So, Valentine's day happened recently. I was reminded about it in class as it was wafting by a week ago on Friday, and as I had been thinking and talking about it with Colleen, I observed that I had enjoyed it back in Grade School. In Grade school it was a lark: lacy paper hearts, scissors and glue, pretty much a day off. It was also a bit promiscuous. I gave and received cards and candy to pretty much everybody, whether I liked them or not, or whether they liked me or not, and at the end of the day, I think that the trick had worked: we all liked each other a little bit more than we had before. And then it was over, a properly ephemeral bit of random sweetness in an otherwise dull month. And now it's something else.
Sure, it's gained a bit of gravitas over the years, and certainly the quality of candy has improved. The pastels of youth have been replaced by a bit more lurid pallet. It also seems to have acquired a tinge of menace that I don't remember, offerings must now be made or consequences suffered. It's a holiday for lovers now, and a chance for them to hold each other hostage. Furthermore, the old joyous promiscuity is gone: I couldn't give valentines day gifts to friends or classmates now without risking disciplinary action of some sort.
If this is the way it's going to be, I'd rather opt out. The Observant can have the holiday; Colleen can already have all the candy she wants, but not the flowers because they make my nose itch, and every day will be Valentines day from now on.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
The Probation Experience
This has been a good semester so far. I'm enjoying my class in Data and Computer Communications. It's kind of funny, I imagined that I would take programming classes when I got here, but I'm going to have wound up taking more classes that are more hardware-oriented.
I've been working on Clint's Unicon IDE again this fall. My project has been to integrate UDB, the Unicon De-Bugger, into the IDE in it's own tab, and talking through a pseudo-tty to a the OS. Much learning is taking place. I don't think any of that is going to work on Windows, they don't have pseudo-teletypes as far as I know.
I'm also working on last semester's uncompleted AI projects. I've made progress in my work and my understanding, but also my current understanding is that AI is hard. Actually I'm just doing this post to take a break from the Connect Four project and trying to get minimax plugged into it, with about three supporting methods, so far.
Grad school is stressful, who knew. Still, except for the moments when I just really want out, I'm really glad I'm here.
I've been working on Clint's Unicon IDE again this fall. My project has been to integrate UDB, the Unicon De-Bugger, into the IDE in it's own tab, and talking through a pseudo-tty to a the OS. Much learning is taking place. I don't think any of that is going to work on Windows, they don't have pseudo-teletypes as far as I know.
I'm also working on last semester's uncompleted AI projects. I've made progress in my work and my understanding, but also my current understanding is that AI is hard. Actually I'm just doing this post to take a break from the Connect Four project and trying to get minimax plugged into it, with about three supporting methods, so far.
Grad school is stressful, who knew. Still, except for the moments when I just really want out, I'm really glad I'm here.
Friday, April 12, 2013
The Jungle Book
So, this is apropos of nothing, but I was singing in the shower the other day, and I decided that Disney had missed a big opportunity when they made The Jungle Book. I really haven't seen the movie very many times, maybe once or twice when I was a kid, but we had the sound track on an LP. I listened to that a lot. Later on I found out that it was packed with famous jazz musicians and that they had worked very hard to make it as awesome as possible.
Which is why, I suppose, that Shere Khan and Bagheera don't sing much. I understand the rationale, it's a kids movie, but still, I think I'd like to improve it a little by adding to the cheerful marches and thrilling scat solos a couple of interludes of Shere Kahn's gigantic, terrifying, sociopathic caterwauling that left everyone crying and covering their ears. Or perhaps a catchy little jungle ditty that Bagheera can join in on and completely ruin with his own feline OCD aesthetic. We had a cat once, and she was one of our best ever, who just couldn't stand it when Colleen would get out a flute or recorder, or especially the concertina, and would walk up to Colleen and then bite. Bagheera could have been like that: sure, sing if you want to, but I will find you and you will bleed.
So those are my proposed improvements. I haven't seen it in a long time, and thought while singing that Shere Kahn doesn't sing at all. But he does have a basso profundo tag at the end of "That's What Friends Are For," and sadly, he hits all his notes perfectly and completes the song in a very traditional and tasteful way. The vultures are only disturbed by his presence, and not also by his singing. OK, I think I've made my point.
This is an Austin-Healy Sprite, circa 1960. I hope it makes up for the inadequacies of my arguments.
Which is why, I suppose, that Shere Khan and Bagheera don't sing much. I understand the rationale, it's a kids movie, but still, I think I'd like to improve it a little by adding to the cheerful marches and thrilling scat solos a couple of interludes of Shere Kahn's gigantic, terrifying, sociopathic caterwauling that left everyone crying and covering their ears. Or perhaps a catchy little jungle ditty that Bagheera can join in on and completely ruin with his own feline OCD aesthetic. We had a cat once, and she was one of our best ever, who just couldn't stand it when Colleen would get out a flute or recorder, or especially the concertina, and would walk up to Colleen and then bite. Bagheera could have been like that: sure, sing if you want to, but I will find you and you will bleed.
So those are my proposed improvements. I haven't seen it in a long time, and thought while singing that Shere Kahn doesn't sing at all. But he does have a basso profundo tag at the end of "That's What Friends Are For," and sadly, he hits all his notes perfectly and completes the song in a very traditional and tasteful way. The vultures are only disturbed by his presence, and not also by his singing. OK, I think I've made my point.
This is an Austin-Healy Sprite, circa 1960. I hope it makes up for the inadequacies of my arguments.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Live Free, Die Young
There's a great Lee K Abbott Jr story with this title that I enjoy very much. A free-spirited young man falls in love with the daughter of one of the town's prominent men, who doesn't like him and doesn't think that he's good enough for her. The crisis comes on the porch, with the girl's father pointing a gun at the young man's head and telling him if he ever sees him again, he will kill him. The young man tells the father to go ahead and shoot, because he doesn't want to live without this specific girl.
The denouement jumps ahead several years. The young man and that specific girl are married, and have a couple of kids. They visit her family quite often, her dad is especially delighted with the grand kids. The young man, now a responsible husband and father, is happy. He reflects about how all this came to be, and concludes that some part of him really did die on that porch all those years ago.
In this, the narrator describes, but does not quite reach an understanding of what happened right then. And I'm sure it makes a better story that way; I doubt that if we knew what we were doing we would be telling or writing stories in the first place. But I didn't really want to write an essay of literary criticism, I just wanted to throw that out there as an anecdote and then ask myself what I thought St Paul was talking about when he wrote "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the Church and gave himself up for her." That's Ephesians 5:25, but it's so famous that we knew that already.
I think I should admit that for a very long time my idea of what that might mean was of the heroically childish take-a-bullet-for-the-missus variety, which has a certain Walter Mitty-ish appeal besides conveniently missing the point.
Back to the story for a moment. Dad was so impressed that he not only didn't shoot, he relented and let the kids get married. One moment the young man was a handsome self-centered punk and and therefor a threat to his girlfriend's (and her children's, if any) long-term happiness and well-being, and then those words were out of his mouth and he was a viable suitor.
So how, you ask, can I possibly wrap this up and go to bed without turning it into a really cheesy sermon? Because we all know that I want to. But perhaps this time I will think of the well-being of others and just say thanks to my father-in-law, David Howard, for not shooting me all those years ago. It must have been pretty tempting, and probably took a lot of faith not to.
OK, that picture doesn't have anything to do with anything, I just like it.
The denouement jumps ahead several years. The young man and that specific girl are married, and have a couple of kids. They visit her family quite often, her dad is especially delighted with the grand kids. The young man, now a responsible husband and father, is happy. He reflects about how all this came to be, and concludes that some part of him really did die on that porch all those years ago.
In this, the narrator describes, but does not quite reach an understanding of what happened right then. And I'm sure it makes a better story that way; I doubt that if we knew what we were doing we would be telling or writing stories in the first place. But I didn't really want to write an essay of literary criticism, I just wanted to throw that out there as an anecdote and then ask myself what I thought St Paul was talking about when he wrote "Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the Church and gave himself up for her." That's Ephesians 5:25, but it's so famous that we knew that already.
I think I should admit that for a very long time my idea of what that might mean was of the heroically childish take-a-bullet-for-the-missus variety, which has a certain Walter Mitty-ish appeal besides conveniently missing the point.
Back to the story for a moment. Dad was so impressed that he not only didn't shoot, he relented and let the kids get married. One moment the young man was a handsome self-centered punk and and therefor a threat to his girlfriend's (and her children's, if any) long-term happiness and well-being, and then those words were out of his mouth and he was a viable suitor.
OK, that picture doesn't have anything to do with anything, I just like it.
Monday, February 11, 2013
The Grad School Experience
So this spring is the real deal: full-time student with a full-time Graduate TA appointment. It's a lot of work. I'm taking a short break here between Path-finding algorithms to whine about how tired I am, but I wanted this: I am immersed in grad school. Also maybe a little over my head: my homework for Artificial Intelligence is way behind schedule. Could be trouble. I don't really have time to post much.
This is a Paul Vallee Chanticler, a French Micro-Car made from 1956 to 1958. The smaller motor was 125cc's the bigger one was 175cc's. Micros really need to make a comeback somehow.
This is a Paul Vallee Chanticler, a French Micro-Car made from 1956 to 1958. The smaller motor was 125cc's the bigger one was 175cc's. Micros really need to make a comeback somehow.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
New Semester
"Spring" semester started yesterday. Fall and Spring. We don't like to talk about winter, I guess, bad for morale? I love the light, tiny snowflakes that waft around, in no hurry to settle down. I'm not finding winter oppressive, and sunset is already nearly an hour later than it was a month ago.
This semester I'm taking CS240 Operating Systems; CS395 Algorithmics; and CS570 Artificial Intelligence. I'm also a TA for CS121 and a tutor in the Computer Science Assistance Center. This is all looking to be quite challenging and fun. AI seems quite scary at the moment, lots of hard coding coming up, plus a graduate-level research paper due at the end. I hope I haven't made a big mistake. There is a Humbert Wolfe quote that I know only imperfectly: something about "faith, and the courage to fail in all but kindness." I am going to be mumbling that to myself quite often this semester. Also, I need to read some of this man's poems.
This semester I'm taking CS240 Operating Systems; CS395 Algorithmics; and CS570 Artificial Intelligence. I'm also a TA for CS121 and a tutor in the Computer Science Assistance Center. This is all looking to be quite challenging and fun. AI seems quite scary at the moment, lots of hard coding coming up, plus a graduate-level research paper due at the end. I hope I haven't made a big mistake. There is a Humbert Wolfe quote that I know only imperfectly: something about "faith, and the courage to fail in all but kindness." I am going to be mumbling that to myself quite often this semester. Also, I need to read some of this man's poems.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Christmas Eve
The semester flew by and I hardly wrote anything here at all. That wouldn't be an inappropriate entry on my tombstone, either. Last semester I had Theory of Computation and Software Engineering. Both were fun classes, and I learned a lot. I managed a C in Theory, and balanced it with an A in Engineering to get my minimum 3.0 gpa and stay in Grad school. I really must have aced the finals to do that well. I did feel good about them. I'll just enjoy it for now and not look too closely at my grades' teeth. This also means that I get to be appointed to a full-time Teaching Assistantship which is a really big deal for me. It means an Out-of-State tuition waiver, plus a small stipend in cash. This is so going on my CV. Money has been tight this year. Things are looking up.
So here it is, Christmas eve. I'm having to think about the actual meaning of Christmas, because most of the cultural trappings are out of reach. Our kids are all here, which is great, but we have no money to spend on them. If Colleen hadn't found a way to cobble together a "tree" out of cardboard and twigs, there wouldn't even be that. No over the river, no through the woods, no presents. We have a roof over our heads, and we have enough food, but we're missing a good bit of what it's common to do. I was tempted to think of it as me just being childish, and okay, that's probably part of it, but also I've started to think of it as Santa's phantom limb. It's missing and it hurts.
We'll try to have a merry Christmas anyway. In private conversations I've been saying that we're going to do like the Whos down in Whoville, after the Grinch had made off with all of their stuff: we're going to get up in the morning and sing. Sing praise to our King. He has come to be with us, and he is very welcome. He hasn't solved all of our problems, but he has solved our really big one, which kind of makes the little ones moot. ( I had a class, back at Fox, in writing for Christian publications. I got a really bad grade. Probably all three of you who are going to read this are going to understand.) All Praise and Glory and Thanks be to God Almighty, maker of Heaven and earth, who loves us, and came to us and spoke to us, and gave himself as a ransom for many. There's no gift exchange going on here, there's nothing we can bring him that isn't His already. I clearly don't know when or even how to stop. It's alright, I'm not tired of saying it.
Merry Christmas.
So here it is, Christmas eve. I'm having to think about the actual meaning of Christmas, because most of the cultural trappings are out of reach. Our kids are all here, which is great, but we have no money to spend on them. If Colleen hadn't found a way to cobble together a "tree" out of cardboard and twigs, there wouldn't even be that. No over the river, no through the woods, no presents. We have a roof over our heads, and we have enough food, but we're missing a good bit of what it's common to do. I was tempted to think of it as me just being childish, and okay, that's probably part of it, but also I've started to think of it as Santa's phantom limb. It's missing and it hurts.
We'll try to have a merry Christmas anyway. In private conversations I've been saying that we're going to do like the Whos down in Whoville, after the Grinch had made off with all of their stuff: we're going to get up in the morning and sing. Sing praise to our King. He has come to be with us, and he is very welcome. He hasn't solved all of our problems, but he has solved our really big one, which kind of makes the little ones moot. ( I had a class, back at Fox, in writing for Christian publications. I got a really bad grade. Probably all three of you who are going to read this are going to understand.) All Praise and Glory and Thanks be to God Almighty, maker of Heaven and earth, who loves us, and came to us and spoke to us, and gave himself as a ransom for many. There's no gift exchange going on here, there's nothing we can bring him that isn't His already. I clearly don't know when or even how to stop. It's alright, I'm not tired of saying it.
Merry Christmas.
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