Friday, April 18, 2008

Order out of chaos - A short tale about strange fruits

Once upon a time there was a greengrocer in Barcelona's Boqueria market. He was famous for arranging all the fruits in well-ordered piles like the one shown in the photo. He was a great specialist in strawberries and oranges and was highly estimated among his colleagues. Then, one day one of them, also quite highly esteemed not for his piling of fruits but for their production came to him and proposed him to join in a new enterprise. The producer was planning to go into the grape business and he wanted him to think of a way to pile them up properly. Our greengrocer had never worked with grapes before but he had not become famous for turning down interesting offers so he accepted. He then decided to hire a guy to think for a way to pile up the grapes even before the grapes were delivered. The wannabe "piler" arrived at the market bench full of enthusiasm and started devising a number of ways to pile-up the grapes all neatly and nicely. He made a lot of effort to understand the shape and size of the grapes, read a lot about them in books and ended up with an acceptable piling strategy that could at least work with the grapes he had in mind.

Both the greengrocer and the piler were quite happy, when one day, a guy whose bench was on the other side of the market suddenly appeared with a small number of grapes piled up in what looked to be a nicely-shaped cone. Both our heroes were rather puzzled, because of the fact that the way they had thought about was resembling more a pyramid than a cone. In any case they started thinking about how the two strategies could be combined, when suddenly greengrocers all around started piling up fresh grapes on their benches. The greengrocer was really saddened. Only a short time ago he thought of this strange fruit as a possible prospect which would only moderately expand his customers. Now all his competitors were going into the grape business before him and, even worse, it seemed like everybody wanted grapes. Grapes had become fashionable.

The frustration of the poor piler was even bigger. You see, he had spent a lot of time studying the grapes, he thought he had understood them and now he would see all sorts and kinds of these strange fruits piled-up around him that were nothing like each other. Some would be big enough to look like kiwi, others would come in small beads resembling big berries. Some where bright red like strawberries and other pale-yellow like potatos. When he tried to compare one type with another his frustration increased even more. He realized that some of the merchants, when talking about grapes were only referring to one specific type which would be better piled in the shape of a cone, others would pile their own in cubes and so on...

As time passed by the situation became even worse. The competitor greengrocers were starting to make strange allocations about their grapes, piling them up on top of other fruits, suggesting that grapes were to be piled up with oranges and apples and pears, and as you may have imagined, each one had a different combination in mind. Naturally the greengrocer was more and more anxious and kept asking of his helper to think of even more complex ways to pile up the fruit, while nothing would suggest that there was a good or a bad way to do so. It just seemed like everybody would do their own thing, call it a pile of grapes and not care about each other. The piler had not learned to work like this, and neither the greengrocer. Both of them were coming from a school of greengrocers, were the fruits shape and colour were well defined first and then piled-up accordingly. Thus they were in agreement that they should define the fruit first before the pile.

But the problem was that the more the piler strolled up and down the market, carefully approaching the benches and observing the piles, the more frustrated he would get. It was turning out that some of the competitor greengrocers were using other kind of fruit to support the piles, others would mix more than one type of grapes in the same pile, there were a few that were using two types of piles at the same time and even some that were cheating by taking piles of cherries and calling them grapes.

On top of all that the producer which has made the initial deal with the greengrocer arrived finally with the grapes he had promised in the very beginning. In fact it was his assistant who had come to bring the merchandise as initially arranged. And to the disappointment of both our heroes, the grapes she was carrying were exactly what they feared of. There she was putting in front of them all possible kinds of grapes, small and big, spherical and oval, bright red and yellow and pale-white. She had been working for months in the production of grapes, she new everything that had to do with the production as the piler new almost everything that had to do with their possible organization. And there they were the two of them with a bunch of incoherent, strange fruit that could not be organized in one but in many ways.

As their employers were growing more and more impatient, the grape-piler and the grape-cultivator were quite puzzled, walking up and down the market over and over, trying to think of the solution to their problem which was of dual nature. The cultivator wanted to know which type of the grapes were the right ones, -that is if there were one type-. And the piler wanted to make sure that this type was piled properly. Their thoughts were oscillating back and forth from the most daring hypotheses to the most down to earth compromises. Once they would come to think that there was only one type of grapes and all the rest were fakes, then they would ponder one whether the real grapes were a mixture of all these variations. They could not decide on whether the pile shape was to be one or more than one. And they would come to a real confusion when people would ask them about the other type of surrounding fruit and whether the shape of their piles were to affect the one of the grapes.

All the piler could come down to was that this had become a big mess, that this chaos was not to be put into order.

And I am not very sure but maybe this is the end of the story. Or maybe not.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

today (...it is finally raining in Barcelona!)

Son de abril, las aguas mil
sopla el viento achubascado
y entre nublado y nublado,
hay trozos de cielo añil.

Antonio Machado

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

The boss of me


I spent ten days in Greece a bit detached from things and people to a degree that may have been considered rude. Even my dear mother, whose subconscious wisdom is only very rarely overpowered by her residual drive to pretend to be the "Greek mom" and who very seldom tries to "protect" me from an overtiring schedule, was somehow surprised by this anti-social behaviour.

The reason for this less social holiday was simply that I did not feel like it. As recent posts might have made a bit clearer to the restricted readership of this blog, I have gone from doubting myself, to doubting what I do for a living and have ended up that I am not satisfied with neither. Fortunately I used these ten days in Greece to reflect about all this self-criticism only to conclude that it was not such a big deal after all. This in the sense that self-doubting is something quite common and should not be allowed to have such a great impact on us, especially while on holidays. I therefore decided that questioning myself shall be an activity into which I shall hereon indulge with no guilt, as long as I do not bother providing any answer to this questioning.

Moreover, I think I made some considerable advance in what concerns my own self's management, (if you would pardon the term). Over the last months I felt somehow excessively "guided" by my -multiple- tutors and bosses, a condition which my inherent problems with authority, my increasingly Greek "know-it-all" attitude and the realistic fact that I spend more time with my project than they do, made really difficult in absorbing. But it was in Greece, away from my project, its managers and Barcelona, where I rememebred strolling by the place shown in the photo.

The so-called "forat de la vergonya", (which would mean "shame's hole" in catalan) was once a really under-developed part in one of Barcelona's fastest developing neighbourhoods, the Born. In our -otherwise- interesting times, when developing means increasing in -purely economic- value and under-development is synonymous to de-valuation, the "Forat" was simply a piece of land that real-estate sharks had not got their hands on yet. Hopefully this was one of the few cases where the sharks remained hungry, since the residents of the neighbourhood took the situation in their own hands and changed the face of the place with their own means. Today the "Forat", looks like in the photo -only a bit more colourful than in this image taken on a rainy day anyway-. It has been declared by the residents as "self-managed" park, where -even after some late intervention and subsequent additions by the City Hall- most of the constructions have been carried out by the citizens themselves. The park includes small gardens, hand-made benches and harbors a football goal and a small basket-ball court. On the entrance there is this sign which reads "Self-managed Park: Forat de la Vergonya".

Where is the -not so obvious- analogy? Well, after a bit of thinking and deciding that as in all jobs, in this one as well, having some limited fun is a crucial component, I have decided to become the boss of me once more. I want to make clear here, that this is not a revolution, nor am I objecting to any kind of oppression. There are no sharks here, at least not obvious ones. But to some extent I feel our job, my job is being de-valuated by being directed toward stupid scientific trends with no interest to me and -most importantly- no fun whatsoever. Therefore I would more call it a small subversion, a minor mutiny if you like, as I re-assume full responsibility for my work, the only real asset I possess -isn't that right uncle Karl?
It has paid off in the past, so why shouldn't it work now?

....
PS. A late Friday night postscript may come in confirmation to the above. The numbers I see on my screen suggest that it paid off this time as well. But lets not get over-excited

today

Desde la infancia apenas se me cae algo al suelo tengo que levantarlo, sea lo que sea, porque si no lo hago va a ocurrir una desgracia, no a mí sino a alguien a quien amo y cuyo nombre empieza con la inicial del objeto caído. Lo peor es que nada puede contenerme cuando algo se me cae al suelo, ni tampoco vale que lo levante otro porque el maleficio obraría igual. He pasado muchas veces por loco a causa de esto y la verdad es que estoy loco cuando lo hago, cuando me precipito a juntar un lápiz o un trocito de papel que se me han ido de la mano

Julio Cortazar
Rayuela