Kai Staats: writing

What I Learned from the Road IV

For the first time in four years, I enjoyed a weekend at Joshua Tree National Park. I longed for this time, to return to one of my favourite places in the world. I walked by moonlight, climbed by daylight, cooked simple meals made from simple foods, and slept under a cloudless, star lit dome.

For the past two years living a suburban life in South Africa, and now, temporary residence in Phoenix, I struggle to find satisfaction in the simple things. Cities have a way of drawing us into complex patterns, escalating, upward spirals of complexity. Joshua Tree provided fresh reminder of what it means to live simply.

Living in the city too can incorporate many of the joys of a simple life–growing herbs, tomatoes, squash, and peppers in the space between our buildings, roof-top gardens or window boxes, cooking meals at home, even sleeping out of doors where afforded. But there must be something else, something more we all desire, for so many of us choose to sleep in a tent, cook over a wood fire, and find a different kind of comfort in living with less, even if for just a few days.

Five gallons of water for two people for three days. Two cups of white gas for six meals. A loaf of bread, a tin of hummus, oatmeal, cucumbers, and that was all that was needed. Simple foods, simply prepared. The enjoyment of those flavours was of course, far more nourishing than any restaurant or take out dining.

This is a frame of mind, not a location or special space. Can we learn to take it with us, no matter where we reside?

By |2017-10-21T15:48:58-04:00March 21st, 2016|The Written|Comments Off on What I Learned from the Road IV

Selling ourselves

We have succumb to the future foretold in the science fiction movies. Not the one in which we explore strange, new worlds and seek out new civilizations, but the one in which advertising agencies know our likes and dislikes, what we eat for breakfast and how we spend our weekends. Product manufacturers predict what we do or do not prefer, and advise us as to what to purchase, when perhaps we need not purchase anything at all.

We are so completely inundated with advertising that like the audible noise of a near-by highway or car alarms on a windy day, we are expected to just ignore it, despite the fact that it carves at our very soul.

What’s worse, we celebrate the programmers and algorithms they deploy. We uphold the accuracy of their ability to track our behaviour, thereby welcoming the invasion of our privacy. Our sense of security is undermined and we call it a technological breakthrough.

For how long will this pyramid scheme continue? For how many years will we accept the bombardment of our senses as a necessary norm?

By |2016-04-15T03:49:50-04:00March 18th, 2016|Critical Thinker, Humans & Technology|Comments Off on Selling ourselves

The Circle of Life

Circle of Life by Scientific American

Toward the back of a recent issue of Scientific American, I was totally engrossed by a brief discussion of the “Circle of Life” from the point of view of biology. Every known species (2.3 million and growing) is included in the count (inner circle) with a projection for the balance of types of life, as we discover more, in the outer circle.

Perhaps what I love most is the understanding that we know so little, and are projecting our own lack of knowledge as a kind of map for what we desire, and will some day learn.

By |2017-08-05T19:11:52-04:00March 3rd, 2016|Ramblings of a Researcher|Comments Off on The Circle of Life

10 things you can do to make a difference

1) Take-away food, not garbage. Bring your own cup, bowl, fork, spoon, and knife for all take-away food (yes, that includes Star Bucks).

2) Use cloth towels. Never purchase disposable plates, plastic wear, or paper towels.

3) Use a canvas bag for all groceries. Never again bring food home in a plastic or paper bag.

4) Use rechargeable batteries. Never again use disposable batteries.

5) Ride your bike, walk, and take public transportation, no matter the weather or season. Not only will you survive, but your body will thrive for the exercise, change of pace, and focused time to relax or just think.

6) Make your next vehicle electric. The ranges are increasing every year, now over 100 miles per charge for the Nissan Leaf and 200 for the 2017 Chevy Bolt. The amount you drive likely remains less than 40 miles a day.

7) Install passive solar water heating on your home’s roof. You can build your own for the cost of the pipe, or purchase high-efficiency, evacuated tubing systems which bring water nearly to boil in a matter of minutes.

8) Install photovoltaic (PV) solar panels to provide some or all of your electric needs. The cost of PV has dropped dramatically over the past decade, bringing PV generated electricity to grid parity in certain power districts.

9) Read, research, learn, and spread the word.

10) Stop making excuses.

By |2016-04-15T02:15:35-04:00February 19th, 2016|Critical Thinker, Humans & Technology|Comments Off on 10 things you can do to make a difference

Good News for Bad News Days

While living in Cape Town, South Africa for the past two years, I came to crave my 7km barefoot runs on the beach, surfing in the cool, early morning waves of False Bay, breakfast of fresh, locally grown organic veggies and hand-picked eggs, and a half hour reading the good news of the day.

In a world filled with news of local political corruption and national debt, gang fights and robberies, ISIS and the North Korean threat, and increasing violence in Palestine and Israel, I long for something to remind me that our species is not as sinister as we seemingly demonstrate.

For me, scientific research and discovery is much needed good news, a human craving for knowledge and expression of creativity that knows no bounds. Science, Scientific American, New Scientist, National Geographic, –they offer stories of teams that are working to solve some of our greatest challenges. Yes, many of the stories begin with a description of a dire situation–global warming, browning waters, fisheries on the brink of collapse, energy production that poisons our atmosphere, and the spread of deadly disease. But each issue is met with deeper insight to the problem and often a means to counter pending catastrophe. Even more stories are about pure discovery, made by those who desire to know how the world works in intimate detail.

We peer inside the human brain to address our behaviour. We follow the migration of wild game to learn how to help keep ecosystems in balance. We study ancient relics to learn what we once knew, but have long since forgotten. We look to the dark corners of our solar system in search of the origin of life and to the very beginning of time to determine if this is the only universe, or one of many which co-exist.

“The hole wide multiverse”
“A 10-minute rest can boost memory like sleep”
“Farting plants kick up a stick if irked”
“Narwhal nurseries spotted”
“Math whizzes of ancient Babylon figured out forerunner of calculus”
“Tegu lizards get body heat boost during mating season”
“Computer that mimics human brain beats professional at game of Go”

In New Scientist, issue Jan 9-15, 2016, a story of Alexander Graham Bell in 1880, when he built a photophone, a device that uses light to transmit sound, has him saying, “I have heard articular speech by sunlight! I have heard a ray of sun laugh and cough and sing! I have been able to hear a shadow and I have even perceived by ear the passage of a cloud across the sun’s disk!” The inventor of the telephone, whose namesake yet lives on, wrote in poetic form the exuberance of his discovery and invention.

When we allow ourselves to see the world through the eyes of a child, we once again take on that child-like form. We celebrate what we learn not because it elevates us as individuals, to gain fame, wealth, or power (for those are the burdens of the adult world) but because it opens our minds to what we do not know, and how much more of the mystery remains for us to unravel.

By |2017-08-05T19:12:23-04:00January 29th, 2016|Critical Thinker, Ramblings of a Researcher|Comments Off on Good News for Bad News Days

Theatre’s End

I am an unknown actor
playing an inconsequential role,
in a production which has no author.

An invisible stage crew,
wearing clouds so as not to be seen,
has elevated this narrow stage to an unnatural height.

Here I witness the moon,
as a canned light hung from a hidden catwalk,
burning to bring us the night.

The chair on which I rest shudders with vibration,
a massive engine suspended from the adjacent wing
which folds only once with the closing act.

The light of the Moon comes to me twice,
once from its refractive regolith,
then again from the curve of the nearby, rotund shroud.

Internal blades spin with incredible precision at an incomprehensible velocity so as to maintain this airborne guild. With me, there are three hundred actors. I am but twenty seven and one. Together, we long for an audience which cannot attend yet will embrace us individually, at theatre’s end.

By |2016-01-20T15:27:35-04:00January 19th, 2016|From the Road, The Written|Comments Off on Theatre’s End

The Hawk, the Fox, and the White-tailed Deer

On the inner fringe of the Tucson Mountain Park, where the last of the massive homes dot the landscape, the red-tailed hawk rose out of the canyon with but the slightest motion of her wings. I wanted to follow, but could not find the means.

The fox scurried from beneath a creosote bush as I scrambled down a canyon wall. His body pointed away, but head remained facing me. I sat to embrace his stare. We engaged, for how long I don’t know, both wondering who would lose this contest of will. He raised his nose. I could see his chest expand. Then he turned, climbed over a small boulder, and disappeared into a hollow.

The white-tailed buck moved with a light, long stride, just to my front and right side. His broad antlers brushed the upper branches of the cacti. I heard him before I saw him, despite his tremendous size. I increased my pace, sprinting on the game trail when I thought I was out of view, slowing at the crest of the next hill. But in the shadows of this Sonoran desert refuge, I knew the chase was through.

Perhaps each of these dwellers will also return to their homes to tell the story of the human whom they encountered. Slow, cumbersome, unable to move in silence yet somehow, the one whose kind have encroached upon all but the furthest reaches of their homes.

By |2016-01-07T00:07:20-04:00January 6th, 2016|From the Road|Comments Off on The Hawk, the Fox, and the White-tailed Deer

When research comes to an end …

I have since my return to the States five weeks ago been preparing my MSc thesis for submission to UCT. 114 pages. 40 citations. 20 images. Three weeks to go … and still so much to do. Nearly every day I engage. 2 hours, 4 hours … 14 hours. It is a process I enjoy far more than I thought possible, for the exacting attention to every detail is wonderfully consuming.

Running, hiking, yoga, bread baking, tending the fire at my aunt’s home in Tucson are what I do between the hours I am writing and editing. As when I was developing Karoo GP, I wake, breathe, and sleep my thesis.

This is the making of a scientist. No fact goes to print without evidence of its origin, either in previously published works, or my own, validated research. No statement is personal. This is not about me, but what was discovered about the arena in which I laboured to better understand.

I was twenty months in South Africa, twenty two months in this program. I attended a dozen workshops and conferences in South Africa, Namibia, and Spain in order to broaden my skills and deepen my knowledge, to learn how to begin to understand machine learning as it can be applied to radio astronomy. Countless thousands of pages of literature reviewed, thousands of lines of code written, and hundreds of hours spent in development, data runs, and analysis.

In the end, it comes down to just two numbers, Precision and Recall, to determine if my work was a success.

That is … incredible!

By |2017-08-05T19:12:30-04:00January 6th, 2016|Ramblings of a Researcher|Comments Off on When research comes to an end …
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