The brief article to which the above link leads may turn out to detail one of the signal moments in science in this young century, if not indeed the millennium.  Or it could turn out to be an issue with a wonky stopwatch.  I’m hoping for the former.  Visions of hyperspace are now dancing merrily through my mind.  I know that this is far from confirmed, and much work must yet be done to attempt to duplicate the experiment, yet I cannot help but be a bit excited.  Or perhaps more than a bit.  Things are so much more interesting when we don’t know as much as we think we know.

Recently, as the heading of this journal entry might suggest, I attended a Meeting of Some Import.  For those who are familiar with my current academic circumstances, the venue of this meeting–the Semitic Museum at Harvard University–will give a fairly strong clue as to the agenda.  Indeed, it was a rare opportunity to escape my exile in, as Coleridge described it, this “strange place . . . where Time and weary Space / Fettered from flight, with night-mare sense of fleeing, / Strive for their last crepuscular half-being.”  So it was that, with a sense of boundless optimism matched only by a case of the jitters roughly the size and shape of the RMS Titanic, I set off for the far horizon.

Or Boston, rather, slightly closer than the mythic distance.  It felt good to be on the road again, with apologies to Mr. Nelson’s attorneys.  Even a brief expedition such as this is made more enjoyable by comparison to my extended confinement in the enshadowed vales of central Pennsylvania.  Bernard, my automobile, still performs faithfully and well (curses upon General Motors for depriving me of any future Saturns), and Emma the Satnav was only moderately sniffy about having depleted her batteries over months in standby mode.  I even procured an Infernal Device–that is to say, a cellular telephone–so that I might remain in contact with the parentals and deliver any good news swiftly to friends and family.  The meeting, Gentle Reader, was That Important.  I had been in communication with Prof. Peter Der Manuelian, the first professor of Egyptology at Harvard in sixty-eight years, as excellent a researcher as that first qualification would lead one to expect, and a good friend of my mentor, Prof. Redford.  The opportunity to speak with him in person in order to discuss the possibility of joining his program at Harvard was well worth an excursion to Boston, or indeed to Outer Mongolia.

The drive was pleasant and uneventful, but provided no good opportunities for photography or commentary.  I did stop at a couple of promising scenic overlooks, but haze and pollution conspired to ensure that they fulfilled the promise of their title only to devotees of the indistinct.  The hotel room, with its warped and unlockable doors, noisy patrons and facilities, and astonishingly stoned front-desk clerk, has been rendered amusing by the salutary effects of distance and a refund.  The journey back was remarkably similar to the journey there, so here endeth the travelogue.

On to matters of interest.  Emma led me right to my destination–I’m of a sufficiently archaic generation that I still find such technological marvels marvelous–in good time, in spite of delays setting out, to arrive at the meeting only mildly puffed.  I even had time for a brief nose-about in the collection of the Semitic Museum, which looks quite interesting.  Sadly, most of it was cordoned off, and as signs warned of security cameras, alarms, and Dire Consequences, I felt no desire to disturb the peace of the day by attempting to peer beyond the cordon.  I hope one day to return for a more proper perusal.

The meeting itself went very well, indeed, better than I had hoped.  Prof. Manuelian is a true learned gentleman, very pleasant, welcoming, and helpful; he even took a moment to suggest a hieroglyphic text editor which seems to be superior to the one I had been using, as well as a number of reading recommendations.  I dasn’t make too free herein with the minutes of a private meeting–one doesn’t wish to perturb the other party, nor to seem as if one is composing trumpet sonatas in one’s own honor–so suffice it to say that my hopes have not been dashed.  I believe I am not overstepping the bounds of propriety if I suggest that the question of whether the arrangement under discussion would be desirable has been settled, and what remains is the question of whether it will be possible.

Needless to say, I fervently hope that it shall be possible.  The very idea of being permitted to study at Harvard–at a real university–is one fraught with wonder.  Updates, should any make themselves known, will of course be presented here.

The Hallowed Halls seem a step or two closer than once they did.

1. Deciphered five-thousand-year-old jar sealings dating from the reign of the first king of Egypt (or possibly his predecessor), made when written language was still a new idea.
2. Read the Story of Sinuhe in the original hieratic.
3. Produced a Master’s thesis, which should have taken most of a year, in three weeks.  (And graduated.  And impressed the heck out of the committee.  AND it wasn’t because I’d procrastinated.)
4. Learned the art of bonsai from an American master, in the process working with trees now on display at the Morikami Museum and the National Arboretum.
5. Won a university fiction-writing award without entering.
6. Nearly perished of hypothermia in July (in the northern hemisphere, south of the Arctic Circle).
7. Flew less than twenty feet above the Florida Everglades in a Cessna 172 (as a passenger), startling the heck out of several alligators.
8. Aged eleven, gave an impromptu anatomy lesson following the accidental partial vivisection of my arm.  My audience was the P.E. instructor, a former Marine, who nearly fainted.
9. Learned from, and served as principal demonstration dummy for, a martial arts instructor who some years before had been resoundingly flunked out of high school by my father.
10. Met Mr. Rogers.  (I was four at the time; I remember little other than that he was every bit as nice as he seemed on TV.)

I should probably elaborate on some of those, but I won’t.  I have a comment section.  Interested parties may ask.

The new vehicle set to revolutionise the skies — BBC News

I love airships, therefore I love this.  I’m absolutely thrilled.  I’ve long said that the world needs airships — in a post-fossil world, I envision solar-powered airships taking over from carbon-belching jet airliners.  Sure, they wouldn’t be as fast, but how many people really need to zip speedily across the ocean in but a few hours?  Bring back a touch of class, of style, of luxury!  Return to the future that never was!  Bring back the airship!

So, here it is, in pictures: My Tour of the Penn State Borg Collective, with Commentary.