In celebration of the past Saturday morning's electromagnetic theory midterm and all the problem sets I've been scrambling to complete, here's a link to a short story that is referenced in an undergraduate thermal physics book, conspicuously found in a chapter entitled, "The Canonical Probability Distribution."
"Inflexible Logic" by Russell Maloney
26 February 2006
19 February 2006
Ball of Misshapen Clay
1. I've long held the position that the best way to defuse an awkward situation is by sticking one's fist into one's mouth.
I present to you exhibit A:
2. I'm packing up my things and preparing to move away from the (now cut down) dead tree and the water sewage treatment plant for greener, livelier, and less odiferous pastures.
3. In packing up my things, one of the relics that I unearthed from the mounds of stuff that formerly occupied my room was a coupon for a free game at the Pisgah Lanes, courtesy of the Sunset Motel.
I'm glad I still have it because it is one of the few things that remain as a reminder of the wonderful time I had in the mountains of western North Carolina. At any rate, it's a reminder that I still like old timey toy stores, antique shops, and dances on Main St.
Going to North Carolina last summer really helped me to unwind from all the stress of living at home. Working out daily, playing video games all night, and going to Indians games is such a hard life.
I'm definitely paying for it now though. Video games all night has been replaced by late night experiments investigating how light interacts with matter. And Indians games have been dutifully relieved of their post by adventures in the machine shop. Luckily, I only have one or two cuts on my hands while working big, powerful lathes, mills, and band saws.
As my E&M professor from last Spring would attest, "When you live by the hose; you die by the hose."
4. Why are the Indians playing so bad? I personally feel that they got too complacent after last season and came to rely too heavily on their offensive prowess. They still hit very well (albeit in a streaky way). Such fundamental skills as good baserunning and solid defensive glovework and throwing are definitely not trademarks of the '06 Tribe. Furthermore, the losses of Arthur Rhoades, Kevin Millwood, and Bob Howry in the off-season have proved too costly.
Oh well, there's much to look forward to for next year. I like Fausto Carmona at closer. Maybe we'll get to see Andy Marte over at third (if they end up trading Aaron Boone as well, which I think they will).
But I will be devastated if the Indians let "Sophisticated" Ron Belliard walk in this up-coming off-season. I love that guy.
I get to go home for a week or so after the summer sememster ends in two weeks. I can't wait to make my triumphant return to the Jake. Whatever that means.
5. Now I know why I'm trying to be a physicist and not a machinist. Machining is difficult. I thought maybe the knowledge of being a good machinist would be passed down through the genetic code, since my grandpa worked as one at a tool and die company in Middlefield, OH. Sadly, that is not the case though.
I present to you exhibit A:
2. I'm packing up my things and preparing to move away from the (now cut down) dead tree and the water sewage treatment plant for greener, livelier, and less odiferous pastures.
3. In packing up my things, one of the relics that I unearthed from the mounds of stuff that formerly occupied my room was a coupon for a free game at the Pisgah Lanes, courtesy of the Sunset Motel.
I'm glad I still have it because it is one of the few things that remain as a reminder of the wonderful time I had in the mountains of western North Carolina. At any rate, it's a reminder that I still like old timey toy stores, antique shops, and dances on Main St.
Going to North Carolina last summer really helped me to unwind from all the stress of living at home. Working out daily, playing video games all night, and going to Indians games is such a hard life.
I'm definitely paying for it now though. Video games all night has been replaced by late night experiments investigating how light interacts with matter. And Indians games have been dutifully relieved of their post by adventures in the machine shop. Luckily, I only have one or two cuts on my hands while working big, powerful lathes, mills, and band saws.
As my E&M professor from last Spring would attest, "When you live by the hose; you die by the hose."
4. Why are the Indians playing so bad? I personally feel that they got too complacent after last season and came to rely too heavily on their offensive prowess. They still hit very well (albeit in a streaky way). Such fundamental skills as good baserunning and solid defensive glovework and throwing are definitely not trademarks of the '06 Tribe. Furthermore, the losses of Arthur Rhoades, Kevin Millwood, and Bob Howry in the off-season have proved too costly.
Oh well, there's much to look forward to for next year. I like Fausto Carmona at closer. Maybe we'll get to see Andy Marte over at third (if they end up trading Aaron Boone as well, which I think they will).
But I will be devastated if the Indians let "Sophisticated" Ron Belliard walk in this up-coming off-season. I love that guy.
I get to go home for a week or so after the summer sememster ends in two weeks. I can't wait to make my triumphant return to the Jake. Whatever that means.
5. Now I know why I'm trying to be a physicist and not a machinist. Machining is difficult. I thought maybe the knowledge of being a good machinist would be passed down through the genetic code, since my grandpa worked as one at a tool and die company in Middlefield, OH. Sadly, that is not the case though.
At the Witching Hour
A 67 year old Vietnamese farmer has not slept in the past 33 years. He came down with a fever once a long time ago, and since then he has been stricken with insomnia. Amazingly enough, he was given a clean bill of health, with the exception of some liver damage, last time he visited a doctor. The news story is slightly reminiscent of something out of Gabriel Garcia-Marquez's brand of magic realism, and I'm frankly left perplexed.
My attitudes have changed somewhat over the years. And perhaps, after some statistical averaging, one could make the case that I've steadily matured in despite many fits and starts. Most notably, I used to think highly of staying up, burning the midnight oil, and working steadily through the night. But nowadays, I would only resort to such extreme study habits if the scenario posed was worst-case. In fact, even then, I would be much more inclined to give up and rely on some hours of good rest over desperate attempts to patch up some significant holes in a problem set or in my understanding of a subject.
In despite of the obvious deleterious health effects associated with such insomniac behaviors, I think a certain dark magic becomes apparent as the hours tend steadily forward through the night and toward imminent daybreak. Oftentimes, those moments are best spent with someone else, someone you really care about. But more often than not, those moments are spent fighting off devilish attacks schemed up by a beloved friend turned enemy. Spending late nights and early mornings alone is the most taxing. If finding myself during those times alone were possible, I'd think that I would have found myself at least a hundred times over. In the end, you find yourself chasing after ghosts summoned up by an indefatigable imagination.
Sometimes these long nights are caused by supposed dead ends. I think for a long time, I was consumed with the fear that I had been rendered immobile. Turns out, all I needed was some suggestion to get moving again -- but even then, sometimes not without a fight, for I'm a stubborn and obstinate fool among the worst.
Movies can show insomnia and early mornings spent with another without giving the slightest intimation as to the emotion proscribed by actual physical sense. An early morning after no sleep should be dewy, with a distinct bit of chill which runs up high into your nose -- setting up camp for an indefinite period. A distinct rumbling comes from below as hunger pangs set in. Your body has been running non-stop for an entire night and much energy was burnt on the laughter or the crying or the lonely, withdrawn thoughts and recollections. All of this sets the stage for an inimitable sense of enlightened thought and wisdom. With daybreak comes the closure. No words are necessary because all is known and common. Simple. Beautiful. Elegant. In the bleary eyed ranting and ravings of the sleepless.
My last weeks at Wabash, I found myself blacked out and intoxicated or interminably awake and sober. Maybe I'm the only one to find that fitting and appropriate, a properly defining moment.
My attitudes have changed somewhat over the years. And perhaps, after some statistical averaging, one could make the case that I've steadily matured in despite many fits and starts. Most notably, I used to think highly of staying up, burning the midnight oil, and working steadily through the night. But nowadays, I would only resort to such extreme study habits if the scenario posed was worst-case. In fact, even then, I would be much more inclined to give up and rely on some hours of good rest over desperate attempts to patch up some significant holes in a problem set or in my understanding of a subject.
In despite of the obvious deleterious health effects associated with such insomniac behaviors, I think a certain dark magic becomes apparent as the hours tend steadily forward through the night and toward imminent daybreak. Oftentimes, those moments are best spent with someone else, someone you really care about. But more often than not, those moments are spent fighting off devilish attacks schemed up by a beloved friend turned enemy. Spending late nights and early mornings alone is the most taxing. If finding myself during those times alone were possible, I'd think that I would have found myself at least a hundred times over. In the end, you find yourself chasing after ghosts summoned up by an indefatigable imagination.
Sometimes these long nights are caused by supposed dead ends. I think for a long time, I was consumed with the fear that I had been rendered immobile. Turns out, all I needed was some suggestion to get moving again -- but even then, sometimes not without a fight, for I'm a stubborn and obstinate fool among the worst.
Movies can show insomnia and early mornings spent with another without giving the slightest intimation as to the emotion proscribed by actual physical sense. An early morning after no sleep should be dewy, with a distinct bit of chill which runs up high into your nose -- setting up camp for an indefinite period. A distinct rumbling comes from below as hunger pangs set in. Your body has been running non-stop for an entire night and much energy was burnt on the laughter or the crying or the lonely, withdrawn thoughts and recollections. All of this sets the stage for an inimitable sense of enlightened thought and wisdom. With daybreak comes the closure. No words are necessary because all is known and common. Simple. Beautiful. Elegant. In the bleary eyed ranting and ravings of the sleepless.
My last weeks at Wabash, I found myself blacked out and intoxicated or interminably awake and sober. Maybe I'm the only one to find that fitting and appropriate, a properly defining moment.
16 February 2006
I Shill for no Man
The temperature hovered in the mid-70s today.
I got my PowerBook back yesterday. The hard drive had some major character issues or something, and so the mysterious people at the local Mac retailer finally got around to replacing it with one that works. Unfortunately, I never got around to backing up the old hard drive. Although, I did figure out how to get the songs off of my iPod and onto the new hard drive (iTunes be damned). The fact that my PowerBook now runs on the Tiger Mac OS X is perhaps one of the more encouraging aspects of this whole ordeal.
Mac and Windows users alike can get a dozen or so useful open-source programs from the aptly named disc, Software for Starving Students. It includes such gems as OpenOffice, Blender (for 3D modeling, among other things), and also has a handful of games and whatnot. Also, if you're looking for a jankety open-source, genero-version of Mathematica, give MuPad a try.
While I'm advertising, I just have to say, "You gotta love that Allstate guy."
And speaking of guys, no product has a more biblical spokesman than Sweep n' Mop's own Saul Judah. Would you try this with your old-fashioned mop? Not a CHANCE!. So what if the product is simply a mop sponge with ridges -- the fact of the matter is that the voice behind this product may or may not be a successor to the throne of David.
I got my PowerBook back yesterday. The hard drive had some major character issues or something, and so the mysterious people at the local Mac retailer finally got around to replacing it with one that works. Unfortunately, I never got around to backing up the old hard drive. Although, I did figure out how to get the songs off of my iPod and onto the new hard drive (iTunes be damned). The fact that my PowerBook now runs on the Tiger Mac OS X is perhaps one of the more encouraging aspects of this whole ordeal.
Mac and Windows users alike can get a dozen or so useful open-source programs from the aptly named disc, Software for Starving Students. It includes such gems as OpenOffice, Blender (for 3D modeling, among other things), and also has a handful of games and whatnot. Also, if you're looking for a jankety open-source, genero-version of Mathematica, give MuPad a try.
While I'm advertising, I just have to say, "You gotta love that Allstate guy."
And speaking of guys, no product has a more biblical spokesman than Sweep n' Mop's own Saul Judah. Would you try this with your old-fashioned mop? Not a CHANCE!. So what if the product is simply a mop sponge with ridges -- the fact of the matter is that the voice behind this product may or may not be a successor to the throne of David.
06 February 2006
Always Cooler
When antagonized, Alastair often could not find the right words to say. In his mind, he always felt like the coolest, toughtest, hardest guy that ever lived. And frequently, he rehearsed all the right things to say in order to strive towards that goal. But when the moment came to put it all on the line, Alastair oftentimes would crumple up like a well-engineered Volvo -- he would give just enough so that his inner psyche could remain intact and be found salvageable. That illusion of hardness could vanish in a puff, to be filled in an instant with the feelings of helplessness.
Nevertheless, in Alastair's mind there existed a distinct and distinguisable, well-cultivated sense of self. He worried over it endlessly and, at best, was only moderately satisfied.
For all these reasons, Amelia's long, drawn out, and complicated admission seemingly stung at his very soul. In place of words came out a disfigured and pained facial expression -- a beautiful visage now distorted and warped by outside blows and inner inablities.
A day earlier, Alastair caught himself walking down the streets of the city, feeling overwhelming pleased with himself. He considered his blessings and daydreamed of a life without misgivings. The kids, the wife, the beautiful home -- all these wonderfully placed and timed advantages stood well-ordered in a foundation built with care and patience. Truly, the scariest thing he or anyone could ever know is consistently, perpetually looming just over the horizon. But at long last, he felt that he was closer than ever to understanding his often wary and misunderstood father.
...Some More
Nevertheless, in Alastair's mind there existed a distinct and distinguisable, well-cultivated sense of self. He worried over it endlessly and, at best, was only moderately satisfied.
For all these reasons, Amelia's long, drawn out, and complicated admission seemingly stung at his very soul. In place of words came out a disfigured and pained facial expression -- a beautiful visage now distorted and warped by outside blows and inner inablities.
A day earlier, Alastair caught himself walking down the streets of the city, feeling overwhelming pleased with himself. He considered his blessings and daydreamed of a life without misgivings. The kids, the wife, the beautiful home -- all these wonderfully placed and timed advantages stood well-ordered in a foundation built with care and patience. Truly, the scariest thing he or anyone could ever know is consistently, perpetually looming just over the horizon. But at long last, he felt that he was closer than ever to understanding his often wary and misunderstood father.
...Some More
04 February 2006
A Point for Participation
1.If you don't think I won't not put the song "Copacabana" on my cellphone and set an alarm to go off to that ringtone at some arbitrary time during an 8AM recitation period for which I'm the TA just so that I can make a surprised and excited face and yell out, "POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWER SURGE!!!!!! IT'S TIME FOR THE PHYSICS TRIVIA LIGHTNING ROUND!!!" then you have another coming.
Unfortunately, I'll probably need espresso beans to be injected into my heart in order to acheive that sort of excitement at eight o'clock in the morning.
2. Small point that is of interest only to me: Last week I answered a question correctly in my graduate level electromagnetic theory course. Prior to this, the only other time I've managed to speak in class was to make a dumb joke (well, a funny dumb joke maybe).
At any rate, graduate courses at a large, public university are distinctly different from the intimate and nurturing (read: intoxicating) environment that I was so accustomed to at Wabash College.
3. Getting a crazed expression on my face while shaking my head furiously such that my hair bounces fervently and shouting, "We'll be rich!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" never ceases to put me in a really good mood.
Consequently, other things which manage to make me smile include: A pantsless round of "Kings" with the physics grad students, lying down on the grass in the middle of campus with a loved one during a warm and sunny day in February, and a hot cup of tea (which apparently is "my cup of tea," now or something).
4. Two nights in a row last week, I had the same f'd up dream. In this dream, for some reason, my teeth became very brittle and delicate, like glass. Every time my mouth would open, chunks of teeth would just fall out of my mouth. I would try to keep the pieces in my mouth, but my mouth would then just fill up with broken shards of tooth. The second time, in the dream, I was hanging out with Scott, playing video games in the living room (a nobel pastime, if there ever was one) when my teeth started falling out of my mouth. I was crying and saying, "See, it's happening! Just like in my dream." But he only laughed at me, so I punched him, a lot.
At any rate, I feel this dream has a fairly reasonable and literal translation (I'm not original or abstract enough while in the dreamscape for anything but). When I had bridge work done on the lower set of teeth, my dentist made it sound like I habitually grind my teeth in my sleep. Ever since I left my mouth guard at home in Cleveland, I guess I've been worried about damaging the bridge while in my sleep.
5. My koala friend says hello.
6. "POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWER SURGE!!!!!"
7. Speaking of power surges, my powerbook has been in the local mac shop for two weeks running now. F' that noise.
8. When my roommate suggested getting a shot block for the party that's being held here tonight, I thought that he meant that I should be roaming the party dressed in 80's basketball gear (replete with thick headband, extremely short basketball shorts, and knee-high tube socks), slamming drinks out of people's hands, and yelling, "Not in my house! It's gametime baby, c'mon now." But no, he meant that we should have a large block of ice from which people could drink shots. I personally prefer the latter. Perhaps we can agree to disagree?
9.
If physics graduate students Matt and Peter were in town this weekend, we could make for some pretty formidable shot blocking...that's all I'm saying.
10. "We could talk and not talk for hours."
Unfortunately, I'll probably need espresso beans to be injected into my heart in order to acheive that sort of excitement at eight o'clock in the morning.
2. Small point that is of interest only to me: Last week I answered a question correctly in my graduate level electromagnetic theory course. Prior to this, the only other time I've managed to speak in class was to make a dumb joke (well, a funny dumb joke maybe).
At any rate, graduate courses at a large, public university are distinctly different from the intimate and nurturing (read: intoxicating) environment that I was so accustomed to at Wabash College.
3. Getting a crazed expression on my face while shaking my head furiously such that my hair bounces fervently and shouting, "We'll be rich!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" never ceases to put me in a really good mood.
Consequently, other things which manage to make me smile include: A pantsless round of "Kings" with the physics grad students, lying down on the grass in the middle of campus with a loved one during a warm and sunny day in February, and a hot cup of tea (which apparently is "my cup of tea," now or something).
4. Two nights in a row last week, I had the same f'd up dream. In this dream, for some reason, my teeth became very brittle and delicate, like glass. Every time my mouth would open, chunks of teeth would just fall out of my mouth. I would try to keep the pieces in my mouth, but my mouth would then just fill up with broken shards of tooth. The second time, in the dream, I was hanging out with Scott, playing video games in the living room (a nobel pastime, if there ever was one) when my teeth started falling out of my mouth. I was crying and saying, "See, it's happening! Just like in my dream." But he only laughed at me, so I punched him, a lot.
At any rate, I feel this dream has a fairly reasonable and literal translation (I'm not original or abstract enough while in the dreamscape for anything but). When I had bridge work done on the lower set of teeth, my dentist made it sound like I habitually grind my teeth in my sleep. Ever since I left my mouth guard at home in Cleveland, I guess I've been worried about damaging the bridge while in my sleep.
5. My koala friend says hello.
6. "POOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWER SURGE!!!!!"
7. Speaking of power surges, my powerbook has been in the local mac shop for two weeks running now. F' that noise.
8. When my roommate suggested getting a shot block for the party that's being held here tonight, I thought that he meant that I should be roaming the party dressed in 80's basketball gear (replete with thick headband, extremely short basketball shorts, and knee-high tube socks), slamming drinks out of people's hands, and yelling, "Not in my house! It's gametime baby, c'mon now." But no, he meant that we should have a large block of ice from which people could drink shots. I personally prefer the latter. Perhaps we can agree to disagree?
9.
If physics graduate students Matt and Peter were in town this weekend, we could make for some pretty formidable shot blocking...that's all I'm saying.10. "We could talk and not talk for hours."
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