Author: The Grey Literature

This is the personal blog of Benjamin Gregory Carlisle PhD. Queer; Academic; Queer academic. "I'm the research fairy, here to make your academic problems disappear!"

Jewish General Hospital

Which one would you have gone to?
Which one would you have gone to?

Here’s a nifty home experiment that you can do without a grown-up! Try a Google Maps search for “Jewish General Hospital, Montréal.” You’ll get two results. Try to guess which one is the real Jewish General hospital. I’ll give you a hint: It’s not the one labelled “A. Jewish General Hospital.” The real one is clear on the other side of the city, and kind of near my home.

So this morning I had an appointment with the ethicist at the Jewish General Hospital. I looked up the location of the hospital, and when I got the Google Maps result, I thought that there were maybe two “Jewish General Hospitals”—one that was the Jewish General simpliciter, and one that was the Sir Mortimer Jewish General. Since no one had ever mentioned to me that I was going to Sir Mortimer Hospital, I figured that I should go to the other one.

A 35-minute Métro ride and a 5-minute bus ride later, I was at the hospital right on time, at 9 o’clock sharp. I was at the Notre-Dame hospital. It turns out that the first address that’s given as a result in that Google Maps search is actually a completely different hospital that doesn’t have “Jewish” in its name at all. Quelle surprise.

I called everyone that I could think of who was in Montréal, but no one was picking up at 9h on a lundi. I thought about hailing a taxi, but then I remembered that I didn’t have any money. I walked back to the Sherbrooke Métro and called Info Santé. For those of you in Ontario, it’s the Québec equivalent of TeleHealth. She was able to tell me where the Jewish General Hospital was. I found a map of the city in the Métro and looked for a hospital on Chemin de la Côte-Sainte-Catharine, and the nearest Métro stop.

Turns out there are two hospitals on that street, Sainte-Justine and Jewish General. I went to the wrong one first. Fortunately, they weren’t too far apart.

I arrived a bit over an hour late, and missed the appointment. I was still able to talk to the ethicist afterward, explain what happened, and attend another meeting, but it was a less-than-promising start to today.

Philosophy clothing

I never liked Nietzsche that much

So the Philosophy Department sent out an email last week, indicating that they had designed some clothing that they would have made, and that we could order some.

They are selling an “übermensch” t-shirt (from Nietzsche), which I didn’t like all that much. I probably would have bought one that said “Nietzsche is pietzsche,” though.

The other thing that they said we could order is a sort of sweater-thing with the McGill crest and the word “Philosophy” written on it. So I got one of those. First time I’ve ever bought school clothing, I think.

And then I remembered an idea I had an idea for a fantastic t-shirt back in my undergrad. In order to understand why it’s funny, I’ll have to explain a bit of philosophy of science.

Imagine you’re a geologist and you want to collect empirical data to support the claim that all emeralds are green. You collect a bunch of samples that support your hypothesis, and you think you’re doing a pretty good job, but then Nelson Goodman shows up and says, “Those are pretty good data, but they also equally support the hypothesis that all emeralds are grue.”

So, like a dummy, you don’t just ignore the kid and keep working, but rather you ask, “What do you mean by ‘grue?'”

And of course he answers and says, “Grue means green before January 1, 2050, but blue afterward.”

You say, “That’s just silly.”

Goodman goes on: “And bleen means blue before January 1, 2050, but green afterward.”

So you try to explain to him that it doesn’t make sense that the colour of emeralds would change at an arbitrary date in the future.

“Oh, they don’t change colour. They’re still grue after January 1, 2050.”

And then you say that the colours grue and bleen don’t make sense because they have a weird sort of disjunctive definition. But the problem is that Goodman was raised by hippies, and for him, grue and bleen are more basic concepts that green and blue. And for that matter, according to Goodman, the concepts of blue and green look really suspect to him.

“Am I really supposed to believe in this mystical colour called ‘green,'” asks Goodman incredulously, “that emeralds are supposed to be, and that they will be grue until January 1, 2050 and then magically change to bleen afterward?”

And in this way, you and Goodman argue for hours until one of you goes home, having been beaten black and bleen by the other.

Anyway, my t-shirt idea is the following:

A green t-shirt with “The colour of this shirt is grue” written on it. Or a blue t-shirt with “The colour of this shirt is bleen” written on it. Or maybe something like “This shirt just changed colour from grue to bleen.”

I’ve always wanted a bleen t-shirt.

The Olympics

I have been saying for years that there should be two Olympics, rather than one.

In the first Olympics, there would be mandatory drug testing for all athletes for all drugs, every month for four years prior to the Olympics in which they will compete. I’m always half-surprised when I find out that an Olympic athlete is caught taking performance-enhancing drugs. I mean, there has to be a way to tell if people are taking steroids or the like. If we have the ability to prevent performance-enhancing drug scandals, why don’t we use it? This would inject the Olympics with some much-needed credibility.

In the second Olympics, there would be no drug testing for anyone, ever. Athletes would be allowed, and even encouraged, to see just how far they can contort the human form in order to gain an advantage over more “traditional” humans. It could be sponsored by Pfizer or Merck-Frost or something. At least this way, athletes who are taking steroids would be able to do so under the care of a good physician, rather than having to inject steroids in secret. I think this would be very entertaining. In time, there could even be a division for bionic athletes or those with xenotransplantations.

Just imagine! You could someday watch a wrestling match between a cyborg and a minotaur! The minotaur could also be useful in enforcing the strict rules regarding steroids for the first Olympics. Those who fail the drug test would be thrown into its labyrinth. I’ve thought of everything.

I sometimes wonder …

Here is a quote from a chat I recently had with Pickles.

Murph: I sometimes wonder what 2005 Murph would think if he met 2010 Murph.

Pickles: Yeah. I wonder what 2015 Murph will be like. Or 2015 Pickles?

Murph: We’ll live in the same city again and get a house together, and there will be children there for some reason, and your old roommate Karen and maybe Kolten will live with us in the house. And every day there will be theme music and hilarious escapades with a good moral conclusion.

Pickles: The part of Murph will be played by Bob Saget.

This might seriously be the best we can hope for, guys.

Fixing my pants

My hulking-out pants
My hulking-out pants

So for a couple years now, whenever I went to the gym, I wore this old pair of sweaty pants that had a small hole on the right side. It was along the outside of the leg, so you couldn’t see anything, but it was immediately below the pocket, and slowly getting bigger.

Since I haven’t been feeling well lately, I’ve been stuck inside, and so I finally got around to fixing it.

I couldn’t find the end of the black thread, so I used the red thread instead. I figure, they’re hulking-out pants, not fashion pants. And I did a terrible job with the stitching, so it won’t last. But that’s okay, because it’s red stitching, so it was bad to begin with.

But on the upside, when I’m feeling better, there won’t be a giant hole in my pants when I go to work out. :)

Help wanted

If I were ever in the position where I was hiring someone, for any position whatsoever, I would find it terribly tempting to add “Circus experience an asset” to the end of the Help Wanted ad.

Something along the lines of: “Executive assistant needed, must type 60 WPM, circus experience an asset.”

No matter what job you’re application you’re looking at, you can always make it more interesting by adding “Circus experience an asset” to the end.

All done my work for this semester now

As of 17h15 today, December 26th, 2009, I have officially finished all my work for this semester. My last essay is due tomorrow, and I just finished it now and emailed it to my professors.

When the classes ended for the semester, I had no idea what I was going to write about. I was pretty much done by the 24th, and I didn’t work on it at all yesterday. Then today, after going out for a bit with my mother and younger sister, I came back home and put the finishing touches on my essay.

It’s an essay regarding a particular philosopher/cognitive scientist and his take on, among other things, a man named Ian Waterman with a very interesting neuropathy which left him without a sense of touch or proprioception below the neck. I’m happier with how it turned out than I thought I would be.

Actually, I’m reasonably proud of the work I’ve done this semester, all in all. :)

I’m going to spend the next few days relaxing and collecting my own thoughts about the last few months and getting ready for another action-packed semester. Actually, I really hope it isn’t as action-packed as the last one. I need a break.

My bassoon teacher

My former bassoon teacher
My former bassoon teacher

On Christmas Eve, my former bassoon teacher was featured on the front page of the Beacon Herald, the local newspaper in Stratford.

I remember the giant inflatable penguin, but she seems to have gotten her hands on a bunch of other inflatable decorations since I moved away.

I have a lot of fond memories of bassoon lessons with her. I remember when she taught me to make my own reeds, and the times she would threaten to hit me with knitting needles when I messed up. When I went away to university, she traced the outline of her needles on one page of my orchestral excerpt so that I would remember not to mess up my audition. I also remember the time she smuggled me into the orchestra loft at the Festival Theatre and all the cats that lived with her.

I like to think that much of what I know about teaching I learned from her.