Occasional-Essays on A Geek's Life

Honour Thy Father

Tue, 17 Oct 2017 04:19:19 +0000

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It is to a stroke of fortune that I owe listening to the final episode of Malcolm Gladwell’s Revisionist History podcast three times over the last week. The first of the series of events which led to that was upgrading to iOs11 which messed up my podcasts, led me to seeking out Overcast as a replacement, and then having to decide on which ones to subscribe to or which to bin. That episode, Basement Tapes, explores a son’s reaction to finding out he has played a part in debunking to some of extent what has been the essence of his father’s work. The son, Robert Frantz is contacted out of the blue by a researcher, Chris Ramsden (Scientific American describes as the Indiana Jones of science), who is looking to acquire raw data from an experiment conducted by Robert’s father, Ivan, in Minnesota between 1968 and 1973. What results from Chris’s analysis of the data is a fundamental questioning of the conclusions of that study and the diet-heart hypothesis which claimed a linkage between a low saturated fat diet and the low blood cholesterol levels it produces and a reduction of the associated death rate (or adverse outcomes, as the study euphemistically puts it).

The Small Light in Things

Tue, 07 Mar 2017 08:36:31 +0000

I decided that for Lent this year I would give up caffeine, if starting almost a week after the properly faithful and switching to tea, topped up by the odd cup of decaf coffee count as giving up. No longer being part of any of the Orthodox traditions meant I failed to get the prompt I took for granted growing up, the ash crosses on foreheads that signalled Ash Wednesday, and the start of Lent. The point of Lent is spiritual - which giving up caffeine is not, at least on the surface - but I think there is a spiritual point in trying to best what has become a costly, insidious habit; proving to myself that coffee is not my master. Given how much my morning routine at work is related to taking time out to reflect at the start of the day with a cup of coffee in hand, it should be an interesting thirty-seven forty days. Hopefully it translates to better sleep - the data from my Fitbit will be the judge of that.

On Life, and A Song...

Wed, 02 Nov 2016 18:30:48 +0000

For the Wordpress Discover Challenge Prompt: Song

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1995 was an interesting time to be young and Christian. DC Talk, The Newsboys and Audio Adrenaline were at various stages in their evolution from being the niche interest of church youth groups to becoming recognisable by mainstream music lovers. Seemingly out of the blue, Christian Contemporary Music was on its way to acquiring a sort of coolness that the work of the likes of Larry Norman and Rich Mullins had deserved but somehow never achieved. In my corner of the world, Hosanna Music’s body of work was the rave, a slew of live worship albums including a couple recorded in post apartheid South Africa (Tom Inglis’We Are One and Lionel Petersen’s Rejoice Africa) building on a collection that included several offerings from the likes of of Ron Kenoly, Don Moen, Bob Fitts and Randy Rothwell.

Outer Layers: On Dressing in Four Objects

Thu, 29 Sep 2016 17:44:03 +0000

Source [ Afolabi Sotunde]. For the WordPress Discover Prompt, Outer Layers

--- When asked to describe my look, I tend to go for scruffy chic, this being my attempt to rationalise away what is my laissez-faire approach to dressing up. Left to my devices I default to four objects: jeans, a t-shirt, super comfy shoes and a pair of glasses which I am increasingly dependent on. On the occasions on which I have deviated from these, they have tended to be to the relative safety of a shirt and a blazer over jeans; the full shebang - a suit and a tie - only coming out for weddings (the last of which I agonised over before buying a new suit) and black tie dinners, which I tend to avoid. I suspect I have managed to get away with this, particularly at work, because I work in the Engineering field and have largely worked for employers where a formal dress code has never really been enforced.

The Leaving Kind...

Sat, 25 Jun 2016 10:07:30 +0000

Brexit - full

– It’s official, we’re the leaving kind after all. Voting last Thursday concluded with a 52% majority that Great Britain’s future path lay outside the EU framework, ending a 43-year association. The easy conclusion - particularly given how much the result has been affected by voted cast south of the Solway-Tweed line - is that insular England has held the Union hostage, but I suspect things are far more nuanced than that.

A Comedy of Errors

Thu, 16 Jun 2016 22:21:18 +0000

Image Source

Two weeks ago on a whim, I decided I would book a short trip away from the ‘Deen, to London. The plan was simple — fly out on Friday night after work, catch up with a few friends, particularly S, and then head back on Sunday night, with no one the wiser at work. At such short notice, British Airways to Heathrow was a non-starter, as was Flybe to London City. This left EasyJet to Luton or Gatwick as the only viable options. In the end, I settled for Luton, the weekend of the 10th of June being the best fit with friends and family. On the day, having packed my go to travel bag and done work, I hopped on to the 727 from the bus station next to work, arriving just past 6.00pm for what was meant to be a 7.35pm flight.

On Rejection

Fri, 27 May 2016 07:30:18 +0000

Image Source

The conversation - when it happened - happened on a whim; as unplanned as could have been. The intent - to set up a face to face meeting later in the week - quickly snowballed into a full-on conversation about the direction the whole L thing was headed. As it turned out, it was headed nowhere.

It, the culmination of months of chasing, was about as anti-climactic as could be, worsened perhaps by how sure I thought I was that this was it. A lot of things sucked about it - not least the fact that the reasons offered; the uncertainty around work and the pressure from family all felt like convenient cop-outs. That my interest, made known clearly and consistently over the past few months ultimately counted for nothing felt like a slap in my face. The alternative too felt inferior. True he was probably a lot more heeled than I was, but there was baggage which I didn’t have which - given the seriousness with which L had seemed to chase this - should have counted for a lot more than it.

A Question of Patience

Fri, 20 May 2016 07:30:20 +0000

Source

– A year ago if you had asked me if I thought I was a patient person, my unequivocal answer - given without so much as a batted eyelid - would have been that I thought I was; somewhere between 9 and 9.5 on a scale of 1 to 10 if you had pressed me to quantify. The reality, grudgingly accepted after much soul searching a few weeks ago, is that I am not; a realisation that has left me second guessing the validity of all the other assumptions about myself I carry. The first seeds of doubt to assail my iron clad convictions were sown by an offhand comment by my friend M, the context being a decision she needed to make. As far as I was concerned, it was an open and shut case; she needed to put the poor sod she was stringing along - in my opinion - out of his misery. To her it was a lot more nuanced than that, for which I got the quip about being impatient (and unfeeling).

Human, Too

Fri, 04 Dec 2015 08:30:09 +0000

In his seminal essay Why I Blog, Andrew Sullivan reflects on the subject of blogging; it’s similarity to - and shared etymology with - a ship’s log, its rise in step with the proliferation of the web technologies which have made it possible, and the unique niche it fills in the online space. Its overarching and enduring quality, he surmises, is due in part to two things; the informal, almost instantaneous nature of blogging as a reaction to news and events, and the intense, if sometimes unforgiving, interaction between blogger and reader that blogs enable. The conclusions he reaches are from considering a specific form of a blog, the sort that lies at the intersection of personal reflection and journalism, much like his (now retired blog) Daily Dish. Overall the numbers are mind boggling. Back in 2005, Technorati estimated that a blog was born every second, with 14.2m blogs being tracked by them back then (For some context, Tumblr which didn’t exist back in 2005 was home to 261 million blogs as of the 1st of November this year). The vast majority of this blogosphere is made up of blogs that are far less serious in nature and content than the ones Sullivan’s comments concern primarily, however his conclusions apply, perhaps more-so in this personal, less formal space.

On Language, and Aspiration

Fri, 11 Sep 2015 12:30:00 +0000

In the opening chapter of his autobiography, Hunger of Memory, Richard Rodriguez explores his introduction to the English language, and the strain his commitment to mastering it places on his relationship with his parents. Being Mexican immigrants to America in the 1970’s, their primary language of intimacy and engagement is Spanish, their efforts in English being halting and deeply accented, even though his mother is an excellent speller of words. The emotion most stirred in those early days - when he as the up and coming scholarship boy gets to be out and about with them - is one of embarrassment and perhaps frustration at their limitations. For him, as with most people looking to escape the limitations of a certain kind of background, aspiration is a keen motivator, one that drives him to seek to immerse himself in knowledge and books, and take up the manners, airs and graces of the class and culture he looks up to.

On Being and Identity

Fri, 14 Aug 2015 11:30:22 +0000

Standing here on the cusp of a milestone birthday of sorts, the sense is one of relief - that what has been a deeply emotive, if difficult year, has ended without too much lingering damage. Much of course is relative, depending on that difficult to define quality emotional capacity, or resilience. To my untrained mind, it would appear that like muscles and exercise, the more experience one has had dealing with trauma and difficult, emotionally charged situations, the easier it should get. I suspect the jury is still out on that. Tempering the sense of relief is a sense of clarity, the detached sort that hits in the moments between when a car begins to skid off a bridge and when it hits the icy water beneath. Time, in those moments, seems to stand still, each event on the time line of dying taking on crystal clear quality, like an HD frame, frozen. This birthday has that feeling of being a portal to inevitable change. The facts are what they are, I am now nearer forty than thirty, and that realisation in one fell swoop takes away any remaining pretensions to enduring youth I still have. What this does in addition is bring to the fore the questions of being, identity and direction I have managed to sweep under the carpet over the past few years.

Of Journeys and Endings...

Thu, 07 May 2015 20:35:52 +0000

[ Source]

When March finally dragged itself to an end, I remember thinking that I hadn’t felt as stressed as I did at the time since 2008, 2008 being a nadir of sorts; one that ended up with me quitting my job and heading back to grad school, my version of navigating a delayed quarter life crisis.

So out of sorts and form did I feel that I took myself away to the Starbucks in Union Square, one Sunday after church, ordered the most decadent hot chocolate with cream on offer and proceeded to have a conversation with myself. What quickly became apparent from that exercise was that there were a number of pressure points which were driving my malaise.

On Loving, and (Not) Marrying...

Thu, 19 Feb 2015 20:30:12 +0000

[ Source]

When I was seventeen, I was sure that I would be married by the time I turned twenty-seven. I knew the date, Saturday the 7th of July 2007, who she would be and the song we would say our vows to. That year was my first away from home at University in a different city, one in which I cut my teeth creating a budget, spending money as I chose and defending my results to my father at the end of each month - all very responsible and grown up - or at least so I thought. There was no real science – or thought for that matter - to the timing, merely a wild stab in the dark. Ten years seemed far enough into the future to feel like forever, and my big Uncle F who seemed to embody adulthood perfectly turned twenty seven that year, or maybe thirty. Reality, I would later find out, was far more intention and hard slog than hit, hope and wishful thinking.

On Crime and Punishment

Thu, 05 Feb 2015 21:00:59 +0000

[ Source]

When my father would tan my hide - which was often in the years between turning twelve and escaping to University when I turned seventeen - he would send one of the many cousins who lived with us to fetch his preferred instrument, a lean, mean pankere, roll up his sleeves and matter-of-factly deliver a canning of epic proportions. The speed with which the instrument materialised time and time again - in spite of my best efforts - had me convinced that my cousins took a certain perverse, gleeful joy in seeing my bum tanned. Any number of infractions could have been the trigger for one of those in those days - taking apart his treasured gramophone for the heck of it (and not being able to put it back together again a la Humpty Dumpty), sneaking off to ‘dessert’, the patch of red earth where endless games of football took place - and young men where introduced to cigarettes and girls if you believed my mother, and once resorting to my fists to settle an altercation with E, the sharp mouthed imp who seemed to delight in getting under my skin. Early on, the tears flowed in copious amounts, until I mastered the act of tensing my buttocks just enough to mitigate the pain, the odd faint moan escaping my gritted teeth the only concession I allowed myself. Custom and practice dictated that, upon completion, I would have to say thanks and then sit through a debriefing session where my failings would be analysed, and alternate behavioural practices highlighted. In retrospect, the canning - intense as it was - was never truly the worst outcome. Infinitely worse was being left to stew in silent contemplation, particularly where my failings had occurred outside the confines of the house on 39th; my sense of guilt being complicated by the uncertainty around how much, if any, my father knew of my misdemeanours.

Of Rust, and Metaphors

Thu, 22 Jan 2015 19:30:44 +0000

[ Source]

Amidst the hurly burly that was the last quarter of 2014 at work - not helped by the unease set off by sliding oil prices, and questions around the future viability of North Sea oil and gas given lifting costs and taxes - the crazy gang team at work made time out to head across town for a day to reflect on how we’d performed through the year and agree objectives for the 2015. For what it’s worth it was good craic, much better than I expected given the strong personalities within the team, and the sense of simmering conflict, even though it was a tad too reliant on woozy, zen-ish things like sitting in a circle and taking time out to reflect in silence.

Reflecting on the Scottish Referendum: A Call to Social Justice

Thu, 15 Jan 2015 23:03:27 +0000

Scottish-independence-referendum-flags

A few months ago, people across the length and breadth of the nation of Scotland went to the polls to answer the question, “Should Scotland be an independent country?” At stake was the very future of the United Kingdom, and Scotland’s place in it. On one hand, the governing Scottish National Party staked its reputation on a ‘Yes’ vote, alongside the Scottish Greens and the Scottish Socialists under the aegis of Yes Scotland, whilst Scottish Labour, the Scottish Conservative Party, and the Scottish Liberal Democrats took a pro-Union Stance under the Better Together banner.

Always Returning

Thu, 18 Dec 2014 19:48:05 +0000

[ Source]

Whilst rustling through my documents at the weekend - I forget what prompted the decision to take on the Sisyphean task of rummaging through drawers filled with several years’ worth of papers of varying vintage - it struck me that it was now nearly five years to the day since I dragged myself, bags in tow, off the East Coast train from Newcastle to Aberdeen to begin a new life of sorts. Ditching my Nigerian job for grad school 18 months before meant that nostalgia - and twenty-something years’ worth of memories - counted for little; pragmatism was very much the defining consideration. In a sense, Newcastle, and then Aberdeen afterwards was about tearing everything up and starting afresh from scratch, pretty much the recovery from a self-imposed apocalypse. The driver for that decision was a sense of injustice at the Nigerian work environment; five years of being unaligned (being from the minority in a minority state didn’t help), a sense of having hit a glass ceiling and the desire to prove myself on a global sense all contributing.

Intersections - On JRR Tolkien

Tue, 31 Dec 2013 19:48:06 +0000

The Story Behind The Song: I Could Sing of Your Love Forever - Delirious?

Sat, 27 Jul 2013 21:24:41 +0000

Back in ‘94 when Delirious was still the house band for The Cutting Edge, a local youth event run by the Arun Community Church in Littlehampton, doing music full time didn’t look feasible, nor was the possibility of multiple Dove Awards and a Grammy nomination. In fact between leading worship at the cutting edge events and keeping up with a hectic schedule of gigs across the UK, the group that would become arguably the UK’s greatest Christian contemporary music exports had to hold down day jobs to keep things ticking.

Woolwich, the aftermath

Thu, 06 Jun 2013 19:33:05 +0000

In the immediate aftermath of the Woolwich murder, once that truly harrowing video had surfaced and the Nigerian connection was first mooted, I found myself cast in the unwilling role of the Nigerian ’expert’ at work. For most of the people in my corner of the world, I was the most handy Nigerian they could talk to. The odd attempt to parlay it into banter did come up, but for the most part, these were people looking to get some perspective on what was both vicious and senseless.

Memories of Christmas

Fri, 30 Dec 2011 16:05:24 +0000

My earliest memories of Christmas - and ultimately of growing up - are inextricably connected to the sounds of roosting chickens, the anticipation of a hearty Christmas afternoon meal and the Chapel’s annual Christmas carol night. We were by no means very well off. Those were the dark days bookended by SAP and its attendant devaluation of the Naira and the Abacha dictatorship in which people in the Academia essentially lived hand to mouth. What was an already thinly stretched wage was steadily eroded until my proud, well read father resorted to farming yams and cassava in the space behind his house to augment his wage. The main garnishing to the routine fare we got served as soups and stews was beef bought in abundance from the local butchery, and fish.

My 3Six5

Fri, 18 Mar 2011 23:15:02 +0000

I was graciously given the opportunity to share today’s entry over at the3Six5 Project. I enjoyed it so much, I might actually try to blog everyday for an entire year!

The first few lines:

Making it into work on time each week day is a minor optimization problem for which I try to find a solution: maximize sleep and minimize time spent waiting at the bus stop, subject to time of arrival being 8.30am. These last few days, Mother Nature has compounded my little problem by unleashing an unwelcome trio of rain, gale force winds and the occasional fluffs of snow making my waits at the bus stop something I have not particularly looked forward to.