Italy is one country where beauty is prized more than any other virtue(美德). That is, except in the small town of Piobbico, the self-declared World Capital of Ugly People. The road sign at the edge of the town even warns visitors that they are entering the ugly zone. People who consider themselves ugly have been gathering in Piobbico since the 1960s. That's when Ugly Club president Telesforo Lacobelli established a dating agency for women who believed they were too ugly to attract husbands. Lacobelli believes that he is ugly himself because he has a short nose in a country where long or large noses have always been considered beautiful.

    People from around the world travel to Piobbico to tell their sad stories of ugliness. During the annual Festival of the Ugly, which occurs on the first Sunday of every September, hundreds of people gather in Piobbico's town square to elect the president of the Ugly Club. Lacobelli wins the election every year. The Ugly Club has over 20, 000 members. They carry ID cards that grade their ugliness from bearable to extreme. A prize is awarded to Ugly Club members who qualify as extremely ugly.

    The Ugly Club president insists that ugliness is a virtue. Since beautiful people get a lot of attention for their beauty alone, they have to work hard to prove their other virtues. Ugly people, on the other hand, are genuine and do not have to prove anything to anybody, according to Lacobelli.

    Lacobelli is a spokesperson for ugly people everywhere. He believes that the uglier one is, the better life can be. Though the club enjoys making fun of beauty, especially beauty contests, Lacobelli has a serious side as well. He believes that too many people suffer from financial and emotional pressures because they don't meet society's standards of beauty. The fact that beautiful people are more successful in the workforce is a problem that Lacobelli has attempted to bring forward to the Italian public and government.

    My 17-year-old daughter went off to college and having her away from home brought back memories of watching Peter Pan when she was little. In the classic TV production, one scene in particular impressed me: when Mrs. Darling puts her children into bed. As she turns off the last of the night light, she takes one last look at the bedroom and says, “Dear night lights, protect my sleeping children.” As a mother, I know how much she loves her children.

    It has been several weeks since we took our daughter to college and she seems to be adjusting well after a short period of homesickness. For us, though, it's another story. Like most parents, I love checking in on my children at night. But now she's gone, and I find nighttimes the hardest. I miss her most at night.

    In my neighborhood, most of the parents whose kids are off to college are dealing with similar melancholy. My husband is filled with anxiety. One friend talked about getting this sick feeling in her stomach as she prepared for the college drop-off. We complained that many of us were too busy to truly enjoy being with our children while we had them.

    For us moms, seeing Toy Story 3 only made the sadness worse as we watched the character Andy, who is the same age as our kids, say goodbye to his childhood as he prepares to leave for college. And it's not just “first-time” parents like me. Two moms who have kids already well into college said the separation didn't get any easier. “You feel like something has been taken away from inside you” said one of them.

    I imagine things will get easier with time, especially as I see my daughter adjust to college life. Meanwhile, as I keep my cell phone close to me in bed and text my daughter goodnight and sweet dreams every night, I like to think that messages serve as a night light that keeps her safe.

Maths and Music

    An excellent way to kill a conversation is to say you are a mathematician. Tell others you are also a musician, however, and they will be hooked. Although there are obvious similarities between mathematical and musical activity, there is no direct evidence for the kind of magical connection many people seem to believe in.

    I'm partly referring here to the "Mozart effect", where children who have been played Mozart compositions are supposedly more intelligent, including at maths, than other children. It is not hard to see why such a theory would be popular: we would all like to become better at maths without putting in any effort. But the conclusions of the experiment that expressed the belief in the Mozart effect were much more modest. If you want your brain to work better, you clearly have to put in hard work. As for learning to play the piano, it also takes effort.

    Surely a connection is quite reasonable. Both maths and music deal with abstract structures, so if you become good at one, then it is likely that you become good at something more general that helps you with the other. If this is correct, it would show a connection between mathematical and musical ability. It would be more like the connection between abilities at football and tennis. To become better at one, you need to improve your fitness and coordination (协调). That makes you better at sport and probably helps with the other.

    Abstract structures don't exist only in maths and music. If you learn a language then you need to understand its abstract structures like grammar. Yet we don't hear people asking about a connection between mathematical and linguistic (语言的) ability. Maybe this is because grammar feels mathematical, so it wouldn't be surprising that mathematicians were better at learning grammar. Music, however, is strongly tied up with feelings and can be enjoyed even by people who know little about it. As such, it seems different from maths, so there wouldn't be any connection between the two.

    Let's see how we solve problems of the "A is to B as C is to D" kind. These appear in intelligence tests but they are also central to both music and maths. Consider the opening of Mozart's Eine Kleine Nachtmusik (小夜曲). The second phrase is a clear answer to the first. The listener thinks: "The first phrase goes upward and uses the notes of a G major chord (和弦); what would be the corresponding phrase that goes downward and uses the notes of a D7?" Music is full of puzzles like this. If you are good at them, expectations will constantly be set up in your mind. The best moments surprise you by being unexpected, but we need the expectations in the first place.

    Around three forty-five on a rainy Saturday morning, I was woken up by the sound of my pager(呼机) beeping. As a volunteer firefighter and emergency medical technician, I can never count on a full night of sleep. I pulled myself out of bed and went toward the desk to grab my radio. Our crew was being sent to a nearby home where a man was in cardiac arrest (心脏骤停). We found the man lying on the kitchen floor with his wife beside him. We rushed the patient to the hospital, but despite our efforts, we were unable to save his life.

    In my line of life, I rarely get any recognition from the patients we treat, or from their loved ones. But that night, a man's wife approached us, and through her tears, whispered, “Thank you.” Then she hugged each of us. She knew we answered her late-night call for help, even though the ending was not positive.

    There is something deeply rewarding about helping people in these circumstances. Sometimes, I'm able to make their worst day a bit better: like seeing the tears of an injured child turn into a smile when I gave him an interesting toy; or watching a terrified mother's screams turn into tears of joy when she realized her baby was going to be fine.

    Experiences like these allow me to see the impact my work has on others. At the same time, I also know the effect it has had on my own life. As a teenager, I felt awkward when my dad hugged me and said, “ I love you, my dear son.” I was equally uncomfortable and responded, “I love you.” But then I imagined him lying on the kitchen floor that rainy night and realized that my opportunity to say those three words could—at any moment—be taken away forever. Now, I extremely treasure the moment when my father says those three words to me. I've learned to appreciate every relationship I have, to tell people I care about them, and to never take anything in life for granted.

    In my senior year of high school, I got a part-time job working at the local coffee shop. One miserable rainy day, Hank, one of my regular customers came in looking depressed and defeated. My co-worker and I asked what the problem was and if we could help, but he said he wouldn't want to tell any details. He just felt like going into bed, pulling the sheet up over his head, and staying there for a few years, and I knew exactly how he felt.

    Before he left, I handed him a bag along with his iced coffee. He looked at me questioningly because he hadn't ordered anything but the coffee. He opened the bag and saw that I had given him his favorite type of doughnut (油炸圈饼).

    "It's on me,"I told him."Have a nice day."

    He smiled and thanked me before turning around and heading back out into the rain.

    The next evening, when I was in the middle of making coffee, Hank drove up to the window. But instead of ordering anything, he handed me a single pink rose and a little note. I waited until I saw his Jeep leave the parking lot, then I ran to the back of the shop and read the note. It read:

    Christine,

    Thanks for cheering me up yesterday. It is so nice to meet someone that's genuinely sweet, warm and thoughtful and unselfish. Please don't change your ways because I truly believe that you will succeed. Have a great day!

    Hank

    As time went on, I did come across more complaining customers. But anytime I felt depressed, I thought of Hank and his kindness. Then I would smile, hold my head up high, clear my throat and ask politely," How can I help you?"

    When she was ten years old, Isadora Duncan dropped out of school to teach people dance. If that job was left to any other ten-year-old, it would have turned out frustrating, difficult, and a little discouraging.

    But Duncan was different. Not only was she already talented enough to earn money even at that age, but she also had a rare kind of confidence that helped her treat troubles as fuel —something to elevate the fire that is already burning inside of her.

    It's no surprise, then, that when she moved to New York to join a theatre company, she found herself restricted. The existing dancing style, their way of operating—all of this seemed to her the work of a misguided past. Duncan was very direct about what she wanted, confidently telling people she had a different vision of dance that she was going to spread in the world. This, naturally, led to ridicule and laughs early on, but as she built up her work, these instances became less frequent. Today, she is remembered as "The Mother of Dance," with much of the modern art owing its expressive style to her influence. Inspired by the ancient Greeks, she brought the style to life.

    In her autobiography (自传), one of the things Duncan frequently refers to as the basis of her expressive spirit is the fact that she had a childhood where she wasn't constantly watched. The expectations of her mother (who raised her) were open-ended. It was the freedom of this lifestyle that drove her to see what she could do.

    Growing up, before she left school, she was told one of two things: that she was either completely useless or that she was a genius. There was nothing in between. Even when she started working, people either bowed to her or they basically ignored her. But there wasn't one moment Duncan doubted her own genius.

    There is an old quotation "if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid." And it captures an important truth. At school, Isadora Duncan was a failure. In the dance hall, she gave form to brilliance.