Category: General

I know you’re all eager to hear about the gig, but that’s still being typed up. Also, these posts have been “posted” at some arbitrary point when I have had access to the internet, and will appear once-a-day to once-in-few-days, automatically. If, at some point, it looks like I’m being rude by continuing to post without responding to your comments—you know why.

One of the other perks of being delayed a day was to get to spend another day with mum. This gave us the chance to talk (some more), and the kinds of topics that eventually arose were absolutely hilarious. Now, brace yourselves for this (swallow that liquid you’re tasting and re-tasting, NOW!), and don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Apparently, (really) random people have been getting in touch with her—wanting to know what plans she has for her “nice” son, now that he is of “marriageable age”.

(Apparently, once the word’s out that you’ve crossed puberty, anything’s game. On a side note, I still haven’t found my Adam’s apple after much searching.)

No seriously, I could be a serial psychopath or an axe murderer for all they know. Just how the hell do they come to the conclusion I’m “nice”? Better yet, even if I am “nice”, why would that imply I would be ready for, or even want to, marry their daughters? It doesn’t stop there, they’re apparently eager with numerous details—starting with the usual ones like “how qualified they are” down to the more abstruse “check out my daughter’s complexion”.

Apart from the obvious “stop stalking my son”, slamming phones and so on, my calm demeanor resulted in being asked, “Oh, so H, what should I do about these calls?”. I contemplated the most obnoxiously humourous answer I could pull off; you know the one going something like, “Only innies, no outies, no flat-filed nails, only tapered…” and much much more.

My real answer however, I leave to your imagination to conjure up.

I’m still quite amazed at how easy it’s all been so far. I think I’ve handled things rather nicely. Me, the sheltered kid who’s had his bed made for him for over 20 years of his life.

A SNAFU resulting in having nowhere to go from the airport, I figured out and reserved a room at a B&B in central London—one that I could actually afford—and made my way to it (with luggage) using public transport. I later caught up with “friends of friends” (much more on this later), borrowed keys to a friends place to crash at, and picked up tickets to Oasis’ gig at Manchester.

I am now (again, with no help from anyone) on my way to Manchester Piccadilly, huge self-satisfied grin on my face, tickets for the show in my hands.

Now I can see what the Indian train system is modelled after and hopes to emulate. It feels just about the same—the way the tracks are laid, the demarcation of stations, the sounds and smells, the stalls—only the view’s different. Replace vivid browns with lush greens, cows and pigs with cows and horses …

I’m going to use a slightly different system since I don’t have regular access to the internet over here. What is essentially a basic necessity (like power or air) and is available EVERYWHERE back home—even in that green park—is supposedly some ultra-speciality here.

Since I don’t have access to it as a result, I’ve decided to (and do) maintain a full travel log on paper, and through pictures. When (and this is rather rare, as is obvious) I have access to the internet, I will upload some bits (offset in time by a few days).

So what you’re reading below really isn’t fresh. But as far as you’re concerned, it might as well be, so that is one less reason to stop reading.

And I’m here.

Either my display of anger, or the fact that they felt sorry for me as “I’d missed my friend’s wedding” (yes, I lied), resulted in me travelling first class from Chicago to London.

Not business class, first class.

Now that’s nearly a 7 hour long flight, and having people wait on me hand and foot, to sleep with me, and most importantly, having LEG ROOM made the journey most pleasant. The after-effect of this was being “fast tracked” through immigration, baggage claim and customs as well. I was out out in less than 10 minutes after we’d landed. Nothing’s lost, nothing’s delayed, more than the ACTUAL DAY ADDED, of course.

But it’s all cool, and though I have nowhere specific to go (like I said, nothing’s sure), or crash, I’m well, and happy. (I’m proceeding to figure out a plan. 5 or so pounds spent on calls and not-really-having-spoken-to-anyone later, I’m beginning to realize the genius of the business plan that is the “minimum connection fee”).

<Begin Racism^*>
» I can’t help but notice the number of Indians (technically, of Indian origin) around. 1 in 3 or 4 or something. Particularly the number doing “menial” work. EVERY person manning a stall, cab driver, … TRASH PICKER is Indian. (That’s definitely something I haven’t seen before—the midwest has its redneckey-trashiest whitetrashey folk, the east and west coasts have their African-Americans, and most places have their fair share of neighbouring country illegal hispanics.)

Was this the idea of the “better life” their parents dreamt for them when they immigrated? What’s the point?

At least, STOP TALKING IN FUCKING HINDI.

» I don’t know how else to say this, but people are just less beautiful here. If, in an average large city here, good looking people average an 8, here it’s a 6.5. If you don’t believe me, think Camila.
</End Racism^*>

Much more on this later, but now moving onto less flameworthy topics—the music playing everywhere around here (coffee shops, lounges, radio and such) is just stellar. If there’s one good reason to move here, it’s that.

^*Reading this section implies you’ve read, understood and agreed with the terms in the disclaimer.

Due to “weather trouble” (read god damn incompetence at United Airways), my holiday begins tomorrow, and not today as planned.

Thank you for your patience, not turning homicidal, and have a pleasant day…

But this time it’s supposed to be fun.

I’m heading off for the UK tomorrow. Plans have been screwed with and rescrewed with over and over—and now I haven’t a clue as to what’s going to go on once there. But that doesn’t in anyway mean it cannot be fun. My camera is still not OK, as in the pesky little dust particles on the sensor causing odd blotches on the final images, so I don’t plan to take it on my trip. I will take my old, trusty one.

Of course, haven’t packed. Hell, I don’t even have the appropriate size bag. I don’t know what I plan on carrying with me. I don’t know what I should, and will probably need.

I just hope I’ve done the right amount of paperwork to be able to enter the countries, and more importantly enough to get back into this country once I’m done.

In a remarkably odd sequence of events, I ran into a math teacher of mine from undergrad at the conference I was just at. I thought I saw someone who looked vaguely familiar a day before, and the next day I walked up to her, clarified who she was, and re-introduced myself to her.

We ended up talking for a while about the going-ons.

Apparently, she’d taken a break from teaching for a couple of years and was pursuing some post doctoral research work, publishing at some mad rate and working for a guy nominated for a Nobel prize. I didn’t get to see her present her work because I left Vail before she was scheduled to give her talk. We were, I later found out, the first batch she’d taught, and yet she had little idea who I was. She referred to Pauk (apparently he discussed some “high level fluid mechanics” – oh yeah, Pauk, HAH!), Sandhya, and Sushanth of all people, but hello, I’m standing right here.

I’m a genius.

She was happy to find out people from our humble origins are making it big, financially and intellectually over here, and back home. I was irritated to find out a teacher can actually forget me. And then go on to refer to me as, “Oh, that guy in Sandhya’s batch.”

I mean, come on, they all love me.

I’m in Vail, Colorado at the moment. I want to find something horrid (and funny) to say about this place, but I can’t. It’s just ridiculously gorgeous. If you’ve seen Dumb and Dumber (set in Aspen I think), imagine something similar, but in the summer, complete with non-operational ski-lifts. Even though it’s warm, there are snow-capped peaks, lush green mountain sides, cool streams, and so much more. Even sunrise (at 4:30 AM or whatever) was just so pretty.

I’ve travelled a lot, and have been to other more (superlatively cool) mountainous areas, like the Himalayas, but this is, dare I say it?, comparable.

I’m taking some time now to take in the sights, and getting some much needed R&R in, but sequences of events leading upto this point weren’t always so pleasant or pleasurable. For starters, our flight out of home was delayed by a lot (due to mysterious reasons) and we ended up missing the connection to Vail. Now the next flight to Vail was at the same time, next day, so that would mean I would have missed my talk. So it was decided the people who were presenting carry on any-way-they-can, and the others turn back home, and we somehow got into another place a few hours away, Denver. This was at 1-2, early early morning. All rent-a-car places closed and hotels full, we end up taking a cab (for 240+ dollars) to Vail. Reach there at 4-5 in the morning. My talk being incomplete as usual, required me to stay awake from that point on until I actually spoke (some 11 in the morning). I finished it and spoke without passing out or being groggy. The room was huge, and packed. It went well.

Then I got back to my room, and crashed. Today I take in the sights. I deserve it.

Update: Where I’m at.

My face has been, oh, what’s the technical term for it?, breakoutey since just before MIT, and it hasn’t gotten any better since then. There have been no substantial changes in my diet, sleep patterns, exposure to dust, … . I’m beginning to think it’s me responding to stress. On the surface of course, I am never excited or even the least bit tense, but I think my inner self is getting crushed under quite a bit of intense pressure. The pressure to keep going up in front of large crowds, the pressure to not screw up, and the pressure to keep doing things at a rate I am not comfortable with, just to have something worth talking about.

And many unsuccessful scrubs, face masks, cleansers, patches and such later… nipplenose.

Now’s as good a time to get comfy with a concealer as any other.

I don’t want to think, I don’t want to work, I don’t want to prepare, I don’t want to talk, I don’t want to synchronize my trips to maximize time with family, I don’t want to feel guilty about not doing a good job at that, I don’t want to feel anything, I don’t want to travel, I don’t even want to plan my holiday — I just want to curl up, and sleep.

I know what you’re wondering. Just what is this guy doing with his life? Why does his web log suck so much? Has he lost the ability to be funny? Should I stop showing up and wasting my time?

Fear not, inquisitive one. All I do, is work.

And prepare for talks.

I leave for the next one day after. <sarcasm>Wopeee!</sarcasm>

Thank you for your E-mail.

Your Visa will cover the UK, i.e. England, Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland, the Channel Islands and the Isle of Man, but you may need a seperate[sic] Visa for the Republic of Ireland.

I would suggest you check with your nearest Irish Mission.

Great, now you tell me. There will be consequent reductions of some portions of my trip, or a rushed (less than a working week) attempt at obtaining said Republic of Ireland visa.

God damn it.

And oh, seperate is spelt separate. You’re mailing me from the UK consulate for crying out loud.

As you might expect, an elaborately worded, picture filled, profound exposé evoking much emotion and starring great acumen is in the works.

This is not that post. Make room for another run-of-the-mill statement-of-fact post you’ve gotten to know and love.

I got back yesterday from Cambridge, MA. It was awesome, as usual. The talk went off well, and thankfully, my turn to speak was scheduled on the first day, so I got to spend the rest of the week there with no real pressure.

Which means I had plenty of time to arbitrarily walk around and do stuff. And stuff I did. Nothing remarkable to report however.

Oddly enough, on the last evening there, I got to spend some time with a classmate of mine from highschool. I hadn’t seen him since then, and our lives had gotten on slightly different paths in that time. It was nice catching up, and getting to know a little bit about what’s going on with other people.

Much was said and agreed/disagreed upon.

However, one thing was exceptionally unequivocal and unanimous. The hottest (yes, superlative) women we’ve had the pleasure of being around were in school. Easily. One would naively assume, the more you travel around and the more you experience, the better things get in this regard.

Unfortunately, no, it’s all been seriously downhill from there. And gradient has been so sharp, it’s like some sort of carefully planned cruel joke.

Oh, that, and S failing Stanford quals was truly an event worth celebrating. It’s OK to be happy when bad things happen to annoying people.

The more hectic things get, the bigger my need to goof around gets. I’ve been working on characters for the comic again, and here’s part of a potential, to be based on Scooby’s Daphne Blake.

This drawing was created in Inkscape, with a touchpad.

There has been much confusion over the past few days. (Apart from being randomly assaulted by Mac zealots over my I told you sos, I mean). Since you’re all paying attention, you know my family is looming hereabouts, and occasionally request my presence — and the past few days were of that nature.

Let me prefix everything that follows by saying, I love them all, and being around them isn’t inherently a problem.

But,

I’ve had a ton of technical and intellectual issues keep cropping up recently, which has constantly been preventing me from getting any real work done (Like blowing my computer’s adapter and not being able to work on things from outside the lab). And having to be around everyone, uncharacteristically wound up about not-doing-anything, was a bit of a strain. And, I might have said some things that implied they were responsible — ensuring everyone felt plenty guilty.

I kick cute puppies for fun.

Needless to say, I ship off to M.I.T tomorrow, no real recent work done. God damn it.

You probably want to read part 1 of this monologue.

» What is the appropriate course of action when you accidently walk in on a “patron of the pornographic arts” really into what they’re watching?

This is probably a trick question. I mean, is there even a possibility that an appropriate course of action exists? Will something like, “Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t realize you were busy. I’ll umm… get back later… probably never.” cover it?

I don’t think so.

» What really is a woman’s take on the whole “getting stared at by a man” thing? I don’t even mean in a creepy-stalkery way. I just mean an involuntary reflex that’s more along the lines of adoration and admiration of a thing of beauty. All men do it, can’t help it, and don’t even really mean anything by it.

So just what is the woman’s take? Is it creepy and scary? Or could it possibly be conceived as some raw, unpolished, compliment.

» Do the mythical people you’d actually feel comfortable laughing about your insecurities with exist?

I mean, just this other day I said something stupid (I thought I was being super smooth, of course) and the woman goes “Oh, you must be a very sexual person”. And I, having an incessant need to complete her sentence, in my driest sarcastic voice go, “Yeah, either that or I’m twenty odd year old, exceptionally inexperienced, and extremely sexually frustrated.”

Needless to say, there were many awkward silences post that. Wouldn’t it be nice if you found someone who you could laugh with about these sorts of things?

» Honestly, how high does “being a good provider” fall on the checklist of things women probably look for in a mate?

Come on, you can go right ahead and say it — “Provider? Hah! It’s OK if you bum off me and live in a trailer if you look half as good as Brad Pitt”.

That’s it, isn’t it?

My family is around, and my tiny home surprisingly fit everyone for a few days. But this post doesn’t exist to talk about that.

While almost everyone, and definitely all the mac zealots, are foaming at the mouth, fainting, feeling betrayed and declaring war on their beloved Steve Jobs, I am loving the new direction the “world’s most innovative computer company” is going. I applaud you Apple. You’ve finally won me over. I am eager to “make the switch”. I resisted the Imac, Itunes and even the very sexy Ipod, but the concept of a sleek Powerbook running a polished Unix powered by Intel goodness — cue profuse salivation — just blows my mind.

The naysayers will try to remind you of how going Intel is a surefire way to commit corporate suicide. You know what? They’re probably right. I don’t care if Apple goes down the drain as a result of this change, all I know is that over the next year or so, they’re bound to come up with a super sexy titanium Powerbook powered by an x86 processor, and I will own one. After which the company can go down the drain for all I care.

Two key quotes:

“Intel plans to provide industry leading development tools support for Apple later this year, including the Intel C/C++ Compiler for Apple, Intel Fortran Compiler for Apple, Intel Math Kernel Libraries for Apple and Intel Integrated Performance Primitives for Apple.”

and

“Jobs introduces Wolfram’s CEO, who said they ported Mathematica 5 to Intel-based Macs in 2 hours. Working version in 2 hours flat. Only about 20 lines of code changed.”

And honestly, that’s all I care about.

Background: I’ve been on the lookout for a laptop to replace my aging 7 lb monster, and my choices had boiled down to between an Apple Powerbook and an IBM Thinkpad. The Powerbook, though sexy and slim, was still non-x86. And I was not too keen on an using an architecture with evil endianness. (I’ve had a computer since I was two (1982), and in all that time, only one of those computers has been a non Intel x86 machine (a random Casio non-IBM compatible PC). Old habits die hard.)

Anyone who’s anyone (meaning anyone who cares to know) knows by now that Apple is switching from IBM to Intel as their chip vendor for future products. I for one don’t feel too sorry for IBM, as they’ve nabbed the deals to supply processors for all of major next generation consoles. The XBox360’s core, the PS3’s cell and the Revolution’s gekko. The volumes they will see there will clearly dwarf the business Apple was (and would have been) giving them, and no one at IBM need be too worried.