Splendor in the garden of scientific delights, Or, spotshine of the sun-owled which?

I sometimes forget I have this blog, which brings me to the topic of today's post. While doing a literature search at work today I came across an hypothesis that has been kicked around, killed, and reborn several times over the last few decades. Called the "reconsolidation hypothesis," it states that when you recall a memory, there's a window of time wherein that memory becomes susceptible to erasure (either by drug treatment or, it seems, strong enough stimuli). There are even a few scientfic studies wherein the phenomenon is demonstrated. The debate continues about whether this hypothesis holds weight or not, but I find it fascinating to consider.

Take, for example, how important it can be to recall certain memories in times of crisis (for more well-developed examples of this, see Harry Potter books 1-7). These memories can provide great strength or comfort, but what if you could only revisit them once? Would people go around always trying to make new powerful memories to draw on? What if missing your dead wife actually made you forget her? Even now I think people have the power to reshape memories to give them the memory they need or fear most. I am constantly overwhelmed by the power of nostalgia in my recollections. We know so very little about memory!

(as an aside, I also love the mental image of one's memories being susceptible to the band Erasure. "who needs love like that!")

Now if only I could remember where I left my frozen cochlea slides...

Rest in Peace, Pere Rice

Pere Rice was the best teacher I've ever had. And I don't just say that because he spent our entire first day of French class freshman year teaching us to swear. Or because he made us learn the lyrics to the songs of his lady love of music, Edith Piaf, and his favorite poet, Jacques Prevert. No, more importantly Pere Rice was everything I love about old-school Jesuit education: he was tough, ridiculously smart (to the point where odd bits of information would fall out if you got him going in the right direction), witty, irreverant, and supremely dedicated to the idea that with hard work the boys at the University of Detroit Jesuit High School and Academy could become good men. Men for others, to be exact.

Pere Rice must have been in his eighties by the time he was teaching me. He was renowned as the midwest's oldest teaching jesuit, and I attended school with guys whose fathers and grandfathers had been taught by "le Pere."

Something that very few people know is how Pere Rice helped me through the hardest time in my days at The High. My best friend in junior year was also a student of Pere Rice's, and he had a nervous breakdown that led into a prolonged catatonic state, followed up with a terrifying bout of mania. This became a cycle of extremes. Things got especially tough for me when my friend's mother asked me what I thought she should do. Who was I to know? I couldn't understand what was happening to my friend, and I couldn't do anything about it. I went to Pere Rice for help. He told me everything he knew about my friend's condition, which was a great deal, and what I could do. The thing was, though, he said what he did with such a kind sadness in his voice, and I won't ever forget that. It was as though in his tone he was saying he was sorry my friend was going through what he was and sorry I had to deal with it and sorry we couldn't thereafter be the same way boys at that age at the High are supposed to be, just worried about girls and science tests and homework. But he laid it all out for me, didn't pull any punches, and showed me he had faith that I could handle the situation before me.

He knows I thought the world of him, and, I won't ever forget his faith in me. Rest in Peace, Pere.

"Rappelle-toi Barbara
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-la...
Quelle connerie la guerre..."

The 4th of July: America's Rooftop Spectacular

yep. everything seems to be in order here.

A Freemason, I.

My computer's been broken about a week (and also I've been busy with things like work and latin dancing 'til 2 a.m.), but I just couldn't put off writing about this any longer. As of last tuesday, I have been initiated in the ancient order of Free and Accepted Masons.

I think my sister Patience put it best when she said, "Part of why I'm so excited for you is that this is basically something you've wanted since you were about 10." And she's right. And what's even better? All of the build-up I've had in my mind about this event was totally correct. In addition to being tremendously moving and inspiring, the ceremony is full of crazy secret stuff: secret codes, handshakes, and everything else you could possibly ask for. I can't give you the details, but suffice it to say if this is any indication of what's in store for me in freemasonry, I couldn't have made a better choice.

Edit, 7/4: Yep, just like this. Only totally different. More than one friend has also admitted to assuming the Stonecutters' episode of the Simpsons has given them an accurate portrayal of the Masons. And on that I cannot comment.

On the subjects of Martin Walsh, the wonders of Canada, and the beginning of the end for my favorite place in NYC

The arb show this year was the Tempest, and while there were some good things and some bad things about this production, what was outstanding was the performance of Prospero by one Martin Walsh. I - and many others - have been waiting for him to take this role for a long time. And it was worth the wait.

While I was home for the arb show, my mom and sister hilary and I took a trip to some of our old haunts in Canada. And while anyone reading this should find the following as no surprise, I LOVE CANADA.

Do you want to see pictures of my childhood? Well, here you go. Most of the images I recall from that time include canada from the backseat of a car, and a few choice locations like the ice cream parlor in Amherstburg, (what's left of) the Copper Kettle, fields upon fields, Duffy's, the barn with the apple, etc. I love Canada. I love the people, the values, the comedy on TV there, everything.















Last but not least, I attended this year's Mermaid Parade. This may or may not be the last one, because, as you may have heard, Coney Island is set to be developed. I don't know what the extent of the demolition/building will be, but things will be different. So while I had the chance, I took in the parade, the freak show, and the beach with some friends.