I tend to oscillate between two types of blogging: 1) writing an entry that has little to do with what might be happening this day and is therefore not terribly topical and 2) passing along news stories and tidbits I find interesting. I've started to use SharpReader, a RSS aggregator to help gather news for me. I'm also able to quickly piece together the items I gather to form an entry. This mode is definitely of type #2. Some tidbits I found today:

Harvard Medical School is setting up a new department, the school's first in two decades, devoted to the emerging field of systems biology. [New York Times: Education]

Canada is a country where compromise, consensus and civility are the most cherished political values. [New York Times: International]

In taking the helm of the Emmy-winning show, John Wells has the task of making the series more politically relevant. [New York Times: Arts]

Inpsired by Quicksilver, his giant doorstop of a new novel, Neal Stephenson has put up a wiki where his readers can collaboratively annotate the ideas in the book:
[Boing Boing Blog]

Monster miscreant database now in state hands [The Register]

Just when I'm getting used to the idea that I'm not as smart as I think I am, I learn from Harold Bloom's Hamlet: Poem Unlimited that I'm also less intelligent than a fictional character:

• "Vastly intelligent, far beyond us--if we are not, say, Freud or Wittgenstein--Hamlet cannot believe that the proper use of his capability and godlike reason is to perform a revenge killing." (p. 70)
• "Don't condescend to the Prince of Denmark: he is more intelligent than you are, whoever you are." (p. 86)
• "If Hamlet perishes of the truth, such truth is barely external. Hamlet is the truth, insofar as any hero of consciousness can be." (p. 94)

I heard Carol Aust speak tonight about her work at a New College Berkeley seminar. Some of her paintings are currently hanging in the sanctuary of First Presbyterian Church, Berkeley. I was curious about how she would talk about her work. The talk was well-attended and warmly received.

In over Our Heads: The Mental Demands of Modern Life

"So where are you from?" asked the elderly (white) lady facing me.

"I'm from Canada," I responded.

"Where are you really from?" insisted the woman.

"I'm from Timmins, Ontario."

She was furious. "You know what I mean!"

I did. I answered, "My parents are from China."

The exact scene is no longer clear in my mind. Was it in a church somewhere or some other public gathering? The words are probably different from what I recall. But the emotional dynamic is something I recall clearly to this day. I was probably being a bit mean in baiting her. I knew what she was after -- and I wasn't going to let her know right away -- at least until she would admit what she was asking. Something in her first question tipped me off that she wanted to know my ethnic/racial heritage. Was I Chinese? Japanese? Korean? Filipino? But I was from Canada. I've never been to China, my parents' homeland. If she wanted to know my ethnicity, she could have asked straightforwardly. And if she chose not to, why should I tell her? I resented the implicit assumption -- that I was not reallyfrom Canada, where I was born.

Believe it or not, Miss Manners is the inspiration for today's entry. Before this morning, I had little idea that my experience is that of many others. She wrote:

But the next thing Miss Manners knew, a version of "Where are you from?" was back. Only this time it is not as bland as before. Geography is no longer the issue; the inquiry has to do with race and ethnicity. People who answer as carelessly as before, stating their hometowns, are further interrogated as if they are being disingenuous:

"No, where are you really from? Where are you from originally? Where were your parents from?"

This is particularly galling to homegrown Americans whose looks or names strike the descendants of other immigrants as somehow more "foreign" than their own. The presumption that there is a particular American look or nomenclature is not borne out by the census figures.

I'm blogging from w.bloggar -- does this work?

Hail Galileo --

A job well done
And you've earned your rest

Though you end your days
Far from your native soil,
You go out on a blaze of glory.

All the things that you've seen
All the miles that you've traveled
Have been observed and noted.
You have been immortalized.

Thanks for the memories.

I spent this morning making phone calls for the TeleCare program, something I've been doing once a month for almost four years now. When I began as a volunteer, I was told as by the director of the program that one of the benefits for me is that I would feel wonderful about myself whenever I make these calls. I remember dismissing the comment, saying that feeling good about myself was not the reason I was going to volunteer.

Now, I see how arrogant my reaction was. This morning I arrived at TeleCare rather down again. However, as I talked to dozens of resilient, mostly elderly folks who were cheerful, courageous, funny, and vibrant -- in spite of the very real physical pain or emotional isolation they may experience day in and day out. My job was to check in on them, make sure they are ok, and bring a bit of warmth and care into their lives. But in reaching out, wasn't I also being ministered to as well? Of course.

Now I'm thankful to be doing volunteer work that is both useful and emotionally rewarding. Such a combination enables me to sustain my participation in the program these last four years. TeleCare is one of my favorite organizations. Don't be surprised if I get a lump in my throat if you ask me to tell you about it. Indeed, our volunteers love the program so much that they generally keep volunteering until they move away or pass away. (Our longest serving volunteer has been faithfully making calls for over thirty years!)

A cartoon from the Sept 22, 2003 issue of The New Yorker made me laugh. A man says to a woman who is looking at his bookcase:

"I've had those books for years. They represent the person I once aspired to be."

I used to write about politics or at least quote some of the latest political stories on my blog. I've fallen silent because I don't know what to say these days. It's certainly not that I think things are going so well that there's nothing to comment on or nothing to advocate for. Rather, of the many, many issues out there, I don't know which of the few I should focus on. Hence the current silence. Maybe I should stay silent and listen instead.

(I will say, however, that when the latest issue of The New York Review arrived in my mailbox, I read Mark Danner's Iraq: The New War and thought of the debate between Danner and Christopher Hitchens staged on campus those many months ago.)