In other news: I noticed that the school where I'm taking some graduate stat class has a gym open to me only a few blocks from my class. Score! And it's right by a train stop. Score! And it's open until 11pm. Score! I thought that might open up the possibility of training after class or after using the computer labs in the evening for homework and all that. I walked by there last night to check it out. Quite unfortunately, it just doesn't work. I could see in from the street level: a few treadmills, giant plastic balls, a few machines, and some benches for dumbbells (there are no barbells that I saw). In a pinch, you can do something worthwhile there, but it's no substitute for my programming. I still might drop in and go inside on some other night to double-check that I did not miss anything. It's sad, for the price and footprint any of one of those machines you could get a power rack, a decent bar, and lots of iron weights (or enough bumper plates for most people).
Today is Candlemas. I skipped church this morning. I thought about going and set an alarm, but when it went off I decided that it just wasn't happening. Perhaps it's for the best, because it's quite obviously truly an Irish pagan fertility ritual of some sort. Like just about everything those Russians do.
My two meetings today got cancelled. Drat. I was hoping to use those to 1. take up some time 2. get something to do for the rest of the day. But a couple came by with stuff for me to do, so it all evens out.
My textbook is just slightly too large to shove in my coat pocket. I didn't take it with me today. Maybe I should have. There's something slightly non-intuitive about the formulations of some parts of statistics to me. Probability, that's fine. I just need to crack down with the book and build the mental model again. And make a review sheet of definitions and identities in matrix algebra and probability, because I'm a little rusty and we rely on them heavily.
What do you think of the name Balthasar? Or Caspar? I suppose the friendly ghost has ruined the latter and a donkey the former.
And with that, it's time for some poetry:
by R. S. Thomas
under a shower
Fifty years passed,
in a world in
servitude to time.
She was young;
I kissed with my eyes
closed and opened
them on her wrinkles.
`Come,' said death,
choosing her as his
the last dance, And she,
who in life
had done everything
with a bird's grace,
opened her bill now
for the shedding
of one sigh no
heavier than a feather.
There you have it.
I suppose we can do another:
The Country Clergy.
by R. S. Thomas
I see them working in old rectories
By the sun's light, by candle-light,
Venerable men, their black cloth
A little dusty, a little green
With holy mildew. And yet their skulls,
Ripening over so many prayers,
Toppled into the same grave
With oafs and yokels. They left no books,
Memorial to their lonely thought
In grey parishes: rather they wrote
On men's hearts and in the minds
Of young children sublime words
Too soon forgotten. God in his time
Or out of time will correct this.
And so it goes. Quite nice, eh?
|< Problems setting up the Wii for internet? | Points. >|