Cat and Shanmao's blog

A little while ago, I saw the preview of the movie I, Robot in the theatre. Somehow that prompted me to reread the Foundation series, which I had read a few years ago and since forgotten all the details of. In cases like this, the imperfection of my long term memory is a good thing and I was able to enjoy the books again with almost the same excitement as if I were reading them for the first time. Again, I was struck by the intrigues of the plot, the cleverness and ingenuity of the author, Isaac Asimov. The whole series of the Foundation universe were written in a span of more than 40 years, starting (in Foundation timeline) from Prelude to Foundation (1988), Forward the Foundation, written just before Asimov's death in 1992, to the original trilogy (Foundation, Foundation and Empire, and Second Foundation, written throughout the 1940s) followed by Foundation's Edge and Foundation and Earth in the early 1980s. Reading the whole thing from the beginning to the end provided an interesting perspective on how society as well as science had progressed. For example, one couldn't help but notice that there were virtually no female character to speak of in the first two books of the original trilogy (I believe there was only one passing reference to the existence of females, which was implied by the word "wives"). As time progressed, females appeared as important characters on the Foundation stage. Of course, neither character development nor even scientific reference is the point of these "science fiction" stories, what made them so interesting is the ideas.

Since the Foundation series was loosely tied to Asimov's Robot series, and I, Robot the movie was what started me on this reading spree in the first place, it was natural for me to go on to locate a copy of I, Robot the book from the library. And from there I had gone on to the rest of the robots. Again, the first of these stories were written in the 1940s, the progress of society and science left their trace. Again, these stories were clever and intriguing. The central basis of all the robot stories are the 3 laws of Robotics:

1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

2. A robot must obey orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

After reading all these robot stories, it became apparent to me that the movie I, Robot, from what I can tell from the preview, has very little in common with Asimov's concept of robots. In the movie, the robots kill humans, an almost impossibility given the 3 laws. In fact, he wrote his robot stories with the clear purpose of going against the "Frankenstein complex" which had been prevalent when it came to robot stories in general at the time (and even now, just think about Matrix). Also, the movie is clearly big on action (fight scenes), which is not at all Asimov's style. His books managed to be exciting without little or no direct action. His heroes always win through wit rather than force. After all, one of the sentences that most impressed me from the Foundation series is:

Violence is the last resort of the incompetent.

I am especially fond of this quote since it gave me particular pleasure in applying it to the current Bush administration. But I am starting to sound like a fanatic here. I am not going to say that I will boycott the movie because it did not follow Asimov faithfully. In fact I might still see it in the future and I believe it probably has some entertainment value. I merely lost interest to see it right now. Instead, I dug out another book of Asimov from the library, which has been quite easy, since he was an incredibly prolific writer, having published hundreds (if not thousands) of volumes of work on subjects as diverse as science fiction, mystery, general science, mathematics, astronomy, as well as history, the Bible, and so on. What I am reading now is his autobiography, It's been a good life, edited and condensed by his wife Janet Jeppson Asimov.

Having gone half way through the book, I am a confirmed fan of the man. His wit, intelligence, and humor is evident. But what most impressed me was his humanity -- his attitude, his open mindset, and his philosophy on life. He is neither a God (which I do not believe in) nor a perfect human being (which I do not believe in either), but he had all the qualities that I wish I could have. I think that if each human being has but one-tenth of his qualities, the world would be a better place.

Speaking of God, here's a quote of his I find amusing:

Imagination has never managed to build up a serviceable Heaven, however. The Islamic Heaven has its houris, ever available and ever virginal, so that it becomes an eternal sex house. The Norse Heaven has its heroes feasting at Valhalla and fighting each other between feasts, so that it becomes an eternal restaurant and battlefield. And our own Heaven is usually pictured as a place where everyone has wings and plunks a harp in order to sing unending hymns of praise to God.
What human being with a modicum of intelligence could stand any of such Heavens, or the others that people have invented, for very long? Where is there a Heaven with the opportunity for reading, for writing, for exploring, for interesting conversation, for scientific investigation? I never heard of one.
If you read John Milton's Paradise Lost you will find that his Heaven is described as an eternal sing-along of praise to God. It is no wonder that one-third of the angels rebelled. When they were cast down into Hell, they then engaged in intellectual exercises (read the poem if you don't believe me) and I believe that, Hell or not, they were better off....

Once he was asked by an interviewer whether he believed in God, and as he was somewhat dodging the question, the interviewer...

...nailed me to the wall by saying, "Surely a man of your diverse intellectual interests and wide-ranging curiosity must have tried to find God?
(Eureka! I had it! The very nails had given me my opening!) I said, smiling pleasantly, "God is much more intelligent than I am -- let him try to find me."

On anti-Semitism:

I once listened to a woman grow eloquent over the terrible way in which Gentiles did nothing to save the Jews of Europe. "You can't trust Gentiles," she said. I let some time elapse and then asked suddenly, "What are you ding to help the blacks in their fight for civil rights?" "Listen," she said, " I have my own problems." And I said, "So did the Gentiles." But she only stared at me blankly. She didn't get the point at all...
The whole world seems to live under the banner: "Freedom is wonderful--but only for me."

On history:

History is the best thing to reread--and to write. I know history so well that Earth's past is like a rich tapestry to me...In history, everything's one piece. You pick up history by an strand and the whole thing comes up...
I suppose history books are mainly written by liberals because most conservatives can't write.

On goodness:

...I love to be told that I am good. Why? Not because it convinces me that I am....But because it convinces me that I impress another in such a way that that person thinks I am good... That is a very wonderful thing, for intelligence you are born with and cannot help, and many very horrible and disgusting people have been luminously intelligent. Ditto, good looks; ditto good health; ditto musical talent or writing ability; ditto, almost everything.
But the capacity to be good, to make someone happy, is a creation of yourself; a very difficult thing to create; a very rewarding thing.

It has now become obvious that I am so enthusiastic about Asimov because he expressed a world view similar to the one I have, but much more eloquently and with more wit than I could ever dream of. He kept me entertained and made me feel good about myself in a way as well... Now seems to be a good point to stop writing and go back to reading the book.

I put on my first scuba gear five years ago, on the island of Cozumel, Mexico.  I was not immediately attracted to the concept of Scuba diving -- to be encumbered by strange gear and an oxygen tank did not sound appealing to me. I thought that going underwater might be a claustrophobic experience. As for exploring the underwater world, I was content with snorkeling. But Shanmao was eager to try diving. And I thought, I would try it once, and then I would for sure know that I had missed nothing. So we dived in to the Palancar Reef. To my surprise, I discovered a whole new world. (Afterwards I found out that the experience even exceeded Shanmao's expectations!) Hovering in translucent blue water, with all kinds of tropical fish going about me, around coral gardens as colorful as any on land, I felt not an ounce of claustrophobia, but an incredible sense of freedom. I found myself navigating effortlessly through the exotic underwater landscape, traversing the canyons, passing through caves, moving up and down the cliffs. The world had suddenly become truly 3 dimensional, I could move in any direction I want and I felt like I was flying. Snorkeling only allowed me to a view of the underwater, now I am part of it. Diving was like, for the lack of a better analogy, sightseeing in a helicopter, except I was the helicopter myself.

Since then, we have experienced a few interesting dives in Pensacola, Cabo San Lucas, Hawaii, and the Similan Islands. We dived with manta rays, followed turtles, peeked at sharks, fought with jelly fish, and saw many beautiful corals. As exciting as some of these dives were, none of them quite gave me that sense of wonder as that very first dive in Palancar Reef. It is like a promise that I know can be fulfilled. And every time I dive, I dive for that promise.

Throughout my short diving career, I have always avoided diving in cold water. I am very sensitive to cold temperature, and thought of myself as adverse to self-inflicted torture in the name of fun. Since we moved to the Bay Area 4 years ago, I've heard quite a few accounts of how cold the water of Monterey Bay is, and consequently felt no urge to dive there. Besides, cold water does not support coral and tropical fish, and visibility is known to be not very good. So what's the point of diving there?

Then last year we visited the Monterey aquarium. I was instantly attracted by the huge tank which showcases the kelp forest. It really looked like a forest of big, tall trees! Sunshine filtered through the water, and the semi-transparent kelp leaves, which swayed with the waves. I had never seen anything like it. And I thought: maybe there is something to diving in Monterey.

Still, I wasn't keen on submerging in the notoriously cold water. Even when Shanmao finally started to organize a diving trip with Andrew and Chantal a couple of weeks ago, I was pretty sure I did not want to go. At the last moment, I thought of the kelp forest in the aquarium and decided to give it a try, if only to tick it off my list and say: been there, done that, never need to do it again.

So yesterday morning we set off to Monterey. The sky was covered with gray clouds and looked rather ominous. My fear of the cold was intensified and I prayed for the sun to come out. When we got to the dive shop at the pier, there was a sliver of blue sky, and the air temperature at least was mild.

I rented a 7mm farmer john and a 7mm top, which I put on top of my own 3mm wet suit. By the time I managed to get into all those layers of clothing, I was no longer so afraid of the cold. In fact I was perspiring, and could hardly move. We carried the equipment into the car and drove to the quay.

After parking in the perfect parking spot at the quay, changing our money into a zillion quarters and fed them to the parking meter, we found that some of the equipment was missing. Shanmao drove back to the rental shop while the 3 of us stood stupidly beside the parking spot with the unloaded equipment. A car drove by and the driver asked: can we park in the spot? We motioned him in and he parked. Then he saw the meter was paid to the full and asked if we paid for it so we explained the situation. "I'll park in the next spot. " he said, "you guys paid for the spot and you should keep it." What a nice guy, we thought, and as he left we moved our equipment back on the spot. Shanmao should be back in a minute, surely we'll keep the spot we paid.

My companions went in search of the bathroom. As I sat there waiting and watching tourists going by, all of a sudden a spray of wet stuff arrived from the sky. I looked up, a pelican casually flew on. I realized our equipment (and parts of me) had just been pooped on. Oh well, we'll go get wet in the ocean anyways.

Shanmao came back pretty soon. He helped me move the equipment aside so he can park back (I could not have moved the equipment by myself). And just as I was getting out of the way, a pickup truck suddenly barged into the parking spot, narrowly missing me. As I watched in shock, the driver -- an old guy -- looked at me disapprovingly and said loudly: "This is America! You cannot hold a parking spot like this in AMERICA!"

Having almost got run over, I could not believe that I was hearing this. Had I been more calm and collected, I would have retorted: "Right. This is AMERICA, where only force mattered. Whoever is the most aggressive gets the parking spot, nothing else matters." Instead, I was so irritated that I could only show him my finger accompanied with the appropriate verbal translation. I must say this was the first time I shouted an obscenity at anybody in my life. But this was also the first time I heard a racist comment directed at me, in AMERICA. The only other time I was confronted with this type of verbal abuse, it was muttered by a crazy looking individual near the Toronto Mental hospital. And the guy did not attempt to run me over.

I was tempted to buy a dozen eggs and throw them at the pickup truck's wind shield (Being not very creative, I could only think of borrowing this method of revenge, which I learned from a friend). But our boat was scheduled to leave soon and luckily a nearby parking spot opened up. So after assembling some more change and getting our equipment sorted we boarded the boat, leaving the old guy sitting in his truck. Perhaps he suspected my un-American mind of conceiving an attack on his truck and felt that he better stay to guard it.

We were on the boat speeding away from shore, and I was signing my life away, as is usual practice in such sports like scuba diving. But I was still simmering over what just happened: first being pooped on, then almost run over and .... I must admit I was not feeling very relaxed. I remembered the prospect of the cold water and started putting on my suits.

The boat stopped and everyone went into action. The captain told us to remember this day and these conditions. Apparently, such a calm day happens very rarely. Yet still the boat was rocking back and forth enough that you had to be careful of your footing...... Layers of wetsuits, hoods and gloved were put on, and everyone was ready to go. The captain however, was still giving his prep talk. As the talk went on, the divers started looking increasingly uncomfortable -- people started peeling off their hoods and outer layer of suits; the two girls next to me looked distinctly sick and their dive master was telling them how to puke into a regulator. I am not usually prone to sea sickness, but as the breeze brought along the fragrance from the boat's "head", I felt I could use some of the divemaster's advice as well. I was also starting to feel a little suffocated under the 14mm-17mm layers of wetsuits and the hood.

Finally we started jumping in the water! I was instantly relieved: I did not feel cold at all! I had little time to congratulate myself though, as I soon discovered that all that layers of wetsuits not only provided insulation against the cold, but also added tremendously to my buoyancy, especially when they were not completely soaked (and those layers I had on took time to get soaked). This should have been obvious to me had I not fixated on the fear of freezing in the water. I am naturally buoyant, and with the wetsuit I was practically an inflated balloon. Even with 20 lbs of weight (I had never worn more than 10 lbs before) I was floating like a buoy. I had to struggle to get myself off my back -- the tank's weight compared with the buoyancy of the rest of me made this very difficult. Trying to descend legs first was an impossibility. After quite a struggle, I finally managed to descent head first, and I was submerged! I looked at the gage: 15 feet. Good, I'm in, I'm not cold and I do not even have any problem equalizing (as I sometimes to). I thought with relief, and looked around. The water was dark and filled with planktons, and as I looked around, besides my partner Shanmao, I saw some kelps, but not quite the forest I saw in the aquarium, although I was in such a forest now. I could only see sections of a few kelps, not the top, nor the bottom.

My relief was again short-lived. I did not realized that I was sinking rather easily. Having struggled so much to get under the surface, it did not occur to me that I was quickly becoming less buoyant as the pressure increased and my armor of wetsuits were finally getting completely soaked and compressed as well. The low visibility provided very little reference to the depth I was in. So I was rather startled when all of a sudden, I was pretty much at the bottom of the ocean, just above some rocks. I looked at the gage again. 70 feet! How did this happen? And I was still sinking. I felt the drag of the tank and the 20 lbs of weights pulling me further down, threatening to land me back first onto the rocky bottom. The visibility actually was a little clearer here, but I was not certain what exactly were the things among the uneven rocks that I was about to fall on with my back and I did not at all felt like finding out. I struggled to stand on my feet, but I could hardly move. I pumped air into my BC, but that did not seem to help, I felt I was going off balance, out of control. More air in the BC, still couldn't move up. The weight belt felt like a dead weight on me, pulling me relentlessly. I couldn't move. How could this happen? It was so hard to get underwater and now I could not even move up an inch! I looked around wildly, and for the first time in my life, I feared for my life. As I struggled to keep my balance, the scene that passed my vision consisted of the bottom rocks, stalks of kelp, my partner, bubbles of air we breathed, and distant bubbles of other divers. Is this to be my watery grave? It was a terrible thought.

I told myself: calm down, you're panicking, breath deeply, you're fine, you're still breathing, aren't you? be rational! .... I tried to take several deep breathes, but it failed to calm me. I could not help feeling extremely unbalanced and out of control. I've had minor problems diving before. Even before I was certified, I had experienced an incident of almost losing my weight belt underwater. Another time, my regulator free-flowed and I was forced to ascend rather quickly. I had always remained calm. But not this time, this time I was almost completely out of control. I was finally experiencing the claustrophobia I feared.

As I struggled, Shanmao had been watching me with concern. He could tell I was in trouble. But I did not know how much in trouble he thought I was. Midway through the descent we had exchanged OK signs. Now I signaled to him that I wanted to go up. And once again I tried to move up with no avail. I thought of removing my weight belt and even that became difficult at this point. In desperation I held out my hand to Shanmao. He hesitated for a second, then took my hand. To my great relief I realized that we were moving up. Thanks to Shanmao, I was saved!

In Oracle one of the dining halls has a piano apparently donated by someone (a former employee I guess). It is an old Steinway grand piano that is in need of some fixing up. Despite the poor condition of the piano it is still basically a good instrument. To give you an idea of the quality of the instrument I heard that the piano tuner offered to fix it up for $10 000.  One friend estimated it would cost $30 000 or more to replace it with a new piano.

There is one man, Yuri, who plays the piano quite frequently. He leaves a binder of music on the piano and shows up to practice his music.

I was talking with him one day about the piano and let me know that the piano is relatively old - so old that the keyboard is made of ivory. As you probably know the ivory trade is now illegal so no new pianos are being produced with elephant ivory. Yuri then proceeded to tell me that you could get the ivory on the keyboard replaced, however, not with elephant ivory but with mammoth ivory. He claimed that there are remains of mammoths found in America (and other countries I guess) and that the trade in this ivory is legal.

I'm going to do some websurfing to see if this is true.