Having had to debug my cousin's bubble sort* program to figure out why it was not working, and by debug i mean set up watches on variables and execute one step at a time, something tells me that whatever i eventually die of, it will not be of shame.
* Non geeks: Bubble sort is like the Hello World of C programs.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Fit and fine
Of what use is fitness, i ask you, if all it means is that where previously you'd start huffing and panting after half a round, you now need one round just to warm up? You end up working that much harder just to make a difference.
(The voice in my head: Faker! If you want to brag about something, the least you can do is be honest about it!)
A little bit of random: An optical emergency. Again. As i try to slip on my specs the morning, the lens slips and falls. Of my last surviving pair. The whole family rummages through my past and comes up with:
1. a pair of intact lenses that may or may not have at some point in time resided in the same frame
2. a pair of prehistoric but otherwise complete specs. (Soda petti glasses, thick maroon frame that goes on and on till the bottom of my nose, ones i wouldn't be caught dead in, you know the type)
So i wear the prehistoric ones and go to the optician. Very little chance of me dying on my way there, except maybe of embarrassment. I hand over the lenses mentioned in 1. and plead with him to find their Cinderella. He sees the desperation on my face and starts looking. A couple of dozen lenses later, he's found her! And even though she looks more like one of the ugly sisters, who cares as long as the shoe fits! Me and the shiny greenish blue specs go to work and thus the day is saved.
Its D-day+1, and touchwood, the wearer and specs are doing well.
(The voice in my head: Faker! If you want to brag about something, the least you can do is be honest about it!)
A little bit of random: An optical emergency. Again. As i try to slip on my specs the morning, the lens slips and falls. Of my last surviving pair. The whole family rummages through my past and comes up with:
1. a pair of intact lenses that may or may not have at some point in time resided in the same frame
2. a pair of prehistoric but otherwise complete specs. (Soda petti glasses, thick maroon frame that goes on and on till the bottom of my nose, ones i wouldn't be caught dead in, you know the type)
So i wear the prehistoric ones and go to the optician. Very little chance of me dying on my way there, except maybe of embarrassment. I hand over the lenses mentioned in 1. and plead with him to find their Cinderella. He sees the desperation on my face and starts looking. A couple of dozen lenses later, he's found her! And even though she looks more like one of the ugly sisters, who cares as long as the shoe fits! Me and the shiny greenish blue specs go to work and thus the day is saved.
Its D-day+1, and touchwood, the wearer and specs are doing well.
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