RyanHarne.com

Summer is appetizing. The more I think about it, which is gradually accelerating, the more I look forward to smelling the various trees and flowers about campus on my walks to and fro. My abode for the period prior to my lease beginning on that house is only a handful of houses down the line. The move on July 1 will probably take a meager 45 minutes, not counting fresh lemonade breaks.

This summer I will continue on my acoustics research. And when I get tired of the lab, I will set up shop in Burchard, being careful to avoid the current quadrant being cleaned and waxed. The noise levels are HVAC-dominated over the summer, instead of student movement-centric, so sleeping in the summer studio promises to be far more feasible.

But this forward-looking is prompted only to motivate myself to keep going on with the current work. My brain short-circuited itself a few minutes ago - I am trying to recover with something unrelated to Bode plots and contour graphs.

Without classes to fret over, I am hoping, really hoping, I can become more human and less machine. The sensation of waking up in the green grasses of summer should, at least temporarily, put that machine to sleep.

Too many expressions are possible for a quick summary of the Phoebe’s Field Symposium. However, our mighty leader urged us this morning to “get back to the rest of your lives”, and I find that to be a good exit survey result, if I may use that analogy. It was all-encompassing and enliving; the public lectures were amazing; the private talks very productive.

Yet, my favorite moments were the interpersonal conversations held with some of our guests/advisory board members. I spoke to Paul Orselli several times, a brilliant genius of interactive design elements and practical requirements for exhibits. He has far more of a hemispherical hair cut that his bio photograph suggests.

I thoroughly enjoyed the chats with Bruce Schena, co-founder of Intuitive Surgical and co-inventor of the da Vinci Surgical System. It took only minutes to discover he could speak on the level of the geek, a chat about wireless internet and the draft-N spec coming up. To push the envelope, as we were walking to the dinner hall for the final reception, I saw a bathroom corridor which had the male, baby, and female placards on the wall. I pointed and said, “Giant Baby.”

Without a moment’s hesitation - I kid you not - Bruce replied with, “Duckies!” I was almost in shock, but elated to find that the successful engineers of the world may actually have free time to waste on superfluous internet endeavors.

Overall, an amazing two days of non-stop exhibit design action. But, now, for the rest of my life..

Everything is coming together for Phoebe’s Field. Yes. It’s my entire life at the moment. Except for those few minutes when I biked to the border of Blacksburg, watched the sun set, breathed deeply, and hoped I wouldn’t get run over on the return trip by the Saturday night traffic to downtown.

And also except for the time I took to browse my current work in the print graphics course. While my PowerBook was having the time of its PowerPC life rendering some animations, I photographed the pieces. With extra paint, I usually make some postcards. Keep in mind that any “grain” you may see is not image/JPEG grain, but rather texture and transparency.

This is not a square; you’ll need a protractor to tell the difference, though. My fascination with it results from other’s glances. I can see people look at it, think “oh, a square… next”, and then look away. All along, I smile, and scream inside, “It’s 89 degrees!!!! Can’t you tell?!” I made this piece not for the class, but for my own trigonometric wellness.

This is ok. I need more time to filter it through.

I happen to love FF0000, so I spend my savings on the tubes. Now, my pieces jump up in scale. I wish I hadn’t trimmed the paper so poorly in this one.

This last one is neat, but won’t win awards. I only love it because it tells a different story with a simple rotation. One, Two, Three, Four.

This isn’t everything, but the other work is still on display. Actually, my favorite thus far is still waiting for first review. We’ll see.

Well, now. That was a nice respite from PhF.

Phoebe’s Field is ready for her spectacular recital. Ready in the sense that she is sweating bullets, and her mentors are having difficulty encouraging her to keep a focus. Two people in the group have come down with recurring migraines - I, too, happened to get a surprising, piercing headache today in the middle of some related work - and the main worker bees for the project are effectively sleeping in shifts.

In order to share some of the tasks of the other PhF members, a few of us decided to just do whatever work is necessary, as long as we don’t lose track of our priorities. So, I learned how to use SketchUp yesterday and spent some hours today working on several models. Let me say: Thank you, Google, for providing a very respectably-equipped free version of SketchUp. I could spend hours just playing around with it if I were not currently consumed in the belly of this whale.

Last night I spoke with Paula, an eye-catchingly blonde, Swiss friend of mine who is both professor and student. We gave each other an update on our research and academic insanity states. She asked if I was happy, because that is what truly mattered. I paused, looked at the table, and then regained an affirmative disposition. “Yes. Because every time I talk to someone about the things I am doing, I start to smile and I make too many gestures to describe what’s going on. Like right now.” Her reply was a satisfied smile and a nod.

Now that I think of it, that confirmation has pushed me onward. Westward. Whatever you wish.

There is no closure in a day like today; only a sense that by contemplating the chaos I can find the continuous pieces that create a grander whole. The only continuity, however, appears to manifest itself in the beat of the track my aged iPod spins through. Even that is limited, in that my iPod is old enough to not support gapless playback. Alas!

Phoebe’s Field is ramping up for the symposium next week. I cannot begin to describe how all of my life is now on hold as we prepare for our distinguished guests/critics and gather all of our material for the greatest human Keynote presentation of all time.

Apart from PhF, I am doing my best to remember to care about other classes and responsibilities. With next week in the past, life will quickly electro-shock me back to normal, but the now says, “NOW!”

To keep my imaginative self sane, I purchased a lot of vintage labware and glassware on eBay for a few dollars. We shall see what is spawned.

As I have officially finished planning each of my last RA requirements for the remainder of the semester, there is a sense that I am already done. With planning taken care of, honestly, little remains but wait for the day to arrive and become history. A precursory sense of finality is settling as we speak.

But the sidekick to finality is reflection, the contemplation and assessment of what has been and what further conclusions can be gleaned from preceding events. Though I am currently swamped with work, a haze of contemplation regarding my RA experiences cannot be blown away.

I am shocked, thoroughly shocked, at how ignorant and apathetic the majority of Virginia Tech students are. I will not give specifics, but it appalls me to consider how much money is fully wasted each semester as these kids attempt their best to learn nothing. Finding something to blame is pointless, as you’ll exert more effort in that exercise than in doing something about it. Thus, as of the middle of last semester, I resigned myself to just do whatever I can with the residents I have direct contact with - students that, hopefully, will take something away from our interaction.

I refuse to take part in the mindless programming offers that a plethora of campus organizations provide, instead demanding that I take the personal time to prepare an academic setting for residents who dare show up. In the past 6 months, I have made 7 Keynote presentations ranging in material from global warming to digital rights to recycling and back again. Anything ample enough to be provocative to the indescribably desensitized minds of collegiate youth. Despite my attemps, I feel that (well, know that) the odds were against me, and, sadly, that I have failed.

But failure is not implied, actually. Failure would be defined by my willingness to think little of my time and effort, reconsidering my passions as little more than throwing pearls at swine. While this RA experience has shown me that the next generation of adults will be spoiled, conceited, indifferent, and irresponsible, I must either ignore the existence of such foolishness or appeal to a higher civilization of intelligence and morality.

Never before have I felt so close to the torn spirits of Dagny Taggart - a hopelessness combatted by my own efforts to maintain that which I deeply know to be ultimately unsustainable.