Apparently, it’s the leisure class
Next time I am outside waiting to get in, I wonder if I can just whip out my cell and say to the bouncer guy: “Hey, I’m with iPhone.”
In condensed matter physics, there is an area called turbulence that has wide practical application: weather, golfing, navigation, bridges, building subs, boats, and planes.
(Most of you know turbulence from those random unexplained dips you get when your plane is in flight.)
But for theoreticians, turbulence is different.
In 1941, some Russian guy wrote a theory for the dissipation of vortices in highly turbulent flows:
Since then…nothing. Any significant contribution to turbulence has been beyond smartest minds in theoretical physics, despite the describing equations discovered by 19th century classical physics.
In physics, we like to say:
Turbulence is the graveyard of great physicists.
Continue reading about What are you afraid of? after the jump.
It came out in conversation today if there were other Ruby on Rails sites bigger than Twitter. The answer is, yes.
Continue reading about Looking at a graph and squinting really hard after the jump
Eli White is no longer at digg.
He was one of the first PHP programmers there, has given a zillion talks about it, and he works remote.
At San Francisco Brewing Company:
Nikon D3, Nikkor 24-70mm f/2.8G
1/60sec @ f/2.8, iso1600, 24mm (24mm)
I grab Marie’s glass and drag it toward me. “It smells like you squeezed a whole lemon.” I take a sip. “That’s way too sour! You should get another one.”
“Nobody can squeeze that much lemon.”
“The lemon is only there to cut the taste of the unfiltered yeast.”
In college, I had a classmate and friend, Richard Chiu.
It hurts me to confess it, but it was two years before I dawned on me he had been given a most unfortunate name.
A random post on my stalker feed brings me back of the last party
…
“Are you single?” It’s the second time at the party, Alex has asked that. The internal dialog is now in fine form.
This is San Francisco, shouldn’t you ask if I’m gay first?, “Stop trying to fill out my social networking registration page, Alex”
Somewhat less emphatically: “You are single?!” Then slightly more emphatically: “Terry is single”—as if repetition makes it true.
I’m in a relationship with my Nikon and it’s complicated. “My status is not some box you can check off,” I retort.
“Wait, you are single, aren’t you?” decidedly less emphatically.
That’s thrice! Damn Canon photogs! “You couldn’t even shoot my D3.” I laugh.
“Terry is single,” Alex declares to anyone who was interested. (Nobody was.)
Nelson Muntz voice: “Ha ha!” Maybe if you were a Nikon-toting hottie, I’d have given you a straight answer.
Now, in my defense, when it comes to that senseless brand war, I have to represent. But I admit that it was a bit harsh, especially since, as an event photographer himself, he must get asked my most-despised geek-party conversation starter an awful lot: “Who are you with?” (i.e. “Who are you shooting for so I know if I should do a posedown.”)
We hates it, my precious, yes we do.
Coincidentally, just that day, I devised a customer support answer tree to turn this question into a lethal conversation-killer:
A friend sent me this article with the comment, “I think you will enjoy reading this.”
I did. Thanks.
Georgina sent me two more recs. The first is for a front-end developer and the second for a PHP developer (and front-end).
Front end web developer – Online Messaging (Redwood City, CA)
PHP Web developer – Facebook Photo application (East bay area, CA)
Apparently, you can mention my name and I get a bonus. If you get the job, just tell me and you can have it.
I mentioned it here and in an article with another reference to that wonderful meme, Seth Graehame-Smith says, “All McCain’s base are belong to [Obama and the Democratic Party]” [sic?].
I wouldn’t have mentioned it, except I ran across this quote:
I don’t care if footage of Obama snorting coke off Scarlett Johansson‘s boobs surfaces in late October. All it will do is bolster his standing with white males.
I swear when I read that, coke, of a different sort, went up my nose.