Academic tantrums

Yesterday I got an email from someone who was rejected from a conservation conference that I'm hleping to organise for a wildlife conservation society. They had a tantrum - lots of exclamation marks and capital letters saying that it was unfair they were rejected and they will never ever go to any meetings by the society and will resign their membership.

I was asked by someone outside the conservation field whether it was usual that we get such childish and temperamental responses to rejections. Sadly we often do - whether it be journal rejections, job rejections or conference rejections.

However I also told that person that anyone who’s been in the academic business for anytime though gets used to being rejected by journals/journals and takes it in their stride. And anyone who is in conservation really cannot be a good conservation biologist if they go berserk at the slightest slight or hard knock, and have such a fragile ego. Conservation is often about conflict, and trying to resolve this conflict through reasoned argument and diplomacy. You often get knocked down, but to quote Chumbawumba, you just have to "get up again".

I’m really of the opinion that someone who is really childish, temperamental, rude etc , will not last long in real-world conservation (sadly they may last longer in academia, but that's another story).
But that person will be a pain in the butt in the field, and so their resigning or refusing to go to your conservation meetings is like natural selection, weeding the weak and unfit from the gene pool. If they are going to ditch the meetings of the Number 1 society for conservation academics over something like this, then it’s their loss not ours …

So if you get rejected for a journal, meeting "suck it up buttercup!" and to quote Wil Wheaton "don't be a dick".

Easter musing

I was just wondering how Fox News and other right wing pundits would treat a high profile person who: disliked the bad behavior of banks and money lenders; said you should pay your taxes; supported a women's right to do what she wanted; was anti-violence; advocated giving benefits to the poor and universal healthcare; who in fact offered health care for free ! Oh and was Jewish and a foreigner to boot.... Happy Easter !

The dark side of St Paddy's day

I like an excuse to go out drinking as much as the next man, especially if the next man is a raging alcoholic, and the St Patrick's day celebrations in the US are a great excuse to go out, be merry, and listen to "diddly-diddly" music. As someone who has a lot of immediate family in Northern Ireland (my sister's side of the family and assorted nephews, neices and cousins) and who has spent quite a bit of time there, I laugh off many of America's strange perceptions of how the Irish celebrate St Patrick's day - leprachauns, green-dyed budweiser etc.


What I can't laugh off is those that joke about "Irish car bombs". The cocktail is about as Irish as Antonio Banderas - it was invented in Conneticut in the 1970s. As I witnessed over the weekend, many "Irish" American's think the name is hi-lar-ious. However, as many Americian tourists have found out, ordering one in a pub in Ireland itself, whether North or South, will simply earn you a steely stare, or possibly a slapping. The Irish don't think car bombs are the least bit funny!


During "the troubles" 3,526 people were killed, of whom 1855 were civilians. An additional 107,000 people were injured, crippled or maimed for life. This may not seem a huge number, but compare it to 341 US and UK deaths in the first Gulf war, or 3,517 US combat casulaties in the Iraq War.



Moreover, Ireland has a very small population and few families were uneffected by the troubles. To put it into context, one person in 50 of the Northern Irish population was killed or injured during the troubles and as a result hardly any families were uneffected. I personally remember having bomb squads and police visiting and evacuating my elementary school in England because of bomb threats, and classmates at school crying because their father (in the army) had been killed in Ireland.

So to the "real" Irish, an "Irish car bomb" is about as an amusing name for a cocktail as one called "the twin towers plane crash" or "the Sandy Hook massacre"... just sayin'...

The weary traveller returns

Paradise Bay, Antarctica

 

After a month of travelling I'm finally back, and find myself stuck in from of a computer with syllabi to write and over 1000 emails to deal with.

 

So until I can get over the backlog, here are a couple of pics from my adventures to whet your appetite ...

 

Paradise Bay, Antarctica

Tierra Del Fuego National Park, Argentina

 

Humpback whale calf, Antarctica

A quick update and a holiday Garland

My desktop is covered in half completed blog articles, perhaps I can get some of them finished over the Christmas break. The past couple of months I've been deluged with work but I've submitted, or had published, 6 scientific/conservation articles and graduated three graduate students, so even though I've not been a productive blogger, I've been a productive academic. My house is also full of trinkets and presents for people that I've made from "sculpey" clay, which has kept me busy while I'm not working.

In two days I'm off to the UK to visit family, then I have a day in the US before heading to Argentina and then onto Antarctica. There may be penguins, but there will definitely be a blog entry about my adventures. Until then ...

Englanders in New England

I’ve been a little slack in keeping up with this blog – one reason being that I was away on a road trip with my folks, and I’ve been a bit snowed under with work since I got back. Sorry ...

So how was the trip? I have to admit, it was a lot of fun. New England in October is ridiculously picturesque, with those vibrant fall colors and we had clear, crisp Autumnal weather for most of the trip, which essentially involved driving from one historic B&B or tavern to another.

My father and step-mother, however, despite being out of their native habitat, do not seem to get that (a) America is not England and (b) it is in the 21^st century. We constantly had questions about whether we had relatively normal things (e.g. TiVO, to the door mail service, instant coffee), yet surprise when English things aren’t routinely found in America (e.g. HP sauce):

“It's not like in England”

“Yes, that's because we're not in England!”

My step-mother also had a rather irritating habit of saying “Oh gosh, really?!” after everything we said. But still it was a nice trip.

The rather convoluted journey was aided by my new TomTom GPS which has Stephen Fry’s voice programmed into it. Navigating foreign terrain is so much calmer and less fretful with the calming tones of Mr Fry telling you where to got and asking to “turn left up ahead if you wouldn’ mind”, and “it would be terribly nice if you changed lanes now”. Towards the end of the trip if felt like we had him in the car with us, and we actually started conversing with the TomTom as if it were alive. Anyway, to cut a long story short, here’s a little summary of the trip:

Day 1 – A mammoth drive from Virginia, through Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, and finally finishing in Massachusetts. We stayed in the college town of  Hadley, at a quaint B&B built in 1795. For poster beds and crumpets for breakfast, who could want for anything more.

 

Day 2 - Up through MA, stopping in Portsmouth New Hampshire for lunch at the Portmouth Brewing Co (best known for the Smuttynose brand), for a flight of beers and to fill the trunk with “supplies”. Then we headed up the coast to Maine. Home for the next night was "the captain's house" - a quaint B&B on the shore. I love the Maine scenery, especially when it’s foggy and slightly mysterious. There were a few times when if felt like we were driving through a Stephen king novel.

 

Day 3 - The Captain’s house is famous for its food –and the day started with fantastic three course breakfasts starting with fruit soups and serious coffee. Behind the B&B was some extensive bogland with trails,that had to be explored. We were on a quest to try to find moose. However, some serious rain a few days previously meant that the trails were more like “the fire swamp” in the Princess Bride, and we expected to at any moment be attacked by rodents of unusual size. The weather started to close in, but not before hiking off to a coastal headland and looking for ghost ships amongst the fog and murk.

 

For the afternoon, we headed into “Bahaba”, a town with more lobster, moose and lighthouse crap for sail than you could shake a stick at. Also, there appeared to be only a dozen people in the whole town below the age of 60. Beer supplies were already running low, so they were replenished at Bar Harbor Brewing Co.

Back at the Captain’s house, a fire had been lit, hot chocolate was brewed up, and a couple of bottles of local wine were opened. Evening in front the fire place reading books on comfy chairs in front of crackling logs, was a perfect end to the day.

 

 

 

Day 4 - More excellent breakfast although our enjoyment was somewhat diminished by loud oil & gas executives in the adjacent dining room criticizing “nutjob”, “hippy”, “treehugging” environmentalists and criticizing the government for the temerity of trying to introduce some environmental safeguards. From the anecdotes that we heard about cutting corners and corruption, it seemed that the government wasn’t regulating the oil and gas industry enough. However we were far to British to make a scene and scoffed down our cranberry and blueberry pancakes with maple  syrup in silence, then slipped into diabetic comas.

More driving to the historic Jameson Tavern, in Freeport (Maine). As an aside, this tavern is reputed to be haunted by the ghost of a girl called Emily, and a mysterious lurking figure in a top hat. A block or so away, or foggy and stormy nights, the locals say you can sometimes the ghost of “The Dash”, a sunken schooner, possibly a smuggling vessel, Freeport’s own version of “The Black Pearl”. Ghosts aside, the tavern had the best pub fries ever, hot chocolate to die for, and some extremely nice ales (thumbs up for Dr Hyde's angry ale and Gritty's Halloween seasonal).

 

 

The entrepid adventurers, then turned away from the coast and headed inland into New Hampshire and we stayed in another 18^th century B&B in Hillsborough. Another four poster bed and a gorgeous fireplace furnished lounge. We popped into town and yet another tavern in a historic buidling : “Tooky Mills”. Although unlike most of our tavern visits, this one hadn’t always been a pub in the 19^th century it had been an underwear factory – which explained why it’s décor included long johns and bloomers.

 

Day 5 – We headed into the historic center of Hillsborough, which was quaint as quaint can be. There were a number of traditional crafts shops, and the family aided the New Hampshire economy by spending nearly a thousand dollars in the pewter shop alone. I’m now the proud owner of a tankard the size of my head. Basically a metal bucket with a lid, although technically I have to wait until my birthday next year to use it (it’s a present). The afternoon involved a bit of work and visiting a friend who was giving a lecture/book signing event on killer whales, then off along rural roads, driving through leafy avenues and passing mom and pop convenience stores and maple syrup stalls, as we tootled around New Hampshire. As dusk drew on, the scenery became more and more like “Sleepy Hollow” as if a pumpkin-headed horseman might leap out in front of us at any moment. Very atmospheric.

 

 

 

 

Vermont was also a great place to stock up on supplies. Any remaining space in the car was filled with cheeses, maple syrup, preserves, beer/cider and other such goodies.

The final night was spent in Bellows Falls, Vermont and we had a slap up final dinner in Leslie’s Tavern (est 1795): mushroom soup, mushroom ravioli and pumpkin cheesecake. Pumpkin spiced beer and local reds. Mmmm.

Leslie's Tavern, VT

Day 6 – Time to get back to Virginia, reality, and less face it, dieting – the trip had been extremely calorific and the liver cells needed a bit of a rest L But all in all, a good time was had by all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Proud to be a Murican

So I have finally become a us citizen (actually a dual citizen, as I could no more give up my UK citizenship than I could give up beer and chocolate - my Britishness is such an intrinsic part if me).

This is a process that has cost over a thousand dollars, has generated an inch thick file of documents and as an introduction into what it means to be in America, I have to say it does not flatter the country. Throughout, the whole process has been marred with chaos and incompetence. Lost paperwork that miraculously reappears after a call to the local congressional office - this has happened three times, and it smacks of corruption with a soupcon of evil, when who you know seems to help your process along, and without it your application is filed into the big round file on the floor. Also, letters contradicting them selves arrive from the powers that be (e.g. a  letter saying "we have not received your paper work and therefore are canceling your application" arrives on the same day another lands on the doorstep noting that my paperwork has been received and processed, etc etc etc.). Finally, the State of Virginia unilaterally deciding to change my name, leading to me have to petition the court to change it back...

Once I got my final notification that my citizenship "ceremony" was nigh, I thought the it was the end of the trail of trials and incompetence, but no, the immigration service had to have one last hurrah,

First, the address of the event said the immigration offices - it turned out it was actually in a community college's theater. As a result, a lot of participants actually went to the local offices, and missed the event.

Not as many as should have done though, because although the invitation letter distinctly said be the at 8 am without fail, immigration officers did not turn up until 8:30, to funnel 400 or so people crammed into a tiny vestibule with no idea what was going on. So there was time to get to the (closed) offices and then try to find the actual venue. Then came the farce of processing 400 people in said vestibule, with just half a dozen officers having to check everyone's paper work.

Finally everyone was seated and ready to progress by 10:30...

The initial part of the ceremony had us stand up as our original countries were called. The chief immigration officer making announcements was incredibly "chipper" yet profoundly patronizing. She so reminded me of Effie Trinket (from the Hunger Games) that when they called on me to stand, I felt like yelling out "I volunteer to be tribute!"

There then followed the oath. Now, myself, along with many others, were there to become dual citizens. However the oath you have to say has you renouncing all ties with other nations absolutely - effectively your first act as a citizen is to effectively lie. I could not bring myself to do that, so instead of swearing a blatant lie and to "absolutely and entirely renounce" my allegiance to the UK, I said my own oath: I "do not entirely renounce" ...

We were then congratulated and given little stars and stripes flags to wave, like a bunch of kindergarteners as they played a DVD of "I'm proud to be an American" * which the audience could sing along to.

Effie Trinket then reappears to congratulate us and talk to us like 3 year olds about how exciting this was and did we want to have pictures taken with immigration officials. I got out of there as soon as I possibly could, back into the jam-packed vestibule and the crush of 400 people trying to get their citizenship certificates, while a hundred or so more who had gone to the wrong location cried and pleaded to be allowed to do the citizenship ceremony. It was 1pm by the time I left.

By the end, a potentially solem and patriotic event had basically been reduced to the level of organization and grandeur of elementary school sports day. A lot of people were frustrated, irritated and upset on their first day of citizenhood, pride was not something felt by the majority.

Anyway, so now I'm a US citizen. I can vote. For the first time in ten years of paying taxes, at a rate more than double that of Mitt Romney I might add, I now no longer have taxation without representation. I think there was a bit disagreement about that in the past ...

*link to the karaoke version, so you can sing along too...