actuality.log

Part 1: Short selling.

1. Let’s say BigWig has 10,000 shares of Apple Corp. (worth, say, $150 each).
2. JoeWeasel approaches BigWig and requests to “rent” these shares for a week, for say $50,000.
3. BigWig sees this as a good deal, for once JoeWeasel returns his shares, in effect, he’s received $50,000 “for free.” So he says OK, and gives his shares over to JoeWeasel.
4. JoeWeasel then immediately sells these shares (at $150 each) and receives $1,500,000 for it.
5. JoeWeasel then writes a blog entry about how Steve Job’s cancer has resurfaced (or he had a heart attack or whatever). Once the media picks up on this, there is mass hysteria and panic—and the perceived value of Apple Corp. drops. Consequently, a drop in its share prices follows; so it’s now, say, $100 per share.
6. JoeWeasel then quickly buys back 10,000 shares at this new lowered price of $1,000,000 using the $1,500,000 he pocketed a couple of days prior; netting him $500,000.
7. At the end of the week, JoeWeasel returns the shares and $50,000 as a renting fee to BigWig.
8. JoeWeasel walks away with $450,000 for a week’s hard work.
9. In a few days, people realise that JoeWeasel was lying about Steve Job’s cancer, and the Apple Corp.’s share prices correct themselves—returning again to $150 per share. So BigWig didn’t really lose either.

This sort of thing really hurts my brain.

I’ve been paying way too much attention to U.S. politics; even more so I think than when I was in America. It’s just that the presidential race has been way too much fun to ignore. And here’s what I think is going to happen:

At least, until the rumours that Barack Obama fathered a white baby out of wedlock begin to circulate.

I spent all of last week in Germany—my maiden trip out exploring Europe since I first moved here. I am pleased to report that my EU visa works, and I was freely able to country hop. About three-quarters of my time was spent in a teeny-tiny town called Oberwolfach (at the MFO, a fairly renowned mathematics institute) and the last two nights were with a good friend of mine from grad school.

All in all, I had a wonderful time.

After flying into Germany, I got to experience first-hand their ultra-efficient train system, which allowed me to systematically (and quickly, like 250+ km/h quickly!) get from Frankfurt to the teeny town without needing any hand-holding. I got to try out some of my broken German from language courses so long a go. I was also lucky to see their countryside and experience small town charm at its finest.

The institute was a remarkably serene place; purposefully built in the middle of nowhere to avoid being bombed during the Second World War. I got to meet a lot of interesting people in my field as well as my former boss. The food was authentic, rich and varied. The discussion just varied. Having no TVs or Internet access (or even locks!), the spartan (but fully functional) rooms at the institute encouraged people to be out interacting. The meeting itself was informal and free form—exemplified by one session running late into the night causing a ruckus from the sleepy crowd.

While my work obligations were to keep me at the MFO until yesterday, I skipped out a little earlier to head out to Stuttgart to be with a friend—who too had decided on a post-doc in Europe after finishing her stint at the uni. It was a blast being with her again, and we were able to explore the town, sampling some of the finer things it had to offer—courtesy of a (very elaborate and crowded) wine festival!

Now, after a surprisingly exhausting week of arguing with older Italian gentlemen about select terms in obscure equations, figuring out the German transport system, extremely fun and eventful evenings running late into their subsequent morns, I am finally flying back home. Relaxed and rejuvenated, with a definite plan forward and some neat research ideas to pursue

I was rudely awakened from a horrific nightmare a few minutes ago to the even more horrible sound of a terrified woman wailing. This was accompanied by the banging of doors, heavy stomping and other unabashed signs of an argument. This, however, isn’t a particularly new experience for me as my luck with neighbours follows a distinct pattern. But what was grating though was the woman’s annoying voice.

Even though her distress was obvious, I couldn’t once get myself to feel sorry for her or even have my usual (tainted) good Samaritan aspiration—where I contemplate knocking on their door to find out if all is well, despite the distinct possibility of getting beaten up (or worse), under the grand illusions of the payoffs accompanying rescuing a damsel in distress.

But her frickin’ whiny voice. Arggh! She’s causing my ears to bleed.

Oh, it’s suddenly gotten all quiet now.

And it’s been that way for a few minutes. Oh good, she must have run away or he must’ve killed her. Thank goodness. Now I can peacefully return to battling my own inner demons.

A programming note: Since the introduction of µ, a micro-journal featuring extremely small entries, my writing skills have gone further south.

I’m quite convinced the problem with my brain is that it’s not dead—it’s actually capable of thought.

As I lie there exhausted, my heavy eyelids slowly descending over my tired eyes, I feel her snuggle up even closer to me with a contended sigh. That’s when it happens—right when I’m on the brink of actually experiencing a moment of true happiness—my brain begins to race in a frenzied panic:

“But she’s not petite enough. Shouldn’t she be younger? She doesn’t look anything like what you’ve always longed for. Does she have to be such a tomboy all the time? I wish she were more of a girly-girl; it wouldn’t hurt for her to pay more attention to herself…”

How much I adore her, or how good we’ve been together, or how much fun I have when she’s around, or how liberating it’s been to openly share things with her… all of this, every single positive facet, quickly fades into the distant background. My brain has decreed she doesn’t look like she “ought to,” and its own voice is the only one it’s willing to hear.

The sad part is, I’m not able to convince it that it’s wrong. Superficial? Of course. Acting idiotically to our detriment? Hell yes!

But… wrong?

Or at least, what’s left of it.

What do you think it means when a woman tells you she’s “not sure” if she’s single? Does it make a difference that she brought up the topic and volunteered this information to me? (We all know I’m too chicken to speak my mind on the matter.)

What am I then supposed to do?

• Do I go, “OK, that’s uhh… good to know.” (Not how I feel.)
• Do I probe for more information? (Scary, and the thought of what I’ll find out puts my tummy in knots.)
• Should I speak my mind? (Potentially too forward.)
• Must I sit back and wait until she figures things out for herself? (Might blow my opening while I wait.)

Life ought to come with some sort of instruction manual; one with really pretty and colourful pictures, so it has a prayer of being read.

I have no better words to explain things than to say, “I’ve fallen into a sort of anti-routine.” Much of how my life goes on now seems to be entirely contrary to how things were when I was in grad school. For starters, I’m spending a lot more time outdoors—socialising, hiking, playing, shooting pictures.

Crazier still, much of my time at work also seems to be spent socialising and laying down plans for further fun after work and on the weekends! The only times I’ve seemed to have gotten any real work done are the few days I’ve forcibly isolated myself at home. And this has been necessary from time to time, for the world has gone entirely topsy-turvy: Work stuff isn’t trivial anymore. Much of what I’m looking at right now I haven’t delved into before, requiring quite a bit of catching up.

Either way, what I guess I started off trying to say is that I’ve fallen into a routine here. And even if it the specifics of this routine starkly contrast how things were before, constancy is not the best inspiration for me to write—explaining the recent silence.

May be I should just get irked enough about the ghetto neighbourhood I’m temporarily domiciled in, so I can entertain you better. Or at least, try to with greater frequency.

you wouldn’t dress like that.

I’ve been wanting to pen this for a while now, but I’ve been too busy… having fun!

I arrived here expecting things to be cold. And by that, I don’t mean the temperature outside (that I can handle, given my training over these past years)—I expected the people to be very cold. I thought I was going to be isolated and end up lonely and miserable. Truth be told, I almost wanted things to be that way, so that it would hasten my move to England.

But alas, it wasn’t to be.

I really like this place and it’s people. Everybody is warm and helpful, and they make it a point to drag you into whatever shenanigans they’re aiming to pull. Consequently, I too have begun leaving work early, and most of my evenings and all of my weekends have been packed with fun activities. In fact, I probably didn’t go to sleep at all last weekend, choosing instead to attend one party late Saturday, which sort of lasted until late Sunday… around which time the next one began!

There are definitely some perks to the sun not setting.

(Not getting yelled at by the cops for disorderly conduct at 4 a.m. is not one of them.)

I need to get going now. I’m joining a group of people for the awesome does of fun that is frisbee golf; an ingenious sport that replaces the dullness of golf with the hilarity of athletically-challenged science dorks trying to throw things over long distances!

Nuzzling into this soft orange couch with my warm glass of cocoa this lazy Friday afternoon, I look around to see a nearly-deserted research facility. The clear glass walls and brilliant sunlight spotlight the lonely chairs and abandoned computers. Out of habit, I casually glance at my watch and that’s when it becomes apparent what is remarkable about this serene picture: It’s just past 1 in the afternoon, and everyone’s gone for the day.

There are a slew of things about life here that put it in stark contrast with that in the U.S., but it is this that I find most striking: The work-life balance in this part of the world leans rather heavily toward life.

Which is nice.

Greetings all from (now) ever-sunny Oslo!

Things have been remarkably pleasant so far. Most of my time (it’s really only been a little over a day now) has been spent sorting out basic things like immigration procedures, but it’s been worth it, for the most important part of my journey is already complete: I received a two-year visa to travel nearly anywhere in Europe!

People around have been helpful and friendly, and quite surprisingly, just about everyone speaks English (albeit sometimes hard to comprehend). Much of what I’ve gotten to see is just as it’s described in the travel books and shows about this place—this is a country with a lot of natural beauty, and the sun barely sets in the summer. People seem to be so excited by the warmth and sunlight, they’re all out dancing and partying, or just chilling or whatever soaking it all in.

Sadly though, my work involves sitting down quietly in a lab. But it’s not so bad, the facility is rather impressive, the people nice and smart, and my office has huge windows with a gorgeous view of the fjords.

I think I’ll stop now, because my laptop’s battery is running out of charge. Being the genius that I am, I forgot to bring a converter along that would’ve allowed me to plug in its American charger into a European socket.

Doh!

I’m nearly done packing my bags. They’re heavy and uncouth, snickering at me knowing how much bother they’re going to cause me in my journey.

But I’ll show them, I hope.

(I’ve retrogressed in the past 6 years, haven’t I?)

Condensing your life’s possessions down to two small suitcases is quite a daunting task, but that’s a task I have in front of me. In just over a week (Monday the 23^rd), I’ll be leaving this country (for good?) hoping to pursue a more gratifying life in Europe. My journey first takes me to Oslo (which I’ve just realised is one of the most expensive places in the world to live in, eek!), and how soon I’ll move onto greener pastures, be it Cambridge or anywhere else is anyone’s guess.

Organisationally though, even leaving aside the painfully-selective packing, there is much left to do; like actually winding down life here. Just a short while ago, I sat down and made my first semi-serious list of some major things that need to be done, though I honestly don’t know where to begin. I’m beginning to get really really nervous about all of this, and it’s tending to have a paralytic effect on me.

All of this seemed cool and exciting when I was first looking into Europe in earnest. It felt novel, I felt almost original, for deviating quite strongly from the path well worn. Now I just don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, and the anxiety is taking its toll.

It’s been a while. I’m uncertain as to whether I can even do this anymore, but there is news to share: I just nervously booked my tickets to Oslo!

I intend on leaving here on the 23rd of June, and arriving there the afternoon of the 24th. I haven’t applied for a visa yet (plan on doing so shortly) but I received word from the consulate that I’ve already jumped through all the major hoops, and there is little reason to worry about it being denied.

I’ve been busy sorting out a few things over these past busy (silent) days, and I now have travel insurance, a temporary apartment for when I get there, a fancy new computer for when I begin work, … .

But I am yet to sort out other major things, like cleanly winding up the show in this country. I think I’m stalling because I am still uncertain whether this is the right move for my life, but when am I ever?

A starving scientist marrying a starving artist doesn’t make much business sense. It makes good economic-compatibility sense, but not so much business sense.

Hmm.

Like I was saying, I’ve resumed working at the uni over these past weeks. And by “work,” I mean futz around with math and stuff.

But, as amusing as it is, I hope that the European travel bureaucracy gets sorted out soon.