adam.oliner.net

This site’s been broken for several months now, but what with me studying for quals and my crack team of personal assistants embroiled in a legal battle over some comments I made at Jerry Falwell’s funeral, there was precious little time to do anything about it. I took, and passed, my quals about a week ago, so this seemed an opportune moment for reviving my precious online presence.

Jared Casper, a fellow second-year, generously volunteered his server for the task. Even though I have moved off of Eddie’s server, aquatica.mit.edu, I want to thank him for hosting this site for almost four years. He tolerated my belligerent requests and foolish questions with the patience of a saint. Thanks, Eddie.

You will also immediately notice that the appearance has dramatically changed. My blog is now driven by WordPress instead of MovableType. The theme is a modification of the Mandigo Theme by tom; the header image is credited to Marc-André Besel.

OK, it’s been four months, let’s do this:

• I went to May’s funeral in San Diego, and spoke at her memorial service at Stanford. I cried at the funeral, but not during my eulogy. Barely.
• I volunteered at Admit Weekend and lured numerous students to Stanford with my disarming charisma and unassuming charm. Also, sometimes, with bribes.
• Googlers from NYC took shifts visiting me in Mountain View. Daniel and I hit on a bunch of cute girls in SF, without noteworthy effect. I suspect they were turned off by my Eau de Geek cologne.
• I had papers accepted at DSN in Edinburgh, UK and ExpCS in San Diego. You can find them on my Research page.
• I attended IPDPS in Long Beach, CA, and was disappointed.
• I spent four months studying for my quals.
• I took my quals.
• I passed my quals.

I’m back, this time for reals.

It turns out that I’m still alive. The blog was broken for a while, which was truly the only reason behind its stagnation. Thanks to Eddie’s help, adam.oliner.net is reborn, and ready to serve up some tasty blog victuals.

Let’s see, what did you miss?

I went backpacking on the black sands of California’s Lost Coast. I gave a conference talk in Rhodes, Greece and waded barefoot through the clear waters of a Mediterranean beach beneath the shadow of a white-painted town and castle-crowned hill. I spent a memorable week in Oxford, England with Yong-Hwa: we celebrated May Day in the rain while a boys choir serenaded from a clock tower, saw the Queen, went to the English National Opera for La Belle Helène (looking posh), punted on the Thames while drinking fine Burgundy and champagne and watching the sunset, ate fish and chips in a British pub, took walking tours of London, feasted in the dining hall from Harry Potter, ate cake from a sword, and noshed on assorted goodies from a French market.

I spent the summer in Albuquerque, New Mexico at Sandia National Labs studying supercomputers and surrounded by surreal devices like the massive Z-machine, perpetual fighter jet traffic, and enough nuclear weapons to wipe the planet clean of life. My host, Jon, and I wrote a paper on our results. I hiked all over the state: climbed New Mexico’s highest peak, had a terrifying encounter with a tarantula hawk, saw ancient petroglyphs inscribed on stones, wandered (hopelessly lost) through a blistering hot desert, and once awoke deep in the wilderness to find an elk drinking from the stream near my tent.

I flew to Cairns, Australia for another conference talk. I went snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef and ate emu, crocodile, and kangaroo. I went to NYC to watch my friend Goose get married and subsequently drunk. My uncle underwent open-heart surgery and recovered like a champ.

I moved into a two-bedroom house in Mountain View, California that I share with a woman named Teresa and her adorable border collie puppy, Mollie. I learned that my office was Sergey Brin’s old office. I started learning Japanese. I got a paper rejected. Jon and I are trying our luck again elsewhere, which I hope will give me the opportunity to present the work in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Oh, and it’s my birthday. A quarter century; twenty five years of not dying, in a row.

The Writings and About pages have been updated, as has my resumé. The Gallery is borked.

It was a long and inevitable hiatus. It’s good to be back.

I haven’t posted in a while, so I’ll have to enact the shotgun approach to blogging: killing all of my readers with a shotgun. Hang on, my editor is telling me that, in fact, the shotgun approach means shooting off lots of smaller updates in lieu of a single, cohesive entry. Pity, that. I was both locked and loaded.

I met John Chambers, the CEO of Cisco, in an elevator. For those of you in the biz (whatever that means) you should be familiar with the term “elevator speech.” It means a short pitch that shouldn’t last any longer than the short time you may suddenly find yourself sharing in an elevator with Mr. Important. I always thought about it as a metaphor, but there I was with Mr. Chambers. I’m not looking for a job, venture capital, nor really… anything. So I didn’t make a pitch, but I introduced myself and joked, “Quick, what’s my elevator speech? Hit [the button for] 5! I need more time!” John and his entourage got a real kick out of this, apparently, because they continued laughing until I left the elevator. Jacob, who witnessed the exchange, suggests that I had primed him to listen to whatever I may have wanted to pitch. Which, unfortunately, was nothing.

Jane has been helping me get my recommended monthly allowance of culture, inviting me for group voyages to the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco and the local opera to see Puccini’s Manon Lescaut. The museum had an exhibit of 18th century artists from Kyoto. I have long been fascinated by Japanese culture, an intrigue that was only strengthened by my trip to Japan last summer and my persistent consumption of anime. It was wonderful to see the artists’ renditions of a China they knew only from the descriptions and drawings of exiled Chinese monks who had fled to the isolationist Japan. I was also very proud of myself for being able to point out in the artwork temples that I had visited while in Kyoto. The opera was enjoyable but plot-wise ridiculous, which might be a tautology. Nearly everyone is dead or miserable at the end, which might also be a redundant comment.

My trips to Greece and England are planned, meaning I have plane tickets. I spend the last week of April at a conference on the Isle of Rhodes in Greece and then fly back through London to spend a week at Oxford with Yong-Hwa, who goes to the opera with the kind of frequency that I watch anime. While we’re on the subject of conferences, I had a paper rejected recently, which is always disheartening. One of the reviewers (who are “blind” and therefore cannot see the author names) pronounced that the analysis we used was reminiscent of work Larry Rudolph had been doing for 20 years, and that he would be surprised if it hadn’t been applied to this problem before. Larry was a coauthor. It hadn’t been done before. I got a kick out of that, as did Larry. We are reworking the paper for submission to a conference in Australia (ICS 06)! One door closes, one opens, and all that.

I’ve been investigating the possibility of getting a dog. I wouldn’t be able to do that unless I moved into a pet-friendly apartment in the fall. As a first-time dog owner, I probably won’t be getting a troublesome breed like an Akita or Husky. A Labrador or Golden would be most appropriate. But, man, if I can find a Siberian Husky with the mannerisms of a Lab (or, far less likely, a Lab with the appearance of a Siberian Husky), I would be all over that like a fat kid on a cupcake. There are a number of issues I need to consider, including what to do with the dog when I go on trips, how I can afford it, whether I can bring it to the office, and so on. Will I really be OK with dog hair on my stuff? What about allergies? Would it prevent me from finding affordable housing? Am I fine with picking up its poop for the next… decade?

I’m sure half of you have success stories owning pets and the other half have tales of horror. So, what do you think? What advice would you give a guy who’s considering canine companionship?

Tonight was the second time I got pulled over in as many weeks. The first time, I was driving my mom’s car with both her and my sister as passengers. Now, I knew one of the headlights was out. So when a cop passed us, slowed down again, and pulled behind us, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. What did throw me off guard was when the officer walked around to the front of the car, explored with his flashlight, and returned to apologize. “Sorry about that,” he said, his young face looking bewildered, “It looked like one of your headlights was out when I passed you before.” At this point, I had to mentally restrain myself from retorting, “Yes, well, that is surprising, given it’s been busted for a while now.” Instead I said something like, “Ah, that’s strange. It looks OK now?” He bid us a good day and I hauled ass home, knowing full well what he would see if allowed to pass us again: a broken headlight. Was the officer tricked by a play of light? Had I accidentally turned on my brights? Was he simply using it as an excuse to pull us over and, finding that I was a sober young man driving his dear mother and sister home, decided to give us a break? It is a mystery for the ages.

Then there was this evening, a dark and stormy night on the California 92. I was cruising at the speed limit, being unfamiliar with the windy road. I watched in my rear view mirror as a car approached and sped past. Then, suddenly, they hit the brakes, let me pass, pulled behind, and did the light-show thing. I recognized the police cruiser relatively early on in this process because I am paranoid about these things, so I knew even before I saw the red and blue what was going to happen. “Is there a problem, officer?” I asked this, even though my being pulled over was a pretty good indication that, yes, there was a problem. “Yes, actually,” the officer predictably replied as his partner approached the other side of the car. Rain was now falling into both windows. “We ran your plates and they don’t seem to be coming up in the system.” I explained that I had moved recently, but that my registration should have gone through by now. It had been weeks. I had all the paperwork, so there wasn’t much more to be said on the matter. They explained they wanted to make sure the car wasn’t stolen, and I explained that, if someone had stolen my car, I would very much want the officers to pull that person over. Later, I thought I should have added, “and then beat them with your night sticks.” Sometimes I’m lucky my brain works slowly.

I’ll say something of merit in the next few days, but now I’m sleepy. The life of an outlaw is exhausting.

I have a favor to ask of you, my friends, family, and random ‘net folk: buy gifts for me. Most of you didn’t buy me anything for the holidays last year, and that’s fine. There’s nothing I really wanted, anyway. I recognize that it’s a bit out of character for me to insist that you purchase presents for me this holiday season, but that’s what I’m doing. Except, of course, the gifts aren’t for me.

Every year, Penny Arcade runs a charity called Child’s Play. A number of children’s hospitals around the world participate in the charity. For each hospital, an Amazon Wish List is set up with various toys, books, music, and video games. You go to the wish list for the hospital of your choice, buy some of the presents, and get them shipped directly to the hospital. Your gift goes to kids who are coming out of or going into surgery, fighting diseases, or living in a hospital due to some chronic illness. They also run a charity dinner and take straight up corporate sponsorship. In past years they have received more than a quarter of a million dollars in gifts and donations. You can read more about it on the site.

On the whole, I am wary of charities. I imagine them skimming off 20% for administrative fees. I picture them spending my donation on overpriced services. I worry that my hard-earned cash ends up going either to people who just too lazy or incompetent to get a job, or to people whose greatest need is not money. Not to mention that most charities try to motivate donation through guilt. My suspicion of and dislike for these organizations outweighs my desire to do good works.

Child’s Play is a different beast. First of all, it’s not some monolithic charity organization; it’s Gabe and Tycho. I’ve read their news and webcomic for years. I know their names and their children’s names. I know their taste in video games, for crapsake. In their own words, “There are no ‘administrative fees’ or other hidden costs associated with giving to Child’s Play – every cent is passed on.” Everything you purchase or donate goes to a sick child. It’s a good cause run by good people.

I just bought a couple of books for the Children’s Hospital Oakland, where I am making plans to volunteer as well. One book was about asthma, because I’m a survivor (heh), and the other was called The Mighty Asparagus, which is just a fucking awesome name for a children’s book. I’m only telling you this because I think it may help motivate you to do the same.

So, this holiday season, fuel my selfish desire to feel good about myself. Make up for not buying me anything for Christmas or Hanukkah last year. Go to the Child’s Play site, right now, and buy something for a sick kid. You cheapskates owe me.