Grimsort

The problem

a O(nlogn) solution

sorted…

Rejection

Comedian George Carlin dies at 71

Guess who’s not going to Australia in November? Δεν πας SPIRE τελικά Σπύρε…

Rejection always hurts, but the reviews, and I’m not joking, were top notch. These people really read the paper and made an effort to understand. All three reviews were spot on and I wouldn’t disagree with any of them. To look at it from a positive side, it gives me more interesting work to do on the subject, including implementing the ideas in the paper. The general reviewers consensus is that the paper is too theoretical for such a practical topic, but if it works in practice then it could be a very good paper (publishable in a journal). So I need to implement it and test it out on the available real data and keep fingers crossed that it works.

Of course, Bubba’s reaction was entirely different. Once he got the rejection, he dragged his flip-flops to the lift and descended the ten floors to go and purchase some cigarettes. Not a suelto this time, but a whole pack. “Gimme a pack of the strongest cigarettes known to mandkind“. And then it was time to hit the bar, even if it was only 10 am in Porto Alegre. Pinga after cachaça after aguardente… Tears were rolling down Tribsy’s face… “I’m useless, worthless, hopeless…“. Light another cigarette Bubba, you know it’s your only friend. Well, Bubba thought, at least I can publish my blog without any asshole peers opinions!

Folgado, eu?

I’ve got some great friends. Some older, some newer. I’m going to the Catholic University today, with one of my very new friends who teaches there. I might try to meet someone from the Computer Science dept (Informatica), but will probably just have lunch and a wander. Apparently the food there is great. It’s one of those eat as much as you like buffets for around £2.

Had a problem with a cheeky bastard on the plane and was almost arrested, but luckily I had the back up of a bunch of people (fleeting friends) who had witnessed it. To summarise: shitty plane (TAM), limited leg room, he was in front of me and immediately as he sat put his chair all the way back and sometimes I would move and slightly touch his chair. I’m sure his girlfriend had something to do with it (concierge psychology). He was constantly pandering to her whims. She wasn’t even pretty. About 20 mins before landing he decided to say to me: “voçê é muito folgado“, which I now understand as “you’re taking the piss”. I asked him why and he just kept repeating “çê é folgado“. “What does it mean exactly“, I asked in Portuguese, “‘coz I ain’t doin’ anything on purpose“ and “I’m not from here so I don’t understand exactly what it means“. This triggered a response along the lines of “…I don’t know what it’s like in your country…“ (“no seu pais“) to me. I was starting to not feel welcome. A bit like the last time I went to Greece, but that, like this, was just a few isolated incidents with some assholes, similar to this one, but I won’t go into any details now, to spare some of my oldest friends any embarassment

So I stared at him, while his head was turned profile to me and said, in English, “go fuck yourself“. “O qué“, he asked (“what!?“), so I repeated it for him: “go FUCK yourself“. And then things turned extremely comical, although I was quite worked up at the time and was even shaking when the plane was landing… He said he was gonna tell the stewardess. “Go on“, I said, “good“. A few minutes later he told a passing stewardess that I was “muito folgado“. She turned to me and asked me if I can hear what the gentleman is saying. I said that yes, the reason he is saying these things is because I may have touched his seat when I dared to move a bit on this 13 hour flight from Milan to São Paulo. She just smiled and left.

When we finally landed, he made a move as quickly as he could, with his little bitch of a girlfriend to the left and front of the plane. I stood where I was, but forgot my book (“The Torso“) in the seat pouch. So a lady sitting behind me pointed it out to me and then we started chatting. She explained that folgado means someone who takes up a lot of space, relaxed and sort of spread out. Ah, it’s not so bad I thought. Then others joined in, saying that that guy was the real folgado.

While queueing at passport control, the cheeky bastard who was quite a bit in front of me, told the security guard something, then turned around and pointed at me, and said, “that’s him“. The security dude was ridiculous. The questions came thick and fast: “Do you speak Portuguese?“, “Give me your passport“, “What is the purpose of your visit to Brazil?“, “Where are you going to stay?“, (answer: “Porto Alegre“), “What’s the address?” , (answer: “aaaaah…, rua vinte quatro de …“), “The NEIGHBORHOOD!?“, (answer: “Moinhos” (the poshest part of town, like saying Chelsea in London). That calmed him down a bit and we all took a deep breath.

Two ladies who had been sitting to my right and were now just in front of me in the queue, took the opportunity to get involved and help me out. They told the security nazi that I was reading my book through the whole trip and that, if anything, the people behind me kept disturbing me rather than I disturbing that guy… They said that that cheeky bastard was the real folgado. Security dude asked them if they were Brazilian, they said yes, he thanked them, gave me back my passport, I told him the same thing I had told the stewardess and he said: “Ok sir, sorry, welcome to Brazil“.

They kept me at passport control longer than usual, claiming that there was someone else with a similar name who had recently entered the country… etc. Bullshit. Then I had to step into this weird machine that blows some air while you stand there. Very very strange. After I finally got into Brazil proper it was hilarious to see cheeky bastard struggling to collect two trolleys full of baggage at the reclaim, while the girlfriend was nowhere to be seen.

The flight from Milano had been delayed by a couple of hours, so I missed my connection to Porto Alegre, together with a bunch of other people going to a bunch of other parts of the country. They put us up in a posh hotel. So posh, that when I came down for breakfast with my flip-flops on I got some strange looks. Flip flops are frowned upon in Brazil, funny that, given that havaianas are one of their biggest fashion exports. One of my friends here in Porto Alegre got told off at the school she works in for wearing them and now they have even introduced a bye law sort of thing that’s banned them, by law.

I hooked up with some of my oldest friends in São Paulo. It was great to see them. The two things everyone is talking about in Brazil at the moment are Cirque du Soleil and the story of a couple who allegedly killed their child by throwing her from a window in São Paulo.

Apparently anyone’s who’s anyone in São Paulo and Porto Alegre and will go see Cirque du Soleil despite, or maybe because of the price of the tickets (200 to 400 reais = £63 – £126). As for the other story, the most interesting fact for the contributors to this blog is that the husband, having a university education, goes to a special all comforts prison, whereas the wife goes to a common prison with drug addicts, prostitutes etc. The class system is alive and kicking in Brazil and whether you’ve got your flip-flops on when you go see Cirque du Soleil doesn’t really matter, as long as you’ve got a university education.

Went to the swimming pool yesterday. I used a friends card to get in, no problem, but on the way out I got some terrible stares. I think they’re on to me. The pool was nice. Outdoor, heated. Most of the lanes were taken by the swim team, but I had a lane entirely to myself for most of the time. But, I kept thinking, “what do I say“, if someone asks questions about my membership. The card clearly states that it’s non-transferable and I don’t look that much like my friend. Do I say it’s my card, and risk being banned and possibly getting my friend and his wife into trouble, or do I say it’s my friends and I thought I could use it, and act like I don’t speak the language and possibly get my friend and her husband into trouble… etc.

So I’ve decided to play it safe and go there with my not so old, but older than new friend and pay for a months membership, if they’ll take me as a guest. When I was last here they said that it can be done and it’ll cost 150 reais (~ £47 today, but maybe £50 tomorrow), alot of money but at least I won’t be plagued by doubts of whether I am folgado or not.

The Danbrush

In Denmark they don’t have sugar, they have dansukker, nor honey, but danhonning, and I’m sure if you live in England, you’ll have tried dancake.

And in every shower they have this all-in-one shampoo/shower gel combo dispenser. I say every, because both at my hotel and the swimming pool this is the case. But even in the toilets they have the same stuff. It’s great, ‘coz you don’t have to buy it. You just squeeze it and out comes your required dose of shampoo, or shower gel, whatever you want to use it for. This confirms something that I’ve suspected all along: they are the same thing. Shampoo, shower gel, bubble bath, bath cream, fairy liquid, soap, hand wash, fabric conditioner and any other soap in the form of gel or thick creamy liquid, is pretty much the SAME thing. So maybe Denmark is the best place for me to launch this idea for a product I have. It’s a multi-utility brush: hairbrush, toothbrush, toilet brush, floor sweeping pan & brush brush. I think I’ll name it the danbørste.

Today I went to the conference for the last time. I can only take so much of it. I attended one full day and two half days. And today I was asked to chair the morning session. When the organiser came over to ask me, I thought, FUCK, he wants me to chair one of the afternoon sessions, but luckily it was the one I was planning on attending anyway. And I chaired it quite nicely. I’m proud of myself. And my talk yesterday wasn’t that bad either. I think I made it a bit more interesting than I had done last year when I presented a paper in Greece. So I’m proud of myself for that as well. But WHAT THE FUCK’s with those nerves I get before the presentation? What the hell is that all about? I mean, what’s the worse that can happen? I hope one day I’ll be able to stand up in front of a crowd, say Maracana, and not bat an eyelid for nerves. It’s ridiculous. I KNOW it is, but I still feel the nerves.

Some of the stuff at the conference was interesting. Some of it too theoretical and you need to know alot of music theory, ontology (I still don’t know what it means), psychology and philosophy of music. There seems to be a 60-40 mix of musicians/composers v. computer people, but even the computer people have largely a musical background.

After the morning sessions today, I decided to get some lunch and come and eat it here at the hotel. So I went to the super market and got some traditional Danish fish cakes, a pot of fresh crab salad, some sliced cheese and some of that sliced brown bread that they eat up here which you only find in health food shops in London. And I paid using my Lloyds TSB debit card and even got cash back. Things have changed from the last time I was here, in Aarhus, in 1992, bloody hell, 16 years ago. I wonder what’s happened to those friends I had from Denmark, Soren, Kim and Klaus. It would be interesting to find out. Hey guys, anyone reading this blog? Remember me? We worked together at Cafe Pasta? They were quite a laugh and I remember Kim in particular as having a similar sense of humour as me.

We were working in the kitchen together as cooks and we used to drink soft drinks straight out of the can, all us cooks and there was a time when it became a fashionable prank to play on someone, make a hole in the can just below the pull ring, after the other guy (the “user” we would say nowadays, ha, ha) has drunk enough to get it below the level of where you’re gonna make the hole. You know what I mean? Then you work away, ignoring the other guy, but keeping an eye out for when he’s gonna take a slug from it, and… Oh man, I’m laughing just thinking about it now. Still funny after so many years… And what an environment to do it in. Especially on a busy Friday night. Would drive some people nuts. And Kim was the master. You’d get a bunch of tired cooks and dishwashers finishing their shifts with coke stains down their shirts.

But I digress, ‘coz all I wanted to say was that I felt particularly proud going into the super market and buying some of the local produce and then paying for it and asking the instore fish monger what is in the fish cakes and asking the lady at the till if she speaks English and if she accepts my form of payment. But I also feel proud ‘coz that’s my dinner sorted as well, since I’ve got left overs and will come back to the hotel room and eat it while watching some of that stupid champions league final (as far as I’m concerned, when Arsenal lost it to Barcelona a few years ago, that competition lost all importance… ).

So now for some serious tourism. I’m going to Christiania today, although the reports from some of the other conference delegates are a bit grim, i.e. they push drugs on you, including cocaine, everything is expensive… etc. Will see. Also the river boat and the two mermaids, because if you don’t know it, there are 2 now, one of which is genetically modified. And I ain’t joking…

And tomorrow I’ll pop over to Sweden. Up to now by the way, yes, I’ve been loving the place, despite my cynical comedy above. The cycling is crazy, so many of them. Looks great, but I don’t think I’ll be renting a bike or using one of those free ones, unless I don’t go to Malmo tomorrow. Skal!

Finally, a bit of respect

I’m getting excited about going to Denmark next Sunday. Copenhagen has had great weather lately, just like London, in the early to mid-twenties and it sounds like a great place to just walk around and get lost in. I was reading a few things about the country and came across this thing called Jante Law. Apparently, the average Dane lives according to this law, it is their belief system. Really? So how different is this from a Japanese belief system? It depends on your perspective, but I have the tendency to view it from the side that sees it as the suppression of individuality, of personality, of creativity, of independent thought. Smells like uniformity and a noble way of controlling the population. I always respect the culture of any country I’m visiting though and they usually fear respect me.

One of the things I like about traveling is comparing other places to London, which, I believe is way ahead in… security, CCTV surveillance and visible police presence; at least ahead in European terms. I wonder what it’ll be like in Copenhagen, and will there be Tesco’s, like in Prague and Budapest? I must visit Christiania, but other than that, anything goes. Just walk around and enjoy the city and the conference, which will be an arty, music and computers one. I also want to get the waterbus. I remember loving the river transport in Hamburg. I might pop across to Malmo, Sweden for a few hours as well, just to tick that country off my list. I was looking at online maps and came across a town named Dorotea in Sweden. That’s my cousin’s name, almost, and so I did a search for my own name and … there’s a town called Spiro, OK.

I’ve shaved my head again. Because of the heat and because my clippers were having some difficulty cutting at number 3. They’re shite, but, they’ve served me well for at least 5 years, so, can’t complain. I went to the sandwich shop, next to the college, and there were some young white rude boys there. One was on the phone and the other was being rather impolite to the eastern European lady working there, ordering, and at some point he sort of shouted at her (“I SAID, not toasted”). Then he turned around and looked at me and after that started using the word “please” a lot. He called his mate over, who was still on the phone, to get his order and mumbled to me and the lady: “he’s a donut”. He said to him: “there’s a queue here, what do you want to eat?”. I think that if I hadn’t shaved my head, they wouldn’t have been so “respectful” to the lady and to me… I remembered what a friend of mine said about her husband, who also shaves his head and how, when he goes into a shop, they are very polite to him, like respectful, but as she put it in her inimitable way, “it’s a fear thing”.

So, maybe I’m not friendly looking anymore, and maybe people looking for Tower Bridge won’t be asking me the directions to London Bridge anymore, but who cares? What good were they anyway? Bloody tourists.

After leaving the college I decided to enjoy the weather by going for a cycle ride, without a plan and without looking at the map. I ended up on what is the longest, fairly straight and continuous cycle path I’ve ever been on in London. I got on it at around Tower Bridge/Aldgate and ended up somewhere near Canary Wharf. But, going east from Tower Bridge, there aren’t many bridges left to cross to get me back down south, so I asked some other cyclists, who were extremely friendly to me, almost… fearful and they mentioned a ferry that could take me across to the Hilton. So I put my bike on it and went across. And after 17 years in London, I used water transport for the first time. It was fun and it feels good to have finally earned a bit of respect.

Busy busy busy

Bought my tickets for Brazil: 30th May, fly back on 27th July. Looks like I’m going to Copenhagen for a conference for the week of 19th to 23rd May as well. I can’t complain. But that means I need to prepare a presentation. I also need to submit another paper on the 12th of May, for a conference in Prague in September. I also need to finish a report to transfer from MPhil to PhD, and make a presentation to go with it. It’s gonna be a busy May.

But it’s good I guess. It keeps me away from the May blues that I used to get, although not so much last year. Maybe I’m changing? Maybe it’s like global warming. I could blame it on the average Joe and demand extra taxes. It’s got something to do with the approaching of my birthday, which I’ll spend in Porto Alegre this year and I usually feel a great relief once May is over. Bizarre. I have a feeling this year’s will be a good May though, like last year, because I’ll be so busy, doing stuff I pretty much enjoy…

Forgot, teatotal day count: 58.