they would have a bias), and even the Aussie I work with has told me that the only perk UMelb has over ANU is that Melbourne > Canberra in terms of sights and events.

Yet, here I am. Staying up late, editing drafts of my horrible Honors thesis, writing 2500-word research proposals until 2 am, and more or less groveling via email with my prospective thesis advisor to the point I know the time difference by heart. Part of me wants to just say that it's because I actually had to PAY to have my application considered there. Another part of me says that it's that obstinate, stubborn sunnuvabitch in me that keeps dragging this out until it's finished.

Then, there's ego. A part of me wants to go ahead and have two different schools offer me admission. Sure, it won't be a fight or a beauty contest or anything (That much is for sure). But there is a part of me that yearns for every bit of acceptance, every bit of recognition and merit that I can freaking reach for. The last two years have been like Viet Nam for my heart and mind, and I honestly feel like I am finally due some kind of return. Post-London Little Rock, wandering and working in a post-traumatic daze with a roommate who let his idiot wife run the show once she moved in. There was unemployment, and before that the horrible job. There are money issues. There are banks and credit cards out to screw over every living human being. There's the job that, no matter how much I love it, I feel like I can't leave at 5 pm. I'm so on edge as of late that the littlest thing will set me off, in a big way. And on top of it all, I'm sick now.

God, I hate being sick. I am never as much of a baby as I am when I get ill.

I'm not the kind of person who has ever, not even once, believed that "it will all get better." That kind of fatalism is reserved for the weak-willed and the unimaginative. It doesn't just magically get better, ever. It takes work, initiative, a plan. Gather information. Talk to people. Get insight. Triage. Don't just sit back, let life steamroll you, and when you're so numb from the darts life has put in you suddenly decide to declare life is all better.

Maybe that's why I keep fighting for Melbourne. Maybe that is my way of trying to make it better, as symbolic as it might be.

Missy Gee, I am nowhere near the writer you are.