This blog has been moved. Hope you can chance upon the new site somehow. Or you can ask me for it.
Thank you for reading (:
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Sunday, January 2, 2011
in the hood
Walking around with a camera is therapeutic. I was just roaming around the neighborhood aimlessly thinking, feeling; when I saw a stray white balloon. It had descended from high above the sky and was floating around at eye level. Maybe it was a stray balloon from New Year's Eve. I'm not sure if it's cool to spend a good part of my late afternoon chasing/ stalking balloons before I went to catch a movie dinner. But I appointed myself as the balloon's unofficial biographer anyway, watching it float up stairs, under void decks and flirt with the pull up bars. The random walk felt like Brownian motion and (hahaha God forbid) totally possible for me to model it using the continuous time stochastic Wiener process. By 7pm, I had to leave and the balloon had foolishly floated on to the Malaysian railway tracks. So I gathered my equipment and here is one of my random pictures.
"walking out of expanding universe."-cj
random post on post new year day.
"walking out of expanding universe."-cjrandom post on post new year day.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
on my way out
If I were Christopher from the book "The Curious Incident of the Dog in Night Time", then today would have been my unlucky day. Three yellow cars parked side by side.
"yellow"-cj
If I ever own a car this yellow, then it can only be a Lamborghini.
"yellow"-cjmoments
To think the fireworks went off right after I turned my back after receiving a new year wish. It was almost a cinematic moment. A few things were on my mind then, among them were a confirmation and a resolution. But you guys are not entitled to them. what a way to begin a new year..
happy new year nonetheless.
happy new year nonetheless.
Friday, December 31, 2010
forking etiquette
I was reading Scott Adams Blog when I realized that fine dining eludes a lot of my peers. I find myself correcting people when they hold the fork with their right hand. It is hard not to notice when they sit across you and they mirror you. I have Ms T. Ng to thank for the fine dining classes during Home Economics lessons in VS. (Yes I did Home Economics, but I will talk about that another time. It's an animal of a subject in itself. Imagine me with a sewing machine.)
quote
My wife and I were eating lunch during our holiday vacation, and she asked me, in a suspiciously casual tone of voice, if I were aware of the proper etiquette for using a fork. I responded with a blank stare, which was my way of saying that her yammering was distracting me from shoveling a respectable percentage of the resort's entire buffet from my plate into my maw.
Undaunted, Shelly went on to demonstrate her point, holding a knife in her right hand, and a fork in her left hand with the tines pointed inexplicably downward. Her index finger was on the back of each utensil, and she explained that you should continue holding the knife even while you're not sawing on a dead animal.
Against all odds, Shelly's words penetrated the fog of my feeding frenzy. As her explanation sunk in, I started to go into traumatic etiquette shock. That's the feeling you get when you realize that for several decades people have watched you eat and probably compared you unfavorably to a stoned raccoon on garbage day.
The world started moving in slow motion as I looked around the dining room to verify this stunning revelation. Sure enough, every adult diner was using the method Shelly described. How could I have gone my entire life without noticing? I was shocked and ashamed.
I quickly tried to imitate the proper forking method. That turned out to be problematic because I'm a vegetarian. I didn't have anything on my plate that needed cutting, and the upside down fork method was a disaster for eating rice. I could only balance a few grains at a time on the back of my fork, and half of those ended up on my lap, where I have been told a napkin should have been.
I knew there was something missing in Shelly's explanation of proper fork use, but she wasn't giving me any more clues. The other diners all seemed to be eating meat; they were no help. I briefly considered a catapult solution, which would have involved pushing some rice onto the back of the fork, glancing furtively around the room to make sure no one was looking, and launching the payload toward my face. That probably sounds stupid to you, but keep in mind that I had already bought into the notion of using a fork upside down. I couldn't rule out anything.
I was determined to fork properly from this moment on, and not add to a lifetime of humiliation. It took me an hour to finish my rice, averaging three grains per fork. The buffet had soup, but I couldn't imagine how long it would take to consume it with my spoon turned upside down, or backwards, or using just the edge; Shelly hadn't covered spoon etiquette, so I was mostly guessing.
By the end of the meal I was still wondering if this whole episode had been an elaborate practical joke, with everyone else in on it. I pulled out my iPhone and Googled "fork etiquette." A dried branch of a lady with an upper class accent appeared on video demonstrating the technique Shelly had described. My mortification was complete.
In my defense, I grew up in a small town, in a farming environment. We valued efficiency over ritual. Inefficiency was synonymous with stupidity. If there had been a way to eat faster by somehow involving your ass cheeks, that's how I would have learned to do it. If someone sneezed where I grew up, there was no reason to say "God Bless you," because either God was already handling it or he didn't exist. God didn't need a middle man to handle a simple sneezing transaction.
Anyway, back to my story, I was horrified and humiliated by my lack of forking knowledge. I started to panic, wondering what other rules of etiquette had somehow escaped my notice. Was I supposed to open doors using nothing but my elbows? Should I dial my phone with a single knuckle? Should I salute anyone wearing a hat and ask, "How's the war going, Captain?" My point is that there's no way to deduce etiquette from logic.
Recently I did more research and discovered that Shelly's forking technique is called the Continental method. It's the method used in Europe as well as anywhere else that the British have killed the locals. I also learned that you're allowed to turn your fork right-side-up for scooping anything can't be stabbed. Fair enough.
Best of all, there is an American forking method too, and that is what I had always used. That involves holding the fork in your right hand, like a pen, with the tines pointing up. But I have been informed that cutting food with the edge of my fork is bad form, no matter how efficient it is. Bah! I reject that tyranny.
Last night at a local restaurant I observed a boy, about ten years old, at a nearby table who took the principle of dining efficiency to such a high level that I wept tears of admiration. The restaurant provided a fork and spoon rolled up in a paper napkin. They expect you to break the paper seal and free the utensils from the napkin. But the boy realized he could use the entire sealed unit as a fork-spoon with a napkin surround. He would grab the entire bundle, stab some food with the fork and wipe his mouth on the wrapped bundle. I don't use the "genius" label too often, but I think it applies in this case, even though he was just kidding around. I believe I witnessed the invention of the napkinforkspoon. And someday, God willing, when efficiency replaces etiquette, we will all be using it.
unquote
haha fork it. kopitiam have no rules.
quote
My wife and I were eating lunch during our holiday vacation, and she asked me, in a suspiciously casual tone of voice, if I were aware of the proper etiquette for using a fork. I responded with a blank stare, which was my way of saying that her yammering was distracting me from shoveling a respectable percentage of the resort's entire buffet from my plate into my maw.
Undaunted, Shelly went on to demonstrate her point, holding a knife in her right hand, and a fork in her left hand with the tines pointed inexplicably downward. Her index finger was on the back of each utensil, and she explained that you should continue holding the knife even while you're not sawing on a dead animal.
Against all odds, Shelly's words penetrated the fog of my feeding frenzy. As her explanation sunk in, I started to go into traumatic etiquette shock. That's the feeling you get when you realize that for several decades people have watched you eat and probably compared you unfavorably to a stoned raccoon on garbage day.
The world started moving in slow motion as I looked around the dining room to verify this stunning revelation. Sure enough, every adult diner was using the method Shelly described. How could I have gone my entire life without noticing? I was shocked and ashamed.
I quickly tried to imitate the proper forking method. That turned out to be problematic because I'm a vegetarian. I didn't have anything on my plate that needed cutting, and the upside down fork method was a disaster for eating rice. I could only balance a few grains at a time on the back of my fork, and half of those ended up on my lap, where I have been told a napkin should have been.
I knew there was something missing in Shelly's explanation of proper fork use, but she wasn't giving me any more clues. The other diners all seemed to be eating meat; they were no help. I briefly considered a catapult solution, which would have involved pushing some rice onto the back of the fork, glancing furtively around the room to make sure no one was looking, and launching the payload toward my face. That probably sounds stupid to you, but keep in mind that I had already bought into the notion of using a fork upside down. I couldn't rule out anything.
I was determined to fork properly from this moment on, and not add to a lifetime of humiliation. It took me an hour to finish my rice, averaging three grains per fork. The buffet had soup, but I couldn't imagine how long it would take to consume it with my spoon turned upside down, or backwards, or using just the edge; Shelly hadn't covered spoon etiquette, so I was mostly guessing.
By the end of the meal I was still wondering if this whole episode had been an elaborate practical joke, with everyone else in on it. I pulled out my iPhone and Googled "fork etiquette." A dried branch of a lady with an upper class accent appeared on video demonstrating the technique Shelly had described. My mortification was complete.
In my defense, I grew up in a small town, in a farming environment. We valued efficiency over ritual. Inefficiency was synonymous with stupidity. If there had been a way to eat faster by somehow involving your ass cheeks, that's how I would have learned to do it. If someone sneezed where I grew up, there was no reason to say "God Bless you," because either God was already handling it or he didn't exist. God didn't need a middle man to handle a simple sneezing transaction.
Anyway, back to my story, I was horrified and humiliated by my lack of forking knowledge. I started to panic, wondering what other rules of etiquette had somehow escaped my notice. Was I supposed to open doors using nothing but my elbows? Should I dial my phone with a single knuckle? Should I salute anyone wearing a hat and ask, "How's the war going, Captain?" My point is that there's no way to deduce etiquette from logic.
Recently I did more research and discovered that Shelly's forking technique is called the Continental method. It's the method used in Europe as well as anywhere else that the British have killed the locals. I also learned that you're allowed to turn your fork right-side-up for scooping anything can't be stabbed. Fair enough.
Best of all, there is an American forking method too, and that is what I had always used. That involves holding the fork in your right hand, like a pen, with the tines pointing up. But I have been informed that cutting food with the edge of my fork is bad form, no matter how efficient it is. Bah! I reject that tyranny.
Last night at a local restaurant I observed a boy, about ten years old, at a nearby table who took the principle of dining efficiency to such a high level that I wept tears of admiration. The restaurant provided a fork and spoon rolled up in a paper napkin. They expect you to break the paper seal and free the utensils from the napkin. But the boy realized he could use the entire sealed unit as a fork-spoon with a napkin surround. He would grab the entire bundle, stab some food with the fork and wipe his mouth on the wrapped bundle. I don't use the "genius" label too often, but I think it applies in this case, even though he was just kidding around. I believe I witnessed the invention of the napkinforkspoon. And someday, God willing, when efficiency replaces etiquette, we will all be using it.
unquote
haha fork it. kopitiam have no rules.
AAR
Here is a recap of my 2010 resolutions.
1) Get employed by the end of the year and be able to say I love my job. (I have an offer at hand and I love the company) Done!
2) Be back home for dinner with my parents more often. (Well since my research can be done from home, I am at home most of the time this year.) Done!
3) Show more concern towards those that mattered. Revive a good friendship that I once had and still cherish a lot. (Well won't talk about this) Done!
4) Run Standchart marathon; all 42.125km of it under 5 1/2hours. (Even though I had a valid reason. I had Level 1 exams that day. Ultimately, the point is I wanted to start running again and I did not train for it at all.) Fail!
5) Graduate. (Well I have cleared most of the requirements. I'm deciding when I want to graduate.) Done!
well at least I got most of them down.
1) Get employed by the end of the year and be able to say I love my job. (I have an offer at hand and I love the company) Done!
2) Be back home for dinner with my parents more often. (Well since my research can be done from home, I am at home most of the time this year.) Done!
3) Show more concern towards those that mattered. Revive a good friendship that I once had and still cherish a lot. (Well won't talk about this) Done!
4) Run Standchart marathon; all 42.125km of it under 5 1/2hours. (Even though I had a valid reason. I had Level 1 exams that day. Ultimately, the point is I wanted to start running again and I did not train for it at all.) Fail!
5) Graduate. (Well I have cleared most of the requirements. I'm deciding when I want to graduate.) Done!
well at least I got most of them down.
somewhere
Somewhere deep down inside, I have already made up my mind. If this is how it is going to turn out, then it is how it will be. Quoi qu’il puisse se passer, je l’assume.
advienne que pourra.
advienne que pourra.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
sounds of rain
I was sitting beside the window when it began to rain. 'ting ting ting'. I watched the rain drops landing resonantly on the aluminum sill. Other less fortunate droplets landed directly on the vertically edge and were sliced into two; they went without a sound. On the window sill was an orchestra of glass bottles balanced precariously; some were upright others were upside down. Droplets that landed on them gave out a different but clearer 'ding ding ding'. The collective chime was magically musical.
The rain then got heavier and the bad weather orchestra picked up its rhythms and intensity. There was no need to shift myself as I was safely seated clear of the direct and ricocheting water pellets. The symphony reached a climax when the small rapid trickling of water from overhanging edges quickly coalesce into a bigger drop before falling into the puddle below. They angrily worked up the base of the set with regular 'thud thud thud'.
As the rain drew closer its end, the peacefulness of the sounds were restored. I looked up at the sky and was disappointed not so see any rainbow. Before you question my musicians' acumen or marvel at my hidden musicality, I have to admit that this was not the first thing that came to my mind when I heard the rain. The first thing that popped up into my mind was...
... if I time the intervals of each 'ting' or 'ding' will I find a hidden Fibonacci series?
The rain then got heavier and the bad weather orchestra picked up its rhythms and intensity. There was no need to shift myself as I was safely seated clear of the direct and ricocheting water pellets. The symphony reached a climax when the small rapid trickling of water from overhanging edges quickly coalesce into a bigger drop before falling into the puddle below. They angrily worked up the base of the set with regular 'thud thud thud'.
As the rain drew closer its end, the peacefulness of the sounds were restored. I looked up at the sky and was disappointed not so see any rainbow. Before you question my musicians' acumen or marvel at my hidden musicality, I have to admit that this was not the first thing that came to my mind when I heard the rain. The first thing that popped up into my mind was...
... if I time the intervals of each 'ting' or 'ding' will I find a hidden Fibonacci series?
soldiers' dialog
If you had played Plants vs Zombies, maybe you will enjoy this dialogue I found on Dorkly.com: Plant vs Zombies vs. Awesome.
Peashooter :Ah, life. Fresh air, warm sunlight, and plenty of water, garden life is great.
Repeater: Bunker-up soldier, welcome to hell.
Peashooter: What are you talking about?
Repeater: You’ve just been planted into a battlefield.
Peashooter: A battlefield? But the sunflowers look like they’re having such a great time.
Repeater: Their smiles are just for show. They have it rough.
Sunflower: BLARGH!! Oh God make it stop!
Peashooter: Did he just vomit sunshine?
Sunflower: Please, someone cut off my stalk. Tear me up. Do anything, just don’t… oh no it’s coming again! BLARGH!!
Peashooter: Can’t someone help him?
Repeater: Would love to, but we need his sunshine.
Peashooter: For photosynthesis?
Repeater: You’d think so, but we actually use as currency to purchase biological weapons against the zombie onslaught. Oh great, here comes another rookie.
Wall-nut: Yeah! Frontline! Someone hand me my nut-shooter.
Peashooter: So we shoot seeds at the zombies?
Repeater: Yeah, well… not Wall-nut. He is more of a sacrificial plant.
Wall-nut: Sacrificial? Wait, come on guys. Hand me my weapon, this zombie is wicked close.
Repeater: Sorry buddy, take it like a champ!
Wall-nut: OH MY GOD! MY SHELL! I FEEL EVERYTHING!
Repeater: You’re doing great! Keep it up!
Wall-nut: I DON’T HAVE ARMS TO PROTECT MYSELF!
Sunflower: BLARGH!! Kill me now!
Peashooter: This place is awful.
Repeater: What did I tell you? And that’s not even the worst of it.
Peashooter: How could it get worse than this?
Repeater: Our weapon supplier has a mental disorder.
Crazy Dave: I’M CRAAAAAAAZY!
Peashooter: How can you tell?
Repeater: First of all, he’s using garden plants as weapons against the zombie apocalypse. But the pot-helmet is a dead giveaway. Plus, he’s always reaffirming that’s he’s crazy.
Peashooter: Why does he do that?
Crazy Dave: BECAUSE I’M CRAAAAAAAZY!
Repeater: Told ya.
Peashooter: So… we’re all going to die.
Repeater: Pretty much.
Crazy Dave: Hold up little saplings, eventually the zombies will give up and we will all have a massive dance party!
Repeater: …
Peashooter: Yeah, we’re f—ked.
Me: now that I am the commander in chief, we are going to swamp the 60 levels of zombies effortlessly.
Peashooter :Ah, life. Fresh air, warm sunlight, and plenty of water, garden life is great.
Repeater: Bunker-up soldier, welcome to hell.
Peashooter: What are you talking about?
Repeater: You’ve just been planted into a battlefield.
Peashooter: A battlefield? But the sunflowers look like they’re having such a great time.
Repeater: Their smiles are just for show. They have it rough.
Sunflower: BLARGH!! Oh God make it stop!
Peashooter: Did he just vomit sunshine?
Sunflower: Please, someone cut off my stalk. Tear me up. Do anything, just don’t… oh no it’s coming again! BLARGH!!
Peashooter: Can’t someone help him?
Repeater: Would love to, but we need his sunshine.
Peashooter: For photosynthesis?
Repeater: You’d think so, but we actually use as currency to purchase biological weapons against the zombie onslaught. Oh great, here comes another rookie.
Wall-nut: Yeah! Frontline! Someone hand me my nut-shooter.
Peashooter: So we shoot seeds at the zombies?
Repeater: Yeah, well… not Wall-nut. He is more of a sacrificial plant.
Wall-nut: Sacrificial? Wait, come on guys. Hand me my weapon, this zombie is wicked close.
Repeater: Sorry buddy, take it like a champ!
Wall-nut: OH MY GOD! MY SHELL! I FEEL EVERYTHING!
Repeater: You’re doing great! Keep it up!
Wall-nut: I DON’T HAVE ARMS TO PROTECT MYSELF!
Sunflower: BLARGH!! Kill me now!
Peashooter: This place is awful.
Repeater: What did I tell you? And that’s not even the worst of it.
Peashooter: How could it get worse than this?
Repeater: Our weapon supplier has a mental disorder.
Crazy Dave: I’M CRAAAAAAAZY!
Peashooter: How can you tell?
Repeater: First of all, he’s using garden plants as weapons against the zombie apocalypse. But the pot-helmet is a dead giveaway. Plus, he’s always reaffirming that’s he’s crazy.
Peashooter: Why does he do that?
Crazy Dave: BECAUSE I’M CRAAAAAAAZY!
Repeater: Told ya.
Peashooter: So… we’re all going to die.
Repeater: Pretty much.
Crazy Dave: Hold up little saplings, eventually the zombies will give up and we will all have a massive dance party!
Repeater: …
Peashooter: Yeah, we’re f—ked.
Me: now that I am the commander in chief, we are going to swamp the 60 levels of zombies effortlessly.
kindness
I have been reading a lot lately (and I see a direct correlation between the frequency of blog posts and the amount of things I read). The latest book that graced my hands now is Liar's Poker. It provided an unflattering portrayal of Wall Street, the people working there and their perceived exclusivity and disrespect for anything non monetary. If what I read in this book and in the wall street forums are true, then won't getting the 'top job' become a constant struggle to withhold kindness. It sounded like closing a sale where you trade in your kindness for prestige and pledge allegiance to money. Is turning into a hard ass part of the job requirement? Maybe this is why I am half hoping to snatch the offer and half hoping to be rejected so that I do not have to make that decision for myself.
no matter how hard it is, i will still be kind. cos that is the only right thing to do.
no matter how hard it is, i will still be kind. cos that is the only right thing to do.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
competency test
That went well. Programming in Matlab is simply a piece of cake.
bring on the next round!
bring on the next round!
had enough
I had enough and I really mean it. I do not want the taste of vinegar to linger in my mouth, to keep eying the conveyor belt for salmon skins, to see sushi rice balls stacked up into x'mas trees and to drink diluted green tea refilled a hundred times. Especially, not after today.
no more Japanese food till after cny please.
no more Japanese food till after cny please.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
snails evolved
Maybe I did not know enough when I posted here questioning the evolutionary successes of snails. NatureNews: Left turns saves snails from snakes explained that "some species of Satsuma snail have shells that coil to the left, which probably evolved because the snakes that prey on them have jaws specialized for feeding on the molluscs' right-coiling ancestors".
I have a feeling next time when i see a snail, i will instinctively observe the direction of the coil
I have a feeling next time when i see a snail, i will instinctively observe the direction of the coil
chocolate and coffee instead
We had chocolate and coffee instead of tea. Some things do not change after 3 years. You were still roughly an hour late and the reason for arriving late was still because of cell cultures. Same dress sense but that was not surprising since laboratory compliant dress code does not evolve with fashion. Maybe a slight gain in weight? But I was still able to recognize you at first sight and the manly gait is still there (hahaha sorry). The first few seconds still felt the same after all these years, but other things have changed. Conversations were still light and brisk punctuated with the occasional sarcasm or joke, but silence was no longer as comfortable. I guess like all things in the universe, friendship follows the law of inertia. When things begin to run again after being stalled for a while, there is the initial traction that needs to be overcome. Next time we meet up again, we need an activity to fill in the conversation lapse.
then we can move to gear 2 (:
then we can move to gear 2 (:
Sunday, December 26, 2010
text icons
I have seen a lot of text icons in my life :) ;p :-O o.O :D .This is the first time i see this new hybrid text icon :$. So if you are as ignorant as me, you can choose to believe its origination explained in the equation below or not.
my reply to her explanation ----> :$
:$ = :S + :|
my reply to her explanation ----> :$
the physics of christmas
Since most people who reads what I write does not believe in Santa Claus anyway, there is no harm in posting this a Christmas killer. After reading this, all I can say is Do not let your kids hang around physicists. So here is what I got from Jim's website : The Physics of Christmas. quote.
see what I mean
1) No known species of reindeer can fly, but there are 300,000 species of living organisms yet to be classified. While most of these are insects and germs, this does not COMPLETELY rule out flying reindeer which only Santa has ever seen.
2) There are 2 billion children in the world (persons under 18), but since Santa doesn't (appear) to handle Muslim, Hindu, Jewish, or Buddhist children, that reduces the workload by 85% of the total - leaving 378 million according to the Population Reference Bureau. At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that's 91.8 million homes. One presumes there is at least one good child per house.
3) Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different times zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 822.6 visits per second. This is to say that for each Christian household with good children, Santa has 1/1000 th of a second to park, hop out of the sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the stocking, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left, get back up the chimney, get back into the sleigh and move on to the next house. Assuming that each of these 91.8 million stops are evenly distributed around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false, but for the purposes of our calculations we will accept), we are now talking about .78 miles per household, a total trip of 75.5 million miles, not counting stops to do what most of us do at least once every 31 hours, plus feeding, etc. That means that Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second, 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man-made vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second - a conventional reindeer can run, at tops, 15 miles per hour.
4) The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming each child get nothing more than a medium-sized Lego set (2 pounds), the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land, conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting the "flying reindeer" can pull TEN TIMES that normal amount, we cannot do the job with eight, or even nine. We need 214,200 reindeer. This increases payload - not even counting the weight of the sleigh to 353,430 tons. Again, for comparison, this is four times the weight of the _Queen Elizabeth_II.
5) 353,000 tons traveling at 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance. This will heat the reindeer up in the same fashion as spacecraft re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair will absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of energy per second, each. In short, they will burst into flames almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them, and creating a deafening sonic boom in their wake. The entire reindeer team will be vaporized in 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa meanwhile, will be subject to centrifugal forces 17,500.06 times greater than gravity. A 250 pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim) would be pinned to the back of the sleigh by a 4,315,015 pound force. In conclusion, if Santa ever DID deliver presents of Christmas Eve, he's now dead.
unquote.see what I mean
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