Nerd alert!

Spent the last half-hour discussing, among other things, adiabatic systems in varying contexts; as applied to quantum physics and computer science as well as thermodynamics. Reviewed the Hamiltonian operator and eigenvalues. The bomb calorimeter was fondly recalled.

Feeling smarter? Or just a wee bit dizzy?


(I was going to post an appropriate Far Side cartoon here, but this gave me pause.)

Mildly amusing electronica

Hipster Cards
if you're lazy and/or a sucker for amusing freebie greetings.


music geeks!

Stolen from targemq8 who stole it from bourbonsoul

Step 1: Put your MP3 player or whatever on random.
Step 2: Post the first line from the first 15 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song.
Step 3: Post and let everyone you know guess what song and artist the lines come from. (NOTE: posting in the comments is fine)
Step 4: Strike out the songs when someone guesses correctly. (Mine are bolded)
Step 5: Looking them up on Google or any other search engine is CHEATING! (Cheating!)
(NOTE: some of these may be covers. since you can't read my mind, really, I'll accept any acceptably well known artist)
1. There are places I remember...
2. Unchain my heart....baby let me be..
3. It was raining hard in Frisco
4. You're all I've ever wanted but I'm terrified of you
5. Pissing in a river, watching you rise
6. When you say love you're telling everyone...
7. I was a fighter always looking for trouble and my life was so empty there was nothing left to live for
8. I've been lonely, I've been waiting for you
9. In a desperate mind, little gardens grow
10. Love me two times baby, love me twice today
11.She says meet me at the gates at eight
12. What's wrong? What are you afraid of?
13. Oh my man I love him so, he'll never know
14. Love come quick, love come in a hurry
15.Ohhh comely l will be with you when you lose your breath


Those crazy Scandanavians



The extra 'e' is for extra....

If you get that reference, click below for your prize:



I am obsessed.

As an aside the link I got the last post's photo from may be the most adorable website for guys who want to get cute and meaningful (And by meaningful I mean 'canned cuteness that would make me cringe but is hilarious in the abstract) "pressies for their princess." Also, "pressies for your princess" sounds dirty but it's not

By the way, if any of you menfolk who read my blog and are so inclined (which I believe is a subset of the total, whose number is less than one), I would either be appalled or amazed with any bundle of crap ordered from this site and send to me. I especially loathe teddy bears, they collect lint. Still, I may turn all girly, it's a calculated risk.

Cut to later: I am officially obsessed with this website and I can't explain why. I think it's PMS. Stop me before I order something cute. I can't afford overseas shipping on this stuff.

owwwww etc.

I did the AIDSWalk! I wanted to write lots and lots but of course was too achy to deal with it last night, and haven't put up the photos.

in the meantime here's a message from my quadriceps:


Once again, Jennings rulz

Following his blogmeme...this is a hoot.

What I've been watching

Random hotties

Best career move I've heard all day.

"I'm going to quit and start diving for treasure."

- Captain Yogurt*, Patent Attorney at Large

*not his real name. You know how much I love the pseudonyms!


Weird food combinations I find that I enjoy

Maybe you will too! Or maybe you'll just groan.

1. Honey roasted peanuts and yogurt

I'm enjoying a French Vanilla (Stonyfield fat free) yogurt with HRPs from the deli downstairs. Crunchy/sweet/salty/creamy good!

2. Deli tossed salad

I have to say I see some pretty gruesome combinations out there; it's as if the salad counter toss is one's only daily refuge into creativity.

Mine is perhaps only slightly weird, but with serious shades of unhealty: blue cheese crumbles, mandarin oranges, cucumbers, tomatoes and occasionally bacon or walnuts. Sometimes avocado or asparagus wanders in. A touch of fat free honey dijon dressing. Romaine only, please! Keep your weedy mixed greens and nasty raw spinach.

3. Lipton noodle soup and eggs

A childhood staple. Kind of like homemade eggdrop soup but not as gluey (and with little noodles!) Ring noodle is actually better even though it is not technically "chicken noodle" but "noodle soup with chicken." Yum!

4. Black bean garlic sauce and sweet potatoes.

Grated sweet potatoes mixed with egg, flour and a spoon of black bean garlic sauce. Formed into tiny cakes and pan fried. Weird but great (and you may be getting the extent of my sodium addiction by now). From the late great Laurie Colwin.

5. My favorite smoothie

Milk or soymilk, ice, cocoa powder, Splenda, vanilla sugar free protein powder, peanut butter, and a handful of granola. Texture!

Queasy yet? In the next foodie episode, my on and off again love affair with dried meat and meat-stick products.

For all you science nerds!

Isn't this cool?

For highly edumacated time-killing, try this site. Fun! A nice break from the gossip sites. Feyman lectures, anyone?



Pretty awesome!

Stolen from here. Thanks, people, yet again for doing my work for me!


Inarticulately yours

Earlier post

What I'd like to say to people, what I need to say to people and what I do say to people are quite different.


I bet I delete this within 24 hours.

I know myself.

In the meantime why did the Sopranos and Entourage end in EXACTLY THE SAME WAY?


"This is so stupid...

...but it made me laugh, almost against my will."
- A.

So true. Check the gallery on the side.




"I love you."

Top 15 Han Solo Quotes

That's what friends are for (with apologies to women named Samantha)

Herewith follows a transcript (edited for brevity and names) of today's intercontinental email exchange that made me giggle a great deal (a much needed giggle):

*my rapper/beverage name
*his rapper/mobster name

From: Shelly D*
Hey, be nice to me I'm having a rough day!

On 5/9/07, Sammy the Brit* wrote:
Um...now I have nothing to say.
I suppose I can try. You're not bad. I don't mind you. You're kind of alright, I guess.

From: Shelly D:
Well I guess that's alright. You're fairly inoffensive. It doesn't make my eyes bleed to look at you, usually.

On 5/9/07, Sammy the Brit wrote:
I don't often feel sick to the pit of my very soul and being at the mere mention of your name.

From: Shelly D:
Most of the time, simply seeing your name in print doesn't cause me to have violent convulsions.

On 5/9/07, Sammy the Brit wrote:
Some nights I don't wake up screaming when I remember that I know you.

From: Shelly D:
I have avoided assaulting the majority of men who vaguely resemble you in height.

On 5/9/07, Sammy the Brit wrote:
I have avoided the women that vaguely resemble you.

From: Shelly D:
I have renounced my preferences and now only date women except for women named "samantha".

On 5/9/07, Sammy the Brit wrote:
You have made me immensely relieved that my suspicions about your preferences were right all along, but now I am scared to date women at all, just in case you have beaten me to them. Unless they are called Samantha, in which case I am safe as long as I don't mind shouting my own name out in bed. (which I don't).

He remembered!!!

"Happy aborted anniversary."
- the actual ex

Sigh. At least I still have the blender and the KitchenAid. They seem to have outlasted.


Fabulous funny food link du jour of the day


Stolen with impunity and laziness from here. (How much original content have I posted lately? Snort.)

Hee hee...happy women's day from the Onion!

By the way, your blogger code links suck.

No sh@#%t, Sherlock.

What American accent do you have?
Created by Xavier on Memegen.net

New York City. You are most definitely from New York City. Not New Jersey, not Connecticut. If you are from Jersey then you can probably get into New York City in 10 minutes or less.

Take this quiz now - it's easy!
We're going to start with "cot" and "caught." When you say those words do they sound the same or different?



Celebrate something beautiful.

This is a touching essay by Jeff Pearlman on espn.com (I don't have anything to add, really):

Celebrating life in the face of death
By Jeff Pearlman
Special to Page 2

"Death tugs at my ear and says, 'Live, I am coming.'"
-- Oliver Wendell Holmes

Two Mondays ago, Cindy Sherwin's life ended.

She was riding her bicycle through New York City, training for the upcoming Ironman Triathlon in Lake Placid, N.Y., when she suffered an aneurism and became brain dead. Unable to save her, doctors at Roosevelt Hospital kept Cindy on life support so her brother -- married two days earlier -- could return from his honeymoon in the Maldives to say goodbye.

I first learned of this story when my wife hung up the phone, turned toward me and said, simply, "You won't believe this." Cindy was the daughter of one of my mother-in-law's closest friends. She was, at age 33, a model of vigor and health. Along with the five marathons and myriad triathlons she'd completed, Cindy worked as a personal trainer. Fitness was her life. Her passion. "The rabbi asked us to sit down and throw out words to describe her," says Elaine Schaller, Cindy's mom. "My thought was that she was a gift from an angel. She was my gift from an angel. 'Special' is too trite of an adjective for her."

My wife was right. I couldn't believe it. For the next few days, Cindy's death consumed my thoughts. One moment you're doing the Hora at your brother's wedding, the next you cease to exist.

Three days after Cindy was taken off life support, I switched on my computer and saw the headline CARDINALS' HANCOCK KILLED IN CAR ACCIDENT. Although major league baseball was my beat for nearly six years, I had never met Josh Hancock. Truth be told, I knew almost nothing about the man. Was he a lefty or a righty? Was he married? Religious? A smart dresser? A Travis Tritt fan?

What I did know was that in the ensuing days and weeks, precise rites of passage were certain to unfold. The media would zero in on the Cardinals, pull players aside, ask in (understandably) semi-hushed tones, "How do you cope with something like this?" and "What will you remember about Josh?" Members of the team would respond, in (understandably) semi-hushed tones, "We're gonna do what Josh would have wanted, which is to continue to go out there and play hard." Shortly thereafter, the Cardinals equipment manager would affix a black patch with Hancock's uniform number to a sleeve, or maybe somewhere above the chest. There would be moments of silence, the unveiling of a mural or plaque. A month later, maybe two, Hancock's relatives would throw out the first pitch at Busch Stadium. They'd receive a standing ovation. "Josh is loving this up in heaven," Jim Edmonds or Braden Looper or Chris Carpenter would say. "I'm pretty sure he's smiling down on us right now."

I am by no means mocking such a routine. Death isn't a 6-4-3. It's complicated. Slippery. Dimensioned to the infinite degree. But as I was wandering the streets of Manhattan last week, perhaps crossing some of the same blocks that had comprised Cindy Sherwin's final journey, I stumbled upon something of a personal revelation. When those close to us pass, we immediately -- often robotically -- turn to ritual. Jews like myself sit shiva, tell some funny stories and eat cookies. Military personnel fire off shots into the air and play taps on the bugle. Baseball players wear patches and hang the deceased's jersey from an empty locker stall. It's all in the name of healing; of finding a way to understand why a Cindy Sherwin or Josh Hancock passed and -- most important -- to soothe the pain.

But maybe, just maybe, we shouldn't be in such a rush to soothe the pain. Cindy Sherwin is dead. Josh Hancock is dead. Soon enough, you and I will be dead, too. We will no longer possess thoughts or feelings or hurt or joy. We will be lifeless. Nothingness. Such is not hypothetical, but reality. Life ends.

I want to force myself to think about that, and then embrace what Cindy Sherwin and Josh Hancock no longer can. I want to order the Reese's Pieces Sundae with extra whipped cream. I want to lounge in the sun at Shea Stadium on a lazy August afternoon alongside my 3-year-old daughter and a gimantic (her word, not mine) box of Cracker Jacks. I want to run in the pouring rain and belt a karaoke version of "Sometimes When We Touch" and drive for layups in Paul Duer's driveway and wrap my arm around my wife's shoulders as we watch the sun set from the bench in our front yard.

I am petrified of death. Beyond petrified. But do not soothe me. I demand to be reminded of my mortality every day. That existence is not permanent. That our time is fleeting and our hourglass easily breakable.

From my vantage point, that's the way we truly honor Cindy Sherwin and Josh Hancock and the many others who pass on too soon.

First, think of all the joyful, amazing, life-defining things they will forever miss out on.

Then, without delay, go do them.