Note: This blog has been deprecated, because the system it's built upon (MovableType) was comment-spammed to the point of destabilization. This URL now exists for archival purposes. Trying to add a comment to an old entry will not work here; however, the entries do exist at my blog's current manifestation, here, and comments do work (and I'm still very happy to read them, if you're so kind to leave them).
Friday was another Multivariable day, and we started multiple integration. Fun stuff--seeing a bunch of big S's drawn on the board makes me feel like I'm doing calculus, moreso than last year when I just saw one S on the board.
Don moved the lecture today into multiple integration in polar coordinates--where the main point to remember was that dx -> rdr. He said that a couple times to the class, and Katherine just busted out laughing and brought Don's lecture to a pause.
"Hey, do you guys remember that Simpsons..."
Half of the class cracked up on the spot; Don didn't get it, so Katherine cited her source. When Bart went to the school for the gifted (earlier season), the teacher was lecturing to the class on polar integration--cause, y'know, that's quite the topic for TEN YEAR OLDS to cover--and she kept mentioning to the class that it wasn't dr, but rdr. She hit Bart's blank face. "You know--haR D haR har" [insert appropriate elbow movements].
The best part about this was seeing Katherine, a girl with quite a few piercings to her head's name, do the elbow motions in a green colonial jacket and the rest of her pirate ensemble. Don got chuckles for the next twenty minutes whenever he said rdr.
So, even with calculus pneumonics, we can once again say "Simpsons did it."
Exercise 2.2.4, part 2: Explain why it's impossible for a sequence to have an infinite range AND have a limit at infinity.
Naoko and I discussed this problem for about ten minutes yesterday, because (1) she didn't get her book due to crappy mail-order service and (2) I couldn't figure out the problem myself. We pored and pored over definitions of sequences, functions, and mutually exclusive boundaries of range and domain, reading the book several times...until the solution hit me.
You may think I'm being metaphorical there: But really, when I had the necessary epiphany to solve the problem, I was shot into the back of my chair, which made a loud squeaking sound after the equally-loud k-klunk. "By gum, I think I've got it!" I exclaimed as I flipped the pages of my book back to a discussion of some proof or another. I pointed my finger in triumph, then explained my logic to Naoko.
After I finished, I sat back and realized I was overheating. A quick, sweatshirt-less walk later I was ready to work again. Naoko thinks I'm weird. And not just because I draw smiley faces in my upper-division math homework.
I tell ya, there's nothing in the world quite like waking up at five thirty in the morning on a Monday when you're adapted to not even rising at nine thirty on an empty Monday schedule. Well, there is something in the world like it, but even less enjoyable: Waking up and realizing the furnace is broken. Not the fan, just the capability of generating heat.
Damian seemed to have the right idea. Which was also odd to see at five o'clock on a Monday morning.
Freakazoid! Freakazoid!
Runs around in underwear!
Freakazoid! Freakazoid!
This is what you could be seeing.
Freakazoid! Freakazoid!
Unless something better's on TV.
Freakazoid! Freakazoid!
So there you have it, my costume for Dave's Halloswing Ball, and a party for Friday. As to what party, I have no clue as of yet. But soon, you too can French with Freakazoid*.
*Actual cartoon short, no dirty connotations intended [on my part].
I used to think my voice range matched a cello--low C (actually Db) to about D4. Not a bad estimate, but I forgot to factor in falsetto. I can accurately sing Eb5 (a half-step below the violin high string) in my falsetto, which I suppose makes me a second soprano.
Yay! Spectrum! I can sing along with Rosebud now!
Today, SOGO had a couple petting zoos. I played the cello, and sucked mightily at it. I don't know if it was the quality of the cello (shiny, but still a rental) or my adjusting to running a bow on a string not parallel with the ground, but I couldn't hear myself for beans. Or maybe it was the trombones having a blast (emphasis on blast) across the cafeteria.
I wanted to try the brass out...but then the kids came, and us big kids at play had to leave or start showing kids instruments. I did this on Shift Two, showing kids the violin...while Julia, a violinist, showed kids the viola...
...Something didn't connect here. But it didn't matter much to the kids--the difference to them was about two inches and three ounces. They played their strings, they were happy. A few of them got to play cello, with another violinist demonstrating that--oddly enough, he could play it at about the 6th-grade level.
Anywhoo, after the petting zoo came the last concert of the day, where we got to play our own instruments once again. I picked up Rosebud and moved her into position on my shoulder, and realized: SHE IS FREAKIN' HUGE. It's probably a perspective thing, from playing a thirteen inch rental viola to a sixteen and a half inch Terg-model. Heavy, too. It took me a good minute to adjust my fingers again.
I've started putting pictures in my case. I think after I tape everything into place I'll take a picture. Of pictures. Something's telling me I'm being a bit iterative here, but a picture shall come soon.
The concert wasn't that bad--I screwed up two REALLY LOUD entrances due to lack of skillz in counting rests and repeats (plenty of both), but luckily I had the orchestra to cover me on one, and the timpani on the other. Hoorah.
OCO is a pretty small group, and Arun has mentioned in rehearsal that we may not be the "best" orchestra in town--that we're a volunteer group. I didn't feel that great about being in the orchestra for a week or so after that, since I interpreted that as license to suck to a small degree, but after the concert tonight I was convinced that we're actually not a bad group at all. We're a bit disorganized, sure, and a third of our viola section can't count rests for beans (ahem)--but we have a good sound, good intonation, and a great soloist in Randall Johnson.
We also have an Indian man for a conductor, whose skin is pretty dark brown (India Indian, not Native American). He's a silly man.
The end of Brandenburg 1 is a little mini-dance suite, with a Menuetto played, then a Trio of oboes and a bassoon continuo; then the Menuetto, followed by a Polocca with all the strings; then the Menuetto, with the last Trio with French Horns and oboes; finally, the Menuetto is played one more time, and the show's over. Notice how we played the Menuetto four times? Well, in the course of one day, we were supposed to play that eight times....so I don't blame Arun for losing count.
During the second concert, he played the Menuetto three times and then forgot about the last trio; he ended the show by dropping his arms, having the soloists stand up, getting flowers...but by the time the flowers made it down to the stage, he looked at his score and buried his face in his hands--with a hugely apologetic grin, he stopped the applause and had the last Trio run off.
Point being, I saw a brown-skinned man blush. Oh well. The orchestra had a good laugh with him after he got the audience's applause at the right time.
I won't say much on the Rattler's Narrative--only that I was the only non-solo bass singer thanks to a flake and a Seattle trip, and the lawn mower stank like normal. You heard me.
I've gotta get up at five for the SOGO student tour tomorrow. Hoo-ray.
Toodle Oo.
[Note: I've started plugging concerts in this blog's sidebar, if you ever scroll down that thing and look.]
When: Today, at 3 and 7, the Olympia Chamber Orchestra will play Bach's first Brandenburg Concerto, Haydn's Symphony No. 94, and Richard Burkhardt's The Rattler's Narrative.
The concert will take place in The Evergreen State College's COMMunications building, in the recital hall (entry at second floor). For directions to Evergreen and its COM building, see this map.
Tickets are $15 adult, $10 students/seniors, and $5 for those with an Evergreen ID.
Hope to see you there--I hope to see people there, actually. Somehow, we didn't have an advertisement in the Olympian this morning in the "Weekend Activities" list. I'm REALLY hoping there's more advertising than those posters I plunked up around SPSCC...ah well. It's a relaxing day to play some Bach, our soloists are good, and Haydn's Surprise's final movement sounds like those old black and white cartoons with owl children and lollipops.
...my first gray hair.
But gray's an overstatement--it was as white as bone, even a little transparent.
My mom noticed it in the middle of my scalp, and plucked it out, root et al. I wonder if I'm going to go completely white by thirty--my cousin is almost there, and she's about 32.
Meanwhile, on to other news and signs of age. I got a check from Evergreen today, though I really shouldn't have. I got more than one tuition waver-type thing, which in total amounted to a couple hundred dollars more than my actual tuition. I didn't expect it at all, since my dad one day procured a piece of paper with an Evergreen header that had rules of somesuch on it, including the stipulation that if a positive balance in my student account resulted from more than one financial aid / scholarship / tuition waver source, I would receive none of it.
But today I got the check that shouldn't be. I showed it to my dad and he was much less than ecstatic. Why? you may be asking. Well, the check is made out to me--my name, et cetera. So, if I cash it / deposit it, and the system wasn't erroneous, than I have to pay: [Insert f-minor scale runs here]
Income Tax.
I'm really hoping Evergreen screwed up. I'm not looking forward to spending my month of March doing taxes, on top of Winter finals. I bet my dad isn't looking forward to teaching me how to do them, either.
To the reader: Know that any writings on this weblog express solely the opinions of myself and no other member of the Olympia Chamber Orchestra, or any other organizations I happen to be involved in or associate with. Should what I have written here seem harsh enough to warrant a response, please read this weblog entry in presented order, following the first link.
The last time I sang music in a choral group was at SPSCC about a week or two ago. Tonight, I attended the first full-orchestra/choir rehearsal of Richard Burkhardt's The Rattler's Narrative, as a bass voice instead of viola. See sentence one.
I harbor no happy feelings toward's The Rattler's Narrative. The narrative is abstracted beyond clarity, even though Burkhardt acts it well; the orchestra is a collection of instruments that make sounds I don't expect to ever go in a composed piece of music; and the choir takes its turn as one huge, chaotic percussion section, complete with plastic cups and straws.
Many times during the narrative, which as far as I can tell is describing a lizard [called a toad] that bleeds from its eyes as a natural defense, the chorus breaks in in specifically non-musical fashions. Excerpts from the chorus's contextually UNexplained interjections are such lines as "[in the style of a gameshow host] Forty-two million dollars," "Just...put it down," "WHEEEEEEEEZE, WHEEEEEEEEZE [ad nauseum]," and snippets of a conversation at a cocktail party.
I have no clue where any of this goes or comes from, but I'm glad it's done when it's done.
The chorus also gets the opportunity to work in three tongues: Spanish at first, English for the rest, and Latin animal names interjected at the end. And speaking of the end, I'll spoil it for you right now, because if you came to hear the piece you would not know when to clap:
"Helenium [somethingorother...]"..."Mexican hat." End sound.
I chatted with Lydia, a swing dancer, about The Rattler's Narrative. She told me it was a type of music called non-functional--Miranda seems to have taken a shining to it, but it's way too unstructured for me.
The part that weirds me out the most is that the Olympia Chamber Orchestra will be performing this next Sunday--I'll plug it later--on the same stage and in the same concert as Brandenburg I and Haydn's Surprise. Non-functional music...and Bach. A mere broadening of the horizons isn't enough for the audience--this is more like a wedge.
Welcome to Evergreen.
Friday's seminars are becoming something like a religious open-floor discussion, pertaining to math. I heard an argument last Friday on finding faith in a God through mathematics--and it wasn't that pure, ultimate-abstraction-to-His-workings conjecture I'd heard several times before, mainly from the seminar reading. I heard a guy say he believed in a God, by Statistics.
The moon and the sun are the two most visible objects in our sky--and they are the same size by our perception. The probability of that is [with the hand in the O position] ze-ro--but zero in a calculus sense, as in just really close to zero. Thus, one man in our class has faith that a God exists.
Not a bad conjecture, particularly for those of us in the class who enjoy symmetry. I wonder how he'll enjoy reading Symmetry (Herman Weyl) later this year.
Aaron, and I believe Cassie, have already mentioned that Aaron's cousins are great little kids. I got to meet them today, and third the motion. They don't cuss, they don't like McDonald's (except for Nathan, I think) and they're FULL of energy--chock full. The kids, Cassie, Aaron and I all went to an elementary school nearby, where there was access to a yellow bootin' ball and a toy complex.
There was a rousing ame of capture the flag, where it was boys vs. girls. After the boys, as they eternally shall, creamed the girls' team, the girls decided to be the little girls they are (Cassie included =P ) and make new rules for the boys--either Aaron or I had to skip. Oh, boy, the fun--luckily, Aaron volunteered since I have a bad toe. The girls won that round, but the boys came right back in Round Three where I volunteered a new constraint for myself:
"I could only walk." I made that sound as fair as possible to the girls--of whom, only Cassie knew of Jazz Walking. So, I worried the strategic crap out of Aaron's two cousins while Aaron snuck around from behind and captured the flag, spelling VIC-TORY. Aaron and I practiced reciting the word "VIC-TORY" as loudly as possible, in as double-accented a manner as possible, and within as earshot of a range of the girls as possible. Yet, somehow Cassie only smacked Aaron down--once again, I incite inflammatorily annoying material and someone else gets the creamin' for me. I am so secure in large groups--statistically speaking, that is.
As any activity among little kids is, playing capture the flag with three children was absolutely draining on the collective energy of all adults present. Thus, the feeding did follow! The kids, their dad, and us three old teenagers trucked on over to Little Tokyo for a dinner that Aaron was "looking forward to all week."
I ordered what I thought was a conservative bowl of Udon Makame. It slipped my mind that a serving of Udon is about a half-gallon of food. Just meant that I had a lot more to drink...a lot more.
Cassie ordered a small sushi platter--or California Rolls, I forget the name--and the platter came with a little pile of ginger and a little lizzard-sculpture of wasabi. I'm sure the likeness with Godzilla was an accident, as I think it was only a mound of wasabi with a head-like shape on top.
I was the only one to touch the wasabi for the entire dinner, and one of the kids noticed this--Nathan, I think. Nathan thought I liked it so much that I should just eat the rest of the wasabi in one gulp--and there was a bit over a cubic centimeter left.
One of the girls double-dodge dared me--I think Miranda. I told her she double-dog dared me, and then she proceeded to beat me into cultural submission:
"No, I INFINITY-dog dare you!"
I leaned over to Aaron and said (I meant to say transfinite) "It's a shame she doesn't know about transcendant numbers, like infinity squared and so forth."
Aaron opened his face up in a friendly-to-my cause manner, but said "Neither do I." Cassie pi-dog dared me.
I raised my hand to calm the table down. I took my water glass, about half-full; I took Aaron's glass, about half-full and set it next to my water glass; Cassie caught on and set her glass in the growing collection, and Nathan and Miranda set their glasses there too. "Place your bets, ladies and gentleman, on how many of these I will down." At that point the waitress came by and filled my glasses, though everyone thought that they would still be necessary.
I took the last chunk in all of its glory in my chopsticks, and held it up high for the table to see: A few nay-sayers thought I was still bluffing. Down the hatch! And just for show, I chomped it around a bit and did the Seefood gag.
The next sound out of me was something like a clarinet squeaking.
Two sips of water later, I was ready to go. With a mint afterwards, wasabi is so...temporary.
Today was my dad's sixtieth birthday! He's a fogey! Yay!
I found out not only was it my dad's birthday, but if his mom were alive, it would be her birthday, too; and if her dad was alive, it would be HIS birthday, too. My dad's birthday goes back three generations--That is a ONE in 48,627,125 chance. He's a Statistically Impossible Fogey! Yay!
My uncle, for his fiftieth birthday got an office surprise. He was in a meeting on that day, and a bag lady came into the conference room. He was at the front presenting something or other, and the lady waddled her way up to right next to him, where she then yelled "SO, DO YOU WANT IT STANDING UP?"
"...No," my uncle replied, in shock. So, she got down on her knees and
It took him a few seconds to realize that just about all of his office population had made its way into the room to watch his reaction. That Priceless Moment is caught on video tape somewhere.
My uncle told this story to my dad last week, after he reminded all of us that today would be his birthday. My dad said he was taking the day off; if not before hearing the story, then definitely after. My dad forgot what he said by today, though; lucky for him, no bag lady made it to his office.
Unluckily for someone, my uncle did send a bag lady into the OFM complex. As for where she ended up, nobody knooooows.
A few more fun things with the concert, particularly Harold in Italy:
1.) The serenade starts way too fast to be a serenade, and then ends at the same way too fast. The middle is nice, slow, romantic, and that mushy-mushy stuff, so it can still be a serenade.
2.) I found out I've been listening to the fourth movement for the past month or so, in my dad's CD player. It's called the Orgy movement (quite literally: The tempo is Allegro Frenetico), and now that I have a name to go with it, I more than likely won't forget the tunes.
3.) The trombones' moments to shine in the fourth movement are awesome: Three parts, all bass-range, blasting out over the entire orchestra. I think Aaron would love the part.
4.) The Orgy movement has another moniker in the solo lingo: It is known as the longest running viola joke in the world. The viola soloist plays for the first few minutes of the movement, but then has nothing to do for the last thirteen minutes, except stand on stage. The soloist Wednesday got a chair since she was sick, but in all other cases, the violist has nothing to do but sit there and look blank. The soloist stood up for the last three minutes to give the impression that she had been up for a while, dilly-dallying. Much dally, regardless of the terrific playing she did for the other three movements.
And I'll bet you thought violas could only get the shaft in the orchestra =P
Damian had a few good quotes tonight.
On the car ride up to UPS to see the concert, it was raining lightly. My windshield wipers weren't up to par, and thus we had a bit of a mist over the entire windshield. Damian summarized the lack of wipage thusly:
"Man, your windshield wipers blow. ...Oh, wait, that would be more effective."
_
We saw the orchestra concert at UPS, with Harold in Italy. I didn't detect the "Kickass triplet" section, but I did see the viola solo, which went fairly well. Damian had to pay a bit more attention than I did at the concert, as he decided to critique this performance. He wrote a good page of notes in smallhand script, but lost his notes at the campus before we left. Here's what he has to summarize the critique he wrote purely from memory:
"...The whole performance tonight could be summed up in one word. IdroppedmyfreakingnotesandnowIcantrememberanythingabouttheperformanceexceptfortidbitsI
checkedonforspellinginthedarklightingoftheauditoriumandthenIforgoteverythinglateronthecarridehome
listeningtotheFranckwhichweareplayingin SOGO. Oh wait, that's two words."
_
On a less happy note, I took four steps into Alia's dorm building and fell down stairs. They didn't take me by surprise or anything: The stairs were coated in a rubber substance that theoretically would be anti-slip. I wasn't the first one to take a tumble, but I was the bloodiest.
I fell pretty much straight downward, legs in front of me, so had little to do but land on one buttock and forearm, both on the right. And then I bounced a few stairs down, which I imagine looked funny--I would be laughing at it if I had the ability to, oh, walk at the time. But I didn't.
I hobbled to Alia's dorm, thankfully about ten feet away, and sat on her bed, welcoming the cushions with my sore right glutey. The leg felt fine soon, but my forearm had a long gash on the skin (not through), probably from my sweater sleeve burning it off as it rubbed down the stair. Anti-slip rubber my now-busted ass...
But these are temporary physical things. The worst thing about the sudden descent was that I was winded, and felt pretty dizzy right after I fell. I stood up, but it wasn't pain that encouraged me to sit down on the stair I just fell on, it was a lack of balance. I think I have lost about all physical trauma tolerance, since the last time I felt pain beyond something like the prick of the skin or a kick in the groin was...lessee...seventh grade. Some dickweed punched me in the gut; I probably deserved it, considering the age. That left me winded for obvious reasons; but I'm not sure if having the whole of my body go through a few gravity-based jerks should have winded me too.
Actually, come to think about it, I fell on my tailbone once at Skateland, and I had the same sense of dizziness after that. Maybe I became a physiological wuss earlier than I suspected.
Two steps into the hall, I absorbed the grandiose of the large, wooden plane. It rivaled the Occasions! I thought, Not only in dance area but the next floor up doesn't go off to some mystery land.
Katie and I took to the wooden floor when the first DJ'd song played. We didn't dance a little diddy, but a good series to start the night off. I exited the floor afterwards thinking how awesome it would be to dance with people from across the nation.
But then the nation arrived. Soon the floor was regulated to people who danced by appointment; the casual move of offering one's hand with a gentle smile had to be done before a song ended--that was the only way to reserve one's five square feet of floor.
And the nation kept coming.
The viewing area soon filled, too. The Century Ballroom's first floor was lined with tables, tablecloths, and candles thereupon. The atmosphere seemed fine for a dinner--but why have candles in a room filled with hundreds of dancers? The body heat alone caused the shedding of clothing.
And the nation kept coming.
Soon everyone caught on to the candles, and came to rely upon the floor's lights for illumination. Wicks and wax aside, there was simply too much heat--and a whisper later, the flames fell, imploding their light.
Smoke flew up from the blown-out candles, filling the sides of the floor with a tang. By this point I was seated on the side, having run upon a streak of shyness. The tang reached me; I inhaled and raised the corners of my mouth, forgetting I was at a dance.
Miranda sat at the table, remembering quite well she was at the dance, and resting her feet, body--any reminders. I caught her eye and let my smile explain myself.
"Smell that, Miranda?"
"Yes..."
"It smells like birthday."
"Heh, that's cute Alex." She returned my smile.
It seems that I write two of these entries every quarter. I'll probably save the second one for Exam Week, as that will be the next truly intense period for me.
This week, I have not only the slew of exercises due (91 the first week, slightly downgraded since then), but also a 1,000-word paper and a lecture. A third of the exercises (by thought, not by quantity) should be done tomorrow, as should the paper, as they are both due. The presentation practice is also tomorrow, but I sense I'm going to use it as just practice.
Thursday, I'm giving a 20-minute lecture on solutions to the Pythagorean theorem. There are three solutions, from Pythagoras, Plato, and then Big Daddy Euclid. Pythagoras and Plato gave incomplete solutions, and were easy proofs to work through; those will be the fun parts to present to the class. However, Euclid had to be the thorough bugger he was and go ahead and solve the whole thing for all possible Pythagorean triples. I haven't worked my way through his proof, as it uses two variables instead of one--thus, tomorrow morning's condensed practice-lecture. I'm not worried at all about giving the full-fledged presentation, as I got inspired to add a little humor from reading Aaron's comment and blog. Thanks again, man.
Meanwhile, I have a paper to write that's due tomorrow. Er, today. It was assigned as topicless, as in no specific prompt save anything from the seminar readings, and assigned by word count. I hate word count, especially with my background of math habits. I like data, and seeing how far along I'm getting with writing the paper--however, when I know that completion is a percentage of a thousand, it leaves me with a bit to be annoyed about. Currently I am 59.5% complete with the paper, and the sig figs hold true.
I should be writing that paper. But I needed a break.
I am so glad that this is the most intense week of the quarter; there're still seven left to go, and I don't have the triple-doozy to worry about after Thursday. In fact, I plan very strongly to take a break Wednesday night and head up to the UPS concert; through e-mails with Alia I learned that she played Dvorak's 8th symphony in high school, and wasn't playing it this time around. The orchestra's playing Harold in Italien, though, and that has
1.) A kickass triplet section, by her words, and
2.) A VIOLA SOLO!! by the viola professor!!
Hello, break. I'll be seeing you, soon. Good morning.
Things were good back in the day of the Acura Legend I dubbed Stickamajig. Much driving for peace-of-mind pleasure, much documenting of gas mileage for math pleasure, and besides that, it had a light clutch for the ease of my left leg. Little did I know, though, that it had developed a problem with second gear, like staying out of it. I didn't notice, since I spend maybe ...six seconds during a drive in second gear, hopping to third quickly. I like driving for fuel efficiency more than beefy-engine-sounds.
My dad, oddly enough, likes the beefy engine, and thus second gear. So he was the first to notice Stickamajig slip out of second a whole bunch more than it should--infinitely is beyond the point.
So, Doug Mackovinney (I imagine that spelling is wrong in three places) fixed it. For five days, Stickamajig had been under the Surgeon's Wrench, and got a new transmission and new clutch.
I drove it the day we got it back, but what I drove was Stickamajig only on the outside. I was a bit shocked at the new engine feel that went with the familiarly smaller quarters of a coupe. It's taken a bit of getting used to, but I'm back to driving that car again.
I would be driving that Honda, if it weren't for two money-related issues:
1.) The repairs cost about two grand, which would've made selling the car for $2500 a loss.
2.) Since we took out a loan to buy the Honda, my insurance would have required me to get two additional forms of insurance if that was to be my primary vehicle. Total: $1600 / 6 months. My dad took an alternate route, of claiming the Honda and selling his car.
When we first got the Acura, my dad drove it about as much as I did, because he hadn't been in a stick car for ten years. He actually offered me a trade: His '97 Lexus, for my '90 Acura. Since the Lexus is an auto, I know who would've lost on that deal: I kept the Acura, naming it to make it mine. Uh, in a non-financial sort of way...but mine.
He ended up with a stick shift in the end. He's taking the Honda as his car and selling the Lexus. It worked out well for me too: my mp3 discman was a pain in the back to operate in the Honda, since I had to stick it in a little cave-like thing below the tape deck, and reach forward to change tracks. But in the Acura, I can plant the discman right behind the transmission and in front of the arm rest. It's secure, it doesn't interfere with the stick, and I can rest my arm on the armrest and change tracks without having to move my elbow. It's sorta like that command thingy on the Enterprise's captain's chair:
"Computer, lower the lights. Mr. Worf, play me the Sexy Data Tango. Mr. Data, dance."
I only have to move the Gecko back from my dad's car, and the Stickamajig shall be properly adorned. Dancing Data not included.
I had my first sleepover in years last night/this morning. Leah gathered a bunch of people together, with such out of town stars as ALI AND MEREDITH. I'm still perplexed on how Meredith got down here. Here's my theory: Canada's north of Olympia, and north means up, which means Meredith is above us. To get to anything below her, she would have to tunnel, since tunneling's the only way to go down. I also assume that the Canadians aren't quite so cool as to loan people gigundo drill machines à la Megaman, so I've deduced she came down to Olympia by spoon-tunnelling. Yet she still looked damn proper when she got to Leah's place: Form-conforming pants, a sweater, and a sweater/pettycoat thingy. Everyone really felt American around her, particularly the three of us in jeans and t-shirts.
By one o'clock Jim and Meredith left, to go home and sleep I suppose. I'm not sure why they did that, when they could've stayed and slept, but oh well. Mirali, Cassie, Leah and I stuck around to finish up Monsters, Inc. To all of you who fear seeing it because it looks like a kiddy movie: It's for adults too. Really. The Monster world has an economy, adding much depth and such to the environment. Highly recommended film.
So, Mirali and Leah slept in Leah's room and Cassie and I shared the futon. I was the only one who hadn't planned from the outset to spend the night, and thus had no jammies prepared (nevermind that I don't have jammies period). I slept in my jeans and t-shirt under a nice blanket that Leah gave me; it was like camping again, and sharing the tent with Katie (no Jim this time around). Except to my memory I didn't punch Katie in the face while I was asleep. Sorry, Cassie.
When morning rolled around, I realized that I was the only guy at this sleepover. That wasn't too special a point, though. What was more prominent in my mind was that there was no pillow fight (someone else reminded me of this). But then little Ali started throwing a pillow at me, and we played progressively aggressive Pillow Catch. The last time I chucked the pillow at her, it whumped against her chest pretty well. "Alex, you're a mean-spirited little boy." I hung my head in shame to play along, but then she chucked the pillow at me even harder. And fled to the bathroom (down the hall, to the left).
I believe it was a good sleep-over. I'm amazed that with all the females around me that my hair didn't end up in curls. They must've spent too much curling energy on Cassie's head. Maybe it was for the better.
I just got hit with a "Lolita" comment this morning--to a blog entry made in January--and felt that everyone should hear about this.
I think this list would be mainly for comparison to make sure it isn't some joker on FE doing it; or for comparison to see if you're being hit by the same program. Though, I think you'll be able to tell if you see a slew of html in a new comment notification e-mail containing text about preteens. Yeah, this stuff ain't pretty.
There was a huge blockup of 101 going onto I-5 today, as I was coming back from Evergreen. A lady somehow got her car onto the hillside before that exit to Tumwater / North Street. Behind her car was either a huge pipe, the guard rail mangled into a pretty well-formed cylinder, or her drive shaft. There were seven emergency vehicles--police, fire, and an ambulance--lined up on the right shoulder of the road. It looked like the Fourth of July with all of their lights going off at once.
_
I thought I saw Miranda getting out of a car Thursday. She had Miranda-length hair, and a devilish grin I've seen on her face before--a long lock of hair, broad enough to be flat, ran down the right side of her head. Her facial muscles had the same power in the cheeks Miranda does--only, this girl had a taller skull than Miranda. Wrong person.
_
There's a guy in Math Systems who has a beard of Great Horizons. It's not long, but covers so much of his face that it almost goes up to his eyes. His head is also kind of oblong, and I thought that seeing his grin from the back of the room as he looked to the side reminded me of someone, strongly. His hair was short, and his sideburns connected the ocean on top of his to the ocean on the fore. Ah ha! He's Dr. Light. From Mega Man X. I kid ye not; he's just Dr. Light before he goes white; Mega Man X is, after all, in 20XX. I hope Dr. Light gives Mega Man the plasma sword from the get-go instead of leaving it in Zero's hands until the third disaster series.
Dr. Oli Newsome, SPSCC Psychology professor, is a man aged into his youth. He is usually found on club e-mail lists, thumbing his nose at Professor Michael Bosse, another Psych. guy at SPSCC.
Viewing these two boys at play is always great. Last year, Oli and Bosse shared a classroom, with Oli's morning class directly after Bosse's. The room toted an electric-motor-driven projector screen, controllable by a switch at one side of the fairly long white board.
One day, Oli entered the room and raised the board, only to find the board wasn't exactly...blank. On it, for the few early-bird students, was a snide remark about Oli's age, care of one M.B. So it began (probably again) in Spring.
Oli's immediate response (not too immediate, like he was pissed off, but just un-immediate enough that it hadn't faded from memory) was to find a picture of Bosse, and share it with the campus...in a slightly better-than-original form. He took a picture of Hitler, the real-color-deal somehow, and gave Bosse a nice mustache; Oli also took the liberty of portraying Bosse's pupils as much bigger than the cornea would allow. The grin Bosse had on his face was his own fault, though.
Jen and I threw up about a dozen of those around campus. Many laughs were had at Bosse's expense. I don't know what (if anything) happened between the two middle-aged boys after that before Fall, but:
In with the new year...
First, if you no longer want to be on our Psychology Club (Sike Club) email list, just email me back and say you want off. Now on to our business.
The Psychology Club (Sike Club) will be meeting in Building 22, Room 200B the day after tomorrow (which means Thursday) at noon. We will be eating crickets--just as we did during our first Sike Club meeting last year. A new club member will bring a wok, oil and a bunch of live crickets to see who is (and who isn't) inclined to pop a freshly fried cricket into his/her mouth and eat it.
Also on our agenda will be:
1. Talking about field trips for the year (McNeil Island, the J.Z. Night School of Enlightenment, other trips?)
2. The perception altering goggles (yes, we're going to buy some and see what they do to your brain).
3. Sensory deprivation tanks (cheap for club members)
4. Challenging the new Forensics Club to a paintball shootout in spring quarter (listening to Bosse cry like a six-year old when he gets hit could be a problem).
5. The "Lucid Dream" machine (Club President Patrick Jung bought a device that teaches you how to be in conscious control of your dreams. He and another club member will be talking about their experiences with the device. Then we will discuss whether to spend club money on such a device for club members to experiment with).
6. Club Vice President Charlie Zhang demonstrating the exhilarating happiness that happens when he analyzes the data from the Great Sike Club Coffee Study. Charlie will hook our club Vaio computer up to a TV monitor to demonstrate how the Minitab Statistics package is used to answer questions and test hypotheses.
7. A walk to the Sike Club Research and Statistics Lab to see our biofeedback machine and the two dedicated computers we have for data analysis and research.
Wimpy "Sike" club advisor:
I'll inform the forensic club of your club's challenge (#4 below). I assume that, as your club is issuing the challenge, your club is picking up the tab. Note that the Forensics' club is predominantly women - which means we already have the tactical advantage because women generally don't suffer from a testosterone haze in CQB (close quarter battles), and have been proven to perform better than men. I also have 3 former US Army Rangers (2 retired, one got out because he wasn't given enough opportunities to shoot people) in my classes this term - they will immediately be recruited into the Forensic Club, and we'll be tactically trained and ready by Spring. David Hyde is a paintball veteran, perhaps you should recruit him to train your troops. Yup, that sounds quite fair and equitable.
Mr. Bosse, sir,
The thinly veiled threat in your email below amuses me. Your effete and "sensitive" Forensics Club members do not have the slightest chance of surviving a paintball contest with my Psychology Club members. You, personally, will leave the field with a sea of angry red welts coating your exhausted body when my club members are finished with your club members. I look forward to your unheeded screams for mercy as I listen to the rewarding "whump, whump, whump" of my own personal paintballs finding their mark on your fleeing buttocks.
Oli
Oli's response was funnier, so, if you'll have me, I'd love to join the pdych club team for this outing. When and where shall we commence.
david hyde
PS. To level the playing field, we should all use identical rental equipment, tricked out personal automags and autocockers (for the paintball savy among you) would greatly advantage one team.
PPS. Bosse's new nickname we'll be "Canvas". Get it?
Before we stare shooting and having fun, who's paying for this outing?
k
Khalid Abdalla
Let's keep it simple: the loser pays. That would be Bosse.
Dr N:
You will not have the opportunity to engage me, Sir. Any thought you have that I would be suited up and engaged in direct operations is fantasy on your part. As I have engaged in felony/high risk apprehension and search warrant operations with "real" weapons and the very "real" possibility of doing serious bodily harm or being dealt serious bodily harm, I find no fulfillment in paintball. I will be a Field General in this exercise, if I participate at all. I dispatch operatives to defeat the enemy. My advice to the club is that we take the Iraqi approach - run over the masses and execute the leader - that would be you.
Boys at play.
This may confuse many of you. It baffles me. It may cause Ali to bang her head on the computer monitor once again, which satisfies my joy quota for the day.
I tried to prove that -0=0, and got it wrong.
I didn't end up at infinity or anything like that, but I did try to factor out -1, which wasn't permitted. That's actually the only way one can really screw up that proof...
I'm still working on this one. We've defined 0 in class as nonnegative, nonpositive, but neither negative nor positive. I couldn't use that for a proof either.
Be back later.
Last night kicked mondo booty on Matt's blog. I was there for entry 55 (though Cassie made the entry). My hat's off to all participants =)
While last night was a social blast, I realized about 11:30 I should've gotten my homework done instead of chat and race comments versus Jeff. Should've; I thought "Hey, no harm done, I'll just plant myself on the couch and get it done." I didn't have a watch either, which plays a crucial part in this story starting-
So I dilligently sat there and played with some Abstract Algebra, 'til I checked the computer's clock. 3:20. Oops.
-Now.
I plopped into bed, got up at 10, and got back to work. Eight problems and twenty pages of philosophy later, badda-boom, done. The homework wasn't too bad; I probably should have done it Saturday instead of spending five solid hours on Multivariable Calculus for relaxation. My mistake.
I didn't finish the Calculus, either; I had the impression that there was quite a bit of work to be done in Math Systems. I wasn't the only one to have that feeling, either, as the entire left chalkboard read when I got to the classroom. The scale of my "artistic" (read: doodle-erific) rendering is correct. See what the tutors had to say.
I really like the lecturing of the class. It feels like my junior year of college; all the easy stuff is left behind (this coming from a guy who took DiffEQ his other junior year). The class, the entire program--it's all great...
...except for the seminar. I have no clue why an upper-division math class has a Seminar section. I suppose that without it, philosophies of mathematics would be umpteen times more boring than it already is...but I never feel like seminar time is used well. There aren't that many awkward silences; I'd just rather be taking notes on theorems, or learning about Groups. "Gathering around in a circle and pooling misconceptions" (Oli Newsome) just doesn't seem to have a place in the math class. I hate to imagine what physics seminars were like--and yes, the physics program have'em too. I think the seminar is actually Evergreen's trademark, as there are no undergrad courses that escape it.
I've got another griping with Evergreen, too. The cafeteria closes at 5. Math Systems gets out at 6, with breaks that are too short to charge over and get food. I ate breakfast at 10, and then learned after eight straight math-related hours that the cafeteria was closed. I braved the bookstore for munchies, and ended up with an Odwalla carrot bar. Let me just steer you guys away from those things right now; I know of no other substance on earth that sucks the spit right from your mouth quicker than those health-food items, other than possibly poorly cooked roast beef.
I patted my tummy a few times during chamber orchestra rehearsal; it wasn't a bad rehearsal at all, but I just wanted a little fuel. I didn't get to eat real food (I'm not sure that bar counted, since I found a rock-hard object in it that I hope was a nut shell fragment) until 9:30. But my day didn't end on a sad note!
I compulsively check my e-mail, just like I compulsively check the blogs page for updates when I'm around the house. Information usually trickles into my grasp. There was nothing quite like hitting Send/Receive in Outlook and seeing "Receving message 2 of 21..."
Knutaf, you kick ass. Thanks for the slew of comments in past entries; I'm saying this here because you didn't leave your e-mail, and I didn't figure this out until I wrote e-mails to myself three times on accident. I've gotta say that among the awesome stuff you linked to, I love the Pax Mongolica best. Have fun reading, everyone.
LoupOrange: Bonjour
MargotElyse: alex! darrrrling!
LoupOrange: darrrrrrrrrrling?
LoupOrange: What enticed your tongue to roll around as such?
MargotElyse: *peck* yes love?
LoupOrange: ...Don't answer that.
MargotElyse: LOL
LoupOrange: =)
LoupOrange: I can not say how well you preserved Julie's potential for well-being [by making her fly by airplane]
LoupOrange: and destroyed the potential for a spud cannon
Weiist One: it was easy
LoupOrange: /spudapult
LoupOrange: /multiple-barreled paintball gun
LoupOrange: ...uh, with smaller, more convenient Julie bits for ammo
Weiist One: *blinks*
Weiist One: julie bits for ammo?
LoupOrange: Forearms for large-caliber rounds, shoes for lobbing...
LoupOrange: y'know
LoupOrange: a whole kit-and-kaboodle
Weiist One: kit and kaboodle? naughty
LoupOrange: man, first it's a "racial slant," and then it's naughtifying...why can't I just be innocent to you?
LoupOrange: Is it because of my ellipsoid?
Weiist One: *grins*
Weiist One: its just massasive
Weiist One: i can't deny it
LoupOrange: massasive?
LoupOrange: wow
LoupOrange: I'm more as-sive than I first thought
Weiist One: its a huge ellipsoid that can't be contained in any normal range
LoupOrange: lol
LoupOrange: Yet it remains clear of the Imaginary field =)
Weiist One: hah
Weiist One: oh dear...math jokes...
LoupOrange: which should be accompanying math homework...
LoupOrange: oh well
Weiist One: hah
Honestly. I have such a wicked tongue, it's going to get me in trouble some day. Naughty, naughty mouth of mine...though I am innocent at heart. Sure, I can fling filthy puns with the best of'em...yet, nobody believes in my innocence.
Maybe it's my elongated ellipsoid.
Tuesday we almost had another violin in chamber orchestra. She sat at the back of the second violin section and played with them; I had a good view of her because my stand ends up pointing at the second violins when the French Horns have to cram into the second row for Brandenburg and I end up in the first violin section.
Her eyes seemed like they slanted downward from the center of her face. They gave the impression that she had a perpetual sadness locked in her face--like an old man whose first wrinkles come at the edge of the eyes to show his great joy in life, she looked of great sorrow. But then I saw her smile, mixing frown and grin at once, and was put at ease that she wasn't full of tears.
I won't make this entry quite as technical as the last one--though Ali's pain does cause me such joy, and I'm sure my pain does her soul a bit of good too. It's a mutual feeling which usually leads to gnashing of teeth.
Anyways, out with the old news, in the with the old-to-new. You guys have known how the Swiss Army Knife is useful in just about any situation--but I'll bet you didn't think it could be used in Multivariable Calculus.
Consider yourselves broadened in horizons. I whipped it out during in-class exercises today. Of course, all I used was the nail file as a straightedge--but nevertheless!
Don congratulated the class on enduring through the first 10% of the quarter. At least the course doesn't feel quite so...epic now.
I'm almost convinced that the seminar sections of class will be my least favorite. I'm still not too keen on why the math and physics programs need seminar segments like the rest of the programs on campus. Maybe it's just to keep a tether on our soon-to-wander minds...
Sandra from the Wednesday dance (Dropped Follow #5) and I chatted about pure math at my last dance. She told me about what her view of pure-math students were:
She went to Caltech, a university whose classes usually gave take-home tests. Most classes had tests with three-hour durations, due back the same day and the like. This was not the case for the pure-math students. They had a week. Unlimited time, unlimited resources short of communication between peers. They spent just about every waking minute on those tests, lost sleep over them...needless to say, Sandra's view of pure math dropped since seeing those students walking in the halls. She could always tell a math student at Caltech.
Don has warned us that pure mathematics is an easy field to get absorbed into. There are thousands of disciplines, which summate to publish over two hundred thousand theses and theorems in math journals every year globally--those are figures from ~1980 or whatever year there were 35,000 computers in the world. Those numbers have not diminished at all, which implies there is a huge body of knowledge to work in--and also that very few people will have the prerequisites to understand what the heck you're trying to prove in your theorem.
And you thought the 32nd digit of pi was Mathsturbatory.
I got to name a theorem today. In a class called Advanced Calculus / Real Analysis, we've been defining binary...something-or-others. Must check over notes. Binary clusters or something; anyway, it's the pairing of the Field you're working in (Reals, Complex, Integers, etc) with a binary operator that works in that field (+,*, and not much more). We're starting in Reals, which is kinda tricky. We're only given a scant few things:
Reals
+
*
0
1
We are not even given 2. We had to define 2 today, as 1 + 1, and then use it to prove that 0 < 1/2. There are a few other things that we can't take for granted (like everything). We actually had a theorem with the unsexy name 0.2.3, which went like this:
x * 0 = 0
Don thought that you need to name theorems, in order to keep from messing them up with axioms. I called out a name, and this is what he wrote on the board:
x * 0 = 0
Obliteration Theorem
I got to name my first theorem. Tee hee.
I got really lucky with my homework yesterday: An hour of reading. That was it only because Don hasn't assigned homework for the other two classes in the program yet; point being, I got have my last weekly night of dancing after all.
I traded e-mails with two people--Heather, who took pictures at various dances and is willing to send some along to me, and Alia, who plays viola which makes her automatically cool in my book. We're going to try a concert-date swap; I'm mainly encouraged to go see hers because they're playing Dvorak's 8th Symphony, which has an obscenely hard viola triplet part. I would like to see an orchestra get that right, and that kickass section with the main theme and these chromatic scales running underneath. God, I loved that part.
I learned a few math things about some people at the dance, too. For those of you (former) Tacoma regulars, remember the guy with a blonde six-inch beard and blonde pony tail, who knew a bit of Blues dancing? It turns out he's a physics professor at PLU, with a Ph.D. in physics to boot. I had a chat with him outside the hall, and he asked me what I was doing at Evergreen.
"Let's see...I'm in Multivariable Calc, which is the easiest class Math Systems has..."
"Uh huh."
"And I'm in Advanced Calculus, with...oh, let's see...ah, Real Analysis, that was it."
His face drooped when I mentioned Real Analysis. He told me that that was the class that kept him from getting a bachelor's in math (he looked at the syllabus then rethought his decision of just working in Physics on his Ph.D.). That class starts today...yet, I recall Don saying that Abstract Algebra was going to be the hardest thing we were doing.
Anyways, the Doctor (Dave's dubbing) talked about how important it was to get help from professors with the stuff, and mentioned how Tiana usually came by his office and asked him to, oh, prove this or that.
Tiana's a math major, yet she's not taking Real Analysis. She's taking Complex Analysis, which ironically is easier, because apparently a lot of things go to Zero. Now I am looking forward to that, as it may make an easier Spring quarter.
Anyways, back to the actual dance and moving of feet and such: One girl had a birthday dance, and it would've been all her if Sandra hadn't said anything: "And it's Alex's last night!" So, onto the floor I went. The Doctor joined us too, for his birthday I think. I got my proper sendoff, and even danced with mostly girls this time around the circle--I say mostly because Dave came in at the end, and there was then a bit of confusion. I tried to lead him through a turn with my left hand, which is normal; however, he tried to lead me through a turn with his right hand. I don't think we figured out who got to be the Man. We didn't really figure it out 'til the end of the song, where he dipped me completely upside down, which kicked ass. But then when he brought me back up, I think he underestimated my weight and gave me a heckuva lotta torque, enough to bring my face into the ground in the opposite direction--but I planted my hand on the floor with quite the satisfying slap. That's the second time we've failed to collaborate on something yet ended up looking cool (read: ridiculous last time) anyway. Dave and I don't communicate too well...
My next definite dance will be New Year's Eve, with many O-town regulars. I'm hoping to get one in on the Wednesday before Halloween, too--Someone gave me the idea of being Freakazoid! for Halloween, but so far I only have one (potential) venue to wear a costume besides the dance.
Dancin'll be fun in PJs, I tell you what...as will all the face paint, come to think about it. More on that in a couple weeks.