A second post. All I really have to say is:
Kebab vans are so bad for you, but they're still so good. What's with that?
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Gone mad with loneliness
Julia's been gone a day, and I am now officially insane due to loneliness. My mind has become so fractured, that I have written myself a list to make sure I do all the things today which I should do today. One of them is 'Blog' - written twice for some reason. I can't clearly recall writing it, as I was very tired at the time.
As it is down on the list twice, today I will blog twice.
It is already 9:20. I think I need to trim down my morning routine, as I woke up at 8:00, and only just finished it. I wake up, go downstairs, and make myself some tea with a big bowl of cereal (today's cereal, for your notebooks, was Frosted Shreddies). In search of something to watch while I enjoy my delicious breakfast treat, I flick through Sky, and end up getting sucked into some cartoon on Boomerang or Nicktoons. After half an hour has passed, I realise I should be moving on, and spring upstairs for my morning bath.
Some people enjoy showers. Some like the stimulating variety of just not knowing how they will wash in the mornings. Some, naming no names, believe that washing removes part of the soul, so refuse to do it on religious grounds.
For me, however, only the bath will do. Sinking into the warm water, and letting the world go on without me as I lose myself in a good book. The two advantages the bath has over the shower are:
1) Lying down beats standing up.
2) You can't read a book in the shower.
I feel these two more than make up for the whole stewing-in-your-own-filth thing. Unfortunately, having no clocks in our bathroom, I usually lose track of time, and emerge and hour later, wrinkled and pink (but damn clean!)
This morning I read Lonely Planet's guide to Nepal, in preparation for my trip in August of this year - 6 weeks of volunteering in the remote mountain kingdom. Any donations to fund the rest of the trip would be much appreciated. Minimum donation amount £100, please (for tax reasons).
See. Loneliness has driven me completely insane.
*uses his psychic powers to draw Julia back*
As it is down on the list twice, today I will blog twice.
It is already 9:20. I think I need to trim down my morning routine, as I woke up at 8:00, and only just finished it. I wake up, go downstairs, and make myself some tea with a big bowl of cereal (today's cereal, for your notebooks, was Frosted Shreddies). In search of something to watch while I enjoy my delicious breakfast treat, I flick through Sky, and end up getting sucked into some cartoon on Boomerang or Nicktoons. After half an hour has passed, I realise I should be moving on, and spring upstairs for my morning bath.
Some people enjoy showers. Some like the stimulating variety of just not knowing how they will wash in the mornings. Some, naming no names, believe that washing removes part of the soul, so refuse to do it on religious grounds.
For me, however, only the bath will do. Sinking into the warm water, and letting the world go on without me as I lose myself in a good book. The two advantages the bath has over the shower are:
1) Lying down beats standing up.
2) You can't read a book in the shower.
I feel these two more than make up for the whole stewing-in-your-own-filth thing. Unfortunately, having no clocks in our bathroom, I usually lose track of time, and emerge and hour later, wrinkled and pink (but damn clean!)
This morning I read Lonely Planet's guide to Nepal, in preparation for my trip in August of this year - 6 weeks of volunteering in the remote mountain kingdom. Any donations to fund the rest of the trip would be much appreciated. Minimum donation amount £100, please (for tax reasons).
See. Loneliness has driven me completely insane.
*uses his psychic powers to draw Julia back*
Friday, March 23, 2007
Battle in the Underhive
I have a confession to make. Some of you, who don't know me, and are merely attracted to this blog by the sparkling wit and insight, would be shocked to learn that I have nerdish tendencies.
To prevent against things like this becoming a surprise in the future, I have put a picture of some books which speak volumes (see! see how it sparkles!) about things I like. Amongst them are Warhammer and GURPS. If you know what GURPS stands for, you're too far gone already.
I did have a point to this, anyway. Today, Nick came over, and we continued our epic campaign (begun on Wednesday) of Necromunda! We played three games, and I took a couple of pictures in the last game to show you all:
The ruined structures of the Underhive under construction before our battle. Amazing what can be done with plastic and cardboard.
Unfortunately, this is not terrain. This is Nick, looking insanely happy. I would like to point out that, contrary to his suspicions at the time, the focus is not on his crotch.
The ruins are complete! We decided it was the structure suspended over my gang's Chem pit, which his sneaky Ash Nomads were ambushing to loot.
Some of the models in position, ready to spring the ambush. Being lazy and poor, we have no actual Necromunda models, so have to make do with an assorted mishmash of others, and our imagination.
It was a tough battle, where only my heavy with his Heavy Bolter did any real damage, taking his leader and a nomad out of action in a deadly hail of exploding lead. The rest of my gang were pinned down by the judicious application of frag grenades on his part. Both sides emerged more or less intact, however, and my gang's territory was defended.
To prevent against things like this becoming a surprise in the future, I have put a picture of some books which speak volumes (see! see how it sparkles!) about things I like. Amongst them are Warhammer and GURPS. If you know what GURPS stands for, you're too far gone already.
I did have a point to this, anyway. Today, Nick came over, and we continued our epic campaign (begun on Wednesday) of Necromunda! We played three games, and I took a couple of pictures in the last game to show you all:
The ruined structures of the Underhive under construction before our battle. Amazing what can be done with plastic and cardboard.
Unfortunately, this is not terrain. This is Nick, looking insanely happy. I would like to point out that, contrary to his suspicions at the time, the focus is not on his crotch.
The ruins are complete! We decided it was the structure suspended over my gang's Chem pit, which his sneaky Ash Nomads were ambushing to loot.
Some of the models in position, ready to spring the ambush. Being lazy and poor, we have no actual Necromunda models, so have to make do with an assorted mishmash of others, and our imagination.
It was a tough battle, where only my heavy with his Heavy Bolter did any real damage, taking his leader and a nomad out of action in a deadly hail of exploding lead. The rest of my gang were pinned down by the judicious application of frag grenades on his part. Both sides emerged more or less intact, however, and my gang's territory was defended.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Lincoln's tear in Spacetime
Another blog, another day - but now things are different! I can see you are all on the edge of your seats to hear about what's changed in my life, so I'll present it in convenient bullet point form, so you don't have to pay attention for too long in this busy age of quick information:
- I have returned from Oxford, and am now back at home.
- I've visited Lincoln for the first time.
- I have tidied my desk area, so it feels very snug and comfortable (I was going to do a photo tour of my room, but my sister's stolen my camera for the day).
- My hair is slightly longer.
I think that's about it. Well, not really -- in this ever changing maelstrom of flux and change that we call our lives, we rarely realise the true extent of the change that is always happening around us. We limit our perceptions to a tiny angle of a tiny proportion of the whole vast universe, and somehow manage to convince ourselves that what we see is reality.
Today, I shall blog about the Oxbridge conference I went to Friday. I'd volunteered for it at the beginning of the term, in response to increasingly desperate emails from the university's admin department, and then completely forgot that I had until the beginning of 8th week. Hastily rearranging my plans so that my Dad could pick me up on the Thursday evening, everything turned out alright in the end. My Dad arrived an hour early, and sat in my room watching me pack with a smug look on his face.
I got the train from Peterborough to Lincoln in the morning, arriving there at 9. I had written down the mobile of the woman from Oxford who had contacted me, in case of emergencies. Unfortunately, when I tried to text her to say I was on my way, I found out that I had written it down one number short, leaving without any means of contact of anyone who was actually there.
I was prepared, however! I had printed off a map, which helpfully labelled where both the train station and the conference centre was. Guesstimating the distance with my fingers, and thinking that it would be a quick 5 minute stroll, I set off merrily.
10 minutes later, I stopped to get my bearings, checked on the map, and discovered I was not even a third of the way there. I hoped that, for some bizarre reason, the map makers had made different parts of their map to different scales, and in fact the rest of the way would only take 5 minutes.
After another 10 minutes, realising with a small sense of triumph that I had reached the halfway point, I took off my jacket, tightened my backpack, and set off with grim resolve. Half an hour after leaving the station, I arrived at two huge gas storage tanks, with a charming little conference centre/school hidden underneath.
I went in, had a cup of tea, talked to fellow undergraduates who had volunteered to encourage the Bright Young Minds of Tomorrow to apply to Oxbridge. I was down to give several talks, mostly on "Being a Student at Oxford and Cambridge", with a few other undergraduates. We went in having no idea what to talk about, but went with the Q&A style of talk, which went very well.
I was also giving a talk on "Doing Maths and Philosophy at Oxford" -- by myself. Fortunately, only three students and a teacher turned up. After talking briefly about the course and such things, I started teaching them some analysis and algebra, so they could get a flavour of the type of the maths they'd be doing. I got quite caught up, and was extremely disappointed when I was time for lunch.
Another uneventful train journey back, and then home. I'm sure Lincoln is a lovely place, but I will forever associate it with that never ending road. Bloody physics.
- I have returned from Oxford, and am now back at home.
- I've visited Lincoln for the first time.
- I have tidied my desk area, so it feels very snug and comfortable (I was going to do a photo tour of my room, but my sister's stolen my camera for the day).
- My hair is slightly longer.
I think that's about it. Well, not really -- in this ever changing maelstrom of flux and change that we call our lives, we rarely realise the true extent of the change that is always happening around us. We limit our perceptions to a tiny angle of a tiny proportion of the whole vast universe, and somehow manage to convince ourselves that what we see is reality.
Today, I shall blog about the Oxbridge conference I went to Friday. I'd volunteered for it at the beginning of the term, in response to increasingly desperate emails from the university's admin department, and then completely forgot that I had until the beginning of 8th week. Hastily rearranging my plans so that my Dad could pick me up on the Thursday evening, everything turned out alright in the end. My Dad arrived an hour early, and sat in my room watching me pack with a smug look on his face.
I got the train from Peterborough to Lincoln in the morning, arriving there at 9. I had written down the mobile of the woman from Oxford who had contacted me, in case of emergencies. Unfortunately, when I tried to text her to say I was on my way, I found out that I had written it down one number short, leaving without any means of contact of anyone who was actually there.
I was prepared, however! I had printed off a map, which helpfully labelled where both the train station and the conference centre was. Guesstimating the distance with my fingers, and thinking that it would be a quick 5 minute stroll, I set off merrily.
10 minutes later, I stopped to get my bearings, checked on the map, and discovered I was not even a third of the way there. I hoped that, for some bizarre reason, the map makers had made different parts of their map to different scales, and in fact the rest of the way would only take 5 minutes.
After another 10 minutes, realising with a small sense of triumph that I had reached the halfway point, I took off my jacket, tightened my backpack, and set off with grim resolve. Half an hour after leaving the station, I arrived at two huge gas storage tanks, with a charming little conference centre/school hidden underneath.
I went in, had a cup of tea, talked to fellow undergraduates who had volunteered to encourage the Bright Young Minds of Tomorrow to apply to Oxbridge. I was down to give several talks, mostly on "Being a Student at Oxford and Cambridge", with a few other undergraduates. We went in having no idea what to talk about, but went with the Q&A style of talk, which went very well.
I was also giving a talk on "Doing Maths and Philosophy at Oxford" -- by myself. Fortunately, only three students and a teacher turned up. After talking briefly about the course and such things, I started teaching them some analysis and algebra, so they could get a flavour of the type of the maths they'd be doing. I got quite caught up, and was extremely disappointed when I was time for lunch.
Another uneventful train journey back, and then home. I'm sure Lincoln is a lovely place, but I will forever associate it with that never ending road. Bloody physics.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
The Library Critic
Some of you may know this already...others may not, however, so I'll say it anyway.
I love libraries. I love books as well, but there's more to the love of the libraries than just a love of books. It's the noise (not true silence, but the most peaceful silence there can be). It's the smell, the look, the feel, of all those books, the tables, the chairs, the sheer concentrated knowledge...
I have realised that while all books are reviewed comprehensively and critically, we are sadly lacking in a similar appraisal for libraries. To remedy this, I will begin The Library Critic project: a critical account of the various libraries of the University of Oxford, with photos, anecdotes, and so on. I'm sure I will develop some sort of rating system on various aspects, but these things come with time.
Most of the libraries are (currently) out of bounds for me -- other colleges, departments, etc., but I will not let barriers or regulations slow me in my quest for library perfection!
Coming up next: Merton college's OWL Library!
I love libraries. I love books as well, but there's more to the love of the libraries than just a love of books. It's the noise (not true silence, but the most peaceful silence there can be). It's the smell, the look, the feel, of all those books, the tables, the chairs, the sheer concentrated knowledge...
I have realised that while all books are reviewed comprehensively and critically, we are sadly lacking in a similar appraisal for libraries. To remedy this, I will begin The Library Critic project: a critical account of the various libraries of the University of Oxford, with photos, anecdotes, and so on. I'm sure I will develop some sort of rating system on various aspects, but these things come with time.
Most of the libraries are (currently) out of bounds for me -- other colleges, departments, etc., but I will not let barriers or regulations slow me in my quest for library perfection!
Coming up next: Merton college's OWL Library!
Saturday, March 03, 2007
A Very Drunk S
Last night, we celebrated S's party in her own unique style; with, firstly, an elegant adult meal at Ask, and then a surprise children's party.
We all went out to Ask at about 7 (after Andrea had spent an hour and a half curling S's flowing locks, for a Rapunzel effect). I had stopped off on the way to vote for Krishna and Mark at the Oxford Union (both have been successful), so arrived late to the restaurant.
I had a moment's panic, looking round and noticing the conspicuous lack of a group of 20 students - hard to miss, for a start. Fortunately, I noticed stairs leading down to the basement, where I found them all, and was greeted by cheers and jam. Well, they looked like they recognised me, which is something.
The meal was enjoyable, delicious, and surprisingly quick. S successfully mingled by dashing from one of the table to the other, but everyone else was content to stay in their places.
The happy lawyers.
After the meal, we dashed back to Merton through the pouring rain, and some of us waited with S while things completely unrelated to surprise birthday parties went on upstairs. Some of us, unfortunately, had had too much sugar at the meal and just couldn't stay still while we waited:
Eventually we went upstairs, and the party begun. We all watched S open her many presents (ranging from a giant pen to a designer beaver...don't ask. Please, just don't). After that, the party went wild. There was pass the parcel, lots of alcohol, a cake, and (pretty soon) a very drunk S.
Oh, and some spinning:
We all went out to Ask at about 7 (after Andrea had spent an hour and a half curling S's flowing locks, for a Rapunzel effect). I had stopped off on the way to vote for Krishna and Mark at the Oxford Union (both have been successful), so arrived late to the restaurant.
I had a moment's panic, looking round and noticing the conspicuous lack of a group of 20 students - hard to miss, for a start. Fortunately, I noticed stairs leading down to the basement, where I found them all, and was greeted by cheers and jam. Well, they looked like they recognised me, which is something.
The meal was enjoyable, delicious, and surprisingly quick. S successfully mingled by dashing from one of the table to the other, but everyone else was content to stay in their places.
The happy lawyers.
After the meal, we dashed back to Merton through the pouring rain, and some of us waited with S while things completely unrelated to surprise birthday parties went on upstairs. Some of us, unfortunately, had had too much sugar at the meal and just couldn't stay still while we waited:
Eventually we went upstairs, and the party begun. We all watched S open her many presents (ranging from a giant pen to a designer beaver...don't ask. Please, just don't). After that, the party went wild. There was pass the parcel, lots of alcohol, a cake, and (pretty soon) a very drunk S.
Oh, and some spinning:
Friday, March 02, 2007
When You Notice the Stripes
Today's lyrics are from "When you notice the stripes", by The Shins:
Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall...
Enough said, really.
Bertrand Russell was a very wise man. I find it hard to disagree with anything he says, and he says it all so poetically...a great mathematician and a great philosopher. In 1951 he wrote a book entitled "New Hopes for a Changing World", which should be read by everybody with any influence or power over the future of the world (that is, everyone).
A small sample, from the chapter entitled "The Happy Man", on the fear of death:
"...in an old man who has known human joys and sorrows, and has achieved whatever work it was in him to do, the fear of death is somewhat abject and ignoble. The best way to overcome it -- so at least it seems to me -- is to make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly merged in the universal life. An individual human existence should be like a river -- small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past boulders and over waterfalls. Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being. The man who, in old age, can see his life in this way, will not suffer from the fear of death, since the things he cares for will continue. And if, with the decay of vitality, weariness increases, the thought of rest will be not unwelcome. The wise man should wish to die while still at work, knowing that others will carry on what he can no longer do, and content in the thought that what was possible has been done."
I'd like that on my wall.
On a more down to earth note, I had the sinking realisation earlier that I have four problem sheets due in Wednesday, and philosophy reading and an essay due in for Tuesday. I have done nothing yet. I will spend the rest of the day planning how I will do the work, and reading bits in my maths book entirely irrelevant to the actual problem sheets.
Tonight, however, is a night for celebration: our beloved S will be 19 years old. Apparently, also on this day, Daniel Craig is turning 39, Jon Bon Jovi is 45, and Gorbachev is 76.
S was born on Daniel Craig's 20th birthday. Weird.
I will also have to buy S's present in town today. Let's just say I have some big ideas, ho ho ho.
Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall...
Enough said, really.
Bertrand Russell was a very wise man. I find it hard to disagree with anything he says, and he says it all so poetically...a great mathematician and a great philosopher. In 1951 he wrote a book entitled "New Hopes for a Changing World", which should be read by everybody with any influence or power over the future of the world (that is, everyone).
A small sample, from the chapter entitled "The Happy Man", on the fear of death:
"...in an old man who has known human joys and sorrows, and has achieved whatever work it was in him to do, the fear of death is somewhat abject and ignoble. The best way to overcome it -- so at least it seems to me -- is to make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly merged in the universal life. An individual human existence should be like a river -- small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past boulders and over waterfalls. Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being. The man who, in old age, can see his life in this way, will not suffer from the fear of death, since the things he cares for will continue. And if, with the decay of vitality, weariness increases, the thought of rest will be not unwelcome. The wise man should wish to die while still at work, knowing that others will carry on what he can no longer do, and content in the thought that what was possible has been done."
I'd like that on my wall.
On a more down to earth note, I had the sinking realisation earlier that I have four problem sheets due in Wednesday, and philosophy reading and an essay due in for Tuesday. I have done nothing yet. I will spend the rest of the day planning how I will do the work, and reading bits in my maths book entirely irrelevant to the actual problem sheets.
Tonight, however, is a night for celebration: our beloved S will be 19 years old. Apparently, also on this day, Daniel Craig is turning 39, Jon Bon Jovi is 45, and Gorbachev is 76.
S was born on Daniel Craig's 20th birthday. Weird.
I will also have to buy S's present in town today. Let's just say I have some big ideas, ho ho ho.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Isomorphism is a strange word
Ooh I need your love babe, guess you know it's true....hope you need my love babe, just like I need you.
Typing lyrics from the song that's playing is a good blog icebreaker. I do find blogging very difficult - like one of those awkward conversations at parties, without even facial cues from my conversational partner so I can try to adapt what I'm saying. What should I talk about? A lot happens in life, all the time. Some of it I don't want to think about, some I don't want to publish to the internet, some I don't want to publish to anyone. Most would just be boring.
Do you know what's not boring, however? Maths!
From the depths of my heart, I urge all of you to go to http://mathworld.wolfram.com, click on a few random articles, till you find one that looks interesting. Click on terms you don't understand to find entries defining them, and so on, until you reach the bare bones of the subject.
I love reading about mathematics (and reading in general). Strangely, at university, some of the elder maths students seem shocked like this. I, in turn, was shocked at their shock. I have no doubt that they love mathematics, but we all show our love for something in different ways. I seem to do it through reading, and research. When I love something, I want to understand it. To know it.
Every integer is expressible as the sum of four squares:
81 = 9^2 + 0^2 + 0^2 + 0^2
34 = 4^2 + 4^2 + 1^2 + 1^2
Etc.
Is every integer expressible as the sum of eight cubes? Oddly enough, every integer except 23 and 239 are. That's -every- integer. Which is a lot. Except those two.
Every integer is expressible as the sum of nine cubes, however.
Also, every integer except for 15, 22, 23, 50, 114, 167, 175, 186, 212, 231, 238, 239, 303, 364, 420, 428, and 454 can be expressed as the sum of seven cubes.
Numbers are a strange and fascinating thing. Some savants say every number has its own personality, or colour.
I love Julia. I've done some terrible things, but I know that I love her. I don't know why she loves me back, but I'm very grateful. It'll be different from now on. I'll remember. I will love her every day, in my own charmingly inept way.
I'll blog for her.
Typing lyrics from the song that's playing is a good blog icebreaker. I do find blogging very difficult - like one of those awkward conversations at parties, without even facial cues from my conversational partner so I can try to adapt what I'm saying. What should I talk about? A lot happens in life, all the time. Some of it I don't want to think about, some I don't want to publish to the internet, some I don't want to publish to anyone. Most would just be boring.
Do you know what's not boring, however? Maths!
From the depths of my heart, I urge all of you to go to http://mathworld.wolfram.com, click on a few random articles, till you find one that looks interesting. Click on terms you don't understand to find entries defining them, and so on, until you reach the bare bones of the subject.
I love reading about mathematics (and reading in general). Strangely, at university, some of the elder maths students seem shocked like this. I, in turn, was shocked at their shock. I have no doubt that they love mathematics, but we all show our love for something in different ways. I seem to do it through reading, and research. When I love something, I want to understand it. To know it.
Every integer is expressible as the sum of four squares:
81 = 9^2 + 0^2 + 0^2 + 0^2
34 = 4^2 + 4^2 + 1^2 + 1^2
Etc.
Is every integer expressible as the sum of eight cubes? Oddly enough, every integer except 23 and 239 are. That's -every- integer. Which is a lot. Except those two.
Every integer is expressible as the sum of nine cubes, however.
Also, every integer except for 15, 22, 23, 50, 114, 167, 175, 186, 212, 231, 238, 239, 303, 364, 420, 428, and 454 can be expressed as the sum of seven cubes.
Numbers are a strange and fascinating thing. Some savants say every number has its own personality, or colour.
I love Julia. I've done some terrible things, but I know that I love her. I don't know why she loves me back, but I'm very grateful. It'll be different from now on. I'll remember. I will love her every day, in my own charmingly inept way.
I'll blog for her.
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