Category: Uncategorized

well, maybe i do

Last week I finally got access to the laptop ports in the University computer labs. Sure this means great things like being bombarded with e-mail or IMs, but it also means that I can finally download music. So, the first thing I did was go out and download the new Alkaline Trio and Hot Water Music split. It’s really good. The new songs are of similar quality to the overall body of work of both bands, but it’s the covers of each other’s songs that really did it for me. Then, I spoke briefly with Peter about music over IM and he told me about Billy Corgan’s new band as well as remind me of the latest Dashboard Confessional EP. How could I be so forgetful? Despite a departure from Dashboard-esque emotional music, I have awaited this release for a long time. So, I pulled it down from audiogalaxy and loaded the files into my media player. It was so good. The EP has four songs and each song is a vignette in a larger story of boy gets girl. Sure it’s acoustic and melodic, but Chris Carraba has actually managed to write a love song (actually four of them) without a lost or unrequited prefix. Some people might miss his older, angstier stuff, and I probably would have as well, a few short months ago. But it was also a few months ago that I heard some of these songs for the first time at a small show in a little fire hall in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. It was when Erin drove me four hours across state lines and, in the middle of the Dashboard set, put her head on my shoulder. So, listening to these songs is really hard because they remind me of that night, and lyrically, they remind me that beyond all the angst and the disillusionment, past all the jaded nights alone and the disappointment, things just work out. They work out in a way that can’t really be expressed with the flowery language of reckless, spiteful anger. Things work out in a way that, despite the complications of the surrounding world, is just simple and nice. So I’m listening to this nice, simple music and feeling all weepy in the middle of the computer lab. I’m walking home and the songs are still in my head and I’m hoping that someone’s back at the flat when I get home and that the hours between now and Erin’s phone call go by as quickly as the four songs on the EP.

do i look like a bitch, mr. bush?

I was watching the UK news a few minutes ago, and they seem to have coverage of US politics that is slightly less soft than that of US broadcasters. They were doing a piece on some English official’s involvement in the Enron fiasco, but they also mentioned VP Cheney’s struggle to keep details of meetings with Enron executives confidential. They showed a clip of Bush, and I don’t remember the exact quote, I wish I did, but to paraphrase, he basically said that in order to be able to solicit “sound advice” from people, he, and the vice president, had to be able to ensure these phantom advisors that their advice would remain private. This seems like one of the most counter-intuitive arguments that I have ever heard. To me, the whole definition of “sound advice” is that it is meritorious enough to withstand public scrutiny. Sure, advice can be good, and still be unpopular, but it is the hallmark of a good leader to be able to make tough decisions and defend them OPENLY rather than weasel around and make cryptic meetings like some power hungry high school student council member. So, Mr. Bush, do I, and the rest of the American people look like a bitch? No? Then why do I get the feeling that I’m being played like one.

my response to the Microsoft vs. DOJ RFC

Below is the comment that I submitted in response to the call for comments by Consumers for Computing Choice.

Most Internet historians would agree that the reason for the proliferation of the Personal Computer, the Internet, and indeed, Microsoft’s ability to be hugely successful and experience enormous growth was the adoption of open, public, standards which could be adopted, implemented, and used as a base for development by computer venders and users alike. 

If Microsoft is able to maintain it’s monopoly power, such open infrastructure will be seriously threatened and the ability for computer technology to continue it’s trend of rapid growth in terms of useability offered to the general public as well as monetary contributions to the economy could easily be squashed. 

Because of Microsoft’s size, and the fact that they dominate the desktop software, operating system, server and enterprise software, and Internet services markets, Microsoft is uniquely positioned to establish ad-hoc standards for Internet and computing technology.  This is already visable in Microsoft’s “.NET” and “Passport” initiatives.  Though Microsoft argues that such initiatives are open and designed to foster contributions by third-party vendors, there is no reason to suspect that this will remain the case.  Since Microsoft essentially controls the technology and the standards, they are in a position to block other vendors who may produce better performing or cheaper products designed for use on Microsoft platforms. 

Therefore, Microsoft, rather than the market or consumer, is positioned to shape the future technological landscape.  The company could, potentially, control both which technolgies are available to consumers, and how much consumers must pay for the technology.  There are multiple implications for this scenario.  Microsoft could control available technology, because, as stated earlier, Microsoft essentially controls a number of de-facto standards regarding computer technology.  Therefore, if a computer hardware or software vendor creates some new piece of computer technology, it is essentially neccessary for this technology to be supported by Microsoft in order for the technolgy to reach the market.  Therefore, this bottleneck not only means that consumers have less choice in the computer technology marketplace, but also that it is unprofitable to develop new computing technologies.  Furthermore, since Microsoft software is so purvasive, Microsoft can set the prices for computer technology.  Since Microsoft has already diminished competition through it’s monopolistic practices, many consumers are left with only two alternatives.  Purchase Microsoft software or do without.  The perfect example of the perils of this situation are in public schools.  Since Microsoft has established itself as the industry leader in personal computer technology, it makes sense that students learn computer skills on the Microsoft platform.  However, many schools find it difficult to afford the licensing costs of Microsoft software and are forced to either illegally pirate software or deprive students of quality technology education.  Similarly, as bridging the digital divide has been stated as a national priority in many forums, a world where a single entity controls the price of computer software, and thus the key to computer ownership is clearly frightening. 

In conclusion, the proposed DOJ settlement does nothing to alleviate  the anti-competitive monopoly power of the Microsoft corporation.  Because the company still maintains such a large share of numerous aspects of the computer technology market, entry into said market, and the ability for consumers to drive that market remain difficult.  In the interest of protecting the rights of American consumers, and preserving the long tradition of entrepreneurship and technological advancement in the computer industry, I strongly urge the courts to reject the proposed settlement and instead take stronger action, such as the initially proposed break-up order, to protect free markets and the American consumer.

firbush weekend part 4

The third day at Firbush was as fun as the previous. It started out with kayaking in the morning, which left my arms pretty shot. Still, the scenery on the loch was great, and I never pass up a chance to kayak. In the afternoon, I went mountain biking. It started to rain, and foolishly, I had worn my only pair of sneakers, and a pair of dickies. Between the rain and the puddles, both my shoes and trousers were thoroughly soaked, and caked in mud. The mud, snow, and rain, made what would have been a pretty tame ride seem almost epic. The climbs seemed grueling and the downhills wicked. All in all, it was a blast. Unfortunately, it also made me realize that I’m not in the best of shape, as I was feeling pretty winded after some of the longer climbs. Too much begging off of skating and running in Edinburgh on account of the weather, I guess.

I had just enough time to shower and hang my clothes out to dry before dinner. Dinner was hilarious, though probably only to me. It started out with what seemed like a little game of “20 questions with the vegan”. Some of the questions were the standard fare, but the girl sitting next to me responded as I suspect an eight year old would. “Can you eat this?”, “How about this?”, “What about that?”, “Why can’t you eat that?”, and the kicker, “Could you ever marry someone who wasn’t a vegan?” Sheesh. If that wasn’t enough the sorority girl from Denison, who was sitting across from me, couldn’t seem to understand how my parents, having attended the University of Michigan (apparently her favorite college football team), could bear the fact that I was attending OSU. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, I would have been annoyed, but it was just comical. The comedy of the night was made complete on the van ride home when there was a short BBC radio piece just ripping into George W’s eloquence (or lack thereof). I love the British media!

When I got back to the flat, I had missed the film society’s screening of “Dancer in the Dark”, but Iain, Marco, and some girls from nearby flats were about to go out to the cinema to see “Vanilla Sky”. They invited me along, though I suspect it was only so that Iain wouldn’t have to sit next to a stranger (a bit of a phobia that he has, apparently). One of the girls from the flat across the hall stopped by and hilarity ensured. I think both Iain and Marco fancy her a bit, and the common room immediately turned into the Iain and Marco show, with both of them trying to vie for her affections. That wasn’t all the hijinks for the night, though. On the way to the film, Marco’s girlfriend Agatha (pronounced Aga-tuh, I guess it’s Polish) walked into a pole. It was one of the funniest things I’ve seen in a long time. We got to the film late, and it was sold out, so I decided to go out to a pub with Rob and some of the girls. I’ve been to a bar in Columbus, maybe twice, but here I didn’t have anything better to do and I didn’t want to come off as the anti-social flatmate. Hey, it’s a cultural experience. The pub was nice enough, even with the cheesy acoustic guitar act. It was definitely a lot more chill than places in Columbus, and I felt more comfortable with the absence of insecure frat boys looking for a fight. Still, it was a little weird since I didn’t know anyone very well except for Rob. Luckily, Agatha struck up a conversation and that pretty much occupied me for a while. Agatha is a talker, and though the conversation wasn’t uninteresting, I just couldn’t keep up with her ability to talk and talk and talk. All in all, I had a good time at the pub, though I doubt I’ll spend too much more time in the pubs in the future. We went home, and I was pretty tired, but not so tired as to miss the opportunity to talk shit about Iain’s mom. My past two living situations have utterly ruined me. It will take me a long while before I am able to go long periods of time without talking shit. Oh well, it’s good recreation, and as Iain said, it keeps the wit sharp.

firbush weekend part 3

Before dinner, we were all sitting in the common room, when a couple of guys announced that all the men ought to follow him upstairs. What kind of ridiculous macho bullshit is this, I thought, but I soon found out it was part of the traditional “toast to the lasses”, and followed them upstairs. Every year, some Scots celebrate Robert Burns, the national poet, with a night of food drink, and craziness. Part of the tradition, apparently, is the “toast to the lasses” in which the males write a toast, ideally in lyrical form, poking fun at the ladies and the ladies respond in kind. Robert Burns was a bit of a womanizer, so I guess the tradition is appropriate. Still, it got pretty ugly with a room full of guys. There were the obvious suggestions about poking fun about women being in the kitchen, or women drivers, or women’s suffrage. It went way beyond that, thoughm with one kid making it apparent that the word to rhyme with “calling” just had to be “snowballing”. It was hard not to laugh at some of the cracks, but in all honesty it was pretty creepy. It was hard to tell where the joking ended, and the full blown woman hating began. The end product was filled with ridiculous stereotypes and sexual innuendo. Not exactly to my liking. I know it’s all in fun, but in the end, we live in a world where women with the same job title, skills, and qualifications as their male co-workers still make significantly less money. So, I could only laugh so much before feeling a bit pissed off.

Dinner consisted of haggis, chicken, tatties and neeps (which I think are mashed potatoes and turnips, though I’m not entirely sure), and some weird vegetarian option. The coolest part was that the haggis was brought into the dining hall to the sounds of a kilt clad bag piper, and then addressed with the Robert Burns poem, “To a Haggis“. Unfortunately, there was no vegetarian haggis as I had hoped, and the vegetarian pasta had cheese in it. It wasn’t a big deal, but the the others around me soon noticed my empty plate and put me on the spot with their misplaced sympathy. It’s just a bad scene. I really don’t care. I can happily go one meal without eating, but it’s really hard to convey that when you have a half dozen eyes staring at you as you try to explain that really, it wasn’t a problem. I always get flustered and I think I come off as someone who wants to be a martyr rather than someone who doesn’t care. I found out that the potatoes were e vegan, at least, so I didn’t starve.

After dinner, someone read a bit about Robert Burns’ life. He lived the hard life of a farmer, and his life was filled with womanizing and heartbreak, but through his poems, he managed to capture the essence of the Scottish experience. He wrote of themes that were significant to his life, that of a Scotsman, and wrote in the Scot’s language instead of refined English. I think it’s pretty rad. I don’t think the US even has a national poet, and if it does, I sure as hell can’t picture Americans gathering together to read poetry in a celebration of national heritage. Next came the toast to the lasses, and given the poor delivery, it sounded even more crass than when it was penned. Luckily, as per the tradition, someone had added some more positive couplets about the ladies at the end. The two guys who did it obviously had a great deal more poetic talent than the rest of us, because the closing was rather well written, clever, and sincere. The girls’ response had a bit of a different tone, though it was also pretty raunchy. They decided to address each of us lads in kind. I felt that with my verse (“and Geoffrey who seems like the strong silent type, but maybe those buckeyes just aren’t that bright”) I got off a lot easier than some of the other guys.

After dinner, the tables and the floor was cleared for the ceilidh (I think it’s pronounced like kay-lee), a traditional Scottish dance, filled with drinking, dancing, and carrying on. Some of the older people in attendance tried to lead us through some traditional Scottish dances, but as most of the kids were either drunk, or like myself, woefully uncoordinated, it was pretty disastrous. I was intent to sit the whole mess out, but someone insisted that I be her friend’s dance partner, so I was eventually dragged, to my dismay out onto the floor. To be honest, though, despite my utter lack of dancing ability,and my general hatred of traditional dancing (square dancing in high school gym class has, I fear, scarred me for life), I had a good time.

By the end of the dancing, even the oldest of the “adults” were pretty drunk. And were dancing every bit as crazily as the college kids. We were also treated to a demonstration of the hallmark of traditional Scottish attire, the kilt. Evidently, the traditional kilt is a huge piece of fabric that can be rolled, pleated, and tucked in a number of different manners to provide formal wear, battle wear, a covering while sleeping, and much, much, more. The modern kilt, was invented as part of military dress in an attempt to attract more Scots into joining the British army. We also got a healthy dose of kilt humor. (“What’s worn underneath a kilt? Nothing ’tis worn, everything’s in perfect working order!”)

As the dance came to a close, the punk rock looking girl that I had noticed at orientation sat down next to me. I had wanted to talk to her all weekend because, on face, she seemed like someone who I might have more in common with than the other kids, but didn’t say a word because I didn’t want to give the impression that I was trying to creep. Now, sitting next to her, I realized even more that she could easily be Alicia Arnold’s doppleganger. Just like Alicia, she seemed like the type of girl who was very used to making people uncomfortable. When she spoke to me, her first words were “Vegan, straight-edge, hardcore kid, right?” and I was definitely expecting the worst. Well, she was pretty drunk, but was a really interesting conversationalist. She was from PA also, studied philosophy and fine arts, was now studying abroad in Glasgow, etc, etc. I talked to her for a long, long time about vegetarianism, straight-edge, others’ perception of such things, siblings, our respective adolescence in small town PA, and about life in general. I don’t know if the conversation was long because she was drunk, or if I talked a ton because I was just glad to, for the first time that weekend, be speaking with someone who I felt I could relate with, at least in some small capacity. It was just one of those nice conversations, like the ones I’ve had with Varu, Erin, Patrick, Kevey, and now Iain that will definitely be some of the most defining aspects of my college experience. She gave me her contact info and I promised I would call the next time I was going to be in Glasgow for a show. If only meeting kids had been that easy this past summer.

It was almost half three when I finally got to bed. An hour later, I was sleeping happily, warm and content beneath my duvet, when I was awaken by a fire alarma nd a very drunk Taylor (one of my roommates for the weekend who also happened to have turned twenty one) insisting that “it wasn’t me” and “I didn’t do it”. The evacuation of the lodge, although brief, was not fun. Later that early morning, I was awaken again by Taylor, this time accompanied by a girl. I expected the worst, but she was only making sure he got into the top bunk without falling and killing himself and also making sure that he had a wastebasket ready to collect any drunken chunder. Lovely.

firbush weekend part 2

The second day at Firbush started early – 8:30 which is earlier than I usually get up for classes. The University of Edinburgh, thankfully, has no concept of lectures at 7:30. We ate breakfast, another meager meal on account of my dietary restrictions, but I wasn’t complaining. We then had a bit of a briefing for the day’s hike, a route that, on account of the absolutely horrible weather, was restricted to lower altitudes, and was, as we were told, suitable for ten year olds. We checked out a ton of gear for the walk. We had rain gear, boots, gaiters, the works. By the end of the hike, however, given the snow on the ground, and the rain in the air, everyone was glad to have the equipment.

I don’t know how far the hike actually was. It wasn’t a death march, by any means, but the inclement weather made it seem fairly long. I heard the distance of eight or nine miles thrown about in conversations later during the weekend. It was a long meandering walk which started on the paved road to the center, switched to muddy logging roads, even muddier trails, and then back to the logging roads. Throughout the entire hike, there was a steady amount of rain fall, leaving the outside of my jacket soaked.

The landscape of Scotland is pretty interesting. For the most part, it’s rocky as hell, and absolutely stunning. In the morning’s mist, as I looked out my window, I saw the imposing rocky hills rising above the shores of the loch. As we hiked, we got a closer view of the foothills and forests. Scotland is by no means known for its foliage. Indeed, most of what we saw were trees planted for logging. As we were told by one of the guides, hard woods are not very popular to grow because they take too long. Instead, mainly conifers are grown, and after a relatively short 30 years, they are chopped down and their pulp used for paper products. In addition to the lesson on logging, the guides, and one elderly guide in particular, made frequent notes about various native plant life and geology. Interestingly enough, we hiked mainly through logging roads on private property as the idea of a developed trail system, like many in the US is a bit unknown in the UK. However, at least in the country, there are no tresspassing laws, so as long as there is no damage, one is able to trek through the country as one sees fit.

By lunch time, it was raining even harder, and we had to sit on the wet rocks to eat. I was starving, and because of the physical exertion, my mustard, lettuce, and cucumber sandwich never tasted so good. I felt a bit awkward once again, as the group had seemingly split into the social groups which, presumably, had been formed the previous night while I was reading in my room. So, I just snapped some pictures of the mountains, and a nearby stream whose waters, recently augmented by the deluge, poured magnificently down the rocky river bed.

After lunch, we walked a bit before the group split in two – those who wanted to take a faster route back to the lodge, and those who wanted a bit more of a hike. I opted for the longer route, and about a dozen of us proceeded further up the hill with Dennis, our guide. As we got past the logging roads and a dam and water pipeline, we came upon some sheep grazing. Dennis told us that they were “cast ewes”, ewes that had not borne lambs during the last year, and were therefor put up in higher grounds to basically fend for themselves. The realities of sheep farming in Scotland, we were told, were quite grim. Many farmers find it hard to make any kind of money raising sheep, and some can’t even give their flocks away. It was pretty sad to see the poor sheep, their coats a sorry combination of spray paint (used to identify one farmers flock from another) and mud. We began to cut back down the hill, this time through a series of sheep pastures. This, we were told, was more like normal Scottish hiking, no trails, or paths, just cutting one’s way through the countryside. It was really cool, albeit precariously slippery at times. We had to jump a few streams, but we also got to see more sheep, and some other cool sights. We were shown the remnants of a “black house”, so called because of the color of the thatched roof that would turn dark from the smoke of a wood fire. These primitive houses were used by sheep farmers when they were away tending their sheep. Sometimes the houses would be divided into two, one half for sheep and the other for humans. Needless to say, it didn’t seem like a very pleasant existence, but seeing the old stone structures was very cool. We hiked some more, crossing more deep streams, and climbing over more fences. Eventually, sopping wet, but happy about our days accomplishment, we made it back to the lodge, only a few minutes behind the other group.

We had enough time to ditch our wet clothing and shower, before the Burns supper. The showers were multi-person and it was a bit of a throwback to high school gym class. Not a big deal, but a bit weird. Especially when some girl inadvertently walked into the men’s changing room while I was in the shower. Eep!

firbush weekend part 1

When I walked to class Friday morning, it was cold, but the inches of snow that covered the ground as I rushed to the bus were nonexistent. The snow began to melt as the rain began, but this only created a thick layer of slush on the sidewalk which made my shoes damp and my steps precarious. I walked to the university sports center, where we would meet for the weekend trip, after a lazy afternoon of eating grocery store samosas, playing with GPG for my computer security assignment, and watching a very stoned Iain exchange sheepish glances at me from across the common room. When I got to the meeting place, I loaded my bag into the trailer and waited about making small talk with people whose name I had long since forgotten from study abroad orientation.

The van ride to Firbush, the university’s outdoor center, took nearly two and a half hours on account of the inclement weather. The ride was excruciating at first as I found myself engaged in more small talk with some girl from Denison. We talked for a bit about racial diversity and racism on college campuses which was interesting, but nothing I hadn’t heard before. The conversation continued and I felt like I kept talking and talking just so I wouldn’t seem rude and have to deal with the awkwardness of an abrupt end to the conversation. The conversation eventually ended and I found myself engaged in another conversation that basically involved arguing the finer points of the revolutionary war with one kid, sarcastically, using “The Patriot” as his primary source of refutation. This was amusing and entertaining until we felt the van sliding backwards down the hill.

It turned out all the weight of the van’s occupants, as well as the trailer full of luggage was too much given the snowy hill. We had to get out, unhitch the trailer, move it to the side of the road, and then push the van up the hill. It was cold and snowy, but it was just the kind of ridiculous hassle that ends up being good fun. When we finally got the van to the outdoor center, a meal of Pizza, soup, and salad were waiting. I couldn’t partake in the pizza, but the soup and salad were allright.

After dinner was pretty much a repeat of the initial Arcadia orientation, where I had met all the kids before. The outdoor center had a bar, and most of the kids partook in its offerings. I’m not really uncomfortable around less than sober kids, provided that I know them pretty well, but when it’s a bunch of strangers, it’s awkward as hell. I didn’t want to deal with it. Too much like the American scene that I came here to get away from. So, I spent the rest of the evening like a nerd, playing chess on my Palm Pilot, and reading the textbook for my computer architecture class. That was the most work I got done all weekend. It was kind of a bad scene. I had that all too familiar feeling of being pretty frustrated, and feeling really, really out of place. I just hoped that the next day would be more what I expected when I signed up for the trip – crazy outdoor activities and scenery, as opposed to drunk American kids acting like drunk American kids.

code as art

I wrote this in response to the following question on the opensource mailing list:

Just want some opinions on a couple questions.  Sincel iterature and other forms of writing are copyrighteds hould code be?  To take it further forms of writing can be though of as art, does or can computer code be considered art?

I would argue that code is art, and that the artistic nature of code lies within the algorithm as well as the elegance of implementation.  To appreciate code as art, I think it’s first important to realize that typical feats of engineering, design, architecture, or any sort of utilitarian object can be appreciated as art.  Now, the question of whether having something displayed in an art museum makes something art is open to a great deal of debate, but I think that it’s certainly an affirmation that a work at least has some artistic qualities.  So, go to any art museum and one is sure to find numerous instances of objects, which initially had a great deal of utilitarian value (ceramics, armor, tools, etc), now appreciated as art.  Similarly, take something like a Frank Llyod Wright building.  I’d really like someone to argue that doesn’t at least approach art.  I think the last example is particularly interesting because with Wright’s architecture, the form is completely inseperable from the function.  That is, rather than the artistic qualities being simply adornments to a utilitarian central theme, the artistic elements are the central theme, from which the utility follows.

So, I think that code can be considered art.  Let’s take a pretty easy example.  Last year at the Wexner center, they had a clock which was synchronized with satellites and displayed images of human faces for the hour, minute, and second places of the digital clock. Obviously for the art to exist, it requires the use of some sort of programmed code.  It is important to make the distinction between this sort of art, where the executable code is essential to the work as a whole, and computer-generated art such as the latest pixar movie or one of Csuri’s works.  In these cases, the art is a by-product of code, rather than the art being inexorably linked with running code.

So where does this leave source code?  I would argue, that if one accepts that the image clock example represents code as art, then source code must also be art.  Since running code is just a transformation of the source code (that is, the essential quality, the algorithm is preserved), the source code has all of the artistic qualities of the executing code.  This follows the argument, that I agree with at least, that a print of a famous painting still constitutes art since it captures the essential quality of the artwork.  The fact that it is viewed with some extra levels of indirection is inconsequential.  To argue that source code is not art, because it is just a string of ASCII text would be like arguing that a work of “real” art is not art because it cannot be perceived by all viewers in the same manner. Certainly a computer programmer, viewing someone’s source code, could gain a reasonable perception of it’s manifistation when viewed through multiple levels of indirection (e.g. compiled, linked, loaded, and executed). Another good example of my claim is HTML.  One can generate some visual objects which, I would argue could easily qualify as art.  However, if one actually wanted to obtain the work of art itself, one would receive an ASCII text file.  I think one could argue successfully that the artistic properties of the work are inherent to the ASCII file, whether it is viewed in a text editor, or interpretted by a web browser.

webcam

I don’t have internet access at my flat, so my real-time webcam isn’t running. However, I wrote a perl script to upload archived webcam images to the web server so one can see snapshots of me from the last 24 hours. Check it out here.

city run

Originally written on 20.01.2002.

I went for a run this morning, the first time since I’ve been in Scotland. It was a pretty nice day when I walked out the door, it wasn’t too cold, and the sun was *gasp* shining. However, by the time I hit Dalkeith road, the wind was picking up pretty hard. I ran past the community pool, and the university dorms to a huge set of hills/cliffs just outside of the center city called Arthur’s Seat (I think). These things are enormous and imposing. Looking across the city skyline, one can’t help but see them in the horizon. Well, by the time I was at the cliffs, my run had turned into a hike, but hey, the hill was steep. As I climbed the path, gulls circling overhead, I got an amazing view of the city and got a really good idea of how big the city is. Hey! I can see my house from here. My house as well as the football stadium, the castle, the big domed building by Bristo square, and way off in the distance, the Firth of Forth. When I came down from the hill, I ran through the streets of town, still sparsely populated on the Sunday morning. I headed west on the Cowsgate, before cutting back towards my flat through the meadows, this big grassy park in the middle of Edinburgh. It was a good run, and a good way to see the city.