April 25, 2020
Day 3 of the HOPE conference. Papers today by Harro Maas (behavioral governance), Marcel Boumans (pictorial statistics), and Tom Stapleford (data revolution). As on the previous two days, I took notes on questions from the floor.
I reread Campbell McGrath's "At the Ruins of Yankee Stadium" and continue to absolutely love the poem. I would like to write a similar poem for EWP, who died in June of last year.
I think at the conferences the authors talk too much. I would like to experiment with a different format. The author begins with 5 or so minutes as in the current format. Then the rest of the conference participants, excluding the author, discuss the paper. Then the author can have the floor for the last 5 or so minutes and respond to the most important issues and questions raised.
Or do it like chess: have a clock that gives the author only 10 minutes of talking time. He can allocate his 10 minutes any way he likes. But he has only 10 minutes.
I studied French again, and I started making flash cards for Old English words. There's a word, ælfscyne, which means beautiful as a fairy.
I went to the grocery. There was no flour and no cocoa but I did pick up some milk and raspberries and pens and index cards. Dinner tonight was bucatini tossed with olive oil and parmesan cheese.
I tried working on my guide to the econ PhD but was too tired.
I napped after the conference while listening to lectures on Beowulf and Anglo-Saxon England.
Mostly bored this evening. I haven't exercised in three days.
A copy of F. W. Bateson's Guide to English Literature arrived today. He's opinionated--and that's entertaining. "Chaucer criticism has multiplied recently, but apart from Dryden (preface to Fables, 1700) and Aldous Huxley (a brilliant essay on the pagan element in Chaucer in On the Margin, 1921), no first-rate literary critic has even ventured into this field except C. S. Lewis (not quite first-rate?)."
Wonderful--thunder, the sound of. I hear it. I could use a good storm to liven things up.
I reread Campbell McGrath's "At the Ruins of Yankee Stadium" and continue to absolutely love the poem. I would like to write a similar poem for EWP, who died in June of last year.
I think at the conferences the authors talk too much. I would like to experiment with a different format. The author begins with 5 or so minutes as in the current format. Then the rest of the conference participants, excluding the author, discuss the paper. Then the author can have the floor for the last 5 or so minutes and respond to the most important issues and questions raised.
Or do it like chess: have a clock that gives the author only 10 minutes of talking time. He can allocate his 10 minutes any way he likes. But he has only 10 minutes.
I studied French again, and I started making flash cards for Old English words. There's a word, ælfscyne, which means beautiful as a fairy.
I went to the grocery. There was no flour and no cocoa but I did pick up some milk and raspberries and pens and index cards. Dinner tonight was bucatini tossed with olive oil and parmesan cheese.
I tried working on my guide to the econ PhD but was too tired.
I napped after the conference while listening to lectures on Beowulf and Anglo-Saxon England.
Mostly bored this evening. I haven't exercised in three days.
A copy of F. W. Bateson's Guide to English Literature arrived today. He's opinionated--and that's entertaining. "Chaucer criticism has multiplied recently, but apart from Dryden (preface to Fables, 1700) and Aldous Huxley (a brilliant essay on the pagan element in Chaucer in On the Margin, 1921), no first-rate literary critic has even ventured into this field except C. S. Lewis (not quite first-rate?)."
Wonderful--thunder, the sound of. I hear it. I could use a good storm to liven things up.
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