What's in a name?

Opening a foreign bank account is a task that appears to be universally difficult regardless of the host country or the origin of the applicant in question. However, since the alternative is to collect money from my adviser like a 12 year old, I kick started this task in my first week in Japan.

First, get "Alien Residency Card". This piece of plastic, like the American Social Security Number, provides you with an official tag so you can be hunted down and ... well, in America, shot but in Japan probably sat on by a Sumo wrestler for any misdeeds.

Okay, took a couple of weeks but: Check!

Next, fill in bank account application form.

This was entirely in Japanese but hey, that's why I ply my coworkers with sweets. Check!

Finally ... get form returned with complaints you don't know your own name.

No, wait, that wasn't part of the plan! I got my name wrong? Do I take on an alter-ego on alternate Wednesdays I never knew about? How exciting! I check the form. No, there is my normal signature plain as day. A bit scribbly perhaps, but perfectly legible. (Intentionally so, incidentally. If a man steals my bank card at least I'll have the satisfaction of knowing he'll be signing himself "Elizabeth"). So what the...?

I take the form to our departmental secretary. My signature, she explains, does not match the name on my Alien Registration Card. I look blank. She runs her fingers along both lines:

Elizabeth ...

Elizabeth Jane ...

You've got to be kidding me?! Apparently, Japanese people do not have middle names. In fact, I discovered upon this being revealed, this can be a problem for scientific publications since the number of Japanese names is relatively small leading to many authors with indistinguishable paper citations. To avoid this, many Japanese scientist actually add a fictitious middle initial into their publication name though not, it appears, into their bank accounts.

So a new form with brand new signature that I've never used before. *Scratches head* Ho hum! Meanwhile, I'm off to ask my adviser for pocket money.

Italian epilogue

Guess what? Exile at a conference in Tuscany, not so bad. Beautiful countryside and they fed us incredible Italian food since foraging for ourselves around the remote Abbey would have resulted in the decimation of the local black & white pig population they are trying to reintroduce (and possibly the starvation of the theorists).

Naturally, the pasta, pork, cheeses and hams scintillating scientific conversations combined with the Abbey's own wine selection stimulating talks made the conference a success. To my pleasure, there were a large number of galaxy focussed talks as well as ones on star formation which I'm still in denial about researching. Fucking stars.

There were also some of the best conference freebies. I came away with a backpack (particularly useful since I thought I would have to buy one before climbing Fuji), a tee-shirt (issued in an effort to keep track of us during the school conference outing), an inflatable beach ball (what eminent Astronomer doesn't need one?) and a wind-up torch which I'm using now ...

... which brings me to my current location. 11125 m above the western Siberian lowlands. I actually have a great plane seat. It's on an exit row by the toilets so the next seat is about 2m in front. The only slight draw back is that both my TV and reading light are broken and it's getting dark. In my wide awake state, my sanity has been saved by this small conference flashlight. I shall probably progress to writing a best seller and the story of its beginning will rival J. K. Rowling's coffee shop tales.

The flashlight was originally handed out to allow us to walk back to our accommodation after dark. However, the only time I tried this I was apprehended by a group of wild boar and beat a hasty retreat. This is not the first time that I've wished I'd brought my hockey stick to a conference.

Naked ambition

Welcome to the Renaissance city of Florence; home to the great Medici family, whose members ruled (for about 400 years), patronized the arts (all the big names), stuffed in a few popes (highly corrupt) and were murdered (big mistake) in the city. They shared this home with artists Dante, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and Botticelli, are buried here along with Galileo and also enjoyed the architectural wonders of the Duomo (Florence's dominating building), Palazzo Pitti (because everyone needs a palace) and Santa Croce (tomb admiration spot).

However, possibly the most famous object in Florence is the 17ft sculpture of an entirely nude Biblical King. Michelangelo's David is housed in the Galleria dell'Accademia and it is this perfection of naked male beauty that I made a fairly direct beeline to see (in the name of art, I assure you). Having seen many pictures of David on postcards / news reports / America's most wanted I was surprised exactly how impressive the statue is in ... well, not exactly the flesh, but the marble perhaps. Dominating the room, the scale and preservation of the figure is incredible. Perhaps David is a little set in his ways but his silence is commendable and he's certainly someone I'd consider a second date with. It is noticable that the seating around the statue is almost entirely rear facing. The people resting their weary feet there were coincidentally predominately female.

Apart from David, the museum houses a hall of sculptured heads (creepy) and many Biblical icon art. I examined gold leaved graphic reproductions of Christ's crucifix wounds, refused to meet the blank stares from the hall of heads and then departed to scoot to the top of the Duomo; Hello Florence, I see you all!

JPEG Science

Spineto Abbey; the building once populated with some of the world's most religious individuals was this hot Tuesday afternoon, populated by some of the world's most eminent astrophysicists.

I sat in the far corner of the room, listening as one of the leaders in my field stepped up to the podium to discuss the properties of young galaxies.

"As you can see," the speaker began, gesturing to the slide behind her. "this galaxy is a strong Lyman-alpha absorber, where the spectral line has been redshifted about 300 km/s. Despite the high signal to noise, we see a large fraction of highly ionised gas in the galactic outflows suggesting the presence of low metallicity Wolf-Rayet stars. The trends in the composite spectra imply..."

Well, anyway, I was a theorist. A galaxy was involved. It was a long way away and was spewing hot gas everywhere. Got it. However, at this point an interruption came in the form of a question. Most likely, this was a probing, hard hitting point that would throw into doubt the very nature of the Universe itself.

"What does it look like?" the petulant cry went out to be greeted with murmured agreement and nods.

"I'm sorry!" the speaker turned to her audience with an expression of a mother telling a favoured child it cannot have ice cream that day. "We don't have Hubble Space Telescope data yet. I can show you an HI image though?" she offered as a compromise.

There were grumbles has people resigned themselves to looking at graphs.

JPEG science; tried here first, given to the BBC news after we've all ogled.

Twilight

[Twilight spoilers in this post, although I don't think it's possible to reveal anymore than the movie trailer.]

"The 'Twilight' line is over there," the cheerful Border's bookshop assistant directed me.

"Uh, actually, I wasn't ... wow," I glanced at my watch. I guessed the new 'Twilight' sequel was due to be released at midnight. It was currently just before 9pm and the queue wrapped around the store. Maybe I should have been there for that book.

At the time, I was considering reading material for the flights to and from Japan this summer. Personally, I have some faith in the mass opinion of novels, largely due to my passionate love of the Harry Potters, an obsession shared with the 15 million who also grabbed the 'Deathly Hallows' last year. Yet my friends had more dubious review than the people in Borders that evening.

"It's just a teenage love story," one remarked.

I considered my state of mind after 12 hours in a airborne tin box. That night, I ordered a copy on Amazon.

By the time I stepped off the plane, I'd killed 2/3rds of 'Twilight' so I could only describe myself as absorbed. The writing style I cannot honestly give more than a C+. The adjectives are repetitive and the sentence structure simplistic rather than elegant. That said, I walked away with a clear view of the small north Washington State town setting, where the thickly populated trees continually dripped rain drops. The plot is somewhat predicable, not least because it is entirely encapsulated on the back cover. The characterisation though, is good. Edward is portrayed as a moody, secretive and staggeringly handsome boy-god with the added excitement that he might destroy you at any moment. What girl wouldn't go weak at the knees? His personality weakens somewhat as his secrets are reveals (to Bella, the reader has probably looked on the back cover) as does the plot line which focuses obsessively on Edward's decision about whether to take Bella to dinner or have her for dinner. The ending climax also feels forced. It would have been more exciting if Edward decided the way to his heart really was through his stomach and devoured the girl (after all, that has been the build up all book). Frankly, it'd also be a more accurate ending (metaphorically speaking, at least) to most adolescent relationships.

My room-mate at the conference I'm currently attending is a flush with the glow from her new relationship. I've lent her the book. Forewarned is forearmed, after all.

Griping about paradise

Tomorrow I reluctantly leave Japan to attend a conference in Italy. This enforced participation means that I will be staying in an abbey set in the Tuscan countryside, set halfway between Rome and Florence and ... No, I'm not gaining the sympathy of my audience, am I?

Let me amend slightly by saying that Italy is a beautiful country and a delight to visit. It's just that, being European, it's not currently quite as exciting to me as Japan. Since outrageously I am expected to work during the week here, my first narrow-eyed gripe comes from having to give up a couple of weekends I'd like to spend stalking Prince of Tennis cos-players exploring Tokyo. The day I fly back is also my birthday, which will be 7 hours shorter because of the time difference. Very sad!

No, I'm still feeling a radiant "lucky bugger" coming from you all. Let me continue...

The talks during this conference run from 9 am until 8:30 pm at night. Aha! I hear you say, but that's because there's a HUGE lunch break for you to zip out and run around the whole of Italy, right? Indeed, you observant critters, there is a siesta period that includes lunch from 1 pm - 4:30 pm. But ...

... the abbey is in the middle of nowhere ... I'm sorry, I mean "far from the noise and haste of everyday life" (as the webpage assures me). The only way to reach civilization is via the conferences shuttle bus.

Well, feh! You might cry. You're a scientist, since when have you ever needed real people to socialise with?

The conference information continues: "Internet access will be at €3/hour. There is no option of a flat rate for the week."

This is now starting to sound like something from "The Shining". None of you will leave until you've solved star formation. None of you ...

On the spot

Elizabeth! Angry!

You make a chicken burger?! You don't even know how to open a bread roll, let alone produce something worthy for that customer! You're the most useless employee and ....

Elizabeth! Sad!

... and it used to be a CHICKEN! A cute, feathery bundle of clucky joy and now look at it! LOOK AT IT! It's crushed and covered with breadcrumbs! Oh the pain!

Improv. comedy is, I have to say, decidedly harder than it looks. Someone feeds you a line and you literally have to say the first thing that comes into your head. Well, heaven help us all! I suppose I should just be grateful it was clean and moderately good English.

To be a good improviser, your response in a game to an outside prompt (like above) or to another actor needs to (1) "accept" (the said line by using it), (2) "advance" (the story line) and (3) "charm" (your audience. Ideally, at least three people should drop dead from asphyxiation due to laughter). In this, my first attempt during a workshop, I aimed for words in a recognisable language. Failure to do so fulfilled number 3, but lost points on numbers 1 & 2.

I should add the desired language was English, not Japanese. The glassy eyed stare while internal translation occurs lacks .... punch. Especially if it is indefinite.

Now say that again, but in the style of George W. Bush

I want to make it clear that we speak only English. No foreign language is allowed at this Tokyo event. The time delay to allow translation into English is so long that the words are no longer a WOMD. If the words never appear in English, then they do not mean anything to anyone. I emphasize: only native English speakers. No Europeans allowed.