Suppose one finishes a first stab at some MATLAB code around 1 AM and decides to celebrate by having some sake and reading a little. One might then read a very anti-labor short story by Heinlein (“The Roads Must Roll”) and get a little irritated, and then decide to play some solitaire. And one’s solitaire game may end up with all cards face up except for three in the hand — the 4, 5, and 6 of diamonds, only in the wrong order. This might just tempt one to break the rules, just this once, to make oneself feel better. But then one would have cheated, and one couldn’t have that. Thus one is relegated to the legions of those who didn’t quite made it. Luckily, however, success at solitaire is not a universal measure of success, so one can sleep with full assurance that a lack of success at solitaire means very little in the grand scheme of things.
I had a Pummelo today, and it was pretty tasty. Sweeter than a grapefruit, but with those huge cells of pulp that grapefruit has. It occurs to me that I don’t know what the cells in citrus fruits are called other than “pulp,” but pulp to me connotes the squished up cells. But the Latin name for the Pummelo is Citrus Maxima, which is just awesome. Apparently it’s a precursor to the grapefruit.
Why is it that when I want to sneeze, looking at a bright light will induce the sneeze? I was told once that it was a male thing only, but that has since been refuted.
I met a freshman who doesn’t know who Aerosmith is. I think talking to undergrads is bad for my sanity.