CAG@LOCS#13
I feel like i just walked into a shrine, or perhaps an outer room to the Church of All Worlds. Flamepoeira projects more than just a welcoming atmosphere; the bright orange curtains, red and black sofas, butterscotch pillows, every-color flowers, and fiery artwork gracing the walls (not to mention the disproportionately numerous bald clientéle) give this off-to-the-side shop half the ambiance of a stereotypical Buddhist temple and half that of a womb. Someday i'll have to post a picture of the sammich i ordered: grilled cheese with green apple on Japanese bread. < $6.00. The strangest part of this place, though, is the music, which would sound more appropriate in Jabba's palace. Anyway, this one is top-tier on my list, and i'll hit it up every trip to Boston i make.
Now i'm known as a trigger myself, but i'll be blazed if the guy at the counter didn't set off my gaydar. Another first question upon ordering my mocha: "Are you a sweet kinda guy?" ^_^
I think Hagy alone among my friends might appreciate what it meant to me to walk by the Four Winds Bar. For the uninitiated, just listen to Blue Öyster Cult's (sigh . . . or Metallica's) "Astronomy".
I got photos of the Holocaust Memorial by day. I'll walk through by night, on my way to the station.
I keep forgetting that combinatorial programming is a lot like Google maps: with every refinement of detail you realize you have to take it one further, and right when you about have it you lose focus. So i've gotten one and a half little functions to work today, and my goal is to get the half and one more by tonight. Hopefully i can generate enough data this weekend to rigorously rephrase my set-theoretic conjecture for Mark on Monday. That lemma turned out to be proved (i think); i just overstated the consequences. Basically, my equations right now are enough for the closure of the preimage of the open cell, but not for the preimage of its closure. The problem is that taking the closure in the preimage space is weaker than taking it in the image space. I knew this . . . but anyone who's dated me knows how forgetful i can be.
I did, however, come across a nifty array of animations by Frank Sottile illustrating the geometry underlying the Littlewood-Richardson rule.
There's an image i'd actually like to have grace my own wall, and i'm sure someone's photographed or painted it, but i've not yet come across it. The image is of someone at a desk strewn with papers covered in stray marks, head down, face hidden, fingers knotted into eir hair in frustration. This is ecstasy; i know because i've tasted it. Jubal described love as that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to one's own. He also acknowledges the heroic beauty in refusing to give up in the face of death and anonymity, but i don't know if in the final part of the novel he'll vocalize the connection there - that a love for one's work may be (i think it to be) the impetus for such beautiful heroism. When your happiness depends on the devotion to your work (and, lamentably like all love, this may be a temporary condition), there's no greater joy than feeling yourself waste away at its futile pursuit.
I suppose this is where stalkers come from.
Now i'm known as a trigger myself, but i'll be blazed if the guy at the counter didn't set off my gaydar. Another first question upon ordering my mocha: "Are you a sweet kinda guy?" ^_^
I think Hagy alone among my friends might appreciate what it meant to me to walk by the Four Winds Bar. For the uninitiated, just listen to Blue Öyster Cult's (sigh . . . or Metallica's) "Astronomy".
I got photos of the Holocaust Memorial by day. I'll walk through by night, on my way to the station.
I keep forgetting that combinatorial programming is a lot like Google maps: with every refinement of detail you realize you have to take it one further, and right when you about have it you lose focus. So i've gotten one and a half little functions to work today, and my goal is to get the half and one more by tonight. Hopefully i can generate enough data this weekend to rigorously rephrase my set-theoretic conjecture for Mark on Monday. That lemma turned out to be proved (i think); i just overstated the consequences. Basically, my equations right now are enough for the closure of the preimage of the open cell, but not for the preimage of its closure. The problem is that taking the closure in the preimage space is weaker than taking it in the image space. I knew this . . . but anyone who's dated me knows how forgetful i can be.
I did, however, come across a nifty array of animations by Frank Sottile illustrating the geometry underlying the Littlewood-Richardson rule.
There's an image i'd actually like to have grace my own wall, and i'm sure someone's photographed or painted it, but i've not yet come across it. The image is of someone at a desk strewn with papers covered in stray marks, head down, face hidden, fingers knotted into eir hair in frustration. This is ecstasy; i know because i've tasted it. Jubal described love as that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to one's own. He also acknowledges the heroic beauty in refusing to give up in the face of death and anonymity, but i don't know if in the final part of the novel he'll vocalize the connection there - that a love for one's work may be (i think it to be) the impetus for such beautiful heroism. When your happiness depends on the devotion to your work (and, lamentably like all love, this may be a temporary condition), there's no greater joy than feeling yourself waste away at its futile pursuit.
I suppose this is where stalkers come from.