This piece always makes me smile

"How high the ocean, how high the moon
I don't know the words of this song, but imma gonna sing 'em anyway
I hope you enjoy it, hope you enjoy it.
Ella Fitzgerald sings this song real real real crazy
...that's the way she sings it.
So imma gonna try to sing it that way for you
So here goes..."

-Sarah Vaughan-

PS: How high was Sarah?

Focus 101.

If brains could solidify mine probably has. Into an uneven lump of gray matter as dry and meaningless as corrugated cardboard. It is a crisis of the worst kind, the kind that it (the brain) is itself conscious of, and I say the worst kind because it does nothing despite being conscious of its shortcomings.

Consider this.

Every day I resolve to concentrate. To shut out all other noise and delightful distractions in place of a secluded mental isolation in which all the brilliant thoughts discreetly hiding within my condensing layers of gray matter will come out with a bang and a eureka and prove themselves worthy of my academic leanings. But no. It is like faith. I know I have it, but its manifestation digresses habitually.

Today I succeeded in concentrating. Laptop closed, facebook untouched, earphones kept away, random sneezes, whisperings, and passersby ignored, for maybe 6-8 hours. It was just me and... algebra. It is a welcome break from law courses. Algebra is therapeutic. It provides answers that are either right or wrong. Once you begin you cannot stop, cannot let go, until you find the answer, because you know the truth is out there, at your very fingertips, if you would only persevere. The Professor of this course - Environmental Economics - is also reassuring because when you ask him a question he does not bounce the question back to the entire classroom to illicit endless opinions with no conclusion but he instead tells you, concisely, what the answer is. It is like playing Bach after several years of trying to play like Thelonius Monk.

In fact, I can probably connect everything to jazz. The title shall be "Law Is Like Jazz: An Improvised Analysis". Abstract: In order to improvise, you need to know the chord progressions. In order to find the loopholes in the law, you need to know the law. There is no such thing as a right or wrong tune/ argument. You just know it is beautiful/ convincing when you hear it. Which reminds me I should get a transcript of that discussion between Justice O'Connor and Wynton Marsalis, "A Celebration of America", to cite from. This could be a profound theorem.

I'm digressing.

I'm digressing from my thesis, is the more appropriate big-picture conclusion. My thesis, unfortunately, is cool but has nothing to do with jazz, or algebra. Did you ever hear this (really lame) joke:

"Why did the blonde stare at the orange juice carton?"

"No idea. Why?"

"Because it said 'Concentrate'. Haha. Get it? Concentrate. "

So. I could use an orange juice.

Bukan saya tidak betah.

"Kesetiaan kepada negeri ini bukanlah karena patriotisme yang pongah.

Kita setia kepada Indonesia justru karena ia terus-menerus memanggil: ia belum selesai. Kita tak bisa melepaskan diri dari ikatan kita kepadanya; kita tak bisa melupakannya; kita terkadang bangga terkadang risau karenanya. Tapi tetap: Indonesia bukan hanya tempat tinggal.

Indonesia adalah sebuah amanat."

-Gunawan Mohamad, 15 Mei 2009-

A Bad Case of New Orleans

I don't know when I will recover from this holiday. I fear that every place I visit next will be under pressure to live up to my New Orleans trip. I cherish my crystallized moments all the time, but this would be a prized collection worthy of its own display shelf.

Preservation Hall Jazz Band

The name was quaint: "Preservation Hall". It had a dignified ring to it, like Carnegie Hall, but also a comical note which reminded me of preserved pickles. On Monday when we came to see the 8pm show, the line at 7.30pm extended an entire one block. So on Saturday we came at 6pm and patiently waited 2 hours out in the cold to get front seats. At 8.00 pm the iron gates opened with a clang, and we were ushered into a tiny, dilapidated room with yellowing walls, faded oil paintings of jazz musicians, and wooden ceiling fans. On one end of the room, a silent assembly of the piano, drum, bass, and three antique wooden chairs for the brass players stood waiting, lit by dim yellow light bulbs. The place was magical. It was exactly like it used to be when the first jazz musicians played here decades ago. It was perfectly preserved.

We all sat on long wooden benches or floor cushions. The band was smooth, laid-back, soulful, and amazing in every way, but the real kick was when the trumpeter sang. I've heard many singers with better voices, but this was something else. Without microphone, he stood up and sang to us like he was telling a story. He sang the blues the way Shakespeare plays used to be done in small medieval theaters. Then he sang "St James Infirmary" by Louis Armstrong, and I was spellbound.

"I went down to St. James Infirmary
I saw my baby there,
She's laid out on a cold white table,
So so cold, so white, so fair.

Let her go, God bless her,
Wherever she may be

She may search this wide world over
She'll never find a sweet trumpet player like me."

Beignets

The local New Orleanian dessert that is all the rave, which resembled soft doughnuts snowed under with powder sugar. So we had to go all touristy and try the one everybody says that everybody says is the best, at Cafe du Monde. The line was formidably long, but we were determined tourists just like everybody else. When we finally got in we stopped a waiter and asked for a table.

"Manyallidis?"
"Sorry?"
"Owmanyalliddis??"
"I'm sorry, say that again?"
"How many o' y'all it is??"
"Oh! Err... four... people?"
"Aight chu can git dat table o'er there baby and I'll be right wit cha."

Kermit

My friend couldn't believe that Kermit Ruffins was playing at Vaughan's on New Year's eve. I said, "who's Kermit Ruffins?"
Once upon a time my friend's father stumbled on a trumpet jazz rendition of "happy birthday", and loved it so much that he played it at every single birthday party in their house for 10 years. Kermit Ruffins was the guy who played that trumpet. Before we left for the venue, my friend called up the father and told him excitedly that we were about to see Kermit Ruffins live.

So we went to Vaughan's and found a large, crowded shack in the middle of a dark neighbourhood, lit with kitschy multi-color lightbulbs and cheap new year decorations. Kermit Ruffins was deliciously drunk, and his music kept the place together and alive. Everyone seemed to know each other, or at least knew the bartender, who was a small asian lady. A woman passed by and gave me a plastic cube that glowed blue when I put it in my drink.

An old man with a kind wrinkled face sat near us and smiled at us. And then he asked my friend, "What's wrong with your lady friend here? She's so cold. I smiled at her 3 times and she didn't even see me." He must have been 60 years old, and his face was weathered like a farmer who is out in the sun all day.

My friend said, "You know why? Because she's Asian. They have these small eyes and it's hard for them to see things."
"That's right," I said and nodded seriously.
The old man laughed so hard it made me happy to see him.
I gave him a hug and said, "I love you, man."
"I love you too," he said.

9th Ward

We spent an entire day to visit the 9th ward, the residential area most affected by Hurricane Katrina, to volunteer in building a house. No cement or bricks were involved, everything was made of wood and nails. We spent 8 hours measuring, chain-sawing wood planks, and nailing them to the walls and the beams.

"I'm doing this like a retard," I said apologetically to a new acquaintance.

We had seen this guy the night before, at the Cottonmouth Kings' performance, tearing up the dance floor with his amazing swing dance. When we saw him that morning at the construction site, it was a "Hey, weren't you the one who...?" moment.

He was a school teacher, a semi-professional swing dancer, and in his pastime he liked to do voluntary work. He said, "Oh don't worry about feeling like a retard. I used to bring my students to help out here and they did things really slow. I talked to the site supervisor and said, 'sorry man, we're taking things too slow here', and he said, 'Please don't worry. It's not the speed that's important. It's the experience and goodwill that you take home with you that matters'".

As we labored on the house, local residents would drive by in their cars, rap music blasting out from their speakers that were set to maximum volume. At any other time and circumstance I would be avoiding these people because of the things I see in Hollywood gangsta movies. But as they drove by the honked their horns, waved at us and shouted, "Happy New Year y'all!"

Poetry

On our way to see the New Orleans Cottonmouth Kings, I found a man sitting in the middle of the cold street with a typewriter. The sign taped on the typewriter said, "Fresh Poems While You Wait". I stopped and asked if I could take his picture.

"Sure. Thanks for asking by the way. The other tourists just don't bother to ask and I have to bark at them because it's just impolite."
"Oh but do you mind?"
"Yeah no. I mean it'd be better if people just gave me the money, but you can take my picture."
"Oh I'd like your poetry. How does this work?"
"Right. So you give me a theme, and I'll make you a poem, and then you pay."
"Okay. Then make me a poem on.... 'impoliteness'"
"Oh that's a great one."

And the man made me this poem in two minutes flat:

"Polite-ness"

oversensitive america
we complain and whine

i am pissed off or sad.
and yet, what of
please and thank you..

used to death,
tools of five year olds.

i once taught a women

hello and please
and she became much
more popular on the farm

so polite and nice
but i prefer
new england brashness..

and a nice tone of voice
to retain
a spectacle of civility

M Hayden
Dec 28 2009
Frenchmen St.

Torch

We went to a glassworks workshop today in the hopes of discovering a hidden creative talent in making bowls and vases. Just in case being a lawyer doesn't work out. But when I got there and saw the big 2000 degree celcius ovens and the long poking sticks and the glass artworks on display, I got a little overexcited. We had only two hours to get things done.

"Okay," I said to the instructor, "I'm thinking of making at least two glasses that are about this size, and they have to be identical but I want them to have different colors, and also a salad bowl, maybe not the size of a superbig salad bowl but maybe more like a large cereal bowl, not a small one, and then I can't decide whether I want a vase or a cup depending on how much time we have left, what do you think? But if its a vase I don't want it to have those flappy ridges like flower petals because I like my vases just clean and sleek."

Our instructor was a young man who wore cool shades, a black singlet and tattoos on his bare muscled arms. He used to be a janitor at the workshop, and slowly worked his way up to become an artisan. He listened to my prattle patiently and said, "I tell you what. We're gonna make a big glass that can also be a vase. And then we can make a bowl that can also be a vase. And then we gonna make a cup that can also be a glass."

"I also want a paperweight," I said, pushing it.

"Okay. But that's gonna take a while. We make our paperweights seriously around here."

"Why?"

"We get hurricanes," he said with a big smirk.

Ersters

Perhaps a large part of my New Orleans trip was fueled by echoes of Billie Holiday's songs, one of the renditions of which went, "you say oysters, I say ersters, oh let's call the whole thing off."

So I went looking for ersters, and my friends went looking for cheese and wine, and so between us all we settled on Bacchanal. Beyond the doubtful kitchen we found a backyard garden littered with casual patio chairs and campfires and lit torches and the heavy chatter of conversation filling the night air. We chose a table and I went to patiently wait in line for my oysters. To my surprise, they were completely free, except for the big red plastic bucket on the counter that said, "Don't forget to tip the shucker." The shucker seemed to know everyone on the line except me, and he chatted to everyone while shucking the fresh oysters. His customers would come up to him and say, "Whassup Johnny?" The waiter took my order and asked for my name.
"Teez"
"Cheese?"
"Teez. T-E-E-Z."
"Okay, just wait out back at your table until we come out and mispronounce your name."

I liked my ersters even before they came.

Theorems of emotion in motion

While studying today I discovered this note scribbled on the last page of my Corporations Law book, in my handwriting, undated:

" 2 aspects to an emotion:
- Love
- Compatibility

Love means = I know I would be willing to give certain things up for him. I would change for him.

Compatibility means = If I had to change, does that mean we are incompatible and therefore my love is misplaced?

The two prongs fight a battle to the death."

7 hours and 59 minutes

I never thought I'd say this, but exams were pretty exciting. At least I can say it was an entirely new experience for me. Let me draw some empirical comparisons and then you'll see why.

Back in undergrad, approaching exam period I would usually have vague memories of the class and what was taught. I would thus embark on a stressful marathon of the materials one or two days before the exam. I would prepare (i) a collared shirt, because for some reason it is required for exams, (ii) a white-out correction pen for when I write stuff and change my mind, and (iii) a full stomach. This got me through university satisfactorily.

So, I had my very first exam today at HLS. The morning of the exam I prepared (i) my most comfortable hoodie and jeans, and (ii) two packed sandwiches. The night before the exam I had (i) booked a private room in the library, (ii) bought a bottle of water and chocolate milk, and (iii) a big bar of plain dark chocolate. Two weeks before the exam I had (i) read all the materials again, and (ii) prepared a 20-page chart summarizing all the 50-something cases we covered in class.

I arrived on campus on a cold icy-wet morning at 8.15 am, went straight to the private room, laid out my laptop, books, sandwiches, drinks, and chocolate on my table, and waited nervously till 8.30 am. At precisely 8.30 am the exam question file popped up on my screen, indicating it was available to download.

It was an 8-hour exam; the questions were 19 pages long and took me two hours to read. I'm a clerk at the Supreme Court, and the Justice has to decide what to do with the court of appeals decision attached but was too lazy to write an opinion, so she asked me to do it. The case was interesting and seriously believable, and the whole drafting process, combined with the time constraint, was similar to a prolonged adrenaline rush. There were moments of brain blockage. There were moments of desperation when I was certain I was writing crap. There were bathroom trips to ease the tension. A timer window popped up warning me that I had one more hour to go. I swore. I rushed through the last half hour in a frenzy of creative madness. In short, I actually had fun.

So, 7 hours 59 minutes, two sandwiches, and an entire chocolate bar later, I clicked the "submit" button, and thus my draft opinion sped along the virtual road to meet the powers that be. God bless it.

High Rise

It was a beautiful day today. The sun was warm, the birds were twittering, the sky was a brilliant blue, the air was cool and the lulling breeze kept reminding us of that fact. We sat and enjoyed our sandwiches on the outdoor patio of our favorite bakery, basking in the weather. It is December in New England, and yesterday had been freezing.

So the talk turned to climate change. (Ironically, our bakery was called "Hi-Rise".) It started out lightly, with a friend joking that he wouldn't mind climate change if it made the weather warm like this. Another friend mentioned she hated how there are so many people who think that way and it really is not funny and will not be funny at all when the sky starts turning yellow. Another friend declared that he did not appreciate environmentalists enforcing their views upon him as if he was stupid and ignorant, and that such attitudes would backlash against their cause. The previous speaker became incensed, thinking that he was speaking to her personally. The whole conversation then escalated to new levels and a heated debate ensued.

Where did I stand in this conversation? I thought, in the words of Cass Sunstein (the co-author of 'Nudge') "markets markets markets, markets markets markets."

For example, I care about climate change. It is in fact the focus of my current studies. But do I use less water, less electricity, less plastic cups? Maybe not. And why is that?

There is a difference between care and action. Caring can be inherent in the person, can be a personal thing based on a personal experience, it cannot be imposed. You could tell a person to start caring, they may do it and they may not. They may become ashamed of themselves and start changing. Or they may get offended that you suggest they are not caring persons. A number of possibilities may arise.

Action may derive from care, may not arise at all even if you cared, or may be triggered by other, less noble but more practical human characteristics. Such as desire for efficiency, thrift, convenience, or a desire not to be an anomalous part of society. I believe there are a number of noble selfless people in this world, but there are even more people who are just looking out for themselves, because life is a battle. These people need more than just awareness, more than just a lecture on "caring" to really take action.

If solar panels were available, affordable, and reliable in Indonesia, I would have them installed, because it cuts my electricity costs in the long run. If I owned a palm oil plantation, I would have turned it back into dense forests that would retain carbon, and sell carbon credits to make my fortune, if a market for that was robust. If my tumbler didn't make my coffee taste slightly like metal, I would have continued using it instead of the paper cups I use everyday. If no paper cups were made available at all, I would have to buy another tumbler and I wouldn't mind spending more money on a good quality tumbler.

One might argue that markets respond to consumer preferences. But more often than not, it is markets that shape consumer behavior. We just don't realize it. I'm not saying it is useless to spread the message at a grassroots level and getting people to care. But my thoughts are how to get to action.

Full circle.

It's Harvard, and it's exciting, because everybody is determined to be excited. All the Professors and the staff like to say inspirational things like, "Obama sat in this very class", or amusingly competitive things like, "the entire Yale could fit into our new north building", or downright touching things like, "I hope you can someday find a global solution to this crisis, because it will probably not happen in my time".

And then you go to the cafeteria and find yourself casually holding the door open for Nobel prize winner Amartya Sen on your way out. You dream of greatness, of future Nobel prizes, of change because Yes We Can, as we all know. You meet people who say "I want to be President" and you check yourself just right before you laugh because, waitta minute, he might be serious and he might really become one. You speak of your ridiculous dreams and ideas to people and they take you seriously, they say "you will be great", they give you a million more ideas.

You fit in as comfortably as a missing jigsaw piece and therefore you think you could fit in comfortably anywhere in the world, and the boundaries become limitless, with perseverance the only pre-requisite. Contrary to how it sounds... this is a humbling experience. Especially so due to the following thought.

Despite these "great" excitements one particular terrifying and unanswerable question lingers in my head. With whom will I spend the rest of my life with and when will that happen?

Haha. There. I've said it.

I will take no questions.

"Everything!!"

Staff: What would you like today young lady?

Me: Hi! I think I'll have rye bread today
Staff: Would that be marble rye or dark rye?
Me: Oh just normal rye.
Staff: We don't got normal rye ma'am, it's either marble rye or dark rye
Me: Haha okay. Dark rye then.
Staff: And what's going in it?
Me: Everything!!!
Staff: You gotta be a little specific here. Spread?
Me: Okay. Olive kalamata spread on one side, and mayo on the other side.
Staff: Roast beef, roast chicken, roast turkey?
Me: Turkey.
Staff: Lettuce and tomatoes?
Me: Definitely. Oh and sauteed mushrooms too.
Staff: Cheese? Cheddar, pepper-jack, swiss...?
Me: Mmm.... Buffalo mozzarella.
Staff: Mmhh.. mmhhh... how does that look huh?
Me: Looks awesome.
Staff: Thank you. Anything else? You want pickle with that?
Me: No thanks. Can you lightly grill it please?
Staff: Sure can. Just stand aside and wait for a bit, we gotta grill it down to perfection.

My love affair with sandwiches are always taken to a whole new level when I visit America. Granted a British Earl invented the lovely thing, but American decadence and casualness has truly elevated its rank to dazzling levels, whilst maintaining its comforting simplicity. Merely ordering it is an excitement for me.

Luckily the cafeteria makes sandwiches, and as you can see really makes it to order, personalized just for you. The best thing is, the price stays the same no matter how many items you choose to have in it. This makes me a little greedy.

Fall.

Summer dies quickly, leaving skeletal branches against the sky.

At times like this "I could wile away the hours... conferring with the flowers, consulting with the rain..." as Harry Connick Jr. would sing. Because something else died too, and it is not as visible as the brown leaves that I crush underfoot, nor is it as visible as the meaning between these words. The only witness is myself, and this vast world that I find myself in, blowing dead leaves at my feet.

When something dies, you say goodbye. And so I did... a little invisible goodbye, which left me feeling torn, and a little lonelier. But there was nothing else I could do.

Superclass

Professor Subramanian today started the class with a video. In all seriousness he informed us that the short clip would be helpful in understanding the concept of freeze-out mergers by controlling shareholders.

The scene opened with a picture of the Professor, his face serious behind his round spectacles and receding hairline, wearing a superman costume. Yes, red and blue with a big "S" on his chest. As the unmistakable superman soundtrack accompanied the picture, the scene changed into the title of the video in superman fonts: SUBRAMANIANMAN.

Scene I: The Professor is reading in his study, a student bursts in suddenly in panic.

Student: Professor, quick!
Prof: What's the matter?!!
Student: A minority shareholder is being freezed-out by a controlling shareholder! You have to stop him!
Prof: That's unacceptable! This calls for .... Subramanianman!!

Scene II: The Professor rushes out of his study and confronts his secretary

Prof : [With charisma] Cancel all my appointments for today!
Secretary : [Looks up in boredom] You don't have any meetings.
Prof : Oh. [Professor looks dejected for a milisecond, and then rips open his shirt to transform into Subramanianman (leaves the glasses on)]

Scene III: Some garden at HLS

Student 1: Look! It's a bird!
Student 2: No, it's a plane!
Student 3: No, it's Subramanianman !!!

Scene IV: The "majority shareholder" is spotted, in the middle of literally punching the "minority shareholder"

Student "majority": Oh no, it's Subramanianman!
Prof: Stop! Let this never happen again!
Student "minority": Thank you Subramanianman!

The End.

After the laughter and applause had died down, the Professor then turned to the class and said:

"All I can say is that I was young, and I needed the money."

Americans are funny

Monday

Professor: "Ms. Tyler? Did Justice Scalia agree with the notion that canons of construction which tend to be purposivist are to be prioritized above strictly textualist statutory interpretations?"

Student: "Umm... yes."

Professor: "Excellent. Now, can you give me a shorter answer than 'yes' that is more correct?"

Tuesday

Yoga teacher: "Sort of clear your mind and breathe. Let your smile radiate sort of like the warm rays of the sun on the world. It is time to store your database in the hard disk of your mind."

I have never studied so hard in my entire life.

A title is all I can manage right now.