tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13210763277964669242024-03-14T19:41:08.993+13:00Something Interesting To ReadBecause we all like interesting things to read, don't we?Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-29598589308993850472010-09-22T14:14:00.001+12:002010-09-22T14:15:12.627+12:00An Interesting EquidThis is what an albino zebra looks like (click to embiggen): <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e3/Blondzebra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="242" qx="true" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e3/Blondzebra.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-86579029804545332272010-09-04T16:34:00.002+12:002010-09-04T16:51:43.760+12:00Something Interesting About Earthquakes<em>Alternative title: Journalism, the Interesting way!</em><br />
<br />
At 4:30 this morning there was an earthquake in Christchurch - a pretty big one (7.1 or 7.0, depending on whether you trust the <a href="http://www.nzherald.co.nz/">New Zealand Herald</a> or <a href="http://en.wikinews.org/">Wikinews</a> more). While I in no way wish to trivialise something that probably gave a lot of people a really bad day*, I managed to find something interesting in the photos taken by <a href="http://drquigs.com/">Dr. Mark Quigley</a>, a lecturer in the Department of Geological Sciences at the University of Canterbury, and, in my opinion, a really cool guy if he actually goes by the name "Dr. Quigs". All the photos that follow are of today's quake, and credit for them goes to Dr. Quigs.<br />
<br />
When I picture the effects of a large earthquake, two things come to mind:<br />
<br />
1) Damage to buildings/structures, or damage caused by pieces of the aforementioned falling off.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://drquigs.com/images/rsgallery/original/CHCH2140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" ox="true" src="http://drquigs.com/images/rsgallery/original/CHCH2140.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div>2) Great big cracks in the ground.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://drquigs.com/images/rsgallery/original/CHCH2222.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" ox="true" src="http://drquigs.com/images/rsgallery/original/CHCH2222.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I imagine I'm like most people in this regard. But one thing that one doesn't necessarily expect from an earthquake is mounds of sand and dirt pushed up by the force of the quake. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://drquigs.com/images/rsgallery/original/CHCH2172.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" ox="true" src="http://drquigs.com/images/rsgallery/original/CHCH2172.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<em>"I didn't know earthquakes could do that!"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Well, there's a lot you don't know about earthquakes."</em><br />
<br />
The Avon river burst its banks in places.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://drquigs.com/images/rsgallery/original/IMG_3570.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ox="true" src="http://drquigs.com/images/rsgallery/original/IMG_3570.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br />
Mud, mud, everywhere, really.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://drquigs.com/images/rsgallery/original/CHCH2188.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" ox="true" src="http://drquigs.com/images/rsgallery/original/CHCH2188.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
According to the bio on his website, Dr. Quigs enjoys "swims in Arctic lakes, tundra golf, and staring contests with muskox and caribou." The only way he could be more badass is if it turned out that he caused the earthquake with his lecturer powers and was actually a supervillain called something like "Dr. Quake". But only a little bit more badass.<br />
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*Okay, maybe I do enjoy trivialising it just a little. But hey, I'm <a href="http://drquigs.com/images/rsgallery/original/CHCH3523.jpg">not the only person having a bit of fun</a>.<br />
<br />
UPDATE: Also, <a href="http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10671080">quicksand</a>!Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-3738066446130749092010-07-19T20:54:00.000+12:002010-07-19T20:54:03.611+12:00An Interesting FactThe sweat glands on the palms of human hands are only triggered by nervousness.<br />
<br />
Not by heat, or physical exertion or anything else.<br />
<br />
So sweaty palms on someone are a very clear signal that there is something on their mind.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-79294732014780206842010-06-18T01:50:00.000+12:002010-06-18T01:50:26.073+12:00Putting a ridiculous amount of extra blankets on your bed in winter<div style="text-align: center;">Pro: It makes your bed really, REALLY warm, thus enveloping you in a cocoon of comfort and serenity.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Con: It makes your bed really, REALLY warm, thus making it REALLY difficult to get out of bed in the morning.</div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-46072921962404711782010-06-16T11:19:00.000+12:002010-06-16T11:19:58.423+12:00Something Interesting About FishSomething to remember when fishing - if you land a fish that's undersized, or you're a catch-and-release fisher:<br />
<br />
If a hook is deeply embedded, cut the line. Fish have strong digestive acids that will dissolve metal. Studies have shown fish released in this manner have a higher survival than fish which have the hooks torn from their throats or stomach.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-36408261390811458282010-06-06T23:03:00.000+12:002010-06-06T23:03:04.191+12:00Some Interesting Fingers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://universe-review.ca/I10-10-polydactyly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="http://universe-review.ca/I10-10-polydactyly.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br />
Hey, there's something wrong with that hand...<br />
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It has no thumb!<br />
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What's that you say? There's too many fingers? Oh yeah, well that too. That's probably from some form of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polydactyly">polydactyly</a>.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-49901556788781345742010-06-05T16:42:00.002+12:002010-06-05T16:44:47.447+12:00Well that's a little strange.This is what <a href="http://www.youtube.com/">Youtube</a> presented me with when I tried to get a video the other day:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: x-large;"><strong>500 Internal Server Error</strong></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Sorry, something went wrong.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A team of highly trained monkeys has been dispatched to deal with this situation.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Also, please include the following information in your error report:</span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">Dtc7IAKAtp6wFmmIjDs3aZvDB1PozjVVV1C3Nn0ZZVc7F8NCfygAfMAC_Hpi</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">RclhfKNv2EVshXLGLHo_SZdBs8QhRMQX6GAGn-8j9G9AanQYlT5fr1E9Mg5K</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">6VwHnnTBr_Y7tTrmZXIPidRf9uHwaPiw6hJYqYMW2ScAI9Bal5TIpYi9MjTj</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">FLSW0c3rl1xzGO7s2WDKg5-qY5oPtZDrgAdl5KOR-io2CLRO74PolKQ_yZqA</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">kCdJJE9IYoha_zB5CYcTks8rXPIOHLqnb8JcGqIa1KPQLvrKTGZ-Icr87H7Q</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">8T0PAQvrQjxhh2rt4vrKey0Cq-c8xtsRoU0Tfgmnj82H7OeoHpCoeSGI4MRH</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">POo7ePlzghwqYfDIfubS2lcuDCEXcymNxqyj45ubI6_4TWkCQeQyTNa-asNw</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">5ok9ydBlzqQQnr6NPef99aARkcu8MoGemMrkWcZKhiqxyfFerXK8KF6T3QnZ</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">E8wJQpljFePkliqO2QACb5Ub7eg9rC3TwEbNdtwYbWUrgm_PsWKEllztCxeD</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">9h8ClOzUkB5jdSHjIUyk-fpbqCj88C4AegOMn19zlsxUrvsw9HNHFGG_JJd6</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">YP7iC2b_Zq-OZ0L9ZE21CU0v63_7kXB_SG2mAxoSC1VdBMKbxGS9MlL53vaY</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">qLsCenFrEnt3qcyQOOQJLMLFHr_Yg28GujFicR4QM_yB_1gBLHVl5Q0CqhJH</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">TzONM9tkRvyc84C-b_ObZqc4p9pUN0ohiDnJPI2Lv3vp3CvrlLoexzhTGWaZ</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">quUvtwbKfd7iMqfeLFGTjzRNHatRUnJBZboC_iO8XyZqUltHjcgA1_guIrJI</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">PtOdaEFpjLPgpCUw81jS9Bi6JENmnI_-GHYtIVQXZOUA8m4TF75RtP-0iVpl</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">w0hQlfyKi_jEkitDpq1qETPz-GELH9RBb2DuqgS4VIQMpCaI_ORiEe-2PSvy</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">T0sEDXHauBr9Ai811KFuJWcjgN7jF5bto9L8D31Nt3cmRKYQtXhjtldqHK-Y</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">uuoDvHXXb03fZTe86FevFTAWZMQnqIt1D_56a94_YeK5RBPxbAqQ6uiSwp5u</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">bisSs8emJUVUphTke42g59_ndrbHHqD9zKiQdTIKmDqg__187A6g5vD9ggLc</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">6KM8ESHfYGjulzf9pE77ALkRwQXlx5irU4jUqFfEqfg9</span><br />
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I appreciate it not for the long string of unintelligible letters and numbers, but for the comment about highly trained monkeys. I wonder how their tech support staff feel about being referred to in this way.<br />
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Actually, it was probably their idea.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-84945337460338096842010-05-13T19:10:00.001+12:002010-05-13T19:11:47.676+12:00Trees can be rebels too<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S-ujp2cw4CI/AAAAAAAAAGA/-vNQl_fD6Ts/s1600/Image003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S-ujp2cw4CI/AAAAAAAAAGA/-vNQl_fD6Ts/s640/Image003.jpg" width="480" wt="true" /></a></div><br />
Stickin' it to the man, yo. Well, to the humans at least. Steel means nothing to to the inexorable expansion of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meristem">lateral meristem</a>! This photo doesn't show the whole tree, so you can't see that it's a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cabbage_tree_(New_Zealand)">cabbage tree</a>. It's one of a few of them growing in these cage things on Wakefield street, but it's the only one making an escape attempt.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-63765433030983617162010-04-18T14:17:00.001+12:002010-04-18T14:20:35.846+12:00You Don't Mess With The OrcaAs a recreational writer with the occasional journalistic tendency (that is, I blog every now and then), I am often bothered by the way news is reported, whether in written form or on the six o'clock bulletin. In my opinion, the two biggest errors in journalism are over-sensationalisation of stories, and misleading headlines. Especially when the two are combined, usually with scientifically inaccurate statements and illogical assumptiosn from misunderstood statistical data. That's what really irks me. But anyway. I found an example of this on Thursday in the following article:<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=10634407">Whale makes meal of orca and calf</a></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/97/255115491_55e06e7791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; cssfloat: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/97/255115491_55e06e7791.jpg" width="200" wt="true" /></a>When I saw that headline, I was quite surprised. The accepted models of cetacean behaviour usually dictate that orca (<em>Orcinus orca</em>) prey on whales, not the other way around. The term "killer whale" for orca actually came from the name "whale killer", which arose from the fact that they... kill whales. Groups of orca can take down blue whales, the world's largest animals, by working as a team and ripping out their tongues. There's not a lot that can stand up to an orca. Seals, sharks and dolphins are all fair game for them.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">So I wondered what sort of whale would "make a meal" of an orca. I clicked the link to find out and was dissapointed by the opening sentence/paragraph:</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>"A boatload of tourists got to witness nature at its most brutal when a killer whale flicked a pseudo orca high into the air, broke its back and ate both it and its calf in the Bay of Islands yesterday."</em></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Now, that headline said that a whale killed an orca.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">No it didn't!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">An orca killed a whale!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">That's an important distinction!</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/76/False_killer_whale_890002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/76/False_killer_whale_890002.jpg" width="200" wt="true" /></a>Pseudo orca (<em>Pseudorca crassidens</em>, or false killer whales) are fairly average-looking porpoise-like critters, smaller than orca but bigger than dolphins. Sort of black in colour. Like real orca, they're members of the dolphin family (Delphinidae). No matter what you define a "whale" as, orca and pseudo orca have the same degree of whaleness. You can't refer to pseudo orca as "orca" if there are real orca in the same situation! That's like telling a story about a sea lion being attacked by a real lion, and saying that "a cat attacked a lion. Although lions are cats, sea lions are not lions, and pseudo orca are not orca.</div><br />
The moral of the story is that I really, really dislike inaccurate, misleading or ambiguous reporting of facts. Not just in journalism. People do it all the time. My request to those of you that do: stop it.<br />
<br />
There's one more lesson to be taken away from this though, and that is that orca (<em>Orcinus orca</em>) are quite good at killing stuff. Don't try to pick a fight with one.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-49122020031469587352010-04-13T13:39:00.001+12:002010-04-13T13:40:08.137+12:00ZXCVB!On Sunday night - the wee hours of Monday morning in fact (12:09:25am, 12/04/2010) - I received the following text from Vodafone:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>zxcvb</em></div><br />
After typing that, I just realised the significance - it's the first five keys of the bottom row of a "qwerty" keyboard. But anyway.<br />
<br />
I was quite puzzled by that text. I got it immediately after sending a text to a friend who it was costing me money to text, and, with a low prepaid balance and fearing that this was an alternative to Vodafone's traditional "Sorry, you do not have enough credit to send this message" response, I checked my balance. But I still had enough money to send texts. So I showed the text to my friends and we laughed about it, trying to pronounce the word in an urgent manner. Zxcvb! ZXCVB! <br />
<br />
But then just after lunchtime on Monday (12:54:36pm, 12/04/2010), I got another text from Vodafone:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>Due to a system error you were sent a VF TXT on 12April10 that said 'ZXCVB'. Please ignore this message. Our apologies for any inconvenience caused.</em></div><br />
Well Vodafone, I refuse to ignore that message. It amuses me too much to do so. But rest assured that no inconvenience was caused at all - in fact, it was a source of much entertainment.<br />
<br />
I found out later that one of my other friends also received this puzzling sequence of messages from Vodafone. What a mystery.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-847138895120024632010-03-19T11:43:00.001+13:002010-03-25T10:59:02.671+13:00The Hitchhiker's Guide to Critical ThinkingMy Philosophy 105 Coursebook has the words DON'T PANIC in large, friendly letters on the cover.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S6KsACeKj2I/AAAAAAAAAFw/ymEZl27vI10/s1600-h/Photo_00004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S6KsACeKj2I/AAAAAAAAAFw/ymEZl27vI10/s320/Photo_00004.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div><br />
Also, as a bonus for the extra-geeky among you who will pick up on the reference, here's the workbook:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S6KsUiFWk7I/AAAAAAAAAF4/lIJQDQCA9mw/s1600-h/Photo_00005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S6KsUiFWk7I/AAAAAAAAAF4/lIJQDQCA9mw/s320/Photo_00005.jpg" vt="true" /></a></div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-5574186176554562612010-02-15T21:22:00.000+13:002010-02-15T21:22:36.688+13:00Donut LoveYesterday (Sunday the 14th of February), Mum was moving frozen donuts from the baking trays on which they had been freezing, into plastic bags to be returned to the freezer and restore the usefulness of the baking trays for their intended purpose - that is, baking. <br />
<br />
She asked me if I wanted her to leave out a donut for me, to which I responded enthusiastically and affirmatively. I pointed to one, and she returned to the laundry to put the other donuts back in the freezer, leaving my chosen donut on the baking tray. While she was out of the room, I noticed something about the donut...<br />
<br />
"Hey Mum?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah?"<br />
<br />
"Did you do this?"<br />
<br />
"Do what?"<br />
<br />
*point*<br />
<br />
"No. Did you?"<br />
<br />
"No. Didn't you?"<br />
<br />
"No."<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S3kDrlwzeOI/AAAAAAAAAFo/t5ms3TRyX6I/s1600-h/123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ct="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S3kDrlwzeOI/AAAAAAAAAFo/t5ms3TRyX6I/s320/123.JPG" /></a></div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-16681858068169988232010-01-19T15:35:00.000+13:002010-01-19T15:35:09.263+13:00Something Interesting About The KilogramYou may or may not have heard, but there is an object in this world which is "the kilogram". <br />
<br />
"Nonsense", you may say. "A kilogram is the weight of a litre of water". <br />
<br />
"Nay", I reply, "The kilogram is a cylinder with a height and diameter of 39.17 millimetres, made of a platinum and iridium alloy (90% platinum to 10% iridium), known as the International Prototype Kilogram, which is stored in an environmentally monited safe in the lower vault of the basement of the International Bureau of Weights and Measures's House of Breteuil in Sèvres on the outskirts of Paris, with six sister copies. The vault can only be opened by three independently controlled keys (much like the urban legends concerning <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coca-Cola_formula">the formula for Coca-Cola</a>)."<br />
<br />
"Cor blimey!" you might reply, with a stunned expression.<br />
<br />
"That's not all!" I respond with a grin. "The modern IPK is not the <em>original </em>kilogram - the original "kilogram", or the Kilogram of the Archives, was a cylinder made of solid platinum - but the IPK's mass has been found to be indestinguishable from that of the Kilogram of the Archives - which was made ninety years earlier."<br />
<br />
"Wow. That's impressive."<br />
<br />
"That's <em>SCIENCE</em>!"<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b5/CGKilogram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" ps="true" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b5/CGKilogram.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
</div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-52257887253096116622010-01-19T11:21:00.000+13:002010-01-19T11:21:19.070+13:00Something Interesting About Holding Your BreathHave you ever noticed that when you swim underwater, you can hold your breath for much longer than if you were just sitting above water not breathing?<br />
<br />
This is because of a physiological response known as the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mammalian_diving_reflex">mammalian diving reflex</a>. When cold water (lower than 21 degrees Celsius) touches your face, changes happen in your body that allow you to hold your breath for longer. Let me just break from my professional tone for a moment:<br />
<br />
THAT IS SO COOL!!!!<br />
<br />
The human body never ceases to amaze me. <br />
<br />
(Warning - jargony biology-talk ahead) <br />
<br />
I particularly like this because it supports the idea that humans retain features that are adaptations to an aquatic lifestyle, whether from the primordial soup that all life on earth evolved from, or whether humans as we know them - bipedal apes - once lived in a soggy environment that selected for features such as our down-turned nostrils and the webbed fingers and toes that some people still retain (I have heard of people being born with non-functional gills below the skin of their necks too, but this is probably related to the primordial-soup origins). Some biologists argue this aquatic origin theory passionately, saying that our long, muscular legs first evolved for swimming, and became useful for running later, after our wet habitat dried out, an idea I quite like on the basis of whimsy but one that I have not yet committed to in terms of scientific belief.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-61971173753379647342010-01-15T15:05:00.003+13:002010-04-22T10:27:35.829+12:00Dangerous Animals in Boxes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/180/454494396_9afb8c3607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/180/454494396_9afb8c3607.jpg" width="320" wt="true" /></a></div><br />
<div><br />
</div>My friend Andi has, among a varied and interesting list of interests, a penchant for wild food and unusual pets. My other friend Alex - although there are far more interesting things about him than this - makes beehives for a living. So when Andi and Alex met, they got talking about bees. I was sort of half-listening to the talk of bees, until Alex said something along the lines of:<br />
<br />
<div><br />
</div>To get yourself some bees, find a swarm in a tree and take a cardboard box. Bang on the tree so that the queen falls into the box, and the other bees will follow her in. Then close the box. And then you've got a swarm in a box.<br />
<br />
<div><br />
</div>SWARM IN A BOX!<br />
I was very entertained by the prospect of a SWARM OF BEES in a CARDBOARD BOX - much to the confusion of Andi and Alex I suspect - and what immediately sprang to mind was a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trebuchet">trebuchet</a>. Dead cows used to be flung over the walls of castles and cities under siege to spread disease and lower moral - flinging a box of bees would do much the same thing! (why a trebuchet, you ask? It's a cool word, and they're more accurate than catapults. My brother calls them trench buckets). Even if one didn't have a trebuchet, a box of bees would still be a deadly weapon. If it were a particularly flimsy or simply damp cardboard box, one could simply throw it at an opponent and run like mad.<br />
<br />
<div><br />
</div>All of which brought me to thinking... what other animals would be equally dangerous when packaged in cardboard? Here's an example of one from <a href="http://www.xkcd.com/">xkcd</a>:<br />
<br />
<div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/a-minus-minus.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" ps="true" src="http://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/a-minus-minus.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div><br />
</div>Bobcat in a box. Beautiful in its simplicity. Although the cat shown above has a long tail, and not the "bobtail" of a bobcat. Perhaps the buyer mistook a simple housecat, infuriated by containment in a cardboard box, for a bobcat by its wrath? Housecats in boxes can be very dangerous indeed.<br />
<br />
<div><br />
</div>Although...<br />
<br />
<div><br />
</div>Has anyone else read <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/My_Cat_Likes_to_Hide_in_Boxes">this</a>?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://peter.stillhq.com/jasmine/blog/cat-in-box-book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ps="true" src="http://peter.stillhq.com/jasmine/blog/cat-in-box-book.jpg" width="276" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><em>My</em> cat certainly likes to hide in boxes. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So dangerous animals in boxes. We have already established bees, bobcats and housecats. What else?</div><ul><li><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anything feline at all. We're not limited to bobcats and housecats. Think servals* and caracals, tigers and snow leopards. As long as the box is big enough. There's a pretty big box in my bedroom (I don't know what it's from, but I use it as a bedside table) that would fit a clouded leopard. I'm not sure what sort of box you could get a Barbary Lion or Siberian Tiger into. Maybe the ones that fridges come in? Remember - the smaller the box, the more pissed-off the cat! (please read disclaimer regarding comments like this one).</div></li>
<li><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Moray eels. Moray eels are dangerous anyway, and putting one in a cardboard box would make it angry - not a good combination with the moray eel's teeth, which are long and sharp and angled inwards (thanks for the biology lesson, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_Harris">Thomas Harris</a>!). Once a moray eel bites you, there is no getting it off.</div></li>
<li><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wasps. Even more dangerous than bees, as wasps can sting multiple times, making a swarm of wasps more dangerous than a swarm of bees of an equal size.</div></li>
<li><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Wolverines. Well, the name just says it all.</div></li>
<li><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Cockatoos. They bite. <a href="http://www.charlieandpeggy.com/Palm_Cockatoo1.jpg">Palm Cockatoos in particular have terrifying beaks</a>.</div></li>
<li><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Waterfowl. Ducks aren't so bad, but geese and swans? They will bite you. Their beaks are not so sharp as those of the cockatoo, but they are hard and give you bruises and are on the ends of long necks that can seemingly <em>extend</em> to get you just when you think you're out of reach. </div></li>
<li><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Box jellyfish. They're called box because they're box-shaped... just the right shape to hide in a box and then leap out and kill you! Seriously, even without boxes they kill people. I always wondered why they didn't have a more deadly name - now I know. Boxes are deadly.</div></li>
<li><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Spitting cobras. Duh.</div></li>
<li><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Eeeeeeeeeeeeeagles.</div></li>
</ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am starting to run out of ideas, however I am sure the list does not end there. Feel free to add to it!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><br />
<div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Disclaimer: However much I may be amused by the thought of flinging an animal in a box at someone using a trebuchet (or any other means), it is only the idea I find entertaining and the reality would be sick, twisted and cruel. I do not advocate cruelty of any sort towards any living thing, and do not recommend that anyone attempt to force any animal into a cardboard box against its will. Any outlandish claims in this blog are for the purposes of humour and do not reflect my own beliefs (unless I state otherwise).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">*The late Sam, the serval formerly of Franklin Zoo was the only serval I ever met, but he was a grumpy critter. May he rest in peace.</div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-27157617377442872642010-01-15T14:07:00.001+13:002010-01-15T14:11:02.168+13:00Hey, where did summer come from?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S0-5MZrZq_I/AAAAAAAAAFM/Ec4QAjL96fM/s1600-h/Photo_00002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S0-5MZrZq_I/AAAAAAAAAFM/Ec4QAjL96fM/s320/Photo_00002.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>So all of a sudden it's summer now! The sun is shining. The trees are green. The grass is brown. The sheep haven't started dying yet (touch wood). There's a long wooden deck along the front of our house that the living room and all the bedrooms open out onto. We use this deck as a thoroughfare between different parts of the house, as it's more direct than the hallway inside. However, the shady part of the deck is now filled with deck furniture that shouldn't be left in the sun (because the fabric parts will fade and the wood and metal parts will become too hot to sit on). So we have to walk along the sunny part of the deck, which is actually too hot to walk on in bare feet - jandals must be worn. Stepping outside feels like walking through water, the air is so hot and thick.<br />
<br />
We've got this temperature doodad - I think Dad bought it on a whim or something - that shows indoor and outdoor temperature. The outdoor temperature is measured by a little plastic doodad that sends it to the bigger plastic doodad inside. Here's the little plastic doodad sitting on the edge of our big wooden table in the sun, where I put it this morning:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S0-9KJZI1xI/AAAAAAAAAFU/mXlPHM-vrtk/s1600-h/Image044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S0-9KJZI1xI/AAAAAAAAAFU/mXlPHM-vrtk/s320/Image044.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>Yes, that is a lazy susan in the middle of the table.<br />
<br />
So I put it there and left it for a while. And when eventually I looked at the big plastic doodad inside, this is what it said:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S0-9fRoQd7I/AAAAAAAAAFc/2Y-McSgEpAg/s1600-h/Image043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/S0-9fRoQd7I/AAAAAAAAAFc/2Y-McSgEpAg/s320/Image043.jpg" /></a><br />
</div>That at the top - 13:25 - was the time (1:25 pm). In the middle is the indoor temperature - 23.6 degrees Celsisus. And at the bottom next to my thumb, it says 45.7 degrees Celsius. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">45.7</span></strong><br />
</div><br />
That's 114.26 Fahrenheit. I hypothesise that the actual outdoor air temperature in rural southern Auckland is not actually 45.7 degrees, but that the little plastic doodad is measuring the temperature of the hot wooden table, which has been in the sun for a looooong time. Right now, the big plastic doodad says that the time is 2pm, the indoor temperature is 24.1 degrees and the table outside is 45.1. It's gone down, but still! 45.1!<br />
<br />
And this is the sort of weather that makes my parents come inside and say "It's a beautiful day! Why aren't you outside?" I love lying in the sun and reading as much as anyone else, but I'd rather not get second-degree burns from the deck furniture. It's a shame. My brother took me to the library and I've got some thrilling books to read - foremost among them <em>The Philosopher at the end of the Universe </em>and <em>The Medici Giraffe</em>.<br />
<br />
Thrilling!Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-24612015504923898902009-12-20T22:28:00.000+13:002009-12-20T22:28:47.692+13:00Guy on the bus, part twoIt just occurred to me, loyal readers, that I should update you concerning the guy on the bus - the only update being that I saw him again, at a different busstop. This was aaaages ago - back before I graduated. Friday the 20th of November, to be exact (so basically, a month).<br />
<br />
My Spanish class had just finished our Spanish exam. Afterwards, we were heading to an eatery in Newmarket - Mexicali Fresh - for a celebration dinner (I recommend the place highly). People went their various ways, but the way I went was on foot, with three or four others from my class.<br />
<br />
<br />
And there he was.<br />
<br />
<br />
Sitting on a bench waiting for the bus, somewhere on Ranfurly Road. I immediately hid behind the others, to their confusion. <br />
<br />
"That's him!"<br />
<br />
"Who?"<br />
<br />
"The guy from the bus, the cute one I blogged about!"<br />
<br />
"You wrote about him in your blog? You stalker!"<br />
<br />
"Why do you think I'm hiding?"<br />
<br />
We then reached the conclusion that he would not have read my blog and therefore wouldn't have known that I was stalking him, and, having passed him by now, I seized the chance for another ogle.<br />
<br />
And until now, I entirely forgot to update the blogizzle about this momentous event. How thoughtless of me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On a different note, might I highly recommend <a href="http://kimayres.blogspot.com/">Ramblings of the Bearded One</a>? Kim Ayres is a bearded Scotsman who blogs about all sorts of things. I find his philosophical posts, and the ones about depression/mental illness, particularly interesting.<br />
<br />
Another blog with some pretty philosophical content is <a href="http://www.the-soulsurvivor.blogspot.com/">Soul Survivor</a>, by someone I've actually met - Naveen! Naveen lives in Christchurch. I met Naveen on the NZIBO training/selection camp (the camp in which the New Zealand team for the International Biology Olympiad was selected). He has interesting thoughts.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-63730966717552082932009-12-09T22:06:00.001+13:002009-12-09T22:06:58.595+13:00MrrrrrrI feel sick.<br />
<br />
:(<br />
<br />
You know when you think "I feel sick, I should lie down for a while"?<br />
<br />
It doesn't help.<br />
<br />
You still feel sick. <br />
<br />
So I'm lying here knowing that for the next half an hour at least I'll be lying here, with my sore stomach and my roommate's godforsakenly noisy laptop and the funny pains that keep shooting up my left shin.<br />
<br />
In case you were wondering, the title's onomatopoeic.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-90598022164996348012009-12-08T14:58:00.000+13:002009-12-08T14:58:04.564+13:00The end of an era<div style="text-align: right;"><em>Coming to you from Esquires in downtown Auckland, it's Caitlin!</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><em>Blogging on the move, woop woop!</em><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div>Exams are done and finished. I have three days left of school, and then... that's it. No more. That'll be high school over.<br />
<br />
Scary? Damn right it's scary. <br />
<br />
Thirteen years of education. Seventeen and a half years of being a child. What will that make me now? My illustrious educational institute of the last four years would like to think that that makes me a mature, confident, well-balanced young woman (they don't specify well-balanced, but it is strongly hinted). And yet they don't call us young women anymore. They call us "the newest Old Girls". I object to women with children my age calling me "old". But, no matter. Soon I'll be free. Freeeeee!<br />
<br />
Or so I'm supposed to feel. You know, elated at the prospect of leaving school and heading out into the big wide world. And in a way I am. But quietly. One day is much like the next, if you know what I mean. Whether I'm a secondary school student or not, I still have to do the dishes at home and tidy my room. Something I'm quite looking forward to is being able to wear whatever piercings I like. I've been thinking for some time that I'd like to get my earlobes double pierced. I'm not sure if I'm brave enough for a piercing that goes through cartilage.<br />
<br />
Without the obstacle that boarding school presents to my employment prospects, I'll be able to get a job. I'll have money! Money that I can spend on useful things, like shoes! And socks, and bus fares!<br />
<br />
Being an adult. That's not going to happen for a while. But still, I'm more than I was before. A kid? A teenager? A young woman?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Who cares. I'm me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs011.snc1/2910_1094046484793_1635501756_237914_186758_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" er="true" height="240" src="http://photos-d.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc1/hs011.snc1/2910_1094046484793_1635501756_237914_186758_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
</div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-79249765654543535902009-12-08T14:53:00.001+13:002009-12-08T14:54:21.742+13:00Back to blogging!Now, I'm determined not to become this guy (click to embiggen):<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thirdwave-websites.com/blog/least-interesting-man-world.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" er="true" src="http://www.thirdwave-websites.com/blog/least-interesting-man-world.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><br />
Welll, I'm sort of like that guy. I love to tell people about my dreams, but they tend not to mind, because I have cool dreams. People at school ask me about my dreams - "Hey Caitlin, been chased by anymore tigers recently?" I have <em>terrifying</em> dreams about tigers. I'll tell you them sometime. <br />
<br />
But I've managed to post more than four times on my blog. And I can't speak French, but I'm pretty sure I can speak Spanish. And I'm about to leave high school, so if I can speak it beyond my high school years I'll have beaten him. I'd like to beat him. If I were uninteresting, it would be silly of me to write a blog called "Something Interesting To Read", wouldn't it? I like to think I'm interesting.<br />
<br />
Anyway!<br />
<br />
So here's back to blogging. No apologies. Just new and exciting posts. Well, maybe not exciting. But interesting, hopefully. There you go!Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-54499138954494369842009-11-09T20:32:00.003+13:002010-01-19T11:34:10.234+13:00"Guy on the bus", or "Learning to drink coffee - Day 3"Went to the orthodontist today. After missing the train and having to walk there, I arrived exactly on time, had my teeth looked at, and was free ten minutes later (I don't have braces, but might in the future, depending on how my teeth behave over the next few years). I still had lots of time until I was meant to be back in school, but needed to get some lunch, so I headed to Columbus to grab a sammie and a coffee (three days in a row - pretty good for someone who doesn't like it. Not sure if I've noticed any caffeine side-effects yet).<br />
<br />
I bought a "ham roll" (which despite having avocado and being made of some tasty bread, was rather smaller and less satisfying than expected), and a "mocha latte" - advertised as being a "chocolate flavoured latte with chocolate foam". Well, it barely tasted like chocolate at all. It was definitely stronger than boarding house coffee, but was nicely warming on the way down, so I kept drinking it.<br />
<br />
After catching the bus back to Ranfurly, I bought a Whittaker's Sante bar (dark chocolate) for it, to try and add some chocolateyness to the drink. The Whittaker's bar usually make very nice hot chocolates - simply dissolve one in hot milk. However, by the time I got to the Ranfurly dairy, bought the chocolate and put it in, my coffee had cooled down significantly. The chocolate melted in sludge without dissolving, and then solidified once more as the coffee reached lukewarmness. I was going to microwave it in the common room once I got to school, but was intercepted by Sinead, who told me in no uncertain terms that it is a sin to microwave coffee. So I drank it cold and sat in the library scraping the solid chocolate out from the bottom of the cup with my fingers.<br />
<br />
But! That is not the point of the story! (despite being the third instalment of the coffee saga)<br />
<br />
The most interesting thing that happened between the orthodontist's and school was that there was a very cute fellow at the bus stop. Tallish, but sort of small and slim at the same time, without looking especially young - his face looked... not old, but worldly. He could have been anywhere between seventeen and thirty-five. Stripey shirt. Sort of smiley. Scruffyish dark brown stubble, little sideburns and fluffy light brown hair. The sort you want to ruffle. <br />
<br />
Anyway, when I came up to the bus stop (well, patch of pavement outside Bivouac), he looked up just as I was checking him out and made eye contact. I looked away. Might have blushed. Pretended not to look at him until the bus came - or buses, seeing as two arrived at once. I got into line for the first one, and he walked over to the second one. I looked in the window of my bus, and saw that there weren't many seats free (I'm one of those people that really prefers not to sit next to strangers on the bus or train), and decided to hop on the second bus. Because, you know, there were more seats free. Not to ogle him or anything (*nonchalant whistle*). I sat a few seats back from the front, on the left, and he sat in the first seat on the right. <br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
So maybe I did ogle him a little. Well, his hair at least, seeing as that was all I could really see. As I ogled I thought, the way I am wont to do when I see interesting strangers out and about. It's quite fun to look at people you see around in the city and try to imagine what their life is like, where they are going and what they are doing. Although he had two seats to himself, he was sitting in the aisle seat, unlike most people (myself included) who would sit in the window seat so that they can stare out the window and pretend to ignore their fellow passengers. I wondered if he was in a hurry to go somewhere, and wanted to leap out of his seat and out the door as soon as the bus came to his stop.I never did find out whether this was his intention, as I got off the bus before he did. Ah well. He fulfilled my eye candy quota for the week.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-24405379199732466002009-11-08T18:50:00.001+13:002009-11-09T20:33:55.609+13:00Learning to drink coffee - Day 2So today at dinner, I walked up to the table beside the coffee machine to get a mug. The mugs are stacked on trays, and for reasons of structural integrity you should take your mug from the top tray. There were two mugs on the top tray - one was the same as all the other mugs, and the other was also identical, with the exception that it was shorter than the others - more like a teacup. With Paul's advice in mind, I decided to make my own mochaccino. I put milk into the short mug, cappuccino into one normal mug and hot chocolate in another, and took them to my table, having added <em>half</em> a tablespoon of sugar to the cappuccino. <br />
<br />
This time I was able to have a few sips of the cappuccino without flinching, but I still played chemist with the three mugs until I had a drink that smelt like coffee and tasted like chocolate. It was good. We had ice cream and this juicy berry stuff for dessert, so I add ice cream and berry juice at some point. And that was good. Sort of drowned out the coffee though.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-4178014877703757932009-11-07T19:17:00.002+13:002009-11-09T20:34:01.403+13:00Learning to drink coffee - Day 1At dinner, I went to get a hot chocolate from the drink machine, and then thought "Wait a minute, I'm meant to be learning to drink coffee!" Why am I meant to be learning to drink coffee? Because I want to see if I can learn - I love the smell of coffee but not the taste, and people have told me that it can be an acquired taste. So I'm seeing if I can acquire it.<br />
<br />
My friend Paul had said "Start with mochaccinos", but the machine only had hot chocolate, hot water, black coffee and cappuccino. So I pressed the button for a cappuccino.<br />
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It didn't fill the mug entirely, but I'm used to that - it does it with hot chocolate too, and I usually top it up with milk. So I topped the cappuccino up with milk and took it back to my table. I took a sip, and it taste fine until I got through the froth onto and into the actual coffee.<br />
<br />
"Blegh!"<br />
<br />
I put it down and pulled faces at it. Iris leaned over the table and said "Did you add sugar?"<br />
<br />
"Nope."<br />
<br />
"The machine doesn't add sugar. You have to put it in yourself."<br />
<br />
"Oh, right. That might be why it tastes so bitter, mightn't it?" I carried it back to the table next to the coffee machine where the mugs and sugar are kept, and dumped two tablespoons of sugar on top of the foam, where it slowly dissolved through it and into the coffee. I stirred it with one of the little wooden popsicle sticks that they give us instead of teaspoons to stir our drinks with and tried again, back at the dinner table.<br />
<br />
"Blegh!" <br />
<br />
I put the mug down again. "That is <em>way </em>too sweet." Note to self - spoonfuls of sugar are usually measured in teaspoons, not tablespoons. Duh. I had thought that that sugar spoon looked a little big. I kept drinking, slowly, and alternating the coffee with orange juice and the chicken curryish dinner glop. At one point I said to Tap, sitting on my right: "Maybe it's like drinking whiskey. You don't grow to like it, you just get used to it." Whiskey's not <em>so</em> bad, but the first time I tried it I told Dad it tasted like turps. He was horrified by my lack of appreciation for fine booze!<br />
<br />
People can grow to like all sorts of things, just because they're used to them. Like city traffic noise, or loud music, or going to hospital. Personally I don't mind hospital (getting to lie in bed sleeping and reading and drinking ginger beer!), but I dislike the circumstances that put me there (painful things like peritonitis and broken bones). Although I have to say I prefer coffee to city traffic noise.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-29162021764507408732009-10-29T21:37:00.004+13:002009-10-29T21:49:17.308+13:00Something Interesting Happened In Tauranga<a href="http://nz.news.yahoo.com/a/-/top-stories/6404907/cat-warns-owner-of-fire/">Cat warns owner of fire</a><br /><div align="center">~</div>The thing I find interesting about this is that the cat was "making noises like a fire alarm". Do they mean that he was wailing like a siren, or beeping like a smoke detector? Was it simply just coincidence that the cat was making fire alarm noises for a fire, or does he make different noises for different emergencies? If the cat made a "WeeeeoooooooOOOOOooooOOO" noise like an air raid siren, would that be a sign that the house was being bombed? Did Julie Woodhouse immediately think "Fire!" upon hearing the cat's fire alarm noise, or did she only describe it as a fire alarm noise after seeing that her house was actually on fire?<br /><div align="center">~</div>If it were a dog making fire alarm noises, I would infer that the dog had learnt the fire alarm noise and learnt to associate it with fire, and so was making the noise in response to the fire. That's how dog intelligence works - although I'm less surprised about fire alarm noises coming from a cat than a dog (cats are inherently much more capable of the wailing noise than dogs). Cats are intelligent too, but not so eager to please, so although they're capable of being trained, they don't tend to "train themselves" as often as dogs do.<br /><div align="center">~</div>If you're in Tauranga and their church asks you for money for their fund for the Woodhouses, you should give them some. If only because they have a cool cat.Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1321076327796466924.post-67693456483703139012009-10-28T20:03:00.004+13:002009-10-28T20:10:30.499+13:00Sketchbook - 28/10/09<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397544435519359490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 269px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 152px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FSeHlL0WDgs/SufuERKEigI/AAAAAAAAADc/5gSAcsxYuOg/s400/dog.bmp" border="0" /> <div>A doodle of a dog. Don't ask me what breed it's meant to be, for I have no clue. </div><div align="center">~</div><div>Today's lesson: Red pen + butcher paper + webcam = bad resolution.</div>Caitlinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02326909035752457561noreply@blogger.com0