Plants

Are uncontrolled experiments. Too many unknown variables (Water, soil, drainage, nutrients, pot size, insects, temperature, species, mood...! ) in too complex a system composed of too many parts and too many materials and chemicals (it is a Plant).

It is comforting that I have better control in the clean room. Known, controlled variables of humidity, temperature (and you name it) in a simple system, heck, a simple element (silicon!) or compound (Gallium Arsenide).

But if my plant starts dying, I can look up the Internet for tips to further try to manage this complex system. If the device I make dies, I scratch my head. And scratch my head. Gardeners across the world are smarter than this PhD student.

'Lazy' days of summer

Summer goes too fast, and when Phaedrus is in town, the speedometer breaks.
Last week we did the following, in the stated chronological order:
Work, visit friends for dinner, work, watch Ice Age : Dawn of the Dinosaurs in 3D.
Work, visit the Eno River Festival and get our caricatures drawn, work.
Work, go to an American Dance Festival concert and watch a drag performance of Beyonce's All the Single Ladies, played an hour of Table Tennis.
Work, listen to the Army Jazz band on Corcoran Street, visit a Hindu temple and unexpectedly attend a Satyanarayan Puja, watch Howards End (quite a jump from pious Hindu godly thoughts).
Work, go to the mall and buy supplies from Target for a weekend-out-of-town trip, work.
Work (and finally get experimental results and submit a grant proposal....in two separate unrelated events), experience the Duke Immersive Virtual Enviroment cube, go to Target to finish shopping, go to Dain's Place with friends.
Drive to the Outer Banks, mull over the genius of the Wright brothers, beach around, watch "The Lost Colony", an outdoor drama in its 72nd year, wonder how many lakhs/crores of rupees would be needed to start and run an outdoor theater in India.
Climb up the shifting sand dunes of the Jockey's Ridge State park (is it the beach, or is it a desert?), climb up the 268 steps to the top of the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse (and NOT pant, Hurray!), go the the Graveyard of the Atlantic museum (the museum is pretending hard to not be a Graveyard.) Take the ferry to Ocracoke, beach around.
Go parasailing at 1200 feet (that was it?), watch a Kite Flying festival, drive back from the Outerbanks, eat substandard garlicky Indo-Chinese food for the umpteenth time (we never learn), watch a crappy Bollywood movie while burping out garlicky burps.

Pass out.

Very Difficult

To believe in the inherent good in people.
Aren't some just born evil?

Light

...at the end of my laser converted into bits, captured, stored, backed-up, plotted, graphed and printed out. It works. It works.

A silver, or in this case, infrared lining, to a dark cloud is always a good thing.

More Excuses

It's raining cats, dogs and thunderstorms, and I already got drenched once.
So, biking will have to wait for sunnier days.

No excuses left

The cat's eye is installed
The rear reflector is now set.
The batteries are charged.
Tire pressure seems right.
The ambient temperature is conveniently 76 degrees.
The sun makes me squint just the right amount.

No excuses left,
To ride my bike.

Envying the plants on the other side of the fence

Why, oh why,
Do I want a garden so green?
I turn green looking at my neighbor's garden,
And my garden turns brown with shame.

Depressed Bird/ Dumb Bird? Suicidal Bird!

My colleague A- and I, walking from one building to another on-campus, came across a bird. Sort of looked like a pigeon, but we weren't sure. A sitting duck would be a more apt description.

It was on the road, leaning against the edge of the side walk. We walked a foot past it, and it did not budge. Both A and I noticed it, but it did not register in my head till A- said...Woah that is one calm bird. So we stopped. A- touched Bird, but it did not seem to care. No shaking, no palpitating chest.

A- and I circled it twisting our heads this way and that. Was it injured? Was it pregnant? Was Bird suffering from mid-life crisis? Maybe it was just lazy. Maybe it had brain surgery done to it in the lab next door, and had escaped. There were no signs of injury. Very strange. Maybe Bird was just sick, maybe just ate too much for lunch and couldn't move (I know that happens to Phaedrus, but he is human). I also nudged it a bit, and I could swear it gave me a look of utter boredom.

I tried to call a friend who knew about birds (same brain surgery lab ), but couldn't get through, so we were like...okay, guess there is nothing we can do. Sorry, Bird.

Just at that moment, a truck Roared past it. Barely 2 feet away. In fact, we quickly jumped on the sidewalk because we saw the truck coming. Bird did not Move. Not an inch. This Bird was dimwitted ! A crazy, suicidal Bird! That was it. I started pestering A- to pick up Bird from the road and put it on the sidewalk. Since it appeared that I was more scared to pick it up than he was, he agreed.

A- goes and puts his hand on Bird and about to pluck it off the ground, when it takes off and flies away, like any normal self-respecting Bird.

What a birdbrain.

Fighting with Uncle Sam

It took two PhD students a cumulative of 10 hours to Not complete a federal tax return and two state tax returns over the weekend. Phaedrus and I have to file joint state tax returns for 2 states as we are residents of 2 different states, and North Carolina tax instructions are umm, not very clear. So much so, that even TurboTax did some totally whacky calculations and confused us for another 3 hours. How did that get THAT fraction?...we tried every permutation and combination, till we figured that it had got it wrong as well.

After having taken turns nudging each other awake from falling asleep over the forms, we finally called it quits at 4.00 in the morning, broken and defeated by Uncle Sam. Phaedrus, exhausted, cursing my home-state, had a sound, dreamless sleep; I saw line instructions and arithmetic all night. I woke up and zombied over to the computer and tax forms blindly staring at them for another hour first thing in the morning, before Phaedrus came to check if I had died or something sitting in my chair.

Hilarity

After a colleague announced to others in a meeting today that I have a "hilarious" blog, I am forced to fulfill the adjective describing this blog. Here goes.

Playing to the Gallery

Surely you do not think me to be a bad piano
A bad piano throws up when one bangs down on it
I only sputter.

You say, I am off-tune?
Is that your fault or mine or his?

On the other hand, I think you shouldn't sit where you are, up there.
Forcing me to be louder to reach your discerning ears.
I am an instrument, you know,
Not a vocal chord.

On the other hand, vocal chords strain more than I am straining.
What would you do then, compare them to a bad piano?
Like me?

Sob.