An afternoon at the Gorge

It’s been a while, a month to be exact, since I even thought about updating the blog. Am I getting disinterested? God, no! Just that “pressure” has been getting to me.

[For those who are interested, I have to calculate the local pressure in a spherically symmetric atomistic system that is both heterogenous and in thermal non-equilibrium; and, the freaking math does not add up. If you have got a clue, do let me know.]

Anyway, I happened to visit a nearby gorge in a short afternoon stroll with the Photo Club last weekend. I haven’t been there before in spite of living close by for over 2 years. What a shame! Here are the pics.

A "hermit" meditating near the mini-falls. No kidding! He was practicing some new-age meditation technique, shouting his lungs out.

No doubt that was the last thing we expected to see; at least I haven't seen such randomness before in my 2 years here.

Location: Poestenkill Gorge Park, Troy, NY

Anyway, March is here and hopefully I'll keep y'all posted more often.  Cheers and until next time.

A Troy Story

Contrary to my expectations during the last update I couldn’t drive down Clinton Road this Thanksgiving; but, I will do that sometime. However, with a Troy - Danbury - DC - Richmond - Jamestown - Yorktown - Danbury - Troy eventful four-day road trip spanning six states I could possibly call this story scouting trip a success. In time I’ll write about all that, but today this post is about a simple Civil War story dedicated to all the beautiful maidens of Troy

It is well said [NOT] that “you can take a trip out of Troy but you cannot take Troy out of a trip”. Eight hours down south in Richmond, Virginia I was reminded of Troy’s place in US history while at the Virginia Historical Society museum. My friends and I were perusing the American Civil War section when one of my friends chanced upon this story. In the context of the Civil War this is probably an inconsequential event. Yet, it is an interesting reminder of how everyone, even non-fighting women far removed from the battle fronts, contributed to the respective causes on either side intentionally or unintentionally. Here you go.

Lt. George H. Thomas, a Union general during the Civil War (1861-1865), is generally held in high esteem by historians for his successful record in the war. Lt. Thomas led the Union forces to a decisive victory over the Confederates at the Battle of Mill Springs. His defensive line that held off repeated attacks from a numerically superior opponent and the subsequent counterattacks that held the Confederate army at bay until nightfall during the Battle of Chickamagua earned him the title of the “Rock of Chickamagua”. He is a hero, no doubt. However, it is a shame that he has failed to achieve as much historical acclaim as some of his contemporaries, such as Ulysses S. Grant and William T. Sherman, due to a variety of reasons that included a disinterest in advancing his legacy by publishing memoirs and an uncomfortable relationship with Gen. Grant.

Now what has all this got to do with Troy? Nothing much; just that in the November of 1852 Lt. Thomas married Frances Kellogg of Troy, NY. Now, the good lieutenant was a Virginian and had a close personal relationship with Gen. Robert Lee, who was later the number one man in the Confederate army. Yet, as the Civil War broke out in 1861 he turned down an offer to serve in the Virginia state militia and reported back to active duty with the U.S. army. It is probably the influence of his Northern-born wife that led to his choice.

His siding with the Union instead of the South angered his family. They turned his portrait against the wall, destroyed his letters and refused to accept the money he sent in spite of the economic hardship in the South after the war. His sisters disowned him strongly believing that it was the influence of his Northern wife that contributed to his “desertion”.

In short, without the fair maiden from Troy, the Union forces may not have had such a reliable general to count on in some decisive battles. This is probably inconsequential since Lt. Thomas may have sided with the Union anyway because of his dislike of slavery. Yet, as the saying goes, there is always a woman behind a successful man and thus her role in the fight against slavery, which the Civil War eventually turned to, is worth repeated mentions.

Finally, sticking to the same theme that you cannot take Troy out of a trip here’s a question for my RPI readers. The picture below was taken outside a museum near  the archaeology dig of the original Jamestown settlement. Does the name ring a bell? It’s quite obvious but I’ll write about it in my next update, as well.

If you want to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first create the universe.

The title of the post is a quote attributed to Carl Sagan. Creating the universe may be impossible, save for the schizophrenic few, but we can always do the next best thing - marvel at the mysteries of the universe before us and indulge in some apple picking in an orchard nearby. Ya, you can use them to make pies, if you want to, but if you are like me and find cooking a chore, then the marveling part alone should entice you. Yet, it took me two years to take a bite.

Apple picking is an activity that is highly popular here, in the northeastern United States. Every Fall, orchards are open to public and consumers can pick their own apples from the sprawling fields. Yes, this is essentially a method of purchasing apples, given that you pay pay per pound in most places, but, it is widely seen as a social activity and a popular dating ritual.

A popular fall pastime, maybe, but for the last two seasons whenever I received club emails talking about apple picking trips, I never understood the fuss; they are just apples for heaven’s sake. How can apples be anyone’s idea of a time well spent. Yes, apples have touched the lives of many - from Norse mythology to the Newtonian legend, from the Garden of Eden to Steve Jobs’ legacy; but, apple picking? Are you kidding me? I would rather struggle up a mountain than dance around trees.

But I must admit I was wrong. This time, when RPI’s photography club sent their email out, I thought I would check what the fuss was all about, if only to get away from my godforsaken thesis. With a camera in hand and the changing fall colors in the background, the orchard really is a paradise. Here are a few pics from yesterday afternoon. They don’t do full justice to the serenity of a pristine, clean and picturesque landscape.

Would I go again? Just to clarify. I would still rather struggle up a mountain than go apple picking.  But, for a bored afternoon, an apple orchard is a great place to be with your camera in tow. Moreover, the sky was gloomy yesterday. I would like to capture the landscape under blue skies.

Until next time.

Cheers.

Brooklyn Bridge is falling down

I am fast running out of ideas. This won’t do. I really want to keep this blog running, if at least to temporarily take my mind off my thesis. To do that I really need to travel more often. By travel I don’t mean taking an extended break and frolicking off into a different corner of the world, but just to get out of my lab more often and soak in the life on offer in and around the capital district area.

Darn it! Till my doctoral candidacy is done that’s not going to happen. Stuck in my lab my mind gradually going to bits, I guess today’s short post is just apt. Yes, Brooklyn Bridge is falling down; or rather it was, soon after it was opened in the May of 1883.

Picture taken on Christmas Day 2010. Christmas in the Big Apple, now that’s another story altogether. Ever since Kevin McCallister was lost in the City in 1992, I have wanted to retrace his steps. I should probably try and locate some of the lesser known spots in NYC that the movies have eternalized. KsK. 

Those pesky tourists!!!

Big city residents have always had a love-hate relationship with tourists, the affair skewed more towards the latter with the former being nothing more than a fleeting endearment. The sheer number of tourists adds to the popular appeal of the city and who doesn’t love it that their home is famous even in obscure parts of the world. Yet, with noisy tourists stopping and pulling their cameras out every step of the way disrupting the hectic life of the big city residents, it is no wonder that pesky tourists are a thorn in the sides of the denizens who call the city their home.

Here’s an Improv Everywhere prank that essentially taps into the resident-tourist relationship. “New york city resident? No. Please go in the tourist lane so you can click pictures, go slow, go to sleep, whatever tourists do”, says an agent. “As a New Yorker I appreciate this”, a passer-by responds.

All of us would have had some experience in this regard, either as the pesky tourist or as the heckled resident. Here’s one of mine.

Location: the Golden Gate bridge, west side lane. It was windy and cold. However, the view was so beautiful that we had decided to brave the windchill and walk across the bridge. Once at the middle we set our camps and were enjoying the sunset; a group of five. Oblivious to the lack of other tourists on the bridge we spent our time looking west, mostly in silence. I was engrossed with my Canon capturing the orange sky, experimenting with different exposures.

Someone shouted, “watch out!’. I took a step back just as a cyclist shot past through the same spot I was standing on a split second earlier. I looked up and left towards the cyclist only to catch him glaring at me. If looks could kill! He was kind enough to not say anything but his eyes betrayed his thoughts. ‘Damn you tourists. One day you’ll kill somebody.’

Apparently there were signs that said  ‘Cyclists: West-side. Pedestrians: East-side’. Confused tourists that we were we had missed these signs and strayed into the cyclist lane. Undoubtedly it is people like us that grant legitimacy to the Improv Everywhere prank. As Mayor Bloomberg commented at a press conference later, “When I saw it I said, ‘Oh! That’s a nice thing to do.’ I thought it was very cute.”

Now as I was saying, all of us might have some story or the other to share in this regard. The comments box is open. In the meantime, listening to Shpongle and working on my doctoral thesis, I’ll be waiting for your reply.

Cheers.

Taking a leap of faith

This picture was taken with my friend’s point and shoot a couple of months back. It was raining that morning and I left my camera back at the hotel. The clouds cleared by the time we reached the Bay Area. Lady Weather is so fickle.

Since the time of Icarus man has always wanted to soar like the birds. Thanks to the Wright brothers and countless more before and after them, we have come a long way. I, too, have had my fair share of opportunities to soar through the sky at speeds the birds can only dream of; albeit in huge metal cages. The thrill of flying, thus, has always eluded me. Never have I felt the full force of the wind against my face. Nor have I been able to pilot those beasts.

Considering the expense the latter might remain a dream. For the former, there is the next best thing. Not the metaphorical next best thing. I have never been down that road. Instead, it is time I took a leap of faith.

The Lake Placid Fiasco

I am time and today I am going to tell you a story. This is no ordinary story. This is a tale of four “great” men; four well educated, intelligent young blokes whose qualifications, put together, would place them at the top of any spectrum in the public eye. One is a post-doctoral research scholar and a respected author of scientific texts; another is a thought leader and a master in business administration; and yet another, an engineer, one whose expertise facilitates, without much ado, some of the comforts fellow human beings enjoy. This illustrious trio is accompanied by a doctoral student who aspires to be an established author of scientific and non-scientific texts. With no further introduction, I would like to take you to Troy, a beautiful Victorian town on the banks of the Hudson. Here, the protagonists are preparing for the misadventure of their lives.

(Intro style inspired by the Mahabharat series aired in Doordarshan (India) in the late 80s).

June 18th 2011

11:30 a.m.

It’s a beautiful Saturday. The Hudson sparkles in the late morning sunlight and showers downtown Troy with its warmth. Down by the banks the residents wallow in serenity, intoxicated as they are serenaded by the ebb and flow of the breeze through the leaves behind them. A little removed, up the hill, in the campus of Rensselaer the protagonists unaware of nature’s treat unfolding near the river banks decide to go somewhere; anywhere. They have been cooped up in this town for way too long.

Sid, Sandy, Raul and Kirk, [*] thus, set out for Lake Placid in Raul’s zebra striped Camaro. Lake Placid is a horseshoe shaped waterbody in the  Adirondack Mountains in northern New York. Spanning approximately 2,170 acres (8.8 km²) with an average depth of about 50 feet, Lake Placid is one of the most prominent lakes in the New England area.

[*] The names have been changed for no particular reason, and with not even one ounce of creativity.

It’s a two hour drive on I-87 North. A hassle free journey takes them to the village of Lake Placid. It’s a little after 2. It’s about time they had some lunch. Nothing fancy. Subs would have to do. Kirk gets his regular footlong tuna. Within fifteen minutes, having filled their stomachs, they head out to the lake for a strenuous kayaking experience.

Alas, they were plagued by one small problem. There was only one shop renting kayaks known to  most of the people around, and that was closed. It was nearing 3 and the protagonists were getting frustrated. They should probably have woken up earlier. They should have reached Lake Placid sooner. Would the long drive end up to be fruitless? I would have paused if I could, but then the universe would descend into chaos. However, the earth’s axial tilt was still in their favor. It’s nearing summer solstice and darkness engulfs the land no sooner than 9pm. Time was still in hand. I had given them a lifeline.

At quarter past 3 they find Eastern Mountain Sports. The protagonists head in. Yes, here EMS does rent kayaks. Kirk asks the lady behind the counter, “is there a dock nearby?” She replies, “We can set you up and you can get going from the one behind the shack.” They make no further enquiries. Raul and Kirk start off in a 12 foot regular kayak while Sid and Sandy are in the tandem. Sid hasn’t paddled before and it will take a while for him to be comfortable on water.

They head to a beach a quarter mile away. There are swimmers in lanes marked by buoys. Careful, they must be; not due the fear of hurting the swimmers but of toppling their own kayaks upon collision. Once on the beach Sandy and Kirk switch places and they head back out after a few minutes rest. They race to the diametrically opposite end of the lake roughly a mile away and hold a mid-water conference.

Sandy: Now, that didn’t seem so far.

Sid: It’s hardly deep too. Look, I can touch the bottom with this paddle.

Kirk: Come on, we are closer to the banks. What do you expect? It will be deeper further in. After all, this is Lake Placid.

Sid: I’ve heard they call this the Queen of Lakes**.

Sandy: Maybe it’s King George and his placid queen.

Raul: Ya, Lake George was huge. This looks more like a pool.

Kirk: A calm one nonetheless. Maybe this lake looks beautiful from atop the peaks. That could be the hype.

Raul: And, of course the winter olympics hoopla.

Sid: My friend was saying this lake is a must-see. Ya, right!!! Wait, did the 30-foot crocodile really live in this commode? ***

** Actually, Lake George is nicknamed the Queen of American Lakes.

*** Lake Placid is a 1999 American monster movie. Yes, it was filmed elsewhere.

They decide to paddle around till sunset. Anyway, they had paid for the kayaks and it looked like like they had most of the lake for themselves. “Where did everybody go? There were so many tourists on the streets.” These thoughts were shut out as the protagonists enjoyed the serenity that surrounded then.

At roughly half past 8 they head back to the EMS dock. Sid, Sandy and Raul return the gear and head into the shack to get their belongings. Kirk waits near the kayaks as an employee arrives for the routine inspection.

EMS Employee: So how was your day?

Kirk: It was great. Thank you.

EMS Employee: Did you carry your kayaks over to the horseshoe? It’s tougher to kayak there, you know, with the speedboats around.

Kirk: :-0

Kirk manages to hold a straight face trying very hard to hide his shock. He still catches a small glint in the employee’s eyes, the kind you get when you discover a new tale to share with your buddies; a tale of four “knowledgeable” dimwits. He heads back into the shack. “Guys, I have some bad news. This was not Lake Placid.”