Biajee's web log

Video Test

2008-07-22T14:25:00.001-06:00

The Da Vinci Code

2006-04-05T09:06:00.000-06:00

I have bought this book for more than one year. But haven't got a time to read until recently.

As a mystery book, this is a quite "honest" one. Some mystery books will never tell you all the clues until the end of the books. This one is different, the author is pretty honest of sharing all the information to readers. Knowledgeable reader can enjoy solving these puzzles with a little effort. The information needed to solve the puzzles are somehow redundant, so reader can even verify their solution to the puzzles.

As a religious book, I have zero religious knowledge. So, what I can say is that this is a pretty good book to the introduction of the Holy Grail.

However, the final part of the book is disappointing. And I think it is a little bit inconsistency to the rest part of the book. Maybe, the fact of the real world restricts degree of the writing freedom.

File extension association under windows

2006-02-16T12:24:00.000-07:00

The windows registry is always a mistery to me. Microsoft made everything as complicated as possible, you can see how complicated it is here if you are not in a hurry.

Basically, InstallShield has [Registry Entries] function in the [Resources] tag.
1) Add a new entry in the [Registry Entries], normally the name of the entry will be "Registry Set-1".
2) Under [HKEY_CLASSES_ROOT], add a new key.
3) Type the key name as .ext\shell\open\command, where the .ext is the name of your extension.
4) Automatically, under this key, there will be a String Value with default empty value, modify the string value to <targetdir>\YourApp.exe, if you'd like the application to open that file, then add a %1 as a command line parameter. So basically, you would type:
<targetdir>\YourApp.exe %1

However, the story is not over yet. If the system is not rebooted, then this information is not updated to the windows system. So in the [Scripts], you need to add the following:
#define SHCNE_ASSOCCHANGED 0x08000000
#define SHCNF_IDLIST 0x0000

prototype Shell32.SHChangeNotify(LONG, LONG, POINTER, POINTER);

// ...and later...

SHChangeNotify(SHCNE_ASSOCCHANGED, SHCNF_IDLIST, NULL, NULL);

Well, it's not guaranteed to work. For example, the installshield version coming with VC++ will not accept this dll function prototype, only professional version will work.

-40

2006-01-18T13:29:00.000-07:00

"When it's negative forty, it doesn't matter whether it is Fahrenheit or Celcius, it's same cold."

This is a joke Pei heard from her co-worker.

[Visual C++]: PostMessage will give you different results in debug build and release build

2006-01-09T09:50:00.000-07:00

Sometimes in VC, you need to program a message handler function to solve or go around with some other problems (in my case, the problem was the deadlock in threads, yuck...). So you can do that by register a window message and utilize it. For example, in *.h file you put this:

static const UINT UWM_MYMESSAGEFUNCTION = ::RegisterWindowMessage(_T("UWM_MYMESSAGEFUNCTION"));

and then, in message map you put this:

ON_REGISTERED_MESSAGE(UWM_MYMESSAGEFUNCTION, myMessageFunction)

and when you want to call the function, you can use:

PostMessage(UWM_MYMESSAGEFUNCTION);

By using this method, you can go around with some nasty issues (eg, with ugly threads deadlock issue).

However, sometimes, this will fail in release build, while working under debug build. Originally from msdn, PostMessage takes three parameters, and your message function should be something like:

LRESULT myMessageFunction(WPARAM wp, LPARAM lp)
{
//do something
return 0;
}

takes 2 parameters WPARAM & LPARAM and return something called LRESULT. Normally, by doing this, the error appeared in release build will be gone.

But, sometimes, this original message function is called by another message, for example, ON_COMMAND(), at this time it won't take any parameter. Again, if you use the above function override version, it still works in debug version, but in release version, windows will show you the error by showing its finger. So, you'd better override the original void function with the above one, so that windows can figure out by itself:

LRESULT myMessageFunction(WPARAM wp, LPARAM lp)
{
myMessageFucntion();
return 0;
}

The secret of loan

2005-08-31T15:29:00.000-06:00

Recent, I was interested in the calculation of mortgage loan and car loan. Basically, the bank will give you an annual percent rate for the loan amount and years of the loan. And with a calculation program, they will figure out the monthly payment. But, here, the bankers make a tiny assumption, which is flaw for the rigorous arithmatic, but is ok for our common sense. This tiny assumption is that the monthly rate is one twelveth of annual rate:A=12M, rather than the calculated by the complicated formula: 1+A=(1+M)^12. This tiny difference makes $7,000 difference for a 30 year loan of $300,000 with 5% apr, which is about 1% of total payment. But, anyway, we have no choice, since every banker do the samething.

So, the final monthly payment for a loan, without regarding tax and other fees, is MonthlyPayment=LoanAmount*APR/(1-1/(1+APR)^YearsOfLoan)/12:

The persons in Playing Cards

2005-08-19T23:49:00.001-06:00

♠K: David (harp)
♥K: Charlemagne (no beard or mustache) (suicide king)
♦K: Caesar (profile) (the man with the ax)
♣K: Alexander (cross)
♠Q: Pallas (weapon)
♥Q: Judith
♦Q: Rachel
♣Q: Argine (rose)
♠J: Ogier (one-eyed)
♥J: La Hire (one-eyed)
♦J: Hector
♣J: Lancelot

Count Luckner, The Sea Devil IV

2005-08-19T00:44:00.000-06:00

By Lowell Thomas
Input by biajee

IV
SALVATION, KANGAROOS, AND FAKIRS IN AUSTRALIA

About the only amusement I could fine in Fremantle was listening to the Salvation Army band. They had a hall where they had preaching and where bums and sailors stood up and told lurid tales of their experiences. Then they all sang songs. It was the songs I liked. I couldn’t tell much about the words, but the tunes were lively and the big drum fascinated me. This music was altogether different from the music back home in our churches at Dresden. But what interested me most of all was that this Salvation Army post had a gramophone. I had never seen on e before. I had come to Australia expecting to find a wilderness of kangaroos and savages, and here was this marvelous product of civilization.

“By Joe, Felix,” I said to myself, “everything in the world is different from what you thought.”

I couldn’t shake off the notion that this gramophone was a hoax. I thought somebody hidden must be talking into that horn. I could not get near enough to investigate. The place was always crowded, and only those who “got religion” were allowed up front. So I persuaded a friend of mine from a German boat to keep me company, and we went up at a big meeting and offered ourselves for salvation. We gave testimony of our past sins and told what bad sailor lads we had been, and then we signed a pledge never to touch strong drink

The gramophone was O.K., I found, and that made the Salvation Army O.K. with me. I became enthusiastic, somehow, or other, with the songs and excitement. I actually “got religion.” I joined up, and they gave me a job putting moth balls in clothing donated by charitable people. At any rate, I no longer had to wash dishes, and here was an army in which I might become a lieutenant. I remembered how my father had wanted me to become a lieutenant in the German Army. Why not become a lieutenant in the Salvation Army instead? I used to daydream and build castles in the air like this while placing those moth balls in the piles of old clothes.

Since I was converted and saved and stood on holy ground, I felt I should tell the whole truth. So, one night at a meeting, I got up and testified and told my fellow soldiers of the Salvation Army that my right name was Count Felix von Luckner. That made a sensation. They immediately used me for advertisement. “Halleluiah! We have saved a German count from perdition,” they announced. “Before he came here he drank whisky like a fish. Now he is a teetotaler.”

Well, by Joe, people came from all over town to see the reformed count.

They put me in a uniform and sent me out to sell the War Cry. I sold a lot. People didn’t mind buying the War Cry from a count. I thought I could become a captain. It was no trouble to leave whisky alone, because I had never tasted it in my life. But I did like lemonade and ginger ale, especially ginger ale, which I thought contained alcohol because they offered it to me in the bars where I sold the War Cry and because it tasted so delicious. I thought I was putting something over. They got on to it in the saloons and had their joke with me.

“Count, have a ginger ale,” they would call whenever they saw me, and I would wink and drink it down. I thought they were laughing because I had put one over, and I laughed too.

I got tired of it. I got tired of everything except the sea. I was a sailor, I reasoned, and the only lieutenant I could ever be was a naval lieutenant and the only kind of captain a ship captain. The Salvation Army people were very good to me. They said I was too young to be a sailor, but that they would get me a job somewhere near the sea. So they found me a job in a lighthouse. It was almost like being at sea, they told me. All day I could look out and see fair weather or storms with ships sailing at peace or rolling and heaving.

I became assistant to the lighthouse keeper of the Cape Leeuwin Beacon, which is south of Fremantle and the biggest light on the southwest Australian coast. “Assistant”—what a fine title! And “beacon,” a word that meant everything to the ships driven by the fury of the storm. Wasn’t I a sailor who knew all about that from experience? Well, they put me to cleaning the “windows”—that is, the lenses. The thousands of prisms of the reflector astonished me not a little. Each day I wound up the weights for the revolving apparatus. The rest of the time, when I was not sleeping, I kept watch. There were three other lighthouse keepers, who lived in little houses on the cliff. They passed the days playing cards and fishing. They had pushed all of their duties on to me. For doing their work I got ninepence a day!

The daughter of one the lighthouse keepers was named Eva. She was pretty and very charming. One day I kissed her. It was an innocent kiss, but we were in a bad place, a room with a locked door, but which was open on the side of the sea and looked down on the beach. One of the men was fishing there and saw us. He hurried to Eva’s father. Soo there was a cursing and knocking at the locked door. We were terrified. The threats and banging grew more violent. I threw the door open, dashed out and away, frightened half out of my wits.

I left behind me all my belongings. That was how I lost the sea chest that ole Peter had given me. I was too bad. Late that night I sneaked back and made off with one of the horses. It was worth about thirty shillings, which I figured was about the value of the luggage I had to abandon.

I rode to Port Augusta, and for a time worked in a sawmill. The work was frightfully hard. The pay seemed good, thirty shillings a day, but the cost of living was so high—one had even to pay for water—that it left only a few shillings out of a day’s pay. The work was lucrative only for Chinese coolies, with their low standards of living. I was able to save sixty shillings and then couldn’t stand it any longer.

One day I met a Norwegian hunter who had been shooting kangaroos and wallabies and selling their skins. I gave him my money, and my watch that I had brought from Germany, and he gave me his rifle. Then I went into the forest and became a hunter, or at least tried to. After a month, the solitude got on my nerves, and I left the kangaroos in full possession of their native bush.

In Port Augusta I watched a steamer discharge its passengers.

“Oh,” I said, “what kind of a crowd is that?”

They were a trouble of Hindu fakirs. Unable to withhold my curiosity, I went up and talked to them. When they learned that I was a sailor, they said I was exactly the man they needed for pitching their large tents, currying the horses, distributing advertisements, and the like. They explained that their trade was similar to mine, since they were always on the move, only they traveled on land.

They had with them several dark-eyed Hindu girls who looked bewitching. I joined the fakirs.

We traveled from one end of Australia to the other. I pitched their tents and booths in public places. Handling the canvas did remind me a little of my work as a sailor. In Fremantle, when I went around passing out handbills, I heard on all sides:

“Hello, Count. No more Salvation Army, eh? Have a ginger ale.”

I found the ginger ale as good as ever.

The fakirs made a mango tree grow before your very eyes. It is one of the classic tricks of India. It was my task after the show was over to clear the place where the tree had miraculously grown. I could never find any sign of preparation. A bowl of water would be brought in and shown to the spectators. The fakir would sit down in such a way as to hide it from the audience. In a little while he would step aside and the bowl would be filled with live goldfish. I could never discover any mechanism for this. A fakir would say to a spectator:

“That is a valuable ring you have on your finger. You must not lose it, But, look, you have lost it already. I have it on my finger.”

And, indeed, he would have it on his finger.

There was a little Malayan girl with whom I flirted, thinking I could learn the secret of the tricks from her. At first she was very shy, but then became more friendly. She did tell me how some of the magic was done, but only some of the minor effects. I learned them quite well, and to this day can perform them. The major spectacles, she, herself, thought were miracles. It seems to me impossible for any European ever to learn the more important secrets of these sorcerers. The ole masters, accustomed to be worshipped as beings endowed with supernatural powers, hold themselves inaccessible. The two chief fakirs of our company, with their long beards and a poise made perfect by lifelong training of the will, made a sublime picture.

One Sunday morning I sat on the beach washing my clothes. Three men came up, stopped and gazed at me. They looked me over as though I were beef on the hoof. I have always been big-framed and powerfully muscled, with an arm like iron, and shoulders as wide as a barn door, bulging with sinews.

“How old are you, boy?”

I replied that I was nearly sixteen.

“How would you like to learn boxing?”

“Very much,” I replied, “because if I knew how to spar, I would be less likely to get a thrashing.”

They took me to a school of boxing, where I was submitted to another examination. They gave me six pounds sterling and agreed to train me for the prize ring. In return, I was to box for Queensland, exclusively.

That began a strenuous time for me. I was put to work with all kinds of gymnastic apparatus to harden my body, particularly chest and stomach, to resist blows. I went through three months of that kind of training before I was allowed to try a boxing pass. Then I practiced sparring with an experienced boxer. I was told that, after I had progressed far enough, I would be sent to San Francisco for additional training and would make my debut there as “the Prize Boxer of Queensland.” It all looked very rosy. I liked boxing and do to this day.

An American craft was in port, the Golden Shore a four-masted schooner plying between Queensland and Honolulu. She was later put on the San Francisco-Vancouver-Honolulu run. They needed hands and offered to take me as an able-bodied seaman at the excellent pay of forty-five dollars a month. From cabin boy to able-bodied seaman in one jump—that was an inducement, by Joe. The usual line of succession is: cabin boy, yeoman, ‘prentice seaman, able-bodied seaman. I guess I was made to be a sailor, because that promotion looked bigger than anything else in the world. I quit my boxing and shipped aboard the Golden Shore.

In Honolulu I came upon a mystery, a fantastic mystery. It sounds unbelievable. I, myself, cannot explain it. Someday I hope to meet someone who can. One of the cabin boys aboard the Golden Shore was a German named Nauke. He was a violin maker by trade who had lost all his money and put to sea. We became fast friends. At Honolulu, Nauke invited me to go ashore with him. He brought along a can of condensed milk, a delicacy he knew I liked. We went sightseeing, and one of the sights was that of royalty. We stood outside of the palace grounds and watched and Hawaiian potentate while he had tea. He sat in a reed chair, and a couple of his wives stood beside him. A well-dressed gentleman who seemed to be on a stroll came up to us and began to talk to us in English.

“Don’t waste your time on anything like that,” he said. “Why not see the hula-hula dance?”

Nauke and I said all right, because the hula-hula was just what we did want to see.

The gentleman asked whether we had any better clothes to wear, to which we responded that we had not.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “I will provide you with a suit each.”

He took us to a carriage drawn by four mules, and we all got in. I remarked to Nauke that the gentleman seemed to be a man of means. The gentleman turned his head.

“You mustn’t talk so much,” he said in German.

We came to the sugar plantations outside the town. The carriage stopped. Our host led us to a field path, until finally we came to a European house that had an air of distinction. Young colts grazed within a fence. Through the large windows of the stately villa I saw a row of large black tables such as are used in Germany, in a lecture room. Our host told Nauke to wait outside, and got a piece of cake for him. I whispered to Nauke not to go away.

I felt very strange on entering the house. The man showed me into a room next to the hall with the many tables. He was about to lock the door. I asked him not to. In the room was long black table like those I had seen in the other room. The man said he was going upstairs to get a measuring tape. While he was gone, I noticed that under the table were two long narrow boxes with heavy locks on both sides. What if I should end in one of those boxes! But I was confident. What had I learned boxing for?

The stranger returned with a tape. He measured my arm. Unlike a tailor, he measured from wrist to shoulder instead of from should to wrist.

“Thirty,” he announced, repeated it once, and muttered several other numbers between his teeth.

He pulled my coat halfway down my back, thus hindering my arms. He remarked that the light was poor, and turned me so that my back was toward the outer door. I could hear a creaking that told me someone was moving behind that door. I noticed on the floor below the lower part of the table a disorderly pile of old clothes which looked as though they might be sailors’ togs. The gentleman took off my belt and laid it on the table. Attached to the belt was my knife case. It was empty. I wondered where my knife might be. I remembered having it that morning. I had peeled potatoes with it. My blood froze as between empty bottles on the windows sill I saw a chopped off human thumb with a long sinew attached. The gentleman was about to let down my trousers, which would have kept me from running.

I jerked my coat back into place, knocked the man down with a heavy blow, grabbed my empty knife case from the table, kicked open the nearest door to the open, and jumped out, shouting for Nauke. He appeared, still munching his piece of cake. We ran out into the plantation and threw ourselves down among the cane. There was the sound of a whistle and of galloping horses and running men. They were hunting for us along the roads. We groped our way among the fields, and, after losing our way several times, finally reached the beach.

We looked up an English-speaking policeman and told him our story. He shrugged his shoulders and said it would take a special force of detectives to discover how many sailors had mysteriously disappeared on the islands. Our captain merely remarked that we deserved a good thrashing for going ashore. We sailors on the ship laid a plan to take the plantation by storm on the following Sunday, and gathered our weapons for the raid. But on Friday a quarantine was proclaimed, due to some infectious disease that was spreading, and the raid was off. In later times, I often inquired about the strange circumstance, and heard tales of white sailors disappearing on the islands, but never a solution of the mystery.

On board the Golden Shore was a lad named August from Winsen on the Luhe, in Germany. He and I talked over the ever-beguiling idea of serving a master no longer, but of being our own masters. We knew that fishing was considered good on the western coast of North America, and we determined to go into business for ourselves as fishermen. The Golden Shore took her course to Seattle, and there we were informed that the fishing was best around Vancouver. At Vancouver we looked things over and came to the conclusion that the ideal thing would be to live in a boat and hunt and fish by turns. That would be a state of perfect independence. We used what money we had to buy a rifle. Now all we needed was a boat.

At the fishing village of Modoville, a number of sailboats were moored off shore. They belonged to Indians and half-breeds, whose camp fires we could see and whose savage dogs barked out fierce alarms. It was about dusk. Cautiously, we launched one of the canoes on the beach and paddled out to one of the sailboats that had taken our fancy. We got aboard quietly and cut the anchor rope. The boat was set lightly for drying. There was only a slight breeze, and we drifted very slowly. Somebody ashore saw the boat drifting. A canoe came paddling out in leisurely fashion. We gave the sail a hoist to get up more speed. The men in the canoe noticed this at once. They yelled and paddled hard. We were in a fix. But as we passed out of the lee of the high mountains, we got a windfall, the sail bellied out, and the boat scudded swiftly along. From the shore they fired at us with rifles, but we were away.

We sailed to Seattle, and there the sailors of a German boat gave us a supply of food and some white lead with which to paint out boat. We hunted and fished and got along, and then grew tired of it. We were honest lads, and tried to return our boat secretly to Modeville. We were caught and haled before a Canadian judge. He was lenient and put us on probation for a few weeks.

That was my first adventure at piracy.

In Vancouver I signed on the four-masted English ship, the Pinmore, on which I was now to make the longest uninterrupted voyage of my life. It took us two hundred and eighty-five days to sail from San Francisco around the Horn to Liverpool. We had rations for a hundred and eighty days, and sea water got into our water tanks. We lay in calms for long periods on our way south, and then were held back by long-continued storms off Cape Horn.

It was as though that ship harboured a devil. We did not meet a single craft that we could ask for provisions. None of the rain clouds that went drifting past came near enough to provide us with water. Between the half rations and the brackish water in our tanks, six men died for scurvy and beri-beri, and the rest were so ill with these dread diseases that their abdomens and legs swelled up as though with dropsy. We used only the storm sails. None of us was able to climb into the rigging. When at length we sighted England off the Scillys, the last portion of peas had been distributed, and when the tug hove up to us in St. George’s Channel we all cried, “Water, water!” We drank all the water that we could hold, and still we were thirsty. Our bodies were dried up. I was a fortnight in hospital.

I gave the Pinmore a willing farewell, hoping never to see her again. Strange how coincidence turns. I did see her again, a long time later, from the deck of my raider Seeadler.

Count Luckner, The Sea Devil III

2005-08-18T00:31:00.000-06:00

By Lowell Thomas
Input by biajee

III
SAVED BY AN ALBATROSS

The Russian full-rigged ship Niobe, bound for Fremantle, Australia, was an old craft, dirty and mean. I have seen many another like her, but she was a classic. Her captain, too, was something of a classic. When old Peter spoke to him about taking me, although I had no permission from my parents, he replied:

“I will take him provided he doesn’t want any pay!”

I didn’t want any pay, but should have preferred a more agreeable-looking shipmaster. He had a sour, sallow face with a long goatee, half Mephisto, half Napoleon III. He hated Germans.

I knew no Russian. The others knew no German, except the captain. He knew it brokenly, just enough to abuse me. The helmsman spoke a little English. I had learned a few words of English in school. I never did learn Russian. That language has always been a puzzle to me. During the long trip of eighty days on the Niobe I was among people whose talk between themselves, and nearly all of whose speech addressed to me, I couldn’t understand.

I discovered the helmsman’s knowledge of English the first day out. I was delighted to find that here was at least one sailor with whom I could converse. He asked me questions. What was my father?

“A farmer,” I replied.

“Well, then,” quoth he, “it will be just the right thing if I appoint you chief inspector.”

That sounded important, and I walked a little stiffly as he led me down the deck. We came to a pig pen where there were half a dozen large and particularly filthy porkers. The chief inspector’s office was that of cleaning the pig sty.

“And besides,” the helmsman added cordially, “I will appoint you superintendent of the starboard and larboard pharmacies.” I promptly discovered that in the language of the sea a pharmacy was a latrine.

In cleaning the sty, I was not allowed to let the pigs out. I had to go in there with them, and it was very narrow quarters. The unspeakably dirty animals rubbed against me constantly while I laboured with pail and brush. The sewage was so deep that it filled my shoes. I had only two pairs of trousers. Soap and water were not to be wasted. I grew filthier than the pigs. And then there were the “clinics.”

Everyone kicked me because I looked like a pig and smelled like one. They called me “Pig.” For food I had to go around and eat what the sailors left on their plates. They said that was the way pigs were fed. For breakfast, instead of coffee and rolls, there was vodka with stale bread to soak in it. I got the leavings of this. The salted meat, of which I got the scraps, was so strong that I could scarcely force it down my throat. I often thought of that bill of fare from the Fuerst Bismarck , which had lingered in my thoughts. I had made a mistake there, by Joe.

I was afraid of the masts. I dreaded the thought of going aloft. But I said to myself that I must get used to it. So I climbed desperately every day, a little higher, a little higher, always practicing. Finally, one day, I got to the crow’s nest, halfway to the top. I thought that was fine. I felt so proud I called down for the others to see where I was.

“Any old sea cook can get that far,” the helmsman shouted back scornfully.

That hurt me and made me all the more determined to learn how to go aloft as the sailors did. I kept trying, and I watched the other apprentices skipping nimbly high up in the rigging.

We had a storm rounding the Cape of Good Hope, followed by heavy swell. All the sails had been reefed except the storm sail, and we were ready to set the main topsail. Eager to show how much I had learned about going aloft, I climbed up to help unfurl the canvas. I forgot old Peter’s advice: one hand for the ship, the other for yourself. The sail, filled with a sudden gust of wind, blew out like a balloon. I fell. I grabbed hold of the gasket, the rope that holds the sail to the yard, but it burned through my hands. I dropped ninety feet on to the braces, the ropes that hold the yard. If I had struck the deck, I would have been killed. At that moment the ship heaved with a swelling wave, and I was thrown out into the sea.

The Niobe was tearing along with a speed of eight knots. I came up astern. The wash in her wake swirled me around, but I could sea sailor throwing me a life preserver. I couldn’t find it. The waves were too high. I sank, and when I came up I saw the ship a long, long distance away, it seemed. I threw off my heavy oilskins and sea boots, although there seemed little use trying to save myself by swimming. Even if they did put out a lifeboat, they would never be able to find me in that heavy sea.

Above me hovered several albatross, those huge white birds that seem to think everything floating is for them to eat. They swooped down upon me. I was ready to sink, but still had enough strength to fight at them, waving with one hand and then another. A great white form swooped down. A bird’s talons seized a human hand. And I in turn clutched at it. A drowning man grasps a straw, even a bird. The albatross beat the air with its wings, frantically trying to rise. I still kept my grip on its claw. The huge bird was keeping me afloat. Then the albatross began to strike at my hand with its beak. It hurt and wounded me badly. I have the scars on my hand on this day. Still I held on.

“Phelax,” I said to myself, “you will never get back to your ship, buy maybe another ship will find you if you don’t let go.”

The other albatross were flying above, circling around, watching the strange proceedings.

It seemed to me as though my hand had been torn away by the repeated striking of that beak. Then, all at once, a swell lifted me high above the other waves, and I saw a lifeboat coming. I let go of the albatross, and he was glad to get away, by Joe. He shot up into the air to join his companions. That bird had saved my life, and so had his friends. The sailors could never have found me had they not seen those birds hovering above me. They knew that I must e swimming there.

In the boat I said to myself that I supposed the captain would be happy to see me back again. When we came alongside, he stood up there above, pointing down at me.

“You, you --! Come up here! I wish to – you had stayed out there and that we were rid of you! Look, my sails are blown away, blown away.”

In the commotion caused by my going overboard, he had lost two sails. I sat down there in the little boat with the blood flowing out of my hand and trembling. The sea was high, and the lifeboat danced up and down while the sailors made vain efforts to swing it over the davits. In a wild toss the boat rose as high as the ship’s gunwales. I was so excited that I made a crazy jump, hit the deck, and was knocked unconscious.

A moment later, the boat was smashed against the ship’s side. The sailors were pitched into the water, nine of them. For a while, it seemed that some of them would drown, and it was only after a struggle that the last of them managed to catch a rope and clamber on deck.

I lay stunned. The captain leaned over me and shouted in my face.

“You German dogs like to guzzle. Wake up and take some of this!”

He put the neck of a vodka bottle in my mouth and let the liquid fire trickle down my throat. Next day I was too sick to stand on my feet. The captain ordered me out of my bunk and to work. I tried buy couldn’t get up. Then he beat me, saying I was a drunken loafer.

Later I learned that when I had fallen overboard the quartermaster immediately called for volunteers to man the lifeboat. The captain, who had never dreamed of sending help to me, shouted to him, shaking a harpoon:

“If you lower the boat, you will get this harpoon in you belly.”

As a matter of fact, they were not obliged to send a boat for me. A captain need not attempt the rescue of a man overboard if it is liable to endanger the lives of others of his crew.

The quartermaster, however, calmly walked away, got his volunteers, lowered the boat, went after me, and left the captain in a towering rage.

The shock of that experience brought on a sort of nervous spasm which made my hands shake. I was like that for four years, and even to-day I sometimes have nightmares and dream of falling from a mast, of the albatross, of the captain and the vodka.

I lay in my bunk and thought it over. I had been Count Felix von Luckner, of a titled, landowning family, descendant of a long line of military officers and of an illustrious Marshal of France. Now I was a mere cleaner of the pig sties and the latrines, fed like a pig on scraps left by others, cursed and beaten and considered by the captain to be carrion not worth saving from the sea. I said to myself:

“You put yourself in this fix, by Joe, and you’ve got to take your humiliation and punishment like a man.”

So this was the life at sea? Certainly, it was not what I had expected. I wondered if I had made a mistake. Well, mistake or no mistake, I had promised my father to wear the Emperor’s uniform with honour, and I would not go home until I wore the Emperor’s naval uniform with honour. But how far away from me now seemed epaulettes and gold braid.

The Niobe did not put in at a single port on our way out. After we passed through the English Channel, until we reached Western Australia, we saw nothing quiet or in storm. In fact, we only came in sight of land once. This was when we sighted and island somewhere off the African coast. I could see palms, rows of palms, and white houses with red roofs and green shutters. I stood at the rail and gazed. What a joy it must be to walk and breathe on that green island. It seemed an abode of all happy things. I was sure that living there must be a fairy princess. I was very much of a boy, and I had been reared on German stories. I was wretched, and yonder was a land so fair. It must be the haunt of a fairy princess. I stood with my elbows on the rail and my chin on my hands and dreamed of her.

Singular that I should have then thought of a fairy princess. A few years later, I visited that same isle. By then I had become a naval officer of the Kaiser. I wandered all through its palm groves, remembering how once I had sailed past it, the miserable cabin boy of the Niobe, and had had visions of a fairy. This time I did indeed find a fairy princess there, and promptly lost my heart to her. We became engaged, and a little later she became the guardian angel of the raider in which I sailed the seas. She was a visitor on the isle, and her name was Irma.

But my fairy princess was only a wild fancy as I stood at the rail of the Niobe. The dreamy bit of land with its graceful palms and pretty houses grew small in the distance as the wind bellied out the mainsail and swept us on toward Cape Verde. Finally, I was left gazing at a speck that vanished on the horizon. And still I remained motionless and in my trance, until a howl cracked my ears and a kick nearly split me in two.

“Get along there, you loafer,” roared the captain.

But the latter part of the voyage was not so bad as the first. I was getting used to mistreatment, and was rapidly developing into a hardened seaman. The captain remained brutal, and so did most of the men, but there were several who grew kind toward me, among them the boatswain and the helmsman. So I began to experience some of that comradeship of the sea for which a sailor will endure many a hardship.

Finally, after eighty days at sea without touching at a single port, we sailed into the harbour at Fremantle. I had always thought of Australia as a land of kangaroos, of black aborigines with bows and arrows, and of bushrangers. But Fremantle turned out to be as commonplace and bleak a port as you could hope to see. However, I met some sailors off a German ship, and the sound of my native language and association with my countrymen made me happy. They took me to the Hotel Royal. They went there to drink beer and I to share their company. But the proprietor had a daughter, and I transferred my interest to her. She was what you call a bonnie lassie, and she listened to my chatter. After I told her my story, she urged me to desert from my ship. She even talked to her father about me and got him to take me on as a dishwasher. That was all right. Dishwashing had been perhaps the most elegant of all the jobs assigned to me on the Niobe. But I could not abandon old Peter’s sea chest. So the German sailors helped me to smuggle it of the ship. The Niobe sailed presently. Luckily, the captain did not ask the police to find me, as he had a right to do. Maybe he considered himself lucky to get rid of me.

日认证咖啡编程手

2005-07-26T17:13:00.000-06:00

这个日认证咖啡编程手就是Sun Certified Java Programmer. 翻译成这个样子只是在想这么一个句子在美国人听起来大概应该是这个味道的. 近日, 为了找工作, 开始修习Java. 并趁考试大减价期间7.5折买了个准考证. 不过也花了俺112.50两吐血美制官银. 要不是说走投无路谁花钱受这份罪.

那天天气热到追平丹佛历史最高气温记录. 中午, 和老婆吃完了自己拿手的虾仁豆腐后, 晃晃幽幽的就来到了考场, 又是著名的Prometric考试中心. 监考的就一个人, 中年妇女微胖, 人还挺好, 还给我倒了杯水. 不一会儿, 坐到计算机前, 感觉有点象GRE机考.

前面一堆无聊的问卷调查. 要说这个sun考试也真坏, 居然答着答着问卷调查题, 开始给我扣考试时间了. 幸好我本来也没兴趣答调查问卷, 遂快速通过调查部分, 用时半分钟.

哇! 第一题就是一个线程的题, 看了10分钟没看懂程序是怎么写的. 120分钟61道题, 我模考的时候都是一个小时多一点就答完了. 这下慌了, 随便选了一个走人. 第二三题还是这样. 总共前三题用了我21分钟的时间. md, 美国人就是变态, 大爷我还没热身呢... 不过后面开始基本进入状态. 用了1小时20分钟答完题, 检查到还剩5秒的时候交卷. 112.50两银子总不能白交了, 怎么也得享受足了那儿的空调再说.

考完了. 感觉跟书上例题难度范围一模一样. 考前头一个礼拜到处乱找题做模考真是白搞了. 一周前模考就80分左右, 一直到考试也没提高. 最后成绩81分. 应该将就着能写上简历.

这个考试对Java的基础理解很有帮助, 有些地方一般编程很长时间都不一定能完全搞明白. 但是考试通过也不表明会写程序, 我就是属于还不会编Java就考过了的.

出来后和老婆庆功公款去www.thefort.com吃了顿山珍. 老婆回来自习看了俺的分数报告, 于是指着garbage collection的单项分数就说:"你看, garbage collection只得了50分. 不是我说你吧, 你就是不主动倒垃圾"

NBA总决赛，英雄不再

2005-06-15T09:28:00.000-06:00

昨日看了nba总决赛的第三场，活塞在底特律扳回一场。最近几年每次看nba总决赛都让我想起当年乔丹时代。如今的nba找不到什么人能够力挽狂澜。吉诺布里从第一场来看象是个这样的人物，不过受伤了，而且事实上并不能保证稳定的发挥。打太阳队的时候输的那一场就是邓肯发挥失常导致的。一个队伍的战术固然重要，但是总会有战术打不出来的时候，这就需要有拿到球就能进球的大师。当年古巴女排雄霸天下，如果没有路易斯的一锤定音，恐怕也难。记得鉴鉴说过，nba在乔丹之前总有一个划时代象征性人物，但是到了乔丹时代以后，没有人接下乔丹的大旗。

每次输球赢球都有很大的比分差距，没有人再象乔丹那样，无论差多少，都要一分一分的追。没有以前那样，现场在图板上设计一个3秒钟的战术。nba重新回到了战国的原始时代。

Movie and party weekend

2005-06-06T09:08:00.000-06:00

Pei and I went to AMC last afternoon, watched Star Wars III(4.5/7), The Longest Yard(4.5/7) and Cinderella Man(4.5/7).

VB code for automatic input formulae

2005-05-23T00:14:00.000-06:00

Sub MacroFormulaInput()
'This Macro change some values of some Columns into Formulae

Dim RowNumber As Integer
Dim ColNumber As Integer

Dim EndRowNumber As Integer
Dim EndColNumber As Integer

Dim ColFormula As String
Dim i As Integer
Dim j As Integer
Dim t As Integer
Dim k As Integer

Dim FlagStr As Boolean
Dim FlagFound As Boolean
Dim FlagFirst As Boolean
Dim VarTitle As String
Dim VarRight As String
Dim VarLeft As String
Dim ColAddress As String
Dim SomeAddress As String
Dim ColAddressEnd As String
Dim FormulaStr As Variant

Dim sht As Worksheet
Set sht = ActiveSheet

FormulaStr = Array("@%MTDUnitChg@=(@TYMTDPOSUnits@/@LYMTDPOSUnits@-1)*100", "@%MTDSaleschg@=(@TYMTDPOSSales@/@LYMTDPOSSales@-1)*100", _
"@MTDGM$Difference@=@TYMTDGM$@-@LYMTDGM$@", _
"@SalesChgPriorQtr@=100*(@TYPriorQtrSales@/@LYPriorQtrSales@-1)", _
"@%MTDGM$Chg@=(@MTDGM$Difference@/@LYMTDGM$@)*100", _
"@GP%PriorQtr@=@PriorQtrGP$@/@TYPriorQtrSales@", _
"@TYMTDGM%@=@TYMTDGM$@/@TYMTDPOSSales@*100", "@%YTDUnitsChg@=(@TYYTDUnits@/@LYYTDUnits@-1)*100", _
"@LYMTDGM%@=@LYMTDGM$@/@LYMTDPOSSales@*100", "@%YTDSalesChg@=(@TYYTDPOSSales@/@LYYTDPOSSales@-1)*100", _
"@MTDGM%Difference@=@TYMTDGM%@-@LYMTDGM%@", "@YTDGM$Difference@=@TYYTDGM$@-@LYYTDGM$@", _
"@MTDGM%BasisPtsDiff@=@MTDGM%Difference@*100", "@%YTDGM$Chg@=(@TYYTDGM$@-@LYYTDGM$@)/@LYYTDGM$@*100", _
"@MTDGP$Difference@=@TYMTDGP$@-@LYMTDGP$@", "@TYYTDGM%@=@TYYTDGM$@/@TYYTDPOSSales@*100", _
"@%MTDGP$Chg@=@MTDGP$Difference@/@LYMTDGP$@*100", "@LYYTDGM%@=@LYYTDGM$@/@LYYTDSales@*100", _
"@%UnitsChg@=(@TYUnits@/@LYUnits@-1)*100", "@YTDGMBasisPtDiff@=@YTDGM%Chg@*100", _
"@%SalesChg@=(@TYPOSSales@/@LYPOSSales@-1)*100", "@TYMTDGP%@=@TYMTDGP$@/@TYMTDPOSSales@*100", "@LYMTDGP%@=@LYMTDGP$@/@LYMTDPOSSales@*100", _
"@MTDGP%Difference@=@TYMTDGP%@-@LYMTDGP%@", "@MTDGP%BasisPtsDiff@=@MTDGP%Difference@*100", "@GM$Difference@=@TYGM$@-@LYGM$@", _
"@%GM$Chg@=(@GM$Difference@/@LYGM$@)*100", "@TYGM%@=@TYGM$@/@TYPOSSales@*100", _
"@LYGM%@=@LYGM$@/@LYPOSSales@*100", "@GM%Chg@=@TYGM%@-@LYGM%@", _
"@BasisPtDiff@=@GM%Chg@*100", "@GP$Difference@=@TYGP$@-@LYGP$@", _
"@%GP$Chg@=@GP$Difference@/@LYGP$@*100", "@YTDGP$Difference@=@TYYTDGP$@-@LYYTDGP$@", _
"@TYGP%@=@TYGP$@/@TYPOSSales@*100", "@%YTDGP$Chg@=@YTDGP$Difference@/@LYYTDGP$@*100", _
"@LYGP%@=@LYGP$@/@LYPOSSales@*100", "@TYYTDGP%@=@TYYTDGP$@/@TYYTDPOSSales@*100", _
"@GP%Chg@=@TYGP%@-@LYGP%@", "@LYYTDGP%@=@LYYTDGP$@/@LYYTDPOSSales@*100", _
"@GPBasisPtDiff@=@GP%Chg@*100", "@YTDGM%Chg@=@TYYTDGM%@-@LYYTDGM%@", _
"@%SalesChgPriorQtr@=@TYPriorQtrSales@/@LYPriorQtrSales@", "@YTDGP%Chg@=@TYYTDGP%@-@LYYTDGP%@", _
"@GP%PriorQtr@=@PriorQtrGP$@/@TYPriorQtrSales@", "@YTDGPBasisPtDiff@=@YTDGP%Chg@*100")
Max = UBound(FormulaStr)

EndRowNumber = 1
EndColNumber = 1

EndRowNumber = ActiveCell.SpecialCells(xlLastCell).Row
EndColNumber = ActiveCell.SpecialCells(xlLastCell).Column

If EndRowNumber < 1 Then
Exit Sub
ElseIf Cells(EndRowNumber, 1).Value = "" Then
EndRowNumber = EndRowNumber - 1
End If

On Error GoTo handleCancel
Application.EnableCancelKey = xlErrorHandler

For k = 0 To Max
ColFormula = FormulaStr(k) 'pick up the formula for the column

i = 1
j = 1
FlagFormula = False
FlagFound = False
i = InStr(i, ColFormula, "@", vbTextCompare) 'find the first "@"
FlagStr = True
'true: the beginning "@", i is at position of starting a variable, false: the ending "@"
FlagFirst = True
'true: first variable in the formula, which is on the left hand side of the equation
'false: variables on the right hand side of the equation
Do While i > 0
If FlagStr Then
j = InStr(i + 1, ColFormula, "@", vbTextCompare) 'j is the position of the end of the variable
VarTitle = Mid(ColFormula, i + 1, j - i - 1) 'grab the title of the variable starting at i ending at j
VarLeft = Left(ColFormula, i - 1) 'left side string of the whole formula
For ColNumber = 1 To EndColNumber 'scan the whole sheet for the title

'check if the title of the variable is in the spreadsheet
If StrComp(VarTitle, sht.Cells(1, ColNumber).Value, 1) = 0 Then

If Not FlagFound Then
FlagFound = True 'the title has been found
FlagFormula = True
FlagStr = False

If FlagFirst Then

'ColAddress is the starting address where to put the evaluation of the formula
ColAddress = sht.Cells(2, ColNumber).Address

'The code underneath is to get rid of "$" in the address
'The address was something like "$AF$321"
ColAddress = Right(ColAddress, Len(ColAddress) - 1) 'cut the first "$"
t = InStr(1, ColAddress, "$") 'find the second "$"
ColAddress = Left(ColAddress, t - 1) & Right(ColAddress, Len(ColAddress) - t) 'drop the second "$"
'

ColAddressEnd = sht.Cells(EndRowNumber, ColNumber).Address 'the ending address where to put the evaluation of the formula
VarRight = Right(ColFormula, Len(ColFormula) - j - 1) 'cut the left hand side of the equation
ColFormula = VarRight
FlagFirst = False
Else

'SomeAddress is address of variable inside the right hand side of equation of the formula
VarRight = Right(ColFormula, Len(ColFormula) - j)

'The code underneath is to get rid of "$" in the address
SomeAddress = sht.Cells(2, ColNumber).Address
SomeAddress = Right(SomeAddress, Len(SomeAddress) - 1)
t = InStr(1, SomeAddress, "$")
SomeAddress = Left(SomeAddress, t - 1) & Right(SomeAddress, Len(SomeAddress) - t)
'

ColFormula = VarLeft & SomeAddress & VarRight
End If
Else
MsgBox ("There are at least two Columns have same name: " & VarTitle & " . I am not smart enough, please fix this problem.")
Exit Sub
End If
End If

Next ColNumber
If Not FlagFound Then
MsgBox (VarTitle & " has not been found. Forumla No." & k)
FlagFormula = False
Exit Do
End If
Else 'if Flagstr
i = InStr(1, ColFormula, "@", vbTextCompare)
FlagStr = True
FlagFound = False
End If

Loop

If FlagFormula Then
ColFormula = "=IF(ISERROR(" & ColFormula & "),0,(" & ColFormula & "))"
MsgBox (ColFormula & " will be given to " & ColAddress & ". Formula No." & k)
sht.Range(ColAddress).Formula = ColFormula
sht.Range(ColAddress).Select
Selection.AutoFill Destination:=sht.Range(ColAddress & ":" & ColAddressEnd), Type:=xlFillDefault
End If
Next k

GoTo handleNormal

handleCancel:
sht.Visible = True
sht.Activate
MsgBox ("There were some error on formula No." & k)
MsgBox ("The error formula was: " & FormulaStr(k))

handleNormal:

End Sub

My new Morse input method

2005-05-13T23:10:00.000-06:00

Recently, il and I are using morse code to communicate on msn messenger. And it is not an easy way to input message. It is much easier to type a morse than to actually read it.

So, an input method is no much harm to practise the morse code. So I generated an Input Method on my powerbook, and it rocks.

Fixed my powerbook.

2005-05-02T13:45:00.000-06:00

My powerbook has sicked for a longtime. Starting from half a year ago, the DVD stuck in the CR-ROM mechanically. I went to Apple store in downtown Denver for a cure. The genius there molest the baby for about two hours, finally they gave up and said it would be about $310 to open the powerbook, and if have the DVD drive changed, will it cost 200 bucks more.

Oh, Ok, lets do it myself, it won't take 10 hours to do that.

I went to home and tried to crack it. I'd never recommend to open this pandora's box unless you have the 24 page garage guide for it. I then went to 10^100 for any clue. Thank god, some guy neatly put their photonized guide on website. I still failed to crack the DVD-ROM since I can't remove the "giant" two screws on the heat sink. Ok, let's use this laptop without CD at all!

I have used this blind laptop till recently the hard drive died. Poor as Helen Keller. Can't boot from CD, Can't boot from HD. I then bought an 80Gb HD from a cheap website for hundred bucks. And then downloaded and printed repair manual from www.pbfixit.com. And after a total of 8 hours struggle, it is running just as a sexy pig now.

What's crashing is the harddrive

2005-04-17T12:44:00.000-06:00

I am pretty sure the problem comes from the harddrive. I might have to buy a new one. :(

Enough, hah? Let's enjoy some music.

My powerbook seems get sick.

2005-04-16T23:37:00.000-06:00

After a retardness appearance, I reboot the system. And this time, the boot up process becomes extremely slow, but barely working. Then I might do something wrong, I turned the computer off, and restart it again, it sounds even worse. This might be the problem of the harddrive, since it keeps hopeless and endless murmuring. Also, this can be the problem of something really too hot inside the computer, anyway, I will let it cool down and check it tomorrow.

台湾问题的外解

2005-04-16T01:52:00.000-06:00

最近大陆的bbs都相继倒闭，于是有事没事的就去台湾的bbs看看。找了半天也找不出一个有共同兴趣的。技术版面也不够smth的热烈，民主政治版面也没有ytht的激烈。于是只好走进政治版潜水，发现台湾的台独势力相当的强壮，后生仔无知的被陈水扁这样一个政治流氓耍弄于掌股之间。没有办法中国人的劣根性，窝里横。和平解决台湾问题简直就是一个空谈。

现在，大家都是叫得比谁都欢，都不敢轻举妄动。毕竟大家都是一个经济发展的好时机，不希望大好前途毁于一旦。同时，也是个军备的好时机，管它以后会不会真的打，至少腰杆硬了好说话，就算这些先进的武器拿来没有用，对付日本人也是需要的，况且中国至今都没有一条像样的航母，如何能抵抗近在咫尺的日本？但从另一方面看，大陆等不起。等到经济低潮期的时候，或者更远的经济水平相当的时候，恐怕就为时已晚了，就算国民党的儿孙们也未必能反对台独了。一边打也不是，不打也不是；另一边独也不是，统也不是。

那么既然茅盾两方面都不能有一个好的抉择。那么外部的干扰恐怕是一个解决的办法。那就是日本军国主义的再次横行。民共才有合作的可能。当然，日本尽管狼子野心不小，但是没有十成把握，决计不会主动出击的。那么，就只能主动的刺激日本，让日本越轨。这样才有双方合作的可能。上一回国共合作就是日本人打过来了才解决的。

Count Luckner, The Sea Devil II

2005-04-09T18:03:00.000-06:00

By Lowell Thomas
input by biajee

II
FELIX RUNS OFF TO SEA

Take a windjammer out as a cruiser? Sneak through the blockade and go buccaneering on the high seas?

"By Joe!" I thought, "that's something."

It was a romantic thing all right in this day and age, when the sailing ship is getting to be something of a relic of the fine old times, the heroic age of the sea. But it wasn't because I had read a lot of sea stories and had become fascinated with the old world of rigging and canvas. I had been there myself, had been there good and proper.

The reason I was assigned to the command of the Seeadler was because I was the only officer in the German Navy who had had actual experience with sail. I was born Graf Felix von Luckner and was now a lieutenant commander, in the Imperial Service, but I had spent seven years of my early life as a common jack-tar before the mast. The fo'c'sle was a familiar to me as charts are to an admiral. That was why this windjammer cruise of war meant so deuced much to me, why it hit so close and was so personal.

I cannot make that part of it clear without telling you something of my early life at sea, a thing or two about the old days when sailing before the mast was all they say--and more. It's a yarn about ship-wreck, storm, and cantankerous captains. So, sit yourself down there, by Joe, while I light my pipe and weigh anchor.

My first mental picture of life at sea dates away back to the time when I was a little fellow living in quiet, charming old Dresden. I saw a bill of fare from the liner, Fuerst Bismarck. By Joe, there were fine delicacies on it. I read it until my jaws began to move. So that was how people feasted at sea? Ah, then, how wonderful it must be to be a sailor. Perhaps, some day, I might become the captain of a great steamer where they had meals like that. The more I thought of it, the better I liked the idea, and from then on I had my mind set on going to sea. I read of the voyages of the wily Odysseus and of Sindbad the Sailor. On the river near our home I built a boat of an old box and christened it the Pirate.

"Oceans, straits, and gulfs are all very fine, but of what concern are they to a Von Luckner?" asked my father. "You are to be a cavalryman."

You see, my great-grandfather had started the cavalry tradition among us Von Luckners. They had tried to make a monk of him, and had put him in a monastery. But he didn't like that job, and among his fellows at the monastery he was called "Luckner libertinus." When he was thirteen years old, he ran away and joined the army of the Turks, in a war against the Austrians. In those days, the cavalrymen all had boys to feed and look after the horses, carry munitions, and clean rifles. So, while still a mere lad, my great-grandfather became a professional soldier, a soldier of fortune. After he had learned a lot about the Turks, he left them and joined the Austrians. That was when he was fifteen years old. Later on, he joined the Prussian Army, as a lieutenant of cavalry, under Frederick the Great.

Finally, he formed his own regiment, which became famous throughout all Europe as "Count Luckner's Hussars." They had their own specially designed brown uniforms, and as mercenaries they fought in any war that came along. In those days, it was the custom for soldiers to fight for whoever could afford to pay them. The King of Hanover was in the habit of buying regiments, and my great-grandfather sold him his on the condition that it was still to be known as "Count Luckner's Hussars." The King broke his word. So my warlike ancestor went to the King's castle, boldly charged him with treachery, then took that the King had given him and threw them into the open fire.

"Henceforth I will fight against you," he shouted.

Shortly after this, he joined forces with the King of France, and then, during the French Revolution, he continued to serve the new French government as the commander of the Army of the Rhine. When the Marseillaise was written, it was dedicated to him because he happened to be the commanding general in the region where this immortal song was composed. After winning a number of important victories in Belgium, he was made a Marshal of France.

When the campaign was over, he led his army to the outskirts of Paris, and then, accompanied only by his aides, he went into the city to demand the back pay that was due to his soldiers. But instead of getting it, he was treacherously seized and sent to the guillotine. You see, it was cheaper to kill him than pay him. Although always a Royalist at heart, he was above all a soldier, and fought faithfully and valiantly for any monarch of government willing to hire his famous regiment. All our histories tell of him and his gallant deeds.

From then on, all Luckners became cavalrymen. It seemed to be in the blood. My grandfather, an officer, was accidentally killed while on a hunting expedition. My father fought in all the wars from 1848 down to the World War. In 1914, when he was ninety, he wanted to join up again. He insisted that he was still able to do patrol duty, because his eyesight was unimpaired and he was still a horseman. When he general staff refused his request on the ground that he was too old, he was very angry.

"It is because I am so old that they should take me," he said. "Let me serve as an example to the younger soldiers. I have fought in many wars, and will be living proof to them that the surest way to live a long and healthy life is to be a soldier."

Ships, harbours, the seven seas had nothing to do with a Von Luckner. My father scoffed at my talk of becoming a sailor, so I never spoke to him any further about it. He tried to tell me what a fine cavalryman I would make, and asked me to promise that I would wear the Emperor's uniform with honour.

Now, in Germany, unless you had a good education, there was no hope of your ever becoming an officer. And the courses were stiff. Instead of studying, I preferred to read your American Indian stories, especially those of James Fenimore Cooper. I knew the names of many of your famous Indian chiefs, and as a youngster I dreamed of voyaging to America to hunt buffalo.

My father hired a tutor to cram me with book knowledge, but after six months that worthy went to him in despair and said:

"It is no use; the boy doesn't learn. There is a devil in him."

Next they put me in a private school in the country, thinking that association with other boys would fill me with ambition to learn. Instead, I learned how to fight. Although only ten years old, I was a husky young devil, fond of sports, and ready for anything that would provide a thrill. My father thought the teacher was too soft for me, so he sent me off to another school, where the teacher was a strong man and something of a ruffian himself. By Joe, how that man used to pound me! My father also gave me many lickings, and I considered he was entitled to do so. But this other man? Well, I stood it from him just once. Then, when the second beating came, I ran away. For eight days nobody knew where I was. I lived in the fields like an animal, eating apples and other fruits. Then they found me. My poor father was ready to give me up as hopeless, but I still had a true friend, my grandmother. She told my father he had been far too stern with me, and said to him:

"Give me the boy, Henry. A little kindness may still make a good lad of him."

"You are welcome to try," responded my father, "but you will only spoil him the more."

Well, Grandmother had the right idea. She made a bargain with me. There were thirty-four boys in my class at school, and in my studies I always stood thirty-fourth.

"My lad," she said, "study conscientiously and I will give you fifty pennies every time you advance a place. I will continue doing this until you are at the head of the class!"

I couldn't figure right then how much I stood to make. I never was much at arithmetic. But I guessed it would be considerable, and I considered Grandmother a good fairy.

I studied with all my might. The next examination came, and others were ahead, but not I. I was in despair. My grandmother encouraged me, and I studied still harder. Another examination came, and I moved up four seats! She gave me two hundred pennies, and I felt like a millionaire. But at the following examination I dropped back two seats. She was not discouraged with me and said she hardly expected me to go ahead without a few rebuffs. I was afraid she would demand a rebate for the places I had lost, but she did not. I now saw myself clear of all financial difficulties. By going ahead with an occasional dropping back, my income would be endless.

I turned into quite a despicable swindler, but it was not out of pure avarice. I had formed the idea of breeding rabbits and had set my eye on a fine rabbit sire that would cost me several marks. To get the sum needed I would have to be promoted several seats which, I reasoned, could be easily done, especially with occasional slidings back. But I had bad luck and got no more promotions. What was to be done? I needed the money. So I told Grandmother that I had been promoted two places. I got the pennies. Another week I told her I had gone ahead three places; another week one; and still another week four. The intricacies of finance and greed led me to a series of fake promotions that soon landed me the head of the class. I had the cheek to put on that I had gained that honour.

Of course, Grandmother was happy and very proud of the success of her policy of kindness with me. One day, she happened to meet my school superintendent and could not resist expressing her elation.

"And what do you think of our Felix? Here he has progressed to the first place in his class by that simple method of mine of giving him fifty pennies for every form he moves up. I tell you, there is nothing like kindness. It takes a grandmother to handle a boy."

In utter astonishment, the superintendent replied:

"What, Felix in first place? That's some misunderstanding. So far as I know, Felix is in thirty-fourth place."

My grandmother rushed home and began to overwhelm me with reproaches. It happened that she had two bulldogs, one thirteen and the other fourteen years old. They suffered from asthma. The wheezing dogs started a commotion in the next room. That diverted her attention from me, and she bustled out to see what was the matter. When she returned, her flare of temper had subsided, and she merely said laconically and finally that she was through with me. "In you there is a devil," she cried.

She did not tell my father of the adventure, for fear it would make her ridiculous. All he knew was that, when Easter came, I was promoted on probation, with the accompanying suggestion that it would be best if I left school. So he sent me to a school in Halle, a city of Prussian Saxony, and engaged a private tutor to coach me in addition.

The end of my school days now came speedily. My father, perhaps taking a leaf out of my grandmother's book, resorted to a promise. If I were promoted, I would be allowed to visit my cousin, who lived on an estate in the country, a thing that I wanted very much to do. When the examinations came, my father was away. He had left me with the tutor, who was to permit me to depart for my cousin's estate if I gained the promotion. As usual I flunked the examination, and cane home angry and sullen. The tutor met me, eagerly asking whether I had been promoted. I bit my lips and lied impudently. I said I had been promoted, but that the superintendent was away and had not been able to sign my report, which would be mailed later. The tutor, delighted that his coaching had been so successful, gave me immediate permission to leave for my cousin's.

I took my father's big boots, his water boots, his little coat, his trousers, his sport shoes. I was big for my thirteen and a half years, and they would fit me. My brother and I each had a savings bank. I had eighty marks in mine. He had one hundred and ten marks in his. I took my savings and forty marks of his. I would repay him later.

I was away. Where? If I had a devil in me, surely it must be a sea devil, because I now dreamed of nothing but the sea. I had promised my father to wear the Emperor's uniform with honour. I would not return home until I wore the Emperor's naval uniform, and with honour. I was firm in my decision about this.

I was all excited when a stepped off the train in Hamburg. Here was the great seaport town, and here was I, a lad going to sea. In the railroad station I saw a large sign advertising the Concordia Hotel with the prices of accommodations listed, from fifty to seventy-five pfennigs a cot. That seemed a little high to me but never mind. A porter took my baggage. I was well dressed, and he treated me with a good deal of respect. When I directed him to the Concordia, he looked at me.

"So you are one of those fellows driving out to sea?" he changed instantly from polite German to common, vulgar, Low German in addressing me.

I had stumbled on the sailors' favourite hotel, but sailors didn't seem to be held in much respect by porters.

When I got to the Concordia, I soon discovered that sailors do not frequent palatial hostelries. It was a "rear house," situated in a back yard. Here in America you would call it a "sailors' flop." I asked the clerk for a cot, for seventy-five pfennigs. He showed me into a room where there were six cots. I remonstrated that, when I paid the highest rate, I didn't want to sleep in a room with five other people. He laughed and replied that if I was not satisfied with five companions he would give me a fifty-pfennig room with forty-nine companions. I chose the five.

My first evening I spent along the famous Hamburg water front, Sankt Pauli, known to sailors the world over. There was the gigantic "Vanity Fair," of White City with all its lights and excitement. Here I saw all manner of seafaring folk, from Malays to West Indians. In front of some of the amusement halls stood African Negroes in weird costumes.

At the shipyards, where I offered my services as a cabin boy, I was told that, since I was only thirteen and a half years old, they would have to have a written permission from my father before they could engage me. So I decided I had better address myself directly to captains aboard their ships. When I went to the part of the harbour where sailing ships rode at anchor, I found it an immense basin with a forest of masts, and the vessels moored at considerable distance offshore.

While gazing longingly at them and wondering what to do next, I came upon an old man and got into conversation with him. He was a salt-bitten tar. For thirty-five years he had sailed before the mast. Now, in his old age, he operated a little ferryboat. So I asked him to row me out to one of the ships. The old tar handled his jolly-boat with amazing skill. Never before had I seen anyone scull. As I gazed up at the lofty masts all around us, old Peter told me that sailors had to climb these in storms when it was impossible for a greenhorn to hold on.

I went aboard several ships, but the captains also insisted on my showing them permission from my father. After I had been turned down, old Peter saw that my spirits were at low ebb. When I admitted to him that I had run away from home, it seemed to touch the sympathy of the old wanderer. But when I told him my father was a landowner and a count, he looked at me in awe.

"A count? Why, that ranks next to a king!"

He could hardly get over it--a count's son running away to become a sailor before the mast! The tragedy of it made him take such an interest in me that we instantly became warm friends, and he asked me to come and share his humble quarters. From then on, for a week, I spent most of my time with old Peter Boemer.

"For thirty-five years, for my whole life," he pleaded in his broad Hamburg dialect, "I was a sailor. What have I now? All I am is captain of this little rowboat, carrying people for a few pfennings[1] a trip. Go back to the Count, your father, and when he gives you a licking for this, thank him for every lick."

I must go home. He was certain of that. He must persuade me to go home. But the idea of notifying my parents never occurred to him. That would be squealing, and squealing is not a virtue among sailors. I saw him every day for a week, and notwithstanding all of his unanswerable arguments, still I refused to go home. At last he saw that it was hopeless to plead with me any longer, he agreed to help me get on a ship without having any papers.

He got me a post as cabin boy aboard the Niobe, a craft the memory of which grows more vivid with the passing of the years. Then he insisted upon seeing to it that I was properly outfitted for the sea. Under his direction, I expended the last of my money for warm underclothing, oilskins, a sheath knife, tobacco, and a pipe. I was very proud of the pipe. He took me to his room high up in a dingy house on a dingy street. Suspended from the ceiling was a stuffed flying fish. On a wall hung the painting of a ship on sail canvas. I was filled with admiration when Peter told me he had painted it himself. In a cage was a parrot, as old and dishevelled as Peter. He had brought it from Brazil, and it spoke only Portuguese. On the bureau were Chinese curios and other souvenirs of long voyages.

"And this is my sea chest," he said, as he hauled forth an ancient weather-beaten but staunch box, and emptied out of it various examples of his own weaving and knitting.

"Every sailor needs a sea chest," he continued. "It is watertight and will float. For thirty-five years it travelled with me around the world. It is yours now, by Joe, and I hope it will serve you as well as it served me."

That old sea chest was destined to serve me well as long as I had it. I lost it when I ran away from the lighthouse at Cape Leeuwin, Australia.

He put me aboard the Niobe, that never-to-be-forgotten argosy, showed me to my bunk, and fixed my mattress and bolster.

"You are born a count"--he shook his head--"and you become a sailor. Count and sailor don't go together. It is like a Paris shoe on a Russian peasant's foot. You are Count Felix von Luckner no longer. You must change your name."

Then and there I rechristened myself, took the name of my mother's family, and called myself Phelax Luedige. Under that name I sailed the seas for seven years.

My last gift from ole Peter was a motto. Putting his hands on my shoulders he said:

"My boy, always remember, one hand for yourself, and one for the ship."

By this he meant that, when aloft, I must hold on with one hand and work with the other. But the motto had a wider meaning than that. In every channel, sea, or backwater of life--one hand for yourself and one for the ship.

I stood at the rail while the tug towed the Niobe out of the harbour. Old Peter, with his marvellously skilful stroke, sculled alongside the slowly moving vessel all the way out past the piers of Sankt Pauli.

"My boy, God speed you," he shouted. "This is as far as I can go. I will never see you again. It's hard on old Peter to see you go away."

I wanted to shout something in return, but tears were streaming down my cheeks.

Peter had carefully packed my sea chest, and when I opened it I found his picture right under the lid. Across the bottom he had scrawled, "Don't forget your old Peter."

The low coast gradually melted into the haze. Years were to pass before I should return to my homeland and to the friend who had helped me get to sea.

-------
[1]typo in the original book.

Count Luckner, The Sea Devil I

2005-04-08T22:44:00.000-06:00

By Lowell Thomas
input by biajee

I
WE MEET A FLYING BUCCANEER

It was on a flying field in Central Europe that I first saw the "Sea Devil." We were on our way from London to Moscow by air, and had come as far as Stuttgart with stops at Paris and Basle. While waiting for the mechanics to tune up the Fokker monoplane in which we were to cover the next stage to Berlin, we lunched in the little tea room on the edge of the flying field, kept by the widow of a German pilot killed in the war. Suddenly, through an open window, from off to the east in the direction of Munich and Ulm, we heard a familiar drone, and a moment later a silvery monoplane darted from a billowy cloud bank, the rays of the afternoon sun glistening now from one wing and now from the other. In a series of sliding swoops, with motor off and noiseless except for the whistle of the propeller, it dropped gently on to the turf and sped across the field.

Uniformed aërodrome attendants ran over, leaned their spidery metal ladder against the glistening duraluminum fuselage, and opened the cabin door. Two passengers descended, a giant of a man and a dainty slip of a woman. The former, who climbed down first, was tall, of massive frame, with huge shoulders, and altogether one of the most powerful-looking men I had ever seen. After him came the little blonde, who looked for all the world like a fairy who had arrived on a sunbeam. Putting her slipper to the top rung of the ladder she jumped into her escort's arms.

What a voice that man had! It boomed across the flying field like a foghorn or the skipper of a Yankee whaler ordering his men aloft.

As they came toward us, he walked with a rolling seaman's gait. In his mouth was a nautical-looking pipe, and his jovial weather-beaten countenance suggested one who goes down to the sea. He wore a naval cap cocked over one eye, and a rakish light brown chinchilla coat, called a "British Warm."

Every pilot and mechanic on the field stopped work and saluted the couple. The mariner who had dropped from the sky saluted in all directions after the cheery but somewhat perfunctory manner of the Prince of Wales. One could see that he was accustomed to doing it, and presumably was someone of more than local fame. He even saluted us, as they passed into the little restaurant, although he had never set eyes on us before and we had not saluted him. But the newcomer seemed to take the whole world, including strangers, into the compass of his rollicking friendliness. We were still sitting on the veranda when they came out and drove off for Lake Constance. He called, or rather bellowed, "Wiedersehen, wiedersehen," to everybody, as he squeezed into the door, and the frame of the limousine bent under his weight. The man simply radiated personality, and turning to the commandant of the Stuttgart Flug Platz, who stood near me, I said:
"Who is that?"
"That? Why that's the Sea Devil."
"And who may the Sea Devil be?"
"Why, the Sea Devil is Count Luckner, who commanded the raider Seeadler. The young lady is his countess."

I remembered the Seeadler vaguely as a sailing ship that had broken through the British blockade and played havoc with Allied shipping in the Atlantic and Pacific during the latter part of the war. Certainly, this Sea Devil looked the part of a rollicking buccaneer. I thought the age of pirates had vanished with the passing of Captain Kidd and the Barbary Corsairs, but here was one of the good old "Yo-ho, and bottle of rum" type.

My wife and I continued our aërial jaunt across Europe, via Berlin, Königsberg, and Smolensk, to the capital of the Bolsheviks, but later on, while flying back and forth across Germany on our way from Constantinople to Copenhagen and from Finland to Spain, whenever we dropped down out of the sky in Germany we heard more of this Sea Devil. That first encounter with this modern buccaneer had aroused my curiosity, and each new yarn that I heard made me keen to see more of him. Incidentally, we found that he and his dainty countess were doing almost as much flying as we were, although entirely within the borders of Germany and Austria. Cities were declaring half holidays in his honour, and apparently this Sea Devil was more of a popular hero than even the great Von Hindenburg. As for the youth of Germany, they fairly idolized him, and crowds of boys met him at every aërodrome.

There were other German sea-raiders during the World War that most of us remember far more vividly than we recollect the Seeadler. They were the Emden, the Moewe and the Wolf. But these three were either modern warships or fast auxiliary cruisers, while this giant count with the foghorn voice and the sea legs had run the blockade in a prehistoric old-fashioned sailing ship. That, together with an almost unbelievably adventurous personal story, made romance complete. Added to which we discovered that he had the unique and enviable reputation of disrupting Allied shipping without ever having taken a human life or so much as drowning a ship's cat.

Upon returning home from his buccaneering cruise the Count of course received a score of decorations, and his own government signally honoured him in a way that has rarely happened in German history. He was presented with a cross that places him outside the scope of German law. Like the kings of old, he "can do no wrong"-at any rate, not in his own country. He was even called to Rome and decorated by the Pope as "a great humanitarian."

When we encountered him at Stuttgart, he was on a sort of triumphal tour of German, exhorting the youth to prove worthy of their inheritance, and in cheery seaman's language he was telling the boys and girls to keep up their courage, "stay with the pumps, and not abandon the ship." They in turn seemed to look upon him as a modern Drake or John Paul Jones.

Upon our return from Moscow, we learned more and more of this Count Felix von Luckner: that he was a member of an old and famous military family, a descendant of a Marshal of France, who had run away to sea as a boy, and then served for seven years before the mast, roaming the wide world o'er under an assumed name as a common jack-tar, suffering the beatings, starvation, shipwreck, and other hardships that the sea visits upon its children. We heard how during his turns ashore he had even joined the Salvation Army in Australia, had become a kangaroo hunter, a prize-fighter, a wrestler, a beach-comber and a Mexican soldier, standing on guard before the door of Porfirio Diaz's presidential palace. Long since given up as dead, he had been listed by the Almanach de Gotha as missing.

Then, one day, after he had fought his way up from a common seaman to the rank of an officer of the German Navy, he returned to his family. A series of life-saving exploits had brought him fame, with the result that he became the protégé of the Kaiser. As an officer aboard the Kron Prinz the finest ship in the Imperial Navy, he had survived the Battle of Jutland.

Then came his golden chance. Shortly after Jutland, he was commissioned to perform the audacious feat of taking a sailing ship through the British blockade in order to raid Allied shipping.

The Seeadler maintained a destructive career for months, ranging the South Atlantic and Pacific, dodging cruisers and sinking merchant vessels. She scuttled twenty-five million dollars' worth of shipping, and wrought incalculable damage by delaying hundreds of cargo vessels from venturing out of port, and raising the rates of marine insurance. After a cruise as full of excitement and thrills as the voyages of Captain Kidd and Sir Francis Drake, the Count's raider was wrecked on the coral reefs of a South Sea isle. From then on, the Sea Devil and his crew adventured from atoll to atoll in the far-off Southern ocean, passing from one surf-beaten shore to another in open boats or in ships they contrived to capture.

We were sitting in the lobby of the Hotel Adlon in Berlin, one evening, when again I saw that magnificent nautical figure. A mutual friend introduced us, and that evening my wife and I listened to great stories of the sea, told with a manner of inimitable vigour, sailor-like jollity, and dramatic inflection. After that, we met often, sometimes on board his trim schooner the Vaterland, on which he was setting out to sail round the world, and again at my home near New York, where the Sea Devil and his countess came. On these occasions, I got the complete story of his life and his buccaneering experiences on the most adventurous cruise of our time.

The Count is a born actor; in fact, I verily believe him to be the finest actor I have ever seen. If he had not run away to sea, what a career he might have had on the stage! But his inborn flair for pantomime was only to be heightened by life at sea. Sailors are vigorously expressive men, full of mimicry, and blustery actors of parts. You seldom see a sailor with the phlegmatic stolidity that you find in lumpish landlubbers. When the Count tells you he raised a marlinespike, he jumps to the fireplace, seizes a pair of tong, and illustrates with it. When he tells how he knocked a man cold in Fiji for spitting in a sailor's face, he acts out the whole affair.

As a sailor, he had spent long years before the mast under the Union Jack and the Stars and Stripes. So he told his tale to me in racy sailor's English. He has one amusing peculiarity of speech. Nearly every other word is the expletive, "By Joe!" In explaining this, he remarked that the language of the sea consists principally of a blistering string of oaths. He said these oaths had become so much a part of him after seven years before the mast that for a long time using sulphury profanities. Of course, this caused him much embarrassment and trouble when he returned from his long voyages and attempted to qualify as a naval officer. It caused particular consternation when, after his years at sea, he returned to the bosom of his stately and highly respectable family. In fact, he had to submit himself to a long and rigorous course of self-discipline to extract the blazing nautical oaths from his common speech. He achieved this in his English diction by a resort to the expression, "By Joe." Whenever one of these hair-raising oceanic apostrophes came leaping on to his tongue, he had trained himself so well that it automatically changed itself into "By Joe." this habit still clings to him as a salty reminder of fo'c'sle days.

At the time when Count Luckner was raiding the seas, I had been thrown in contact with the most picturesque adventurer that the World War had brought forth-Lawrence of Arabia. Here, in the Sea Devil, was his naval counterpart. They were the two great adventurers of the two respective sides during the World War. While colonel Lawrence, mounted on a ship of the desert, led raids across the sands of Araby, Felix von Luckner scoured the seas in a windjammer. Lawrence led Bedouins on fleet Arabian horses and racing camels, romantic people travelling in the most romantic way known to land. The Sea Devil commanded sailors before the mast on a sailing ship, romantic people travelling in the most romantic way known to the sea. In each, adventure climbed close to its highest summit.

Lawrence was a man slight and frail, diffident, silent, and soft-spoken, who might have been taken offhand for the most bashful of youths, a most erudite scholar, and archæologist whom the war caught practising his profession among the antiquities of Assyria and Babylon. War and its forays must seem the last degree removed from this studious and utterly cerebral spirit. One could find no greater contrast to him than in this brawny sea rover with the booming voice and blustery manner, who raided the seas from Skagerrak and Iceland to Fiji and the Marquesas.

The ex-Kaiser, the ex-Crown Prince, Hindenburg, Ludendorff, Von Tirpitz, and sundry others of our late enemies, have given us their personal accounts of a tale to tell like Count Felix von Luckner. With me the story lies close as a companion piece to the story of Lawrence of Arabia, and I pass it on to you in the words of the Sea Devil and, I hope, with something of the tang of the sea.[1]

-----------
[1]The reader will notice that in Count von Luckner's narrative, the precise chronological order of events is occasionally not observed. The map used as lining paper in this book shows the route of the Seeadler and the names and dates of ships sunk, and other events in their chronological sequence.

Apple variety

2005-03-19T01:46:00.000-07:00

Adams Pearmain , Akane, Akero, Almata, Arkansas Black, Ashmead's Kernel
Baldwin, Beacon / Fenton, Belle do Boskoop, Belmont, Ben Davis, Benoni
Black Gilliflower / Sheepnose, Blacktwig / Paragon, Blaze, Blenheim Orange,
Blue Pearmain, Braburn, Bramley's Seedling, Burgundy,
Calville Blanc d'hiver, Canada Red, Carpentin, Champlain, Chenango/ Strawberry, Cherry Cox, Cherry Pippin, Cindy Red, Claygate Pearmain, Cole's Quince, Colvis Spice,
Coppertone, Cornish Gilliflower, Cortland, Redcort, Court Pendu Plat, Cox's Orange Pippin, Criterian Dabinett (Cider)
Davey, Delicious (original), Double Red Delicious, Earlichief Delicious, Imperial Red Delicious, Redchief Delicious, Stark Spur Delicious, Starking Delicious, Starkrimson Red Delicious, Devonshire Quarrendon, Doctor, Dologo (Crab), Dr. Matthews, Duchess (of Oldenburg),
Earliblaze, Early Harvest, Early Joe, Early Red, Early Strawberry, Edward VII,
Ellison's Orange, Elstar / Lustar, Emperor Alexander, Empire, English Bearty, Earwin Baur,
Esopus Spitzenberg,
Fallawater / Tulpehocken, Fireside Fortune, Foxwhelp (cider), Franklin, Freyberg, Fuji,
Yataka Fuji, Fukunishiki
Gala, Imperial Gala, Royal Gala, Starks Gala, Geneva Early, Gideon, Gilpin, Golden Supreme, Smoothie Golden Delicious, Dundale Golden Delicious, Golden Noble, Golden Nuggett, Golden Pippin, Golden Sweet, Goldrush, Granny Smith, Red Gravenstein, Gray Stark, Grimes Golden,
Haralson, Hawaii, Hidden Rose, Hightop Sweet, Holiday, Holstein, Honeycrisp, Hoople's Antique Gold, Hubbardston Nonesuch, Hudson's Golden Gem, Hyde King, Hyslop Crab,
Idared, Ingrid Marie, Irish Peach / Early Croften
James Grieve , Jacob's Strawberry / Lady Sudeley, Jefferies, Jerseymac, Jonagold, Jonalicious, Jonamac, Anderson Jonathan, Double Red Jonathan, Jonafree
Jonathan, Jonnee Red, Jonathan, NuRed Johnathan, Jubilee
Kandil Sinap, Kent, Kerry Pippin, Keswick Codlin, Kidd's Orange Red, King David,
Tompkin's County King, Kingston Black (cider),
Lady Apple / Api Lady Sweet, Lamb Abbey Pearmain, Liberty, Limbertwig Lodi,
Lord's Seedling, Lubsk Queen,
Macoun, Magiemer (Old Danish), Mahogany, Maindenblush, Margil, Macintosh, Macspur
Macintosh, Redmac Macintosh, McLellan, Medaille d'Or (cider), Melon, Melrose Minnesota 714, Mio, Mollies Delicious, Mother Muster,Mutsu / Crispin
Newell's Large Winer, Newell's Orange, Newtown Pippin, Yellow Newtown, Northern Spy, Northwest Greening Ohio Nonpareil, Old Nonpareil Opalescent
Orenco Apple, Orleans Reinette, Ornamental (crab), Ortley, Ozark Gold
Palmer Green, Paulared, Peck's Pleasant, Pewaukee Pink Pearl, Pink Pearmain, Pitmaston Pineapple, Pomme Royale, Porter, Priestly Prima, Primate, Priscilla,
Pristine Pumpkin Sweet / Poundsweet, Puritan
Quinte
Red Astrachan / Astrakan, Red June, Redfree, Reine de Reinette, Rhode Island Greening, Ribston Pippin, Rome, Lawspur Rome, Red Rome, Spuree Rome, Ross Nonpareil, Tussett, King Russet, Davenport Russet, Egremont Russet, English Golden Russet, Fall Russet, Golden Russet, Hunt Russet, Knobbed Russet, Roxbury Russet, Sweet Russet,
Wheeler's Golden Russett
Salome, Sam Young / Irish Russet, Scarlet Crofton, Schweitzer Orange / Swiss Orange, Sekai Ichi, Senator, Signe Tillisch, Sinta, Smokehouse, Snow Apple / Fameuse Snowdrift (crab), Somerset of Maine, Sops of Wine, Spartan, Spencer, Spigold, St Edmunds Pippin, Starr, Stearns, Strawberry, Early Strawberry, Late Summer Delicious, Summer Pearmain, Summer Rambo, Summer Rose, Summer Yellow, Summerred, Suprise Sutton's Bearty, Swaar, Swayzie, Sweet Bough, Sweet Gourmet / Arlet
Tioga Tohoku, Tolman Sweet Transparent, Yellow Tremlett's, Bitter (cider) Turley Winesap, Twenty Ounce, Tydeman's Late Orange, Tydeman's Red Viking
Virginia Gold, Vista Bella, Von Zuccalmaglio's Reinette
Wagener, Waltana, Wealthy, Wellington Bloomiess, Westfield Seek-No-Further
White Winter Pearmain, Wickson, William's Red, Willie Sharp, Winesap, Red Winesap, Staybrite Winesap, Stayman Winter Banana (spur), Wismer's Dessert, Wolf River
Yellow Bellflower, York Imperial, Yataka
Zabergau Reinette

Fo'c'sle

2005-03-18T23:10:00.000-07:00

Fo'c'sle is a nautical shortening for the term "forecastle", pronounced /"f@Uks@l/. Originally meant the upper deck of a sailing ship, forward of the foremast. The forward part of a ship with the sailors' living quarters is also called forecastle. Related to the latter meaning is the phrase "before the mast" which denotes anything related to ordinary sailors (as opposed to a ship's officers).

The term "forecastle" relates to Medieval shipbuilding, where ships of war were usually equipped with a tall, multi-deck castle-like structure in the bows of the ship which served as a platform for archers to fire down on enemy ships and could also be used as a defensive stronghold if the ship was boarded. A similar but usually much larger structure was at the aft end of the ship, often stretching all the way from the mainmast to the stern. Having such tall upperworks on the ship was of course detrimental to sailing performance. As cannon were introduced and gunfire replaced boarding as the primary means of naval combat during the 16th century, the medieval forecastle was no longer needed, and later ships such as the galleon had only a low, one-deck high forecastle. Some sailing ships had no forecastle as such at all but the name was still being used to indicate the foremost part of the upper deck.

Chromatron, a game

2005-02-28T01:31:00.000-07:00

This is a puzzle game of laser beams and mirrors. Fang, a former classmate, gave it to me. And it is full of fun. There four generations of this game, the frst one is free and the rests are not. Even the first generation is hard.

The writer must be a person who works or has worked in physics for years since myself works in this field for many years. If you think you are genius, don't miss this one.

How to print watermark in M$ excel.

2005-02-17T21:50:00.000-07:00

Officially, Excel does not support background printing. The best way we found is to use header and footer. View->Header and Footer..., then we can insert a picture as a background. Don't worry, if the header is a picture, it will be lying rather under the table than stack on the top of the table.

One more thing, is that normally, a picture file is obvious large compare with a excel file. So if someone just need a text based watermark, then wmf file is not a bad idea.

THE GATES

2005-02-17T18:25:00.001-07:00

The famous Christo and Jeanne-Claude have just finished their newest art work, the gates in Central Park of New York City. As avant-gardes of modern arts, we should rush to the spacetime get a feeling of it in our vivid life.

You can goto their website to have a look.

笑话：我们是做过的

2005-02-08T00:12:00.000-07:00

中学，教数学的是一个40多岁的女老师。一日课间，一位仁兄因为一道复数题不解，走上讲台问老师。老师看了看，说道，“这个i我们是做过的。”

Special Characters

2005-02-07T02:39:00.000-07:00

As a foreigner, the names of those special characters are new to us. Here they are

! exclamation mark 33
' apostrophe 39
( left parenthesis 40
) right parenthesis 41
* asterisk 42
, comma 44
- hyphen 45
. period 46
/ slash 47
: colon 58
; semicolon 59
[ left square bracket 91
\ backslash 92
] right square bracket 93
^ caret 94
_ horizontal bar (underscore) 95
` acute accent 96
{ left curly brace 123
| vertical bar 124
} right curly brace 125
~ tilde 126
‚ comma 130
„ low left rising double quote 132
… ellipsis 133
† dagger mark 134
‡ double dagger 135
ˆ letter modifying circumflex 136
‰ per thousand sign 137
Š capital S caron or haceck 138
‹ left single angle quote 139
Œ capital OE ligature 140
‘ left single quotation mark 145
’ right single quoatation mark 146
“ left double quotation mark 147
” right double quotation mark 148
• round solid bullet 149
– en dash 150
— em dash 151
˜ small tilde 152
™ trademark 153
š s caron or hacek 154
› right single angle quotation mark 155
œ small oe ligature 156
¡ inverted exclamation 161
¢ cent sign 162
£ pound sterling 163
¤ general currency sign 164
¥ yen sign 165
¦ broken vertical bar 166
§ section sign 167
¨ umlaut 168
© copyright 169
ª feminine ordinal 170
« left angle quote 171
¬ not sign 172
® registered trademark 174
¯ macron accent 175
° degree sign 176
± plus or minus 177
´ acute accent 180
µ micro sign 181
¶ paragraph sign 182
· middle dot 183
¸ cedilla 184
¹ superscript one 185
º masculine ordinal 186
» right angle quote 187
¼ one-fourth 188
½ one-half 189
¾ three-fourths 190
¿ inverted question mark 191

The number behind each sign is the ascii number of each character, so you can add &# in front of the number and put a ; behind it in html. e.g. for ^ caret, we write ^

RIGHT and LEFT in politics

2005-02-05T14:31:00.000-07:00

As you can see from the link above, originally left inclines to equality rather than right emphasized liberty. But as time goes, it seems right becomes opposition and left is for government.

Roman Numerals

2005-02-03T14:47:00.000-07:00

As we can see, this vintage numbering system is still vividly flying around. For instance, the coming Super Bowl, X_X_XIX means 39th.

Symbols:
I is 1
V is 5
X is 10
L is 50
C is 100
D is 500
M is 1,000

_
V is 5,000 any symbol with a bar on top times 1,000, obsolete since the largest numbers usually expressed in Roman system are dates.

Rules:
I. There is no symbol for zero;
II. The number is calculated from right to left.
III. If the symbol on the left is larger or equal than the consecutive right symbol, the symbol on the left is adding to the number. For instance, larger: VI is 5+1=6, equal II is 1+1=2, combination VII is 5+(1+1)=7;
IV. If the symbol on the left is smaller than the consecutive right symbol, the symbol on the left is substracted from the number. For instance, IV is -1+5=4, XIV is 10+(-1+5)=14;
V. Every kind of symbol is substracted at most once if is ever substracted. For instance, if we want to note 18, we us e XVIII rather than IXIX;
VI. The code should be as short as possible. For instance, we use IV to note 4 rather than IIII;
VII. The smaller symbol should be on the rightmost possible position. For instance, 39 is X_X_XIX but XIX_X_X, 14 is XIV but VIX;
VIII. There is no two consecutive substractions. For instance, 1989 is MCMLX_X_ XIX rather than MCMIXM

Samples: this year 2005 is MMV, 1979 is MCMLX_XIX, 1989 is MCMLX_X_XIX.

go back to soccer field again

2004-03-14T03:43:00.000-07:00

Bogdan, a Ukrinian guy, thought I will be out of shape. Actually not. However, I am still quite slow in some sense, though others might not feel that. I have no problem in passing the ball, but for dribbling and handling the ball, a lot problems. Maybe the problems come from lack of self-confidence, or more precisely, lack of ambition. Or, maybe the problems come from lack of drills, I'd better practise more time on handling ball.

Details are sometimes more important.

test

2004-03-11T12:35:00.000-07:00

They left new york, then the sun starts shining. Before they came to New York, il follow rammed a car in North Carolina. Fortunately, it's not a fatal car accident, the only things damaged is the spotlight of his car, and the front bumper.

old diary

2004-02-20T14:24:00.000-07:00

今天，中午12点半起床，本来很好的生物钟，自从上次姐姐叫我帮她对字幕之后就一触即溃。
然后在网上发呆了一个小时后刷牙。
开始心不在焉的搞第二次考试。
搞到4点的时候开始准备出发洗衣服和寄刚卖出去的包裹
顺便吃了一包方便面
回来的时候已经快七点了
在网上又呆了一会儿，看了mitbbs上pku版的《北大往事》
再仔细看看第二次考试的措辞
到了10点，开始准备做饭
先是叉烧肉http://www.lzcate.com/detail1.asp?CatalogID=9&productid=129
少了红曲粉，不过还是很好吃的
再是一个泰安三美，就是白菜豆腐汤了，不过确实比较好吃，再说了，我就剩白菜和豆腐了。http: //shandong.goldstep.net/display_form.php?u_id=1379362023eed0a855cad94.46260292&&item=05
然后就是把东东打在透明片上，打开透明片的包装发现不让在复印机和打印机上使用，我偏要，当年我打坏过的透明片的数量够装订成一本书的了。于是战战兢兢的打完透明片，开始看bbs，和妈妈msn
我妈算是个勤奋好学的老太太了，50多岁了，学会用msn和各种计算机的工具软件，以后要是哪个小mm碰到我撒娇说学不会某某软件，我就大可以把我妈妈搬出来。妈妈说车车被人刮了，而且是刮到门上了，前后门都有，5555555。那可是新车耶。不过如今路上肉手实在太多了，而且不知道危险不知道责任。不过，也没办法了。妈妈今天没说自己的脚如何了，昨天听情况应该不会很差。
今天总体在电脑前发呆时间过长，没有运动，没有学物理。但是整理的一下厨房，好像真的变成了家庭妇驴。
我爱我家和王菲专辑总算快当完了。

get remote link to mysql

2004-02-20T00:08:00.000-07:00

Made some stupid mistakes.

Today, the car insurance agent told me that since my driver's license is changed to Florida, so that they cannot go on insure me. and the previous insurance was stopped on Jan.27, and the interim time will cost me 8 bucks/day. gotta mad.

Figured out how phpwiki is working, it setups a database, and everything else are just queries. Though Access is much easier to be settled, but it's easier to learn sql via command lines.

Made Dou4 Ban4 Yu2, delicious.

Made a marcro for Pei, pretty tiny.

Yesterday, our neighbor made some fire, and our landlord dialed 911. Our neighbor is thinking there is ghost around, and want to get rid of it by fire.

Yesterday, passed my second exam.

Yesterday, got some tips on car insurance, that is to make a higher deduction, e.g. $500 or even $1000, the next is to get a high bodily injured and medicare and property damage coverage, e.g. $100,000, the reason is that the American's medical treatment is really expensive, and the difference from $25,000 to $100,000 is just 3 bucks.

My pc desktop recovered

2004-02-09T19:48:00.000-07:00

hiahiahiahia

a mtv

2003-12-12T22:10:00.000-07:00

This is the mtv for a popular Chinese rap.

Truprisil has add trip fotos onto is homepage

2003-12-10T00:39:00.000-07:00

You can check from this page. Thanks il, I will put those fotos soon also.

Logo worldcup 2006

2003-12-08T10:03:00.000-07:00

(Claim: FIFA has copyright for this logo, and not be used commercially.)

You can get the whole details from this page. I like this logo first time I saw it. 1, makes us very happy when we see it, though everyone will be the loser except those from one country in the world, it's still a festival of soccer world. 2, modern stylish, you can soon feel familiar with it if you have used internet chat software. 3, Germanized, if you have seen some German animations, you can soon recognize it.

Open source first rule

2003-11-20T23:43:00.000-07:00

We are very happy that there are hundreds of tons of brian working on those open source projects everyday, which rapidly enhance the code structures of their projects. However, if an open source code is in its 0.n version, then don't try it, only a waste of time. Also, though open source gather smart brians from all over the world for free, but meanwhile they also gather free of responsibility. Meaning every code maker will have much less responsibility cells in their mind then if they are actually hired by a boss. So, money = trust.

Recently, I tried to build up a sql server, which is MySQL. All the sql server are the same when they are naked. I tried some GUI clothes, Navicat has 30 days free trial, and it turns out that Navicat though simple but works. CocoaMySQL is in it's 0.5 version, so she still can do nothing.

Something about diacritics and other abnormal letters

2003-11-17T00:39:00.000-07:00

REF:
http://www.wesleyan.edu/CTWMellon/Resources/Quickstarts/fchtml.html
http://lynx.isc.org/release/lynx2-8-4/test/iso88592.html
http://www.lib.washington.edu/help/catalog/Diacritics.html
http://www.les.aston.ac.uk/chars.html
etc.

The problem comes out from sometimes though very rare we need those letters e.g. ö, õ. This kind of letters namely Diacritics. After some little research, I found the methods to show those letters. For html,
acute Á Á
circumflex Â Â
grave À À
tilde Ã Ã
umlaut Ä Ä
cedilla Ç Ç
sz ß ß
slash ø ø
breve ă :(
ae æ æ
ampersand & &
ð

to be finished...

Today, we lost in a tiny field soccer game

2003-11-16T23:54:00.000-07:00

Yi Zhengliang has played a hat-trick, but this didn't help us to win the game. One of the reason is that the poor goalie... After the game, Zhengliang told that for a forward attacker, it's very simple, first you should have a very good burst speed or say acceleration (for those physicists), which can be got from the excercise of muscle and 20m folder running. and the second is that when you practise your shoot skill, you only need to remember one corner of the goal, then practise "2-5 steps then shoot" near the penalty line. and in this way for an amatuer match, you could goal at least once per game. and that's only true for forwards.

resume the exercise

2003-11-04T00:29:00.000-07:00

instead of running a constant speed for a long way, i try to do 5X25 meter back and forward running. I only ran four times, and then died out. the reason i change my practicing style is because i'd like to progress my soccer ability.

wave phantom

2003-10-07T00:35:00.000-06:00

The racing sneakers mizuno's wave phantom arrived today from San Diego. Tried today, super lightweight, super cool since it's texture is chasing. However, it's not super comfortable, maybe it takes time to feel better. Though, www.roadrunnersports.com has some trouble with their computer system, but they are recommended since they are expert on running projects.

Ran 6.8mi to Pathmark and back. YTD 132mi.

No news

2003-10-05T20:31:00.000-06:00

Ran 8.4mi*8=6.72mi in Marine Park this afternoon. YTD 125.2mi. Sunny day, but chilly cold in night. I will run tomorrow morning. Don't know why had a dream of a new physics idea about quantum information, but found out to be error when awake.

Run again

2003-09-30T01:20:00.000-06:00

6.8mile, chill. YTD 111.7mi. Just came back from Boston, and found that I have thousands of things remain undone. I will post some of the wedding fotos soon.

New training record for me

2003-09-17T01:24:00.000-06:00

56 mins to finish a 6.8 mile training is not very bad at all, and I should celebrate my 100 mile marker. YTD 104.9mile. 64F Fair, beautiful weather. I dropped the cell phone today, and found that Led Zeppelin's Zoso is really really a very good rhythm for my running, but the poor ipod again striked, shame on apple. Also, my running shoes is going to be worn out soon, so I need to buy a new one at least 2 weeks before the gun shot. I am think of Mizuno Wave Phantom and Asics Gel-Kayano. Obviously, Asics is the Giant among this high-end market, but I personally still prefer Mizuno's.

I found there should be a sign: "hell and back, 26.2 miles, sundays-holidays" in New York City and Boston, I will try my best to find the sign. ;)

Xie Ping came here for their parents. and Yan Wanling and Xie Ping will get married on Sep. 26th. I will be there as a witness.

Resume to the socer field

2003-09-14T23:23:00.000-06:00

Finally, after a long time away from the soccer field. I went back there to play again. Hopefully this time play soccer won't interrupt my running plan and my toe nail recovering process. though, I ran 2 miles today, YTD 98.1mile

Never ever drive in the mid-night in a city's express way when it's raining hardly.

2003-09-14T01:27:00.000-06:00

Especially, in New York City highway. I drove back from coloumbia U, on the FDR drive, I saw one car accident, 3 good candidates of car accidents, just 50-100 meters in front me. Due to the extremely bad road condition and those maniac drivers, at 2am with heavy rain, You can hardly drive safely back to your own home. Lucky enough, I am here now in a piece so as to my car. My only suggestion is that never beyond speed limit when it's raining.

Good News is that Sister Ting and Azhuazi come to NYC. And beginning from last night, I have had 3 wonderful dinners and take crabs as late night meal. I am too tired and want to have some fun from movies and goto sleep.

I didn't run today, I called my big sister, and played minesweeper with didibabas and il

2003-09-12T00:31:00.000-06:00

After all, the most excited thing is that I took some photos of the holy moon. please check this.

2003-09-11T13:03:00.000-06:00

As the request of MuSiC, I changed the "m" to "M"

It's not easy to keep fast speed everyday

2003-09-11T00:52:00.000-06:00

I did it in 62mins today. 65F fair. weekly 22.6 mile, and YTD 96.1 mile. I would like to say happy mid-autumn festival. ä¸ç§‹èŠ‚å¿«ä¹�ã€‚But, I still need to wait till tonight to eat the moon cake. Don't forget to call your family members. ;)

Ran again 6.8 mile in 60 mins

2003-09-10T01:16:00.000-06:00

Today, il found a set of GRE preparing kit. So, as a payback, I decide to draw a cheque to him, since he refused a real cheque. However, when you examine the cheque carefully, you could find that, the underline of your signature is actually a line of tiny-sized words, AUTHORIZEDSIGNATURE, repeatly. This is true for cheques printed by Harland. And the bank roting number and your account number is print in MICR font, which is a kind of font normally selling online as hundred bucks. So, I decide to handdraw it rather than use computer. And it's really have nothing to do with your drawing skill, just a test of patient. Almost half night, I only finished all the lines and my first name. If you do not have a good ruler and a good quality mechanical pencil such as rOtring Tikky, the work will be tough. BTW, I found lost a pencil box yesterday, which is a gift my sister gave it to me 8 years ago. And there is a rOtring Tikky II inside it, a kind of German classical noble role model which you can hardly find from US market presently because this company was unfortunately eaten by Sanford.

Today, I found what's the meaning of "harpo" and "chico", do ya wanna guess? Sure, I give you 3 mins, dida dida... dida, hmm time is up. Actually these computers are named after a famous comedy actor group, Marx Brothers from 30's last century. They are 5 brothers, Groucho, Harpo, Chico, Gummo and Zeppo, and before they became famous from Broadway, Gummo has left this group already, so at a later time, it became "well-known" Groucho, Harpo, Chico and sometimes Zeppo. After I told Il this truth, he got to know why his thesis advisor's computer is named Zeppo. So, You are welcome to visit a "famous" world wide web http://harpo.physics.gatech.edu. There might be also some stories from music band Queen, because it is easy to see that they have two albums "a night at the opera" and "a day at the races" sharing the titles with the movies of Marx Brothers. Marxs are really brothers, while Queen are gays, however, their music is super.

BTW, 63F, fair, YTD 89.3 mile, weekly 15.8 mile. Hopely tomorrow I can be back within 59 mins. gotta goto bed and kiss my pillow.

I borrowed 10 CDs from Donell Media Center in NY Public Library

2003-09-09T02:23:00.000-06:00

First, running log, 6.8miles today within 60 mins, but still far away from the rate of 26.2mile/3:10, which is the rate I can get a lobster dinner from music. Weather was fair and temp was 64F. YTD 82.5miles. Yesterday, I did Fartlek in the afternoon under the precious sunshine after a week long rain and played roller skate, but still looks like a duck when I am skating. and I ran for 2 miles yesterday night. Dang it, iL and I thought tonight is the right night that Moon seems the closest to Mars, while in these days, Mars is the closest to Earth since 60 thousand years ago. But, when I brought my big sister's bf, EOS 10D, to watch Mars and Moon, then they both hided behind the clouds. I think god won't like to let our camera to desecrate this holy moment.

After last weekend's frustration of the poor public libraries. I found a good place today. And borrowed 10 CDs from 3 performance groups, Aerosmith, pet shop boys and jimmy hendrix. lalalala lalalala, ...

learned a word, sprint, meaning run in a fastest possible speed. and sprinter means short-distance runner. also learned a lot of words from biology.

ok, tomorrow i will have some lectures to listen to, and i need be able to get up at 10am. the sounds of coldplay and aerosmith are hovering in my mind all the time. :S

Ran again

2003-09-07T01:27:00.000-06:00

6.8miles. Sorry, too tired to write down something more.

I was too tired these days.

2003-09-06T01:32:00.000-06:00

I would like to say sorry to those loyal readers of my weblog. I haven't updated this weblog for a while.

When facing the monitor, I even don't have the desire to touch the sexy A4tech keyboards. Last weekend, I went to Baltimore, and then we (including Hou Ningqi, music, dini, vital, moses and I) went to Shenandoah (note: the "ah" is not silent due to the Indian Language) National Park. And then I went back to big apple at 5pm on Sep. 2nd, 6:20 back to home, and got out of home on 7pm to meet QEEQ at Penn Station. Blah Blah Blah... Finally, my friend left on Friday noon from Penn Station, and I went to New York Public Library at Lincoln Center, a branch of performance art. But when check the catalog of music online, I found that almost all the status of the excellent Rock CDs are either missing or lost. One of the reason I love big city is that you can always find something new in there even you've been there for several years.

After the trip to Shenandoah National Park, and inspired by Moses, I decide to save some money in order to prepare my conjectured wedding, though I don't even know who will be my only formal legal eternal sexual partner. It might seems like a joke for those Americans, but this is the real situation for Traditional Chinese guys.

Also, with the an unsatisfied mood, I came out of NYPL, and bought another coldplay's album, parachutes. However, the samething happened again, my ears are not even have enough energy to resonance those beautiful songs.

Ok, then what I can only do is to run, I ran the 6.8 mile trail again. And this time, since I forgot to goto laundry, I can only wear soccer pants without pocket. (I am exhausted now, I would like to finish my diary soon. and will update it at a later time.) 63F fair. Weekly, 6.8mi, YTD 73.7mi.

I didn't really run yesterday.

2003-08-27T03:52:00.000-06:00

Everyday, I am struggling myself several times, should I get up now or can I have another 5 minute nap? Should I run? Should I ..., sometimes it seems hard to convince myself to do something obviously good for me. I was thinking about to have a rest yesterday, and then I saw il has already gone out while I was taking the crappy pictures of the nearest Mars since 60, 000 years. Ok, no run today, have a rest, work out some problems on Peskin's book... Then I saw didibaba's weblog, and decided to try the Fartlek training method, which is a well-known training method for long running. It is just as simple as run fast as possible for 1min, slow down, after 1min recover, run your best again. I went out to run a Fartlek, after a few minutes, tired out, back ... Oh, I should say this is the only method that makes Korean Soccer Team never been exhausted in Worldcup 2002, they were training 100 times of 5*25 m round-trip running.

Then watched movie "Love Story", and remembered that the author, Erich Segal has marathon mania. Ok, google this name, I found this page. The article goes underneath:

First Marathons: Personal Encounters with the 26.2-Mile Monster -- May 2002 chapter

Edited by Gail Kislevitz

Erich Segal

Born: June 16, 1937

Race: 1955 Boston Marathon

Age at first marathon: 18

Mercifully, the course after Heartbreak was -- like my mood -- all downhill. Somehow as it declined into Cleveland Circle I began to plod again and entered the city of Boston semi-comatose, but determined to reach the finish at Exeter Street. The last mile seemed endless. The one indelible memory: In Kenmore Square stood the baseball immortal Ted Williams (the race was run in between the games of a Red Sox double header). He was clapping with admiration for all who passed. A friend of mine actually heard him say, "Now those guys are real athletes."

Now, I had known that if I ever succeeded in achieving this feat no one would believe me, so I had a classmate, one Larry Ambush, wait at the finish line with his camera to record my achievement for posterity. At long last, I stumbled across the line on two wooden legs and was unable to walk for a week.

This caused a bit of a problem back in school as I was playing King Creon in the Greek club's production of Oedipus at Colonus and I was supposed to storm angrily on stage, leading my soldiers and assert my authority. But I was rigid and could scarcely move my legs to shuffle. And so the director had to change the staging and have my troops carry me in. I am sure many of the scholars present that day thought it was a new artistic interpretation.

I ran my first Boston in 3:40, which made me seventy-ninth. (Those were the days!). I had originally thought that if I actually finished the entire marathon it would be the peak of my "career," and I could retire a winner. After all, had I not achieved something athletic? And I'd have the photo to prove it.

Except that Larry Ambush's picture did not come out! It showed nothing but an unrecognizable blur. Now I would have to do it again and find a better photographer.

By the next year I was hooked. I now set myself a genuinely impressive target: to break three hours for the distance. Which I finally did in 1960.

In all, I ran twenty consecutive Bostons and became such a regular that Will Clooney, the race director, reserved the number 99 for me every year. My best performance was almost a full hour faster than the first. Most of the others hovered on either side of the three-hour mark -- the most frustrating: 3:00:19!

In the twentieth year I had a bout of pneumonia a month prior to the race and was strictly forbidden by my own doctor to run. I disobeyed. I felt by then that my feet knew every step of the way and would do it for me. And they did.

The serious training I did in those years changed my life forevermore. It is one thing to be scrawny, but it is another to be scrawny and fit. The strength I acquired through long, hard running energized my entire life, mentally as well as physically.

I would often come back from a run with the idea for a plot of a story or the words of a song, which would come to me as if the mind had been refreshed with more oxygen and inspiration lubricated by the perspiration from my efforts.

No day -- no matter how stressful -- ever ended on a sour note. A ten-mile run beats Prozac anytime.

During my less-than-brilliant career, I ran another twenty marathons in places as distant as Belgium and England. And wherever I went the feeling of mutual support and camaraderie made instant friendships.

I also picked up some tips along the way, one of which is worth passing on. Every marathon runner has a favorite song to which he sings in his head to keep the cadence of his stride. My most effective tune was "Hello Dolly," which underscored literally thousands of miles. Try it -- it'll take you a long way. That is all the wisdom I have to impart on this matter.

Oh yes, for the record, I do deserve a tiny footnote in the history books -- for having been Frank Shorter's teacher at Yale. I would like to take this opportunity to report a hitherto unknown incident.

One afternoon I was chugging around the college track, timing myself for a ten-miler. Frank watched me reel off lap after lap and could not keep from remarking to his teammates, loud enough for me to hear, "A guy would have to be crazy to run a marathon."

A few years later, I reminded him of this when he won the gold medal at the Olympics in 1972 and I was interviewing him for ABC- TV.

Frank smiled. It didn't seem crazy then.

Alas, an unexpected injury -- unrelated to running -- spoiled my intention to keep running until I was at least a hundred.

I miss it.

Some people dream of becoming president, winning the Nobel Prize, or flying to the moon. My own fantasy is to be running once again in my short pants through the streets of Boston being cheered by that knowing, loving crowd.

So listen, the next time you are due for a workout and it is raining, windy, and freezing, and you are thinking of putting it off, count yourself lucky.

Get out there and enjoy the best feeling life can give.

Got some idea while running

2003-08-25T23:33:00.000-06:00

Maybe it's obviously wrong, who knows. Ran another 6.8 miles. total time 1:13, bought a 20oz pepsi, weather 77F fair. Got the $300 rebate from Apple inc., those computer companies really very fast. Just learned from didibaba that google can be a calculator, normally i use it as a spelling checker.

After several day rest, I recovered my running.

2003-08-25T01:14:00.000-06:00

I ran as usual to Pathmark, and got back. Total distance 6.8 miles, and bought the a big Mac meal on the half way back in a Mcdonalds. I imported the Zoso CD Album before run, so that I can run with a highly quality AAC music environment. This is the first time I am really satisfied with iPod, since I can feel real high quality music. And if anyone is considering a mp3 music earplug player, my suggestion is that a normal sized (approx. 1MB/Min) mp3 song is ok for speaker but never good enough from earplug, even worse than tapes and FM channels. So, please get a higher resolution musical file for better life quality of your ears. And for everyone who is gonna buy an iPod, please note that it's a small harddrive and easily get crashing when doing the sports. Please read this website http://www.mikeshardware.com/reviews/review_ipod2/ carefully before spending your US Presidents. With enjoying of the music, I ran a fast speed today. Weather is fair and perfect 69F. The only thing in the exception today is that my cell phone was dead and getting repairing today, hopefully will be back tomorrow. Poor Korean cell phone.

Dang, I forgot one thing. Recently, my homepage on harpo.physics.gatech.edu/~biajee was blocked from outside of Gatech. Maybe the reason is Il opened an ftp account of it and let blogger.com to visit it. Hopefully Il and I will get harpo back soon.

I forgot another thing, which is I ran Aug 23, with a very short distance of 2.4miles. So YTD until today is 60.1 miles.

Almost rest today.

2003-08-21T22:33:00.000-06:00

Ran to AVE N + Nostrand AVE, and then back, total 2.8 miles, fair, 80F, feels like 85F, super hot. Bought nothing, and the medalet is that there are two Blacks on the street who scared me a little by sudden action. Really hot, but more comfortable than before. YTD 51.4 miles

It's almost my first time run a 6.8 mille in consecutive two days.

2003-08-20T22:35:00.000-06:00

I was not really maxed out today, but my cell phone does. It won't work at the end of the trail simply because the buttons immersed in my sweat, a good conductive solution. Ran to PathMark as usual, 6.8 miles, 79F, fair, a little hot to me (dont kick me). Bought a 20 oz of twisted Pepsi from vending machine, i tried to order something else, but it turned out that only this thing was not sold out. YTD 48.6 miles.

It was scandal yesterday.

2003-08-19T23:54:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, with the encouraging of Didibaba, I called il to run together. But dang il said he was happy reading Wu3 Xia2 Xia3 Shuo1 (knight-errant story), and prefer not to run. Then I went out alone, and after crossed 3 blocks, I feeled very uncomfortable, feels like I was choked. With this excuse, I stopped, and stepped back to home.

So, today, I called il to run before I got back to home. And then ran to Pathmark and back together with il by calling, 6.8 miles, YTD 41.8 miles. The weather was fair and perfect 73F. I bought a 20oz bottle of twisted Pepsi from vending machine at the turn back point. Not very tired, and happily cooking beef.

Too tired, only ran 4.0miles

2003-08-18T00:31:00.000-06:00

Ran to E85 St. + Flatlands AVE, 4.0miles, 65F, fair, YTD 35.0miles.

Resume running again

2003-08-17T03:36:00.000-06:00

Ran to Pathmark, 6.8mile, 74F, fair, bought a 20oz bottle of pepsi, ytd 31.0miles.

2003-08-16T00:51:00.000-06:00

Welcome to email me at:biajee@yahoo.com. And my homepage is biajee's island

2003-08-16T00:23:00.000-06:00

It's dark outside yesterday, since the largest blackout. I went out by driving my car, and I found it's very dangerous if totally dark. There always some people from nowhere may scare you. Here is the running log archieved:

	I have seen some fancy little software measure the distance a mouse arrow has run, and they call it the mileage of the mouse. I don't know if it's really "mileage" or just "centi-meterage". But for me, it's really a mileage, looks like a mileage meter in every car, accurate till 0.1 mile. And the distance I wrote here is exactly what I got from map.yahoo.com. The weather is coming from www.weather.com. It's really really boring while running, so normally, I am running with my ipod on and have a turning point medalet, e.g. buy something cheap enough but makes happy. Till now it's just a raw mileage log, I will someday update to a database version. I suppose everyone could easily convert to metric unit system by theirselves. Note: the date shown here is till midnight of the day. I usually run in midnight, so it's easy to count as the day before.
Date	Weather	Temp.	Total Time	Mileage	Weekly	YTD	medalet
2003/08/07	Light Rain	71F	N/A	6.8	6.8	6.8	a mop
2003/08/08	Partly Cloudy	76F	1:15	6.8	13.6	13.6	20oz soda
2003/08/09	Shower	73F	0	0	13.6	13.6	rest for rain
2003/08/10			0	0	0	13.6	rest
2003/08/11	Cloudy	73F	1:10	6.8	6.8	20.4	nothing
2003/08/12	Mostly Cloudy	76F	N/A	3.8	10.6	24.2