Happy Birthday to me…

A visit to Melbourne is incomplete I feel until I do several things: spend time with my family in my home, dine in one of Melbourne’s restaurants, catch up with Chris, stroll through the CBD and Carlton and last but by no means least see Sherly. Until Saturday I had done all but the last.

On Saturday night, several of the old actuarial gang had decided to visit Cheryl in her new house in Rowville. Given that I hadn’t seen most of the gang in ages and due to the close proximity of my house to Rowville, I decided to drop by. As nice an area as Rowville/Lysterfield is to live, it is one that has been somewhat neglected by the public transport system. You see, in Melbourne, the vast majority of the public transport system was built in the 1930’s when new suburbs like Rowville and Lysterfield were still farmland and the network has hardly been updated since. Public transport just doesn’t buy votes it seems and despite almost the entire population of Rowville unanimously demanding a rail service, not one resident would want a rail line passing by their house. Hence Rowville remains a stranded suburb, bursting in growth fuelled by the great Australian dream and the relative convenience of affordable private transport. Consequently, the roads clog and choke under the extreme pressure, which happens to a point where traffic jams and grid locks occur on roads that are 30kms away from the city. It is a ridiculous situation and the solution offered by the government (to build more roads) is equally as ludicrous, but hey it is home and a darn good one at that.

Anyway the point of that socio-political commentary was to highlight the fact that Sherly and Alfred had no way of getting to Cheryl’s house, so I decided to offer my services as a driver and pick them up from the closest station, which is Glen Waverley, about a 25minute drive from Rowville. As always I had let time escape me, when Sherly called to be picked up from the station, the Pavlova was still baking, my room was a mess and I was barely ready. Nevertheless I somehow got most things together in 5 minutes and drove to Glen Waverley. Rain was cascading and everyone was running around me seemingly in random directions.

Everyone, it seems, has a different style when caught unsuspectingly in heavy rain, some have the ‘bent down head covered with both hands’ run, some have the ‘ducking with jacket pulled over head’ run, some have the ‘arms flailing’ sprint and some have the ‘sure and careful puddle avoiding’ run, but whatever style, no-one wants to get wet.

There was an undeniable aura of freshness that came with the rain, almost as though the parched land was breathing a sigh of relief at having its raging thirst sated. I didn’t do any silly runs through the rain, I simply put my hands in my pockets and appreciated the freshness and the cool sensation that each droplet gave as it struck my neck. I was happy, I sported a large smile as I walked to the station, I was about to see Sherly again.

I looked around the station until I saw her standing underneath the shelter. She gave me a warm smile as her big beautiful eyes locked with mine. Sherly is a girl of mesmerising beauty, but who is even more beautiful on the inside. She is one of the most kind hearted, honest and supportive people that I know and to go with that she is also one of the smartest people I know (and I know lots of smart people).

I pulled the car around so Sherly and Alfred didn’t have to get wet and I drove them to Cheryl’s house without getting lost even once. I briefly chatted to Cheryl to see what she had been up to and then I had to excuse myself to go home and finish making the Pavlova and clean the place up.

I returned bearing a Pavlova and was promptly invited back in to the house. By then everyone else had arrived and soon we started chatting against the backdrop of Oprah dispensing her advice and gems of wisdom on a big television. We ate (Sherly’s meatloaf was superb incidentally), we chatted and we played ‘uno’, which most of us needed a refresher course in how to play. As the night pressed on I went to get a bottle of wine from my place and took Sherly with me to show her my house. I gave her a tour in near darkness and with a whispering voice, as it was quite late and my family were sleeping. As we were leaving, Sherly something in one of upstairs windows and asked, “What is that?” To which I replied, “Oh, that is just my sister peeking.” What a strange sight it must have been for her to see: her brother with a strange girl and a bottle of wine driving off into the night.

We got back to the party and some of us decided to start drinking. Unfortunately I accidentally ‘christened’ the carpet of Cheryl’s new place by spilling my wine on it. Soon after I decided it was probably a good idea for me to head home.

When I woke up it was Easter Sunday and lunch was almost ready. Dad had cooked a nice meal and we ate together as a family, possibly one of very few times this year that we have actually managed to all sit down and eat a meal at the same time. That night Dad, my sister and I went to the comedy festival to see Dylan Moran, whose dark twisted style of comedy had us laughing for the bulk of the show and caused us to drop quotes from his act the whole evening. On that night I decided I would stay in Melbourne as long as possible, until the following Sunday.

My birthday was on the Monday and I headed into the city to meet up with Chris and Derek for lunch on Sydney Rd. Derek is one of the good friends I made during my undergraduate degree at Melbourne Uni. He is, if there could be such a thing, a fourth stooge to our core group of three stooges (Chris, Irz and I), an honorary stooge if you will. He is full of amazing and perplexing facts and often broaches topics that cause Chris and I to stare at him in shock and cause passers by to subtly walk past several times in order to hear him out.

I think the problem with birthdays though, when you get older at least, is that they force you to reflect on what you’ve achieved, where you’re going and ultimately come to the realisation that you are a helpless blob of matter being thrust relentlessly down a one way street on which the only two things that are known are what you have seen so far and what is at the end of the street.

Although, birthdays are also a day for one to feel loved by their family and friends and that warmth outweighs any other inevitable negative thoughts.

Until next time, take care.

The non-teaching period
The holidays (if you can call them that) couldn’t have come at a better time. It felt really good to drive away from college at 130km/h, whilst singing “Prince Ali fabulous he ali ababwa…” at the top of my voice. I imagined all my frustrations being left behind in the endless desolate undulating hills along the way, just try and keep up with me now I was thinking. Ideally I would have loved to have been the only car on a winding road with the crystal blue sea crashing to the left and a lush rainforest to my right, but the Hume Highway was just as nice. Truly it was great just to get on the road and drive, drive away from everything. For eight hours the only worries I had were: my… that truck is awfully slow, is that a speed camera behind that bush up ahead, where is that darn petrol station… I really need to go to the bathroom. After about seven hours driving I caught a glimpse of the Melbourne city skyline and oh it was so beautiful. I was home again.

I honestly don’t think I will find a city I love as much as Melbourne. It is a city that you can probably get to know within a day, but to truly understand all its mysteries and secrets would take a lifetime. I love its winding hidden alleys, the little shops with crazy owners, the sandstone buildings, the bustling trams, the plethora of culinary delights, the dirty brown Yarra and the crazy weather. Enough rambling, in short it felt darn good to be back in Melbourne, back home.

Despite being exhausted from the drive, that night I decided to get back on the road and head to Kew to attend a college friend’s 21st birthday party. I walked in the room whilst the speeches were on and slinked into the crowd. I looked around at the room and was quite shocked to see several people from college. I should have expected it, but it still felt strange, like my two worlds were combining. It was surreal to see the people I see everyday in Canberra, in Melbourne, it just didn’t feel right. Nevertheless it was still really good seeing them and we all had quite a bit of fun dancing. Afterwards I had to drive a bunch of drunken people to the city, but their amusing drunken ramblings made it well worth the effort. The girl sitting in the front kept rambling about eggs Benedict and at one point tried to turn my indicator on. She leant over pushed the lever on the left hand side of the steering wheel and of course the windscreen wipers came on, to which she cried “Whooooaaaahhh.” I stared at her blankly as she flung herself back in her seat in shock. “Wow everything is so different in Melbourne,” she declared. Her boyfriend (who was possibly slightly less drunk) piped up from the back, “It is European style cars who have their blinkers on the left of the steering wheel, it is not just a Sydney thing.” To which she replied “Ohhh… I really feel like some eggs Benedict. Mmmm hollandaise sauce.”

We got to the city to find that the bar we had planned to meet at had a restricted entry policy that night, so the drunkards piled back in my car and we headed to Crown. Not much happened there really; we just waited around for everyone to reunite again. I was about to fall asleep so I excused myself and went back home and had a solid sleep. I woke up and made myself some eggs Benedict and spent a lazy lazy day.

Unfortunately my holiday turned out to be anything but. I had to frantically finish off all the graduate applications, which I finally did on Wednesday night. Once I had them finished it was time to do the many assignments that would be due in the first week back.

During Wednesday I caught up with an old uni friend, Jessie. It was really nice seeing her again and we had lunch at a little café down one of Melbourne’s many trendy alleys. The food was so nice and it was so good to catch up on all that had been happening in each others’ lives.

Thursday I had to make a fly by visit to Australia’s ‘bling’ city, Sydney. I woke at 4:45am, went to the airport, arrived in Sydney, took a taxi and wandered the streets until I found the building I was looking for. The building I was looking for contained the room where the PwC information session was to be held. I was invited to the information session so that I could learn about the company before the first interview. I got to the PwC concierge area at the exact stated time, got my name badge and waited around. As I looked around at the small group of other hopefuls I imagined I was in the movie ‘topgun’, except a geekier version where we battle with our knowledge of stochastic differential equations rather than with jet fighters, I wonder who is the best, I thought.

Unfortunately my fantasy was ended when a mass of people in suits flooded into the room. There must have been at least 200 of them and the information session was only for two departments of the company. We hoarded into the lifts and went up to a crowded function room where people in blue badges looked excited and hung on every word of the people in orange badges who looked bored. Blue badges were the hopeful applicants and orange badges were the workers. The girls wore lots of make up and short skirts and they batted their eyelids at the guys with orange badges. I spoke to a few workers from the actuarial department who, surprise surprise, were hanging together right at the back of the room. I was so exhausted and my eye was twitching because of this, so I am sure I wouldn’t have made a terrific impression, but not to worry.

After the session I walked up Market Street to St. James station and hopped on a train that took me to the airport. The one thing that Sydney has over Melbourne is that it has a quick, cheap and simple way of getting from the airport to the city. I must have looked like I knew what I was doing at the station, for a lady came up to me and asked me which train went to the airport. “Why I believe it is the next train,” I offered politely. To this she cracked a thankful smile, but before she opened her mouth to thank me, I added “But I am from out of town so I’m not certain.” Her smile turned into a frown and she walked away without another word.

I certainly slept well that night and woke up a bit before the brunch that my sister and I organised at our house. My parents went all out and covered our kitchen bench and dining table with platters and platters of tasty morsels. I picked one of my best mates up from the station, a man who we all call Harry, whose actual name is Chris. Chris and Irz would have to be my two closest mates, many call us the three stooges, but whatever we are named we have been the closest of friends since high school. Our friendship was formed by having to wait around for long periods of time after school each day and was maintained by our love of walking aimlessly whilst talking about the stupidest of topics. Unfortunately these days we all live in three different cities, but nevertheless if we happen to meet up, instead of being excited to see each other, we just walk and talk crap like we always do. Still, we all actually have a lot in common: We have terrible luck with women (well maybe not Chris, although I’m sure he’d say he does), we all think quite unconventionally, we love talking in stupid accents and hmmm… Actually maybe we don’t have that much in common, still though, we have a friendship that seems to be evergreen (*touch wood*).

I drove Harry back to our house and slowly the other guests started arriving. For most it was the first time that that had seen my house. While we stuffed our faces with the delicious food we all caught up, which was very nice. All in all the brunch went quite well despite the abundance of food that was left over. It really was a lovely way to spend a Friday morning and I was so glad that I could see so many of my old friends before going back to Canberra.

Unfortunately my time in Melbourne has to be cut short. I have to be in Sydney again on Wednesday, so I’ve got to leave Melbourne on Tuesday and drive back to Canberra. Oh well.

Until next time, Take care.

Finding a stochastic model to describe my life


I would love to write a happy entry on all the fun things I’ve been doing this week, but alas I don’t feel that I can. Instead though, I’m going to combine my creative side with my mathematical side to make some sense of how I’m feeling right now. I hope it all makes sense.

***

Let’s call the start of uni this year time point zero and plot a time series index depicting my overall satisfaction with the state of my life. Imagine if you will, a share price chart, but replace share value with overall satisfaction. Alright, so my overall satisfaction started at the base value of, say, indifferent. Since uni started there was definitely a fluctuating upwards trend in this graph continuing until about week 5, imagine a Brownian motion with positive drift. Around the time of week 5, investors (ie. My mind) started doubting the prosperous progression of the market (ie. My life): it had never happened like this before, surely a constant upwards trend wasn’t sustainable. For a few days though the investors were proved wrong; the trend continued upwards. Tensions were mounting, a flood of papers and articles (ie. My thoughts) were being published about how the trend couldn’t continue upwards until one day in week 6, ‘thwack’ the market crashed. Panic struck investors, the value of the market dropped rapidly and substantially to far below its starting value.

Some investors were optimistic that this was a large fluctuation and that the value would restore in a few days, but the crash continued, amplifying and gaining strength. Bad news events arrived to the market one after the other, until the market finally settled at an overall low level. Aftershocks continued however.

Papers and articles published were numerous, but they all came to the same conclusion. Perhaps a Brownian motion with drift is a poor model for the market, maybe a standard Brownian motion would be better; perhaps value is supposed to fluctuate in a random fashion around the base level of indifferent. Research continues on the issue. It is now widely accepted that the value can be well modelled by a standard Brownian motion process with additional shocks arriving according to a Possion process with parameter lambda and with sizes corresponding to a gamma distribution with parameters alpha and theta.

***

Ok, so you’re probably thinking, huh? What was that all about? Well, it is about time I think that someone expressed themselves in terms of Brownian motions and Poisson processes. Besides, I feel much better now. Until next time, take care and hopefully I will have some good news to report.

Feeling so lemoned

Lemoned? I hear you asking. That’s not a word is it? Well no, but it is a slang, a new word that has been born in the unlikely place of John XXIII college Canberra. And I’m so glad that it has been created, for it is a perfect description of how I feel…

Let me explain this crazy new word. Loosely speaking to feel lemoned is the equivalent pain and feeling that a guy would get if a lemon was thrown at full force at his most private of parts. So yeah, that is how I feel, emotionally lemoned.

It has been a taxing week and one I would sooner forget. I’m not going to write about it, at least until I’ve had time to reflect on it anyway. All that is relevant now is that I am completely lemoned. Well perhaps I had one nice occurrence during this horrible week, but it was a mere flicker in the deep black night.

Anyway, to kind of deal with it, I have written a poem. I hope you like it!

A Frosty Morn’

Once upon a frosty morn’ ,
Feeling lost, cold and worn,
Beneath a majestic tree I chose to rest.

Looking out across the landscape,
I felt a sudden sense of heartache,
The surrounds, it seemed, were bereft of life.

No flower from the ground was springing,
Not a bird could be found soaring or singing,
A bare and dormant scene it was.

But as I began to ponder,
Something curious coming from yonder,
Did grasp my attention and disturb my thoughts.

A gentle breeze caressed my face,
Speaking of a warmer place,
Carrying the scent and bearing tidings of spring.

In my very soul it did evoke,
A foolish overwhelming hope,
That winter had passed and life would return once more.

Though to my heart it was revered,
From whence it came it disappeared,
The harsh wind of winter punishing my frivolous yearnings.

Underneath the majestic tree I reside,
A hapless fool but still with pride,
Dreaming of the springtime…