|
[19 Feb 2011|10:00pm] |
While I attempted to take a nap today, Remy climbed onto the couch to do the following at the computer:
a) Opened several help tabs in Firefox
b) Made desktop shortcuts to the control panel and network
c) Rotated the monitor display 180 degrees
Surprisingly, there was no damage to the hardware.
|
|
| Remy's first daycare report |
[12 Jul 2010|06:10pm] |
"Remy was laying on his side watching Ariana. He smiled every time Ariana made a noise. Remy investigated the heart-shaped basket. He was looking at it as he moved it around with his hands. He attempted to put the basket in his mouth, but didn't. Remy investigated the grass. He rolled away from the teacher then after a while rolled back."
I know, pretty fascinating stuff. I can't tell if "but didn't" means "we didn't let him eat that, don't worry" or "failed."
Much as I hate leaving him there, he seems to be pretty happy, and he gets lots of time to practice rolling around and--well, investigating.
|
|
|
[08 Feb 2009|11:55am] |
I have just spent an embarrassingly long time getting frustrated at Matlab's failure to recognize the "binrev" command.
Binocular revelry would, however, make for perhaps an even better lab than binocular rivalry.
|
|
|
[27 Jan 2009|09:19am] |
"But why is she at the dentist?"
"Because, I TOLD you, she's DEAD. You're not listening to me."
It turned out that the woman was waiting at the dentist for one hundred eighty thousand million days for the doctors to repair the heart-pump machine and bring her back to life. But if they don't get their act together, she's going to be dead forever (days and days and days!).
I shamelessly responded at that point with "yes, medical research is important."
|
|
| pterodactyl angel doctor! |
[25 Jan 2009|03:31pm] |
I was working out the logistics of picking Maxx up from school when he tugged at my arm. "Have you seen my new pterodactyl?"
I hadn't; it was a Christmas present. He showed me another dinosaur, a T-Rex. "Which one do you want to be?"
The T-Rex, I decided, since he'd have more fun making the pterodactyl swoop around. "I've got lots of power," he told me, and his dinosaur came in to attack. I tried to hop out of the way, but was summarily informed of my death.
In a moment, though, his dinosaur was back, and he positioned the claws on my dinosaur's shoulders:
"I'm taking you to heaven."
This turned into a discussion of how the pterodactyl had died, too, and angels had taken him to heaven, where he became part-human. Now he helped other dinosaurs to heal.
I forget sometimes why it is such a good idea to get away from academia occasionally, but this one is going to stay with me. There are some things that just make you smile.
|
|
|
[09 Dec 2008|06:59pm] |
I have just used the phrase "human brain extract" on a final without being remotely disturbed.
But back to the final.
|
|
| One of the more ridiculous predicaments I have found myself in... |
[09 Dec 2008|04:28pm] |
I am locked in my room.
No, I did not get confused about how the little button works. I am actually locked in.
(Don't worry. Hillary is fetching the RA so we can all marvel at my incompetence.)
\\edit: Freedom by screwdriver! Plus, now I have a peephole. Explanation after I take this bio final.
|
|
| good vibrations |
[17 Sep 2008|06:30pm] |
I've just gotten a new "pull-cord" bicycle pump. This is because I am no good at getting the pressure above 100 psi with a hand pump. And that is, in turn, probably because I am a wimp.
The actual use of the pump is pretty simple. But the directions are ominous: "If you use the pump for less than 10 minutes per day then your Daily Vibration Exposure from this pump should be less than 2.4 ms^-2."
It turns out that this is a real thing: the EU adopted a Human Vibration Direction in 2002.
There are so many better things they could have meant by that.
|
|
| traffic signs |
[12 Jun 2008|10:39am] |
|
It turns out that those "Bicycles stop on line for green" signs do in fact have a meaningful interpretation, namely, "Stop on line to request green." This is important at traffic lights triggered by the weight of a car, where bicyclists can end up waiting quite some time "for green." Unfortunately, the wording is so poorly chosen that I doubt anyone has figured this out without benefit of Google. I always assumed they either wanted bicycles to stop on the line and wait "for green" to go (duh) or stop on the line even "for green" (dangerous, also an insult to momentum).
|
|
|
[09 Apr 2008|10:20pm] |
Today I stopped another large lecture class (cell bio) by looking confused near the back of the room. "You," the prof said, "you're frowning. Am I not being clear enough about something?"
I'm grateful that my concern was trivial and easily answered. In Abnormal Psychology, I frowned a lot because the prof was spewing nonsense, and the resulting interrogation was a bit more awkward.
Thanks for the genes, Dad. Or at least for the cultural valuation of Strong Facial Expression.
|
|
|
[06 Apr 2008|08:26pm] |
After a year and two thirds, I'm finally starting to feel as if I'm doing well here instead of just getting by. My physics final has "way to kick ass" on it in red ink. (Okay, but I still got the answer wrong.) A prof just stopped me on the street to ask if I'm taking any neuroscience courses this term and to offer a letter of recommendation. I won a hat in IST 4. (...yeah, um, a hat.) The guy behind me at the grocery-store checkout line has asked me to babysit for him.
Erm, the last might not be evidence of "succeeding at Tech." Neither would, I guess, having gone on a ten-hour Public Transportation Adventure yesterday to Chinatown, Long Beach, and the bus station with the maps of LA county traffic density on Feb 14 1922 and Jan 1 1924 (I kid you not). But I'm still a pretty happy camper.
Plus, I think I just contributed to someone's psych project by stealing potato chips from the trash can. This is not the same as my habit of eating things I find on the floor of the Dabney lounge to build immunity; they're still sealed. What harm can there possibly be...?
|
|
|
[19 Mar 2008|01:20am] |
Today I took the math exam, turned it in to a laughing group of TAs (apparently I walked in exactly as Prof. Lorden mentioned I'd BETTER be there by noon), and then did some errands to get ready for the trip. This included getting my bike all fixed up for $5; the mechanic's justification was that it wouldn't have been safe for me to ride it as it was. My feeling is that a car mechanic would spin that into "so my services are very valuable to you" rather than "so I have a moral obligation to fix it at less than minimum wage."
So it's time to think on things, sleep, and write to a few people. I plan to be back by Friday the 28th. If I'm not, I think a few people win some large bets.
|
|
|
[02 Dec 2007|09:27pm] |
everything is coming together.
I'd worried I'd find exactly the same problems in neuroscience as I'd found in math: always feeling a bit like I did as as a five-year-old who wasn't allowed to admit to not believing in Santa, because everyone else seemed so determined to keep up the illusion. That is, never really being excited about research in math to the point of being happier reading a paper than baking cookies. Baking cookies is a good standard of happiness.
But research in neuroscience is intrinsically interesting, and without giving up the attachment to a truly great problem. (This is what scared me about econ--too many small, practically interesting problems, not enough driving question.) And the little things at Tech are just... working out. I've finally officially switched majors to CNS ("Computation and Neural Systems," not "Computers'N'Science"), found myself an awesome advisor, and...
gotten an offer of a SURF!
A German collaborator of Henry Lester's lab has just gotten some really exciting data from human multiple-electrode recordings, relating to nicotine addiction. The SURF would essentially just be data analysis (big pile of data, figure out what it means), but it's a pretty clear-cut goal--and something I need to learn to do. It would mean not working particularly independently this summer in terms of designing an experiment, but building up "lab" experience and getting a feel for this sort of data. And the prof seems to really care about teaching and mentoring (I mentioned that I didn't have much experience with data analysis, and his response was that "that's what we do at Caltech--we invest in young people").
Also, sitting in the Caltech bookstore for an hour getting a first look at data taken in Leipzig, trying out a few filters on it, just felt like a very "Caltech" moment. Also, I was supposed to be in Psych 16, getting interrogated about my doubtful facial expressions.
|
|
|
[26 Nov 2007|07:45am] |
|
There's something to be said for the library early, when the security guys ask if you ever sleep and you're guaranteed a pick of your favorite carrels, the good ones where your back's protected, but you turn them all down for the deserted and sunrise-lit third floor tables, from which you can watch the aardvark-like streetsweeping machines for the first time and look through the movie library without feeling self-conscious in front of someone who clearly does not take breaks from studying, and altogether get a lot done. In fact, those are all examples of things that can be said for the library early. That it is a good place to forget accusations cannot be said with much conviction, but this is not a particular failing of the library.
|
|
| Oops! I melted my socks. |
[08 Nov 2007|06:33pm] |
Early in the trip, I'd had a long day of riding (okay, a normal day, but my butt hadn't molded to the seat yet) and noticed a sign for a motel. I'd planned to camp almost exclusively, but it had a sign proclaiming that "Our Hovercraft is Full of Eels," and so I thought it might be my type of place. $35.36 with tax... yep. Not the best rate I'd get, especially since I didn't know to bargain with the proprietor, but not bad by the standards of either coast.
I spent a few minutes talking to a seedy-looking guy outside, then went into my room firmly resolving to come back out and explore the little town. Then I ate a typical several-pound dinner, washed my clothes, and fell sound asleep. There was some knocking at the door, but I hid under the covers and pretended that there wasn't.
In the morning, I realized that my socks and underwear weren't dry. Hmph. Well, no problem, there was a microwave in the room (I know! this was a pretty fancy place)... I figured that increasing the average kinetic energy of the water in the socks would make them dry a bit faster. So I set the timer for five minutes, fully intending to interrupt it at intervals of about thirty seconds, and go brush my teeth.
As I'm washing my face, a peculiar odor comes to me (MMPI distress, here we come). I'm puzzled for a few seconds and then run to the microwave to turn it off. Opening the door lets a cloud of black smoke escape, and I think that there's a fire... no. My socks and underwear have in fact simply melted into a hot black mess. I open the windows as much as possible and dance around frantically hoping that the smoke detector won't give me away.
But I have to air out the room, so eventually I grab the mass of nylon and dump it outside the door, and discover that actually melted nylon chips right off of glass. The room is still kind of hazy and smells carcinogenic, but so far so good.
Then there's another knock on the door. But it's just the proprietor, wondering if I'm still there, because I don't have a car ("On my way out... yeah... thanks..." I say to him, trying to prevent him from noticing anything's up. He doesn't.)
And everything works out, especially because wearing underwear under bike shorts was dumb anyway (gross but true! look it up), except that I don't have socks. And, as it turns out, it's not as easy as you'd think to find socks in rural Iowa.
This worked out possibly better than my mother's strategy for the same lesson, which involves being reminded by my dad about the Potato Incident every month or so for life.
|
|
| to break mental ice |
[18 Sep 2007|06:26pm] |
- Today I drove to the Route 128 Amtrak station and back, to practice for picking John up on Friday (yay!). This took about three hours, roughly two-and-three-quarters of which I spent lost. I'd forgotten two differences between driving and biking: going faster means getting loster, and it's a lot harder to find a place to stop or turn around.
- I have a job for the fall! One that (much as I love working Coffeehouse) doesn't involve asking if you want fries with that: I'm a CS1 TA! Which means, basically, pickily grading a bunch of really simple Scheme code. And environment diagrams. Also holding section and office hours. I am maybe too excited about this, but it sounds like a lot of fun.
- In the drug-induced stupor following having my wisdom teeth out, anatomy textbooks and the "three other plays" some publisher stuck in with No Exit have been sitting on a shelf as I rediscover Arabella and Zsenya's "After the End," a (long!)-novel length fanfic that takes place after the Harry Potter books are over. This is one of very few fics I'll recommend to people who aren't already into fanfiction; a lot of stories I enjoy fall under the "unabashed escapism" category or serve some specific emotional purpose without being truly amazing on their own. But "After the End" manages to use the freedoms of fanfic--in particular, multiple points of view--to create a world just as engrossing as that of the books.
- On Thursday I go back to Stingray to get a tattoo! After visiting MIT (...and the Unhappy Subway Guy) on Sunday I talked to the artist, Mike Helz, who'll be doing the work. Basic description: black and gray, centered upper back, a brain enclosed by a neural network and "wir mussen wissen / wir werden wissen." Basic reassurances: the shop's very safe and reputable; "permanent" is in fact part of my working vocabulary; and if an uber-formal wedding ever becomes an appealing concept, a wedding dress that covers the back isn't hard to find. A better (or at least longer, because I've thought about this a lot) explanation will be forthcoming.
- The Garment District, a clothing store in Cambridge that sells stuff from a big heap on the floor for $1.50 a pound, is absolutely amazing. I've found sooo much nice stuff there for a total of maybe $10. The only trouble will be packing for school again!
- John's visiting this weekend (hence the 128 practice run) for XKCD madness! However it turns out, the meetup's going to be insane. I get the added fun of bringing a suitcase along, since I'll be leaving around 6:30 from Logan for a 3-pronged flight to LA. ("I give you about a 10% chance of making both connections," my dad keeps saying. He's so encouraging!) The reason for going back early? Frosh Camp--I'm going to be "helping out" by, um, spending two days at the beach. Life is tough.
|
|
|
[06 Sep 2007|12:32am] |
my recent existence has been lowercase, in a comfortable sort of way.
today at central square i pushed an old woman's wheelchair fifty feet. her voice was very soft as she tried to get the attention of passersby and they ignored her assumed begging. "would you push me to the salvation army?"
"get in the center lane," she told me, the center row of sidewalk tiles, and then "turn right, up that little black hill." i left her in at the doorstep. "they open in twenty minutes, thank you so much, you're such a kind person, you've done such a nice thing for me."
it made me angry. that wasn't even common decency, i wanted to tell her. that's bare humanity, that's failure to be cruel, and she was so gracefully sweet--
i miss tim and as i keep telling his stories without writing i trade voice for fact. yesterday i visited high school teachers and repeated just visiting just visiting to myself, like in monopoly jail. tomorrow i go back to the tattoo parlor with the dog named midge.
|
|
| Known in the carving community |
[31 Aug 2007|06:39pm] |
[July 15th: bike tour, day 1]
I hadn't gone more than two miles when "Back in the Saddle Again" got stuck in my head. As with most songs that get stuck in my head, unfortunately, I only knew the title lyrics. About an hour later, I started to admit to myself that yes, a lot of unforseen things were going to go wrong.
|
|
|
[31 Aug 2007|01:29pm] |
March 07
It is the day before I leave for Germany and I'm heading back to Caltech after visiting every bank in Pasadena trying to exchange money. An ant is crawling across his chest, left and right and back again under the shelter of a checkered blue shirt.
At least, this is my assumption, possibly an over-agressively Least Ant Hypothesis assumption. I use it unabashedly, though, as an outlet for excess eye contact. It turns out, you may know, that you're really only supposed to maintain eye contact maybe half to three-quarters of the time, and more disturbs most people. He seems like the type who might get angrily disturbed.
He's speaking of dignity now, as relates to working in a restaurant. That is beneath his dignity. Working for those women. And the people! They sit down and they think you ought to serve them, like that's your place.
No, he's happier picking up recycling on Colorado. Not an easy existence, but the challenges he relates aren't to do with the obvious. "Sometimes," he says, "some woman will be on the other side of the street, and she'll hold up a bottle, hold up a bottle at me. Now do you think that's respect, is THAT treating me with any respect?"
Uncertain of what the preferred action would be I shake my head. "Erm, I'm sorry, that must be hard to deal with."
"Taunting me, like I should just run over there, just for one bottle, like I'm some dog to do whatever they want. No respect at all, that's what I'm talking about. Just respect. For another human being. You see everybody's looking at us?" I don't think I do, but then I've been focused on the ant for a while so it's possible. Fortunately there's no break in the conversation for a response. "It's because I'm talking to you, you know"--conspiratorial--"They don't wanna see somebody like me, dressed like this, you know, with a pretty girl."
I must have unconsciously backed away slightly, because he immediately clarifies. "No no, now don't worry, I'm not interested in you. Nope, not interested. I mean, but you're a nice girl 'n'all, but--you know." This is one of the first points that makes definite sense, until--"There's a girl at Caltech, though, she's older than you are, I like her a lot. We've gone out a bit." I'm hesitant to ask for a clarification so I stick with my usual widened-eye nodding and mouthing of random words like "oh" and "wow" and "chrysanthemum." It doesn't make much difference.
One offer of money from a passerby, one half-hour monologue on the rudeness and disrespect of such an act, and one quite movingly eloquent description of the logic behind cutting all his hair off on the equinox later, there's a question. "Now what's your name, girl?"
"Uh, Kim," I say. I've never figured out how to give my name without the pause but also without sounding snippy or like I'm in boot camp.
He squints a bit. "mm, Kim, okay."
"And yours?"
He doesn't respond.
"What's your name?"
"Oh, now MY name. Hmm, my name. You can call me..."--he seems to size me up--"you can call me Abel."
"What?" I have to admit I was kind of expecting something Spanish.
"Abel."
"Able?" I really should just go with it at this point.
"Abel, like from the Bible. Abel. You see me again, here, you call me Abel. But remember, my hair's'onna all be off, you see me in the spring."
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
|
|
|
|
