Chapter 17 - Training the Pigs
1 year ago
Friday, May 25, 2007
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Monday, April 16, 2007
The Jewel Song
(No, I'm not high, skip to the end if for a full explanation)
Delmar Rangel can't to followeth Jewel escort on,The colatitude excrescent always do replete Jewel.
Always commercial they breakpoint stringent judiciary today squibb.
Today, I mignon disjunct own this judiciary
Jewel do offend of formatted forsythe caviness love squibb.
Exploit Jewel,
I captor time
Qatar regular hermitian thought triangulate.
On, with kingston evelyn was me,
Legislature Jewel can't concertina of commercial bronx bloodline
They songbook.
Thought Blanca,
Sands why ape Jewel judiciary of,
On evelyn zeta do this addison Jewel
A mignon they dane cadmium mucilage thought bronx.
Of, why ecology granulate thought this songbook Jewel
I Paris Jewel can't cell own functorial,
Benedikt gilchrist love option.
A sample of some of the spam I recieve, formatted by me but otherwise untouched. Though Gmail kindly dumps all of this into a spam folder for me, once in a while prompted by sheer boredom, I go through some of my spam.
Looking at the sheer volumes of spam that's going around, it's pretty obvious that most of it is being generated automatically rather than being manually typed out as was the case with 'traditional' spam. What fascinates me is how they manage to generate the stuff. They are obvoiusly using some algorithm to generate the text so as to make it look like it is meaningful.
One such possible way of doing that, which I came across was using second order hidden markov models (and they were talking about it in the context of protein structure prediction). If this is the kind of shit being used, it makes me wonder why spammers don't get real jobs!
Anywho, my semester exams have started (I had my first one today). Statistics is over and done with (hence the hidden markov models) and now only about a dozen left before they let me go home. Til' then.
Ps. Confusion, do a google image search for "Falcon tubes" you'll see what the alleged 'condom' actually was, I'm feeling too lazy to put a picture up right now.
Looking at the sheer volumes of spam that's going around, it's pretty obvious that most of it is being generated automatically rather than being manually typed out as was the case with 'traditional' spam. What fascinates me is how they manage to generate the stuff. They are obvoiusly using some algorithm to generate the text so as to make it look like it is meaningful.
One such possible way of doing that, which I came across was using second order hidden markov models (and they were talking about it in the context of protein structure prediction). If this is the kind of shit being used, it makes me wonder why spammers don't get real jobs!
Anywho, my semester exams have started (I had my first one today). Statistics is over and done with (hence the hidden markov models) and now only about a dozen left before they let me go home. Til' then.
Ps. Confusion, do a google image search for "Falcon tubes" you'll see what the alleged 'condom' actually was, I'm feeling too lazy to put a picture up right now.
Monday, April 02, 2007
I'd LIke to Thank
...My parents, the academy and my legions of fans without whom, none of this would have ever been possible. Of course I'd like to thank god, my great seaven headed, fish scaled, cloven hooved god who has always attempted to sabotage my every endevour. Oh yes, I'd like to thank Aunty, the ever Helpful Dictator for actually tagging me with the "Thinking Blogger Award".
The award has a few simple rules:
The award has a few simple rules:
Thinking meme
If you choose to carry this meme forward, remember to tag only those bloggers who stimulate your cortex....or something like that. Please make sure you pass the rules to the blogs you are tagging.
2.Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme The Thinking Blogger Award
Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' (if you should ever want to find it, I'm putting up on my blog in the sidebar to the left of you)
<--
The five blogs that I've linked to are:1. Confusion's Poetry Blog
2. Indian Lucifer's Blog
3. Nothingman's Stories
4. The Ainz Years
5. Thus I Spake
Friday, March 30, 2007
The Beautiful People (Third Installment)
For everyone who has just stumbled across my blog, this is the third installment of the Beautiful people series. In the previous installment, I had crusaded against the villians at Lux, manufacturers of the 'Collagen Soap'. Now, more than four months after I took up arms against the corporate machine, I am finally in a position to see just how much truth there is to their claims. We were planning to run a PAGE, basically a molecular biology technique to (apart from other things) visualise the protein content in a solution. One clumsy classmate of mine, managed to spill most of the cell lysate. Since we had little solution and spare wells (Scientific term: IGNORE), my roomate and I, scrambled to find wierd thing in the lab that could contain protein, to run them in the gel. I had the bright idea of running a solution of Lux (Uplifting Firm) to see if there really is any protein in it.
 | My roomate and I, hard at work, trying to save an ignorant world from the clutches of the Evil Western Capitalist Actually we're just goofing off in the lab, the tube was empty and temporarily appropriated for the photo |
Anywho, this procedure will take till tomorrow before we know anything. Even though I don't expect to see any protein in the sample, even if there is any, don't be disheartened, the soap can't work and I've outlined why in the previous installement of this series.
Monday, March 19, 2007
Man On The Edge
You stand on a small bit of dry dusty earth, the only patch allowed to you. Thirty thousand pairs of feet stand like you on their allotted areas. A shove, displaces you from your territory, you in turn crash into one of your numerous neighbors and invade their area. This domino effect creates a minor ripple diffuses slowly through the throng, till it dies down. You crane your neck high, your nose, in vain seeks out a few milliliters of fresh air, air free of the humid stench of sweat, nicotine and grass. A damp arm presses against yours and someone rests their weight on your shoulders, you rest your weight on someones shoulders too. It's a dark night and the powerful spot-lights fail to penetrate the mass of the crowd. You struggle to raise your hand to your face, an inch from your nose, you inspect it to check if you still have all your fingers on, its been a while since you lost all feeling in that arm. The other arm is held above your head, a glowing red firefly periodically descends towards your mouth, only to be chased away by a stream of thick smoke.
But the crowds tire now. Someone somewhere propels an inflated condom your way, with screams of glee, you and dozens of others around you reach up to be able to direct it further along its erratic Brownian path.
Your throat is parched from hours in the sun, washed down with a dozen cigarettes, your body is soaking with perspiration and you wish it was the other way around.
A searing pain has begun shooting through one leg, forcing you to shift your weight. Around you, a slow, persistent trickle of people head back, towards the promise a drink and a chance to sit.
But then, a slight breeze flits across the field and all around you, people close their eyes and arch their necks further still, trying to expose as much of themselves as they can to it's healing touch.
Then as the breeze begins to die down, the lights dim to the accompaniments of a loud roar from the assembled hordes and a deep loud voice is echoes.
The flickering lights rest momentarily on your neighbors face and you find the same ecstatic, trance-like expression that you bear reflected on her face too.
As the six, work their way through the set, your body forgets all the pain, the dehydration and discomfort. Your hands pound away above your head and your head, bangs in unison with the drums. When they jump, you jump, when they sing, you scream. For an hour, you respond to their every signal, their every whim, their every command.
And when its all over, you stand dumbfounded, surely not already? You wait expectantly for it to start all over again, just like the empty upended bottle of beer, you wait for the last few drops to come trickling down but they never do. People as shocked as you shove at you as they head away, but you remain rooted to your spot, the you waited your whole life to be in and the spot where you will remain for the rest of your short life.
On the 17th, for the first time ever in India, Iron Maiden played at the Palace Grounds and I was there. Even a few month if someone had told me I would be within a hundred feet of the beast, I'd have called them mad. But the day before, thats exactly where I was, I head-banged to 'Trooper', I screamed my way through 'Two Minutes To Midnight' and all of my other favourites. And of-course, after what seems like decades of envying the crowd while listening to live versions of 'Fear of the Dark' on CD's, I too, yes, me. I, Kartik Rajan, sang Fear of the Dark, live, with Iron bloody Maiden.
But the crowds tire now. Someone somewhere propels an inflated condom your way, with screams of glee, you and dozens of others around you reach up to be able to direct it further along its erratic Brownian path.
Your throat is parched from hours in the sun, washed down with a dozen cigarettes, your body is soaking with perspiration and you wish it was the other way around.
A searing pain has begun shooting through one leg, forcing you to shift your weight. Around you, a slow, persistent trickle of people head back, towards the promise a drink and a chance to sit.
But then, a slight breeze flits across the field and all around you, people close their eyes and arch their necks further still, trying to expose as much of themselves as they can to it's healing touch.
Then as the breeze begins to die down, the lights dim to the accompaniments of a loud roar from the assembled hordes and a deep loud voice is echoes.
“Woe to thee o' earth and sea, for the devil sends the beast with wrath, for he knows the time is short.
Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of the beast,
For it is a human number,
Its number is six-hundred-and-sixty-six.”
And the crowd goes wild as simultaneously, six of the devil's own explode into action on stage, from the minute the opening chords are struck till the last dying note, thirty thousand odd throats shriek in unison in hellish glee.Let him who hath understanding reckon the number of the beast,
For it is a human number,
Its number is six-hundred-and-sixty-six.”
The flickering lights rest momentarily on your neighbors face and you find the same ecstatic, trance-like expression that you bear reflected on her face too.
As the six, work their way through the set, your body forgets all the pain, the dehydration and discomfort. Your hands pound away above your head and your head, bangs in unison with the drums. When they jump, you jump, when they sing, you scream. For an hour, you respond to their every signal, their every whim, their every command.
And when its all over, you stand dumbfounded, surely not already? You wait expectantly for it to start all over again, just like the empty upended bottle of beer, you wait for the last few drops to come trickling down but they never do. People as shocked as you shove at you as they head away, but you remain rooted to your spot, the you waited your whole life to be in and the spot where you will remain for the rest of your short life.
On the 17th, for the first time ever in India, Iron Maiden played at the Palace Grounds and I was there. Even a few month if someone had told me I would be within a hundred feet of the beast, I'd have called them mad. But the day before, thats exactly where I was, I head-banged to 'Trooper', I screamed my way through 'Two Minutes To Midnight' and all of my other favourites. And of-course, after what seems like decades of envying the crowd while listening to live versions of 'Fear of the Dark' on CD's, I too, yes, me. I, Kartik Rajan, sang Fear of the Dark, live, with Iron bloody Maiden.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Viral Memetic
In 1876, a young girl named Jenn was walking down a river, an insane man killed her by stabbing her in the back, raping her, and then hanging her in his closet. While he hanged her he said Bukakke Bukkake.
Now that you have read this message, she will find you and her dead body will haunt your house for 5 years. Every night you go to sleep she will appear in your closet, hanging their with her glowing red eyes.
repost 3 times to be saved
(Flicked off a comment to a youtube video.)
Unlike what the title of the post suggests, it won't require you to repost it on your own blog, identifying for the further propagation of the post.
In his book 'The Selfish Gene', Richard Dawkins, describes memes as any idea, capable of propagating itself, rather any idea is a meme, its ability to propagate is merely a measure of its fitness. The fittest memes are those capable of spreading without undergoing too much change. Just like the catchy tune that you hear someone humming and then feel compelled to hum, inspiring someone else to pick up the tune and so on ad infinitum.
Unfortunately not all memes are that simple, the most commonly circulating ones like the one above, actively promote their proliferation actively, either through threats or by promising you some crap or the other.
Some of the first chain E-mails I came across were in the days when I still used Hotmail, they were allegedly from Bill Gates no less, informing me that due tho the fact that Hotmail was running out of space, their staff were axing unused accounts. Only by forwarding that particular E-mail would I be able to save my account from the same fate. Apparently Hotmail was unable to detect account usage, unless that mail in particular was forwarded. The same thing happens, much to my irritation on Orkut and I've had to drop some rather nasty scraps to those responsible for forwarding those messages to me.
The possibilities for using this power of memes for commercial means has not been lost on people either, viral marketing, uses strong memes to spread the word and create 'buzz' around a particular product.
For the last few days I've been receiving E-mails from my friends, via a site, tagged.com. It invites me to join their social network, reminding me that if I ignore the mail, it may send the wrong message to my friends who have invited me. The line in their mail “Please respond or ****** may think you said no :(“ made me see visions of the friend sitting expectantly at the computer, waiting expectantly for E-mail confirmation that I had indeed joined and I was truly their friend.
I resisted joining for two reasons, the first being that their style of trying to entice me to join rubbed me the wrong way and secondly since I'm already on Orkut, why would I need another networking site on which to ignore my friends.
(Digression – Seriously, there are waay too many of these social networking sites around. I started out on Hi5 then switched to Orkut, in the middle I experimented with Shuzak (networking for geeks) and after that stubbornly refused the temptations of anything else like Zorpia and a whole host of other wierdly named sites. I can't understand WHY there have to be so many of them and why do people need to use so many of them at the same time?)
(Coming back now...) So after I got a bunch of mails from friends, begging, nay, pleading with me to join them at tagged.com. So I gave in and tried it out. Like the damned fool that I am, I allowed it to import my Gmail inbox and then like a jackass, while I was trying to uncheck the two-hundred odd addresses that the site threatened to send mails to, I accidentally hit enter. Bugger! Now a whole bunch of people including some very uptight senior professors (who I've never even met, but mailed at some time or the other) have been requested to sign up.
Now, I'm going to have to write a whole bunch of mails apologising to various people for it.
Now I realise it was entirely my fault, but I can't help feeling pissed with the site for having put me in the position in the first place. Orkut on the other hand, very unobtrusively invites you to invite a select few individuals to join you on Orkut.
And that's why I'm all worked up about memes at the moment, unlike the more interesting ones I come across from time to time, this shite is more like a virus spreading through inboxes, two hundred addresses at a time.
So heres my humble (hardly) request to every one out there;
“This is not like the ring, if you don't forward to a gazillion other people, you aren't going to die, fall on bad luck and conversely if you DO succumb, you are NOT going to get the cute chick around the corner, your acne won't clear up, you won't suddenly get cleverer. The only thing that's going to happen is that you are going to waste a few minutes of your time, multiply that by the time you waste of everyone you forward it to and all the people they forward it to and so on. Now think if all that time were utilized for something productive, maybe we could re-plant the rain-forests or something like that.
Now that you have read this post, comment on it or your your arse will catch fire and you will be unlucky in love.
If you post one comment, your biggest wish will come true
If you comment twice, your biggest wish will come true and you will become immensely rich. Unless that was your original, biggest wish, in that case, both your biggest and second biggest wish will come true.
If you comment thrice, I will reply.
Cheers!
Now that you have read this message, she will find you and her dead body will haunt your house for 5 years. Every night you go to sleep she will appear in your closet, hanging their with her glowing red eyes.
repost 3 times to be saved
(Flicked off a comment to a youtube video.)
Unlike what the title of the post suggests, it won't require you to repost it on your own blog, identifying for the further propagation of the post.
In his book 'The Selfish Gene', Richard Dawkins, describes memes as any idea, capable of propagating itself, rather any idea is a meme, its ability to propagate is merely a measure of its fitness. The fittest memes are those capable of spreading without undergoing too much change. Just like the catchy tune that you hear someone humming and then feel compelled to hum, inspiring someone else to pick up the tune and so on ad infinitum.
Unfortunately not all memes are that simple, the most commonly circulating ones like the one above, actively promote their proliferation actively, either through threats or by promising you some crap or the other.
Some of the first chain E-mails I came across were in the days when I still used Hotmail, they were allegedly from Bill Gates no less, informing me that due tho the fact that Hotmail was running out of space, their staff were axing unused accounts. Only by forwarding that particular E-mail would I be able to save my account from the same fate. Apparently Hotmail was unable to detect account usage, unless that mail in particular was forwarded. The same thing happens, much to my irritation on Orkut and I've had to drop some rather nasty scraps to those responsible for forwarding those messages to me.
The possibilities for using this power of memes for commercial means has not been lost on people either, viral marketing, uses strong memes to spread the word and create 'buzz' around a particular product.
For the last few days I've been receiving E-mails from my friends, via a site, tagged.com. It invites me to join their social network, reminding me that if I ignore the mail, it may send the wrong message to my friends who have invited me. The line in their mail “Please respond or ****** may think you said no :(“ made me see visions of the friend sitting expectantly at the computer, waiting expectantly for E-mail confirmation that I had indeed joined and I was truly their friend.
I resisted joining for two reasons, the first being that their style of trying to entice me to join rubbed me the wrong way and secondly since I'm already on Orkut, why would I need another networking site on which to ignore my friends.
(Digression – Seriously, there are waay too many of these social networking sites around. I started out on Hi5 then switched to Orkut, in the middle I experimented with Shuzak (networking for geeks) and after that stubbornly refused the temptations of anything else like Zorpia and a whole host of other wierdly named sites. I can't understand WHY there have to be so many of them and why do people need to use so many of them at the same time?)
(Coming back now...) So after I got a bunch of mails from friends, begging, nay, pleading with me to join them at tagged.com. So I gave in and tried it out. Like the damned fool that I am, I allowed it to import my Gmail inbox and then like a jackass, while I was trying to uncheck the two-hundred odd addresses that the site threatened to send mails to, I accidentally hit enter. Bugger! Now a whole bunch of people including some very uptight senior professors (who I've never even met, but mailed at some time or the other) have been requested to sign up.
Now, I'm going to have to write a whole bunch of mails apologising to various people for it.
Now I realise it was entirely my fault, but I can't help feeling pissed with the site for having put me in the position in the first place. Orkut on the other hand, very unobtrusively invites you to invite a select few individuals to join you on Orkut.
And that's why I'm all worked up about memes at the moment, unlike the more interesting ones I come across from time to time, this shite is more like a virus spreading through inboxes, two hundred addresses at a time.
So heres my humble (hardly) request to every one out there;
“This is not like the ring, if you don't forward to a gazillion other people, you aren't going to die, fall on bad luck and conversely if you DO succumb, you are NOT going to get the cute chick around the corner, your acne won't clear up, you won't suddenly get cleverer. The only thing that's going to happen is that you are going to waste a few minutes of your time, multiply that by the time you waste of everyone you forward it to and all the people they forward it to and so on. Now think if all that time were utilized for something productive, maybe we could re-plant the rain-forests or something like that.
Now that you have read this post, comment on it or your your arse will catch fire and you will be unlucky in love.
If you post one comment, your biggest wish will come true
If you comment twice, your biggest wish will come true and you will become immensely rich. Unless that was your original, biggest wish, in that case, both your biggest and second biggest wish will come true.
If you comment thrice, I will reply.
Cheers!
Friday, February 23, 2007
Crash!
It's time to crash
Losin' my mind, losin' my mind, losin' my mind
Yeah it's time to crash
Aerosmith
Warily, I press the button, CRASH! Visions of destruction, a train jums the tracks at Whitefield station, it plows into the dirt, nine hundred thousand tonnes of steel pound into the fragile ground. As the dust settles on the mayhem you can see people running, wild, silent screams pierce your eardrums. A few kilometers down the road, at HAL airport, an aircraft has just managed to lift itself off the earth when a shockwave, comes pulsing through the thick humid night sky, the wings warp as the wave passes through the body of the plane. Flapping its appendages wildly like a bird with a broken wing, the aircraft careens towards the solid earth, it comes down and instantly erupts into a ball of flames. Hundreds perish in a single instant, in a great fiery inferno.
The fireball illuminates the night sky and from afar casts its glow over the carcass of the wrecked train. But that's just what my sleep deprived mind conjures up. As my finger slowly releases the depressed key, a few insignificant lines of text appear on the screen under the dollar prompt.
prog11.c: In function ‘main’: prog11.c:51: error: ‘f’ undeclared (first use in this function)
prog11.c:51: error: (Each undeclared identifier is reported only once
prog11.c:51: error: for each function it appears in.)
prog11.c:69: error: invalid type argument of ‘unary *’
As a wave of curses work their way up from deep within, only to be suppressed by selaed lips, the CRT, uncaring, continues to spray electrons onto the screen and the text persists, no matter how much I try to will it away.
And that dear reader is a crash.
No fiery infernos, no mangled metal, no broken bodies, not even a damn papercut. Just ten fingers with chewed fingernails, dancing across a field of white plastic keys. Thats not what it sounds like though. The first time a program of mine crashed, all I got was some gibberish telling me something was wrong, not even a damn beep. Sorely disillusioned, I opened my source code and began to 'debug'. There's something about the programmer mentality that seems to compel them to use very descriptive language in describing these rather mundane occurrences.
Scientists suffer from that too, except they started off in classical language mode, where everything was either Greek or Latin. All it achieved was to scare off generations of prospective scientists who probably switched to subjects that did not require learning another language. Then with a generation of scientists who grew up under the watchful eye of the media came the modern phase. With that transition, we suddenly went from calling everything either alpha or beta to naming genes 'sonic the hedgehog'! Something gives me the feeling a Tommy Vercetti gene is not too far away.
Chemists though in my opinion take the cake when it comes to ridiculous nomenclature and it's not just because I abhor the subject, a small simple and decidedly insignificant molecule may have a name of such humongous proportions it makes me break into a sweat just thinking about the possible structure. On the other hand one can hardly blame them, there are just so many things, if you are curious, you could look up AiB or alpha amino isobutyric acid.
Statisticians, now there's much I can say about this bunch of shifty number jugglers, except this is a subject that I'm slowly growing to love and I don't want to do anything to affect the relationship at this point. However since I am on the subject, this is one branch of science with more names than any other. Everything is someone's axiom or so-and-so's hypothesis, on top of that everyone is either French or Russian. Why the fuck don't we have a Bob's distribution, it sound way less intimidating that Poisson.
Jargon is inevitable, it's universal actually it's something that unifies almost every field of human endevour. If anyone recalls, in one of my last posts before I left Delhi, I wrote about my experiences with mechanic lingo., this is pretty much the same thing right? Except here it's a tad more formalized and just sound more respectable when coming out of the mouth of a well dressesed (err.. no, make that well paid... umm. No make it respected...(again only occasionally)) scientist.
Losin' my mind, losin' my mind, losin' my mind
Yeah it's time to crash
Aerosmith
Warily, I press the button, CRASH! Visions of destruction, a train jums the tracks at Whitefield station, it plows into the dirt, nine hundred thousand tonnes of steel pound into the fragile ground. As the dust settles on the mayhem you can see people running, wild, silent screams pierce your eardrums. A few kilometers down the road, at HAL airport, an aircraft has just managed to lift itself off the earth when a shockwave, comes pulsing through the thick humid night sky, the wings warp as the wave passes through the body of the plane. Flapping its appendages wildly like a bird with a broken wing, the aircraft careens towards the solid earth, it comes down and instantly erupts into a ball of flames. Hundreds perish in a single instant, in a great fiery inferno.
The fireball illuminates the night sky and from afar casts its glow over the carcass of the wrecked train. But that's just what my sleep deprived mind conjures up. As my finger slowly releases the depressed key, a few insignificant lines of text appear on the screen under the dollar prompt.
prog11.c: In function ‘main’: prog11.c:51: error: ‘f’ undeclared (first use in this function)
prog11.c:51: error: (Each undeclared identifier is reported only once
prog11.c:51: error: for each function it appears in.)
prog11.c:69: error: invalid type argument of ‘unary *’
As a wave of curses work their way up from deep within, only to be suppressed by selaed lips, the CRT, uncaring, continues to spray electrons onto the screen and the text persists, no matter how much I try to will it away.
And that dear reader is a crash.
No fiery infernos, no mangled metal, no broken bodies, not even a damn papercut. Just ten fingers with chewed fingernails, dancing across a field of white plastic keys. Thats not what it sounds like though. The first time a program of mine crashed, all I got was some gibberish telling me something was wrong, not even a damn beep. Sorely disillusioned, I opened my source code and began to 'debug'. There's something about the programmer mentality that seems to compel them to use very descriptive language in describing these rather mundane occurrences.
Scientists suffer from that too, except they started off in classical language mode, where everything was either Greek or Latin. All it achieved was to scare off generations of prospective scientists who probably switched to subjects that did not require learning another language. Then with a generation of scientists who grew up under the watchful eye of the media came the modern phase. With that transition, we suddenly went from calling everything either alpha or beta to naming genes 'sonic the hedgehog'! Something gives me the feeling a Tommy Vercetti gene is not too far away.
Chemists though in my opinion take the cake when it comes to ridiculous nomenclature and it's not just because I abhor the subject, a small simple and decidedly insignificant molecule may have a name of such humongous proportions it makes me break into a sweat just thinking about the possible structure. On the other hand one can hardly blame them, there are just so many things, if you are curious, you could look up AiB or alpha amino isobutyric acid.
Statisticians, now there's much I can say about this bunch of shifty number jugglers, except this is a subject that I'm slowly growing to love and I don't want to do anything to affect the relationship at this point. However since I am on the subject, this is one branch of science with more names than any other. Everything is someone's axiom or so-and-so's hypothesis, on top of that everyone is either French or Russian. Why the fuck don't we have a Bob's distribution, it sound way less intimidating that Poisson.
Jargon is inevitable, it's universal actually it's something that unifies almost every field of human endevour. If anyone recalls, in one of my last posts before I left Delhi, I wrote about my experiences with mechanic lingo., this is pretty much the same thing right? Except here it's a tad more formalized and just sound more respectable when coming out of the mouth of a well dressesed (err.. no, make that well paid... umm. No make it respected...(again only occasionally)) scientist.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
I Return With a Meme
Look Confusion I'm back!
Here are the rules:
1. Grab the nearest book. (Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.)
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag 5 people.
Hmm.. this one's not going to be that easy since im in my lab at the moment and i have only one book near me right now... so prepared to get really bored...
Haha enjoy this one (Im not quite sure what it means myself)
Conceptually the commands within the plit...end_plot keywirds are grouped into two sections:
1. The header commands
2. The general commands
The general commansds define some overall characteristics of the imge and can be given only at the top of the plot specification.
Here are the rules:
1. Grab the nearest book. (Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.)
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Tag 5 people.
Hmm.. this one's not going to be that easy since im in my lab at the moment and i have only one book near me right now... so prepared to get really bored...
Haha enjoy this one (Im not quite sure what it means myself)
Conceptually the commands within the plit...end_plot keywirds are grouped into two sections:
1. The header commands
2. The general commands
The general commansds define some overall characteristics of the imge and can be given only at the top of the plot specification.
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