Tag Archives: Life

Googling grad students

I googled “grad student” along with a number of different search terms. Here are the results, scientifically speaking:

Google grad student

The lesson here isn’t that you shouldn’t go to grad school… Just make sure you always use a log scale.

Edit (20130903): This plot was featured on PhD Comics! http://www.phdcomics.com/comics.php?f=1626.

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Who cares about science?

Too bad.

One of the most self-damning flaws of scientific research is that, except in the rarest of cases, you don’t get to see the true impact of your current work until much, much later in life. Still. How awesome would it be to be Tim Berners-Lee right now? “I invented the Internet.” Or Thomas Edison: “I invented the light bulb.” Or Freud: “I invented sexy thoughts.”

Take Berners-Lee and the World Wide Web. Back in 1989, computers were clunky, command-line interfaces that couldn’t talk to each other, at least not in any significant way. Sir Tim Berners-Lee changed that. As a young scientist at CERN, he saw an opportunity to combine existing computer networking protocols—the Internet—with the newfangled concept of hypertext, and out popped the World Wide Web—the “Internet.” Now, at age 56, Berners-Lee gets industry awards, a knighthood, honorary doctorates left and right—but not enough to inspire the masses. Those who lack in age rarely recognize their deficiency, and the promise of unlimited speaking engagements at universities and conferences 20 years down the line won’t push today’s teenagers from TVs to test tubes. Maybe the prospect of being knighted will do the trick. But I doubt it. If professions were subject to natural selection, researchers would be extinct, for an ironic lack of reproducibility.

Other technical people are generally a bit quicker than the public to catch on to the significance of a scientific breakthrough—surprise—but even so, it’s only within the scientific community—a tiny fraction of it at that—that any such recognition resonates. Maybe that’s why relatively few young Americans today are excited about research. They don’t care about recognition from the scientific community—why should they? From the outside looking in, the community is small, quirky, and rarely produces a viral YouTube video or Top 10 hit.

While science only brings forever-delayed gratification, working at Apple, Google, or Intel lets you to point to an iPhone or new search feature or computer and say “I created that”—sure, with 100 other people, but what of it? Siri’s still pretty damn cool. Our current Internet-dominated era has that advantage, twofold: Anyone can learn to program and create an iPhone app or website—low barrier to creation—and anyone can find their work going viral via YouTube or Reddit—low barrier to recognition. It’s a simple feedback cycle—create, be recognized for creation—and few can resist its temptations. It’s hard to overstate how good it feels to be able to say “I created that”—for many people, it makes all the hard work worth it. That’s what drives them to work late nights and weekends. That’s what makes them say, “I love my job!” and truly mean it.

But imagine going to Google to work on Android, then finding out after a year on the job that it won’t be released for 20 more years, and even then with only 10% probability. You’ll have to wait two decades before anyone knows what the hell you’re talking about: “Hold on… You make androids? Is that ethical?” Until then, it’s all blank stares and polite smiles and changed subjects. I mean, it sure does look promising, but can I get it on Amazon?

Read any popular science article: “Scientists warned, ‘This is an extremely promising breakthrough, but it’s at least 5-10 years away from commercial deployment'” (see ScienceDaily or MIT’s Technology Review for more egregious real-world examples). And while it may be honest science journalism, Teenage Me hears that and thinks, “10 years—that’s half my life! Where did I put that Google offer letter?” That’s the burden of the scientific profession, the psychological barrier to entry that pushes many away from research careers, perhaps after a first unfulfilling undergrad research experience where feedback was lacking and progress was uncertain.

So what can we do about it?

Universities can encourage faculty and graduate students to take extended leave from their home institutions to work in the private sector, to start companies, to get involved in public policy. Research institutions can raise salaries for research scientists and other technical staff. Researchers can eradicate the academic superiority complex.

Government can fund more research, more education, more graduate and postdoctoral fellowships. Forward-thinking politicians can create more research jobs that don’t require a PhD.

The rest of us can learn some science—not Alka-Seltzer volcanoes and Coke-and-Mentos science, but real-world stuff: climate change, battery technology, the power grid, the Internet, DNA, neuroscience, medical imaging, computer hardware, energy conversion, programming, electric cars, wireless communications. We can figure out how the world around us works. It’s not magic, and when more than just technology creators understand how stuff works—when technology users get it too—innovative ideas emerge organically.

Science seems to be content with enabling, not creating, future technology. And that’s OK—the future is built on scientific progress. But the engineer in me can’t accept that. As a researcher in semiconductor devices, I straddle physics and chemistry and materials science and electrical engineering, and I can’t possibly divorce the science from the applications and still stay motivated enough to keep working on it. The thought of spending my life working on something that will never see the light of day—literally—terrifies me, and not a single day passes in which I don’t think about how I can best contribute—not just to my field, as is the nominal goal of the PhD, but to our daily lives.

Although the ivy has receded, particularly at startup-friendly institutions like Stanford and Berkeley and MIT, there’s still an unacceptably large divide between academic research and industry, between basic science and applied technology. We need researchers who are as comfortable talking to politicians and electricians and farmers as to colleagues and science reporters and the ever vague and ill-defined “general public.” We need researchers who can and will bring to market the incredible world-changing potential that every journal paper promises. And we need non-researchers—entrepreneurs, teachers, politicians—who innovate like researchers: logically, relentlessly, radically.

That could be you.

When you think about who you want to be when you grow up, imagine telling your kids in 30 years: “I made you AND the world you live in.” Take that, Freud.

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Quora: Going to grad school in engineering

I was asked to answer a question on Quora about grad school and preparing for a career in photovoltaics and device engineering—presumably because I’m going to grad school and preparing for a career in photovoltaics and device engineering—and I thought the question and answer might be helpful for those considering going to grad school in engineering.


Here’s the question and context:


How do I choose a graduate program and prepare for a career in solid-state device engineering?

I have a B. Sc. in Electrical Engineering and I would like to work with photovoltaics / solid state device physics. My undergraduate degree is not quite enough to let me work in that field outright. So I’m looking to do a graduate degree.

I applied for a 2-year M. Sc. in Physics program and I was assessed for 2 years’ worth of bridging subjects, for a total of 4 years of study. I think that 4 years is quite a long time. The good thing is that I’ve been talking to a professor who does condensed matter physics and photovoltaics and he’s willing to let me join his group.

On the other hand, I have an option to do a 2-year M. Sc. in EE in the field of Microelectronics or Power Electronics. Which one will be a good way to bridge into photovoltaics?

At this university, the Physics department is the more prolific publisher of research output, both locally and internationally. Not that I’m super rich (or else I wouldn’t be asking this question), let’s take the issue of finances out of the equation. Let’s focus on the time investment (I’m 25) and academic learning benefits.

Time-wise, I’m inclined towards EE; but personally, Physics is more appealing to me. Short term, I’d like to know (with an M. Sc. in Physics) if I can compete with microelectronics engineers for solid state device engineering jobs. Long term, I’d like to do a PhD (for which I’ll need publications to get into a program) in photovoltaics. My professional outlook right after finishing my M. Sc. is that I’ll need to work for a while first before I can proceed to do my PhD. An industry job is preferable since it usually pays more. On the subject of publications, I will have achieved that during my stint in the M. Sc. program.

Conversely, I think that doing the Microelectronics track would let me focus with just the necessary training for solid state device physics and do away with the unnecessary physics topics. I would also have a wider range of career choices, not just in photovoltaics.

What are your thought processes when faced with a dilemma like this? What other factors do you consider?


And here’s my answer:


Simple answer: Go with EE.

Let me explain.

Consider these questions:

“Do I want to go to grad school?”

For you, the answer is clearly “Yes.” But if it’s not 100% clear, stop now and think hard.

“Masters or PhD?”

It sounds like you want to pursue a masters degree now and a PhD eventually. Keep that in mind.

“Do I want to go into industry or academia?”

When you’re deciding whether and where to go to grad school, pondering the industry vs. academia fork in the road will guide your decision and give you a lot of insight into your own ambitions. If you want to go the academic route, I strongly suggest pursuing a PhD as soon as possible—jointly with or immediately after your MSc. But from your question, it sounds like you’re preparing for an industry career in device engineering rather than academic research.

“Where do I want to be in 10 years?”

Suppose in a decade from now you want to be doing innovative engineering work in the photovoltaics or microelectronics industry.

How do I get there?”

Work backwards.

  • How many years of industry experience do I need before I can reach my goal? As many as possible. It can take the better part of a year to get acclimated and truly integrated in a new work environment, be it company or school, and it’s hard to innovate before you know the existing system and the current state of the art.
  • What academic background do I need? At least a couple terms of related engineering coursework beyond the BSc level. Preferably the experience with cutting-edge research that accompanies PhD-level work in any science or engineering discipline.
  • How long will it take to get a PhD? Around four years (after the MSc).
  • How long will it take to get a MSc? Two to four years, in your case.

Simple math gives you 10 – 4 – (2 to 4) = AMAP (as many as possible).

Simple math tells you to choose the 2-year masters program in EE.

“Am I committed to getting a PhD?”

If there’s a chance that you might stop after the masters and forgo a PhD—and that’s quite likely if you enter a 4-year MS-only program—go for a masters in engineering, not physics. A masters degree alone in physics is often considered to be impractical at best and useless at worst. Although physical intuition is extremely valuable, you’ll end up taking a lot of required classes that would be useful for academic research but not-so-useful for engineering in industry. The key realization is that if your ultimate goal is to work in engineering, you should work in engineering environments (e.g.,, academic or industry research labs) as much as possible. Sure, classes are invaluable preparation, but extra classes often yield diminishing returns while extra engineering experience yields increasing returns, at least at these time scales. Given a fixed amount of time in grad school, then, minimize the length of your MSc program in favor of the PhD.

This line of reasoning suggests that if you’re committed to following through with the PhD, it might be logical to pursue a MSc in physics first. But in your case, however committed you may be, that still may not be true. Those two extra years of “bridging subjects”—and tuition payments—are a deal-breaker.

***Caveat: If you can stretch that MSc in physics into a PhD with the same group (i.e., overlap the 4 years of MSc classes with the ~4 extra years for the PhD, for a total of ~6-7 years)—AND you’re committed to working in photovoltaics—go for it and don’t look back.

“Did I choose the right field?”

If you’re going to do research and work in photovoltaics eventually anyway, does it matter? The only difference this makes in a grad student’s life is where you turn in your forms and where you get your free food. And in practice, there’s very little difference between solid-state physics and EE semiconductor device physics. In either case, you can and will take classes in quantum physics, statistical mechanics, and solid-state, and as long as you find a research advisor working in photovoltaics or a related area, you’ll get the experience you need to be successful in the field. Research groups in solid-state devices are often highly interdisciplinary anyway: My group in the MIT EECS department has students and researchers from EE, physics, materials science, chemical engineering, chemistry, and mechanical engineering.

“Which area will best prepare me for a career in photovoltaics: Microelectronics or Power Electronics?”

Microelectronics. Like photovoltaics, micro/nanoelectronics is deeply rooted in semiconductor device physics, and you’ll find that many processing technologies and techniques are shared between the two fields. That said, if you want to work on developing utility-scale photovoltaic systems, taking some power electronics classes would be very useful.

***Here are a couple other things to keep in mind as you decide your future:

1) I don’t believe that you need to work in industry after your MSc before you can start on your PhD.

  • I went straight into a MS/PhD program in EE immediately after graduating from undergrad. Many grad programs in EE and other engineering disciplines have combined MSc/PhD programs—less so in physics—so pursuing both at once would save you a round of applications and up to a year of total time to graduation. But if getting admitted to PhD programs directly is a concern, consider applying to a MSc program that offers the possibility of continuing on for the PhD (e.g., by taking qualifying exams or petitioning). At many schools, it’s easier to stay in than to get in.
  • If you don’t apply to grad school while you’re still in school, it will be difficult to get the required recommendation letters from professors—note that letters from professors are the most important part of your application and carry much more weight than letters from engineers or managers in industry. Besides, you can often do internships if you want industry experience.
  • Many engineers in industry have told me that it’s very difficult to go back to school (for a PhD) after working for a while—you get used to a certain lifestyle (e.g., predictable work schedule, weekends off, no classes, a solid paycheck) that you won’t be able to maintain as a grad student. And once you get married and have a kid or two running around the house, it will become even more difficult to go back to school.

2) I think it’s incredibly valuable for anyone involved in science and engineering—both in industry and in academia—to be exposed to the microelectronics industry and Moore’s Law (the self-fulfilling prophecy driving transistor density in integrated circuits to double every two years). The former touches nearly every aspect of our lives today, and the latter represents a historical upper limit on the time derivative of innovation—pure exponential growth for 4 decades. And although very few (if any) other sectors have growth potential anywhere near that afforded by transistor scaling, I can think of no industry that would not benefit from the relentless driving force of a Moore-esque imperative.

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Life Lessons: Important things that most people haven’t been told

What are some important things to know about (life) that most people haven’t been told?

That was a question I came across on Quora today. For the uninitiated, Quora lets you ask and answer questions about anything, kind of like a custom Wikipedia with community voting. I highly recommend checking it out.

Anyway, one guy’s answer to the question above was so intriguing and honest that I had to share it with you. Here are the first 3 points that Marcus Geduld brought up (read the other 8 on Quora here):


1) Marry your best friend.

I am truly amazed that I have the most successful marriage of all my friends — going strong after fifteen years. Most of my friends are amazed, too, because, growing up, I was the geek who couldn’t get a girlfriend. I had almost no relationships until I was in my mid-twenties. I got married at 29. I’m now 45 and still deeply in love. Meanwhile, I have seen so many of my friends get divorces and/or grind their teeth through loveless, combative relationships.

What I’ve noticed about these people is that, 90% of the time, (a) they got married really young and (b) they mistakenly thought that long-term romances work best when when they’re based entirely on lust and trivial shared tastes (e.g. “We both like the same bands.”)

Sometimes, I hear people say things like, “I’ve been dating this guy for a year. We get along okay, but sometimes I think about leaving… How do I know if he’s ‘the one’?” This makes me really sad, because it’s SO obvious to me that my wife is ‘the one.’ Why? Because she’s my best friend. Whenever anything good or bad happens to me, she’s the person I want to tell! When I need advice, she’s the person I run to! When I need to laugh, she’s the person I joke around with!

If you don’t KNOW that the other person is ‘the one,’ he’s not (or she’s not). And though it SUCKS to be alone — believe me, I know. I was alone for YEARS — it’s better than settling. DON’T settle. You’ll STILL be alone. It is very possible to be alone while being in a relationship. Many people are.

(Let me be really clear about what I mean by “don’t settle.” I don’t mean “look for someone who is perfect.” No one is perfect. I mean that if you feel luke-warm about someone, he’s not the one. If the person you’re with makes you continually unhappy, she’s not the one. Don’t settle for THAT because “it beats being alone.” It doesn’t. You evolved to think it does. Your brain will continually tell you that it does. It doesn’t.)

The other sad thing I hear is “Bill is my best friend. We have so much in common. He’s always there for me. We talk for hours. I completely trust him and we have the exact same sense of humor … but … I don’t know … the spark isn’t there…”

When I hear this, I don’t say anything, because it’s none of my business, but I want to scream “GET OVER THIS ‘SPARK’ THING! STOP BELIEVING IN HOLLYWOOD VISIONS OF CATCHING SOMEONE’S EYE ACROSS A CROWDED ROOM! Jesus Christ! You found someone you connect with on SO many levels, and you’re not getting down on your knees and proposing?!? Do you think you’re going to find 30 more people like that in your life?!?”

The “spark” doesn’t last, anyway. I’m not saying that sex dies or anything. I’m just saying that incredibly exciting, new romance feeling inevitably fades. But, if you’re lucky, what comes next is much, much better. You spend years in that loving, warm place with the person you know you want to grow old with. And if you have good communication with someone, the spark can come later, even if it’s not there at first.

Lots of people seem to learn this after a long time and a lot of pain. They marry the “bad boy” or the “hot chick” instead of their best friends, because doing so is more exciting. Then those marriages — which are based on nothing — fail. Sometimes, if these people are lucky, they later marry those best friends who they should have married in the first place. If they’re unlucky, they can’t, because the best friends have moved on.

2) There’s no such thing as a “grown up,” and if you try to be one, you’ll wind up becoming a poser at best and a killjoy at worst.

First of all, if you’re waiting for that magic time when you’re finally THERE, give it up. As I ease into the middle age, I can see it will never happen. I will never have learned what I need to lean in order to be a grownup. I will never be 100% confident. I will never stop failing…

People who seem like they have it all together are either faking it or living such incredibly boring lives that they they never face any challenges.

Let me be clear that I am a responsible person. So if all “grownup” means to you is “someone who does the dishes,” then — yes — I’m a grown up. But it’s not like when I was younger, I was a child … a child … a child … a child … and then I reached some particular birthday and — BOING — I was an adult.

God, I HATE people who think it’s important to be grown up. They are no fun at all. They are the people who, if you show any enthusiasm that goes beyond what you have to do at your job, inevitably say, “Looks like someone has too much time on his hands!”

Don’t be that guy!

As you go through life — especially when you pass through your 20s, 30s, 40s and 50s — continually ask yourself this: “When was the last time I played in the mud?”

It is VITAL that you play in the mud! You MUST do this or you’ll lose your soul! I am somewhat speaking in metaphor. If you don’t like mud, that’s fine. But when did you last finger paint? When did you last get into a pillow fight with your friends (or with your spouse?) When did you last sing a loud, off-key song where all the lyrics were nonsense words? What was the last time you did something utterly POINTLESS that was great fun?

Playing Scrabble doesn’t count. (I say that as a huge Scrabble fan.) Playing tennis doesn’t count. Those activities are great, but they’re too regimented. They are too much about rules. They don’t involve CUTTING LOOSE, LETTING GO and being VULNERABLE. (By vulnerable, I mean doing stuff that may lead other people to say “Act your age!”)

Getting drunk or high doesn’t count, either. If you can only dance around in your underwear when you’ve had three (or ten) drinks, you’re doing it wrong. One of the reason drugs don’t count, is because they put you in an altered state that is disconnected from who you are when you’re not drunk or high. Your goal should be to become someone who always has a little bit of play in him — not someone who is super-stern and serious and needs chemicals to unwind.

I know that letting go this way is really, really hard for some people. If it’s hard for you, ease into it. No matter how hard it is, surely you can finger paint when you’re alone in your room! Make yourself do it until you can do it without shame — until you can let go and enjoy getting paint on your nose. You will wind up living longer and having less stress in your life.

And though you can start this in private, try to work towards doing it in the company of someone else. Play is fundamentally a social activity. You will never feel as close to another person as you will when you roll in the mud with him.

Despite the way I sound, I am a very shy person. I don’t, as a rule, go dancing in the streets. But I have a few close friends (and a really fun spouse) with whom I CAN do those things. Those friends keep me alive! I wouldn’t trade them for ten million dollars!

One last thing: if you have kids, what’s your relationship to them? Are you very much the MOM or the DAD. Do you feel like they are the KIDS and you are the GROWN UP? Or do you feel like they’re your friends and you enjoy playing on the floor with them? Of course it’s important to be the grownup for them sometimes. But see if you can ease yourself into a different kind of relationship with them? When did you and your kids last have a snowball fight?

3) Most grownups stop learning. Don’t.

I spent many years as a teacher, mostly teaching computer classes to adults. These were folks who were being forced to adopt new technologies for their jobs. They were very unhappy. They would say, “I don’t understand this stuff! I’m just not one of those computer people.”

What I gradually learned, via long discussions with many, many students from many different occupations, is that this wasn’t true at all. Their problem — though very real — had nothing to do with computers. It had to do with the fact that this was the first time they’d been ask to learn anything new in years. They would have had just as much trouble if their boss had forced them to learn how to knit, juggle or play the guitar.

Even many people we think of as smart do very few new things every day — things that stretch them. Here’s an example: I used to work for a large auction company (think Sotheby’s or Chirstie’s.) This company employed a lot of “experts.” An expert was, say, someone who had spent decades studying French ceramics. Having done a lot of studying, he can now look at a vase and instantly tell you when and where it was made, what it’s worth, and whether it’s an original or a reproduction. I am not making light of this skill. I certainly couldn’t do it.

But let’s take a look at what it involves: the expert had to spend decades cramming information into his brain. He had to get to a point where that information wasn’t just in his brain but also instantly accessible. Doing all that grunt work was an incredible feat, and the expert has good reason to be proud of what he accomplished.

But if he’s like most of us, he learned most of his knowledge in his 20s. Starting in his 30s, he began coasting. Coasting feels really good and most jobs are built to let experts coast. You know you’re coasting when you can go to work and instantly know how to fix any problem. You’re coasting when you can look at the vase and instantly know when and where it was made.

You’re coasting if all your problems at work are things like annoying co-workers and long hours. If you never (or rarely) need to do exhaustive research or work out complex problems on paper or white boards, you’re coasting.

I’m a computer programmer, which means my job is pretty intellectual, and I coast way less than a lot of people: but I STILL coast about 75% of the time. A lot of the code I write is boilerplate stuff. I’m “solving” problems that have already been solved before, and all I need to do is copy, paste and make a few tweaks.

Doctors coast a lot of the time (at least general practitioners do). They hear the same symptoms over and over again, and in most cases, they can do their jobs very well by doing mental “database searches” and regurgitating answers that worked in the past. This is also the case for non-trial lawyers.

If you’re a “smart person” like me, and if you work in an “intellectual” field, it’s humbling to ask yourself, at each point in your day, “Am I stretching my intellect? Am I coming up with a new solution? Am I facing a new problem that I’ve never faced before?” How much of the time do you do this? 10% of the time? 5% of the time? 1% of the time? How many years have gone by without you having to face a REAL intellectual challenge?

Incidentally, the jobs that we think of as intellectual tend to be the least intellectually demanding (with some exceptions, such as Mathematician and Brain Surgeon). The “dumb jobs,” such as auto-mechanic and football player tend to involve a lot of continual, on-your-feet thinking.

What’s wrong with coasting? Nothing, necessarily, if it makes you happy. But we’re moving into a time period where it’s harder to get away with it. The pace of change has quadrupled and we’re getting hit with new technologies daily.

But the bigger problem is that “if you don’t use it, you’ll lose it.” You need to continually give your brain a workout or it will grow sluggish. We all know those people who have retired at 65 and then spent twenty years sitting in front of the TV. What’s sad is that we accept that people in their 80s are going to be sluggish. But that’s not a given. They don’t have to be! YOU don’t have to be. If your job isn’t challenging you, find ways to challenge yourself.

Note: most people get frustrated when they fail. This is one of the reasons why they quit trying new things. Trying new things inevitably leads to failure. But understand that, if you’re trying anything challenging, it’s going to take you at least a month to succeed at it. A month is the MINIMUM. It’s more likely that it will take you six months.

So if you, say, try to learn the guitar but “fail” at it after a few hours, you haven’t failed. You can only fail at the guitar if you try to play it for six months and, during all that time, make no progress.


Read the rest of this response on Quora hereAnd comment below if you have any thoughts on the advice!

-Joel


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A Stanford Farewell

I’m officially a Stanford alumnus.

On Monday, for the first time, I left Stanford not knowing when or whether I would return. Before this final departure, I could always count on another quarter on the Farm. After my first visit on April 7, 2007. After an unforgettable freshman year in Roble. After a quarter abroad in Beijing. After Thanksgiving break in 2007. And 2008. And 2009. And 2010. After every winter, spring, and summer vacation for the last four years, I always knew I would be back. But I don’t know anymore.

Commencement Weekend left me in a state of emotional deshabille, caught off-guard by the swift rate of change, tripped up by the steep derivative of college life. I cherished Senior Dinner on the Quad on Thursday night somewhat more than I have most of the other class events scattered throughout senior year, but no more than necessary: I fully expected to see all my friends for the rest of the weekend, to meet their friends and families at graduation parties, at the Class Day Lecture, at Wacky Walk, at Commencement, at our department ceremony. That didn’t happen. I blinked, and they were gone. I managed to catch a few on Sunday night, but the vast majority of my Stanford community packed up and peaced out without a final hug or backward glance.

I suppose it’s understandable. Once we leave behind our hometowns to pursue our college dreams at the college of our dreams, we rarely see our own parents and siblings, let alone grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and even more distant members of our genetic networks. And Commencement is like a wedding: Families reconvene, people meet, worlds collide. Parts of your life that you’ve always kept filed away neatly and separately—freshman-year dormmates, IHUM section-mates, classmates, roommates, girlfriends, boyfriends, parents, professors, mentors, TFs, TAs, RAs—all come together in a mishmash of Cardinal-Red emotion. Your furious underwater paddling starts to splash. The Stanford Bubble pops. With every senior busy trying to keep so many balls in the air, all the while packing up 4 years of Stanford memories and charting a course for those first wobbly steps off the Farm, it really is too much to ask for a full and satisfying goodbye.

Leaving us right back where we started. Sitting in our parents’ homes around the country, around the world, clicking through commencement photos on Facebook, wondering how we—the Class of Oh-Leven—went from Stanford’s newest admits to Stanford’s newest alumni when we still remember our first hall meeting like it was yesterday. It had to end someday, but did it have to end Sunday?

Maybe it did. For four years, long while they lasted, we owned that campus. Stanford belonged to us, just as we belonged to it. But for me, and I suspect for many of my classmates as well, it’s time to let go. We set off into the world now to improve and enrich lives, both others’ and our own, and even if we never return to 94305 (or collect our mail at 94309), we will forever see life through Cardinal-tinted goggles. We will always have a little Stanford in us. So this really isn’t goodbye.

Remember how we used to sign off emails to our freshman dorm lists?

Roble Love. Stanford Love.

It never gets old.

-Joel

Proud Stanford parents.

P.S. This post sounds like the writings of a religious cult. The Cardinal Cult? I’m a proud member. So is Dean Julie. Here are her farewell remarks, too good to be abridged, from the Class of 2011 Plaque Dedication (courtesy of my friend Racquel and the SAA). Readers from the Class of Oh-Leven, be careful, this will make you cry.

“The Next Truly Great Class”
Julie Lythcott-Haims
June 10, 2011

Thank you, Mona, for that kind introduction, and I want to thank you, Molly, Pamon, and Dante for the exceptional leadership you’ve brought to the role of senior class president. A role I know well from having done it myself 22 years ago (though I was not as good at it as you have been). I hear from the staff who work with you that you are among the very best senior class presidents they’ve seen ever. You gathered Oh Leven up after the scattering that is the Junior Year, refocused them on togetherness, community, belonging, put on amazing and well-attended events, and took the class pride – class love – to a whole new frothy level as seniors. And you made those dank, bomb-diggity, off the chain, prime, wicked, absolutely badass tank tops everyone is now sporting. At the next event – Senior Class Gift – we’ll talk about other ways in which you have led the class in historic ways. For now, let’s just give Dante, Molly, Mona, and Pamon a big round of applause.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh Leven. [Oh Leven] I have done this before, as a senior class president standing with my own, great, class, right here, 22 years ago. And I’ve been lucky enough to stand here with all the classes I’ve seen graduate since being Dean. But there is something different in it for me today. Because you are one helluva class, Oh Leven. Oh Leven! [Oh Leven] Yeah, I know what you want me to say. To acknowledge. Just hold on. Let me get there.

When you were just juniors in high school, we decided what to call you. The class of 2010 was being admitted and after oh six, oh seven, oh eight and oh nine, our potential transition out of the “ohs” and the single digits was upon us – twenty ten? One-oh? But in the middle of those head-scratching, vexing discussions about what to call the class of 2010, a student on the NSO team, Brian Salomaki ’06 said, “I don’t know what we’ll end up calling 2010, but the next one can be Oh Leven!” “Get it,” he said? “Not ‘oh-eleven’ or even ‘eeee-leven’ but Oh Leven.” I got it. I liked it. Actually I loved it. Loved what we would call you even before we’d ever laid eyes on you. We had a full year to wait to try it on you, when we discovered to our delight that you liked it too. Most of you. Took some of you some time to warm to it. Right Doc? But you love it now. Oh Leven! [Oh Leven]

A year later, it was May 1, 2007. “Heads up,” the admissions office called us to say. “The frosh yield numbers are way up. We’re going to have 1750 freshmen. 75 over target.” I swore. I’m sure I swore. Because if you know me you know I have a mouth like a sailor at times. Part of my alternate identity. The part that loves I’m on a Boat, and the other version of Forget You. So after an appropriate expletive I laughed exasperatedly, “The next truly large class.” And then UAR began to spread the news to those who would need to find more IHUM fellows, more PWR lecturers, more beds. Don’t get me wrong, in UAR we love undergraduates. Some of my colleagues are here in the audience right now because you were their first class, or because you’ve been just so great to work with over these years. So for us, nothing is better than starting the four-year cycle again with a new class, just as today we are excited about FIF-TEEN as they start to round the bend toward Stanford. But let’s be real. Learning on May 1, 2007, how many of you had said yes to the admission offer was sort of like finding out in the ninth month of your pregnancy that you’re going to have twins. Our thoughts of “Oh Leven” quickly turned to “oh no,” “oh gosh,” and, well, worse.

Then you showed up. Move-in Day, Tuesday, September 18. When Dean Shaw spoke at Convocation, making an official handoff of the class from admissions to the Office of the Vice Provost for Undergraduate Education, he shouted “Oh Leven” at you. You know what you did? You applauded. Wildly, yes, but it was just applause. When he glanced over his shoulder at me somewhat bewilderedly, I whispered, “Tomorrow.” It’s somehow so poignant at this point to think back to that day when you didn’t yet know who were. Here. What to do. Or maybe you knew, but wondered if the rowdiness of class pride was appropriate within the formal construct of Opening Convocation in this sacred Inner Quad. After all, you had not yet been on Band Run, so you had not yet been inducted into the complete congruity of intellectualism and irreverence that is the hallmark of the Stanford undergraduate experience. You would come to know, love and live that intersection so well.

I got to meet you the next morning, Wednesday, September 19, the morning after your first night here, the drum beat of the Band Run still thudding in your head, the day after your loved ones made a tearful goodbye and went home to the place of your childhood. We had asked your dorm staff to choose who among them would bring you to MemAud – MemAud was built to hold only 1710 after all. On that morning, you came roaring into MemAud waving dorm flags and chanting cheers with people you had not known 24 hours before, with a rapturously excited innocence that brought tears to my eyes and took my breath away. “Look at them,” I thought to myself, taking deep breaths to calm my mounting emotion. “Listen to them.” You were well louder than should have been the case with 75 extra freshmen. Louder and prouder than any class had ever been. Spinal Tap’s “This one goes to e-leven” came to mind. It was your second day.

On that morning of your second day, I told you that “To get a real sense of your place in the Stanford family, you need to Walk the Walk – that is, go check out those bronze-covered time capsules commemorating each class that has preceded yours, located in the Inner Quad.” I suggested ways in which you might make that walk and what to think about along the way. And then I said, “And finally, although it is not yet there, stand and gaze four stones ahead to where ’11 will be.”

Welcome to the purpose of our gathering today. Oh Leven! [Oh Leven] Thinking back to the first of your days on the Farm, I realize now that you had me at hello. Intellectually curious AND kindhearted. Clever. Funny. Fun-loving. Giving. Selfless. Humble. Loving. And exuberant about being here and about each other. Grateful. By the end of your first few weeks, people all over campus were buzzing about your class. “There‟s something different about them,” people said to me. “Not quite sure what. Not more humanists or more engineers or things that are easy to measure.” I asked for examples, and people said things like, “they stayed behind after a frosh event and helped us break down the tables and chairs and recycle the water bottles.” Things like that. That spoke to your character. Your spirit. How you were raised. How you show up in the world. I called Dean Shaw. “Did you do something different this year?” “Yeah,” he said, “we want smart and kind. The other kids can go somewhere else.” People ask me if I love my job… How could I not love a job where that is the objective and you are the result?

And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better came the piece of evidence that Oh Leven would be in a category of its own: Your frosh council was the first to wear the class banners as capes, Winter Quarter freshman year. With that small gesture on the part of your dorm leaders, you became superheroes to me. Superhero geeks, in paradise, with a band run. That early on, I was forced to ask myself, “Are they going to be a great class? One of those truly great classes that comes around only every, uh, 22 years?” I have never owned another class’s t-shirt. But seeing yours around campus these last few weeks, I felt yeah, it would be an honor. I know what you want me to say. Hold on. I’m getting there.

Oh Leven! [Oh Leven] From September 2007 to June 2011, it was your time here. And now, it is over, your time. Great class, go back with me now across the moments of which your Stanford life was made. You studied and wrote and solved — and invented and unearthed and discovered — and created and spoke and inspired — and cried and tried and achieved – and praised and preached and swore — and coped and failed and survived — and danced and sweated –and drank and sang — and yelled and cheered and my god, cheered until your heart was spent in the Red Zone, here and at the Orange Bowl — and whispered and smiled –and liked and like-liked — and hooked up and left and inexplicably hooked up again — and left, this time for good — and met and laughed — and found and loved and said it – to the person, and declared it on Facebook — and crashed and burned — and texted and tweeted and blogged — and friended and broke up, again on Facebook. And you discovered. New knowledge in your field. An empty practice room. A sandstone sculpture hidden from view. A sense of self. And you ran. The Dish. An organization. Away from other peoples’ expectations. For office. And you gave. Your time. Your effort. Your heart. Of yourselves. And sometimes it was more about Farmville than the Farm. And then you were tryna. Tryna get a drink. Tryna get with that girl or guy, yo. And you chose. A major. A mentor. To come out. To love yourself. This is some of what it looked like, felt like, to be an undergraduate here at Stanford.

Oh Leven, whatever happened here, wherever you go, whomever you are, whomever you become, whenever you actually graduate, whether you actually graduate at all, to be honest, you will forever and for always be a member of the class of 2011 at Stanford, whose time here is marked for ever more with the placement of this time capsule and the laying of this plaque which commemorates your place in the Stanford family. We are a family. And the Stanford family’s future is as much yours to write as it is anyone’s.

You know, speaking of the time capsules, rumor has it there is a piece of pizza in one of them. Ratchet, I know. What can I say? The world was far less amusing back then. No Angry Birds. No Xbox. No cell phones. No internet. No electricity. No wait. Yeah, we had that. But still, back in the twentieth century, we had to do things like put pizza in a sealed time capsule for amusement. Eighty-nine.

Forgive my trip down memory lane; to you it’s irrelevant when I went here or what I did here, I know, I know, and I’m sorry, but, this is what alumni do. And guess what? You’ll do it too. And trust me, if you reminisce near an undergrad at your 10th reunion in 2021, they’ll smile vacantly while trying not to roll their eyes thinking “like I care?” Of course they’ll have some newfangled way to diss you that even YOU will have trouble understanding. It’s just hard to relate to a different generation. This, my dear Oh Leven, is the reason we focus on the class numerals. It is our secret handshake, our password whispered through the door. It’s how we tolerate each other. Here’s what I mean. Some guy from the class of ’59 walks by me and wants to talk about when he and his buds pulled a great prank on the all-female residents of Branner. And I want to just go (in my best eighties voice), “whatever.” But instead I smile and point at his name tag and say ’59 and he beams. Get it? So it is with me and you. I can’t understand what you’re talking about most of the time, word woot whomp whatever. That’s why I’ve got you all to memorize my class year so we have something to talk about. I mean, I can figure out the abbrevs and I know when to say FML and then SMH, but when did dope become dope? And don’t get me started on ballin’ versus baller. But if you say ’89, I light up, right? And while you’re humoring me now, I’m here to tell you one day it WILL be you. You’ll be back in 2036 for your 25th, yawing about how you went steam tunneling and broke into old chem, and the seniors, the class of 2037, will be all, ee-yeah. And you’ll be all, no really, it was dope. And you’ll try to reel their youthful attention in with, “wait, wait, we had George Clooney, The Roots, and Natalie Portman on campus,” and they’ll have this look of non-comprehension that says, “who?” and you’ll be like, “What is wrong with the youth of today?” And then you’ll say, “OK. We beat USC football THREE OUT OF FOUR YEARS. And they’ll go, “USC had a football team?” as they politely turn away. But then they’ll see the ’11 on your name tag and smile, and go E-Leven [thumbs up]. And you’ll beam. And you’ll correct them – “it’s Oh Leven actually…” And you’ll start to tell a story, and they’ll glaze over. You will. They will.

And why do we beam when we hear our class year? It’s not because of the technical fact of when we went here, but because it represents all the people who walked alongside us on these pathways as we grew up here. The people who made a difference. The people we loved. Oh Leven, you were 18 together and you’re 22 together, and one day you’ll be 30, then 40, 60 and 80 together, and you’ll still look the same, at least to each other, and you’ll always be Oh Leven. And that, my friends, is what the class numerals are all about. A way to represent your love for your class, each other, this place. The class diamond symbol has been on T-shirts, decals, videos, emails, keychains, hats, sunglasses, flip-flops. Today you get to see the real live everlasting class diamond itself. When I first walked up on it today, tears sprang to my eyes. Could it be? You’re leaving us? So soon?

These bronze numerals that officially mark your time here literally protect the artifacts you chose to place beneath. It also symbolizes the memories, all of the things that can’t be put into a box and retrieved later. I was there. With those people. This is what we did. And I am different for it. Changed for the good.

This plaque goes in the ground today and commemorates those memories. Becomes the space you will always visit when you return. As a way to call up the ancestry of your Stanford experience. The faces. The places. These halls are sacred to us alumni. We come here to be flooded with the feelings, awash with appreciation, gushing with gratitude. We come here to feel tenderness, our feet at these time capsules, time and time and time again. We alumni feel tremendous love for what we cherished about our experience here. For the people. For Stanford.

You are about to be one of those alumni. You also know you’re a very special class. You’ve known since you got here. You’ve demonstrated it in every imaginable way. Shoot, at the dinner last night someone handed me one of those sick tank tops and I put it on over my black velvet dress. Never worn another class’s stuff. Symbolically, for me, I can give you no higher praise.

Oh Leven! [Oh Leven] Speaking of that incredible dinner, the man behind the office that says “We need to do that dinner. For those seniors. No matter what,” is Howard Wolf, Vice President for Alumni Affairs and President of the Stanford Alumni Association. Standing right over there, this extraordinary human, Class of 1980, is responsible for how we nurture the relationship between Stanford and her alumni. A relationship that is about mutual respect, trust, shared experience, ongoing education, fun. And yes, it is also about love. So now, just as Dean Shaw handed you over to Vice Provost Bravman at Opening Convocation in September 2007, today I don’t have to, I get to be the one from your past who hands you off to the person of your future. Howard, I present to you the Class of 2011. In my humble opinion, they have in fact earned the title of the last truly great class at Stanford.

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Are Stanford Students Just (Really Excellent) Sheep?

Does this sound familiar?

In our conversations I would ask the students when they got around to sleeping. One senior told me that she went to bed around two and woke up each morning at seven; she could afford that much rest because she had learned to supplement her full day of work by studying in her sleep. As she was falling asleep she would recite a math problem or a paper topic to herself; she would then sometimes dream about it, and when she woke up, the problem might be solved. I asked several students to describe their daily schedules, and their replies sounded like a session of Future Workaholics of America: crew practice at dawn, classes in the morning, resident-adviser duty, lunch, study groups, classes in the afternoon, tutoring disadvantaged kids in Trenton, a cappella practice, dinner, study, science lab, prayer session, hit the StairMaster, study a few hours more. One young man told me that he had to schedule appointment times for chatting with his friends. I mentioned this to other groups, and usually one or two people would volunteer that they did the same thing. “I just had an appointment with my best friend at seven this morning,” one woman said. “Or else you lose touch.”

Check out this 2001 David Brooks article, entitled The Organization Kid, on the life and philosophy of today’s elite college student. It has a similar tone to William Deresiewicz’s 2008 essay on The Disadvantages of an Elite Education; both give us all something to think about, whether or not we agree with them.

In other news, Deresiewicz will be speaking on campus next Tuesday, April 12, at 4:30PM in Annenberg. Find out more on the event page and on host Prof. Rob Reich’s page, and RSVP here.

-Joel

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Life: Applied.

Grad school? Nah. Let's just be astronauts.

I finally finished my grad school (for a PhD in EE) and fellowship (for money) apps! Now it’s time to relax, run, and read some books. But first, let’s reflect

A few years have gone by, but most of us still remember our senior year of high school and the ups and downs of college admissions. Forms. Long essays. Short answers. 500 words. All kinds of letters: ECs. SATs. ACTs. Rec letters. Brag sheets. College Confidential. Common App supplements (WHY?). And of course, the all-important US News & World Report rankings. Man, I’m glad all that’s behind us.

I guess the admissions people have it pretty rough too...

But there are plenty of letters in the grad school application process too: GPAs. GREs. Rec letters. Nothing but a big rat race. Right?

The main difference between applying to college and applying to grad school is what you’ve learned in the intervening years. You can equate research statements to admission essays, GREs to SATs, rec letters to rec letters, but nothing takes away the fact that you’ve lived and learned and attended college for 1461 days from one stepping stone to the next. But… so what?

When you apply to college, you don’t really have any other options. Sure, you can take a year (or even two!) off to travel or start a company or build character or do any number of interesting gap-year activities, but let’s be honest, you—you being the type of person who wants to go to, whose parents went to, Stanford or Duke or OSU or any other seat of higher learning—are going to end up in college, sooner or later. No one questions that: It’s simply, well, expected. And sure, why not? Very few people know at the age of 18 what they want to do with their lives, and everyone knows that college is the ultimate guarantor, the yellow brick road to a successful future. Seems like a no-brainer: Go to college. Apply to a few, choose one, and go.

Now fast-forward 4 years. You spent the last 3+ years pursuing what you hope is your life’s calling, or at least a step in the right direction, which it might be, but maybe not, and who really knows anyway? The real dilemma is that, for the first time in your life, you’re an adult, and you have a real choice to make. College is college, but PhD program ≠ med school ≠ software engineering job ≠ consulting job ≠ freelancing ≠ … It’s not until senior year that you finally feel the weight of all those pesky little underclass decisions. Suddenly you’re 21, your undergrad career turns into your career career, and you still don’t know if you chose the right major.

Seniors always get asked The Question—”What are you doing next year?”—which only adds to the feeling that what we choose to do immediately after graduation will define our life’s direction. Maybe it will. But honestly, I don’t think it’s worth worrying about. Just as there’s no right major, only the right motivations for choosing it (i.e., it’s interesting to me, right now), there’s probably no single right career path for anyone. As far as I can tell, pretty much nothing career-related turns out quite the way you expect it to—how many of us have changed our majors, our hopes, our dreams since freshman year?—and it takes just as much courage to pursue a possible passion as it does to pursue a true passion. How are you going to find out which is which, unless you follow through with one?

And that brings us back to the difference between applying to college and applying to grad school: As a high school senior, applying to college, I had every possible career available to me: astronaut, surgeon, chef, engineer, lawyer, anything. It didn’t matter where I went to school; East Coast or West, all those opportunities—all possible responses to “What do you want to be when you grow up?”—would remain open to me. In that sense, the college decision wasn’t all that important. But the further I got into college, the more that space of future possibility funneled down into a cone of menacing definiteness—for me, {everything} => {physics, engineering, psychology} => {engineering} => {electrical engineering} => {solid-state devices and optoelectronics}. And that’s scary. But it’s also something of a blessing.

As a Stanford senior, applying to grad school, I know much more precisely what I like and what I don’t like, which means that I can narrow my options in the direction of the former and pursue it without fear. It doesn’t matter if my aim isn’t perfect. (Who knows? Maybe I’m meant to be a coder. God forbid. :)) As long as I’m headed in the right general direction—anywhere in the mouth of that funnel of life—I’m sure I’ll end up where I want to be. Wherever that is.

And I can still be anything I want when I grow up, as long as a PhD in EE doesn’t make me overqualified.

-Joel

P.S. If you’re a college student (±5 years), I highly, highly recommend reading this essay by William Deresiewicz, “What Are You Going to Do With That?,” “That” being your college degree. I think you’ll find it instructive, inspiring, and even a little disturbing in its acuity.

P.P.S. Merry Christmas!

 

Get a room, guys.

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A Summer Planning Guide for Undergrads

Don’t know what you should be doing next summer?

Take this quiz and get a head start on the competition…

Undecided? (Painting by Luke Chueh)

1. What’s your current class standing?

Freshman – Enjoy the last pressure-free summer of your life.
Sophomore
– Go to Question 2.
Junior – Go to Question 2.
Senior – You’re screwed. 🙂

2. Do you want to go to grad school?

Yes – Do research. Go to Question 4.
No – Find an internship. Volunteer. Travel. Whatever.
Maybe – Go to Question 3.

3. Where have you worked in the past?

Research – Go to your school’s career development center. Talk to people. Find an internship.
Industry – Do research. Go to Question 4.
Both – Ask your mom. Flip a coin. Whatever. Just make a decision. Or go to Question 2.
Government – What’s left of your soul can’t be salvaged. Sorry.

4. Do you want to do research at a university or a company?

University – Go to Question 5.
Company – Ask your favorite professor for advice and contacts at industry research labs.

5. Is your school well-respected in your field?

Yes – Go to Question 6.
No – Look into research programs at other schools.
I don’t know – Ask your advisor and go to Question 5.

6. Does your department have a summer research program for undergrads?

Yes – Do it.
No – Go to Question 7.

7. Can you get funding from your school/department for an independent research project?

Yes – Do it.
No – Look into research programs at other schools.


Good luck!

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10 Reasons to Visit China (AKA Stuff I Bought)

After my earlier post about some of the less savory aspects of life in the world’s most populous country, I think I owe it to my Chinese friends to balance the scales by writing a (literally) uncensored post about China’s better half. Now if only they had access to the Internet… Anyway, here goes.

Note: In including Taiwan’s finest in this list, I have no intention of making any sort of political statement about Taiwan’s sovereignty or the current state of Cross-Strait relations.

1. Chinese bakeries and bread – I don’t mean to hate on American bakeries, but 4 dollars for a tiny pastry? You gotta be kidding me. Chinese bakeries are like the land of the Lotus Eaters, only slightly less narcotic: The moment you walk into a Chinese bakery, a blanket of divine scent envelops you, and you never, ever want to leave. And that’s before you’ve even tasted the bread. During my 3-month stay in China, I never managed to escape a bakery with less than 2 pounds of bread, and it never failed to disappear within 24 hours.

Feeding the hungry beasts (AKA Big Brother and Robin)

2. Efficient public transportation – With a population of 1,324,655,000 (as of 2008), China has had a pretty good reason to develop an efficient, high-capacity public transportation network. In my opinion, it’s a little too good: Beijing’s 2¥ (equivalent to 29 cents US) subway, which took us from the 4th Ring to the heart of Beijing faster than any car, probably holds several world records for human close-packing, a game that I don’t particularly enjoy. On the older Lines 1 and 2, anytime from 8AM to 10PM, you can consider yourself lucky if you’re touching fewer than 4 people at once. For a quarter a ride though, I can’t complain.

Shanghai's 270mph Transrapid maglev train is pretty cool too...

3. Boba (pearl milk tea, or 珍珠奶茶) that actually tastes good – And not just good, amazing. I’ve never been a big fan of boba, but then again, I’d also never tried Taiwanese boba before. Food typically tastes better in its country of origin, and boba is no exception. The milk is delicious—I’m lactose-intolerant, and I still couldn’t resist drinking it—and the palm sugar tapioca pearls are bigger, chewier, and simply better than the best California has to offer…

The best boba in the world: Taiwan's 青蛙撞奶 ("Frog hits the milk")

4. Cheap stuff – As a tribute to Inception, here’s a list-within-a-list of things I bought in China that were so-cheap-they-should-be-illegal-…-oh-wait-they-probably-are-illegal…

1.)  Tailored suit (made from scratch in 18 hours!): $88
2.)  4 tailored dress shirts: $59
3.)  A billion DVDs: See number 6
4.)  Dinner at a fancy restaurant: $5
5.)  2 pounds of sweet rolls: $1
6.)  Train ticket from Beijing to Shanghai: $100
7.)  Subway rides across Beijing: $0.29
8.)  North Face jacket: $33
9.)  Chinese prostitute: Priceless

Just kidding.

5. Street food – If you’re willing to risk your stomach lining, there’s cheap, delicious food to be had on every street in China’s major cities. And in reality, it’s not actually all that risky: as far as I know, no one in the Stanford group ever got sick from eating street food. Some of our favorites included roasted yams, sweet buns, pineapple skewers, haw skewers (bingtanghulu), and peanuts.

Bingtanghulu: Haw fruit on a stick, coated in sugar

6. Movies that come out on DVD the day after they open in theaters

Fact 1: Today is August 2, 2010.

Fact 2: Ironman 2 comes out on DVD on September 28, 2010.

Fact 3: I own Ironman 2 on DVD.

Interesting…

7. Night markets – Taiwan’s night markets are unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. A massive conglomeration of food stands, street vendors, arcades, and random shops, you could spend days browsing around and still not see (or taste!) everything. Most famous among them is the Shilin Night Market in Taipei. The best strategy of attack is to starve yourself for 2 days before hitting up Shilin.

Shilin Night Market's "XXL Crispy Chicken": A big slab of fried chicken

Mianmianbing: Super-fine shaved ice covered in sweet red beans and condensed milk. It's heaven on Earth.

8. Baozi (steamed buns) – During every quarter of the Stanford Program in Beijing, students gravitate to the Songlin baozi restaurant on campus. It’s such a simple concept—meat, veggies, or sweet custard in a steamed bun—but baozi have the addictive potency of crack cocaine. I couldn’t help visiting Songlin at least 4 times a week during my stay at PKU.

Fried shengjian baozi in Shanghai.

9. Hot springs (and other beautiful scenery) – A picture’s worth… well, at least a few words.

The Stone Forest in Yunnan Province

Taiwan's legendary Sun Moon Lake. Chinese kids grow up reading stories about this place, so when they visit Taiwan, they all want to go to Sun Moon Lake.

Me, Robin, and Neal on the Great Wall

10. New friends – It amazes me how close our group of 14 Stanford students grew in just a few weeks and how quickly and easily we became friends with our Chinese classmates at Peking University. In sharing stories and comparing life experiences, we each learned about the other’s culture and discovered that we weren’t so different after all, that the college student’s experience is (somewhat) universal: A mutual understanding seems to arise when you talk to any undergrad about all-nighters and finals, papers and GERs. Growing up in Ohio, I didn’t often meet people who were truly international, and I now realize that my 3 months of living and learning in China actually gave me more insight into my own life and my own (American) culture than into the Chinese culture that I was immersed in.

Stanford Shaolin in Pingyao. After summer internships and independent travel in China, my classmates are slowly drifting back to the US. Welcome back, guys!

Note: In case you didn’t notice, the previous paragraph was an attempt to stuff as many clichés as possible into a single paragraph. I think I succeeded.

Thanks for reading!

-Joel

P.S. Number 11 on the list would have been “New takes on old things,” for example…

Taiwanese spork.

The definition of "fruit"

Viagra (This is actually some sort of candy...)

Tall buildings (Taipei 101, the 2nd tallest building in the world; the tallest is in Dubai, of course)

T-shirts

English (This is a sign for a bathroom)

Self-service restaurants (This one made us catch our own fish for lunch)

Definition of "edible"

Birds' nests

Toilets

Trash cans

Palm Drive (This is at National Taiwan University; compare this with Stanford's Palm Drive)

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10 Things You Won’t Miss Until They’re Gone

There are some things in life you simply don’t notice until they’re not there.

Take toilet paper, for example. After 3 months of living and traveling in China, I’ve become a outspoken advocate—OK, maybe not that outspoken—of toilet paper in public restrooms, because it simply wasn’t there. Even when you don’t need it, it’s comforting to know that your ass is covered (pun intended), that you can waltz into the nearest restroom and grab a few squares of 2-ply just in case you spill some soymilk on yourself or realize that the street food you ate really doesn’t want to stay in your stomach.

On a related note, you can’t just walk into a public restroom in China. If you’re in a part of town where you look around and see more foreigners than you can count on one hand, there’s about a 65% chance that a trip to the toilet will cost you 1¥ RMB, paid in cash to the little old man sitting outside the restroom door. Sure, with a $1 to 6.8¥ exchange rate, it’s a drop in the bucket, but it still pains the Patrick Henry in me just a little to be taxed without representation for an act that stray dogs on the streets of Beijing perform free of charge, anywhere, to their hearts’ content. At least I don’t have to worry about getting eaten. Fair’s fair.

And they're not even that great…

Here are 10 things that you don’t fully appreciate until they disappear from your life, derived from my recent travels (travails?) in China:

1. Toilet paper – Enough said.

1A. Free restrooms

2. Personal space – As necessitated by their country’s 9-digit population count, Chinese people are quite comfortable living, eating, and working in extremely close quarters with complete strangers. I am not. We Americans like our “personal space,” the couple-foot-radius bubble of open air around us that gives us the sensation of independence and safety, and we defend it with suspicious stares and reflexive backpedaling. In China, such strategies are hopeless. Say you’re at a market in Beijing, and the shopkeeper gets a bit too close for comfort. You could back away, but your Pyrrhic escape wouldn’t be worth the energy, because two things would surely happen the moment you took a step back: 1) You’d run into 2 other strangers, and 2) The shopkeeper would pursue you. Leaving you in a circle of 3 random Chinese people. Fantastic.

2.1. Silence – Every once in a while, you just want the world to leave you alone. In Beijing, that’s the cue for someone nearby to make a thunderous choking sound and spit. I think it’s a Pavlovian response to excessive silence.

3. Clean water – When you have to use waterless hand sanitizer after you wash your hands under the faucet, you know you’re in China.

4. Breathable air – As the home of over 20 million people, Beijing has a little problem: Its air cannot sustain human life. Even after the government pulled a large proportion of the city’s cars off the road, the situation is hopeless. Running outdoors is out of the question. One of my friends tried it and immediately got sick. And the particulates in the air are so small that you can never escape them, even indoors: I would wake up in my bed each morning blanketed in a fine layer of dust that had settled overnight. After one week in Beijing, I couldn’t tell if my lungs were still alive, not until we went on an excursion to the Great Wall and I found myself marveling at my ability to take full breaths.

4+. The Sun – The pollution has a way of blotting out the sun. I felt like a dinosaur awaiting the Great Extinction.

5. Grass – As a son of the Midwest and its sprawling farmland, I’m pretty fond of grass. It’s great for relaxing, running, playing soccer, wrestling with your siblings… Too bad people in China don’t really do any of those things. (To find out why, see #2, #4, the 2010 World Cup, and the One-Child Policy, respectively)

6. Guns and Obesity – China has neither.

The real 6. Non-oily food – It seems all the food in China—at least for us commoners—is stir-fried or deep-fried. Can’t I just have a salad? Oh wait, lettuce is 95% water and washed in water, and water in China is poisonous… Darn.

7. Facebook – Sometimes you just want to Poke someone. But, oh no… You can’t. Because you’re in China. And the CCP took away the Internet.

7-and-3/4. Did I mention that the government censors texts too?

Chinese censors work a lot like this…

8. Democracy – Because it’s good to be free.

9. English – Even though I speak Mandarin somewhat fluently, my reading skills aren’t quite up to primary school standards. I never realized how exhausting everyday life can be, when even reading a restaurant menu requires intense concentration and a bilingual dictionary.

10. Family and friends – I missed you all. A lot.

The takeaway lesson? If you’re in China, always go to the bathroom before you leave home. If you’re traveling to China in the near future, practice holding it in, starting now.

Thanks for reading!

-Joel

The Spring 2010 BOSP Beijing group at our graduation. Thanks for an awesome quarter, guys!

On our trip to Taiwan, I saw my grandparents and a bunch of relatives for the first time in more than a decade. Here's a "family picture" with my brother, me, and my parents' wedding picture in the background.

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