math-impaired

Life sucks for the math impaired when you're in finance. New projects to date: Relearning implicit differentiation, figuring out which way signs go in an equation, and learning how to prove things.

Today I was working with three other guys in my department in the computer lab. I don't know why, but I just feel like I have something to prove. Having never worked with these people before, it's almost like I'm testing the waters. I think I came out of today having given the impression that while I'm not completely brain dead, I'm definitely proof-impaired.

I really don't know. I've never been one of those people to get a problem set and just crank through the whole thing for hours and hours at a time. I have never looked at a problem and stared at it for hours (apparently this is more common then I thought). Now, it feels dumb asking for help, especially since I don't really know the people in my program very well and it's just a stupid perception thing. I really should get over this fear of being perceived as (god-forbid!) unintelligent and just ask for help (though I'm not sure that this is something that guys do either).

It's definitely different to go through the day interacting with primarily all guys and occaisonally the other girl in my program. The guys in my program are surprisingly funny and nice (so far). I think I have this metastable status that wavers between being one of the guys and some strange and foreign entity. I just sit there and laugh when they hit on undergrads and feel some misguided sense of superiority. Anyway, time to get some sleep, wake up early, and tackle order relations and countable sets before meeting at 10:30AM.

squareheadbuttface

Brownie points to whoever can identify said person:

X: You, my dear, can call me whatever you like.
Y: Really? Anything?
X: ok, ok, I meant anything within reason.
X: No reason to call me sqareheadbuttface or something.
Y: what?
X: I was poking fun at myself.
X: My chin is shaped like a butt.
Y: ???????????????????
X: It is a little. There's a crease in the middle.
Y: What?
X: So when I squish my chin
Y: Um...
X: It looks like a buttcrack.

the wonderful brain

While perusing mytube, I found an artsy questionnaire used in an interview and proceeded to try it out on some of my friends. Pain...lots of pain.

Here are the questions and my responses:

• What's your favorite word?
• numinous. duh.
  
• What's your least favorite word?
• c***
• What turns you on?
• integrity
• What turns you off?
• arrogance
• What's your favorite sound or noise?
• water running
• What's your least favorite sound or noise?
• chalk scraping across a blackboard
• If you had to choose a profession other than your own, what would it be?
• it's pretty obvious
• What profession would you never ever choose?
• lawyer

Here's another set of responses:

What's your favorite word?
A: word for what?
A: ion think i have one
A: ok ill go with moop

What's your least favorite word?
A: y would i have such strong feelings about words???
A: i never did like the supercalafragilisticespialadotious word

What turns you on?
A: like on or onnnnn
A: ion understand these questions
A: so on as in sexual or on as in u like it a lot
Me: you're supposed to answer spontaneously
A: like the first thing to pop into my head when u asked it?
A: well monkies came to mind
A: but ionno y
Me: I give up
A: nooooo
A: i wanna know my fortune!!!
Me: it's just random questions
A: so what doya get at the end of it?
A: a wish?
A: aww thats crappy

What turns you off?
A: what?!?!
A: this is so confusing

and on and on...It was painful. Person B didn't fare much better...

What's your favorite word?
B: inarticulatable is a good word
B: as is schreuengthed
Me: what?
B: it's the longest one syllable word in english
Me: what does it mean?
B: nothing
B: it doesn't really exist
Me: I'm confused
B: it's a dumb word i made up a long time ago
B: cuz i needed a really long one syllable word

What turns you on?
B: hm?
B: i dunno

What turns you off?
B: hm -- murderous ax-wielding lunatics?

What's your favorite sound or noise?
B: plink.

What's your favorite curse word?
B: swounds!
B: it's from shakespaear's time
Me: oh dear god

If you were standing before the gates of heaven, what would God say to you?
B: you really should look both ways before crossing the street, you know

If you had to choose a profession other than your own, what would it be?
B: Media mogul

What profession would you never ever choose?
B: Toilet cleaner

one hundred days of solitude

I haven't had a personal life lately. Looking back at college (I know, it's only been three months since graduation), it might actually have been a really good part of my life. I miss the people a lot. Over the past month, the only person I've talked to on a regular basis is me, and that's not very healthy. Talking to myself is fine and dandy. I have lots of things to say, but it's slightly difficult to expand my horizons when there's only one viewpoint.

There've been people that I've met here, but I haven't been able to discern a strong connection (ok, so Rome wasn't built in a day). I feel like I'm past acquaintances but not quite to the friend stage yet. Maybe it's harder because 95% of the people that I interact with now are guys. It's harder for me to pick up guy vibes.

Following are random thoughts about Philly.
Things I enjoy about Philly:
- Cost of living compared to Boston...almost nonexistent
- Pretty campus
- Food truck that sells fruit salad
- More than 10 food trucks on campus

Things I don't enjoy about Philly:
- It's dirty
- It's more dangerous to walk here during the daytime than in Boston at night
- It's got multiple personalities (neighborhoods)

war and politics

Politics is simply a less crude and unbastardized cousin of war. In both cases, there are two opposing sides working against each other for the sole aim of power. The difference is merely in the approach. All too often, war is protected under the waving cape of politics. Take suicide bombers. There's a prime example for you. After blowing innocent people to shreds, Hamas and Hezbollah claim that they were freeing their own people from oppression. Immediately, group members begin running for government positions and take the initiative of rebuilding communities that they indirectly destroyed.

Unfortunately, by its very definition, politics breathes legitimacy. Government officials are assumed to be acting in a higher capacity than the everyman. Hence, the suicide bomber supporter turned cabinet member and the militant turned peace corps are given legitimacy, and by natural extension, their actions are given legitimacy as well. As soon as the protective mantle of politics is donned, we cannot help but acknowledge righteousness. Once a kidnapping is proclaimed to be in the service of helping the oppressed masses, the war is already won through politics. By turning the spotlight away from themselves and onto the wronged, the defense has not only been proclaimed innocent, but the prosecution has also been ordered to pay damages to him on top of this.

Illegitimate war is terrible, and politics is as often wrong as it is right. The horrific happens when we put the two together. We are not just unable to respond to illegitimate actions of violence, we are endorsing it through our silence. What can we do? If we do nothing, they win. If we retaliate, then we are clearly the aggressors and their assertion that we are oppressing their population is true. Where is the solution? Where is conscience? Where is morality?

first bank, second bank, first exchange

Today, per my dorkiness, I went to visit the first bank, second bank, and the first exchange of the United States.

The First Bank of the United States.


The Second Bank of the United States, modelled after the Parthenon.

The first Exchange of the United States.

I'm trying to foster a passion for finance that will sustain me for the next five years. I'd be lying if I said that I'm going into my program with perfect confidence and composure. Going into undegrad was so easy because there were no expectations. I was seventeen and stupid. There were good things and there was crap. It's was all fine and dandy because I was enthusiastic. I was cheerful, and I took things in a stride.

Now I feel like I've decided which way my life is going, which is frightening as all hell. There's no more innocence, only the knowledge that I've dedicated myself to this, and this is what I am going to do.

fish eyes

The great thing about having a father who drags you fishing is staring for hours at a time at the boats passing by and the water rippling ever so gently on the surface, while smelling the combination of salt, fish scales, and deep-fried seafood.

During these father-daughter bonding sessions, my job is to fish for small bait fish (baby bluefish), which he then puts on the hook to lure bigger fish. Wonderful concept. My line has five little hooks with pieces of silver plastic, so when I jerk the line, it looks like a minature school of fish is jumping (very clever).

The part that I find most difficult is extracating the hook from the fish. It's easy when the hook is simply caught on the fish's lip and I can just work it out. It's much more difficult and becomes torturous when the fish swallows the the hook entirely (greedy fish) and it gets caught in the gills. Then I'm elevated to the position of a surgeon without skill or anesthetics. There's usually a lot of fishy blood involved, and occaisonally pieces of gills and other parts coming loose. The most memorable incident is a fish who got the hook caught in his (or her) eye. The hook wasn't just caught in one eye. It went through it's skin to loop around the other eye as well. With my non-surgical fingers, I tried to inch the hook out, and the fish was free after one minute, sans one eye. One eyeball, oozing red-black blood, was left on my hook. It was mildly disgusting at the time, and upon reflection a few hours later, it was really gross.

Besides baby bluefish, I've also caught baby barracudas (nasty sharp teeth), sea robins (they actually moan), and shad. My dad mainly catches fluke (A relative of flounder) and occaisonally striped bass (huge monsters). Regulations say that only those above 17.5 and 28 inches, respectively, can be taken home. Out at sea, there's massive bluefish and tuna.

Our fanaticism struck at 5:30AM Saturday morning, when we went to fish in the premordial mist and watched the sun rise. The ocean was teeming with bluefish. There were so many that they could barely swim around each other. I caught ~80 tiny fish that morning and promply broke all of my hooks from the wear. That was fun:) Anyway, back to the poor one-eyed fish. It went half-crazy from the pain and leapt between the boards of the deck to rejoin its family...so every story does have a happy ending, after all.

penn

I'm in Philly for today and part of tomorrow. UPenn is gorgeous, although the rest of the city is questionable. UPenn is just like Harvard but bigger and prettier.

I walked to Chinatown with Adam and had Pho...We walked about 6 miles total. Center City is nice with pretty shops (Ann Taylor, BCBG Max Aria, Arden B...), but far far from campus.

It's back to RI for two weeks, moving my stuff down to UPenn, then starting grad school...

Not that much else to say. School startes after labor day. Nine people total in my class, seven men and two women. Many more than previous years of four or five. I've met seven of the other eight people, and the other girl is also an MIT alum.

If this entry sounds so uninspiring, it's probably because I got up at 5:15AM this morning to get to Philly. My brain is shutting down.

fun at the range

Yesterday, I had a world of fun at Blue Ridge Arsenal in VA. Besides seeing Coriolanus in London, it was the highlight of my summer. I was shooting a P220 Sig Sauer, 9mm (~.357), which was fantastic, since I've only shot the Smith&Wesson .22 before and air pistol. Ok, so I have to mention that Jack Bauer uses a P228 Sig Sauer (.38) in seasons 1 & 2 of 24...

In Virginia and some other states, you can openly carry weapons (You do need a license for carrying a concealed weapon), but I think that's cool (not that I can afford a weapon or need a weapon any time in the near future).

At the firing range, it was 80% men, a few old grandmas (that was freaky), a family including teenage children, and me. Yup. Yay for demographics! I fired around 100 rounds, and my arms were screaming at me, but it was supremely fun. There's no adrenaline rush, but something very satisfactory about it. Firearms is really about 90% concentration and 10% strength (the reason for the MIT pistol team's success). Everyone's hand shakes, but you have to have the strength of mind to will your hand to shake less or even to stop shaking until getting off the perfect shot.

I came out of there sweat-covered with powder all over my shirt and a few on my face where the empty shells flew (doesn't hurt). There's also the sweet taste of powder (or lead) in the back of my throat:) Unfortunately, my arms were too short for the M2 carbine, the machine gun. It was loads of fun.

summer part II

Books to study very very carefully:
Principles of Mathematical Analysis /Walter Rudin or Lecture Notes
A First Course in Optimization Theory /Sundaram

Briefly review probability and statistics

Weeks at work: Uncertain

Books to read:
Middlemarch /George Eliot
Arena /John Jakes
Fountainhead /Rand (Reread)

Other sundry items:
Organize pictures of Europe
Sort music
Continuing to exercise ~4-5 times per week

Movies/TV shows:
Preferably None

People visiting:
Andria & Shuai /7.14 – 7.16
Anita & Emily /7.21 – 7.26
Tiff Chen? /8.3 –