Laurie rescues Friends

I’m not normally a big fan of Friends, but am reluctantly willing to watch it if there’s nothing better on the TV. So it was that today afternoon between 2 and 4.30, my better half and I were idly staring at the none too funny antics of Aniston, Cox, Kudrow, LeBlanc, Perry and Schwimmer. The episode involved Ross’s failed attempt to engage in hol(e)y matrimony with Emily.

I’d walked into the hall when Rachel was cooing “helloooo” in a fake British accent to the British Airways lady, and decided that my attention span was going to be of the order of five seconds. Luckily, I was momentarily distracted by the problem of partitioning an integer in such a way that the numbers in the partition do not occur more than once. (I haven’t found a solution yet, I know almost no number theory. Anyway, if I do find the answer, I’ll be sure to post it here!). When I came back to the world in the twenty-one inch screen in front of me, I was thrown off balance. Rachel was in the plane, and the passenger sitting to her left was – gasp! – none other than Hugh Laurie. The TV had all my attention, and I was not disappointed. This was perhaps the only episode of that wretched sitcom which had some genuine humour in it, something that did not involve food, effluvia or sex. Not that I have anything against humour involving those three, but too much of it gets boring. And when the jokes rely solely upon their content (which is usually one of those three things), “boring” is not enough to describe how boring the jokes get.

Hugh Laurie delivered the goods, his sarcasm matchless as always. I really must get hold of some Jeeves and Wooster episodes, not to mention A Little Bit of Fry and Laurie. Those two were a pair, if ever there was one. There was one other – French and Saunders. Hooray for Brit Humour.

Irrelevant Afterquote
A few months ago, I became the proud possessor of Stephen Fry’s Paperweight. It’s not completely funny, but it’s funny in parts, and those parts are present aplenty in the book. One of my favourites is the part where Fry comments on the palindrome Drat Saddam, a mad dastard – “what a pity his name isn’t Sabdam”. I was laughing like a madman for well over half an hour. The other is where he writes “… Übung macht den Meister, as they like to say in Germany. Und Arbeit macht Fry ein Meistersinger.”. I’m not sure if I have the extract verbatim, but the punchline is intact. I read this, felt that something had hit me hard between the eyes, and read it again. I didn’t know whether to be shocked or to burst out laughing, and after a moment’s hesitation, burst out laughing – having read Fry earlier, I knew that he was anything but a bigot.

Glossary to the Irrelevant Afterquote:
Übung macht den Meister loosely translates into Practice makes perfect.
Arbeit macht frei literally means Work makes you free. This phrase has extremely unpleasant connotations, hence my moment of hesitation after reading the pun in Fry’s book.

1492: Conquest of Paradise

Back online again. The tata indicom guys finally responded to my threat of throwing their router out of my window, and came down to fix the cable. So I’m wired again. Only, they’ve mucked up some router setting and I’m not able to view any page except Google from Linux! I’m reduced to running WinBloze to surf the Web while I figure out WTF is happening re. Linux and my router. I’m mystified… DHCP works fine, the DNS seems to be OK, ping and traceroute show that I should be able to reach the remote IP addresses that I want to talk to… but – this is a big BUT – my browser doesn’t show any pages from these places! For instance, I can login to yahoo mail on WinBloze, but all my browsers under Linux just freeze on “waiting for login.yahoo.com”. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what’s happening. Oh well, I just have to give it some time and thought, I guess.

Tomorrow’s a big day, I will finally put broom to dustpan and clean up the cumulative effects of my laziness that have made themselves felt all over the house. I hope it goes well.

Update, 06 April

Just got done with breakfast at the nearby darshini (someday I will have to expound on the distinctions between Tiffin Rooms, Darshinis, Upaharas and Sagars.) and bought a couple of newspapers. I wanted to start off with Operation Clean House by 8.30, but two idlis, a vadai (of course) and a cup of coffee have brought on me such a sense of contentment that I don’t want to start the dirty work before 9.30. As also the sense of pleasant disbelief that my internet connection is finally up and running after nearly three weeks of downtime, angry phone calls and more angry phone calls.

It is essential, however, that I get started soon. Once OCH is done, I have to read up on Broder et al’s Bloom Filter paper and troubleshoot my linux installation’s google-only fixation that I described above yesterday. Later in the afternoon, I’ll catch up with The Kid who’s now making cooing noises at the fan. Damn, bachelorhood is not a patch on fatherhood – but I will have to remain in this semi-bachelor state for a few months more.

Now let’s see. DHCP seems to be working fine, I get the correct IP address and netmask – except that I see an “eth0: no IPv6 routers found” message in /var/log/messages. Running ipconfig in WinBloze yields what seem to be IPv6 addresses for DNS servers. I don’t know if this could be the problem. DNS seems to be working fine, as ping and traceroute testify. That’s the weird part – I can ping, but I can’t connect via http! The DNS server that DHCP gets is different from the last time, though. Earlier I used to get 192.168.1.254 as my DNS server, and now it’s 192.168.1.1 – I don’t think this should really be creating any problems, though… the routing tables also seem to be just fine. This is probably some extremely trivial problem, the solution for which is staring at me as I write. As usual, it will take me several cups of coffee and several hours before I slap my forehead and let an expletive escape my lips.

Update: 06 April, an hour or so later

No coffee, maybe an hour. Got the sonofabitch. {expletive}. {expletive}. {yet another expletive}. My MTU was set to 1500, lowering it to 1400 fixed the problem, am writing this from where I should be! YES! Now I can go and clean up the house in peace. O frabjous day! Callooh, Callay! I chortle in my joy. I put in the unlikely title after realizing that the default MTU on most Unix boxes is (used to be?) 1492. I shall play Vangelis as I clean. Ha!

Extract from the iptables(8) manpage:

TCPMSS
This target allows to alter the MSS value of TCP SYN packets, to control the
maximum size for that connection (usually limiting it to your outgoing inter-
face’s MTU minus 40). Of course, it can only be used in conjunction with -p
tcp. It is only valid in the mangle table.

This target is used to overcome criminally braindead ISPs or servers which block
ICMP Fragmentation Needed packets. The symptoms of this problem are that every-
thing works fine from your Linux firewall/router, but machines behind it can
never exchange large packets:

1) Web browsers connect, then hang with no data received.
2) Small mail works fine, but large emails hang.
3) ssh works fine, but scp hangs after initial handshaking.

Workaround: activate this option and add a rule to your firewall configuration
like:

iptables -t mangle -A FORWARD -p tcp –tcp-flags SYN,RST SYN \
-j TCPMSS –clamp-mss-to-pmtu

Irrelevant Afterquote:

Why is it . . . that the first thing you are reminded of by something that happens around you, is something obscure and foreign, totally unrelated to the life and languages around you?

- Pultukaku, Agastya Sen’s uncle, from English, August.

There’s a big philosophical angst-ridden post buried in those few lines above, but I’ll save that for later. That quote is self-referential, in a manner of speaking. I really have to go clean up house now! I spent close to an hour leafing through my (actually not mine) copy of Upamanyu Chatterjee’s book to get hold of that quote :)

QOTD

The last words of Evariste Galois – Ne pleure pas, Alfred! J’ai besoin de tout mon courage pour mourir à vingt ans!

Translation – Don’t cry, Alfred! I need all my courage to die at twenty!

Ring out the old, Ring in the new. Really?

It was New Year’s eve, and the engineer was chewing the cud. Mentally, that is. His better half was peacefully watching television in the living room, and he was sitting with a book, staring into emtpy space. He’d gotten a new job, and had to shift base shortly.

The telephone rang, and the TV muted itself out, thanks to a thoughtful thumb jabbing at the remote. Squeezing his eyes shut and making a moue to convey his unspoken gratitude, the engineer picked up the phone.

Hello
Hello, Son
Hi Dad, it’s good to hear your voice
(Dad says nothing, smiles at the other end.)
So, son, when do you have to join up at work?
On the 12th, Dad
But that’s a bad day – it’s the eighth day after the new moon, and you know you aren’t supposed to start anything on either the eighth or ninth days.
I’m Sorry, Dad – you know I don’t believe in these things
(A hurt silence at the other end)
It’s all right son, perhaps you’ll realize certain things as you grow up
I’m old enough, Dad
(After an uncomfortable pause, the conversation moves over to more pleasant topics, and ends.)

The engineer is a little piqued, a little saddened, and a little confused.

Is it a crime to live your life, learn from your experiences, and then add to your understanding of the world around you, rather than to blindly believe in what your ancestors believed in? Is it right to hurt someone by holding on to your beliefs which are different from theirs? Is it right to be hurt because someone you care for might have beliefs different from yours? is it a crime to question accepted beliefs?

There are no easy answers to these questions. One might be tempted to say, hey look, it’s just a harmless matter of dates, so moving the date aside to please your parent is OK. Maybe. What should one do when the discussion involves the caste system, and you’re both on opposite sides of the fence? What if you’re in love with someone who doesn’t belong to your caste, and your parents don’t want you to marry this person – only because he or she belongs to a different caste? For that matter, how does one react when Baba Ramdev claims that his flavour of yoga can cure Multiple Sclerosis, AIDS and Cancer? Or when a loved one claims belief in a particular swami’s powers when you believe that the godman is a fake?

In the end, it seems to come down to a question of blind belief at one end versus unbridled skepticism at the other. Should there be a distinction between accepted belief and proven fact? Why go one way and not the other? We shall save the visit to Richard Dawkins land for another day.

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship
and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song
and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face
and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call
that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again
to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way
where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trick’s over

John Masefield

Interesting thing, memory. I was thinking back to the time when I was clothed for the better part of the day in light blue terry shirt and navy blue cotton shorts, with white socks and polished black leather shoes. Usually when my brain throws up dirt from that long ago, it is unpleasant stuff – like memories of being caned for arriving a few minutes late for the first class of the day. Or for forgetting to do homework. Not this time! My mind’s eye pictured a slim volume with a bright green cover, which was the recommended text to learn English poetry from. Notice that we had to learn things, not enjoy them. I never did pay much attention to what I had to learn, though. Poetry least of all. Funny thing then, that I should remember Sea Fever, and that it had been written by a Poet Laureate. Now when I look at it, the poem appeals to me, immensely.

I also remember that I once scored full marks on a mathematics test, being the only kid in class to write the square root of two as an example for an irrational number. Never mind that I did not know what the heck an irrational number was. I was learning; I still am.

Timeo Danaos et dona ferentis

Was watching Troy on the TV as I attempted to hack. Interesting movie, that. I have mixed feelings towards the movie – I like it, and I hate it. Someone else seems to have the same opinion, for pretty much the same reasons – so I’ll be lazy and save myself some typing by pointing you, gentle reader, to Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.

What am I, part deux

I recently had an interesting conversation with someone who had read my blog. I’d written elsewhere in this blog that I was an atheist.

The conversation went somewhat this way:

Someone: You’re stupid
Me: Why?
Someone: You’d written that you were an atheist
Me: So?
Someone: How do you define an atheist?
Me: Someone who doesn’t believe in the existence of God.
Someone: How do you prove the nonexistence of something?
Me (light dawning): Ahhhhh yes. OK, so I’m an agnostic.

Hmmm. OK, so I don’t believe in God, I don’t care whether God exists or not, I believe that the truth value of any statement regarding the existence/nonexistence of God (other than this one) is unknown and cannot be established; I also believe that the (non)existence of God doesn’t make a difference to anybody’s life. So I guess that makes me an agnostic.

Good Coffee

Should apparently be

As black as sin, as hot as hell, as sweet as love

I’ve heard this line being variously attributed to some unknown ancient Turkish poet and to unnamed Texan cowboys from the Wild West. (That version goes As black as night, as strong as sin, as hot as hell, and as sweet as love). I seem to prefer the Turkish version. It’s short and sweet – no pun intended! Besides, I also like Black Coffee.

One of my Sunday morning favourites is a quick cup of black coffee with a huge dollop of vanilla ice cream in it. Great way to start a Sunday.

What am I?

Hmmm. This question came to me as questions always do when I sit at my computer past midnight listening to great music. I wish I did this more often (listen to great music, that is).Some answers:

- I’m a lazy bum and a natural slacker.
- I’m an atheist.
- I’m NOT a vegetarian. Neither am I a teetotaller.
- I’m NOT a hindu. [1]
- I’m a hacker wannabe.
- I’m a foodie.
- I’m a music lover. In more ways than one.

(more answers coming soon).

Post Scriptum:
A reader who wishes to remain anonymous asked me: Shouldn’t you be saying “I’m also not a Christian/Muslim/Buddhist etc. etc. in addition to not being a Hindu”. Sigh. Okay, here’s the deal: At one point of time, I subscribed to Hinduism as a religion. Now I don’t. Since I never did subscribe to the views of other religions, why should I disown them? The fact that I’m an atheist implies that I disown *all* religions.

–
[1] Also see this.

More Agent Smith

I’d like to share with you a revelation, I’ve had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species that I realized you aren’t actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with its surrounding environment, but you humans do not. You move to an area and you multiply, and multiply until every natural resource is consumed. The only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You are a plague, and we…are the cure.