Guess who's going observing in Hawaii in March?
That's right, I am.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Thursday, December 28, 2006
venetian razors - part II
Referring back to an old post.
Have you ever tried to shave with one of those single blade razors you get from hotel front desks? I normally shave with at least a double (maybe triple) blade. When I was in Ithaca, NY on a business trip, I forgot my shaving kit and had to ask the front desk for one of these suicide blades. Now I realize the purpose of the extra blades. I guess it spreads out the force across your entire face so you don't cut yourself as often or as severely. Maybe it's just a matter of practice, but DAMN! I'm not sure if I'm ready for 5 blades, but I'll stick with 2 or 3.
Have you ever tried to shave with one of those single blade razors you get from hotel front desks? I normally shave with at least a double (maybe triple) blade. When I was in Ithaca, NY on a business trip, I forgot my shaving kit and had to ask the front desk for one of these suicide blades. Now I realize the purpose of the extra blades. I guess it spreads out the force across your entire face so you don't cut yourself as often or as severely. Maybe it's just a matter of practice, but DAMN! I'm not sure if I'm ready for 5 blades, but I'll stick with 2 or 3.
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
recuperation
So it's been a week and a half since my little spat with gravity and the mountain. You'll be pleased to hear that my knee is healing quite nicely. It took about 5 days before the wounds scabbed over completely, so I'm glad about that. I still need to take some IB-profin every once in a while to keep the swelling down. It doesn't really hurt any more, but my right knee is still noticeably larger than my left one, and it's still a little stiff.
I went with Mom today to help her distribute some flyers in her real estate farm area. I probably walked a total of 2 miles. My knee felt a little weak, and every once in a while, I'd land on it wrong and it'd almost give out. It felt good to get out and exercise it for a while. Maybe I'll try to ride a bike a little bit once I get to Austin.
On a side note, I have a love-hate relationship with scabs. I like them because they keep my precious bodily fluids inside my body, where they belong. I like them because underneath their ugly exterior, pink, new skin is growing. I like pink new skin, btw. I hate them because when the new skin is growing, they itch something awful. They are just begging me to scratch scratch scratch. (un)Fortunately, I know better, but that doesn't keep me from wanting to do it.
I went with Mom today to help her distribute some flyers in her real estate farm area. I probably walked a total of 2 miles. My knee felt a little weak, and every once in a while, I'd land on it wrong and it'd almost give out. It felt good to get out and exercise it for a while. Maybe I'll try to ride a bike a little bit once I get to Austin.
On a side note, I have a love-hate relationship with scabs. I like them because they keep my precious bodily fluids inside my body, where they belong. I like them because underneath their ugly exterior, pink, new skin is growing. I like pink new skin, btw. I hate them because when the new skin is growing, they itch something awful. They are just begging me to scratch scratch scratch. (un)Fortunately, I know better, but that doesn't keep me from wanting to do it.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
earliest memory
inspired by Becks:
My earliest memory is running out of my sister's room in response to her crying from her crib. Probably crying in response to something I did to her/threw at her. I remember being scared that Mom would catch me and send me to time-out. My sister is only 2 years younger than I am, so I was probably 3 or so. Mandy and I HATED each other when we were kids. It's amazing how good of friends we turned out to be.
Another particularly vivid memory I have of my childhood days involves a set of plain wooden blocks we had. Now, this may actually be part-dream, but I did spend an awful lot of time playing with these blocks. I remember I built a Burger King restaurant out of blocks. I remember it was pretty complex, which is why I suspect it might be a dream. I can't remember how old I was when this happened, but I suspect around 4-6.
My earliest memory is running out of my sister's room in response to her crying from her crib. Probably crying in response to something I did to her/threw at her. I remember being scared that Mom would catch me and send me to time-out. My sister is only 2 years younger than I am, so I was probably 3 or so. Mandy and I HATED each other when we were kids. It's amazing how good of friends we turned out to be.
Another particularly vivid memory I have of my childhood days involves a set of plain wooden blocks we had. Now, this may actually be part-dream, but I did spend an awful lot of time playing with these blocks. I remember I built a Burger King restaurant out of blocks. I remember it was pretty complex, which is why I suspect it might be a dream. I can't remember how old I was when this happened, but I suspect around 4-6.
Friday, December 22, 2006
right/left brained?
My sister brought up an interesting point... We are pretty much two completely different people. She makes decisions rationally. She tries to calculate which decision is the right one, whereas I, go with my gut feeling. That, in itself, is not a very interesting tidbit of information, but the fact that we both chose professions pretty much diametrically opposite our decision-making-habits.
She's a history grad student/author, and I am an astronomy grad student. I'll admit it, I'm not a very analytical/logical person. So much of my thinking includes a little thought bubble saying "here, a miracle occurs..." When I was younger, everything I was interested in/good at was artistic/creative in some way. In elementary school, I was sort of singled out for art classes b/c of my creativity. In 8th grade, I was an enthusiastic writer. I played piano until I was in high school. Then, in High School, I took Physics. From there, everything else kinda went by the wayside. I can't really describe why I took to it as I did. I was fairly good at it, and I enjoyed the way everything seemed to fit together.
Now, here I am as an Astronomer-in-training wondering if I made the right decision. I think I did. I do enjoy astronomy, and the scientific method, even though I'm not the most logical of people. I can't really imagine myself in any other profession, so I guess that's a good sign.
It remains to be seen how good of a researcher I'll end up being. Cross your fingers for me...
She's a history grad student/author, and I am an astronomy grad student. I'll admit it, I'm not a very analytical/logical person. So much of my thinking includes a little thought bubble saying "here, a miracle occurs..." When I was younger, everything I was interested in/good at was artistic/creative in some way. In elementary school, I was sort of singled out for art classes b/c of my creativity. In 8th grade, I was an enthusiastic writer. I played piano until I was in high school. Then, in High School, I took Physics. From there, everything else kinda went by the wayside. I can't really describe why I took to it as I did. I was fairly good at it, and I enjoyed the way everything seemed to fit together.
Now, here I am as an Astronomer-in-training wondering if I made the right decision. I think I did. I do enjoy astronomy, and the scientific method, even though I'm not the most logical of people. I can't really imagine myself in any other profession, so I guess that's a good sign.
It remains to be seen how good of a researcher I'll end up being. Cross your fingers for me...
memories
It's amazing which memories stick with you and which don't.
When people talk about things which happened in the past, I can remember them, but I don't remember them on my own. I guess that's one reason I'm such a pack-rat. Just going through an old calendar or old ticket stubs jogs my memory and I can remember the particular concert/thing which corresponds to the trinket. However, without these trinkets, the memory is pretty much lost to me.
I wish I had a better memory.
-----------------Edit-----------------
Another funny thing I've noticed about my memory... The more times I try to tell a story, the harder time I have separating fact and fiction. Case in point:
When I was in Undergrad, I lived in Hart Hall with my friend Mike. Hart was a nasty old dorm in the middle of campus. It was un-air-conditioned and was built in 1930. At least 33 layers of paint were caked on the walls. It had a kick-ass view of the Academic Plaza. It was home, and I loved it. Anyway, this story involves me, Nick, Mike, a trash can, and some pizza. Here's how the story usually goes: Mike realizes that someone in our mutual company hasn't heard the story, so, like a little 14 year old girl, he squeals with delight, claps his hands, and tells the story how he remembers it. Apparently, I ate some ancient pizza with mold on it that I'd found by rooting through the 55 gallon trashcan outside our door. At this point, whoever is listening to the story gasps with horror and glares at me with revulsion. So, I have to defend myself by telling my side of the story (as I remember it). Nick (who lived across the hallway) had ordered some pizza for his dinner. I'd come back from doing something on campus, and I was pretty hungry. Before I went into my room, I stopped in Nick's room to shoot the shit. As I was getting ready to leave, I watched Nick pick up the (almost) empty box of pizza, took it out into the hall, and placed it _on_top_ of the trashcan. On my way across the hall, I opened the box, and fished out a (still warm) piece of pizza. Not nearly as gross as Mike's telling of the story.
Which one's true? Probably neither... It's probably somewhere in between, but I can't really remember. I've defended myself so many times, I can't really remember what happened and what didn't happen. Maybe I really did eat moldy pizza and I've just convinced myself of what I want to believe happened. Who knows?
I'll understand if you never again want to eat pizza I offer you. If I did fish out the moldy piece of pizza out of the trash can, I assure you it was only a momentary lapse in judgment. I'm better now, I promise.
When people talk about things which happened in the past, I can remember them, but I don't remember them on my own. I guess that's one reason I'm such a pack-rat. Just going through an old calendar or old ticket stubs jogs my memory and I can remember the particular concert/thing which corresponds to the trinket. However, without these trinkets, the memory is pretty much lost to me.
I wish I had a better memory.
-----------------Edit-----------------
Another funny thing I've noticed about my memory... The more times I try to tell a story, the harder time I have separating fact and fiction. Case in point:
When I was in Undergrad, I lived in Hart Hall with my friend Mike. Hart was a nasty old dorm in the middle of campus. It was un-air-conditioned and was built in 1930. At least 33 layers of paint were caked on the walls. It had a kick-ass view of the Academic Plaza. It was home, and I loved it. Anyway, this story involves me, Nick, Mike, a trash can, and some pizza. Here's how the story usually goes: Mike realizes that someone in our mutual company hasn't heard the story, so, like a little 14 year old girl, he squeals with delight, claps his hands, and tells the story how he remembers it. Apparently, I ate some ancient pizza with mold on it that I'd found by rooting through the 55 gallon trashcan outside our door. At this point, whoever is listening to the story gasps with horror and glares at me with revulsion. So, I have to defend myself by telling my side of the story (as I remember it). Nick (who lived across the hallway) had ordered some pizza for his dinner. I'd come back from doing something on campus, and I was pretty hungry. Before I went into my room, I stopped in Nick's room to shoot the shit. As I was getting ready to leave, I watched Nick pick up the (almost) empty box of pizza, took it out into the hall, and placed it _on_top_ of the trashcan. On my way across the hall, I opened the box, and fished out a (still warm) piece of pizza. Not nearly as gross as Mike's telling of the story.
Which one's true? Probably neither... It's probably somewhere in between, but I can't really remember. I've defended myself so many times, I can't really remember what happened and what didn't happen. Maybe I really did eat moldy pizza and I've just convinced myself of what I want to believe happened. Who knows?
I'll understand if you never again want to eat pizza I offer you. If I did fish out the moldy piece of pizza out of the trash can, I assure you it was only a momentary lapse in judgment. I'm better now, I promise.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
just my $0.00002
I originally found this on Marci's blog. I think I shall repost for the good of humanity. Apparently, the good folks at Verizon think that $0.002 = 0.002 cents. Sadly, this is not the case. However, when people try to inform them of this, they throw up their hands and claim not to be mathematicians.
Original audio - about 23 minutes long, excruciatingly funny/painful/sad example of the state of education in this nation.
Verizonmath - blog chronicling one dude's quest for a refund.
KellyHawk - humorous definition of verizonmath the noun.
It's sad how reliant we are on computers/calculators. It's one thing to use them to make your life easier, but when you can't do simple decimal math with a pencil and a piece of paper, it's a bit scary.
Original audio - about 23 minutes long, excruciatingly funny/painful/sad example of the state of education in this nation.
Verizonmath - blog chronicling one dude's quest for a refund.
KellyHawk - humorous definition of verizonmath the noun.
It's sad how reliant we are on computers/calculators. It's one thing to use them to make your life easier, but when you can't do simple decimal math with a pencil and a piece of paper, it's a bit scary.
Interesting story
I read a really good short story last night by Phillip K. Dick called "Foster, you're dead". It's about a I heartily recommend it. It's only ~15 pages long, so it's a quick read at your local library. If anyone gets the chance, let me know what you think.
From Wikipedia-
I think the part of it which struck me the most was amazing character sketch of Mike Foster, the teenage protagonist, and the success with which Dick captures the teenage shame for one's parents
From Wikipedia-
The story is a satire of two 1950s-era trends: consumerism and increasing Cold War anxiety. Dick wrote in a letter: "One day I saw a newspaper headline reporting that the President suggested that if Americans had to buy their bomb shelters, rather than being provided with them by the government, they'd take better care of them, an idea which made me furious. Logically, each of us should own a submarine, a jet fighter, and so forth.
I think the part of it which struck me the most was amazing character sketch of Mike Foster, the teenage protagonist, and the success with which Dick captures the teenage shame for one's parents
Monday, December 18, 2006
gimpy - day 1
So I went into work today. Vince and I drove to Mi Madres for breakfast (lame, I know, but I've got an excuse!) and then to work. Before we went, Vince decided to make me a walking stick out of a tree-branch. I ended up using it most of the day... I guess I looked pretty funny, but oh well.
They screwed up my order at mi madres, but I didn't say anything b/c I didn't want to wait for them to fix it. And besides, practically everything there is awesome. Well, this one wasn't exactly their best taco, but I decided it wasn't worth the trouble.
After lunch, I took the Dunham to the airport to go back to New York for the holidays. He was bitching about having to pack cold weather clothes. On my way back, I stopped into a Walgreens to drop off my antibiotic prescription for my knee and went back to work.
I didn't get a whole lot of stuff done today, I'll have to admit. I hate feeling non-productive. Which is bad, because it happens altogether too frequently.
In other news, Russell and I extended our 42 losing streak to 6 games. We won our first 4 games, and then have proceeded to drop the next 6. It's rather disheartening. However, after the league game was over, I managed to beat Mary in two games, AND the in-the-box game.
Mandy's car is acting up, so I guess I'm going to have to stick around Austin until we're sure she's going to be able to get it fixed or have a ride.
I feel bad about only spending a week and a half in Dallas.
They screwed up my order at mi madres, but I didn't say anything b/c I didn't want to wait for them to fix it. And besides, practically everything there is awesome. Well, this one wasn't exactly their best taco, but I decided it wasn't worth the trouble.
After lunch, I took the Dunham to the airport to go back to New York for the holidays. He was bitching about having to pack cold weather clothes. On my way back, I stopped into a Walgreens to drop off my antibiotic prescription for my knee and went back to work.
I didn't get a whole lot of stuff done today, I'll have to admit. I hate feeling non-productive. Which is bad, because it happens altogether too frequently.
In other news, Russell and I extended our 42 losing streak to 6 games. We won our first 4 games, and then have proceeded to drop the next 6. It's rather disheartening. However, after the league game was over, I managed to beat Mary in two games, AND the in-the-box game.
Mandy's car is acting up, so I guess I'm going to have to stick around Austin until we're sure she's going to be able to get it fixed or have a ride.
I feel bad about only spending a week and a half in Dallas.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
so long yellow snapdragons
It is with a tinge of sadness that I bid farewell to one of my favorite blogs to read, Yellow Snapdragons. It was the blog of an english/epistomology teacher I had in High School. I won't speculate on the reasons for her taking the blog down, but I do know I will miss it. One of my favorite memories from her class was the bell she always had next to her. It was a simple bell, much like this one:
Everytime someone made an insightful comment, she rewarded him/her by ringing the bell. "Dings", she called them. Looking back on it, it seems pretty silly, but getting a Ding in her class was quite an achievement for the day. It worked a lot better for classroom participation than any other sort of incentive/punitive points program I'm aware of.
So, thanks for the education and the blog, yellow snapdragons. You deserve this:
*DING!*
Everytime someone made an insightful comment, she rewarded him/her by ringing the bell. "Dings", she called them. Looking back on it, it seems pretty silly, but getting a Ding in her class was quite an achievement for the day. It worked a lot better for classroom participation than any other sort of incentive/punitive points program I'm aware of.
So, thanks for the education and the blog, yellow snapdragons. You deserve this:
*DING!*
Me duele en la rodilla
It's times like these when I would do well to remember my Mountain Biking Mantra.
So I went mountain biking with Jarrett yesterday. Like normal, I took Bruno and we went to Emma Long park. There's a motocycle trail there that's is quite nice for mountain biking. Apparently, it's one of the most technical trails in Texas. Anyway, we've been biking there before many times, and it's a lot of fun.
This trip was not quite as fun... Don't get me wrong, I still had a blast, but it wasn't as much fun as it could have been. Namely, because Bruno threw me on a pretty steep downhill slope, and I went ass-over-teakettle and banging my kneed pretty badly on some rocks.
The worst part about the fall, was not actually hitting the rocks, but the millisecond before, just after I realized "oh shit, I'm going way too fast, and there's no way I'm going to be able to keep from flipping" and the point where I hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. I remember floating through the air, feeling Bruno's back tire raise ominously up behind me like a bucking bronco, and being absolutely helpless to stop it. It was all I could do to brace myself for impact.
**The following paragraph may be a bit graphic... If you are squeamish, don't read it**
After somersaulting through the air in some fashion I don't really remember, I landed about 6 feet downhill from Bruno, and immediately, I knew I wasn't going to be able to shake this one off. I looked down at my knee, and saw the damage. The lower layers of my skin on my knee were looking back aghast at me, as pale and shocked as I'm sure I probably looked. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the color returned. It wasn't bleeding too bad, but it was obvious I wasn't going to make it around the entire trail.
Luckily, Jarrett was still within earshot at the time, so he heard the crash and my ensuing fit of cussing. He came back and walked with me back up the trail until we could get to the road. I had to use Bruno as a sort of mobile crutch until we got to the road, and then I was able to coast down the hill to Jarrett's Jeep.
Anyway, Jarrett dropped me off at home, and I cleaned myself up as well as I could. Because I'm somewhat of a worry-wort, I got kinda worried about one of the gashes. It seemed pretty deep and had a little white speck peeking out. I thought it might be cartillege, but it turned out just to be a fat globule. That, and it wouldn't stop bleeding.
So, I had Mike drop me off at the emergency room. After 20 minutes of waiting, they admitted me into triage, and luckily, I got put on the fast track. They stuck me in a room, gave me a tetnus shot, and cleaned and dressed my wounds. I was out in under an hour. All in all, I probably didn't need to go to the emergency room, but I guess it was good I got a tetnus shot. I hope my cheap-ass student insurance will pay for most of this.
This morning, my knee was pretty much stiff as a board. The good thing is, I can move it, albeit slowly. I think it'll be a few weeks before I'm mountain biking again. But I will be back.
Oh, and for those of you who were wondering, I WAS wearing my helmet. It's got a few small dents in it to show, but it didn't take the brunt of the blow.
I should have a pretty cool scar though...
So I went mountain biking with Jarrett yesterday. Like normal, I took Bruno and we went to Emma Long park. There's a motocycle trail there that's is quite nice for mountain biking. Apparently, it's one of the most technical trails in Texas. Anyway, we've been biking there before many times, and it's a lot of fun.
This trip was not quite as fun... Don't get me wrong, I still had a blast, but it wasn't as much fun as it could have been. Namely, because Bruno threw me on a pretty steep downhill slope, and I went ass-over-teakettle and banging my kneed pretty badly on some rocks.
The worst part about the fall, was not actually hitting the rocks, but the millisecond before, just after I realized "oh shit, I'm going way too fast, and there's no way I'm going to be able to keep from flipping" and the point where I hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. I remember floating through the air, feeling Bruno's back tire raise ominously up behind me like a bucking bronco, and being absolutely helpless to stop it. It was all I could do to brace myself for impact.
**The following paragraph may be a bit graphic... If you are squeamish, don't read it**
After somersaulting through the air in some fashion I don't really remember, I landed about 6 feet downhill from Bruno, and immediately, I knew I wasn't going to be able to shake this one off. I looked down at my knee, and saw the damage. The lower layers of my skin on my knee were looking back aghast at me, as pale and shocked as I'm sure I probably looked. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, the color returned. It wasn't bleeding too bad, but it was obvious I wasn't going to make it around the entire trail.
Luckily, Jarrett was still within earshot at the time, so he heard the crash and my ensuing fit of cussing. He came back and walked with me back up the trail until we could get to the road. I had to use Bruno as a sort of mobile crutch until we got to the road, and then I was able to coast down the hill to Jarrett's Jeep.
Anyway, Jarrett dropped me off at home, and I cleaned myself up as well as I could. Because I'm somewhat of a worry-wort, I got kinda worried about one of the gashes. It seemed pretty deep and had a little white speck peeking out. I thought it might be cartillege, but it turned out just to be a fat globule. That, and it wouldn't stop bleeding.
So, I had Mike drop me off at the emergency room. After 20 minutes of waiting, they admitted me into triage, and luckily, I got put on the fast track. They stuck me in a room, gave me a tetnus shot, and cleaned and dressed my wounds. I was out in under an hour. All in all, I probably didn't need to go to the emergency room, but I guess it was good I got a tetnus shot. I hope my cheap-ass student insurance will pay for most of this.
This morning, my knee was pretty much stiff as a board. The good thing is, I can move it, albeit slowly. I think it'll be a few weeks before I'm mountain biking again. But I will be back.
Oh, and for those of you who were wondering, I WAS wearing my helmet. It's got a few small dents in it to show, but it didn't take the brunt of the blow.
I should have a pretty cool scar though...
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