As it turns out, Milton Friedman and I agree about at least one thing: economic problems occur when you f*** around with the monetary supply (layman’s terms, of course). As for that pesky hyper-inflation thing, just stop printing money already. Honestly, some governments are just like children: “What do you mean, money doesn’t grow on trees?”
In the news today: Ontario’s minimum wage rises to $8.75 per hour. This is great news for the people who are working for the minimum and manage to keep their jobs (but let’s hope that their health benefits and training allotments aren’t reduced); stimulating news for discouraged workers who may now decide to enter the labour force (as the supply of labour increases); and definitely not so great news for those who will become unemployed as the demand for labour decreases.
Specifically, won’t this wage increase spur growth in the population of “idle teenagers”? Heavens… we can’t have that. Maybe it’s good news for the federal government: finally a way to be rid of all those controversial EI surpluses! But definitely bad for society as a whole due to upward pressure on the price level, more incentive for people to drop out of school and look for work, more actual unemployment, and more barriers to entry for start-up firms due to higher factor costs (less market competition).
Is THIS the way to combat poverty? Sure, the wage floor strategy wins the average vote… because, arguably, the average voter doesn’t know or care about economics. Intuitively, you’d think: “I want a higher wage for what I do because then I could afford to pay rent and feed my family”. It’s hard not to find that idea appealing; it’s hard to realize that it’s just a cycle of pain for the working poor.
There’s just something about free-wheeling political glitz destined to capitalize on the ignorance of voters that is shameless and repulsive…
With Democracy as with Capitalism: it’s not a great system, but it’s the best we’ve got.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Stella
I walked by the Waldorf school this morning, on the way back from my French placement test. There was something comforting about hearing a couple of girls singing the same clapping game in the schoolyard that I'd known in my childhood. .. Just to know that 20 years later kids can still be kids, that some things don't change all that much, and that there is actually some innocence left in the world.
Kind of makes me feel that bringing a child into this screwed-up world isn't such a horrible idea after all.
Kind of makes me feel that bringing a child into this screwed-up world isn't such a horrible idea after all.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Breathing Easy
Alright… just to tell the story because several of you folks have expressed concern… I’m alive, no worries.
I spent most of the long weekend studying (and took two days off), so when Sunday rolled around I was ready for a good workout. I didn’t go crazy, just about 20km’s easy running and then a tough indoor bike workout. I was hitting zone 5 repeatedly on the intervals, but actually was somewhat happy that I could even reach that intensity indoors. Took a walk to loosen up in the evening and felt great.
Monday, did an easy 13km’s. Felt some resistance in my lungs when I tried to push the pace, so kept it nice and slow. Finished the day with about 10km’s of walking, and felt fine.
Tuesday evening I went to swim practice. Felt a bit tired beforehand, but that’s not surprising (I hardly slept Monday night). Started swimming and felt really slow… pushed harder but didn’t feel any faster. When we started the main set I self-placed halfway down the lane… but after some good-natured jesting it was agreed that I should have to lead at least once. I tried. I was doing ok for the first 50m but then I just couldn’t ignore the stabbing pain I felt when trying to breathe. I slowed down but my breathing didn’t get any easier… I briefly thought of how disruptive it would be for me to pass out in the water, swallow gallons of chlorine and have to have one of the lifeguards save me from my own stupidity. My coach would think I'm an idiot and the lifeguard would curse me for having had to get wet. So I stood up. It felt like I had cramps in my lungs…strange. Kind of scary too.
When I got out of the pool, my chest hurt and it was hard to breathe even while resting. I was doing this mixture of huffing and wheezing… not asthma, and not infection-related or I would’ve coughed. I walked around a bit with a friend in the evening and tried to relax… when you can’t breathe, it’s hard to stop the panic!
The next morning, the stabbing points had morphed into a generalized ache and tightness. I could only say a few words at a time before having to gasp for air. I went to work, but by the end of the day I was practically crazy with anxiety and couldn’t think of anything else. Even though I am grateful beyond words (and lucky!) to have a great medical/ family history, low BP etc, there is just something about having chest pain that freaks me out: it’s not like a pulled hamstring or something.
6PM Wednesday: I drag myself to the Urgent Care clinic and hunker down in a corner, trying to fend off the virtual army of germs being spewed out by, oh, about 20 very virus-infested persons. I’m sorry, but the last thing I need right now is the flu.
Much to her credit, the triage nurse was excellent, efficient and sympathetic. I saw the doctor less than an hour after I checked in.
The doctor was also very efficient. This is basically how it went:
“Where’s the pain?”
I pointed.
“Tell me when it hurts.”
She presses down on my sternum with what? 700psi of pressure.
Let’s just say I didn’t need to tell her... she could pretty much guess. The painful area stretched about 6 inches: she seemed a bit surprised at that.
“What were you doing when the pain started?”
“Swimming”
“Do you exercise a lot?”
“Yes.” I shrug. “15 hours a week?”
“15 hours?”
“Yeah”
“Every week?”
“Yup”
“Doing what?”
“Swim, bike, run”
She is typing furiously on her laptop. “Ok you have costochondritis, caused by exercise. I’ll give you some anti-inflammatories, but you’ll have to take them for some time before you notice any improvement. It could even get worse at first.” She said it was an inflammation of the cartilage between my ribs.
I’m still smarting from the pain she’s caused me, and panting out these tiny pathetic breaths, but I manage to say: “Do I have to take some time off?”
Now she looks at me like I just stepped off a spaceship and asked her to kill the Big Bad Wolf.
She shakes her head, probably thinking “WTF is wrong with these friggin’ triathletes?” and tells me that the longer I aggravate it, the longer it will take to heal. She tells me I will probably need all 3 refills for Naproxen (well I guess that would make it 60 days, not 45…) but I already know I will not be taking it that long.
You see, I’ve grown rather fond of my stomach lining.
I’ll try to get a second opinion before Europe, just to be safe. But for now… I’m overflowing in free time. Maybe I'll finally get to clean up my inbox, or get my hair cut, or have my monthly pint of beer & rant session, or, wait… UPS came by with my lovely CFA curriculum, neatly packaged and brand spanking new. It was heavy enough that even the UPS guy said: “Wow, you’ve got a lot of studying to do.”
Thanks, UPS guy.
I spent most of the long weekend studying (and took two days off), so when Sunday rolled around I was ready for a good workout. I didn’t go crazy, just about 20km’s easy running and then a tough indoor bike workout. I was hitting zone 5 repeatedly on the intervals, but actually was somewhat happy that I could even reach that intensity indoors. Took a walk to loosen up in the evening and felt great.
Monday, did an easy 13km’s. Felt some resistance in my lungs when I tried to push the pace, so kept it nice and slow. Finished the day with about 10km’s of walking, and felt fine.
Tuesday evening I went to swim practice. Felt a bit tired beforehand, but that’s not surprising (I hardly slept Monday night). Started swimming and felt really slow… pushed harder but didn’t feel any faster. When we started the main set I self-placed halfway down the lane… but after some good-natured jesting it was agreed that I should have to lead at least once. I tried. I was doing ok for the first 50m but then I just couldn’t ignore the stabbing pain I felt when trying to breathe. I slowed down but my breathing didn’t get any easier… I briefly thought of how disruptive it would be for me to pass out in the water, swallow gallons of chlorine and have to have one of the lifeguards save me from my own stupidity. My coach would think I'm an idiot and the lifeguard would curse me for having had to get wet. So I stood up. It felt like I had cramps in my lungs…strange. Kind of scary too.
When I got out of the pool, my chest hurt and it was hard to breathe even while resting. I was doing this mixture of huffing and wheezing… not asthma, and not infection-related or I would’ve coughed. I walked around a bit with a friend in the evening and tried to relax… when you can’t breathe, it’s hard to stop the panic!
The next morning, the stabbing points had morphed into a generalized ache and tightness. I could only say a few words at a time before having to gasp for air. I went to work, but by the end of the day I was practically crazy with anxiety and couldn’t think of anything else. Even though I am grateful beyond words (and lucky!) to have a great medical/ family history, low BP etc, there is just something about having chest pain that freaks me out: it’s not like a pulled hamstring or something.
6PM Wednesday: I drag myself to the Urgent Care clinic and hunker down in a corner, trying to fend off the virtual army of germs being spewed out by, oh, about 20 very virus-infested persons. I’m sorry, but the last thing I need right now is the flu.
Much to her credit, the triage nurse was excellent, efficient and sympathetic. I saw the doctor less than an hour after I checked in.
The doctor was also very efficient. This is basically how it went:
“Where’s the pain?”
I pointed.
“Tell me when it hurts.”
She presses down on my sternum with what? 700psi of pressure.
Let’s just say I didn’t need to tell her... she could pretty much guess. The painful area stretched about 6 inches: she seemed a bit surprised at that.
“What were you doing when the pain started?”
“Swimming”
“Do you exercise a lot?”
“Yes.” I shrug. “15 hours a week?”
“15 hours?”
“Yeah”
“Every week?”
“Yup”
“Doing what?”
“Swim, bike, run”
She is typing furiously on her laptop. “Ok you have costochondritis, caused by exercise. I’ll give you some anti-inflammatories, but you’ll have to take them for some time before you notice any improvement. It could even get worse at first.” She said it was an inflammation of the cartilage between my ribs.
I’m still smarting from the pain she’s caused me, and panting out these tiny pathetic breaths, but I manage to say: “Do I have to take some time off?”
Now she looks at me like I just stepped off a spaceship and asked her to kill the Big Bad Wolf.
She shakes her head, probably thinking “WTF is wrong with these friggin’ triathletes?” and tells me that the longer I aggravate it, the longer it will take to heal. She tells me I will probably need all 3 refills for Naproxen (well I guess that would make it 60 days, not 45…) but I already know I will not be taking it that long.
You see, I’ve grown rather fond of my stomach lining.
I’ll try to get a second opinion before Europe, just to be safe. But for now… I’m overflowing in free time. Maybe I'll finally get to clean up my inbox, or get my hair cut, or have my monthly pint of beer & rant session, or, wait… UPS came by with my lovely CFA curriculum, neatly packaged and brand spanking new. It was heavy enough that even the UPS guy said: “Wow, you’ve got a lot of studying to do.”
Thanks, UPS guy.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Dreams, caffeine, and Pepto-Bismol
I made a killer dinner for my visiting mother yesterday: chicken and chickpea veggie-packed burritos… yum. And then a taste of whole wheat baguette and provolone, paired with a steaming hot cup of tea and a handful of premium dark-chocolate almonds. Quite the Easter feast… a splurge for me, anyway.
Well dark chocolate may be beneficial to your health, but it also contains ample quantities of caffeine. I realized this last night while staring wide-eyed at the ceiling…brain was chugging along merrily while body desperately craved sleep. However, my dear upstairs neighbour must have been away for the weekend, because the silence was blissful…
But altogether, this past weekend I got more shut-eye than I’ve had for quite some time; and, with the added sleep, the absolute wackiest dreams ever. I mean, totally whacked as in flying horses, deep outdoor wells of spinach, an alarm-clock store on a yacht, and a parade of people that I would never have remembered during my waking hours (like a co-worker from a retail job I held 10 years ago). There has to be a scientific reason for that. A well-rested brain goes nuts during REM? Who knew?
When I was younger I tried to keep a log of my dreams, but my interest quickly succumbed to the frustration of trying to remember what had happened after waking. There is that point right between sleep and waking where your body is still frozen but your mind begins to “see” the dream as a dream… that is the point at which you have to remember what happened by refreshing the sequence in your head…. once you’re in full daytime mode it’s too late!
But I did manage to nap for a few hours…Never underestimate the placebo effect of Gravol.
Also! Drinking imitation Pepto-Bismol directly from the bottle is a survival skill that everyone should master. I’ve done it on a train (on the way to a funeral with a baby shrieking in my ear), in a bus several times, and at 6AM before swim practice. Mind over matter and a chaser of ice-cold water….
I still remember a friend of mine pulling out a bottle of the pink stuff after we drove to Toronto for the orientation at UofT. He took a swig as if it were Gatorade… wiped his mouth like he was on a Nike commercial, gave a sigh of satisfaction and replaced the cap; it made me cringe. Well, that, and we had to ask passers-by for quarters for the parking meter…
Fun times.
Well dark chocolate may be beneficial to your health, but it also contains ample quantities of caffeine. I realized this last night while staring wide-eyed at the ceiling…brain was chugging along merrily while body desperately craved sleep. However, my dear upstairs neighbour must have been away for the weekend, because the silence was blissful…
But altogether, this past weekend I got more shut-eye than I’ve had for quite some time; and, with the added sleep, the absolute wackiest dreams ever. I mean, totally whacked as in flying horses, deep outdoor wells of spinach, an alarm-clock store on a yacht, and a parade of people that I would never have remembered during my waking hours (like a co-worker from a retail job I held 10 years ago). There has to be a scientific reason for that. A well-rested brain goes nuts during REM? Who knew?
When I was younger I tried to keep a log of my dreams, but my interest quickly succumbed to the frustration of trying to remember what had happened after waking. There is that point right between sleep and waking where your body is still frozen but your mind begins to “see” the dream as a dream… that is the point at which you have to remember what happened by refreshing the sequence in your head…. once you’re in full daytime mode it’s too late!
But I did manage to nap for a few hours…Never underestimate the placebo effect of Gravol.
Also! Drinking imitation Pepto-Bismol directly from the bottle is a survival skill that everyone should master. I’ve done it on a train (on the way to a funeral with a baby shrieking in my ear), in a bus several times, and at 6AM before swim practice. Mind over matter and a chaser of ice-cold water….
I still remember a friend of mine pulling out a bottle of the pink stuff after we drove to Toronto for the orientation at UofT. He took a swig as if it were Gatorade… wiped his mouth like he was on a Nike commercial, gave a sigh of satisfaction and replaced the cap; it made me cringe. Well, that, and we had to ask passers-by for quarters for the parking meter…
Fun times.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Object Sentimentality
While cleaning the kitchen in preparation for a family visit on short notice (what!?) I noticed that I had an empty plastic water bottle sitting beside my “air-cleaning” potted plant.
This water bottle is now 10 months old, but it is perfectly useful to remind me to water the thing. I can’t bring myself to recycle it. When the plant dies, I will retire the bottle. Underneath the plant, an old blue shop-towel has turned practically yellow with age. However, it is still clean and does a great job of soaking up the occasional overflow from an especially zealous watering session.
Another worn-out item: a small, rectangular zip-close plastic bag which is the absolute perfect size to enclose a pack of Trident gum. I’ve used it for several months to keep my chewing gum dry in the event of a surprise rainstorm. (Or a fall in the snow). You can never be too prepared, right? Well, it finally gave out… the bottom seal has split. I was just about to repair the battered bag with duct tape when I realized how stupid that was. Regretfully, I threw it away. My gum will now be exposed to the elements within the confines of my coat pocket.
Correction: my borrowed, 20-year old Columbia jacket which my good friend loaned me to replace my former second-hand, 20-year old Columbia jacket. I’m sure that one day I will learn to dress properly… let’s keep hope alive.
Oh isn’t this fun? I was cleaning out my 10-year-old wallet (yes, that would be high-school!) and pulled out business cards from just about every restaurant I’ve ever been to, doctors and dentists I’ve seen, random people I’ve met, you name it. The one I really can’t part with is the one from my bike shop with the quote for my current (first!) bike, signed by the owner. I love that thing. I’ll never part with it.
When I was in Grade 7, a friend gave me a small rubber chicken named “Ed”. Ed the Rubber Chicken decided to live in my clarinet case, and from that day on, that is where he stayed. I traveled with him everywhere: tours, competitions, concerts, you name it. I took him to UofT where my professor and colleagues looked curiously at him; poor Ed was not quite the same brilliant shade of yellow as he’d been in his youth. But it just wouldn’t be the same without him roosting in my case, among the reeds. He lives there still, almost 14 years later.
So part of the reason why I approach shopping with fear and loathing is that most purchases I make will enter my circle of being for years! I’ve worn and patched jeans until only half of the original material is left, and they can no longer adequately do the job of covering skin in crucial places. Groceries are somewhat easier, but still a challenge sometimes, especially when I’m tired or otherwise lacking in decisiveness.
At least I can laugh at the fact that I’ve made all the most important decisions of my life on a “spur-of-the-moment” basis (don’t ask me how I chose business school!) but find it hard to pick out a new T-shirt.
This water bottle is now 10 months old, but it is perfectly useful to remind me to water the thing. I can’t bring myself to recycle it. When the plant dies, I will retire the bottle. Underneath the plant, an old blue shop-towel has turned practically yellow with age. However, it is still clean and does a great job of soaking up the occasional overflow from an especially zealous watering session.
Another worn-out item: a small, rectangular zip-close plastic bag which is the absolute perfect size to enclose a pack of Trident gum. I’ve used it for several months to keep my chewing gum dry in the event of a surprise rainstorm. (Or a fall in the snow). You can never be too prepared, right? Well, it finally gave out… the bottom seal has split. I was just about to repair the battered bag with duct tape when I realized how stupid that was. Regretfully, I threw it away. My gum will now be exposed to the elements within the confines of my coat pocket.
Correction: my borrowed, 20-year old Columbia jacket which my good friend loaned me to replace my former second-hand, 20-year old Columbia jacket. I’m sure that one day I will learn to dress properly… let’s keep hope alive.
Oh isn’t this fun? I was cleaning out my 10-year-old wallet (yes, that would be high-school!) and pulled out business cards from just about every restaurant I’ve ever been to, doctors and dentists I’ve seen, random people I’ve met, you name it. The one I really can’t part with is the one from my bike shop with the quote for my current (first!) bike, signed by the owner. I love that thing. I’ll never part with it.
When I was in Grade 7, a friend gave me a small rubber chicken named “Ed”. Ed the Rubber Chicken decided to live in my clarinet case, and from that day on, that is where he stayed. I traveled with him everywhere: tours, competitions, concerts, you name it. I took him to UofT where my professor and colleagues looked curiously at him; poor Ed was not quite the same brilliant shade of yellow as he’d been in his youth. But it just wouldn’t be the same without him roosting in my case, among the reeds. He lives there still, almost 14 years later.
So part of the reason why I approach shopping with fear and loathing is that most purchases I make will enter my circle of being for years! I’ve worn and patched jeans until only half of the original material is left, and they can no longer adequately do the job of covering skin in crucial places. Groceries are somewhat easier, but still a challenge sometimes, especially when I’m tired or otherwise lacking in decisiveness.
At least I can laugh at the fact that I’ve made all the most important decisions of my life on a “spur-of-the-moment” basis (don’t ask me how I chose business school!) but find it hard to pick out a new T-shirt.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Tim's Correction
So I learned something from the binomial stock price model.
Namely, my Tim's calculation is ok, but has nothing to do with Poisson. In fact, the binomial distribution is only ok because I am using a probability of success given by the uber-wise marketing folk that is supposedly constant for the duration of the game.
Well no, I am not ripping off the tabs and mailing them back to head office for re-use into those ubiquitous red-and-yellow cups. But while the pool is not limitless, the apparent success rate is.
Quite the assumption, I agree...
Namely, my Tim's calculation is ok, but has nothing to do with Poisson. In fact, the binomial distribution is only ok because I am using a probability of success given by the uber-wise marketing folk that is supposedly constant for the duration of the game.
Well no, I am not ripping off the tabs and mailing them back to head office for re-use into those ubiquitous red-and-yellow cups. But while the pool is not limitless, the apparent success rate is.
Quite the assumption, I agree...
Recipe for Level 1
2 cups corporate finance
1 cup valuation
1 cup accounting fundamentals
1 cup economics
¾ cup ethics and professional standards
½ cup ratio analysis
¼ cup portfolio management
¼ cup derivative investments
¼ cup securities markets and equity investments
2 tbsp DDM (Dividend Discount Model)
1 tbsp probability
1 tsp calculus
Pinch of panic and adrenaline
and one HP TI Plus
In a large bowl, combine all ingredients except for the HP TI. Fold in HP TI, but take care not to overmix. Bake in a pre-heated brain, at the hottest setting, for 10 weeks. Turn out onto wire rack and serve up for the CFA Level 1 exam before it cools.
That’s pretty much what’s cooking as I hole myself up all weekend, looking longingly outside at the sun…
Sure I’ve seen the ingredients before, but not all in combination! Memorizing 6 pages of formulas is hard enough; but I pity those who’re taking this without a finance background. I’m left to wonder: what’s left for the next exams, levels 2 and 3?
Happy Easter, for sure.
1 cup valuation
1 cup accounting fundamentals
1 cup economics
¾ cup ethics and professional standards
½ cup ratio analysis
¼ cup portfolio management
¼ cup derivative investments
¼ cup securities markets and equity investments
2 tbsp DDM (Dividend Discount Model)
1 tbsp probability
1 tsp calculus
Pinch of panic and adrenaline
and one HP TI Plus
In a large bowl, combine all ingredients except for the HP TI. Fold in HP TI, but take care not to overmix. Bake in a pre-heated brain, at the hottest setting, for 10 weeks. Turn out onto wire rack and serve up for the CFA Level 1 exam before it cools.
That’s pretty much what’s cooking as I hole myself up all weekend, looking longingly outside at the sun…
Sure I’ve seen the ingredients before, but not all in combination! Memorizing 6 pages of formulas is hard enough; but I pity those who’re taking this without a finance background. I’m left to wonder: what’s left for the next exams, levels 2 and 3?
Happy Easter, for sure.
Nash at the Bar with Chickens
http://xkcd.com/182/
Sometimes though, isn’t it more like a game of chicken?
Both parties drive along, pride and ego intact, and wait for the other to give in first! Incomplete information, signal errors and cheap talk further complicate the game; but if neither “swerves” the result is sub-optimal. Iterated chicken (not at all uncommon) further brings psychology into play.
Human beings: such funny creatures.
Sometimes though, isn’t it more like a game of chicken?
Both parties drive along, pride and ego intact, and wait for the other to give in first! Incomplete information, signal errors and cheap talk further complicate the game; but if neither “swerves” the result is sub-optimal. Iterated chicken (not at all uncommon) further brings psychology into play.
Human beings: such funny creatures.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Luck & Pluck (updated)
Updated, because for a self-proclaimed grammar snob I certainly made my share of errors & typos yesterday!
Whoops, boss caught me yawning… which is fine, because I’ve been a virtual beacon of productivity for the last two days, and my fervour shows no sign of waning. I’m on fire, fuelled by public sector insanity and fighting the good fight, injecting doses of common sense into infected drones and knocking over mountains made from mole-hills.
If I were a horse, though, I’d have been shot: knees are black ‘n’ blue, basically lame. Bloodied arm and sore shoulder to boot (yeah, I know horses don’t have arms).
Beating the Roll-up-the-Rim odds: it’s 4 winners out of 13 attempts as of today. If only I could be so lucky in all areas of my life. (Ok, so if the true mean is 1/9 = 0.1111 I’m pulling 0.3077). Also, to anyone who cares: assuming that the distribution of winning cups is equal across all sizes (which I think it is, but can’t prove right now!) if you buy only medium-size coffees (price = $1.23) with a probability of winning at 0.1111 and an average win value of $1.23 (ok this is totally non-scientific, because I don’t have access to insider marketing information… and yes I know that the odds differ by region), and you buy 9 cups and use your 1 winning cup to buy another cup (assuming you can barter away your winning tabs for bagels and donuts), you’ve effectively purchased 10 cups at $1.107 each.
Or maybe I'm not that lucky after all...
P(r) = (n!/(r!(n-r)!))*(p^r)*(q^(n-r))
n = number of attempts = 13
r = number of wins = 4
p = probability of a win = 1/9
q = (1-p) = 8/9
Probability of winning 4 times in 13 attempts is 0.0378
Bit rusty on my stats... but I think the binomial distribution is suitable here.
NO, I don’t know if there was a point to that.
Today I observed a new low in government-speak: this time, the use of the term “fiscal” to refer to “fiscal year” was truncated to… wait for it…. “fisc.” As in; “We’ll wait and see what happens next fisc.”
Wow. I’ve promoted myself to: “Official Keeper of the Glossary”. (OKG).
Whoops, boss caught me yawning… which is fine, because I’ve been a virtual beacon of productivity for the last two days, and my fervour shows no sign of waning. I’m on fire, fuelled by public sector insanity and fighting the good fight, injecting doses of common sense into infected drones and knocking over mountains made from mole-hills.
If I were a horse, though, I’d have been shot: knees are black ‘n’ blue, basically lame. Bloodied arm and sore shoulder to boot (yeah, I know horses don’t have arms).
Beating the Roll-up-the-Rim odds: it’s 4 winners out of 13 attempts as of today. If only I could be so lucky in all areas of my life. (Ok, so if the true mean is 1/9 = 0.1111 I’m pulling 0.3077). Also, to anyone who cares: assuming that the distribution of winning cups is equal across all sizes (which I think it is, but can’t prove right now!) if you buy only medium-size coffees (price = $1.23) with a probability of winning at 0.1111 and an average win value of $1.23 (ok this is totally non-scientific, because I don’t have access to insider marketing information… and yes I know that the odds differ by region), and you buy 9 cups and use your 1 winning cup to buy another cup (assuming you can barter away your winning tabs for bagels and donuts), you’ve effectively purchased 10 cups at $1.107 each.
Or maybe I'm not that lucky after all...
P(r) = (n!/(r!(n-r)!))*(p^r)*(q^(n-r))
n = number of attempts = 13
r = number of wins = 4
p = probability of a win = 1/9
q = (1-p) = 8/9
Probability of winning 4 times in 13 attempts is 0.0378
Bit rusty on my stats... but I think the binomial distribution is suitable here.
NO, I don’t know if there was a point to that.
Today I observed a new low in government-speak: this time, the use of the term “fiscal” to refer to “fiscal year” was truncated to… wait for it…. “fisc.” As in; “We’ll wait and see what happens next fisc.”
Wow. I’ve promoted myself to: “Official Keeper of the Glossary”. (OKG).
Monday, March 17, 2008
Anatomy of a Spam
Note: Not of “SPAM”, because we don’t really want to know what’s in that. All plain text [sic]...
Hello Dear.
Hello Dear?
My name is Mr. Williams Bamba, a Banker and accountant with a bank here in Abidjan Cote d' Ivoire.
Yikes, a big-B Banker AND small-a accountant (what’s the difference anyway?), with a name that sounds awfully close to “Bill Banker”. Never been to Cote d’Ivoire, and don’t have any relatives there, but sounds big-I Impressive. Read on.
I am the personal accounts manager to Mr. George Brumley, an American National and physician.
Er, I didn't think Cote d’Ivoire was on the list for popular tax havens…
My client, his wife, and their children were involved in the ill fated air crash with Kenya airways on July 2003. For more about the Air Crash you can visit the CNN web news for the tragedy.
Yes, CNN reported that story. But Mr. Bamba, you've just cut and copied sentences from the CNN story into your Spam.... tsk tsk... I expected more from you than that!
Since then I have made several inquiries to his embassy to locate any of my clients extended relatives but has been unsuccessful. http://www.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/africa/07/20/kenya.crash/index.html
Oops, didn't this link belong earlier in the Spam?
After several unsuccessful attempts, I now seek your permission to have you stand as a next of kin.
The problem is, I'm not related...
Of particular interest in this huge deposit with our bank here in, where the deceased has an account valued at about ($16.8 million US dollars).
Mr. Bamba, you should not enclose your form-letter personalizations with parentheses (besides, you should quote in Canadian dollars now--who wants USD?) And I thought you were writing from Abidjan?
They have issued me a notice to provide the next of kin or the bank will declare the account unservisable and thereby send the funds to the bank treasury.
I have two words for you: "Spell" - "Check". Bonus points for quoting "THEY"; the world is teeming with the all-knowing "THEY".
Since I have been unsuccessful in locating the relatives for over last 2 years now,
That's funny, because CNN had no trouble finding them.
I will seek your consent to present you as the next of kin of the deceased,
Ah, but there's still the problem of needing to be related...
so that the proceeds of this account valued at ($16.8million US dollars) can be paid to you
But I don't really want ($ USD)
and then you and I can share the money.
Oh, of course. Definitely. How about I give you half?
All I require is your honest cooperation to enable us see this deal through.
Is there any other kind?
I guarantee that this will be executed under all legitimate arrangement that will protect you from any breach of the law.
The best way to protect oneself from the consequences of any breach of law is to, well, not break the law.
In your reply mail, I want you to give me your full names, address, occupation,date of birth, telephone and fax numbers.
Certainly. I'll be right on that. But first, tell me how you came to think I was related to a person when you don't know my name?
If you can handle this with me, reach me now through this mailbox
Oh but I can handle this just fine…
Thanking you for your anticipated cooperation
I bet you say that to all the poor suckers
Mr Williams Bamba.
Indeed.
Hello Dear.
Hello Dear?
My name is Mr. Williams Bamba, a Banker and accountant with a bank here in Abidjan Cote d' Ivoire.
Yikes, a big-B Banker AND small-a accountant (what’s the difference anyway?), with a name that sounds awfully close to “Bill Banker”. Never been to Cote d’Ivoire, and don’t have any relatives there, but sounds big-I Impressive. Read on.
I am the personal accounts manager to Mr. George Brumley, an American National and physician.
Er, I didn't think Cote d’Ivoire was on the list for popular tax havens…
My client, his wife, and their children were involved in the ill fated air crash with Kenya airways on July 2003. For more about the Air Crash you can visit the CNN web news for the tragedy.
Yes, CNN reported that story. But Mr. Bamba, you've just cut and copied sentences from the CNN story into your Spam.... tsk tsk... I expected more from you than that!
Since then I have made several inquiries to his embassy to locate any of my clients extended relatives but has been unsuccessful. http://www.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/africa/07/20/kenya.crash/index.html
Oops, didn't this link belong earlier in the Spam?
After several unsuccessful attempts, I now seek your permission to have you stand as a next of kin.
The problem is, I'm not related...
Of particular interest in this huge deposit with our bank here in, where the deceased has an account valued at about ($16.8 million US dollars).
Mr. Bamba, you should not enclose your form-letter personalizations with parentheses (besides, you should quote in Canadian dollars now--who wants USD?) And I thought you were writing from Abidjan?
They have issued me a notice to provide the next of kin or the bank will declare the account unservisable and thereby send the funds to the bank treasury.
I have two words for you: "Spell" - "Check". Bonus points for quoting "THEY"; the world is teeming with the all-knowing "THEY".
Since I have been unsuccessful in locating the relatives for over last 2 years now,
That's funny, because CNN had no trouble finding them.
I will seek your consent to present you as the next of kin of the deceased,
Ah, but there's still the problem of needing to be related...
so that the proceeds of this account valued at ($16.8million US dollars) can be paid to you
But I don't really want ($ USD)
and then you and I can share the money.
Oh, of course. Definitely. How about I give you half?
All I require is your honest cooperation to enable us see this deal through.
Is there any other kind?
I guarantee that this will be executed under all legitimate arrangement that will protect you from any breach of the law.
The best way to protect oneself from the consequences of any breach of law is to, well, not break the law.
In your reply mail, I want you to give me your full names, address, occupation,date of birth, telephone and fax numbers.
Certainly. I'll be right on that. But first, tell me how you came to think I was related to a person when you don't know my name?
If you can handle this with me, reach me now through this mailbox
Oh but I can handle this just fine…
Thanking you for your anticipated cooperation
I bet you say that to all the poor suckers
Mr Williams Bamba.
Indeed.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Reintegration
Something sad happened yesterday.
Ever wonder how people get back on their feet after struggling with addiction?
How would you feel if you were estranged from your family, destitute, recovering from years of substance abuse… and none of your friends were ‘clean’?
How would you reintegrate into society, and put your talents and skills to pro-social and productive use (perhaps even for the first time in your life) as a middle-aged person?
How do you go from being outside the “system” to working within it? How do you cope with your new independence and the frustrating monotony of the workday world? How do you learn to feel like a real human being again?
Those are questions which have bothered me since a very pleasant gentleman in his 50’s (we shall call him “Jules”), whom I have seen many times over the past couple of years, and greeted with a smile while serving the day’s meal, approached me to invite me out for coffee. Of course, such contact is strictly against the rules, but he didn’t give up. I could see him summoning up all his courage as he asked again, and then a third time, whipping out a piece of paper and pen from his shirt pocket in anticipation of my phone number. In fact, he was so nervous that he couldn’t look me in the eye by the third request. And when my initial shock and annoyance wore off, for some reason, I felt something breaking… something really sad.
Hey, every week I get marriage proposals… some funny and some creepy. I get “Give me a big smile, honey!”, “Sweetie, can’t you give me some more?”, “Hey wouldn’t I like to wake up to that face” and “My, don’t you look fresh!” I also get “You F***ing Bitch!”, “Why are you looking at me??”, “I f***ing hate women, they should all DIE” and “You f***ing c***!!” There was even one miserable dude who tried to give me his pneumonia.
I try not to take it personally….by the time they’re sober they’ll have forgotten my face anyways. And I pity the guy who wants to stalk me at night, because he’ll get a run for his money all right (and probably two black eyes).
I was sad to think that this offer of contact would result in a security precaution. I was sad to think that from now on, I would feel uncomfortable if I saw Jules at the grocery store, or walking down the street. I was also sad to think that I may have been one of the only smiling faces that Jules saw on a regular basis; one who saw him as a human being and not as just another hopeless case. Because somehow I need to believe (indeed I have to believe) that Jules just wanted a friend to talk to, someone to tell him he’s doing great, someone who believes in him and values his contribution to society—someone from the “other side”. While I personally believe that a woman half his age would not be the most appropriate choice for such support, I can’t help but feel sad.
Sad enough to think about it, and sad enough to write it here.
Ever wonder how people get back on their feet after struggling with addiction?
How would you feel if you were estranged from your family, destitute, recovering from years of substance abuse… and none of your friends were ‘clean’?
How would you reintegrate into society, and put your talents and skills to pro-social and productive use (perhaps even for the first time in your life) as a middle-aged person?
How do you go from being outside the “system” to working within it? How do you cope with your new independence and the frustrating monotony of the workday world? How do you learn to feel like a real human being again?
Those are questions which have bothered me since a very pleasant gentleman in his 50’s (we shall call him “Jules”), whom I have seen many times over the past couple of years, and greeted with a smile while serving the day’s meal, approached me to invite me out for coffee. Of course, such contact is strictly against the rules, but he didn’t give up. I could see him summoning up all his courage as he asked again, and then a third time, whipping out a piece of paper and pen from his shirt pocket in anticipation of my phone number. In fact, he was so nervous that he couldn’t look me in the eye by the third request. And when my initial shock and annoyance wore off, for some reason, I felt something breaking… something really sad.
Hey, every week I get marriage proposals… some funny and some creepy. I get “Give me a big smile, honey!”, “Sweetie, can’t you give me some more?”, “Hey wouldn’t I like to wake up to that face” and “My, don’t you look fresh!” I also get “You F***ing Bitch!”, “Why are you looking at me??”, “I f***ing hate women, they should all DIE” and “You f***ing c***!!” There was even one miserable dude who tried to give me his pneumonia.
I try not to take it personally….by the time they’re sober they’ll have forgotten my face anyways. And I pity the guy who wants to stalk me at night, because he’ll get a run for his money all right (and probably two black eyes).
I was sad to think that this offer of contact would result in a security precaution. I was sad to think that from now on, I would feel uncomfortable if I saw Jules at the grocery store, or walking down the street. I was also sad to think that I may have been one of the only smiling faces that Jules saw on a regular basis; one who saw him as a human being and not as just another hopeless case. Because somehow I need to believe (indeed I have to believe) that Jules just wanted a friend to talk to, someone to tell him he’s doing great, someone who believes in him and values his contribution to society—someone from the “other side”. While I personally believe that a woman half his age would not be the most appropriate choice for such support, I can’t help but feel sad.
Sad enough to think about it, and sad enough to write it here.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Virtue & Vice II
I recently dismantled my “anonymous” blog, now over one year stagnant.
While doing so, I came across an entry from December 2006 entitled “Virtue & Vice”. It had been referenced by a now-defunct website in early 2007 and had thus garnered a fair share of traffic in its day. (Ok… by fair share, I mean relatively, and to a tiny niche audience for sure!)
I find it revealing to go over writing from years past: I can see how my thinking has changed, review the lessons I’d already forgotten, pinpoint errors in reasoning, and occasionally even agree with myself!
So I did a re-write of the post today:
Virtue & Vice II
(Incidentally, the Walrus is the only print media I will pay to read, and, in my not-so-humble opinion, also distinctly a cut above any other North American news magazine).
An article entitled “The Virtue in Vice” (by Christine Sismondo) was first published in the December 2006 issue of The Walrus magazine (also available online here). The author was discussing several new books, including
• Pleasure and the Good Life: Concerning the Nature, Varieties, and Plausibility of Hedonism. Fred Feldman.
• Sex, Drugs and DNA: Science's Taboos Confronted. Michael Stebbins.
• The Devil's Picnic: Around the World in Pursuit of Forbidden Fruit. Taras Grescoe.
Sismondo explores the idea that modern society has diverged quite far from Classical views (i.e. Aristotelian definitions) of pleasure and happiness. Instead of incorporating certain activities into our lives in moderation -- such as drinking, recreational drug use, sex, and junk food -- we overindulge. Our society no longer subscribes to the "golden mean"; we are either promiscuous or virgin, "meat-heads" or vegans, addicts or purists. What's more, abstinence has become the new vice (whether from cigarettes, booze, or sex); vice because it can no longer be virtue when adherents spend so much time and energy obsessing over what they have denied themselves.
I'm not sure if I would take this to such an extreme, however I do acknowledge that this very denial tends to produce the exact opposite qualities from the virtuous ones intended. For what then is virtue? If one is to abstain from every bad habit, large or small, out of an obligation to do so in order to then become a virtuous person and live a good life, then is this abstinence not meaningless? Worse, might one's own self-righteousness contribute detrimentally to the well-being of others, or the ability of others to become virtuous? Doing or refraining from doing does not make a person virtuous; virtue is part of one's character and an element of the soul. True virtue makes these kinds of laws and regulations unnecessary; however we might also argue that virtue on that scale has not been seen very often in this world, nor throughout history, with some notable (and famous) exceptions.
I also wish to point out another exception: the "vices" listed may not be vices to all. Many of us genuinely do not enjoy smoking cigarettes... others dislike the taste of alcohol or its effects. For some of us, the risks of physical intimacy may outweigh the benefits; yet others may become quite ill after eating Big Macs! Abstinence in this case is not denial, although quite frustratingly it may be viewed as so by others. Denying oneself pleasure is not intrinsically bad either; it builds self-discipline to use in other pursuits. For example, if I ate chocolate every day I'd be too heavy for a triathlete -- and I love triathlon. Of course, if any activity causes or has the potential to cause harm to others, the urge must be denied.
Whether by necessity, instinct or vanity, we live in a short-sighted view of reality and seek to maximize short-term gain. While admittedly we are mortals and can only plan within our lifetimes, it is also very saddening to look outside today and see the serious harm we are doing to our environment -- to the natural world that will outlive us and our descendants. There must be a balance struck between daily pleasures and long-term happiness.
As an example, Sismondo opines that aging playboy Hugh Heffner does not have the kind of happiness and freedom from pain that most of us truly desire. Finding a sensible mate, getting a good job, eating well and exercising, and making sound investment choices may all be elements of the "good life" in modern society. Why can’t we just “grow out of” the thrill of the taboo, and embrace the simpler and more universal joys that surround us in this still-quite-wonderful world?
While doing so, I came across an entry from December 2006 entitled “Virtue & Vice”. It had been referenced by a now-defunct website in early 2007 and had thus garnered a fair share of traffic in its day. (Ok… by fair share, I mean relatively, and to a tiny niche audience for sure!)
I find it revealing to go over writing from years past: I can see how my thinking has changed, review the lessons I’d already forgotten, pinpoint errors in reasoning, and occasionally even agree with myself!
So I did a re-write of the post today:
Virtue & Vice II
(Incidentally, the Walrus is the only print media I will pay to read, and, in my not-so-humble opinion, also distinctly a cut above any other North American news magazine).
An article entitled “The Virtue in Vice” (by Christine Sismondo) was first published in the December 2006 issue of The Walrus magazine (also available online here). The author was discussing several new books, including
• Pleasure and the Good Life: Concerning the Nature, Varieties, and Plausibility of Hedonism. Fred Feldman.
• Sex, Drugs and DNA: Science's Taboos Confronted. Michael Stebbins.
• The Devil's Picnic: Around the World in Pursuit of Forbidden Fruit. Taras Grescoe.
Sismondo explores the idea that modern society has diverged quite far from Classical views (i.e. Aristotelian definitions) of pleasure and happiness. Instead of incorporating certain activities into our lives in moderation -- such as drinking, recreational drug use, sex, and junk food -- we overindulge. Our society no longer subscribes to the "golden mean"; we are either promiscuous or virgin, "meat-heads" or vegans, addicts or purists. What's more, abstinence has become the new vice (whether from cigarettes, booze, or sex); vice because it can no longer be virtue when adherents spend so much time and energy obsessing over what they have denied themselves.
I'm not sure if I would take this to such an extreme, however I do acknowledge that this very denial tends to produce the exact opposite qualities from the virtuous ones intended. For what then is virtue? If one is to abstain from every bad habit, large or small, out of an obligation to do so in order to then become a virtuous person and live a good life, then is this abstinence not meaningless? Worse, might one's own self-righteousness contribute detrimentally to the well-being of others, or the ability of others to become virtuous? Doing or refraining from doing does not make a person virtuous; virtue is part of one's character and an element of the soul. True virtue makes these kinds of laws and regulations unnecessary; however we might also argue that virtue on that scale has not been seen very often in this world, nor throughout history, with some notable (and famous) exceptions.
I also wish to point out another exception: the "vices" listed may not be vices to all. Many of us genuinely do not enjoy smoking cigarettes... others dislike the taste of alcohol or its effects. For some of us, the risks of physical intimacy may outweigh the benefits; yet others may become quite ill after eating Big Macs! Abstinence in this case is not denial, although quite frustratingly it may be viewed as so by others. Denying oneself pleasure is not intrinsically bad either; it builds self-discipline to use in other pursuits. For example, if I ate chocolate every day I'd be too heavy for a triathlete -- and I love triathlon. Of course, if any activity causes or has the potential to cause harm to others, the urge must be denied.
Whether by necessity, instinct or vanity, we live in a short-sighted view of reality and seek to maximize short-term gain. While admittedly we are mortals and can only plan within our lifetimes, it is also very saddening to look outside today and see the serious harm we are doing to our environment -- to the natural world that will outlive us and our descendants. There must be a balance struck between daily pleasures and long-term happiness.
As an example, Sismondo opines that aging playboy Hugh Heffner does not have the kind of happiness and freedom from pain that most of us truly desire. Finding a sensible mate, getting a good job, eating well and exercising, and making sound investment choices may all be elements of the "good life" in modern society. Why can’t we just “grow out of” the thrill of the taboo, and embrace the simpler and more universal joys that surround us in this still-quite-wonderful world?
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
SMILE
Right… so some of you have been asking why I was so excited about my dentist appointment this morning. If you could see me now… well, I’m beaming.
I mean, what sane person is actually happy to go to the dentist?
I ran there and back in the snow with a 15-pound pack (~18k), fuelled by an egg and a tomato, right after swim practice. That was fun too.
But remember my whacked-up trigeminal nerve (third-branch). All hygienists are not equal … and there is one in Ottawa that can navigate my nerve-damaged face without killing me… thank goodness! And this, dear folks, made my day. Oh heck, my month & my year too. SMILE for that!!!
*****
Oh, and FTR ... unfortunately it is possible to be both arrogant and shy at the same time. Borderline (?) and painfully.
I mean, what sane person is actually happy to go to the dentist?
I ran there and back in the snow with a 15-pound pack (~18k), fuelled by an egg and a tomato, right after swim practice. That was fun too.
But remember my whacked-up trigeminal nerve (third-branch). All hygienists are not equal … and there is one in Ottawa that can navigate my nerve-damaged face without killing me… thank goodness! And this, dear folks, made my day. Oh heck, my month & my year too. SMILE for that!!!
*****
Oh, and FTR ... unfortunately it is possible to be both arrogant and shy at the same time. Borderline (?) and painfully.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Random thoughts while awaiting the storm
There is a sense of expectation in the air, the proverbial “calm before the storm”, which is somehow more poignant due to Ottawa’s general winter-weariness. I can’t really blame the city for giving up on clearing the sidewalks; it feels like we’ve all just wrung our hands, shrugged our shoulders and let out a collective sigh of resignation. Weird. However, the additional dumping will give me more reason for snowshoeing.
Mandatory Health & Safety workshop yesterday; this “training” probably reduces insurance premiums but I’m still not able to identify the many dangers lurking behind my cubicle wall. Boredom perhaps? A paper cut? The speaker opened the session with the following helpful tidbit:
“If you fall off a building, you might die”.
It never fails to amaze me how many dollars and how many bright, scientific minds are wasted on the silliest of studies. Take this one: “Are Smart People Drawn To The Arts Or Does Arts Training Make People Smarter?” I love these “chicken-or-the-egg” questions because the answer can almost never be proven, and if discovered, is almost always irrelevant. This 3-year study could shed no light on any “causal relationship” and pleads again the correlation between intelligence and interest in the arts. Big deal. There would be a correlation between intelligence and interest in any cerebral activity, as well as between intelligence and personal drive, and between intelligence and self-actualization (loathe as I am to use that word in Maslow’s context).
If you want to give your kids the best start in life—genetics notwithstanding—should you not try to expose them to a wide variety of activities (arts & music, sports, culture & languages, civic & community pursuits)? I’m not suggesting an over-burdening of schedules and enrolments that threaten to give the kid a stress-induced disorder... just limit time on the boob tube and spend more time with them yourself.
After all… there will be plenty of time to specialize later. Modern society is completely honeymooned over the idea of a quick fix: a magic pill that will make you smarter, thinner, prettier, richer… Just teach your children to enjoy the outdoors and to protect the environment, because we are intimately connected with—and depend on—this physical world. Let them be free to wonder, to imagine, and to play. Foster a curious mind. Don’t be afraid to learn something new. Demonstrate balance, patience and kindness in your own life. Above all, enjoy what you are doing and with whom you are doing it! Simple.
Oh, and thanks to PK for suggesting that “Granularity” would be a good name for the next high-fibre breakfast cereal.
Mandatory Health & Safety workshop yesterday; this “training” probably reduces insurance premiums but I’m still not able to identify the many dangers lurking behind my cubicle wall. Boredom perhaps? A paper cut? The speaker opened the session with the following helpful tidbit:
“If you fall off a building, you might die”.
It never fails to amaze me how many dollars and how many bright, scientific minds are wasted on the silliest of studies. Take this one: “Are Smart People Drawn To The Arts Or Does Arts Training Make People Smarter?” I love these “chicken-or-the-egg” questions because the answer can almost never be proven, and if discovered, is almost always irrelevant. This 3-year study could shed no light on any “causal relationship” and pleads again the correlation between intelligence and interest in the arts. Big deal. There would be a correlation between intelligence and interest in any cerebral activity, as well as between intelligence and personal drive, and between intelligence and self-actualization (loathe as I am to use that word in Maslow’s context).
If you want to give your kids the best start in life—genetics notwithstanding—should you not try to expose them to a wide variety of activities (arts & music, sports, culture & languages, civic & community pursuits)? I’m not suggesting an over-burdening of schedules and enrolments that threaten to give the kid a stress-induced disorder... just limit time on the boob tube and spend more time with them yourself.
After all… there will be plenty of time to specialize later. Modern society is completely honeymooned over the idea of a quick fix: a magic pill that will make you smarter, thinner, prettier, richer… Just teach your children to enjoy the outdoors and to protect the environment, because we are intimately connected with—and depend on—this physical world. Let them be free to wonder, to imagine, and to play. Foster a curious mind. Don’t be afraid to learn something new. Demonstrate balance, patience and kindness in your own life. Above all, enjoy what you are doing and with whom you are doing it! Simple.
Oh, and thanks to PK for suggesting that “Granularity” would be a good name for the next high-fibre breakfast cereal.
Thursday, March 6, 2008
February Progress Report
Here’s how I’ve fared with the New Year’s goals last month:
1. Net Worth increased by $803.65 in February; that’s right on target. Income taxes already filed. Target portfolio has been set for registered and non-registered investments.
2. Won a scholarship to write the CFA Level 1 exam
3. Was given permission to submit employer references (in lieu of academic ones) for grad studies in Systems Science... which I will be "hawking" for the math upgrades and then moving on to Economics.
4. Moved up a lane at the pool… I haven’t missed a swim practice since mid-November, so that probably helped! In February I also cut 4 seconds off my personal best time for 100m free.
5. Booked for the in-house oral French classes at work, trying for that B…
6. The running is going ok; no injuries yet. I’m getting some quality trainer time in as well.
7. Europe trip: more (free!) accommodations have been secured. Found a pack and sleeping bag to borrow so those costs have been deferred.
8. Finally... yeah, I did one thing this month that put me out of my comfort zone.
Refraining from pulling my hair out has proved to be the hardest feat to accomplish...Usually I saved the hair-pulling to keep me alert while reading an especially dreary textbook, but even now the incidence has scarcely diminished.
Chewing gum does seem to help, and hey... I have 10 more months to kick the habit.
1. Net Worth increased by $803.65 in February; that’s right on target. Income taxes already filed. Target portfolio has been set for registered and non-registered investments.
2. Won a scholarship to write the CFA Level 1 exam
3. Was given permission to submit employer references (in lieu of academic ones) for grad studies in Systems Science... which I will be "hawking" for the math upgrades and then moving on to Economics.
4. Moved up a lane at the pool… I haven’t missed a swim practice since mid-November, so that probably helped! In February I also cut 4 seconds off my personal best time for 100m free.
5. Booked for the in-house oral French classes at work, trying for that B…
6. The running is going ok; no injuries yet. I’m getting some quality trainer time in as well.
7. Europe trip: more (free!) accommodations have been secured. Found a pack and sleeping bag to borrow so those costs have been deferred.
8. Finally... yeah, I did one thing this month that put me out of my comfort zone.
Refraining from pulling my hair out has proved to be the hardest feat to accomplish...Usually I saved the hair-pulling to keep me alert while reading an especially dreary textbook, but even now the incidence has scarcely diminished.
Chewing gum does seem to help, and hey... I have 10 more months to kick the habit.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Would you like some Granularity with that?
When I first saw this particular monstrosity of a word, it was used in the following context:
“Mr. X would like to see more granularity in this report.”
What the writer meant to say was: “Mr. X. would like to see more a more detailed breakdown of the performance measurement results for each program type”.
Meanwhile, back at the cubicle farm…
Granularity is the wrong word—period. I appeal to Webster’s definition for assistance: "consisting of or appearing to consist of granules : grainy."
Well, now we have a problem… according to this definition, if something consists of granules, it is called “grainy”, but if something consists of grains, it is also called “grainy”. However, it is a well-known fact that a “grain” is a relatively large particle of something, a “granule” is smaller than a grain, and a “chondrule” is smaller yet.
Perhaps Webster had an oversight. What about this:
Comprised of grains = grainy.
Comprised of granules = granular.
Comprised of chondrules = chondrular. (Say that one 5 times fast).
Now that we’re all clear, how does one go about making a report “granular”? Strictly speaking, we must take the grains and split them into granules: thus we have to assume that the grains are defined. If the grains are defined, the report is already “grainy” and then we have the question of what constitutes a “grain” vs. a “granule” in terms of the level of detail required. This is difficult due to the fact that public policy work generally does not follow the rules of physical science in the figurative.
Heaven forbid we overshoot by mistake and break down the data into chondrules.
But all this is moot unless we are able to logically make something “more” granular. If a substance is “granular”, it is comprised of a certain volume of granules. We cannot make an entity “more granular” by adding granules, because then we change its form and characteristics; we are limited to the volume of matter already present. As previously outlined, if we decide to split the granules further into chondrules, we are making something chondrular (not “more” chondrular or “more” granular”). Grammatically, the correct way to say this incorrect sentence would be:
“Mr. X would like to see the grain of this report granulated.”
“Mr. X would like to see more granularity in this report.”
What the writer meant to say was: “Mr. X. would like to see more a more detailed breakdown of the performance measurement results for each program type”.
Meanwhile, back at the cubicle farm…
Granularity is the wrong word—period. I appeal to Webster’s definition for assistance: "consisting of or appearing to consist of granules : grainy."
Well, now we have a problem… according to this definition, if something consists of granules, it is called “grainy”, but if something consists of grains, it is also called “grainy”. However, it is a well-known fact that a “grain” is a relatively large particle of something, a “granule” is smaller than a grain, and a “chondrule” is smaller yet.
Perhaps Webster had an oversight. What about this:
Comprised of grains = grainy.
Comprised of granules = granular.
Comprised of chondrules = chondrular. (Say that one 5 times fast).
Now that we’re all clear, how does one go about making a report “granular”? Strictly speaking, we must take the grains and split them into granules: thus we have to assume that the grains are defined. If the grains are defined, the report is already “grainy” and then we have the question of what constitutes a “grain” vs. a “granule” in terms of the level of detail required. This is difficult due to the fact that public policy work generally does not follow the rules of physical science in the figurative.
Heaven forbid we overshoot by mistake and break down the data into chondrules.
But all this is moot unless we are able to logically make something “more” granular. If a substance is “granular”, it is comprised of a certain volume of granules. We cannot make an entity “more granular” by adding granules, because then we change its form and characteristics; we are limited to the volume of matter already present. As previously outlined, if we decide to split the granules further into chondrules, we are making something chondrular (not “more” chondrular or “more” granular”). Grammatically, the correct way to say this incorrect sentence would be:
“Mr. X would like to see the grain of this report granulated.”
Monday, March 3, 2008
Unhappy Meals : Pollan tells it as it is
Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.
Why would I write yet another rant on North American consumption habits when the "real food vs. isolated nutrients" debate has been so eloquently summed up by Michael Pollan in the NYT mag?
Why would I write yet another rant on North American consumption habits when the "real food vs. isolated nutrients" debate has been so eloquently summed up by Michael Pollan in the NYT mag?
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