What can you spot in abundance both in Wallingford and SeaTac Airport?
Boss asks: “When can we have a look at your cortical recordings!?!”
I reply: “When I can separate spikes from wonky sub-cortical stimulation artifacts.”
Boss retorts: “Isn’t there software for that?”
“Yes.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Here’s the problem: Open source spike-sorting routines are not really free.
I’ve spent the past week trying to execute open-source spike-sorting routines I’ve downloaded. The parent routines are indeed free, and would simplify my analysis greatly, however they employ functions of expensive commercial software (i.e. MATLAB signal processing and wavelet toolboxes) in order to run. Unless hundreds are forked out for the underlying subroutines, I’m shit out of luck. Try explaining this to someone who last programmed in 1985.
So I’m starting from scratch. Nothing like re-inventing the wheel.
My upstairs neighbor and her boyfriend engage in loud, long, uninhibited intimacy several nights a week usually between the hours of 1 and 3 am. Below them, trying to sleep in solitude, is me, feeling positively fantastic on hearing their band-pass filtered thumps, shouts and moans. This morning I thought I’d remind them that sound travels both ways. At 7 am they got to enjoy the rhythmic clanking and thudding of my dumbbells over the unrelenting drone of My Bloody Valentine…for a good hour and a half.
That’d be my dad.
Not a lot of dudes can say that their dad took off piloting a plane (all by his lonesome) 2 minutes after which the engine completely cut out, leaving said person stranded without power only ~1000′ over some very unforgiving terrain. Keeping his head whilst his plane accelerated downward toward his possible doom, dude thought to switch to the the plane’s other fuel supply and managed to restart the engine so he could land safely.
Good job saving yourself padre. Many, myself included, would be in shambles if you hadn’t.
I get ads for “Drilling Rig Financing” when I log into MySpace. They make me feel hip.
THIS JUST IN:
…you return home on the bus, forgetting you drove to work that day.
…you return to your car with it’s lights on.
…you leave your car without closing the trunk.
…you forget on which city block you parked your car.
…you repeatedly forget your cell phone.
…it takes you three minutes to figure a total with tip.
…you leave a restaurant forgetting your debit card in the check case.
…you have a hard time following hand signals at the car wash.
…you mistake stop lights for stop signs.
…you forget to eat.
…you’re perpetually short with friends and co-workers.
…you repeatedly call your friends by the wrong name.
…the highpoint of your day is breakfast.
I found this badical coffee shop in Wallingford directly across the street from my old place. It’s called Mosaic community coffeehouse. It occupies the basement of a church so it’s correspondingly massive inside. They got plenty of seating, games, rugs, National Geographics, a piano and even the same series of World Book encyclopedias I had as a tyke. When I discovered that they price their drinks on what they call a “sliding scale” (i.e. pay “what you feel is right”) I was dumbfounded. I’ve heard of this mythical sliding scale in movies and such, but never believed it could actually exist.
Now… If only I can escape to my car before Leon spots me from across the street.
Last night, driving back from band practice, this came pumping out of the speakers:
“…isotope soap, isotope soap…
…wash my head, now my brain is dead…
with isotope soap, isotope soap
…wash my ear, couldn’t hear for a year…
isotope soap, isotope soap…”
…wash my dick, now my babies are sick
isotope soap, isotope soap…”
Isotope Soap, Geza X, 1981
Being 3 years old, I guess I didn’t have the opportunity (or capacity) to appreciate this masterpiece when it first came out. I do remember liking me some Hall and Oates though.
Every morning I wake up with a bastard-ass cramp in my right foot. Anybody have any ideas on what might be causing this?