Tag Archives: animals

Happy. In one short moment.

I experienced one of these fleeting happy moments today! Sitting at a huge oak table in a spacious bright dining room I was focusing on my research data. To be precise, I was trying to get my head around work I did two weeks ago because I needed to explain it to my work-mate (well, he is my boss but we try to forget about that as much as possible) at whose dining room room table I was sitting. We were laughing about something or other, then he launched into a really clever argument on something important whilst I, truth be told, couldn’t really follow because his cat was running through the sunlit yard like crazy! The normally rather languid ginger was jumping up and down the trees like it was a work-out! (It was catching birds.) And because the table looks over the terrace and the garden I could watch the cat and its wild manouvres. So great! Eventually I caught up with the sociological argument at hand, and a tick later I thought:

“I can’t believe this is work! This is what research can be like! And I get paid for this!”

Seriously, I have to say: People, don’t dissmiss academia too quickly! You rarely have the kind of flexibility in a job that academic work gives you, especially so if it’s research! You can work in your office, at home, on a train, abroad, wherever. You can work whenever. You can get a whole week’s work done in two or three days, depending on contract and stamina. And since you’re only in academia if you like being there (I presume), then you don’t really mind most of the work you do. – Ok, try to cut down on the meetings if you can. But what I’m trying to say is: You’re actually interested in the subject matter and you don’t mind teaching it. And if you’re not that interested, perhaps you’ll get graduate assistants to take over the unpalatable work, or you’ll dump it on the most junior member of staff if you can, and off you go attending to the sweetie-lovie topics you like.

First you need to make it through the PhD, of course, and that was actually a tough one for me too, for many reasons. It’s bound to be hard in some way but in hindsight I have to say that I really needed that. It was the end of my apprenticeship! Perhaps seeing it in a pragmatic sense like that helps. But once you’re done with the PhD you can find yourself a little research post somewhere and Bob’s your uncle :)

Oh, an important thought on how to really make sure you’ll be happy whilst working – sorry, are there still people here for whom happiness and paid employment are diametrical opposites? Shoo shoo, off you go! – Where was I? Ah yes: Don’t let anybody pressure you into the rat race of publishing till the cows come home! Many papers that are turned out are pure shit (and calling a spade a spade is a virtue, obviously), so don’t stress yourself unduly. Publish quality work that you can be proud of! One good article or two can get you a job, I know it can because one of the best lecturers I know was employed on the basis of two brilliant articles that he had written. That was his entire publication record at the time he applied for the post!

So on this happy day I have to say: Firstly, that life can actually be easy and good! Secondly, if you believe that you will keep going for what’s right for you. And thirdly, wild cats are conducive to widening one’s horizon.

Changing colours I

From www.stern.de

I have had a lot on my plate these past weeks and haven’t been able to write about anything very much. Life has been good, so I lived it instead of reflecting on it on this here blog. There was one thing last week that I did want to share here though.

Just out of curiosity, has anyone noticed the striking resemblance between this man above and this amphibian creature here?

From www.redbox.de

The man is Philip Rösler, new leader of the German Free Democrats (liberal), the gecko/chameleon is the cute star of a TV commercial that you can check out in full here. Note how the little green guy adopts the colour of that which he wants most, in this case of the yellow yoghurt. Another striking semblance between Rösler (and many other politicians, think of ‘Dave the Chameleon’) and the wee gecko man. ‘Cute’ is probably not an attribute that Rösler will go by though.

Further observations on changing colours to follow soon.

Visiting beaver land

The habitat of the beaver is the riparian zone, inclusive of stream bed. The actions of beavers for hundreds of thousands of years in the Northern Hemisphere have kept these watery systems healthy and in good repair, although a human observing all the downed trees might think that the beavers were doing just the opposite.

In the beaver habitat at Bays Mountain, Kingsport, Tennessee: dead trees to the left

The beaver works as a keystone species in an ecosystem by creating wetlands that are used by many other species. Next to humans, no other extant animal appears to do more to shape its landscape.

Beaver dams are created as a protection against predators, such as coyotes, wolves and bears, and to provide easy access to food during winter. Beavers always work at night and are prolific builders, carrying mud and stones with their fore-paws and timber between their teeth. Because of this, destroying a beaver dam without removing the beavers is difficult, especially if the dam is downstream of an active lodge. Beavers can rebuild such primary dams overnight, though they may not defend secondary dams as vigorously. (Beavers may create a series of dams along a river.)

The lowest dam in a series of beaver dams

 

Next dam up.

 

Wetland created by beavers

 

Beavers fell trees for several reasons. They fell large mature trees, usually in strategic locations, to form the basis of a dam, but European beavers tend to use small diameter (<10 cm) trees for this purpose. Beavers fell small trees, especially young second-growth trees, for food. Broadleaved trees re-grow as a coppice, providing easy-to-reach stems and leaves for food in subsequent years. Ponds created by beavers can also kill some tree species by drowning but this creates standing dead wood, which is very important for a wide range of animals and plants.

This is how the beaver bites

Source: Wikipedia

Hidden in the forest

I finished another chapter today and it felt good,good, good. The sun wasn’t quite set yet when I sent it off to my supervisors, so I hopped on my bike and went out into the forest to fill my lungs with fresh air again. It’s been a while and therefore really felt like I hadn’t been out in ages!!Absolutely amazing to breathe the fresh early evening air, slightly damp and filled with the scent of rotting leaves with a sprinkle of golden sunset on top.

Within the first few minutes of being among trees and fallen leaves my vision changed and the whole speed of my being switched into a different gear. I then spotted something white moving among the trees in the boggy area near the lake. A family of swans!! I tried to stalk them and get real close but the water stopped me. So I stood there by a tree stump and watched the family of swans for a while, thinking that I know this forest like the back of my hand and yet all these years I’ve never spotted swans nesting in them. Who knows what other treasures I might find in the wetlands and other places if I keep my eyes open a bit more? I’ll definitely have to buy a pair of wellies though.

I took this special little gift as the reward for the indoor labour I had been occupied with for the past two weeks. Thank you.

PhD woes: Clagged in

A dense and impenetrable fog has settled on the North German Plain. I can hardly see 20 meters. Wild boars will be out in the forest all day long today as twilight never ceases there. Hopefully I won’t quite literally run into any of them later on when I will go for a run. Until then it’s just books, books, books. The fog seems to suffocate the very idea that one could go out and do something in the world. ‘Stay put and read,’ is what it seems to be saying.

My erstwhile fascination with books seems strange to me right now. Back then, when I started this blog, when I came out as Miss Bookling, I still had a choice about reading: I read when I felt like it. That’s why it was exciting. There was always something to discover in a book. There still is but now I can’t decide whether or not I want to read, I just have to do it. And as anything that one cannot avoid books have become a bit of an alienating force in my life. They’re always there! They never go away and they never change. And they want to be read. That’s how they’re a force. They exert this pressure. Forget about ‘unknown worlds beckoning in the pages of a book’, that’s just romantic nonsense. Books are little naggers.

Ironically, they’re also almost the only objective reality of any kind of persistence in my life. Everything else has gone but the books have staid and multiplied. Books. Books. And more books. And reading all day long.

Before this kind of backdrop, it’s really hard for me to get excited about society and what goes on in it. Last night, for instance, I saw a programme about child models who, at the age of 2, still wearing diapers underneath their designer clothes, run along catwalks in Florence and Milan. Sometimes these wee models start crying or crawl down said catwalk on all fours. Sometimes they strike a pose like a professional top model which is far scarier. Can I get excited about this? No, not really. Crazy stuff happens all the time. I don’t have time to think about it, not when my internal reading list, i.e. the list of books that I feel I should have read before I’m finished with the PhD is miles long. Sod society and its problems, let someone else comment on it. A lot of people are really good at that – though admittedly my last few readings of the Independent which used to be my favourite paper were a bit disappointing. Even the once so brilliant Johann Hari’s articles seem a bit staid and unnecessarily acerbic. Why would he get so worked-up about things?

Still, there’s a lot of good writing out there and not a lot of it is in the blogosphere, to the contrary. A lot of blogging is quite mediocre and this blog is not exception. So why pour my heart into a comment on current affairs and invest heaps of time into making it read well when all I can achieve is mediocrity. The best blogging for me has always been funny, insightful and inspiring, full of energy and zest, all the things that I don’t have right now.

 

Jim Cole, AP in http://www.usatoday.com/travel/destinations/2008-01-07-nh-civil-unions_N.htm

 

It is autumn after all, time to turn inwards maybe, have a cup of mulled wine, think of Christmas. Maybe it’s ok to not be all exuberant and joyful right now. Time to cosy up somehow and be quiet – with a BOOK!! Isn’t the book part of that cold-time-of-year image? It is, totally! See, I told ya, there’s no getting away from those darned books!!! They’re always there, always. Books need reading just as films need watching but who has the time??

And the fog simply won’t lift. It’s a case of waiting out and being patient whilst not reading a book.

(Haha, I just re-read this post – sounds like the town is full of wild boar who are just as menacing as the assorted books in the apartment! Which is a very accurate description, yes.)

Leitstrahl für Aldebaran (Radio Beam for Aldebaran)

I mentioned this book last week; it is one of the lesser known science fiction novels written in the former GDR. My dad’s copy is a bit shabby already – or has lots of character and history, depending on how you look at these things – and I think it was that and the fact that the book was lying around in the lounge that intrigued me. When I initially picked it up I was wondering how, after years of living abroad, I would react to this kind of literature. I took to it really well, I think, considering how quickly I wolfed down this novel.

When I say ‘this kind of literature’, I mean socialist science fiction. It’s a peculiar genre: it’s very, very modernist, i.e. rationality always prevails. Our age is looked back on (quite funny really – Leitstrahl für Aldebaran was published in 1983) by the protagonists sometimes with compassion and understanding, much in the way that grandparents shake their heads about the folly of wee toddlers, or, on the other hand, with horror and disgust. Which is why I expected to feel quite put-off by this book, but I didn’t.

First of all, the plot was really intriguing. Leitstrahl für Aldebaran starts off aboard a star ship called Kundschafter, or Explorer, which, as the four protagonists find out by and by, has been gravely affected by a dangerous stellar anomaly that they have never encountered before. They were in anabiosis and only woke up when it was all over and now have to try and interpret the data that the ship, now greatly worse for wear, has collected to see what has happened. I liked this part; interpreting data and coming up with likely scenarios of what might have happened is basically my middle name right now, so I could relate.

The four protagonists work together as a team though each one of them has different skills and works to the maximum of their capabilities. This is socialist doctrine, of course, but it’s not exactly an alien notion; team work should function like that. An aspect of this that I really liked was the internal struggle of the person that awoke first from anabiosis, Toliman, who thereby automatically assumed the position of captain: he really struggles with the contradiction between being just one member in a team of four whilst also being the commanding officer. (Socialists have yet to work this one out.) Tuschel reveals his in-depth knowledge of social psychology in his description of Toliman’s struggle. On this point already I felt that the novel was doing more than I would have expected from one of its kind: it contributed something to my own understanding of contemporary society. A lot of socialist science fiction is plain propaganda, but this one here isn’t. So I kept on reading.

Due to what has happened whilst the Kundschafter was in the anomaly, the ship is forced to land on an unknown planet – very interesting stuff! Tuschel describes the planet nicely. The ship lands in the Großes Tal (Big Valley) which is named this way in distinction to the Kleines Tal (Small Valley). Not being explorers per se but sort of in an emergency situation, these are the names that the crew came up with – very practical. The Großes Tal is covered with a carpet of lush green grass of exactly the same height all over, and there isn’t one plant species to be found that is older than 3 months or so. What happened here? Where are the older specimens? The reader is intrigued and reads on. (I thought it was locusts but I was wrong.) It gets even better when a dinosaur kind of animal comes near the ship and eventually befriends the crew who name it – they’ve already proven that naming things isn’t their strong suit so this doesn’t come as a surprise – ‘das Biest’.

Being sort of stranded on the planet for some time gives a lot of room for the protagonists’ characters to develop before the reader’s eye. Toliman increasingly struggles to preserve his clout; everyone comes up with creative ideas about how to improve their situation (finding food, collecting solar energy etc.) but Toli is being conservative. The team begins to crumble. His partner Mira who is a cosmogonist starts turning away from him and eventually it becomes clear that something needs to be done to save the team: an exercise (it really is called that in the German version, too). Think team building exercise but more complicated; this one involves everyone bongo-drumming together.

This part was a bit strange but also beautiful. In the socialist world of the future that this novel is set in, no one really knows how and why drumming together creates strong social bonds but what they do know is that it works. So when things look awry, out come the drums! The most emotional and creative one in the team, Gemma the biologist, dictates the rhythm for the exercise; the point is that everyone submits to her rhythm somehow and that they together create a new rhythm. Gemma’s partner Rigel, the mechanic, falls in easily and together they form a comfortable rhythmic dyad. Then Toliman starts drumming – but with his own rhythm! Shock horror indeed, he can’t even let go for a minute! Mira, who is the last one to join in the drumming, tries her best to connect the two rhythms and thus save the collective but is stretching herself thin. Eventually, Gemma adapts the baseline a bit and all of a sudden Toli is part of the group too, yay! They drum on for a while and everything is good afterwards.

A bit of a different sort of climax than you find in most novels, huh.

I think it’s because of strange narrative events like this that I really liked this novel. And because of the Biest. Gemma tamed it and it let her ride on it! Ideologically, the novel was much less problematic than I had expected, but maybe that’s because it wasn’t a very ideological novel. I still chuckled a bit towards the end: the crew of the Kundschafter is finally rescued by the Kundschafter 2 who, hearing about some of the challenges that Toli & Co. had to overcome (which I didn’t mention here – good stuff), congratulate them on their bravery by saying “Communists overcome everything” (“Kommunisten bewältigen alles.”). Toli & Co. take this as a huge compliment which is precisely how it was meant.

Would I generally recommend this novel? Well yes, if you like science fiction or utopian novels I think you could like this one, too. I think you’d also like it if you have a knack for all things military and chains of command. Some imagination is required to go with the descriptions and ironicallya little bit of suspense of rationality too since a lot of the science questions are never actually answered satisfactorily. We never find out what the anomaly was, for example. But I think such oversights are acceptable in a novel that pleases with a Biest, some insightful social psychology, and a robust plot.

You wouldn’t want to read this if you have a huge problem with socialism, though, but you probably wouldn’t have made it down this line here if that was the case :)

Regarding cats and litter bins

Last week’s No. 1 moral outrage was caused by a woman who, after stroking and petting a cat that was sitting outside its house for a bit, suddenly picked it up and dropped it in a big litter bin. The incident was caught on film, the woman was identified – and received death threats within the hour. The BBC’s Susanna Reid, in response to this occurrence, asked yesterday morning ‘Are we too obsessed with animals?’ Coincidentally, Kate Fox in Watching the English had a lot to say about how the majority of Brits (i.e. the English) relate to their pets. I realise her there are problems with her interpretation of English behaviour, so I’m not repeating her thoughts on the topic here because I think she has the final word on all things English. I am repeating them because I am curious to see what you think about her approach to the British obsession with animals. So here we go:

In the chapter on ‘Play Rules’ which discusses how the English spend their leisure time, Fox takes a long and hard look at pet rules and what she calls ‘petiquette’. This section kicks off superbly and in a way that directly pertains to the problem of cats in litter bins (or rather of people putting them there):

Keeping pets, for the English, is not so much a leisure activity as a way of life. In fact, ‘keeping pets’ is an inaccurate and inadequate expression – it does not begin to convey the exalted status of our animals. An Englishman’s home may be his castle, but his dog is the real king. [...] [our pets] get far more attention, affection, appreciation, encouragement and ‘quality time’ than our children, and often better food. (p. 234)

This is a clear ‘yes’ to the question of whether or not we are too obsessed with our animals. Is it compassion with the (no pun intended) underdog, the weakest in society, that makes these islanders stand up for animals? Or is it sheer sentimentality? One of Susanna Reid’s guests yesterday suggested that the animal lover is a truly spiritual person whilst the animal hater isn’t; are Brits more spiritual in this way than others?

Fox offers a completely different interpretation of the obsession with pets. Her main thesis in Watching the English is that English everyday life is characterised by Social Dis-ease. This is the phenomenon I talked about before whereby awkwardness and embarrassment must be integral parts of social interactions in order for these interactions to be recognisably English. Basically, if it isn’t awkward, it isn’t English. (You do wonder who Fox had in mind when she was writing the book.) Firstly, she says, pets are status indicators. Corgies are a fine example of this; they are practically the royal breed. But regardless of which breed we’re talking about, the point is that, secondly, pets will receive better treatment than humans. This is because, thirdly, pets help to break through the problematic cultural norm of Social Dis-ease. Let me (or her) explain:

The average Englishman will assiduously avoid social interaction with his fellow humans, and will generally become either awkward or aggressive when obliged to communicate with them, unless certain props and facilitators are available to help the process along. He will have no difficulty at all, however, in engaging in lively, amicable conversation with a dog. Even a strange dog, to whom he has not been introduced. Bypassing all the usual stilted embarrassments, his greeting will be effusive: ‘Hello there!’ he will exclaim, ‘What’s your name? And where have you come from, then? D’you want some of my sandwich, mate? Mmm, yes, it’s not bad, is it? Here, come up and share my seat! Plenty of room!’ (p. 235)

In other words, animals serve as facilitators of social interaction, as props. I want to make two points about this: Firstly, if this is indeed the main function of animals – which is debatable, of course – then this means that Brits don’t appreciate animals more than anyone else does. The animals doesn’t even figure for who it is, it is merely an extension of human needs and wants. This is an unpopular point to make although I think it is the more honest one. As Helene Guldberg pointed out yesterday morning, we can’t really help but put human needs first, and we might as well be honest about that. This applies especially to pets. Pets mean a lot to people, full stop. The second point derives from that: In the cases in which Fox’s description actually applies, animals are needed. Their owners, to an extent at least, cannot do without them if they want to achieve certain social goals. The dog helps the stranger to strike up a conversation with the dog’s owner and vice versa. Without the pet, social interaction would be much harder to come by.

This doesn’t tell us much about cats but I think in most situations cats and dogs rank pretty much the same as far as their position in their owners’ lives is concerned.

It’s all a bit sad; not the fact that animals aren’t appreciated in their own right but that two grown-ups should have difficulty interacting without using dogs and cats as props. I am almost inclined to think that Fox must have got it all wrong. Surely, this statement here – and it’s the last I shall quote – is quite an exaggeration:

You see, the English really are quite capable of Latin-Mediterranean warmth, enthusiasm and hospitality; we can be just as direct and approachable and emotive and tactile as any of the so-called ‘contact cultures’. It is just that these qualities are consistently expressed in our interactions with animals. (p. 235)