Since that's all the engineering education I'm really using at work these days, I figured I could get some creativity out of this.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Ctrl C + Ctrl V
They are, undoubtedly, the most powerful keyboard shortcuts known to the human species.
Since that's all the engineering education I'm really using at work these days, I figured I could get some creativity out of this.
Since that's all the engineering education I'm really using at work these days, I figured I could get some creativity out of this.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Experiments in Madness...
...and the blog-source HTML.
I will not shut down this blog and put up the 'Under Maintainance' sign.
Simply because I don't know how to.
Over the next few hours/days/weeks, the page will most likely undergo several surgeries/mutations and turn out totally awkward and funny and not too (I hope) nauseating looking.
I will not shut down this blog and put up the 'Under Maintainance' sign.
Simply because I don't know how to.
Over the next few hours/days/weeks, the page will most likely undergo several surgeries/mutations and turn out totally awkward and funny and not too (I hope) nauseating looking.
Dork-hood
I am currently on an online apartment searching spree. My friends know that. When some of them enquired how it was going, I said that it was coming along, and that I had my excel sheet with at least 10 entries. I had columns for the apartment name, price, features, deposit/application requirements, address, contact info, distance from work, etc.
For some reason, they cracked up.
After some brainstorming, I thought I understood.
For some reason, they cracked up.
After some brainstorming, I thought I understood.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The Microwave Effect
It was cold this morning.
Waiting at the bus stop, bundled up in my 3 coats and jackets, I felt my body slowly disappear.
When I sat down in the blissfully warm bus, I felt like I was defrosting.
Waiting at the bus stop, bundled up in my 3 coats and jackets, I felt my body slowly disappear.
When I sat down in the blissfully warm bus, I felt like I was defrosting.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Fixations
Another thought just struck me regarding Jhumpa Lahiri.
She's like the Freud of Indian-American literature. Freud talked extensively about oral fixations, until somebody wisely pointed out the cigar he always had in his mouth. And the smartest thing he could come up with was "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar".
Referring to my previous observation (April 19th), someone could just Ms. Lahiri that sometimes, a slipper is just a slipper.
She's like the Freud of Indian-American literature. Freud talked extensively about oral fixations, until somebody wisely pointed out the cigar he always had in his mouth. And the smartest thing he could come up with was "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar".
Referring to my previous observation (April 19th), someone could just Ms. Lahiri that sometimes, a slipper is just a slipper.
Nonsense Actually
So I was right. Love Actually is a slimy, cheesy, corny, worthless movie. Except for perhaps two decent scenes.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Last one today, I promise
So when I took the GRE, they (refers to vague authority figures that manifested themselves to me in the form of official-looking terms and conditions) made me promise that I would never-ever divulge the contents of the test to anyone. I forget what the consequences are.
What I hated about that test was ... well - more than just one thing, but I'm too lazy to go back and change the beginning of the sentence to refer to plural quantities. I hated that test. It was awful. The verbal section in particular. Being tested on words that any sane engineering student (I know none of them really are, but this is a figure of speech) would never encounter in his/her life, is completely bizarre. There was one particular word, the spelling of which fascinated me, because it didn't even make sense. It seemed to defy the logic of vowels being separated by consonants in normal English words. I thought I would do something special the day I came across it - which would probably be never.
And guess what, here it was today, in one of the Gilmore Girls episodes. Used not once, twice, thrice (yes, I insist on using that word), but at least 8 times.
Am I doubting my harsh judgement about the usefulness of the GRE? Not really. Most engineers don't come across words like that. And when we do, dictionary.com is only a click away.
What I hated about that test was ... well - more than just one thing, but I'm too lazy to go back and change the beginning of the sentence to refer to plural quantities. I hated that test. It was awful. The verbal section in particular. Being tested on words that any sane engineering student (I know none of them really are, but this is a figure of speech) would never encounter in his/her life, is completely bizarre. There was one particular word, the spelling of which fascinated me, because it didn't even make sense. It seemed to defy the logic of vowels being separated by consonants in normal English words. I thought I would do something special the day I came across it - which would probably be never.
And guess what, here it was today, in one of the Gilmore Girls episodes. Used not once, twice, thrice (yes, I insist on using that word), but at least 8 times.
Am I doubting my harsh judgement about the usefulness of the GRE? Not really. Most engineers don't come across words like that. And when we do, dictionary.com is only a click away.
Unaccustomed Earth and Other Viruses the World doesn't know about
Jhumpa Lahiri. Pretty woman. No really - her picture on the back of my library copy kept me intrigued each time I shut the book, inwardly cursing her.
Actually, she's a great writer. She has poise. She has style. She looks it.
I loved the Interpreter of Maladies. I even thought the Namesake was decent, although the story had nothing to do with the name of the book, and it seemed to me like she was given an impossible deadline by her publishers to declare a name for her book, which she did, with the plot only half-formed in her head, and when she realized after 3 chapters of writing it that it was really lame, she continued writing anyway, taking the story on its rightful course, trying till the end to make the name of the book relate to the story, and failed. But it was still a good read, if I completely ignored the title. And they say what's in a name.
She has talent. But Oh My God - she's depressing.
I think I would be scared to know her as a person, knowing that she was analyzing my every move, interpreting every action as being and meaning something deeper, darker, sinister, pointing like glow-rods towards my guilt. So if I were to randomly declare that I always wear slippers, (not that I would, because that would be rather silly) she would make it seem like I was one of those girls who was trained to keep her feet clean on the cold bare floors of Indian houses, and craved the feeling of rubber against my sole even when none was required on All-American-Carpeted floors, even though the simple explanation could just be that I just wore slippers because the dogs butt-rubbed themselves all over the carpets.
Even that's all right. But really, she's running out of content. Every story reads the same now. Newly married couple from India moves to the US. They have a tough life. Then they have kids. And the kids are totally screwed up and confused ABCDs. Meanwhile, the parents think back to the lives they left behind. Their parents. Who get sick and die and/or crave their children's company, children who left them to chase fame, fortunes, and Ford-Escorts.
Okay, so I'm not pigeon-holing her. She adds variety. Sometimes, it is just one guy who moves from India (Calcutta actually) and finds an american woman and marries her. And then they have kids. And the kids are totally screwed up and confused half-ABCDs. Etc. etc.
Pain, misery, home-sickness, guilt. And that is Ms. Lahiri's range of experiences for her characters.
Somebody needs to introduce her to the AerOnion.
Actually, she's a great writer. She has poise. She has style. She looks it.
I loved the Interpreter of Maladies. I even thought the Namesake was decent, although the story had nothing to do with the name of the book, and it seemed to me like she was given an impossible deadline by her publishers to declare a name for her book, which she did, with the plot only half-formed in her head, and when she realized after 3 chapters of writing it that it was really lame, she continued writing anyway, taking the story on its rightful course, trying till the end to make the name of the book relate to the story, and failed. But it was still a good read, if I completely ignored the title. And they say what's in a name.
She has talent. But Oh My God - she's depressing.
I think I would be scared to know her as a person, knowing that she was analyzing my every move, interpreting every action as being and meaning something deeper, darker, sinister, pointing like glow-rods towards my guilt. So if I were to randomly declare that I always wear slippers, (not that I would, because that would be rather silly) she would make it seem like I was one of those girls who was trained to keep her feet clean on the cold bare floors of Indian houses, and craved the feeling of rubber against my sole even when none was required on All-American-Carpeted floors, even though the simple explanation could just be that I just wore slippers because the dogs butt-rubbed themselves all over the carpets.
Even that's all right. But really, she's running out of content. Every story reads the same now. Newly married couple from India moves to the US. They have a tough life. Then they have kids. And the kids are totally screwed up and confused ABCDs. Meanwhile, the parents think back to the lives they left behind. Their parents. Who get sick and die and/or crave their children's company, children who left them to chase fame, fortunes, and Ford-Escorts.
Okay, so I'm not pigeon-holing her. She adds variety. Sometimes, it is just one guy who moves from India (Calcutta actually) and finds an american woman and marries her. And then they have kids. And the kids are totally screwed up and confused half-ABCDs. Etc. etc.
Pain, misery, home-sickness, guilt. And that is Ms. Lahiri's range of experiences for her characters.
Somebody needs to introduce her to the AerOnion.
Belated Babblings
I have been away from my blog for too long. And I intend to make up for it, by posting a gazillion posts right now while I'm in the mood, free, procrastinating actually, high on a klondike oreo-flavored ice-cream square, I'm sorry, cuboid, oh no, it really should be parallelopiped. I wonder if that is like forgetting to drink water all day and making up for it by drinking a liter before going to bed. I do it all the time. Which makes me think that it works. Whatever.
I am finally comfortable where I am. I have discovered the perfect number of pillows to keep me propped up while I lazily sit in front of the genius-box (euphemism for a laptop, take on the idiot-box for the less-literally inclined), watching episodes of Gilmore Girls, a new found addiction, random movies from the library, such as Love Actually, a movie that I'm actually giving a second chance to, trying to find out if I have become (theoretically) less cynical about the movie, because I hated it the first time, and while I have the tissue box, my water bottle, my phone, and the light switch perfectly positioned within arm's reach so I can be a non-conformist and save up my calories. Just wonderful.
I was checked in the seventh grade for run-on sentences. So nice to not have peer evaluations of your writing on your own blog. Aha!
Too bad I'd better start planning to uproot this comfortable-ity right about now.
Yippie.
I am finally comfortable where I am. I have discovered the perfect number of pillows to keep me propped up while I lazily sit in front of the genius-box (euphemism for a laptop, take on the idiot-box for the less-literally inclined), watching episodes of Gilmore Girls, a new found addiction, random movies from the library, such as Love Actually, a movie that I'm actually giving a second chance to, trying to find out if I have become (theoretically) less cynical about the movie, because I hated it the first time, and while I have the tissue box, my water bottle, my phone, and the light switch perfectly positioned within arm's reach so I can be a non-conformist and save up my calories. Just wonderful.
I was checked in the seventh grade for run-on sentences. So nice to not have peer evaluations of your writing on your own blog. Aha!
Too bad I'd better start planning to uproot this comfortable-ity right about now.
Yippie.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
New Beginnings
This morning, I woke up, and I felt like something was missing. I thought - maybe, just maybe, the love was finally gone.
What a relief.
What a relief.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
What makes things un-funny
'I've lost my voice', I whispered hoarsely for the tenth time in the past hour. The coffee girl behind the counter laughed. A few hours ago, I would have laughed with her. However, pulling out my little notebook, I quickly jotted down my order and showed it to her. As I walked away, I had a distinct feeling that the whole thing was taking on the air of something quite unpleasant.
Earlier, at the pharmacy, a note about my condition made the pharmacist exclaim - 'There is NOTHING that can bring your voice back!' I'd given him a thumbs up and walked out.
I'm not usually very talkative. Unless I'm surrounded by people who are lower down on the talkative scale than I am, which leads me to talk 2-3 times more than I normally would to keep the silence and awkwardness at bay.
The flu seemed harmless at first. Modern, easily accessible medicine kept the symptoms under cover, and I functioned normally. Towards the end of the week, a tadpole in my throat was born, and quickly grew to take on its role as a full fledged working-frog. Alistair MacLean described this condition succinctly in one of his books, when the hero sounded like a toad or a frog with bronchitis.
Even though the prospect of taking flash cards to work on Monday seemed amusing at first, I don't think I can do it anymore.
What makes things less amusing? Fear. Fear of what? Death. What brings on fear? Old age.
Earlier, at the pharmacy, a note about my condition made the pharmacist exclaim - 'There is NOTHING that can bring your voice back!' I'd given him a thumbs up and walked out.
I'm not usually very talkative. Unless I'm surrounded by people who are lower down on the talkative scale than I am, which leads me to talk 2-3 times more than I normally would to keep the silence and awkwardness at bay.
The flu seemed harmless at first. Modern, easily accessible medicine kept the symptoms under cover, and I functioned normally. Towards the end of the week, a tadpole in my throat was born, and quickly grew to take on its role as a full fledged working-frog. Alistair MacLean described this condition succinctly in one of his books, when the hero sounded like a toad or a frog with bronchitis.
Even though the prospect of taking flash cards to work on Monday seemed amusing at first, I don't think I can do it anymore.
What makes things less amusing? Fear. Fear of what? Death. What brings on fear? Old age.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)