Pathetic fallacy is one of those words I learned in high school that I never forgot. It refers to the presentation of inanimate objects, often in nature, as having human feelings or thought.

Yesterday was the last day of the conference, but many of the international people are still around. As I write, I’m sitting in the hotel lobby, staring out through the window at the downpour of rain on the bricks of the patio. Most of the conference guests are tired and (at least in my case) homesick. Animated chatter has given way to silent contemplation.

So you see, the rain suits the atmosphere. It’s almost as if Nature knows that we’ve had just about enough of sunny, Georgian weather; most of us are eager to return home to our offices and departments. God is a deft writer.

Yesterday, I spoke to one of the students who was studying fluid turbulence. Turbulence is easy to point out: It’s when the organised motions of fluids breaks down into chaotic and unpredictable randomness. Despite its commonness, however, it remains as one of the greatest unsolved, and even unapproachable problems in fluid mechanics.

The great British hydrodynamicist, Horace Lamb once gave a speech near the end of his career in which he said to the audience, “I am an old man now, and when I die and go to heaven there are two matters on which I hope for enlightenment. One is quantum electrodynamics, and the other is the turbulent motion of fluids. And about the former I am rather optimistic.”

The interesting thing is that despite my familiarity with most of the mathematics involving fluids, I’ve never even seen a chapter in a book explaining turbulence. I can’t name a single result on turbulence. It’s a dead field. I can’t name a single person (before yesterday) working on the problem.

This student, the one studying turbulence, then explained to me his feelings of isolation and disappointment with the lack of appreciation for his subject.

As mathematicians, we walk a fine line.

Our work is rarely appreciated as it should be. After all, an astronomer can point towards a distant star in the nighttime sky; a chemist can point towards a mixture of compounds and explain its implication for a medical pill; a programmer can point to his computer and show you how it can do your taxes.

But a mathematician? What do we point to?

Of course, we can speak excitedly about the incredible diamonds we’ve discovered. We tell you about their structure and their hidden properties. We spout complicated formulae in a language few can understand, but always assuring you that everything we really do is about truth and beauty.

But never once do we show you these diamonds. Never once can you reach out and touch the work of a mathematician. Sometimes, there is such frustration in working with intangible ideas and concepts.

Lack of appreciation isn’t just limited to the layperson. There is lack of appreciation in the community as well. There are fashionable topics and incomprehensible, obscure topics. Doing something you love and believe in is only half the story. The naive half. But to do it well, you also need support from your peers and support from the scientific community at large.

It hurts whenever a mathematician is passed over by a physicist or an engineer for an award because our universe — the universe of ideas and numbers — is seen to be less important and less exciting than the tangible, physical universe.

The last two years have tested my belief in mathematics.

On the one hand — the purely theoretical hand — I’ve grown fonder and fonder of the mathematical universe. One cannot merely pick up a maths text like one picks up a novel at the bookstore. It’s a slow, painful process to attain knowledge. Moreover, each additional kernel of knowledge further reinforces the structure as a whole. The more you know, the more you know, you know?

But on the other hand, the last two years have also shown me that there’s a plethora of social, political, economical, and philosophical attributes of mathematics and the mathematical community that isn’t shown in the brochures.

The honeymoon is over. Now, you begin to notice the gentle snoring when she sleeps; or the sound she makes when she chews her food; or that unattractive snort that emerges when she laughs.

Are these merely nervous ticks one can grow to love? Or is this only the beginning?

The rain has stopped.

Overall, I was happy with the talk I gave.

Part of the key is to have a good time slot. In this respect, I was two for two: I was scheduled on the first day of the conference, and was the last speaker before lunch.

Being on the first day of the conference generally means people haven’t yet slacked off (last day talks are suicide); and being the last speaker in a session means you’re not as pressured to finish exactly when your time is up (first speakers have to contend with the majority of people arriving late).

Attendance was strong. Part of the reason for this was that during the coffee breaks, I had made a conscientious effort to advertise my session to some of the big cheese related to my field. The result? People arriving for the sole purpose of listening to the final talk of the morning.

I’m a little bit jet lagged and tired, so sleepy time now.

Tomorrow: more talks. And then the banquet.

Q: It’s 11:00 PM. How do you feel about your talk tomorrow?

A: Meh. I’ll just wing it.

Top 4 thoughts about the State of Georgia

1. A change of colour

There are a lot of African-Americans here. A lot. It’s pretty incredible. According to Wikipedia, the Black-Canadian population of my hometown Ottawa is something like 5% (though of course this depends on where you are in Ottawa. I grew up in an area with a slightly higher figure).

England is even lower with about 2-3%. Oxford, by the way, is a freak town: in 2006, only 26 black students were offered a spot. So as you can imagine, we don’t see a lot of black people around.

Now in Georgia, it’s something like 30%!. You see what I mean?

2. What? You mean it’s not natural to look like a vampire?

For the last little while, I’ve gotten use to the fact that the natural state of being for an English woman is to have a lovely, but pasty-white complexion. That, you see, is just a function of the weather and overall lack of sun (and warmth) in Britain.

But here in the south, all the women have golden sun-kissed legs and wear itty-bitty shorts.

Thus I’ve come to the realisation that there are still some pleasures left in life. Naturally, this realisation is accompanied by a bit of guilty leering.

3. Southern drawl

This morning, I heard a girl say “yall” three times in one sentence. That sort of blew my mind.

Are Canadians even allowed to say “eh?” three times in one go? Nevertheless, I like the southern accent. It lacks the clipped pretentiousness that some accents suffer from.

4. Awkward mathematicians

I took the airport shuttle from Atlanta to Athens with another mathematician attending the conference.

“What’s your name?” I asked. He told me. Seconds past as I looked at him expectantly while he stared at me blankly.

“I’m Phil,” I continued again, offering my hand to shake. He shook it, then continued to sit there in silence.

“Where are you from?” I asked. “Italy.” he said. Silence.

“What kind of work do you do?” “Hamiltonian PDEs.” Silence.

“Oh…”

Man, I have a feeling it’s gonna be one long-ass conference.

I’m heading to the University of Georgia tomorrow. That is, in Athens, Georgia, USA.

Just a quick trip. I’ll be attending the IMACS 2009 conference. ‘IMACS’, by the way, stands for International Association for Mathematics and Computers in Simulation. I’m giving my talk on the first day of the conference (Monday), then heading home on Thursday.

Nothing special planned. Just in and out.

It’s a little bit strange. Apparently this year, the organisation decided to split the conference up into two parts: One in the northern hemisphere (University of Georgia), and the other in the southern hemisphere (Cairns, Australia). The one in Georgia is more oriented towards the theory and computation of nonlinear waves. The one in Australia is oriented towards mathematical modeling.

And so it happens that Oxford personnel — all of them gung ho modelers — are attending the one in Australia (my boss is the keynote speaker).

Whatever. I don’t need them.

Now excuse me for being a little bit sexist, but am I wrong in thinking that there is something inherently manly about the ability to pack light?

I mean, you always hear about those kind of men who can go on a four-month trek across the Himalayas with nothing but a toothbrush and a whip and you think, “Shit. That’s a real man.”

Now me, I usually spend an hour debating whether or not I’ll regret leaving my 840 page textbook on Fluid Mechanics at home.

And it’s important to dress well, right? Which means suit, shirts, ties, and so on. And so if manliness were measured in terms of one’s ability to pack light, I guess I wouldn’t quite be up there with the alpha males. I’d be more like an average Joe with the beery gut and the receding hairline.

So this time, I’m really making an effort to pack light. Which means a single backpack and a garment carrier for a six day trip. No luggage check-in thank you very much.

So other than the usual things like toiletries and boxer shorts, as well as the pair of jeans, t-shirt, and jacket I plan to wear to the airport, my bag contains:

Clothes:
1 x blazer (for the banquet)
1 x blue tie
3 x shirts
3 x t-shirts
2 x trousers (one brown, one black)

Electronics:
1 x Macbook
1 x power adapter
1 x network cable
1 x camera (40D)
1 x lens (17-55)

As well as various documents, scrap paper, a photocopy of a chapter I’m reading, a tiny A5 binder, a pen, a highlighter, and a pencil.

Now am I a man’s man or what?