I want to post things here. It’s fun. Not fun like blowing something up or a rollercoaster, but fun nonetheless. However, I went back to Iowa a few times, and the blogging died with each trip. It shouldn’t be surprising that when I brought these wonderful people (I love them all, I really do) back with me to Scotland that the blogging would fall considerably on the priority list. Also, kids in a whisky bar attract unwanted attention. I haven’t sipped a drop since their arrival. (Well, that’s not perfectly honest; I did exploit the airline status upgrade and drink Dewar’s on the flight to Utah).
I have thought to myself that I owe it to my fan(s) to post things and I want to do so. I just need a new approach. As the priority dropped for blogging, so shall the quality! I think I will try to get ten minutes out of my fingers every day or so. I am going to try that now for a bit and hope it all works out.
Flat update: all the work inside is complete, they gave me £500 back from our deposit, and they are looking into giving us 10 days rent. I think they are getting off easy. By the way, a flat is an apartment.
So, we went to London, I went to Utah for three weeks, we went to the Beach, we got Iterative Hard Thresholding running on a GPU, and more. I’ll start with some snippets about those things, but hey, my ten minutes is up.
Happy Anniversary to my parents.
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random. Show all posts
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Thursday, 27 May 2010
From the Heatherlea to the Tornado House
The door to the Heatherlea has closed and I no longer have a key. What I do have, is my family. Solid. I left the Heatherlea on Monday and came back to Iowa. We call our house in Iowa the Tornado House. This isn't etched over the door like the house names of Edinburgh, but it might as well be. W named it the Tornado House while we were looking at houses in March of 2009 because it looks exactly like the farm house in all the old movies that gets destroyed by a tornado. (We bought the Tornado House over the Mansion, the Nightmare on Elm Street, and the Money Pit.)
When I return to Edinburgh, we'll be taking up two rows of a jet-liner. Right now, my dear wife is on a well deserved vacation with two friends. She tries to go every year but the first year she missed it because I made her move to New Mexico. Last year she missed it because I made her move to Iowa. This year, she's back.
Right now, I hope she's drinking a single malt, like a Bowmore 17yr or maybe a Balvenie 21yr, and thinking, "Damn I deserve this." However, she's probably drinking a beer or something girly and thinking, "Damn, I hope he remembers how to take care of the kids." Actually, she hasn't called since she left...
I am happy to report that the kids are all asleep, no one bled today, meals of reasonable nutritional value were consumed by all, grocery shopping was attempted, and the downstairs is cleaner going to bed than it was when I got up. Speaking of getting up, I am also happy to report that although the alarm didn't go off, the girls were dressed when they woke me up and said, "Dad, we need to eat breakfast so we can go to school." Not only did they eat breakfast, but they left with lunches and a simple "How 'bout a head band?" compromise sent them off on time.
When I return to Edinburgh, we'll be taking up two rows of a jet-liner. Right now, my dear wife is on a well deserved vacation with two friends. She tries to go every year but the first year she missed it because I made her move to New Mexico. Last year she missed it because I made her move to Iowa. This year, she's back.
Right now, I hope she's drinking a single malt, like a Bowmore 17yr or maybe a Balvenie 21yr, and thinking, "Damn I deserve this." However, she's probably drinking a beer or something girly and thinking, "Damn, I hope he remembers how to take care of the kids." Actually, she hasn't called since she left...
I am happy to report that the kids are all asleep, no one bled today, meals of reasonable nutritional value were consumed by all, grocery shopping was attempted, and the downstairs is cleaner going to bed than it was when I got up. Speaking of getting up, I am also happy to report that although the alarm didn't go off, the girls were dressed when they woke me up and said, "Dad, we need to eat breakfast so we can go to school." Not only did they eat breakfast, but they left with lunches and a simple "How 'bout a head band?" compromise sent them off on time.
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
I'm a Leftist!
On Saturday, I bought a van and drove it straight to Costco!
Seriously, driving on the left is definitely different, but that isn't the hard part. It is a standard, and a diesel. This means, that you MUST wait to turn the ignition until a coil has warmed up. I can't remember to do this and that is going to destroy the darn van. Second, the stick is on the left, but the gears are in the same positions. On one hand, knowing where the gears are might be helpful to some. On the other hand, if you brain works like mine, I think of first gear as close and forward and wish that the gears were a mirror image of what they are in a right handed standard.
The most difficult thing is definitely the different driving styles. The roads are quite narrow and there is literally no parking. So the cars are parked on the narrow roads. There is some etiquette I hope to figure out soon on who gets to go when. For the most part, it appears to be a game of chicken.
I have had zero accidents and only one honking incident involving a roundabout, yet another fun challenge. (I've of course faced roundabouts in Germany and such, but they're a little different here. For example, here you go around them the wrong way!)
The funniest adventure was parking this in the lot behind the Heatherlea. By lot, I mean backyard. By yard, I mean very small area. The lot is at the end of a very old alley, which I believe was designed to allow single file horse caravans. The mini-van had roughly two inches of clearance on either side. I got it in, but then getting it out was a bit of an ordeal. It is a challenge to judge the distance to the left side of a car after 18 years of judging the distance to the right. It really is different. Anyway, I did a 76 point turn, only to realize I was now facing a direction which meant that I could proceed no more. So, I undid the 76 point turn, let some exasperated motorcyclists down the alley, and started over. The second go was reduced to a 23 point turn and a van facing out of the alley. Bulls-eye! (When I got back from Costco, I did the 23 point turn first, and then backed into the Heatherlea. Now I can drive straight out ... at 0.3 miles per hour hoping not to rub a mirror off the van.)
Fortunately, I have insurance!
Seriously, driving on the left is definitely different, but that isn't the hard part. It is a standard, and a diesel. This means, that you MUST wait to turn the ignition until a coil has warmed up. I can't remember to do this and that is going to destroy the darn van. Second, the stick is on the left, but the gears are in the same positions. On one hand, knowing where the gears are might be helpful to some. On the other hand, if you brain works like mine, I think of first gear as close and forward and wish that the gears were a mirror image of what they are in a right handed standard.
The most difficult thing is definitely the different driving styles. The roads are quite narrow and there is literally no parking. So the cars are parked on the narrow roads. There is some etiquette I hope to figure out soon on who gets to go when. For the most part, it appears to be a game of chicken.
I have had zero accidents and only one honking incident involving a roundabout, yet another fun challenge. (I've of course faced roundabouts in Germany and such, but they're a little different here. For example, here you go around them the wrong way!)
The funniest adventure was parking this in the lot behind the Heatherlea. By lot, I mean backyard. By yard, I mean very small area. The lot is at the end of a very old alley, which I believe was designed to allow single file horse caravans. The mini-van had roughly two inches of clearance on either side. I got it in, but then getting it out was a bit of an ordeal. It is a challenge to judge the distance to the left side of a car after 18 years of judging the distance to the right. It really is different. Anyway, I did a 76 point turn, only to realize I was now facing a direction which meant that I could proceed no more. So, I undid the 76 point turn, let some exasperated motorcyclists down the alley, and started over. The second go was reduced to a 23 point turn and a van facing out of the alley. Bulls-eye! (When I got back from Costco, I did the 23 point turn first, and then backed into the Heatherlea. Now I can drive straight out ... at 0.3 miles per hour hoping not to rub a mirror off the van.)
Fortunately, I have insurance!
Tuesday, 11 May 2010
A Pastoral Visit
I had my first visitor in Edinburgh, none other than Fr. Nick (my pastor in the US) and Paul (his friend and traveling buddy) who are visiting Scotland for ten days. (Before passing judgment on Paul's hair in this picture, keep reading.)
They arrived in Edinburgh on Sunday and I walked down to their hotel to meet them for dinner. We decided to head over to New Town to the posh restaurants and pubs of George Street. When asked if they were hungry, both Fr. Nick and Paul replied that they were thirsty so we looked first for a pub. We had past several unimpressive places when we stopped to take a picture of the Edinburgh Castle towering over New Town.
This lovely photo op was followed by an epic moment. As we walked to the next pub, a rather full seagull jettisoned its waste in our general direction. Protected by the holiness of the priest by my side, the very loud splattering sound revealed that Nick and I had made it through unscathed. However, the sound of irritation in Paul’s voice, “You’ve gotta be s@!#in’ me!” warned of Paul’s misfortune. Only upon his turning toward us did we see the full magnitude of his misfortune. Having known Paul for roughly twenty minutes, I felt very bad for him and headed for a bar to find some napkins; Fr. Nick, as only a true friend could, simply forced Paul to pose for pictures while he heckled him and laughed hysterically. I was getting napkins so I didn’t take a photo. While Paul was attempting to clean himself up in a pub bathroom, I did take this photo of the display on Nick’s camera. It gives the general idea.
We began with some Tennant’s at the Rose and Crescent. This is like pint number one, so despite the picture, we aren't remotely intoxicated. However, this picture does capture the spirit of the evening better than the subsequent picture.
Fr. Nick suggested we take another as proof of our sobriety after previewing the first picture. I agreed but somehow bug-eyed!
We then had dinner at Le Monde, a new age bar/restaurant on George Street with a decent sized menu. After many questions and long discussions with the staff, we all got fish and chips. Delicious for sure, but somehow not the same as the stuff from the little chip shops. I’m sure this was better for you, and even tasted better, but it wasn’t the same. Fr. Nick decided that instead of ordering side dishes, he'd have a second meal via Guinness.
We walked back to High Street and stopped in one more pub for a pint, a very nice bar with a Caledonian 80. After a bit, I headed home on a bus (it was just too cold to walk).
We had made plans for night number two, but I had to change them as the restaurant near Leslie's was closed. So, instead of a night of single malts at Leslies, we went for the subdued couple o’ pints and some Scottish fare at Greyfriar’s Bobby Bar just outside the Greyfriar’s Kirk yard. I felt like Nick and Paul had to know the story of Greyfriar’s Bobby before they left Edinburgh. (If you’re new, I wrote about this before.) I recently took this picture of the Greyfriar’s Bobby monument.
It was great fun to have Fr. Nick and Paul visit, and I hope they enjoyed my company as well. They are off to the Highlands to castles and distilleries and St. Andrew’s Golf course, and I am off to Cambridge tomorrow. I’ll let you know how my trip goes and be anxious to hear from Nick about the rest of theirs.
They arrived in Edinburgh on Sunday and I walked down to their hotel to meet them for dinner. We decided to head over to New Town to the posh restaurants and pubs of George Street. When asked if they were hungry, both Fr. Nick and Paul replied that they were thirsty so we looked first for a pub. We had past several unimpressive places when we stopped to take a picture of the Edinburgh Castle towering over New Town.
This lovely photo op was followed by an epic moment. As we walked to the next pub, a rather full seagull jettisoned its waste in our general direction. Protected by the holiness of the priest by my side, the very loud splattering sound revealed that Nick and I had made it through unscathed. However, the sound of irritation in Paul’s voice, “You’ve gotta be s@!#in’ me!” warned of Paul’s misfortune. Only upon his turning toward us did we see the full magnitude of his misfortune. Having known Paul for roughly twenty minutes, I felt very bad for him and headed for a bar to find some napkins; Fr. Nick, as only a true friend could, simply forced Paul to pose for pictures while he heckled him and laughed hysterically. I was getting napkins so I didn’t take a photo. While Paul was attempting to clean himself up in a pub bathroom, I did take this photo of the display on Nick’s camera. It gives the general idea.
We began with some Tennant’s at the Rose and Crescent. This is like pint number one, so despite the picture, we aren't remotely intoxicated. However, this picture does capture the spirit of the evening better than the subsequent picture.
Fr. Nick suggested we take another as proof of our sobriety after previewing the first picture. I agreed but somehow bug-eyed!
We then had dinner at Le Monde, a new age bar/restaurant on George Street with a decent sized menu. After many questions and long discussions with the staff, we all got fish and chips. Delicious for sure, but somehow not the same as the stuff from the little chip shops. I’m sure this was better for you, and even tasted better, but it wasn’t the same. Fr. Nick decided that instead of ordering side dishes, he'd have a second meal via Guinness.
We walked back to High Street and stopped in one more pub for a pint, a very nice bar with a Caledonian 80. After a bit, I headed home on a bus (it was just too cold to walk).
We had made plans for night number two, but I had to change them as the restaurant near Leslie's was closed. So, instead of a night of single malts at Leslies, we went for the subdued couple o’ pints and some Scottish fare at Greyfriar’s Bobby Bar just outside the Greyfriar’s Kirk yard. I felt like Nick and Paul had to know the story of Greyfriar’s Bobby before they left Edinburgh. (If you’re new, I wrote about this before.) I recently took this picture of the Greyfriar’s Bobby monument.
It was great fun to have Fr. Nick and Paul visit, and I hope they enjoyed my company as well. They are off to the Highlands to castles and distilleries and St. Andrew’s Golf course, and I am off to Cambridge tomorrow. I’ll let you know how my trip goes and be anxious to hear from Nick about the rest of theirs.
Saturday, 1 May 2010
I Love Volcanoes
So we all know there was a little hiccup in the aviation industry in Europe caused by a little volcanic activity out of Iceland. Okay, so it wasn’t little and it was more than a little hiccup. Anyway, I flew back to Edinburgh on the 26th, the target for having cleared the list of backlogged passengers. I had anticipated an offer of compensation to not fly, but no such offer was presented, likely do the funds lost during the ash cloud fiasco. Anyway, what this meant was that the planes were absolutely full.
To me, the planes being absolutely full meant a little upgrade to first class on the Des Moines to Chicago leg. Then, there was a mechanical issue and we took off 60 minutes late. Now Des Moines to Chicago is a 52 minute flight, so a good tail wind wasn’t going to be sufficient. I landed 27 minutes after my flight for London had left. At first, I feared this would be a significant setback as they might move me back from economy plus to the standard economy seats. In the end, to my pleasure, my star alliance silver status instead bought me an upgrade to business class for the transatlantic flight.
When I was rebooking, they offered me business class for $800 which I refused. So, the volcano was kind enough to score me an $800 upgrade. Is the upgrade worth the $800? My frugal (i.e. cheap) nature instinctively wants to say “no” but then I sat there. First of all, each seat has many levels of adjustment like a good lazy-boy recliner. The best part is that with the push of a button, the seat goes to 180°, a complete, flat bed. I have never slept this well on a plane. It alone was worth $100 if being rested upon arrival is important (which, really it wasn’t for me).
Oh, did I mention that I didn’t try to go to sleep until after the three course meal? There was Champaign upon boarding, followed by an aperitif just after takeoff when I ordered my dinner from the menu. Then, I selected wine from the wine list which came just before my appetizer. Bread was brought around in a basket for you to select from. I was asked if I would like to switch wines for the main course, but I stuck with my selection for the braised beef. This was seriously good airplane food. For dessert, I selected the assorted cheese tray (rather than the cheesecake) to accompany the port they offered. I declined the selection of liqueurs. I considered ordering an after dinner Scotch, but decided I didn’t really need to get introduced to any of the hidden air marshals.
So after the little dinner, I talked with the geneticist next to me for a while and then hit the “bed” button. I slept for about 4 hours straight… on a plane. When I woke up, I was served breakfast consisting of a lovely fruit plate, yogurt, and endless croissants. During this time, I watched an episode of The Mentalist on my 24 inch on demand TV. I arrived at Heathrow, in high spirits.
Of course I had also missed my connection to Edinburgh, so I was rebooked into row 6. This time dumb luck rather a volcano was on my side. The scheduled aircraft had a maintenance failure and the planes were swapped out. The new plane had exactly 6 rows of first class.
Is it worth $800 to fly business across the Atlantic? I say certainly not on a western journey. On an Eastern Journey, in my opinion it is definitely worth $150-$200. Therefore, having experienced it now, I would say that $800 is a tangible example of a good pricing strategy. A cheapo like me doesn’t value it enough to do it, but enough people will value this as a good deal to make it profitable.
Also, all the folks flying First and Business class are actually paying for roughly half of our economy tickets. They should be thanked as you board. Everyone in first class likes their ego stroked, so the next time you pass through first class, just say sincerely, “Thanks for paying for most of my ticket!”
To me, the planes being absolutely full meant a little upgrade to first class on the Des Moines to Chicago leg. Then, there was a mechanical issue and we took off 60 minutes late. Now Des Moines to Chicago is a 52 minute flight, so a good tail wind wasn’t going to be sufficient. I landed 27 minutes after my flight for London had left. At first, I feared this would be a significant setback as they might move me back from economy plus to the standard economy seats. In the end, to my pleasure, my star alliance silver status instead bought me an upgrade to business class for the transatlantic flight.
When I was rebooking, they offered me business class for $800 which I refused. So, the volcano was kind enough to score me an $800 upgrade. Is the upgrade worth the $800? My frugal (i.e. cheap) nature instinctively wants to say “no” but then I sat there. First of all, each seat has many levels of adjustment like a good lazy-boy recliner. The best part is that with the push of a button, the seat goes to 180°, a complete, flat bed. I have never slept this well on a plane. It alone was worth $100 if being rested upon arrival is important (which, really it wasn’t for me).
Oh, did I mention that I didn’t try to go to sleep until after the three course meal? There was Champaign upon boarding, followed by an aperitif just after takeoff when I ordered my dinner from the menu. Then, I selected wine from the wine list which came just before my appetizer. Bread was brought around in a basket for you to select from. I was asked if I would like to switch wines for the main course, but I stuck with my selection for the braised beef. This was seriously good airplane food. For dessert, I selected the assorted cheese tray (rather than the cheesecake) to accompany the port they offered. I declined the selection of liqueurs. I considered ordering an after dinner Scotch, but decided I didn’t really need to get introduced to any of the hidden air marshals.
So after the little dinner, I talked with the geneticist next to me for a while and then hit the “bed” button. I slept for about 4 hours straight… on a plane. When I woke up, I was served breakfast consisting of a lovely fruit plate, yogurt, and endless croissants. During this time, I watched an episode of The Mentalist on my 24 inch on demand TV. I arrived at Heathrow, in high spirits.
Of course I had also missed my connection to Edinburgh, so I was rebooked into row 6. This time dumb luck rather a volcano was on my side. The scheduled aircraft had a maintenance failure and the planes were swapped out. The new plane had exactly 6 rows of first class.
Is it worth $800 to fly business across the Atlantic? I say certainly not on a western journey. On an Eastern Journey, in my opinion it is definitely worth $150-$200. Therefore, having experienced it now, I would say that $800 is a tangible example of a good pricing strategy. A cheapo like me doesn’t value it enough to do it, but enough people will value this as a good deal to make it profitable.
Also, all the folks flying First and Business class are actually paying for roughly half of our economy tickets. They should be thanked as you board. Everyone in first class likes their ego stroked, so the next time you pass through first class, just say sincerely, “Thanks for paying for most of my ticket!”
Sunday, 4 April 2010
Happy Easter
Happy Easter! It’s freezing. I want to go for a run, but it shouldn’t be this cold.
It’s Easter and in Scotland, just as in the USA, this means a lot of people made it to church today. Unfortunately, if you hadn’t been to church since Christmas, then you didn’t know that St. Columba’s was holding mass three doors down in the Parish Hall while the church is renovated. More unfortunate for those hoping to go unnoticed, was that you could see all the people pulling on the locked church door from the parish hall. I felt bad for them, even if it was moderately amusing.
(I have fair bit of respect for the often ridiculed “two-timers” whom I have heard called out during these solemn masses (“We do this every week”). Think of the courage it takes to go to Church on a day when you know that a large portion of the church is going to resent that you are there. There seemed to be none of that at Columba’s this morning, but I know from experience that somewhere a reasonably courageous attendee felt alienated rather than welcomed. I'd love it if I heard something like "We're so happy to have all of you here with us to celebrate Easter, and we invite you to celebrate the Resurrection with us as often as you can.")
On Friday, Edit (a Heatherlea resident from Hungary) went through great pains to explain a bizarre Easter tradition in Hungary. She said that on Easter, her, mother, sister and she would try to leave early in the morning to get out of the city and spent the day hiking in mountains. She described it as sneaking out of the city. Why? Because in Hungary, men douse the women with very cold water, or worse, perfume. I didn't fully understand her explanation, but I found one here. Edit says the custom has roots in a traditional story that the women at the tomb were doused with water by guards to make them leave and also that this represents a kind of re-baptism. Anyway, it's interesting albeit odd.
Last night I stayed up late watching the Final Four. There are only two legitimate reasons for not wanting Butler to win on Monday: 1) you have a direct affiliation with Duke, 2) you have no idea what I am talking about. Other than that, Butler winning the national championship would be the most awesome thing in college sports since I started paying attention, roughly a quarter of a century ago. (See what I did there…like a sportscaster I made it seem like a long time!)
I watched the games, and the first four rounds, on the CBS March Madness on Demand free online game player. During the first four rounds, the MMOD (as it’s called) had its own half-time show. For the semi-finals, it was the real thing. First of all, it was very funny that the three talking heads did not know that they were live on MMOD for about five minutes before they started their half time show. But more importantly, did you watch President Obama shoot hoops? That was really impressive and fun to watch. If you’ve ever spent endless hours playing horse or 21, then you understood how real that interaction was and how solid his long range set shot is. If you missed it, I attached it below.
Regardless of your political persuasion, this was just a genuine 48-year-old man draining long-range threes like a 28 year old. I like the end where he acknowledges the reality of his victory, both in that Kellogg gave him a little, and that this was a bad idea. For sure, the best comment is when he tells Kellogg, "I've a got a few other things on my mind." Well, actually, the best part is the back to back threes from three feet behind the bonus stripe.
I encourage you to watch this if you haven't seen it. If you don't have 4:48 skip to the 2:00 minute mark. If you don't have 2:48, skip to the final minute.
Watch CBS News Videos Online
PS: In March I did 1420 push-ups. In April I will shoot for 2000.
PSS: The wanderers of the Heatherlea are having a meal together this evening. It should be a hoot!
PSSS: If I find an open pub, I'll do some whisky tasting later tonight!
It’s Easter and in Scotland, just as in the USA, this means a lot of people made it to church today. Unfortunately, if you hadn’t been to church since Christmas, then you didn’t know that St. Columba’s was holding mass three doors down in the Parish Hall while the church is renovated. More unfortunate for those hoping to go unnoticed, was that you could see all the people pulling on the locked church door from the parish hall. I felt bad for them, even if it was moderately amusing.
(I have fair bit of respect for the often ridiculed “two-timers” whom I have heard called out during these solemn masses (“We do this every week”). Think of the courage it takes to go to Church on a day when you know that a large portion of the church is going to resent that you are there. There seemed to be none of that at Columba’s this morning, but I know from experience that somewhere a reasonably courageous attendee felt alienated rather than welcomed. I'd love it if I heard something like "We're so happy to have all of you here with us to celebrate Easter, and we invite you to celebrate the Resurrection with us as often as you can.")
On Friday, Edit (a Heatherlea resident from Hungary) went through great pains to explain a bizarre Easter tradition in Hungary. She said that on Easter, her, mother, sister and she would try to leave early in the morning to get out of the city and spent the day hiking in mountains. She described it as sneaking out of the city. Why? Because in Hungary, men douse the women with very cold water, or worse, perfume. I didn't fully understand her explanation, but I found one here. Edit says the custom has roots in a traditional story that the women at the tomb were doused with water by guards to make them leave and also that this represents a kind of re-baptism. Anyway, it's interesting albeit odd.
Last night I stayed up late watching the Final Four. There are only two legitimate reasons for not wanting Butler to win on Monday: 1) you have a direct affiliation with Duke, 2) you have no idea what I am talking about. Other than that, Butler winning the national championship would be the most awesome thing in college sports since I started paying attention, roughly a quarter of a century ago. (See what I did there…like a sportscaster I made it seem like a long time!)
I watched the games, and the first four rounds, on the CBS March Madness on Demand free online game player. During the first four rounds, the MMOD (as it’s called) had its own half-time show. For the semi-finals, it was the real thing. First of all, it was very funny that the three talking heads did not know that they were live on MMOD for about five minutes before they started their half time show. But more importantly, did you watch President Obama shoot hoops? That was really impressive and fun to watch. If you’ve ever spent endless hours playing horse or 21, then you understood how real that interaction was and how solid his long range set shot is. If you missed it, I attached it below.
Regardless of your political persuasion, this was just a genuine 48-year-old man draining long-range threes like a 28 year old. I like the end where he acknowledges the reality of his victory, both in that Kellogg gave him a little, and that this was a bad idea. For sure, the best comment is when he tells Kellogg, "I've a got a few other things on my mind." Well, actually, the best part is the back to back threes from three feet behind the bonus stripe.
I encourage you to watch this if you haven't seen it. If you don't have 4:48 skip to the 2:00 minute mark. If you don't have 2:48, skip to the final minute.
Watch CBS News Videos Online
PS: In March I did 1420 push-ups. In April I will shoot for 2000.
PSS: The wanderers of the Heatherlea are having a meal together this evening. It should be a hoot!
PSSS: If I find an open pub, I'll do some whisky tasting later tonight!
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Our Hero!
Watch this video to see something amazing! I tell you it is worth it. There is a 99 second introduction for the video to load, and you can't skip it. If you are thinking, "I don't watch stupid videos that people post," think again. Furthermore, please select full screen (in small print on the bottom of the video screen) as half of the movie is cut off in my blog.
Link to the movie.
PS: If you are friends with Were Wolf on Facebook, you've seen something similar! I stole this from him/it.
PSS: 1000
PSSS From March 28: Had to take the film box out because it was annoying. It automatically played everytime you came to the blog. If you want to see it, just click the link.
Link to the movie.
PS: If you are friends with Were Wolf on Facebook, you've seen something similar! I stole this from him/it.
PSS: 1000
PSSS From March 28: Had to take the film box out because it was annoying. It automatically played everytime you came to the blog. If you want to see it, just click the link.
Thursday, 18 March 2010
48 Billion Calculations Per Second
Now we know how blogs die ... I hope someone comes back and reads this. Blogs die when they get dormant and people stop checking on them. I had a bad run there. The fact is I was traveling for most of the three weeks. Now, I'm settled back down in Edinburgh. Last night I didn't drink any whisky, but I did have a McEwans70, a Spanish red, and a red from South Africa. I went to a dinner with the optimization group: smoked salmon, rump steak, panacotta! Very lovely. I was reminded why my wife loves Europe. The food is very good, but most importantly, they think of fries (chips, pommes frites) as classy enough to serve with steak.
I am involved in an adventure where I am trying to write source code for doing large scale calculations on the graphics card in your computer. This is taking a wacky amount of time as only a programmer should be attempting such a ridiculous undertaking. I am very far from a programmer/developer, but I am having a lot of fun. Today, I got someone else's program and my laptop was doing calculations at 48 giga-flops (floating point operations per second). That was for geeks. If it meant nothing to you, let me describe it a different way. My laptop computer was doing
48,000,000,000
single precision calculations per second.
Your computer has a graphics card, technically a graphical processing unit (GPU), which does lots of calculations to display your graphics. It does them very fast and many of them at the same time. Now all a GPU can do is simple calculations. A central processing unit (CPU), your computer's brain that you might call "the processor", can do much more complicated things. But, hey, if you want to multiply and add about 80 trillion numbers, you should do that on a GPU!
If you can watch HD on your computer, the graphics card is pretty good. My laptop has a pretty nice GPU, the NVIDIA Quadro FX 2700M. It has 48 cores on it. So, when I send calculations over to the GPU, it is like using 48 CPUs simultaneously. That's in my laptop. We are trying to get all of our code ready for the arrival of a new machine in late April. It will have multiple, very accurate GPUs designed precisely for this purpose and should perform at roughly 2 TERA FLOPS. That means this computer, which will be a desktop, not a supercomputer, will do
2,000,000,000,000
double precision operations per second. It will cost roughly $10,000. In contrast, the fastest supercomputer in the world today, with 224,162 CPUs and located at Oak Ridge National Lab in Tennessee, which presumably cost significantly more, can do only 1000 times as many calculations per second.
(Single precision versus double precision is about accuracy and I list it only for those who care. A single precision number is accurate up to 8 decimal places and a double precision number is accurate up to 16 decimal places. So one double precision calculation is 100,000,000 times as accurate as one single-precision calculation.)
Update: I'm at 615 pushups. (A very small number for this post.)
I am involved in an adventure where I am trying to write source code for doing large scale calculations on the graphics card in your computer. This is taking a wacky amount of time as only a programmer should be attempting such a ridiculous undertaking. I am very far from a programmer/developer, but I am having a lot of fun. Today, I got someone else's program and my laptop was doing calculations at 48 giga-flops (floating point operations per second). That was for geeks. If it meant nothing to you, let me describe it a different way. My laptop computer was doing
48,000,000,000
single precision calculations per second.
Your computer has a graphics card, technically a graphical processing unit (GPU), which does lots of calculations to display your graphics. It does them very fast and many of them at the same time. Now all a GPU can do is simple calculations. A central processing unit (CPU), your computer's brain that you might call "the processor", can do much more complicated things. But, hey, if you want to multiply and add about 80 trillion numbers, you should do that on a GPU!
If you can watch HD on your computer, the graphics card is pretty good. My laptop has a pretty nice GPU, the NVIDIA Quadro FX 2700M. It has 48 cores on it. So, when I send calculations over to the GPU, it is like using 48 CPUs simultaneously. That's in my laptop. We are trying to get all of our code ready for the arrival of a new machine in late April. It will have multiple, very accurate GPUs designed precisely for this purpose and should perform at roughly 2 TERA FLOPS. That means this computer, which will be a desktop, not a supercomputer, will do
2,000,000,000,000
double precision operations per second. It will cost roughly $10,000. In contrast, the fastest supercomputer in the world today, with 224,162 CPUs and located at Oak Ridge National Lab in Tennessee, which presumably cost significantly more, can do only 1000 times as many calculations per second.
(Single precision versus double precision is about accuracy and I list it only for those who care. A single precision number is accurate up to 8 decimal places and a double precision number is accurate up to 16 decimal places. So one double precision calculation is 100,000,000 times as accurate as one single-precision calculation.)
Update: I'm at 615 pushups. (A very small number for this post.)
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
“Well, I guess we’ll have to meet in Switzerland”
I haven’t posted in a few days, but I should be excused. It has been quite a busy few days. First of all, I worked all day Saturday and Sunday so that we could a different paper back to the editor, this time to SIAM Review. (SIAM is the Society for Industrial and Applied Mathematics.) Most importantly, I had to plan for the Super Bowl, which was on TV here from 11:00pm – 3:30 am. The Grey Horse wouldn’t be open at those hours. More about the Super Bowl in a subsequent post.
Then, on Monday, you see I had to sleep for most of the day after the Super Bowl. When we lived in Germany, the US Army always gave us Super Bowl Monday off. I was pretty sure no one would care (or even notice) if I took most of Super Bowl Monday off. Nonetheless, I was in the office by half noon (12:30) working some more on the SIAM Review article and preparing for a very important meeting this week.
You see, this week I am at a brainstorming meeting. We are meeting to discuss research ideas and directions for analysis dictionary learning. I know nothing about this subject, but was invited along. The hard part is, during the last meeting, when discussing the venue for the next meeting, they were hoping for something more interesting than London. One of the main guys on the grant suggested he host the meeting near Ecole Polytechnique Federale de Lausanne. Someone asked precisely where, and he said a ski lodge. At that point, the head of the grant announced, “Well, I guess we’ll have to meet in Switzerland,” and they settled on the mountain resort town of Villars, Switzerland. If it wasn’t already dark here, I’d take a picture of the view out my window. So, I’m in Switzerland after two planes and two trains and many hours of travel. The venue for this meeting is, well, how should I describe this… ridiculous; it’s Switzerland.
Best part of French speaking areas: saying my own name. Every time I say my name, someone looks at a list, and then looks at me like I am stupid. They ask me again, I say my name “Jeff Blanchard (blan-churd)”, and they look over the list a second time. Now they’re convinced I am not on the list, so I either point to my name or say it the way they read it.
“Oh,” they say, “zshe freigh blaughn –shawd.”
I reply, “Yes, indeed, Jeff Blanchard.”
One time, at a hotel in San Malo, France, this exchange took place. Then, the woman behind the counter laughs a bit, takes out her wallet, shows me an ID card on which her last name was Blanchard. Of course, she pronounced it blaughn shawd. Every morning, she made a big deal announcing my French name the first time I saw her. (That was funny. Here, they seem to just think I am so stupid I don’t know my own name.)
Then, on Monday, you see I had to sleep for most of the day after the Super Bowl. When we lived in Germany, the US Army always gave us Super Bowl Monday off. I was pretty sure no one would care (or even notice) if I took most of Super Bowl Monday off. Nonetheless, I was in the office by half noon (12:30) working some more on the SIAM Review article and preparing for a very important meeting this week.
You see, this week I am at a brainstorming meeting. We are meeting to discuss research ideas and directions for analysis dictionary learning. I know nothing about this subject, but was invited along. The hard part is, during the last meeting, when discussing the venue for the next meeting, they were hoping for something more interesting than London. One of the main guys on the grant suggested he host the meeting near Ecole Polytechnique Federale de Lausanne. Someone asked precisely where, and he said a ski lodge. At that point, the head of the grant announced, “Well, I guess we’ll have to meet in Switzerland,” and they settled on the mountain resort town of Villars, Switzerland. If it wasn’t already dark here, I’d take a picture of the view out my window. So, I’m in Switzerland after two planes and two trains and many hours of travel. The venue for this meeting is, well, how should I describe this… ridiculous; it’s Switzerland.
Best part of French speaking areas: saying my own name. Every time I say my name, someone looks at a list, and then looks at me like I am stupid. They ask me again, I say my name “Jeff Blanchard (blan-churd)”, and they look over the list a second time. Now they’re convinced I am not on the list, so I either point to my name or say it the way they read it.
“Oh,” they say, “zshe freigh blaughn –shawd.”
I reply, “Yes, indeed, Jeff Blanchard.”
One time, at a hotel in San Malo, France, this exchange took place. Then, the woman behind the counter laughs a bit, takes out her wallet, shows me an ID card on which her last name was Blanchard. Of course, she pronounced it blaughn shawd. Every morning, she made a big deal announcing my French name the first time I saw her. (That was funny. Here, they seem to just think I am so stupid I don’t know my own name.)
Monday, 8 February 2010
Friday, 15 January 2010
Immigration: Welcome to my Midlothian musings
I sent an email to a friend regarding Scotch Whisky. He asked that I taste as many as possible and blog about it. I drank some whisky. It made me tired. I decided to blog about it anyway, but not limit myself to whisky.
This is my blog about my year in Edinburgh, Midlothian, Scotland, United Kingdom. It's essentially for family and friends to track what it is I am doing over here as "research" seems suspect to most of you.
As with most blogs, the first entry is the easiest. The first entry is frequently followed by a second, but rarely does a blogger make it to a fifteenth. I hope to avoid that pitfall by encouraging myself to post something possibly totally useless from time to time. The goal is to post three times a week in one of the following categories:
Scotch (Whisky) - obvious
Scotch (People) - mostly awkward culture clashes
Maths - better explained below
Random - things that don't fit into another category
Running - boring crap about running when I can't think of something else to post
Trips - if I take some
Going Broke - it's expensive over here
I have completed a second entry.
So what about the Maths category? I call it maths since it is only called math in the USA. It's like measuring temperature in Fahrenheit; we're the only ones. It is here that I will attempt to explain in short bursts what the heck I am doing. This will range from possibly telling you how I do research, to what I am researching, to why it is that someone would pay me to do this. I intend to write this so that you understand; that's the hard part. Not because I am already calling you dense, but because it took me 21 years of formal education and two years as a post-doc to understand what it is I do. Anyway, I'll try. If I'm not doing so hot, let me know or skip the maths posts!
This is my blog about my year in Edinburgh, Midlothian, Scotland, United Kingdom. It's essentially for family and friends to track what it is I am doing over here as "research" seems suspect to most of you.
As with most blogs, the first entry is the easiest. The first entry is frequently followed by a second, but rarely does a blogger make it to a fifteenth. I hope to avoid that pitfall by encouraging myself to post something possibly totally useless from time to time. The goal is to post three times a week in one of the following categories:
Scotch (Whisky) - obvious
Scotch (People) - mostly awkward culture clashes
Maths - better explained below
Random - things that don't fit into another category
Running - boring crap about running when I can't think of something else to post
Trips - if I take some
Going Broke - it's expensive over here
I have completed a second entry.
So what about the Maths category? I call it maths since it is only called math in the USA. It's like measuring temperature in Fahrenheit; we're the only ones. It is here that I will attempt to explain in short bursts what the heck I am doing. This will range from possibly telling you how I do research, to what I am researching, to why it is that someone would pay me to do this. I intend to write this so that you understand; that's the hard part. Not because I am already calling you dense, but because it took me 21 years of formal education and two years as a post-doc to understand what it is I do. Anyway, I'll try. If I'm not doing so hot, let me know or skip the maths posts!
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