exams and books

The algorithms and compilers exams are over. The former went unexpectedly well (or unexpectedly badly, depending on how things turn out); the latter not so much. I had hoped that I would be hit by some great epiphany about the lambda calculus question ere the clock had run its terrifying course, but none came. Other questions were answered not terribly satisfactorily, and I’m not confident that I did them right. The final is worth 40% of the grade in this class, which is almost to say that all the things we did thitherto are as nothing compared to it—and with the exception of the second midterm, I thought I did reasonably well on those. It would be a real shame if I got a B or less in this class because I messed up the final. There goes my chance of being on the Dean’s List again. (I almost wrote “Liszt” there. Goes to show where my priorities lie.) Not that the honor of being on the Dean’s List (ugh! again) gives you much else than just that, though soon enough one begins to notice that all the sidewalks and hallways one is traveling through have been mysteriously decked with red carpet.

Oh, and I may have omitted to mention—probably because these plans have not yet been finalized—that I shall probably be working on a project with my compilers professor this summer. He said that I could, when I pitched the idea to him, work from home, since I want to be in Seattle, learning the ways of the city and all that, but he won’t be able to pay me. Whatever. I just want to keep myself occupied enough this summer not to feel as if I wasted a quarter of the year, and in order that I may touch the professor for a recommendation letter when the time comes to begin applying to universities like crazy again. My purpose in bemoaning how not-so-spectacularly the final went was to point out that the professor’s decision to let me work on his project (actually, it’s most probably a grad student’s) may change after grades come out. Let us hope that this is not the case.

I’m reading Creation by Gore Vidal, which is a book about the fictitious grandson of Zoroaster and his adventures in the Persian Empire, India, and Cathay at the behest of the Great King Darius and Xerxes after him. He meets the Buddha, Mahavira, and kings like Bimbisara and Pasenadi in India, and a bunch of wacky old men in Cathay, including at some later point in the book which I haven’t yet reached Master Kong/Confucius. A charming and whimsical book, showing the reader the ways of the Achaemenids and the Aryans, &c. I also downloaded a collection of Jeeves stories on my Kindle called My Man Jeeves. Absolutely brilliant. I need a dose of Wodehouse from time to time to remedy my defects, and remind me of my true purpose in this world—as well as to fuel, as it has done unfailingly in the past, any literary endeavors which may be in the offing.

My Classical Mechanics II final is tomorrow afternoon, and then my four-semester association with the incomparable N. M. will officially be concluded. Such a versatile professor, trying her hand at every course there is. I shall probably nip down to her office sometime after to say my farewells and stuff. I still have to finish the vile presentation of mine for that odious professional ethics course, which class incidentally has its final on Wednesday—though it escapes my comprehension what they could possibly hope to get out of testing us on their rubbish material. If Tavani has not been fired from his last job, and isn’t currently behind bars in a maximum security prison, then there is no justice in the universe. My last final is Phil 105: Intro to Ethics on Friday. That’s actually a pretty nice class.

And I have started packing. It's a strange thing--packing. I both enjoy and dread the experience--dread, because it means a chapter is about to end; enjoy, because it gives me a chance to go through my belongings, and to see how things stand. It's nice to be reminded that we own certain things that have fallen completely out of our conscious memories. At times we find something that we are surprised we have stopped using. That kind of thing. I wouldn't be surprised if I started watching Slam Dunk again. (And indeed I find myself watching the odd episode when I have a free moment.) Summer does that to one, I suppose.