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even wower julio 06, 2009 |

Once upon a time, (1/T) pretty little Polly Nomial was strolling through a field of vectors when she came to the edge of a singularly large matrix. Now Polly was convergent and her mother had made it an absolute condition that she never enter such an array without her brackets on.

Polly, however, who had changed her variables that morning and was feeling particularly badly behaved, ignored this condition on the grounds that it was insufficient and made her way in amongst the complex elements. Rows and columns enveloped her on all sides. Tangents approached her surface. She became tensor and tensor. Quite sudenly, 3 branches of a hyperbola touched her at a single point. She oscillated violently, lost all sense of directrix, and went completely divergent. As she reached a turning point, she tripped over a square root protruding from the erf and plunged headlong down a steep gradient. When she was differentiated once more, she found herself, apparently alone, in a non-Euclidean space.

She was being watched, however. That smooth operator, Curly Pi, was lurking inner product. As his eyes devoured her curvilinear coordinates, a singular expression crossed his face. Was she still convergent, he wondered. He decided to integrate improperly at once. Hearing a vulgar fraction behind her, Polly turned around and saw Curly Pi approaching with his power series extrapolated. She could see at once, by his degenerate conic and his dissipated terms, that he was up to no good.

"Eureka," she gasped. "Ho, ho," he said. "What a symmetric little polynomial you are. I can see you are bubbling over with secs." "Oh, sir," she protested. "Keep away from me. I haven't got my brackets on." "Calm yourself, my dear," said our suave operator. "Your fears are purely imaginary." "I, I," she thought, "perhaps he's homogeneous then." "What order are you?" the brute demanded. "Seventeen," replied Polly. Curly leered. "I suppose you've never been operated on yet?" he asked. "Of course not!" Polly cried indignantly. "I'm absolutely convergent." "Come, come," said Curly, "let's off to a decimal place I know and I'll take you to the limit." "Never," gasped Polly. "Exchlf," he swore, using the vilest oath he knew.

His patience was gone. Coshing her over the coefficient with a log until she was powerless, Curly removed her discontinuities. He stared at her significant places and began smoothing her points of inflection. Poor Polly. All was up. She felt his hand tending to her asymptotic limit. Her convergence would soon be gone forever. There was no mercy, for Curly was a heavyside operator. He integrated by parts. He integrated by partial fractions. The complex beast even went all the way around and did a counter integration. What an indignity to be multiply connected on her first integration. Curly went on operating until he was absolutely and completely orthogonal. When Polly got home that night, her mother became frightened and stated "You're traveling in a forward direction to your auntie + uncle unit in the graph of Bel Air". I whistled for a cab and when it approached, the license plane said "New" and there were dotted cubes in the reflector, if anything I could state that this cab had a lesser chance than the rest but I thought disregard that fact, if you could operator, follow the lines that lead to Bel Air! I approached the compilation of three dimensional objects about 7/12 or 2/3 and I yelled to the operator attention, smell you some other time on this planar area! Looked at my Math house, my graph had finally reached a closed point, to finalize on my algorithmically correct point as the prince of the graph known as Bel Air. Now when the transmogrified Polly arrived at her location, Polly removed more discontinuities and rested her internal organs. It had been a horrible plane of existence from one linear point to the latter; and it had reached a closed point.

/noche de estudio de microeconomía

wow julio 04, 2009 |

nuff said.

Generoso julio 03, 2009 |

Estaba haciendo un poco de hora leyendo lun y encontré esta joya:

"Soy libre de donar a quien quiera y muchas veces, en vez de dar dos pesos a una institución de caridad, les doy diez veces más a los niños que están envolviendo en el supermercado, para pagar sus estudios"

Y yo que el sábado me sentí mal porque me dieron un vuelto de 60 pesos y era como poco para darle "a los niños que están envolviendo"

Stupid me.

WANT!!!!! mayo 17, 2009 |

Jeans abril 17, 2009 |

ok, seriously, please somebody stop me.

Por qué no uso jeans.

No, en serio, puedes ser más pretensioso?

Igual dice algo que cuando compré mi primer par de jeans en como quince años (a fines del año pasado) le pude comentar, riéndome, a una amiga, cuando estabamos en un grupo de jóvenes: "por esto tuve que empezar a usar jeans" (7/7 usando jeans, 5/7 usando converse). weird.

One little victory |

On a roll.

Anuncio con mucho gusto una nueva victoria de mi teoría total de la matemática. (es curioso como es cada vez más selfserving el blog)

Derivar es simplemente la resta de dos deltas, que a su vez son restas. Como ya sabemos, la resta no es más que una suma.

effin awesome |


Derecho a la herencia abril 12, 2009 |

Rowenna Davis, una freelancer que escribe en el guardian, plantea un argumento de las ventajas económicas de aumentar el impuesto a la herencia.

Uno de sus puntos es que un true freemarketer debiera apoyar un alto impuesto a la herencia (especialmente en los tramos más altos) pues entrega los incentivos correctos. Darle riquezas a alguien a cambio de ningún esfuerzo es incentivar la flojera, en vez de recompenzar el trabajo.

Ella hace notar que Adam Smith, famosamente, apoyaba el impuesto a la herencia. Como notablemente se hizo hincapié hace algunos años (el link está malo al momento de escribir ésto, asumo que momentáneamente, en todo caso se puede buscar la referencia en el catálogo de la chile bajo autor: "Gamboa, Cristian" ;) ), la teoría de los freemarketers está basada en la teoría liberal, por ejemplo en la idea de que el producto del trabajo de un hombre es suyo.

Punto gigante que ella deja pasar. Si bien puede ser injusto, un mal incentivo, etc. que alguien reciba riqueza por el trabajo de sus antepasados, no hay razón alguna, bajo este paradigma, para quitarle la libertad a quien va a morir de decidir que se va a hacer con el fruto de su trabajo. Y, si se quiere discutir el tema de las herencias, habría que partir por eliminar las obligaciones respecto de cualquiera cuyo trabajo no haya ayudado a hacer esos trabajos que generaron la riqueza y dejar la decisión exclusivamente en los hombros de quienes sí trabajaron por ella. Entendiendo, claro, que está en plena libertad de dejarla a cuidado del estado, ora para pagar las deudas que han generado, ora para pagar nuevos programas sin generar nueva deuda.

En fin, siempre será muy difícil de convencer a un freemarketer de pagar la cuenta del estado, aún cuando se hable su idioma.

Porqué no debería manejar II marzo 27, 2009 |

Hoy, luego de andar una cuadra desde mi casa, me dí cuenta que mi moto sonaba ridículamente fuerte. Después, al doblar la esquina en la cuadra siguiente, me dí cuenta que iba sin casco.

Una historia de Café febrero 27, 2009 |

Long time no see, digamos que estaba de vacaciones y volví hace un par de dias, lo que es cierto.

Acabo de leer sobre un café con un concepto novedoso, "Pay what you want".

Me da lata vender la historia, pero es un must read.

Léela acá.