my heart goes boom....badeee.......booom

I was with Grainne and Orla in our old house waiting for our landlord to arrive so we could give him our keys and get our deposits back. I was getting bored, looked for something to pass the time. Orla was sitting with her legs crossed at the knee. I watched her foot for a bit and I was able to tell her that she had a resting heartrate between 70 bpm.

I could figure this out is because major arteries travel behind/through the knee joint to the foot. Crossing your legs at the knee compresses the vessels [sometimes leading to numbness and the horrible pins-and-needles that follows the retreating numbness]. Every heartbeat sends a pulse of blood through the arteries and the pulse is enough to jolt the dead weight of the crossed leg visibly. Count the pulses for a given time and voila you have a heartrate.

Alternatively, touching fingertip to thumb gives a pulse too. There is a vessel in the palm- divide the palm into quarters, and it would be slightly off centre in the thumb joints quarter- that has a visible pulse. Not the usual spots, although some heart monitors are attached to the thumb.

Every heartbeat sees a pressure wave travel radially from the heart, if one sits still for long enough one can feel the "wash" of blood through the body. I find it rather relaxing, like floating in a pool with the water sloshing at the edges, nice way to fall asleep if you have trouble falling asleep like I do.

In October of my first year in college, I decided I would do a fitness test. They measured my resting heart rate, 60bpm. They put me on a bike and strapped a heart monitor to my back. I was told this would measure my fitness, but only once my heart rate went over 120bpm. Off I go on the bike. I could see the monitor output in front of me. Any time it approached 100bpm, I made it fall back to low 85-90. I was left on the bike for about 10 minutes, afterwhich the trainer gave up on that exercise. It was pretty easy to do, I just told my heart to slow down. I'm not much more than a poorly educated westerner, imagine what real masters of their bodies could do!?

4 months, later I went for another test. Resting heartrate was down to 50bpm. They had left a note about the results of the last test. They decided there was no point in me trying it again. Although he did tell me that endurance athletes can have resting heart rates less than 30bpm, if I really focus I can get it down to 33-38bpm (37.5 just now) :(
On The upside I am technically considered and endurance athlete :)

.And just in case you are wondering about heart size...
More reading, and more

Reasonable force

Last weekend, the radio was on in Spar while I was getting a roll.

The newswoman was reading out that a man had been murdered in a pub the previous night. A gunman entered the bar, shot him and fled the scene. At the end of report, she finished saying that the man was known to the police. Let me tell you, that took a load of my mind, all that sympathy and sadness for the loss of a life- [poof] gone.

Since the police knew of him he must have deserved it...

It was a service really...

Lightening the load on the police in these turbulent times...

Facebook application

I thought of a Facebook application.

I call it Facebook Stalker^tm

• The stalker can set it up to automated messages- "Hi".... "Hi again, not sure if you got my last message, give me a message back when you read this one"... "Hi. Still have not heard from you, is everything OK?"... "Heh! why did you talk to that person instead of talking to me?!"... "Hi again. Sorry I over-reacted earlier... It is just that we share a special connection and I don't think you realise it"

Once the automated messages have run their cycle, possibly before that, the stalker will be unfriended. This is where Facebook Stalker^tm comes into its own!

• The application can hack the subject's/subjects' account and refriend the stalker
• Once it has hacked the account the application photoshops the subject's/subjects' galleries to include the stalker in all pictures where the subject/subjects are tagged
• Additionally it can toggle the "relationship" status

Really a must have for the digital stalkers of the world, I imagine Zaboo from the Guild would be my number one customer. So convenient, it will even have a tab to "Manage Eternal Loves", it can be ranked in terms of how much they: "don't see the special connection", "Test our Love" ["Stop testing our love!"], "are at risk to flight". I figure it will have to be highly customisable though, "love" comes in all shapes and forms.

Coming soon I-Pod Touch and I-Phone applets...

Holiday in Morocco: episode 4 The Phantom-green Menace

The Desert

Our last morning in Merrakech, our driver Mustafa collected us to go to the desert. A friendly chap, he was speaking to us with little difficulty for 10-15 minutes before he stated he could not speak English, only French, Berber and Arabic. Disliking being monolingual at the best of times, hearing someone poo-poo his good command of English was salt on the wound.

The drive took us through the High and Low Atlas Mountains to Mhamid. It was hard to decide which was the nicer to look at. We saw some “old skool” Kasbahs. Since they are made with bricks of local soil, they had to be pointed out to us. They were like- like... Ninja Buildings!

The next day we left Mhamid- where the guest house was- by camel to go to an Oasis. Our guide was called Nin. Born and bred in the area. He led us along on the camels like a pair of kids getting pony rides in Blackpool. His English was not as strong as Mustafa's, so while he could talk as well as I could in German for my Leaving Cert, he was not comfortable saying much more than,”Are you OK, my frends? Not tired? Not hot?”

Some authors comment on the rhythm of horse's gait and that it is important to go with it for maximum comfort [minimum discomfort, really]. I think they say it to show off how much they know, not that they are wrong. To being rubbed raw and bruised by the camel's cadence, I pretended I was strutting to “Feeling Good” by Nina Simone, only that I had an ass and hips the size of a large house.

On our way to the oasis, we stopped for mint tea and philsophising with a nomad called Abdu. Around his hut, were lots and lots of stones. They were arranged in a grid. It reminded me of this xkcd strip. He said two great things. The first was about being in the desert, no one for miles, no lights for miles,”Just you, your God and the stars.” That he said your God, spoke well of the man, a real spiritual maturity that almost all Christians lack... one in particular. IMO.

The other thing he said was even better,”Our reality is too small for the world”

It is the most Zen thing I have heard. Abdu and the rest of the nomads we met in the desert have a simple and elegant perspective on life, I am convinced there are on their way to enlightenment.

That evening, we watched the sunset from a sand dune, while wild camels plodded along the blasted flats in front of us. The next day, we ate breakfast in the Sahara, not in a tent or building. A low table, two stools and our food, dune to one side and rising sun to the other. I felt like I was in a music video.

After a few more hours on the camel, we changed to 4x4 again. This time we sped through small dunes and dried out river-beds. It was very exciting, it is the only time I have been interested in being able to drive, feeling the jeep sluice through turns. We reached the dunes of Inshigaga at 3 or so. Some of these over-important piles of dust are 300m tall, the same size as Estonia's highest point! We went for a walk on them. That was rather tiring. On top of that, everywhere we looked was stunning, everything looked like it was photoshopped. Everything looked like a professional photographer had organised it for an Apple desktop background. We labelled the idea “i-Dunes”

After dinner we were treated to a quintet of Nomads beating a drum to traditional chants and songs, again, fantastic stuff... you probably had to be there. I managed to record some of the songs on my mp3 player and on my camera [To follow next week]. I played a recording for one of the nomads. He was so impressed that he asked me to email the recording to him. His email address was xxxxx.nomad@hotmail.mor. It was the Ronseal woodstain of email addresses.

By evening the following day, we were thoroughly jaded by the natural beauty. I gave up taking pictures, to pick one sight was to miss another 10. When we got back to Merrakech, the hotel Sherazade had provided us with a twin room [I opened that door with great trepidation], with an actual wall almost completely splitting the sides of the room.

The Undeparted (imagine it as the white on black writing preceding a scene in Frasier)

[...Somewhere in the depths of rural Ireland, there is a pub. In this proto-irish tavern, poorly lit and inky with shadows, the straight lines of the bar are interrupted by a lump. The lump has tweed jacket and a tweed cap. To its right there is an untouched pint...]

It was an overcast morning when we went to the airport, our first poor weather for the holiday. We had to wait for the check-in desk to open. They were running late. Going through the security screening, Gleb gathers in a breath and says,“Take. That. Murphy!”

[...the lump stirs, as if kicked. It says: “Sin é.”]

We just about made it for boarding of our flight. We sat near our gate waiting 30, 60, 120 minutes passed. Nothing happened.

[... the lump snickers darkly...]

We were told Ryanair cancelled their flights from Merrakech to Luton AND Bristol. 200 people left in the lurch- the next Ryanair flight to those destinations being in 7 days time. 3 hours later, after queuing and going through passport control, we discover no other airline cancelled. Easyjet's flight to London is 230GBP and rising.We opt for the road less travelled by and that made all the difference. We went with Morocco Air, lined up for 20 minutes, spent less money and got a flight to Paris, while the queue at easyjet's booking desk lasted over 5 hours.Considering that the trip included Valentine's day, it is fitting that it would include an overnight stay in gay Paris. And so that is how I ended up spending my first night in Paris sharing a bed [yet again] with Gleb.

[...Murphy leans back on his bar stool, a look of supreme satisfaction painted across his mug, and takes a well deserved draught of his pint...]

Showtime

During the flight we could not escape how marketable our misadventures could be as a movie. The running jokes of inuendo. The odd couple vibe we had for the trip. The stunning photogenic settings. The formulaic progression of it all. Scripted by the Gods, directed by Gremlins. I figure Ben stiller can be play me, and Rowan Atkinson as Gleb.

All in all a successful holiday.

Holiday in Morocco: episode 3

Merrakech is an old city. It has been around in one form or another for nearly 1,000 years. There are miles and miles of stalls, they offer leather bags, jewelry, herbs, spices, perfumes, dyes, crepes, canes, swords, seats and bath tubs [almost everything and the kitchen sink]. Where Assouaria evoked Jason Bourne, this place was very much the remit of Henry Jones Jr. The atmosphere and surroundings would fit seamlessly with himself shooting a scimitar wielding thug. It is known for one other thing.

Before telling you what it is, I shall digress. If you are going to get a laugh out of the same shtick over and over again, there needs to be an element of escalation to it. Take things to their logical extreme. For the first half of the trip Gleb maintained an accelerating stream of innuendo.

For reasons I am not aware of, I became more homophobic with each day.* Gleb took sadistic advantage of this for his own entertainment. The cad!

Merrakech is known as a Pink City.

When we stepped into the room we were sharing, I began looking to the left of the door, peripherally aware of Gleb's laughter. “Hmm.... Large room, seating area, bathroom... where are the beds?... Oh.” Gleb's source of mirth was that there was a double bed.

In the market, we grabbed a fabulous dinner at a place apparently endorsed by Jamie Oliver- at least there is a picture of him with the staff. Afterward, at my insistence we hit a Gelati. He grabbed a mint tea. I ordered ice-cream. I watched the man prepare the ice-cream from my seat. He put a spoon on the saucer with the bowl. He cast a glance at our table. Without missing a beat, he put another spoon on the saucer. Gleb suggested we sit closer together to stay warm. The bastard was enjoying my discomfort immensely, with good reason.

The sleeping arrangements for Merrakech involved what Gleb labelled the “Chastity Pillow” to ensure no undue contact occured in the depths of the night.

*After the fact, Bob observed that by, Gleb being the instigator, I was pigeon-holed in the role of straight man for the skit [The Steve Martin to his John Candy- of Planes, Trains and Automobiles]. Had I... erm... rose to the occasion one-up-manship could have followed. The “Gay Chicken” featured in Scrubs between Dr Cox and the character played by Brendan Frasier springs to mind... As rationales/justifications go, this is a great one. I think I will stick with it.

Holiday in Morocco: episode 2

Essaouira

It is known for its Medina. Orson Welles shot scenes of his version of Othello in and around it. Jimi Hendrix wrote Castles Made of Sand here.

I had no idea how flaccid and lifeless Agadir was until I stepped inside the Medina walls. Stalls, populated by friendly chaps offering their wares at a steal. Narrow, high-walled alley-streets... it feels like there is equal chance of a street rat rushing by one step ahead of the breadline or would-be assassins falling under Jason Bourne's boot.

Since the Lonely Planet Morocco guide planned most of our trip... granted Gleb read it... when we got off of the bus, we could ignore all the people handing out cards for various hotels.

Despite the bustle of the place, it is easy to relax and forget about things “Up North”. The Riad had a rooftop terrace overlooking the sea and a mosque. Gleb felt compelled to point out its romantic ambiance and suggested putting the beds together.
____________________________________________________________
The Real Hustle

Our success with the magic boxes purchase bolstered our confidence in our bartering skill. It is said:”Pride doth come before a fall.”

A Bedouin shopkeeper stops us in the street. A rapid exchange of words outside his stall and [flash & puff of smoke] we are in his back room. He shows us pictures of a Sahara tour his family runs; camels, dunes, the works. We told him we would consider it. He stops us from leaving,“Do you not want tea?” We falter... In the garbled moments that followed Gleb was wrapped in scarves of indigo and I was shown “family made” jewelry.
On a scarf, Gleb got them down to 100Dh. Haggler 1 agreed to it, but insisted it was such a good deal that Gleb should give him the price of cigarettes too- “not profit at all, friend, just for cigarettes. Nothing more.” That was a 20% mark-up.

I got a ring. Haggler 2 insisted on getting Irish money as a souvenier,”I have a big collection. Even a 500Euro note”. 1 Euro coin. A 5% mark-up on the ring.

During the shafting:

• They got home field advantage [“Step into my parlour,” said the spider to the fly]
• They called us friend
• When asked a price they said- “There are only democratic prices here, Friend” forcing us to make the first offer
• They talked about everyone being happy with the deal

And most importantly...

• Changed tactics as soon as one failed

In Going Postal, Terry Pratchett describes hucksters superbly. When Moist Von Lipwig, a conman himself, meets Reacher Gilt, the villain, he marks him instantly as a kindred spirit because of his trustworthy smile and firm handshake. An accurate appraisal, in my humbled opinion.
Afterwards, Gleb and I marvelled at their skill. They had our measure from the moment we ambled gormlessly past their stall. Whether or not the jewelry was made by the family, the selling of the jewelry is certainly a family business. “While you are in the college, I have learned in the school of Life,”smiled Haggler 2.

At this point, further score keeping would be embarrassing...

More to follow after these announcements from out sponsors.

Holiday in Morocco: episode 1

Itinerary

We flew into Agadir with Aerlingus. Agadir is a very quiet beachside Moroccon town. We stayed at the Hotel Sindibad. The twin room, ensuite, cost 15Euro per person. We ate our dinners at the 1,001 Nights restaurant adjacent to the hotel. By and large this place gives you no feel whatsoever for the offerings of Morocco. I recommend staying here a day at most, if at all.

From Agadir, we travelled by bus to Assouira. Another beach side town, although this one has more to it. We stayed in the Riad Nahkma. The riad had a rooftop terrace and deals on baths and massages. The twin ensuite cost 20Euro per person per night. It is possible to ride horses and camels on the beach. There are a good choice of restaurants and kiosks to eat in.

We left Assouira to Merrakech by bus. Here, we stayed in the hotel Sherazade. The room cost about 25Euro per person per night. Like the other places we stayed in, the breakfast was extra. It is a much larger town, with miles and miles of markets to see and haggle in. The square is also full of places to get everything from orange juice to soups to full dinners, tented in the open air.

From Merrakech we bought a tour package from Sahara Services. 4X4 to and from the desert. One night in a guest house. Travelled by camel to stay a night at an oasis and then by camel and 4x4 to stay at the feet of 40km of large sand dunes. We returned to Merrakech by 4x4 via a different route through the Low and High Atlas mountain ranges. All told, the tour cost 320Euro each. It was supposed to be 385, but we were given a student price, at least that is what they said.

We were booked our return flight from Merrakech with Ryanair. Going by way of Luton, England.
_____________________________________________________________________
The Trip

The question, I'm sure, on everyone's lips was “Where is Mairtin?”... at least it was the one my mother had [face scrunches in consternation].

I was in Morocco with Gleb. We booked the tickets back in November, with my usual aplomb, I did not note we were away for Valentines day... the interim months were replete with tawdry gay jokes.

The Arrival

Arrived in Morocco without much ado. Taking in the savanaesque landscape called the Lion King theme music to mind. That was fleeting. After passport control, People kept grabbing our bags, so they could get a tip, I fell for the cunning ploy. You win this round Morocco [shakes fist].

Morocco 1 – Foreigners 0

We got a Taxi [a battered early 90s Merc, of the vintage featured in 3 Kings] to our hotel. After fruitless seconds looking for safety belt buckles, our taxi driver told us you don't have to wear them in Morocco. He sounded strangely smug. The road was full of pedal-start motor bikes, beeping, goats and finely choreographed traffic, it reminded me of China. When we reached our hotel, the taxi driver said,”That is two hundred- Two hundred and fifty.”- Clearly a sly bump-up... we let it slide.

Morocco 2 - Suckers 0

Agadir

The restaurant we ate at gave us a free refill on our bread basket without us asking.
2 – Wisened Travellers 1 [Although it only happened the first night, the second night, she remained pointedly empty]
Next morning, Gleb observed that he knew I was awake because I was not snoring.
Walking through Agadir, a man beckoned us to his stall. Knowing no better, we went over. He sold us magic boxes- a box with a hidden locking mechanism. He said that if I could open it that I would get it for free. Once I openned on the first hidden compartment, he took it from me and opened it himself, the bastard. On the upside, we got them for under half price... on the downside I didn't want one. We'll call it a draw.

Stay tuned for more mishaps and madcap antics, same chem-time, same chem-channel.

Coming Soon...

Welcome to Morocco, you can check out any time, but you can never leave.

Snow blind

Snow in Spring. Two bouts of it this week. The first evoked an indifferent "huh". The second, much as I tried to supress it, ellicited an excited "oooh". I stomped across the virgin snow on the football pitch on my way to college, with great satisfaction. 8D

I can just about stifle a smile at the sight of snow forts and snow snowballs, but if there is another day of this, I may well end up throwing some at people- Ye've Been Warned!

While I was pushing slabs of snow off of cars and squashing fistfuls into lumps, I wondered what was the difference between the snowflakes and their blunt trauma counterparts hail stones.

As usual, my port of call was wikipedia. Clouds are made of a suspended water droplets. When the temperatures fall far enough below freezing, some of the droplets can form ice nuclei inside them. Over time the ice nuclei consume the liquid water and grow larger, resulting in snow flake, when there is little or no updraft, the snowflakes fall out of the clouds, picking up some buddies along the way, leading to the granular soft structure that greets us on the ground.¹ Hailstones start out the same way. But a rising air current circulate them inside the clouds. The ice particles grow in size because the air is supersaturated with respect to water vapour. Eventually they get too big and fall. I was kind of disappointed by the difference. I was hoping for something far more complicated- Curse you nature! [Although on reflection, the mechanisms behind hail stone are wholly dependent on certain air currents, not a simple process.]

¹http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snow [I did not like the way the article explained it so I paraphrased]