Okay, so I'm sitting a Decision module, which is, y'know, fine. And there are some questions I'm doing, Misc. Ex. 1, question 8 especially, seems to involve almost exclusively labourious number crunching. So I did this, in C++...
#include <iostream>
#include <math.h>
using namespace std;
int main() {
double C = 0.5*sqrt(3);
double S = 3;
double T = 2*sqrt(3);
double D = 2*sqrt(3) - 3;
while (D > 0.01) {
C = sqrt((1+C)/2);
S = S/C;
T = S/C;
D = T-S;
cout << D << "\n";
}
if (D<0.01) {
cout << D;
cin.get();
return (0);
}
}
... which gives me the answers to some needless level of accuracy (8 d.p.) so that's that done.
Except now I'm not revising. And, as far as I'm aware, I'm not allowed a compiler in the exam. Which is obviously stupid. I should be.
Anyway, it's annoyed me, and is therefore worth blogging about.
Wednesday, 28 September 2011
Neutrino walks into a bar...
So, been speaking to Sean (of VVB fame), and he's told me to write a piece on our new angle measurement system we've been working on, the Revo.
For those of you unaware of the Revo, it's just a new way to think of and work with angles, which make a few things, like, y'know, the actual teaching of angles, a lot easier.
Let's begin.
So we call one full circle 1 revo (symbol banta, which is up on your left). It follows that half a circle is 1/2 revo, etc. and a degree is 1/360 revo.
Easy conversion to radians, as you just multiply by 2 pi, so instantly easier than degrees anyway.
And that's about it. You can do anything you can do in radians or degrees in them, as the rules are otherwise the same, it's just a scale factor on any angle measurements you do. Nice and simple.
EDIT: Since then, I've been told there's already a similar (identical) unit called the turn. Fuck.
Now, back to the regular blog:
Today (yesterday, as I'm writing it) is the 13th birthday of Google, so I thought I'd write about that for a bit.
Then I remembered search engines are boring. So here's a piece on a TV show.
For those of you unaware, House is awesome. Simply incredible. Shut up, it is. Whilst even it's most diehard of fans would have difficulty claiming that every episode was anything other than completely identical, that's not the point, you fool: the character development is the important thing in any long-running show, and House does character development like a chimp does shit-flinging. Like Nick Clegg does lying. I've got loads of these.
Anyway, following his crashing through a house at the end of the last series, it looks like our boy House has ended up in prison, and has taken it upon himself to give medical advice to the inmates whilst he's there. So far, all I've seen from the promo is him supplying drugs to a Nazi, and offering a snarky comment: all's good here. House does sarcasm like Monica Lewinsky did Bill Clinton (see? Tons of 'em). New series starts 3rd October. Be there. It's gonna be good.
And finally, in science news, some clever-dicks in Japan have designed a smartphone that can read radiation levels, in the wake of the earthquake and subsequent radiation worries. All very cool, I think you'll agree. The scientists have also proposed additional "jackets" that can be put on the phone so that it can detect "bad breath and body fat". This should totally go on Dragon's Den, if only so that I can confirm my theory that Theo Paphitis has slightly garlicy breath. He looks like he would, doesn't he? And with that small act of libel, I'm off to write some code.
And I'll end on a joke.
Barman says to a neutrino, "What are you doing in here?"
Neutrino walks into a bar.
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Yet another reason to hate BBC 3
Have you ever had the experience of thinking that something is going to be truly, good-awful, like fantastically monumentally shocking, and then being pleasantly mistaken, and finding it's not too bad, or better, even enjoyable?
I've had that feeling a few times, but I can only remember the one time really well. So I'll tell you about that. A few years ago, my friends kept on telling me about this comedy show, this surreal piece of "brilliance", as one said, called The Mighty Boosh. Now, back then, I hadn't seen these guys who were involved in it in anything, so I decided to avoid it, at least until the season had ended and I could get it cheap. I didn't want to waste money on some wank-pile, after all.
Then, a couple of years after it aired, I found season 1 on DVD in a shop, for about a fiver, so I thought, what the hell, and bought it. I went home, watched it, and within 30 minutes had laughed my tonsils out. Genuinely out. I had to keep them on a plate in the fridge all week.
I loved that show. I went to see it live 2 years later in Manchester. It is brilliant.
Well, Lee Nelson's Well Good Show is the polar opposite of that.
Designed as a kind of Russell Howard's Good News for the Jeremy Kyle audience, the presenter, a character comedian with a truly terrifying stare (think Chucky from Child's Play, but in a tracksuit), seems to have to hold the entire show up on his shoulders. Which is fine. Except this guy has somehow created some kind of chav comedy-vacuum into which all joy and fun of the brilliant Good News goes, and is never seen again. The material is a bunch of one-liners about how there's a fat co-host on stage, interspersed with our man Lee saying "innit" and perpetually fist-bumping the audience, to the point that you start to think that maybe you could run a small country on the energy of this man's fist. How it's sustained over 30 minutes, I don't know, let alone 2 seasons. All the while, he's talking about ketamine and blowies, 'cos, you know, he's hip, innit? And all the yoof like love wank-jokes and baseball caps and stuff, yeah? Man we at BBC 3 is right on the pulse innit?
How are all the episodes of this show on iPlayer? It's not worth the memory it's saved on... at one point in episode 1, they get some dads from the audience, Lee talks about their kids and how he'd like to bang the daughters ('cos he's down with the kids and kids all have sex now and then text about it, yeah?), and then gets them up on stage into a boxing ring, to fight over who the best dad is. Obviously. At this point, I've starting noticing the screen has this weird red tinge to it, and only after I take a look at my hands do I realise that it's blood from where I've been trying to gouge my own eyeballs out for the past 8 minutes.
This show is so self-evidently attempting to be cool and now that I'm surprised there's not an entire 10-minute section conducted entirely through text message. Mind, if that were the case, at least you wouldn't have to hear Lee's ridiculous squeal that he seems to do every time he says something even remotely offensive, or he mentions sex. Or drugs. Or women. Or he fist-bumps a guy. Or... look, he does it a lot, ok?
Oh, and apparently, the best way to decide who the best dad out of these two men that they've got on stage is, is the get them to put a condom on a banana with their mouth. Ha, 'cos it looks like he's bent, innit? And like, us yoofs hate queers yeah, 'cos they're like weird and shit? Yeah...
It's 10 minutes in. I'm turning it off. I can't hack this shitehawk for one more second, even with 14 pairs of irony-glasses practically glued to my eyes. He makes me want to vomit up my own intestines, if only to break up the monotony. If the BBC had hired Lee Nelson creator Simon Brodkin to create a show in which young orphans stripped to the waist and attempted to bludgeon each other to death using only dustbin lids and pool cues in a cold, abandoned warehouse, with music by Tonje Langeteig looped exfruciatingly loudly over the top, I think I'd prefer to watch that.
Actually, if you're reading, Director General, I'm patenting that idea. And I can get it done for half the price of the Well Good Show.
I've had that feeling a few times, but I can only remember the one time really well. So I'll tell you about that. A few years ago, my friends kept on telling me about this comedy show, this surreal piece of "brilliance", as one said, called The Mighty Boosh. Now, back then, I hadn't seen these guys who were involved in it in anything, so I decided to avoid it, at least until the season had ended and I could get it cheap. I didn't want to waste money on some wank-pile, after all.
Then, a couple of years after it aired, I found season 1 on DVD in a shop, for about a fiver, so I thought, what the hell, and bought it. I went home, watched it, and within 30 minutes had laughed my tonsils out. Genuinely out. I had to keep them on a plate in the fridge all week.
I loved that show. I went to see it live 2 years later in Manchester. It is brilliant.
Well, Lee Nelson's Well Good Show is the polar opposite of that.
Designed as a kind of Russell Howard's Good News for the Jeremy Kyle audience, the presenter, a character comedian with a truly terrifying stare (think Chucky from Child's Play, but in a tracksuit), seems to have to hold the entire show up on his shoulders. Which is fine. Except this guy has somehow created some kind of chav comedy-vacuum into which all joy and fun of the brilliant Good News goes, and is never seen again. The material is a bunch of one-liners about how there's a fat co-host on stage, interspersed with our man Lee saying "innit" and perpetually fist-bumping the audience, to the point that you start to think that maybe you could run a small country on the energy of this man's fist. How it's sustained over 30 minutes, I don't know, let alone 2 seasons. All the while, he's talking about ketamine and blowies, 'cos, you know, he's hip, innit? And all the yoof like love wank-jokes and baseball caps and stuff, yeah? Man we at BBC 3 is right on the pulse innit?
How are all the episodes of this show on iPlayer? It's not worth the memory it's saved on... at one point in episode 1, they get some dads from the audience, Lee talks about their kids and how he'd like to bang the daughters ('cos he's down with the kids and kids all have sex now and then text about it, yeah?), and then gets them up on stage into a boxing ring, to fight over who the best dad is. Obviously. At this point, I've starting noticing the screen has this weird red tinge to it, and only after I take a look at my hands do I realise that it's blood from where I've been trying to gouge my own eyeballs out for the past 8 minutes.
This show is so self-evidently attempting to be cool and now that I'm surprised there's not an entire 10-minute section conducted entirely through text message. Mind, if that were the case, at least you wouldn't have to hear Lee's ridiculous squeal that he seems to do every time he says something even remotely offensive, or he mentions sex. Or drugs. Or women. Or he fist-bumps a guy. Or... look, he does it a lot, ok?
Oh, and apparently, the best way to decide who the best dad out of these two men that they've got on stage is, is the get them to put a condom on a banana with their mouth. Ha, 'cos it looks like he's bent, innit? And like, us yoofs hate queers yeah, 'cos they're like weird and shit? Yeah...
It's 10 minutes in. I'm turning it off. I can't hack this shitehawk for one more second, even with 14 pairs of irony-glasses practically glued to my eyes. He makes me want to vomit up my own intestines, if only to break up the monotony. If the BBC had hired Lee Nelson creator Simon Brodkin to create a show in which young orphans stripped to the waist and attempted to bludgeon each other to death using only dustbin lids and pool cues in a cold, abandoned warehouse, with music by Tonje Langeteig looped exfruciatingly loudly over the top, I think I'd prefer to watch that.
Actually, if you're reading, Director General, I'm patenting that idea. And I can get it done for half the price of the Well Good Show.
Monday, 26 September 2011
Like flying a spaceship.
So I've got a new CD to listen to in my car, real proper driving music. Nine Inch Nails' excellent Ghosts, a huge four-disk bastard, 36 tracks of ambient industrial brilliance. For anyone unaware for ambient industrial, it's essentially music made with the sound-effects from Star Trek - every whoosh, tap, and low rumble, all accompanied by weird aboriginal drum music. It makes me feel like Han Solo jumping to hyperspace whenever I put it on, although I'm not sure if it's entirely safe - I can't tell what's the engine and what's the music now, and have stalled twice already because of this...
In other egocentric music news, I have wrecked my arm trying to play Hall Of The Mountain King - in justification, it sounds better when played loudly. Very loudly. And angrily.
And in science news... nothing. Ever since that CERN announcement, actual science has kind of dropped off the radar. The coolest thing I could find was a kind of "anti-magnet" magnetic shield that a team have made.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-15017479
I mention this if only because it's done nothing to assuage my fear of terrorism. If anything, I'm now more afraid. It's in no way unfeasible to use this tech to hide anything you want from an MRI machine. And if they create proper light cloaking - again, the research is happening... god I'm paranoid enough with the possibility of invisible ninja assassins...
In other egocentric music news, I have wrecked my arm trying to play Hall Of The Mountain King - in justification, it sounds better when played loudly. Very loudly. And angrily.
And in science news... nothing. Ever since that CERN announcement, actual science has kind of dropped off the radar. The coolest thing I could find was a kind of "anti-magnet" magnetic shield that a team have made.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-15017479
I mention this if only because it's done nothing to assuage my fear of terrorism. If anything, I'm now more afraid. It's in no way unfeasible to use this tech to hide anything you want from an MRI machine. And if they create proper light cloaking - again, the research is happening... god I'm paranoid enough with the possibility of invisible ninja assassins...
Saturday, 24 September 2011
If Aliens Watched X-Factor...
So, the new series of X-Factor USA has started, and I caught the first auditions. As a brief aside, when will we tire of watching people that can't sing, sing? Seriously guys. It's been going on for a good few years now. Says a lot about us as a species. If a super-intelligent race of aliens are watching us as a sort of biological experiment, and they happen to have tuned into our broadcasts, what are they going to think? Thousands upon thousands of people calling a number to say who's the best singer... if we're turned to dust by some super-powered fusion cannon, I don't know if the galaxy will even shrug.
But anyway. Today I've seen a black transvestite sing, an old married couple sing, and one of the judges (the one who looks like that woman who does the weird Magnum adverts who thinks she's the Aztec sun goddess) throw up at the sight of a (probably homeless) man's penis. It's got the educational and entertainment value of repeated sticking pins into your own genitals, that show. God knows why it's broadcast. God knows why I watched it.
Also on my daily routine was a visit to Nando's, possibly the finest establishment ever built. Seriously. If those super-intelligent aliens came down and, in between rectal probings and mass neuterings, sampled the cuisine, they'd hold up Nando's as the finest of all human achievements. Just before they vapourised them all. And us. Had the usual. It's never good when you can order in a restaurant without looking at the menu. Either you're too posh, or too predictable. Although I think I may be both, in this case.
Finally, I saw a film. The Change-Up, it was called, starring the FBI agent from Paul, and someone who I think is Ryan Reynolds, but undoubtedly isn't. You know the kind of charming, good-looking, gurning idiot that appears in all modern comedy films as a kind of inspiration to useless tossers everywhere? Well that's him. Except he's not here. Oh no.
I genuinely enjoyed this film. It's a sort of modern-day Freaky Friday-type bodyswap thing with a twist: an uptight lawyer with marital issues and twin babies swaps bodies with his lay-about, pot-smoking, womanising actor friend. Hilarity ensues, if only to break up the gratuitous boob-shots. But beyond the boobs, it's actually a good, fun, heart-warming film. (That is the first time I've described anything as heart-warming). After all, any film in which some messy, waste-of-space failed drama student manages to get a date with 13 from House can only be an inspiration to everyone. You too could get a date with a slammin' hottie. Although you can't. Because this is Hollywood-Land, where the impossible is everyday. And you live in Peckham, where... well, needless to say, you won't be dating Olivia Wilde any time soon. Why did you even think you would? Seriously...
But check it out. It's a good film, if a bit grim in parts in a kind of American Pie way, and has more to it than just pictures of bottoms and dirty puns. Which is more than I can say for some films... (Sex Pot: worst film I've ever sat all the way through).
So, yeah. That's about it. See you all next week, same time, same channel.
EDIT: I just Googled it... it was Ryan Reynolds.
But anyway. Today I've seen a black transvestite sing, an old married couple sing, and one of the judges (the one who looks like that woman who does the weird Magnum adverts who thinks she's the Aztec sun goddess) throw up at the sight of a (probably homeless) man's penis. It's got the educational and entertainment value of repeated sticking pins into your own genitals, that show. God knows why it's broadcast. God knows why I watched it.
Also on my daily routine was a visit to Nando's, possibly the finest establishment ever built. Seriously. If those super-intelligent aliens came down and, in between rectal probings and mass neuterings, sampled the cuisine, they'd hold up Nando's as the finest of all human achievements. Just before they vapourised them all. And us. Had the usual. It's never good when you can order in a restaurant without looking at the menu. Either you're too posh, or too predictable. Although I think I may be both, in this case.
Finally, I saw a film. The Change-Up, it was called, starring the FBI agent from Paul, and someone who I think is Ryan Reynolds, but undoubtedly isn't. You know the kind of charming, good-looking, gurning idiot that appears in all modern comedy films as a kind of inspiration to useless tossers everywhere? Well that's him. Except he's not here. Oh no.
I genuinely enjoyed this film. It's a sort of modern-day Freaky Friday-type bodyswap thing with a twist: an uptight lawyer with marital issues and twin babies swaps bodies with his lay-about, pot-smoking, womanising actor friend. Hilarity ensues, if only to break up the gratuitous boob-shots. But beyond the boobs, it's actually a good, fun, heart-warming film. (That is the first time I've described anything as heart-warming). After all, any film in which some messy, waste-of-space failed drama student manages to get a date with 13 from House can only be an inspiration to everyone. You too could get a date with a slammin' hottie. Although you can't. Because this is Hollywood-Land, where the impossible is everyday. And you live in Peckham, where... well, needless to say, you won't be dating Olivia Wilde any time soon. Why did you even think you would? Seriously...
But check it out. It's a good film, if a bit grim in parts in a kind of American Pie way, and has more to it than just pictures of bottoms and dirty puns. Which is more than I can say for some films... (Sex Pot: worst film I've ever sat all the way through).
So, yeah. That's about it. See you all next week, same time, same channel.
EDIT: I just Googled it... it was Ryan Reynolds.
Friday, 23 September 2011
Fear Itself
Ok, I've had to throw together a quick last-minute response to the over-blogging of both CERN- and UARS-related stories (don't believe me? Check Veni Vidi Blogavi), so here goes nothing.
Having started re-reading a book by my favourite misanthropic author, Charlie Brooker, and coming across his section on his fear of spiders, I've decided to write a piece on my work on my own fear: mottephobia.
For those of you not comfortable with Greek, or simple words, mottephobia is a fear of moths or butterflies. To those non-sufferers, I'm sure you're laughing hysterically now: why wouldn't you be? Well, you guffawing pleb, it's 'cos they're terrifying. These are creatures of pure evil, trust me. Have you ever looked at a moth up close? I have. It's a hobby. It'd send a normal, otherwise well-adjusted individual into hysterics, no doubt. You need only watch Silence Of The Lambs, and look at the Death's-Head moth that is forced down the throats of Buffalo Bill's victims, to be unable to move under orange lights in the dead of night, as those dust-cloaked nightmares begin to swarm...
And butterflies? No better! They get tangled in your hair (a tribute commonly given to bats), and fly right at your face, and... god it doesn't bare thinking about. And weirdly, I'm not scared of spiders. So, here's my solution.
Listen up David Cameron. Your popularity will sky-rocket.
Every child, aged 10, is given a list of phobias, which they then fill in to state whether they have it or not. Then, these are filled away, sitting and waiting, until... aged 18? Looking for a job? Well, have we got the job for you!
Not scared of wasps? You go round to a phobic's house or garden, net in hand, and sort that bastard out! We set up a special, easy-to-remember number, which you can call in such an emergency.
Consider this:
Has a bat flown out of your light fitting, turning you into a shrieking mess? Call the Fear Hotline, we'll send a non-sufferer out to fix it, and it'll all be very reasonably priced. The country will sleep easy knowing that a man with a rolled-up newspaper can be sent out at a moment's notice.
So that's the plan. If you like it, go through your jackets and find some loose change, send it my way... just watch out for spiders in the pockets.
Having started re-reading a book by my favourite misanthropic author, Charlie Brooker, and coming across his section on his fear of spiders, I've decided to write a piece on my work on my own fear: mottephobia.
For those of you not comfortable with Greek, or simple words, mottephobia is a fear of moths or butterflies. To those non-sufferers, I'm sure you're laughing hysterically now: why wouldn't you be? Well, you guffawing pleb, it's 'cos they're terrifying. These are creatures of pure evil, trust me. Have you ever looked at a moth up close? I have. It's a hobby. It'd send a normal, otherwise well-adjusted individual into hysterics, no doubt. You need only watch Silence Of The Lambs, and look at the Death's-Head moth that is forced down the throats of Buffalo Bill's victims, to be unable to move under orange lights in the dead of night, as those dust-cloaked nightmares begin to swarm...
And butterflies? No better! They get tangled in your hair (a tribute commonly given to bats), and fly right at your face, and... god it doesn't bare thinking about. And weirdly, I'm not scared of spiders. So, here's my solution.
Listen up David Cameron. Your popularity will sky-rocket.
Every child, aged 10, is given a list of phobias, which they then fill in to state whether they have it or not. Then, these are filled away, sitting and waiting, until... aged 18? Looking for a job? Well, have we got the job for you!
Not scared of wasps? You go round to a phobic's house or garden, net in hand, and sort that bastard out! We set up a special, easy-to-remember number, which you can call in such an emergency.
Consider this:
Has a bat flown out of your light fitting, turning you into a shrieking mess? Call the Fear Hotline, we'll send a non-sufferer out to fix it, and it'll all be very reasonably priced. The country will sleep easy knowing that a man with a rolled-up newspaper can be sent out at a moment's notice.
So that's the plan. If you like it, go through your jackets and find some loose change, send it my way... just watch out for spiders in the pockets.
Thursday, 22 September 2011
Express Diana Shock!
So, saw a front cover of everyone's favourite scientific journal, the Daily Express, today: Is Diana's Psychic a fake? Um... is the prophetic acquaintance of a dead woman a fake? I'm gonna ere on the side of caution here and say, "Probably". So much wrong with the Express...
In science news, a team of scientists studying neutrinos at CERN have possibly found particles going faster than light. Results are online to check out, and I'll try to keep on top of CERN news so watch this space.
And in my life? Well, thanks to a delay in a hospital waiting room I've finally seen Kate's dress from the Royal Wedding. It's alright. Bit long for my tastes. Could have gone for something a bit less... ostentatious. That means that I successfully avoided the dress for... 145 days, I think. Harder than it sounds, that. Especially when is everywhere. Well, except the front cover of the Express...
In science news, a team of scientists studying neutrinos at CERN have possibly found particles going faster than light. Results are online to check out, and I'll try to keep on top of CERN news so watch this space.
And in my life? Well, thanks to a delay in a hospital waiting room I've finally seen Kate's dress from the Royal Wedding. It's alright. Bit long for my tastes. Could have gone for something a bit less... ostentatious. That means that I successfully avoided the dress for... 145 days, I think. Harder than it sounds, that. Especially when is everywhere. Well, except the front cover of the Express...
Wednesday, 21 September 2011
UPDATE: Let Me In
Just watched the American remake of Let The Right One In, one of the best films ever made (whilst reading more books on nootropics)... actually really good film, worth a watch even if you've seen LTROI.
Hello, world
So yeah. In the vein of the great Sean, and his blog, and as a sort of half-arsed protest against the evils of Facebook, I've decided to set this bad-boy up. Basically I'mma blog away about general geekery, maths, things I find that interest me, and... yeah, that's about it. Maintains my ties with everyone, whilst allowing me to sever ties with the evil Zuck-empire. Go team.
To business.
Um. Limitless. Watched that last night. Good film, you should full-on see it and things. Really good acting, and, looking into it, the science, whilst being shaky in parts (someone mentions you only use 20% of your brain), is exaggerated reality. I dug into this, and this is what I found.
So, a memory-enhancing or "smart" drug is called a nootropic (from the Greek), and there are quite a few out there in experimental stages... the most promising I could find is a drug called piracetam, or the racetam family. This has been shown to improve cognition in sufferers of Alzheimer's with virtually no side-effects - to the point that you can get it OTC in the UK. So that's number one. Also we've got caffeine to keep you awake, nicotine too though obviously smoking is bad, children. And vitamin-B1, apparently, they all help. Of course you could just study.
But that's dull, isn't it?
To business.
Um. Limitless. Watched that last night. Good film, you should full-on see it and things. Really good acting, and, looking into it, the science, whilst being shaky in parts (someone mentions you only use 20% of your brain), is exaggerated reality. I dug into this, and this is what I found.
So, a memory-enhancing or "smart" drug is called a nootropic (from the Greek), and there are quite a few out there in experimental stages... the most promising I could find is a drug called piracetam, or the racetam family. This has been shown to improve cognition in sufferers of Alzheimer's with virtually no side-effects - to the point that you can get it OTC in the UK. So that's number one. Also we've got caffeine to keep you awake, nicotine too though obviously smoking is bad, children. And vitamin-B1, apparently, they all help. Of course you could just study.
But that's dull, isn't it?
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