I finally saw my first Fred-Astaire-and-Ginger-Rogers movie last night. Yes, I know what you're thinking -- I call myself a ballroom afficionado, but had not yet seen a single one of their movies?! Sadly, yes, such was the case. But last night, my friend Liz invited me over to her new apartment for dinner, and after chowing down on cinnamon chicken, overdosing on Ghirardeli-chocolate brownies and ice cream, setting up her Christmas-village train set under her *gorgeously* decorated (yet, happily, not at all garishly over-decorated) tree, and spending a not insignificant amount of time flipping through her complete DVD set of Fred-and-Ginger movies and trying to decide on which one I wanted to start my F&G experience with, we settled down to watch "Top Hat" [IMDB link, Wikipedia link].
It was lovely, of course. To be quite honest, I didn't even really have a good idea of what Astaire looked like, and had always pictured Frank Sinatra in my mind when I thought of him... and so I was a little surprised to see how slightly-built a man he was. I guess I had the impression that the more-famous, Hollywood leading men of the day were were all cut, more or less, from the Cary-Grant mold. I was also quite surprised at the comic-ness (is that a word?) of his character, and the motility of his facial expressions --- I never knew him to be a master of physical comedy as well! (Think Jim Carrey, or Matthew Perry, but without the buffoonery and far more refined.) In fact, I kept marveling the whole while that the person he reminded me most of --- vis-a-vis his facial expressions, at least (and long, waggly fingers, too) --- was Stan Laurel! Again, without the slapstick, but with all the innocent sweetness and charm. Really, all I knew of him was that he could dance, and dance his audience off their feet. And that, of course, he did: I'm having a Foxtrot day today (my earlier post on the Viennese Waltz notwithstanding), with Irving Berlin's delightful compositions looping non-stop through my head. Have hunted down and bookmarked YouTube videos showing my favourite dance sequences from the movie: "No strings", "Isn't it a lovely day", "Top hat, white tie and tails" and "Dancing cheek to cheek", although you really do need to watch the entire movie, and on a larger screen, to obtain the full pleasure of watching Astaire's *face* dance as he woos Rogers. Can't wait to see the rest of their movies now.
PS: Found these, too --- also worth watching: a recording of a Kennedy Center tribute to Astaire in 1978, and a clip of Astaire dancing with imaginary props, in an episode from "An Evening with Fred Astaire". (There are links to clips from other episodes there, too, in one of which --- in which he sings "Changing Partners", while dancing with Barrie Chase --- his expressions remind me of Hugh Laurie!)
PPS: I was having a hard time deciding whether to direct my hyperlinks to the corresponding entries in Wikipedia or those in the Internet Movie Database --- and including both in the text, citation-style, completely messed up the readability/flow of article. The Wikipedia entries are easier to read, while the IMDB ones, I would imagine, are more thorough and authoritative, and perhaps more permanent, although they do require a subscription for some of the information. Besides, the Wikipedia ones do link to the IMDB ones, but not vice versa. I finally decided to go with the Wiki-option, but here are all the corresponding IMDB ones as well: Fred Astaire, Frank Sinatra, Cary Grant, Jim Carrey, Matthew Perry, Stan Laurel, Irving Berlin, Hugh Laurie.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Blogger's [un-]block
Today was the first Saturday I've had to myself in a long time --- hence the preceding spate of blog posts. There've been a number of topics that I've felt like writing about, but, besides not being able to relax enough during the work-week to commit those thoughts to prose, I've been also been spending most of my recent weekends with my cousins/aunt/uncle. Hanging out with family is great, of course, and does wonders for me in terms of reviving my spirit at the end of the week, but a writer can't write if he's being interrupted often, can he? ;) I came to school / the office today meaning to work, but got side-tracked into doing this instead. I don't feel too guilty about it, though --- I needed a break from thesis-writing, to be able to think about something else for a while, and it feels good to have scratched a few items off my to-do list. There are a few more things that I want to write about, but those will have to wait for another day. Thank you for being patient, my readers. ;)
Dance, then, wherever you may be
``We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once.''
-- Friedrich Nietzsche
It's a little surprising, considering just how much of a passion I have for it, that I haven't yet posted anything about dancing. Ballroom dancing, that is (which also includes the Latin and Swing dances), in which I began taking lessons just under ten years ago, in my second semester here at university in the US. Lord knows I have plenty to talk about on the subject, as many/most of my friends and relatives can attest to --- dancing truly is one of my greatest joys in life, and this is as good a place as any other to give a shout-out to the people who made that possible for me: Navid Ghanadan, who introduced me to it, inviting me to a dance on campus, organized by the UMCP ballroom club, and at which I stood pressed up against a wall for two hours, not knowing how to do a single one of the various dances that were played that night, but resolving to learn them as soon as I could. Karen Trimble, the best dance instructor I have come across in ten years of dancing --- indeed, one of the best teachers I have ever had in any subject --- and whose lessons I have returned to every semester since the Spring of 1998. And Minyoung Kim, my first dance partner and very close friend, who gave me the opportunity to practice regularly, helped me improve my technique, got me to actually come out dancing socially on a regular basis, and showed me the way to truly begin to enjoy dancing.
But the idea for this particular post came from a recent realization of just why it was that I was interested in ballroom dancing in the first place. People have often asked me which my favourite dance is, and I've always replied that I didn't have a favourite dance; if I liked the music, then I would enjoy whichever dance was appropriate for that music. And I truly did feel that way --- I had no preference for a waltz over a chacha, or a samba over a foxtrot, or a swing over a rumba. It depended on the song/music, and it depended on my mood. I've had many foxtrot-y days, and just as many chacha days. One of my friends, also from India, and also one of Karen's students, and coincidentally, also one of my fellow grad students in my department, became interested in ballroom dancing thanks to having been impressioned by the Fred Astaire / Ginger Rogers movies. His favourite dance is the foxtrot, not surprisingly. But I had no such affiliation. My only pre-ballroom desire to learn to dance that I could remember derived from going to parties in Bombay and watching enviously from the sidelines as the rest of my friends jived the night away. (The stand-in-one-spot-and-shake-while-moving-your-arms-randomly style held no appeal for me then, and still doesn't. Overwhelming boredom usually sets in at about the 45-second mark, even if the music is something I really like. I can groove away to a rhythm while doing something else, no problem, but I can't do nothing but groove. I need *movement*, and *variety*!) But though I definitely enjoy the swing/jive now, I've never gotten a sense of it being The Dance for me.
Then, earlier this year, I happened to be watching the final rounds of the professional/championship level at the Ohio Star Ballroom competition (held in November of the previous year), telecast by PBS as the "America's Ballroom Challenge" television mini-series, and one of the couples who took my breath away were Ben Ermis and Shalene Archer-Ermis, who, for their show dance,danced the loveliest, most gentle, and most graceful Viennese Waltz I had ever seen. As one of the commentators put it: "This is how we all dance with our partner in our dreams!" (They eventually came first in the American Smooth division of the championship.) I didn't think much more of it back then because many of the other couples in that competition took my breath away as well. (For example, see here for the tango that Tomasz Mielnicki and J. T. Damalas did for their show dance, set to Roisin Murphy's "Ramalama (Bang Bang)", and here for Mazen Hamza and Irina Sarukhanyan's martial-arts-inspired tango show dance.) Recently, though, in hunting for the music to which they had choreographed their dance ("You and me", by Lifehouse), I came across a recording of their performance on YouTube (which I've linked to above). And, in watching that clip --- and another one of David and Valentina Weise, also dancing a Viennese Waltz, this one set to Kelly Clarkson's "Breakaway" --- over and over again, it suddenly hit me that *this* was My Dance! This, the Viennese Waltz, was the dance that fired up the strongest passions in me, even if it was one of those at which I am least technically proficient. It's the one that, no matter what my current mood is, most easily shuts out the world around me and carries me off into a different one, where there's nothing but me, my partner (imaginary, if need be), and the dance --- although (depending on the music) the foxtrot and west coast swing are quite close behind. (And the rest of the peloton follows quite closely, too --- it's a not a clear-cut competition at all! ;) )
And then, serving as further confirmation, I remembered that, in all those ten years of lessons, Karen's infrequent announcements that the lesson for the day would be the Viennese Waltz were the ones that I met with the most unbridled joy. I never could get enough of this particular dance, and on the one occasion (besides preparing for the DCDI competition in 2004) that I took a private lesson with Karen, it was the VW in which I chose to get the extra instruction.
I don't know why I have this connection to this particular dance. It was probably something that I saw when I was very very young, and which left a mark on my sub-concious. A Disney movie, maybe? Who knows. Maybe someday I'll find out. Maybe someday I'll even find out that it's not the Viennese Waltz but some other dance that's actually my favourite. But for now, this is my answer. :)
Dance, then, wherever you may be
For I am the lord of the dance, said He,
And I'll lead you all wherever you may be
And I'll lead you all in the dance, said He.
(Chorus of the hymn "Lord of the Dance", created by Sidney Carter with the melody from the Shaker song "Simple Gifts", which was also the inpiration for the "Variations on a Shaker Melody" section of Aaron Copland's "Appalachian Spring".)
Winter's here
It snowed last week. An isolated event that dumped three inches on the ground in just a few hours, all of which had melted away two days later. But that morning, I woke up and the world outside my window was white again. White, and quiet, and peaceful, in that magical way that only freshly-fallen snow can achieve. Sounds are muted --- even the swish of a passing car, or the scrape of a neighbour's shovel. The entire world slows down, distracted from its tumultuous rush by the unhurried descent of the snowflakes. Even water stops, motionless. The muddy browns and industrial grays are covered up, hidden out of sight. Tracks in the snow tantalize you with thoughts of the animals and birds that passed by silently when you weren't looking. A pair of cardinals swoop down on the bird-feeder, flashes of red against a white canvas. Winter's here. And Spring will soon follow. It's the season for magic again.
...
It feels like last winter was just yesterday, though --- I can remember it all so clearly. The years go by more and more quickly each year. And this year, just like every other one, has left me with its own set of special memories. People who came into my life; people who were in it already, but whom I became closer to; and people who left it, but left their footprints behind for ever more. Just like birthdays, perhaps even more so than a birthday, the first snowfall of the year makes me turn around and look back at the year that has just gone by. The words of John Lennon come to mind:
...
It feels like last winter was just yesterday, though --- I can remember it all so clearly. The years go by more and more quickly each year. And this year, just like every other one, has left me with its own set of special memories. People who came into my life; people who were in it already, but whom I became closer to; and people who left it, but left their footprints behind for ever more. Just like birthdays, perhaps even more so than a birthday, the first snowfall of the year makes me turn around and look back at the year that has just gone by. The words of John Lennon come to mind:
And so this is Christmas,
And what have you done?
Another year over,
A new one just begun...
Turn me on
I simply *love* Cadillac's new series of TV commercials for the 2008 CTS (Ad 1, Ad 2), with its tagline:
And then they underscore the point by having Kate Walsh in the pilot's seat. Consider my engine well and truly started. ;)
"When you turn your car on, does it return the favor?"So much for the old fuddy-duddy image of Cadillac. If I didn't have reservations about the quality/reliability of American cars, this one would have made it straight onto my short-list (such is the power of advertising!).
And then they underscore the point by having Kate Walsh in the pilot's seat. Consider my engine well and truly started. ;)
Monday, November 5, 2007
Wiki-maze
I'm gonna start keeping a diary of the crazy twists and turns I take when I get lost in Wikipedia. Should make for interesting reading. Just like tracing back the way a conversation, or your own thoughts, develop.
Here we go:
Here we go:
4/21/08
Asus Eee PC
- Obfuscated code
- Bytecode
- Just another Perl hacker
- Windows 7
Yellowjacket
- Hymenoptera
- Apocrita
- Fairyfly
- Chalcididae
- Parasitoid (Hyperparasite)
- Black oil
- Greys
- Communion (book)
- Starchild skull
- Alien (Alien franchise) (Xenomorph)
- Necronom IV
- Necronomicon (H. R. Giger)
- Necronomicon
- Vagina dentata
- Bolaji Badejo
- Space Jockey (Alien)
- LV-426
- Derelict (Alien)
- Eusociality
- Plantigrade
- Digitgrade
- Unguligrade
- Theropoda
- Saurischia
- Jean-Pierre Jeunet
- Predator 2
1/25/08
CB Radio
- UHF
- Electromagnetic spectrum
- Radio waves
- A Dynamical Theory of the Electromagnetic Field
- Timeline of electromagnetism and classical optics
- GMRS
- Family Radio Service
- Multi-Use Radio Service
- Nickname
- Hypocoristic
- Callsign
- NATO Phonetic Alphabet
- International Phonetic Alphabet
- Squelch
- Nosie suppression / Active noise control
- CB slang
- Kojak
- Falcon Crest
- Voice procedure
- Five by five
- Sigalert
- Mayday (distress signal)
- Ten-code
- Incident Command System
- Q code
- Sunspot cycle
- CB usage in the United States
- Civil Air Patrol
1/22/08
Bluetooth
- Harald I of Denmark
- Younger futhark
- Cipher runes
- Runic alphabet
- Cirth
12/14/07
Cruft
- Foo
- Metasyntactic variable
- Lorem ipsum
- Hello world
- Colossal Cave Adventure
- Kludge
12/3
Reach (song)
Richard Hammond
- Jeremy Clarkson
- Kristin Scott Thomas
- Isambard Kingdom Brunel
- Toyota Hilux
- Alfa Romeo Brera
- Top Gear (original format)
- Quentin Wilson
- Top Gear (current format)
Song of the South
- Br'er Rabbit
11/30
Hall & Oates
- Kiss on my list
- Maneater (Hall & Oates song)
Ani DiFranco
Universal Serial Bus
Big Chill
- The Big Chill (album)
- The Big Chill (film)
- The Big Chill (music festival)
- Big Freeze
11/29
313
- 313 (number)
- Happy number
11/28
The Junior Mint
West Coast Swing
??
S4C
4 Non Blondes
Adiemus
- Karl Jenkins
- Adiemus III
- Adiemus: Songs of Sanctuary
- Miriam Stockley
- Session musician
1492: Conquest of Paradise
- 1492: Conquest of Paradise (album)
- Vangelis
- Oceanic (Vangelis album)
- Mythodea
- Portraits (So Long Ago, So Clear)
The Bad Touch
- Bloodhound Gang
- Fire Water Burn
- Foxtrot Uniform Charlie Kilo
- Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss Uhn Tiss
- Why's Everybody Always Pickin' On Me?
- Screwing You on the Beach at Night
- Lupus Thunder
- The Bloodhound Gang (TV Series)
- Sid Fleischman
- 3-2-1 Contact
- Sexual abuse
11/26
MacGyver
- List of fictional scientists and engineers
- List of problems solved by MacGyver
- The A-Team
- Knight Rider
- Cylon (Battlestar Galactica)
- Goliath (Knight Rider)
- Automan
- Tron
- Lamborghini Countach
- Lamborghini
- Lamborghini Diablo
- Lamborghini Gallardo
- Lamborghini Murcielago
- Lamborghini Miura
- Lamborghini Reventon
- Lamborghini 350GTV
- Lamborghini 400GT
- Lamborghini LM002
11/7
Dietrich Kuchemann
Lifehouse (band)
- You and me (Lifehouse song)
- You and me (song)
- Moody Blues
- Nights in White Satin
- Hey Jude
- You and me
- Me and you
11/6:
Dauphin
- Eurocopter Dauphin
- Eurocopter Panther
- Euromissile HOT
- Aerospatiale Dauphin
- Indian Coast Guard
Roisin Murphy
- So you think you can dance (Season 2)
- Wade Robson
Breakaway (Kelly Clarkson song)
As-Salamu Alaykum
- Salaam
11/5:
Colt's Manufacturing Company
Euler equations
- Potential flow
- Computational fluid dynamics
- Navier-Stokes equations
- Fluid dynamics
11/3:
Abracadabra (song)
Steve Miller Band
- Abracadabra (album)
- Eye of the Tiger
- Unsportsmanlike conduct
- Sportsmanship
- Gamesmanship
- Sugar Ray
- 14:59
- Weezer
- Rivers Cuomo
11/2:
Glissade
- Ice axe
- Self-arrest
- Self belay
11/1:
SIOC
10/31:
Soundwave (Transformers)
- Vocoder
- Frank Welker
- The Transformers: The Movie
- John Moschitta, Jr.
- Lenticular lens
- Don Figueroa
- Transformers: Animated
SexyBack
- Timbaland
- Elena Anaya
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Steve Jablonsky
The score to the 2007 Transformers movie.
Fucking *awesome* music. Yes, so much so that I had to use the F-word.
I want it!!
Fucking *awesome* music. Yes, so much so that I had to use the F-word.
I want it!!
Monday, October 29, 2007
Thesis progress
A request.
For all those who would like to know how my thesis is "coming along": Thank you, I really do appreciate your concern, but please, do try and refrain from asking. Distilling the past five years of my academic/professional life into a single, roughly-300-page document is a long, tedious, and --- more often than not --- incredibly frustrating exercise. When I'm finally done and satisfied with it, I'll let you know --- with the utmost joy. Until then, if I'm in a social situation with you, I'm most probably seeking escape from the drudgery for just a little while, and talking or thinking about it is the last thing that I would want.
The brilliant Jorge Cham captures the feeling perfectly, here.
Thank you. :)
For all those who would like to know how my thesis is "coming along": Thank you, I really do appreciate your concern, but please, do try and refrain from asking. Distilling the past five years of my academic/professional life into a single, roughly-300-page document is a long, tedious, and --- more often than not --- incredibly frustrating exercise. When I'm finally done and satisfied with it, I'll let you know --- with the utmost joy. Until then, if I'm in a social situation with you, I'm most probably seeking escape from the drudgery for just a little while, and talking or thinking about it is the last thing that I would want.
The brilliant Jorge Cham captures the feeling perfectly, here.
Thank you. :)
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Wish I DID have some daylight in my savings account
Er... just when, exactly, did it start getting dark so early? I could have sworn that, just last week, it was still light outside up until almost dinner time (7:30-ish). Now it's pitch-black by 6. And it seems like this only just happened in the past two days. Did the Earth just jump? Did *all* the clocks in the world, and not just my computers, automatically fall back to regular time when my back was turned? Should I be pointing fingers at gremlins (if I could see one at which to point a finger!)? Am I losing my mind?
Zoom-zoom
*God*, that was fun.
Needed to get out of the house and away from my computer and the day-in, day-out monotony of thesis writing. So took my car out, just now, and slung it around all the little back-roads of my neighbourhood for a bit. Nothing rash, nothing stupid --- I stayed below the posted speed limits + 15 mph (except for one wide-open straightaway that parallels the Metro tracks and doesn't have any parked cars or children running around), came to a complete stop at *all* the stop signs, yielded to other drivers when the road became too narrow for two cars to pass, used my turn signals each time, both hands on the wheel, except for the gear changes... But it was still just such sheer bliss, slaloming in smooth sinusoids around all the parked cars, hitting the apexes in the turns, ascending --- and descending --- through the shift-points at just the right rpms, the gears snicking precisely into place each time (well, most of the time. I was driving in flip-flops --- chappals --- so there was sometimes a little bit of play between my feet and the pedals.)... Ahh, rev-matching, double-clutching, seat-of-your-pants, mind-in-the-moment Fahrvergnügen.
Made even better by the fact that there was a light drizzle falling, and the roads were slick with carpets of wet, fallen leaves. So you had to be extra careful to not tease the tires too close to their traction limits. Red, orange, yellow and black on the ground; red, orange, yellow and green up above. Wipers on Intermittent. The sound of the engine swelling and cutting, swelling and cutting, swelllllllling and cutting... and sometimes, swollen, but not achieving release in the next upshift, growling back down for a smoothly executed, jerk-free engine-braking manoeuvre. A graceful symphony of perfectly modulated throttle and clutch, the flowing dance of tire and road, pistons and neurons. Fifteen minutes of suburban autocross heaven.
Needed to get out of the house and away from my computer and the day-in, day-out monotony of thesis writing. So took my car out, just now, and slung it around all the little back-roads of my neighbourhood for a bit. Nothing rash, nothing stupid --- I stayed below the posted speed limits + 15 mph (except for one wide-open straightaway that parallels the Metro tracks and doesn't have any parked cars or children running around), came to a complete stop at *all* the stop signs, yielded to other drivers when the road became too narrow for two cars to pass, used my turn signals each time, both hands on the wheel, except for the gear changes... But it was still just such sheer bliss, slaloming in smooth sinusoids around all the parked cars, hitting the apexes in the turns, ascending --- and descending --- through the shift-points at just the right rpms, the gears snicking precisely into place each time (well, most of the time. I was driving in flip-flops --- chappals --- so there was sometimes a little bit of play between my feet and the pedals.)... Ahh, rev-matching, double-clutching, seat-of-your-pants, mind-in-the-moment Fahrvergnügen.
Made even better by the fact that there was a light drizzle falling, and the roads were slick with carpets of wet, fallen leaves. So you had to be extra careful to not tease the tires too close to their traction limits. Red, orange, yellow and black on the ground; red, orange, yellow and green up above. Wipers on Intermittent. The sound of the engine swelling and cutting, swelling and cutting, swelllllllling and cutting... and sometimes, swollen, but not achieving release in the next upshift, growling back down for a smoothly executed, jerk-free engine-braking manoeuvre. A graceful symphony of perfectly modulated throttle and clutch, the flowing dance of tire and road, pistons and neurons. Fifteen minutes of suburban autocross heaven.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Clicks and purrs
Prologue:
I've heard of clicking beetles. And hissing cockroaches (I've actually seen them, too -- my entomologist friend Andrew has a pair). But cats... cats just keep on surprising me.
On with the story!
I'm almost 30. And I'd never heard a cat purr until 3 years ago, would you believe it?
Indian cats don't purr, it would seem. They just snarl, and hiss, and yowl. But then, growing up in Bombay, I never knew anyone who kept a cat as a pet. People had dogs, fish, squirrels, parrots, budgerigars... one or two had rabbits... but no cats. The only cats around were the stray, feral ones --- and there were plenty of those. But they never purred. Not to my knowledge, at least. Purring was something only the cats in storybooks did.
Americans, on the other hand, seem about equally-divided between cat-people and dog-people. And in the past few years, I've made a number of friends with members of the former division, and so have had much more exposure to domesticated felines than before. (I myself grew up a dog-person, and still consider myself as one, but I've learned to appreciate and enjoy cats too, now.) But the first time I heard a cat purr, I damn near jumped out of my skin --- I thought it was growling at me! And heaven knows, I didn't want to be within range of those irrational, easily-aggravated claws. Much hilarity ensued, of course, amongst the cat-owner and other humans present.
But this particular species wasn't quite done pulling my tail just yet. More surprises were still in store. That other same day, while I was peering fascinatedly at the baby cats (see my previous post), Katie asked me if I'd like to hear them purr. "Sure!" I said, confident now in my ability to correctly identify a purr. She held one up to my ear, and I waited. And waited. And heard nothing that matched anything in my mental database of animal sounds. "Listen!" she said. "Don't you hear it?"
"Hear what?"
-- "That clicking sound!"
"That clicking sound?!?"
-- "Yes!"
(And yes, I had heard a series of clicks emanating from roughly the animal's thoracic region, but they hadn't registered as anything noteworthy. I had been expecting *purrs*!)
"They click?!?"
-- "Yes!"
"I thought you said they were purring!"
-- "Well, that's how kittens purr."
... My education continues.
I've heard of clicking beetles. And hissing cockroaches (I've actually seen them, too -- my entomologist friend Andrew has a pair). But cats... cats just keep on surprising me.
On with the story!
I'm almost 30. And I'd never heard a cat purr until 3 years ago, would you believe it?
Indian cats don't purr, it would seem. They just snarl, and hiss, and yowl. But then, growing up in Bombay, I never knew anyone who kept a cat as a pet. People had dogs, fish, squirrels, parrots, budgerigars... one or two had rabbits... but no cats. The only cats around were the stray, feral ones --- and there were plenty of those. But they never purred. Not to my knowledge, at least. Purring was something only the cats in storybooks did.
Americans, on the other hand, seem about equally-divided between cat-people and dog-people. And in the past few years, I've made a number of friends with members of the former division, and so have had much more exposure to domesticated felines than before. (I myself grew up a dog-person, and still consider myself as one, but I've learned to appreciate and enjoy cats too, now.) But the first time I heard a cat purr, I damn near jumped out of my skin --- I thought it was growling at me! And heaven knows, I didn't want to be within range of those irrational, easily-aggravated claws. Much hilarity ensued, of course, amongst the cat-owner and other humans present.
But this particular species wasn't quite done pulling my tail just yet. More surprises were still in store. That other same day, while I was peering fascinatedly at the baby cats (see my previous post), Katie asked me if I'd like to hear them purr. "Sure!" I said, confident now in my ability to correctly identify a purr. She held one up to my ear, and I waited. And waited. And heard nothing that matched anything in my mental database of animal sounds. "Listen!" she said. "Don't you hear it?"
"Hear what?"
-- "That clicking sound!"
"That clicking sound?!?"
-- "Yes!"
(And yes, I had heard a series of clicks emanating from roughly the animal's thoracic region, but they hadn't registered as anything noteworthy. I had been expecting *purrs*!)
"They click?!?"
-- "Yes!"
"I thought you said they were purring!"
-- "Well, that's how kittens purr."
... My education continues.
Miniature-mamal magic
I had the opportunity, a couple of days ago, of carrying around a basketful of just-a-few-days-old kittens. Five of them. They were the tiniest things I'd ever seen. I mean, I knew baby puppies, kittens, piglets, etc. are small when newly-born, but I had never realized just *how* small. And yes, they were incredibly cute. Not just in the miniaturized-version-of-a-bigger-thing way (hey! I *am* an engineer!), but also because of that evolved baby-animal strategy of endearing themselves to adults and provoking nurturing feelings and thereby facilitating survival by having heads and eyes disproportionately larger than the rest of their bodies and by emitting those plaintive, woebegone cries. (Yes, I am a scientist, too.) We adults are such suckers. :)
I had to carry that basket (which otherwise could have passed off as a small laundry hamper) through a study lounge full of hard-at-work students --- and in a building on campus in which I'm quite sure pet animals are not allowed. (Shhh!) The first time, on the way in, the kittens behaved. On the way out, though, they didn't. (And just so you know, their heads weren't the only things larger than you'd expect. Their voices were, too.) And everybody, oh just evvvverybody knew I had kittens in the basket.
I couldn't stop grinning.
I had to carry that basket (which otherwise could have passed off as a small laundry hamper) through a study lounge full of hard-at-work students --- and in a building on campus in which I'm quite sure pet animals are not allowed. (Shhh!) The first time, on the way in, the kittens behaved. On the way out, though, they didn't. (And just so you know, their heads weren't the only things larger than you'd expect. Their voices were, too.) And everybody, oh just evvvverybody knew I had kittens in the basket.
I couldn't stop grinning.
In the footsteps of the Earl of Sandwich, that intrepid pioneer
Tabasco sauce tastes great on tuna-and-cheese sandwiches.
Old Bay... surprisingly, not so much. Kinda "meh", really. (Yes, I'm aware that I'm "from" Maryland. Wanna hear some more sacrilegious stuff? I don't care much for crabs, either! ... Although jousting's kinda cool.) It does taste great on 'fries, though!
Old Bay... surprisingly, not so much. Kinda "meh", really. (Yes, I'm aware that I'm "from" Maryland. Wanna hear some more sacrilegious stuff? I don't care much for crabs, either! ... Although jousting's kinda cool.) It does taste great on 'fries, though!
Jason bought a crock for butter, and now his butter tastes so much better!
I have re-discovered the goodness of butter. Actually, let me correct that: I have *discovered* the goodness of butter, never having realized it before. Back home, when I was a kid, we used to keep the butter in the fridge (naturally), and if I wanted to have some with my breakfast, or to make sandwiches with, I'd have to leave it out for several hours beforehand --- like overnight --- to melt. (We didn't have microwave ovens back then.) I didn't use that butter very much.
Besides, I don't ever remember it tasting all that wonderful, either. Might just have been the kind of butter we got in India back then. The cheese there wasn't so great, either.
By the time I came to the US, I had heard all about margarine. And was quite vehemently opposed to using it. a) Because it wasn't the "real thing", and b) because I badly needed to put *on* weight, not lose it. (I still do. And still grumble at having to hunt for "regular" food among all the low-fat/non-fat/reduced-fat variants whenever I go grocery shopping.) My aunt --- with whom I stayed for a while before I moved into the dorms, and whose choice of household items for running her house (Tide detergent, Polaner jam, Philadelphia Flavours cream cheese, Lipton tea bags, Eggo waffles...) left me, an impressionable, fresh-off-the-boat newcomer to the American Way, forever brand-loyal --- used to use something called "Shedd's Country Crock". It looked, to me, and behaved, like butter, except that it never got hard in the fridge. And I remember it actually *saying* "butter" somewhere on the outside of the container. Eight years of devoted usage later, I actually re-read the label, and was left incredibly disappointed. I guess I should've been more suspicious about it having that miraculous non-hardening quality.
So I set out to look for a butter dish, just like I'd seen in other people's homes. A container in which I could leave the butter outside so that it would always be ready-to-spread whenever I wanted it. (My roommate used to use a regular tupperware container, but that was just ugly, and meant one less tupperware container for storing other things in.) Strangely enough, I was never able to find one --- that was inexpensive enough. (It's just a *butter dish*, for crying out loud!) Then I found something called a "butter bell" at Marshalls, a local discount department store. (You can read more about it at the manufacturer's website, and at all these other websites, too.) It didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before, but it looked neat, and seemed to make sense from a scientific/engineering standpoint (it was very-practically sized to contain the same volume of butter in a standard stick... the water not only sealed off the container, but also, by evaporating, kept the whole thing cool, just like the clay/earthen `matkas' we have back in India for keeping water cool) and it was just 10 bucks. I bought it.
And it works like a charm! Haven't had any problems with mold so far (See the concerns expressed here), and the butter makes my sandwiches and pancakes and waffles and toast taste so much better! Plus, it just seems to have a certain old-world charm about it all. Or maybe that's just me. Whatever. Yay for butter!
Besides, I don't ever remember it tasting all that wonderful, either. Might just have been the kind of butter we got in India back then. The cheese there wasn't so great, either.
By the time I came to the US, I had heard all about margarine. And was quite vehemently opposed to using it. a) Because it wasn't the "real thing", and b) because I badly needed to put *on* weight, not lose it. (I still do. And still grumble at having to hunt for "regular" food among all the low-fat/non-fat/reduced-fat variants whenever I go grocery shopping.) My aunt --- with whom I stayed for a while before I moved into the dorms, and whose choice of household items for running her house (Tide detergent, Polaner jam, Philadelphia Flavours cream cheese, Lipton tea bags, Eggo waffles...) left me, an impressionable, fresh-off-the-boat newcomer to the American Way, forever brand-loyal --- used to use something called "Shedd's Country Crock". It looked, to me, and behaved, like butter, except that it never got hard in the fridge. And I remember it actually *saying* "butter" somewhere on the outside of the container. Eight years of devoted usage later, I actually re-read the label, and was left incredibly disappointed. I guess I should've been more suspicious about it having that miraculous non-hardening quality.
So I set out to look for a butter dish, just like I'd seen in other people's homes. A container in which I could leave the butter outside so that it would always be ready-to-spread whenever I wanted it. (My roommate used to use a regular tupperware container, but that was just ugly, and meant one less tupperware container for storing other things in.) Strangely enough, I was never able to find one --- that was inexpensive enough. (It's just a *butter dish*, for crying out loud!) Then I found something called a "butter bell" at Marshalls, a local discount department store. (You can read more about it at the manufacturer's website, and at all these other websites, too.) It didn't look like anything I'd ever seen before, but it looked neat, and seemed to make sense from a scientific/engineering standpoint (it was very-practically sized to contain the same volume of butter in a standard stick... the water not only sealed off the container, but also, by evaporating, kept the whole thing cool, just like the clay/earthen `matkas' we have back in India for keeping water cool) and it was just 10 bucks. I bought it.
And it works like a charm! Haven't had any problems with mold so far (See the concerns expressed here), and the butter makes my sandwiches and pancakes and waffles and toast taste so much better! Plus, it just seems to have a certain old-world charm about it all. Or maybe that's just me. Whatever. Yay for butter!
Monday, October 8, 2007
Somebody please take these away from me
I'm decimating a can of almonds (a "tin" of almonds?) right now, with a couple of boxes of raisins thrown in for good measure. Somehow, having finger food -- and drink -- around is very conducive to the writing process. Unfortunately, finger food too often equates to junk food. Like bags of Doritos chips.
Ah well. If I have to pick my poison, at least it's not the bitter variety.
Somebody please invent -- or obtain -- for me a tea-mug that never gets cold, so I don't have to keep making trips to the microwave oven. I don't have time to tinker around with thermoelectric circuits myself right now.
Ah well. If I have to pick my poison, at least it's not the bitter variety.
Somebody please invent -- or obtain -- for me a tea-mug that never gets cold, so I don't have to keep making trips to the microwave oven. I don't have time to tinker around with thermoelectric circuits myself right now.
Like the first dewfall, on the first grass
Managed to drag myself out of bed nice and early this morning. At 6:45! The past couple of weeks, working at home, I've been waking up later and later each day, averaging a rise-and-shine time of around 9:30. Then again, I've been turning my lights out between 1 and 2 am each night, so it works out. I need at least 7 hours of sleep to feel rested. But then by the time I finish my breakfast and actually get started working on my thesis, it's already noon or a little past, so in all honesty, it really doesn't work out. So last night I rapped myself on the head and forced myself to get into bed by 11:30, and, as motivation to not just turn the alarm off and dive back under my blanket, promised myself that I would go for 7:30-am morning mass. Calmed my brain down with a little light reading about Galileo and Newton and gravitation (Morris Kline's "Mathematics and the Physical World"), and voila! Lights out at 00:05!
Well, I thought I had calmed myself down. Darkness or not, my brain just wouldn't shut down, and I tossed and turned through most of the night. I think I had about two periods of sleep, because I remember two sets of dreams. The rest of the time, visions of West-Coast-Swing YouTube videos danced in my head. Insomnia is something I've dealt with since I was 15, though, so although the whole thing annoyed the heck out of me, I didn't get too worked up about it. (Can't really say that I "didn't lose any sleep over it," though. That turn of phrase doesn't quite work here. Neither does "not losing any hair over it," especially given the haircut I had a couple of days ago that left me shorn nearly as closely as a Marine recruit.) Even if I wasn't actually sleeping, my body *was* getting some sort of rest, so it was OK.
5:26. So said the red LEDs. Sigh. Oh well, maybe I'll be able to fall asleep within the next hour and 15 minutes.
The alarm went off what felt like less than 20 minutes later. Damnit! Just when I thought I could feel true, blissful sleep coming on. Had I read the clock wrong earlier? Had it actually been *6*:26? It'd be ok if I went back to sleep, and started going to morning mass tomorrow instead, wouldn't it? After all, I'm allowed an adjustment period between waking up at 10:30 and waking up at 6:45, right? It's not natural to go cold-turkey from one to the other on consecutive days. Not good for the body.
Ach, whom am I kidding. I'm wide awake. Ain't gonna be any falling-back-to-sleep anyway. Quit being lazy, Jason. I just need to get myself into an upright position, and get my shoes on, and I'll be fine.
So I did, and I was indeed fine. Pulled open the blinds -- dawn hadn't quite broken yet, and the air was still still and heavy and humid in the darkness. The birds were just about starting up, too, while the crickets were winding down. Stumbled to the bathroom. Heidi's door was open, and her light on -- she was up already, working on her dissertation. She's an early riser. Light was shining under Brian's door, too. Good god, does *everyone* in this house normally get up this early? Oh well, he's an architect, and these architecture students are crazy. They work even harder than us engineers.
Fixed myself a bowl of porridge ("oatmeal", to you Yanks), and contemplated cycling to church vs. walking. I'd always cycled before, because I'd always carried on to school afterwards, lugging my heavy backpack around with me. But today I'd be coming back home, and no backpack either. Besides, when I cycle, it's all about speed and getting somewhere fast, and I wanted to take my time and enjoy the morning. Walking sets the mind free and allows it to wander as well. I read a great quote once, by this guy who used to go for walks for two to three hours on end. Some famous author or the other. Can't remember it now -- need to look it up again.
Ernest Hemingway, it might have been. Hmm...
So I walked, even though I knew it would make me a couple of minutes late. Got there during the First Reading -- was the story of Jonah, today. The Gospel was the story of the Good Samaritan. Nothing in The Word was terribly inspiring today, and indeed I spent quite a few minutes distracted by the dewy freshness of the trees just outside the window. But, like my Mama says, it's good to just touch base, so I contented myself with that, where normally I would have fretted about having wasted my time. Was nice to see Fr. George, the parish priest, again, too. Although I did get miffed -- again -- about people's habit of conversing loudly, *inside* the church, after the Mass gets over. Not in the least bit helpful to people, like myself, who just want a little quiet-time in a church to pray. That's precisely the reason why I'd rather go for the daily morning Mass at this neighbourhood church than for the Sunday Masses at the Catholic Student Center on campus. Over there, the minute the service is over, it gets noisier than a high-school cafeteria.
I finished reading C. S. Lewis' "The Case For Christianity" a little while ago (see also my second post in this blog). That guy is amazing. That little book, less than 60-odd pages long, answered a whole bunch of the questions I've been carrying around with me for years about Christian dogma -- things that just didn't make any logical sense to me, and so prevented me from believing [in] them. But Lewis dealt with those issues so deftly, it was almost like a sleight of hand. I need to go back and read that book again (and his other works, too). By the end of the book, I found myself thinking -- Is it all really that simple?! (The logical arguments, I mean, not the dogmas themselves.) His reasoning was so lucid and compelling, that I found myself led along until I was boxed into a corner where really, Christianity is The Answer, and there's a part of me that rebelled against that (the being led along by hypnotizingly powerful rhetoric) a little bit. It was all just too easy, too much like a magician's trick. I'm not denying that he could be right; I just want to go back and truly satisfy myself that he is, before committing myself.
And so, when it wasn't otherwise thinking about Jonah and fishes' bellies and Samaritans and dewy leaves, that's what my mind was reflecting on during the Mass: some of the things that Lewis had talked about. Fallen angels, free will, Incarnation and Resurrection... weighty stuff.
The walk back home was lovely. Saw some dogs, which always leaves me feeling happy. Detoured through a park, swung on a swing for a bit and grinned at how self-conscious I was feeling about playing, in public, on something meant for a 7-year-old (I really don't like the flexible-seat design that's so ubiquitous nowadays. My butt isn't shaped like a semi-circle, for pete's sake! Why don't they make them like they used to, with a nice flat plank for a seat?!), looked around and pictured what this entire grassy, wooded area would like in just a few months, covered in frost and ice and snow, and transformed into a winter wonderland... lay back on a park-bench and stared up through the tree-branches at the sky for a couple of minutes, before telling myself that I really needed to get up and get going and stop lazing around.
Further down the trail that I had to take on my way home, I saw a single leaf hovering in mid-air, at about eye-level, far away from any other structure. Although I couldn't see it until I walked around and looked at it from a different angle, I immediately knew how it was achieving that feat: it was suspended by a strand of spider-silk. I was still quite intrigued, though: it's normal to see a *spider* suspended at the end of a long thread like that. Not a *leaf*!
Earlier last week I had come running along that trail with my running buddy -- my football (soccer ball, to you, my American readers) -- and somewhere right around there it had spiked off my toe and gone bounding off into some bushes along the side. I had followed, to retrieve it, most trepidatiously, because that unkempt little area was precisely the kind of place where nasty things like poison ivy like to lurk, and, it being quite dark, I really couldn't see anything very clearly (it had been around 8 pm -- which made for dribbling a football along woodland trails quite an adventure, too). Oh, and my legs were quite bare and unprotected, of course. Anyway, I managed to snatch my ball out, and didn't break out into any sort of hideous rash, so it all turned out ok. So today, since it was all nice and bright, I decided to go and take a look at that thicket and see if there indeed was any poison ivy there. Ventured cautiously in, crouched down to bring my eyes down to shrub-level... and then I saw one little guy there, trademark trifoliate, asymmetric, palm-shaped leaves and all. A-ha! Wow, so I *had* been lucky! And then I looked up and around a little bit more, and realized just how lucky I had been: that entire area was actually *blanketed* in poison ivy, a huge, mature growth of it pushing through all the other plants there! I have *no* idea how I went in there and emerged unscathed! Do I really have greater resistence to poison ivy than most other people? Is this magnificent biological machine that is my body even more magnificent that I had imagined?! (Yes, I'm allowing myself a moment of vainglory here.) Well, even if it is, that is one hypothesis I'm not going to attempt testing. I don't mind ringing Fate's doorbell and running away once in a while, if I know I can get away with it, but it's not good to tempt her *too* much. ;)
Profoundly full of happiness at the experiences and discoveries of my early-morning walk, I continued on. I'd never have noticed all these things if I had cycled instead. Saw some lovely deep-pink (rose!) roses growing in a neighbour's garden. Waved out to people driving off to work. Heard a mockingbird sounding off from inside a bush (you can tell it's a mockingbird because its tune changes every few seconds), and was immediately reminded of Zooey Deschanel's hilarious performance in the movie "Failure to Launch" ("What the hell kind of devil bird chirps at night?!"). Got home, and Raja, Heidi's 10-year-old cat, was waiting right behind the front door (probably trying to figure out a way to get out. She's an inquisitive little thing.). She was in one of her inexplicably random (in other words, typically cat-like) frisky moods -- she scampered off down the hallway, and then back again, and leapt up onto the counter-top to have her ears scratched (It really amazes me, how much power these animals have in their legs, and especially at this age!), and I indulged her, and was rewarded with a happy purr. ... It had been a good morning. :) Good enough to inspire me to actually write about it. A porch/verandah, a deck chair, a mug of hot tea, a laptop and wireless networking, and a morning that stayed cool and pleasant the whole while. Let me say it again -- it's been a good morning.
Now, back to reviewing the literature on fenestron tail rotors and playing a different kind of author. ;)
P.S.: Thank you, Cat Stevens.
Well, I thought I had calmed myself down. Darkness or not, my brain just wouldn't shut down, and I tossed and turned through most of the night. I think I had about two periods of sleep, because I remember two sets of dreams. The rest of the time, visions of West-Coast-Swing YouTube videos danced in my head. Insomnia is something I've dealt with since I was 15, though, so although the whole thing annoyed the heck out of me, I didn't get too worked up about it. (Can't really say that I "didn't lose any sleep over it," though. That turn of phrase doesn't quite work here. Neither does "not losing any hair over it," especially given the haircut I had a couple of days ago that left me shorn nearly as closely as a Marine recruit.) Even if I wasn't actually sleeping, my body *was* getting some sort of rest, so it was OK.
5:26. So said the red LEDs. Sigh. Oh well, maybe I'll be able to fall asleep within the next hour and 15 minutes.
The alarm went off what felt like less than 20 minutes later. Damnit! Just when I thought I could feel true, blissful sleep coming on. Had I read the clock wrong earlier? Had it actually been *6*:26? It'd be ok if I went back to sleep, and started going to morning mass tomorrow instead, wouldn't it? After all, I'm allowed an adjustment period between waking up at 10:30 and waking up at 6:45, right? It's not natural to go cold-turkey from one to the other on consecutive days. Not good for the body.
Ach, whom am I kidding. I'm wide awake. Ain't gonna be any falling-back-to-sleep anyway. Quit being lazy, Jason. I just need to get myself into an upright position, and get my shoes on, and I'll be fine.
So I did, and I was indeed fine. Pulled open the blinds -- dawn hadn't quite broken yet, and the air was still still and heavy and humid in the darkness. The birds were just about starting up, too, while the crickets were winding down. Stumbled to the bathroom. Heidi's door was open, and her light on -- she was up already, working on her dissertation. She's an early riser. Light was shining under Brian's door, too. Good god, does *everyone* in this house normally get up this early? Oh well, he's an architect, and these architecture students are crazy. They work even harder than us engineers.
Fixed myself a bowl of porridge ("oatmeal", to you Yanks), and contemplated cycling to church vs. walking. I'd always cycled before, because I'd always carried on to school afterwards, lugging my heavy backpack around with me. But today I'd be coming back home, and no backpack either. Besides, when I cycle, it's all about speed and getting somewhere fast, and I wanted to take my time and enjoy the morning. Walking sets the mind free and allows it to wander as well. I read a great quote once, by this guy who used to go for walks for two to three hours on end. Some famous author or the other. Can't remember it now -- need to look it up again.
Ernest Hemingway, it might have been. Hmm...
So I walked, even though I knew it would make me a couple of minutes late. Got there during the First Reading -- was the story of Jonah, today. The Gospel was the story of the Good Samaritan. Nothing in The Word was terribly inspiring today, and indeed I spent quite a few minutes distracted by the dewy freshness of the trees just outside the window. But, like my Mama says, it's good to just touch base, so I contented myself with that, where normally I would have fretted about having wasted my time. Was nice to see Fr. George, the parish priest, again, too. Although I did get miffed -- again -- about people's habit of conversing loudly, *inside* the church, after the Mass gets over. Not in the least bit helpful to people, like myself, who just want a little quiet-time in a church to pray. That's precisely the reason why I'd rather go for the daily morning Mass at this neighbourhood church than for the Sunday Masses at the Catholic Student Center on campus. Over there, the minute the service is over, it gets noisier than a high-school cafeteria.
I finished reading C. S. Lewis' "The Case For Christianity" a little while ago (see also my second post in this blog). That guy is amazing. That little book, less than 60-odd pages long, answered a whole bunch of the questions I've been carrying around with me for years about Christian dogma -- things that just didn't make any logical sense to me, and so prevented me from believing [in] them. But Lewis dealt with those issues so deftly, it was almost like a sleight of hand. I need to go back and read that book again (and his other works, too). By the end of the book, I found myself thinking -- Is it all really that simple?! (The logical arguments, I mean, not the dogmas themselves.) His reasoning was so lucid and compelling, that I found myself led along until I was boxed into a corner where really, Christianity is The Answer, and there's a part of me that rebelled against that (the being led along by hypnotizingly powerful rhetoric) a little bit. It was all just too easy, too much like a magician's trick. I'm not denying that he could be right; I just want to go back and truly satisfy myself that he is, before committing myself.
And so, when it wasn't otherwise thinking about Jonah and fishes' bellies and Samaritans and dewy leaves, that's what my mind was reflecting on during the Mass: some of the things that Lewis had talked about. Fallen angels, free will, Incarnation and Resurrection... weighty stuff.
The walk back home was lovely. Saw some dogs, which always leaves me feeling happy. Detoured through a park, swung on a swing for a bit and grinned at how self-conscious I was feeling about playing, in public, on something meant for a 7-year-old (I really don't like the flexible-seat design that's so ubiquitous nowadays. My butt isn't shaped like a semi-circle, for pete's sake! Why don't they make them like they used to, with a nice flat plank for a seat?!), looked around and pictured what this entire grassy, wooded area would like in just a few months, covered in frost and ice and snow, and transformed into a winter wonderland... lay back on a park-bench and stared up through the tree-branches at the sky for a couple of minutes, before telling myself that I really needed to get up and get going and stop lazing around.
Further down the trail that I had to take on my way home, I saw a single leaf hovering in mid-air, at about eye-level, far away from any other structure. Although I couldn't see it until I walked around and looked at it from a different angle, I immediately knew how it was achieving that feat: it was suspended by a strand of spider-silk. I was still quite intrigued, though: it's normal to see a *spider* suspended at the end of a long thread like that. Not a *leaf*!
Earlier last week I had come running along that trail with my running buddy -- my football (soccer ball, to you, my American readers) -- and somewhere right around there it had spiked off my toe and gone bounding off into some bushes along the side. I had followed, to retrieve it, most trepidatiously, because that unkempt little area was precisely the kind of place where nasty things like poison ivy like to lurk, and, it being quite dark, I really couldn't see anything very clearly (it had been around 8 pm -- which made for dribbling a football along woodland trails quite an adventure, too). Oh, and my legs were quite bare and unprotected, of course. Anyway, I managed to snatch my ball out, and didn't break out into any sort of hideous rash, so it all turned out ok. So today, since it was all nice and bright, I decided to go and take a look at that thicket and see if there indeed was any poison ivy there. Ventured cautiously in, crouched down to bring my eyes down to shrub-level... and then I saw one little guy there, trademark trifoliate, asymmetric, palm-shaped leaves and all. A-ha! Wow, so I *had* been lucky! And then I looked up and around a little bit more, and realized just how lucky I had been: that entire area was actually *blanketed* in poison ivy, a huge, mature growth of it pushing through all the other plants there! I have *no* idea how I went in there and emerged unscathed! Do I really have greater resistence to poison ivy than most other people? Is this magnificent biological machine that is my body even more magnificent that I had imagined?! (Yes, I'm allowing myself a moment of vainglory here.) Well, even if it is, that is one hypothesis I'm not going to attempt testing. I don't mind ringing Fate's doorbell and running away once in a while, if I know I can get away with it, but it's not good to tempt her *too* much. ;)
Profoundly full of happiness at the experiences and discoveries of my early-morning walk, I continued on. I'd never have noticed all these things if I had cycled instead. Saw some lovely deep-pink (rose!) roses growing in a neighbour's garden. Waved out to people driving off to work. Heard a mockingbird sounding off from inside a bush (you can tell it's a mockingbird because its tune changes every few seconds), and was immediately reminded of Zooey Deschanel's hilarious performance in the movie "Failure to Launch" ("What the hell kind of devil bird chirps at night?!"). Got home, and Raja, Heidi's 10-year-old cat, was waiting right behind the front door (probably trying to figure out a way to get out. She's an inquisitive little thing.). She was in one of her inexplicably random (in other words, typically cat-like) frisky moods -- she scampered off down the hallway, and then back again, and leapt up onto the counter-top to have her ears scratched (It really amazes me, how much power these animals have in their legs, and especially at this age!), and I indulged her, and was rewarded with a happy purr. ... It had been a good morning. :) Good enough to inspire me to actually write about it. A porch/verandah, a deck chair, a mug of hot tea, a laptop and wireless networking, and a morning that stayed cool and pleasant the whole while. Let me say it again -- it's been a good morning.
Now, back to reviewing the literature on fenestron tail rotors and playing a different kind of author. ;)
P.S.: Thank you, Cat Stevens.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Firefox funnies
"Cookies are delicious delicacies".
;) Read the full story here.
And, if you use Firefox, check out the "Firesomething" extension / add-on, available here. (See here for the background story.)
Btw, other add-ons that I use myself, and recommend, are Tab Mix Plus, IE View, Forecastfox, DownThemAll, and the Winestripe theme (if, like me, you prefer the old v1.5 look of the toolbar icons.)
(Note to self: Check out IE View Lite and superT.)
----------------------------------------
Try typing "about:mozilla" in the location bar of your Netscape / Mozilla / Firefox / SeaMonkey browser. You should get one of the following excerpts from the Book of Mozilla
*chuckle* Reminds me of the story of the Dosfish (By Lincoln Spector. Originally published in Southern California Computer Currents, July 12--August 15, 1993.). (Read it here, or here, or here.)
;) Read the full story here.
And, if you use Firefox, check out the "Firesomething" extension / add-on, available here. (See here for the background story.)
Btw, other add-ons that I use myself, and recommend, are Tab Mix Plus, IE View, Forecastfox, DownThemAll, and the Winestripe theme (if, like me, you prefer the old v1.5 look of the toolbar icons.)
(Note to self: Check out IE View Lite and superT.)
----------------------------------------
Try typing "about:mozilla" in the location bar of your Netscape / Mozilla / Firefox / SeaMonkey browser. You should get one of the following excerpts from the Book of Mozilla
And the beast shall come forth surrounded by a roiling cloud of vengeance. The house of the unbelievers shall be razed and they shall be scorched to the earth. Their tags shall blink until the end of days.
from The Book of Mozilla, 12:10
And the beast shall be made legion. Its numbers shall be increased a thousand thousand fold. The din of a million keyboards like unto a great storm shall cover the earth, and the followers of Mammon shall tremble.
from The Book of Mozilla, 3:31(Red Letter Edition)
And so at last the beast fell and the unbelievers rejoiced. But all was not lost, for from the ash rose a great bird. The bird gazed down upon the unbelievers and cast fire and thunder upon them. For the beast had been reborn with its strength renewed, and the followers of Mammon cowered in horror.
from The Book of Mozilla, 7:15
*chuckle* Reminds me of the story of the Dosfish (By Lincoln Spector. Originally published in Southern California Computer Currents, July 12--August 15, 1993.). (Read it here, or here, or here.)
Friday, September 14, 2007
WinAmp playlist / iPod playlist / I'm an idiot
I feel stupid.
I bought myself a 30-GB iPod a few months ago, because, although I already had a 512 MB flash mp3 player (an iRiver --- the iFP 895 --- and a lovely little thing it is), I wanted to have my *entire* music collection with me wherever I went. And out of the various hard-drive players out there, the iPod did seem like the best one. The only problem was: I didn't really like iTunes at all (and iTunes, as you're probably aware, is the only way to get music onto an iPod). I've been a devoted WinAmp fan ever since I discovered mp3, all the way back in 1997, and over the years I've developed my own method of organizing my mp3 collection on my hard drive --- filename conventions, folder arrangements, etc. And WinAmp doesn't interfere with any of that. iTunes, on the other hand, prefers to do things its own way. Thankfully, it gives you the option to not copy/move all of your mp3s into its library folder and to not re-arrange everything into its Artist\Album\Songname directory structure.
Anyway. There are other beefs that I have with iTunes, but those aren't the subject of this post. I feel like an idiot because I spent these past few months mostly *not* using my iPod because I couldn't figure out a way to import my WinAmp-generated playlists into iTunes. I like having all my music with me, and I like listening to my entire collection in random order, but in certain situations, like when I'm driving, I only want to hear the songs that I've set aside into my special for-driving playlist. (Obviously.) Hitting the "next" button on my iPod repeatedly is annoying, and depletes the battery unnecessarily. Hence the non-use of the iPod, until I figured out a solution, and the making-do with mp3-CDs and my flash player. Meanwhile, I grew increasingly frustrated at my inability to find a way to convert WinAmp's .m3u (or .pls) playlists into iTunes' .xml format. I scoured the Internet forums. Googled "export winamp playlist to itunes". Found a Winamp plugin that would export my entire library to an xml file, but not individual playlists. Found an iTunes plugin that would export an iTunes playlist to m3u (see a discussion about it here), but that was the opposite of what I wanted. Ranted and raved, and made much ballyhoo about how much iTunes sucked.
Today I found out that iTunes actually does recognize, and can directly read and import, m3u playlists. File > Import > foo.m3u . That's it, that's all. I have no idea why I didn't realize this four months ago. I could swear I must have tried it back then.... didn't I??
Hee-haw.
I bought myself a 30-GB iPod a few months ago, because, although I already had a 512 MB flash mp3 player (an iRiver --- the iFP 895 --- and a lovely little thing it is), I wanted to have my *entire* music collection with me wherever I went. And out of the various hard-drive players out there, the iPod did seem like the best one. The only problem was: I didn't really like iTunes at all (and iTunes, as you're probably aware, is the only way to get music onto an iPod). I've been a devoted WinAmp fan ever since I discovered mp3, all the way back in 1997, and over the years I've developed my own method of organizing my mp3 collection on my hard drive --- filename conventions, folder arrangements, etc. And WinAmp doesn't interfere with any of that. iTunes, on the other hand, prefers to do things its own way. Thankfully, it gives you the option to not copy/move all of your mp3s into its library folder and to not re-arrange everything into its Artist\Album\Songname directory structure.
Anyway. There are other beefs that I have with iTunes, but those aren't the subject of this post. I feel like an idiot because I spent these past few months mostly *not* using my iPod because I couldn't figure out a way to import my WinAmp-generated playlists into iTunes. I like having all my music with me, and I like listening to my entire collection in random order, but in certain situations, like when I'm driving, I only want to hear the songs that I've set aside into my special for-driving playlist. (Obviously.) Hitting the "next" button on my iPod repeatedly is annoying, and depletes the battery unnecessarily. Hence the non-use of the iPod, until I figured out a solution, and the making-do with mp3-CDs and my flash player. Meanwhile, I grew increasingly frustrated at my inability to find a way to convert WinAmp's .m3u (or .pls) playlists into iTunes' .xml format. I scoured the Internet forums. Googled "export winamp playlist to itunes". Found a Winamp plugin that would export my entire library to an xml file, but not individual playlists. Found an iTunes plugin that would export an iTunes playlist to m3u (see a discussion about it here), but that was the opposite of what I wanted. Ranted and raved, and made much ballyhoo about how much iTunes sucked.
Today I found out that iTunes actually does recognize, and can directly read and import, m3u playlists. File > Import > foo.m3u . That's it, that's all. I have no idea why I didn't realize this four months ago. I could swear I must have tried it back then.... didn't I??
Hee-haw.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Tables: LaTeX vs. Word
Am starting to wonder if I made the right decision in choosing to write my dissertation in LATEX instead of in MS Word. I need to create a table of information, and need it to:
Am pulling my hair out (what little is left of it) trying to grapple with the all the various tabular-derivative packages (longtable, supertabular, tabularx, tabulary, array... ), to figure out which one will work best for me, and how to massage it into doing what I want it to do.
And spending all my time doing this instead of actually *writing*.
GRARRRHHH!
- be in landscape format (because there are a *lot* of columns)
- break over multiple pages (because there are a lot of rows)
- have the entries in each cell wrap over multple lines (because there's often a lot of text in each entry)
- float, if possible (so that I don't have a half-empty page before the table starts).
Am pulling my hair out (what little is left of it) trying to grapple with the all the various tabular-derivative packages (longtable, supertabular, tabularx, tabulary, array... ), to figure out which one will work best for me, and how to massage it into doing what I want it to do.
And spending all my time doing this instead of actually *writing*.
GRARRRHHH!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Blogger num_profile_views coding silliness
Just discovered: You can jack up the count of the "profile views" on your Blogger profile just by refreshing/reloading the page. Even if you're logged in, as yourself. What a crock!
Monday, September 10, 2007
Arc of a Diver
Overcame my fear of diving (into water / a pool) this weekend. Well, not really "fear", per se, but more an extreme, subconcious, ingrained reluctance to launching myself head-first and un-braced for impact at anything. I actually used to dive really well, back when I first learned to swim, about a decade and a half ago, and was completely unafraid to smoothly arc off the diving board or the side of the pool. I couldn't actually *swim* very well, but I sure could dive!
Then, somewhere along the way, I learned the proper way to coordinate my anatomy when the object of impact was not water that would slide neatly out of the way (assuming, of course, that you assume an appropriately streamlined form, and don't try broad-siding the water, thinking that it's "soft". That, of course, is the mistaken assumption that belly-flop victims rapidly discard.), but unyielding, solid ground. "Tuck and roll" became my mantra, and it saved my bacon in numerous incidents involving bicyles, snowboards and the like.
Swimming somehow got abandoned along that particular way. There were a few sporadic attempts to re-aquaint myself with that marine mode of locomotion, but it never really got off the ground, so to speak. Forget about getting off a diving board. I became too aware of my lack of ability to swim well and/or stay afloat for any respectable period of time to trust myself in the deep end of any pool. Son of a sailor that I am, that became one of my most acute (`acutest'?) sources of shame. (... Lack of fluency in Hindi being a significant other.)
But my cousins have a pool in their backyard, and this summer I made use of it to the fullest, to develop my ability to manoeuvre capably in an aquatic environment... Basically, to expand my comfort zone to include that environment. And I was fairly successful... Except for the diving bit. I simply could not bring myself to, like I said before, launch myself at something head-first, arms and body locked into full extension, simply *asking* for skeletal-compression trauma. It was so... wrong! Every time I'd try diving, my body would instinctively brace for a colllison --- joints loose and ready to flex and absorb the energy of the impact, muscles relaxed, torso curved and twisted to transfer the blow over the shouder and back, head, elbows and knees tucked in to protect the face and internal organs... you know the drill. It wasn't *fear*, because I *knew* there was nothing to fear... there were no sharp rocks hiding just below the surface of the water, waiting to punish me for my stupidity. It was just a natural, instinctive reflex neural pathway that I needed to break. Mind over matter, and all that jazz.
And this weekend I did it. No more hesitation, no more needing to command myself sternly to disobey my instincts, because now it finally feels right. Hurrah!
Then, somewhere along the way, I learned the proper way to coordinate my anatomy when the object of impact was not water that would slide neatly out of the way (assuming, of course, that you assume an appropriately streamlined form, and don't try broad-siding the water, thinking that it's "soft". That, of course, is the mistaken assumption that belly-flop victims rapidly discard.), but unyielding, solid ground. "Tuck and roll" became my mantra, and it saved my bacon in numerous incidents involving bicyles, snowboards and the like.
Swimming somehow got abandoned along that particular way. There were a few sporadic attempts to re-aquaint myself with that marine mode of locomotion, but it never really got off the ground, so to speak. Forget about getting off a diving board. I became too aware of my lack of ability to swim well and/or stay afloat for any respectable period of time to trust myself in the deep end of any pool. Son of a sailor that I am, that became one of my most acute (`acutest'?) sources of shame. (... Lack of fluency in Hindi being a significant other.)
But my cousins have a pool in their backyard, and this summer I made use of it to the fullest, to develop my ability to manoeuvre capably in an aquatic environment... Basically, to expand my comfort zone to include that environment. And I was fairly successful... Except for the diving bit. I simply could not bring myself to, like I said before, launch myself at something head-first, arms and body locked into full extension, simply *asking* for skeletal-compression trauma. It was so... wrong! Every time I'd try diving, my body would instinctively brace for a colllison --- joints loose and ready to flex and absorb the energy of the impact, muscles relaxed, torso curved and twisted to transfer the blow over the shouder and back, head, elbows and knees tucked in to protect the face and internal organs... you know the drill. It wasn't *fear*, because I *knew* there was nothing to fear... there were no sharp rocks hiding just below the surface of the water, waiting to punish me for my stupidity. It was just a natural, instinctive reflex neural pathway that I needed to break. Mind over matter, and all that jazz.
And this weekend I did it. No more hesitation, no more needing to command myself sternly to disobey my instincts, because now it finally feels right. Hurrah!
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Shut your mouth, fool!
I shoot off my mouth too goddamn much.
I used to be quiet, and introverted, and a real wallflower. Still am, at core, a very private, closed-off person, but I've over the years learned to be more sociable and "fun" when in the company of others. Just the other day, an old friend -- who knew me back in my wallflower days -- asked me when I'd come to [help her] rock a certain joint. Wow, I never thought I'd ever see the day when *I*'d be counted on for something like that! And, a couple of years ago, a date startled me into silence (for a little while) by mentioning to me that I was, indeed, a pretty, um, loquacious guy.
Maybe too loquacious. My overly-logical / scientific mind tends to second-guess and try and be extremely precise about just about every thing (which, for certain things, is a good thing, but probably not for every thing). And sometimes I open my mouth and voice that mind too soon. And get myself into trouble. The brain is in gear before I engage the mouth; only problem is, it's in over-overdrive, or crashing through the wrong set of gears.
Put a sock in it, J. Shut up and go with the flow.
I used to be quiet, and introverted, and a real wallflower. Still am, at core, a very private, closed-off person, but I've over the years learned to be more sociable and "fun" when in the company of others. Just the other day, an old friend -- who knew me back in my wallflower days -- asked me when I'd come to [help her] rock a certain joint. Wow, I never thought I'd ever see the day when *I*'d be counted on for something like that! And, a couple of years ago, a date startled me into silence (for a little while) by mentioning to me that I was, indeed, a pretty, um, loquacious guy.
Maybe too loquacious. My overly-logical / scientific mind tends to second-guess and try and be extremely precise about just about every thing (which, for certain things, is a good thing, but probably not for every thing). And sometimes I open my mouth and voice that mind too soon. And get myself into trouble. The brain is in gear before I engage the mouth; only problem is, it's in over-overdrive, or crashing through the wrong set of gears.
Put a sock in it, J. Shut up and go with the flow.
Cars, electronics and computers
This is the third time, in the year and a half that I've owned it, that the check-engine light on my Mazda Protege has come on... and, a little over a week later, gone off by itself. The first two times I took it into my mechanic, shelled out about a hundred and fifty bucks each visit, and was diagnosed with (a) the first time, a faulty EGR boost sensor (whatever that is... something in the emissions-control system), and (b) the second time, a faulty catalytic converter. Each time, the broken item would cost nearly a thousand bucks to replace. Was it an essential fix? "No," said the mechanic. Would the car get damaged if I didn't fix it? "No." Do I have to do it? (I like to make sure there aren't any loopholes.) "No, not unless you are due for an emissions check-up any time soon." The only downside to not replacing them was that, if something else went bad, I wouldn't know about it, because the check-engine light would have already been on.
"Don't worry about it," they said, "unless you notice a sudden change/drop in performance of the car -- misfiring, bad starts, poor fuel economy, that sort of thing. Then bring your car in." (Strangely, I've noticed a slight increase in my miles-per-gallon / miles-per-tank the past couple of weeks... Odd.)
So I didn't replace them. And, like I said, each time, a week later, the light went off by itself.
This time, I didn't go to the mechanic. Just gritted my teeth and gripped the wheel and puckered up my sphincter and positioned my left hand on the wheel to try and block out that incessant, glaring yellow light, and waited... and waited... and waited.
And this morning, it went off by itself. :)
"Don't worry about it," they said, "unless you notice a sudden change/drop in performance of the car -- misfiring, bad starts, poor fuel economy, that sort of thing. Then bring your car in." (Strangely, I've noticed a slight increase in my miles-per-gallon / miles-per-tank the past couple of weeks... Odd.)
So I didn't replace them. And, like I said, each time, a week later, the light went off by itself.
This time, I didn't go to the mechanic. Just gritted my teeth and gripped the wheel and puckered up my sphincter and positioned my left hand on the wheel to try and block out that incessant, glaring yellow light, and waited... and waited... and waited.
And this morning, it went off by itself. :)
Saturday, September 1, 2007
Es macht mir viel Spass!
Learning new languages is fun!
Yo soy apprendiendo Espanol. ... Problem is, German keeps sneaking in every now and then, when I'm at a loss for the correct word. (Just goes to show how deeply I got pulled into the Max-Mueller-Bhavan / Goethe-Institut matrix during that one year there. Nah, I jest. Frau Jyotsna Bhide was one of the best teachers I've ever had.) Just like that incredible moment, 12 years ago, when, while waiting for the bus home from school, I tried to translate/sing "A Whole New World" in Hindi, opened my mouth, and, without any conscious thought involved, out it came in German. To say I was stunned, myself, is putting it mildly.
And then I get all mixed up between the Spanish and French pronunciations of words like "bien". Partly due to having seen Jean Reno exclaim "Tres bien!" in Godzilla just a couple of days ago. ... And now I'm walking around, mimicking the French accent and saying "Tres bien!" to myself every few minutes and chuckling away at the novelty of bending my voice in new ways.
Learning new languages is fun!
Yo soy apprendiendo Espanol. ... Problem is, German keeps sneaking in every now and then, when I'm at a loss for the correct word. (Just goes to show how deeply I got pulled into the Max-Mueller-Bhavan / Goethe-Institut matrix during that one year there. Nah, I jest. Frau Jyotsna Bhide was one of the best teachers I've ever had.) Just like that incredible moment, 12 years ago, when, while waiting for the bus home from school, I tried to translate/sing "A Whole New World" in Hindi, opened my mouth, and, without any conscious thought involved, out it came in German. To say I was stunned, myself, is putting it mildly.
And then I get all mixed up between the Spanish and French pronunciations of words like "bien". Partly due to having seen Jean Reno exclaim "Tres bien!" in Godzilla just a couple of days ago. ... And now I'm walking around, mimicking the French accent and saying "Tres bien!" to myself every few minutes and chuckling away at the novelty of bending my voice in new ways.
Learning new languages is fun!
Friday, August 31, 2007
Will I ever finish?
Am overwhelmed, at the amount of work still left to be done in writing up my dissertation. And frustrated, at having been able to have the end in sight, for the past few months, but somehow just.not.being.able.to.get.any.closer to it.
*sigh*
Trying not to think about it, and just put my head down and grind away at it, one small step at a time.
*sigh*
Trying not to think about it, and just put my head down and grind away at it, one small step at a time.
National insecurity: moronic passwords
Just read about Dan Egerstad's posting of the login/password information for the e-mail accounts of a 100 different embassies and govt. offices around the world, on his "DEranged Security" blog. Holy effin' crap. Check it out. It'll pop your eyes.
DEranged Security
The blog-post itself
Slashdot's page on it.
Some of the passwords are just too funny: "temp", "123456" (Spaceballs, anyone?), "1234", "password+1", "india01", "Password",<name of the city or country that the embassy is in>... And some of the worst ones are those of the Indians. ::rolls eyes:: Fucking hilarious.
Surprisingly, there's nothing on CNN or BBC about it yet. The Indian Express and Ars Technica have it, though.
Hmmm... like "Anonymous Coward" says on /. :
This, after Egerstad himself explicitly said:
Ha!
DEranged Security
The blog-post itself
Slashdot's page on it.
Some of the passwords are just too funny: "temp", "123456" (Spaceballs, anyone?), "1234", "password+1", "india01", "Password",
Surprisingly, there's nothing on CNN or BBC about it yet. The Indian Express and Ars Technica have it, though.
Hmmm... like "Anonymous Coward" says on /. :
Looks like the [Indian Express] took due dilligence a bit too far...
From the article:
"The email account of the Indian Ambassador to China contained details of a visit by Rajya Sabha member Arjun Sengupta to Beijing earlier this month for an ILO conference. There was also a transcript of a meeting this evening which a senior Indian official had with the Chinese Foreign Minister. Similarly, accounts of NDA and DRDO officials reveal phone numbers, commercial documents, official correspondence and personal mails."
This is probably very illegal, even if the information has been posted for all to see, actually using this info to access someone else's account should be a no-no.
This, after Egerstad himself explicitly said:
"I would like to remind everyone that using ANY of this is a serious crime and I trust that nothing here will be used, ever! If you do anyway you are a fucker, idiot, moron, lamer, scriptkiddie, criminal and obviously don’t get the point of this publishing."
Ha!
(See below)
I've become addicted to footnotes --- yet another fallout of thesis-writing.
Item #16 on the "You might be a grad student if..." list, from the Facebook group, "Grad Students: they're Not Bad People, they Just Made Terrible Life Choices":
See the second entry in this blog, for example. :P
Item #16 on the "You might be a grad student if..." list, from the Facebook group, "Grad Students: they're Not Bad People, they Just Made Terrible Life Choices":
...you get irresistible urges to use in-text citations in casual e-mails.
See the second entry in this blog, for example. :P
Just me and the road. And all my neighbours.
Went for a run yesterday. I think it's been about a week or so since I last ran. Did my usual 3-mile circuit, and matched my previous best time of 26 minutes flat --- so last week's achievement (shaving a full minute off my then-previous best of 27 minutes) was no fluke. *Excellent*!
Stopped and chatted with --- or waved out to --- almost every neighbour on my street during my cool-off walk-around. (One lady yarned on for a good 10 minutes about her ex-father-in-law, who was Greek and climbed mountains and worked till he was more than a hundred and died at a hundred and twenty-two, or thereabouts.) They've all become a lot friendlier of late. Probably gotten used to seeing me around, after my having been here for the past three years. It's a nice feeling. It's a shame I'll quite probably be moving away soon.
Stopped and chatted with --- or waved out to --- almost every neighbour on my street during my cool-off walk-around. (One lady yarned on for a good 10 minutes about her ex-father-in-law, who was Greek and climbed mountains and worked till he was more than a hundred and died at a hundred and twenty-two, or thereabouts.) They've all become a lot friendlier of late. Probably gotten used to seeing me around, after my having been here for the past three years. It's a nice feeling. It's a shame I'll quite probably be moving away soon.
The Case for Christianity
Started reading C. S. Lewis' The Case for Christianity last night [1]. Got through the first two chapters, but I'm carrying the book around with me now, to read whenever I have down-time. Love the way that guy writes.
[1] As part of my continuing quest to find out if Christianity/Catholicism makes sense, not just as a way of living, but as a representation of the nature of God. To find peace in my soul, really.
[1] As part of my continuing quest to find out if Christianity/Catholicism makes sense, not just as a way of living, but as a representation of the nature of God. To find peace in my soul, really.
Dear diary, today I ....
I started a blog a couple of months ago --- my first ever --- and it went through a few initial existentialist birth-pangs while I tried to figure out what exactly I meant to do with it. (And then abandoned it completely for about a month while I focused on little else but my dissertation.)
I've arrived at a solution: spawned a new blog, this one, meant specifically for the inane, mundane, stream-of-consciousness -type diary entries. That other one will remain devoted to the more philosophical, inspirational, things-that-make-you-go-hmmm, which is what I had originally intended it to be. You can check it --- and my very first blog entries --- out here.
I suppose I could've maintained a single blog, and simply tagged the "inspirational" posts as such, but, for the purpose of keeping the two sets of content distinct/separate, this seemed the easier solution. Maybe some day I'll merge them. *shrug* Let's see.
I've arrived at a solution: spawned a new blog, this one, meant specifically for the inane, mundane, stream-of-consciousness -type diary entries. That other one will remain devoted to the more philosophical, inspirational, things-that-make-you-go-hmmm, which is what I had originally intended it to be. You can check it --- and my very first blog entries --- out here.
I suppose I could've maintained a single blog, and simply tagged the "inspirational" posts as such, but, for the purpose of keeping the two sets of content distinct/separate, this seemed the easier solution. Maybe some day I'll merge them. *shrug* Let's see.
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