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• 我的大学·无机化学

  作者：Lio 发布时间：2010-11-19 22:48:08

  第一节课，

  老师独特的口音，

  让我倍感亲切，

  仿佛回到中小学时代，

  普通话学习月的课堂，

  已断定是潮汕老乡，

  只是没想到，

  竟是揭东的老乡，

  老乡老师素一位50来岁的爷们，

  显瘦体型，

  老花镜，

  些许秃顶，

  上课用手写版幻灯片，

  普通话忒普通，

  “zengsheze、pHze”

  金梭忒喜欢学他念这俩词，

  实验课在升旗台后面的实验楼，

  一栋斑驳得很怀旧的老教学楼，

  无名无字，

  四周草地环绕，

  动物实验课上所用蚂蚱就来源于此，

  实验课通常会出现另一位老师，

  显胖体型，

  较随和，

  EDTA络合剂、PBS缓冲液、标定、滴定、消解……

  最头痛的就是酸碱质子理论：

  pH的定义：pH= -lg[ 氢离子浓度]

  那年头，

  我不知道哪根筋出问题了，

  老算不到正确的pH值，

  TMDYM。

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• 梁老这一时期有点走火入魔

  作者：游侠一笑 发布时间：2019-10-09 03:16:26

  迷之喜欢指腹为婚、娃娃亲。

  大弯腰，斜插柳

  米粒之珠，也放光华。

  只恨爹娘少生了两条腿。

  异族入侵，朝廷鹰犬，汉奸卖国贼。

  鸭形拳。《碧血剑》有。

  不喜欢一大堆的人物，主角也是一大堆，各种配婚。梁老这一时期有点走火入魔，好几部作品都是这模式，关键是没有亮眼的人物，没有夺目的爱情故事，至于什么武功奇缘的居然放在一个“反派”身上，也是很服。

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• 大师的陨落——读《随机致富的傻瓜》有感

  作者：柴志强 发布时间：2010-08-04 13:23:48

   在《作局》中我塑造了一个能够理论联系实际的操盘大师黄天罡，黄学贯中西，从《孙子兵法》到《海龟交易法则》都精通，并活学活用到期货交易中，因此他成了市场的长胜将军。

  但在如果你是期货市场的老鸟，肯定听到过这么一句话“不管你翻倍多少次，破产只需要一次。”

  黄大师最后还是给市场给彻彻底底地打败了，并最终退出了投机这个市场。

  故事虽然有点戏剧性，但这个大师的身上糅合了我好几个朋友的真实经历，因此也不算虚构。

  本来黄大师的故事只是小说《作局》一个承上启下的桥段，但是其实所谓的投机大师的陨落是有其必然性的。这是最近我读了《黑天鹅》作者塔勒布的另外一本书《随机致富的傻瓜》才领悟到的道理。

  塔勒布告诉我们，生活中随机性无处不在。即使是专业的数学家，并精于概率的计算．也往往会被随机性所捉弄。这最好的例子就是长期资本管理公司。

  长期资本管理公司（LTCM）的交投也相当活跃。长期资本管理公司是由两位诺贝尔经济学奖得主、前美联储副主席与华尔街最成功的套利交易者来自雷曼兄弟的约翰•麦利威瑟共同创办的。长期资本管理公司创立初期，对想要投资它的投资者设置了很高的进入门槛。每一个投资者投资的下限是一千万美金，并且长期资本管理公司拒绝向投资者透露投资策略，管理费用也高于行业平均标准。即使条件如此苛刻，他们依旧募集到12.5亿美元。因为投资者是冲着麦利威瑟负责雷曼兄弟的债券业务每年为公司创利5亿美元和在前美联储副主席、曾被誉为格林斯潘接班人的戴维•马林斯以及师从萨缪尔森的“持续时间金融”模型的发明人哈佛教授罗伯特•默顿这些光辉而投资的。创办的短短4年中，长期资本基金获得了285%的离奇收益率，缔造了华尔街新的神话。

  公司长期资本管理公司依据历史数据建立了复杂的定量模型，并认为新兴市场利率将降低，发达国家的利率走向相反，于是大量买入新兴市场债券，同时抛空美国国债。出乎公司所有的人预料，1998年8月，俄罗斯宣布卢布贬值延迟三个月偿还外债，俄罗斯国债大幅贬值并完全丧失流动性。从5月俄罗斯金融风暴到9月全面溃败，这家声名显赫的对冲基金在短短150余天内资产净值下降90%，出现43亿美元巨额亏损，仅剩5亿美元，濒临破产，公司面临清盘。

  这个故事告诉我们，再高明精准的技术分析或风检管理模型，都不能减低投资者在超级股灾中损手烂脚的可能。

  这也是大师黄天罡失败的真正原因。

  就好比我们做技术分析，技术分析属于统计学范畴，它给出的是一个概率分析，即使技术指标发出买入信号，这只是说市场有很大可能上涨，而不等于市场一定会上涨。因此基于概率统计基础上的技术分析，不能保证你盈利，但可以提高你赢的概率。若不能控制好仓位，还是会发生“不管你翻倍多少次，破产只需要一次”这种小概率事情。

  所以大师只是“随机致富的傻瓜”，大师的陨落也是随机的。

  最后用书中的一句话结束本文，生命并非一副扑克牌，因为我们甚至不知道那里面有多少种颜色。

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• That Slant of light

  作者：noontide 发布时间：2011-02-16 12:28:58

  I thought after courting trouble for a good week I was finally coming down with a fever. All day yesterday I sat in my office shivering, had to steady my voice every time before I spoke on a conference call. Then after a night of whisky and cigarette (the best medicine, you just gotta do it with blind faith), I woke up to a brisk early Saturday morning after only 3 hours of sleep. With a cup of instant coffee in hands and the whole day ahead of me, I feel wounded but invincible.

   

  I stood in front of the bookshelf and hesitated a little. Will it be too obvious to read Emily Dickinson on a January morning, especially when I’m sitting in the crisp wind that’s coming through the window (I opened it to let out the smoke that has been trapped in the living room for a whole night)? But I remembered that certain slant of light and decided to re-read it for a before-lunch quick fix.

   

  Usually when i read a poem, I took it for its face value and am largely oblivious to the circumstance under which it was created. It’s sort of like, if you will, trying to make a bona fide assessment of an abstract painting, by stripping away any worldly context that might impose itself on the canvas and add a cacophony to the conversation between pure shapes and colors. But when it comes to Dickinson I found it hard to do. Her words, or the omission of them which Harold Bloom admires so much, often project a strong image on me, and it’s an image of an old lady sitting in a dark room in the bleak winter that is New England in December, alone, rotting. She had the mental power to hold the whole world captivated but was ultimately not able to relate to anyone or anything in it. The pains, desperation, and eventual resignation that she propelled from her curt lines are no doubt of an altogether different magnitude compared with the mere whimper and lamentations of a strange old lady, but to me they are still only spikes on her personal emotional spectrum, events of her own agenda. Of course that should not matter to a sophisticated reader, and maybe I’m reading her all wrong, it’s highly likely that I simply lack the mental capacity that she demanded of her real audience. But I find her frequent self references a distraction more than anything else. The strange thing is similar references by other poets wouldn’t affect me nearly as much. For example

   

  I cannot live with You –

  It would be Life –

  And Life is over there –

  Behind the Shelf

   

  The Sexton keeps the Key to –

  Putting up

  Our Life – His porcelain -

  Like a Cup –

   

  reads like a straight-up love poem to me. powerful, but I feel like a stand-by dutifully watching a frustrated woman venting her desperation. But a somewhat similar stanza:

   

  For I have known them all already, known them all;

  Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

  I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

  I know the voices dying with a dying fall

  Beneath the music from a farther room.

  So how should I presume?

   

  has a much more immanent effect on me. Maybe it’s because Dickinson always leaves much unsaid, no more than a few unconnected words hinting the very essence of a scenario, as if unwilling to describe a situation all-too-obvious to her. Here, Life is depicted as an image that’s qualified by pretty much just three words: shelf, key, cup. You think, cup, locked away in a sexton behind the shelf, collecting dust, probably in a dark corner that never sees sunshine. So the image gradually emerged. But it’s a whole lot more mental exertion that the T. S. Eliot piece, which is beautiful, straightforward, and an instant grantification. But you have to earn your satisfaction with Dickinson, and I guess I just haven't learned to read a poem with the brain instead of the heart.

   

  When on rare occasions I am able to pull away from my general detachment toward her, I can appreciate the universality of her words:

   

  There’s a certain Slant of light

  Winter Afternoons –

  That oppresses, like the Heft

  Of Cathedral Tunes –

   

  Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –

  We can find no scar,

  But internal difference,

  Where the Meanings, are –

  None may teach it – Any –

  ‘Tis the Seal Despair –

  An imperial affliction

  Sent us of the air –

   

  When it comes, the Landscape listens –

  Shadows – hold their breath –

  When it goes, ’tis like the Distance

  On the look of Death –

   

  I tried to think whether I’ll appreciate it as much if all the references to “we” and “us” are replaced with “I” and ”me”. I would think it will fundamentally change the motif of the second paragraph. As it stands now, at least to me, the Meanings with a capital M speaks of a universal truth, an accumulated cognition and a collective identity. A Heavenly Hurt would naturally inflict on every moving thing on earth indiscriminately. But what really elevate this poem is the first two lines in the third paragraph. When I first read it, I had this epiphany of being lifted off the ground and raised into mid-air, among the overcasting clouds and overlooking a bleak winter land, vast, silent. Dead. But when I actually read the word “Death”, I felt short-changed, it’s almost as if it’s too easy, too obvious. Her choice of certain words often have this shocking effect on me. Shocking in the sense that it’s so abrupt, and unfitting, it’s as if you are dragging your feet along an awfully long and barren road in the desert, and suddenly, out of nowhere there is this a gigantic, oddly shaped tree blocking your expected progression, and staring right at you as if it’s a living and breathing thing. You need to make an honest effort to reconcile with it, to swallow it. For instance, I guess Heavenly Hurt would follow naturally to the oppression of Cathedral Tunes, but when I first saw the phrase, it was as if it suddenly popped up from underground and tripped me, I stared at it and I drew a blank. It just wouldn’t conjure up any meaning like words are supposed to do. Of course, with enough mental exertion I more or less came resting on an interpretation that’s probably all wrong but tangible enough to placate my intellectual ego. But Emily Dickinson is never someone you can have a figurative secret handshake with.

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• 爱情最好的样子-《谍案上海》书评

  作者：silenceru 发布时间：2019-11-04 16:35:44

  爱情最好的样子-《谍案上海》书评

  我们为什么会恨一个人？因为有受到伤害的过去，因为有痛苦不堪的现在，亦或是有看不到前路的未来？

  那我们又为什么会爱上一个人？因为纵使一路走来都是阴影，但即便地动山摇，只要和那个人在一起，我们便能无所畏惧。

  所以，就算山河凋零我们无所藏身，哪怕情路坎坷需要我们翻山越岭，但只要有你在，我便不再害怕。

  作者在书中写了亲情破碎时的样子，写了坚固的友情是什么样子，但更写了当我们爱上一个人，我们会成为什么样子。

  读罢此书，我在想，秦静菲是什么时候爱上韩孝诚的？是在她知道韩孝诚救了囡囡的时候吧，可是为什么呢？其实秦静菲只要感激就行了，但那一瞬间，爱意萌芽，顶破层层泥土，不断成长。

  因为秦静菲她自己一直都在等待着被拯救，她一直都在等着有个人，能在某个时候，紧紧拉住她，将她拽出这纠缠了她十几载的噩梦。

  从程静菲到秦静菲再到“四小姐 ”，她走了太长太长的路。

  她被收养，被利用，她为了一个早已不在的弟弟而咬牙前行，她肯定是累极了吧，但是若无人依靠，她便只能独自挣扎，夜上海里，霓虹灯下，她的千千阙歌，一曲又一曲，终是寂寞如水，冷暖无人知。

  但是万幸，韩孝诚出现了，他救了囡囡，更是拯救了秦静菲，当他伸出手的时候，终于在秦静菲那漫长的梦魇里撕开了一条裂缝，也让秦静菲看到了久违的阳光。

  而韩孝诚，他背负了太多，父亲的遗愿，姐姐的叮嘱，一字一句，成了他不得不承担的压力，他或许觉得爱情于他是累赘，但是一旦出现，便再也无法放手。

  当他看到秦静菲时，他们的命运便开始纠缠，纵使知道秦静菲是站在他对面的那人，可那又如何，和秦静菲在一起的韩孝诚，才是真的韩笑诚，此刻的他，有血有肉，会哭会笑，更拥有了爱一个人的勇气，所以直到遇到秦静菲，韩孝诚才算是真正活了一回吧。

  所以，他们是互相拯救了彼此，他们教会了对方，如何去爱一个人。

  我想，这就是爱情最好的样子吧。

  哪怕命运的齿轮斩断万千情丝，但我爱你的那一根，至死不断。

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• 每一个人的私事都和国家有关

  作者：霍麦麦 发布时间：2018-06-30 11:00:22

  三十一章主要讲北平丢了后，小羊圈内各种人的反应。

  一开始是几个人的群戏。关心和不关心的交替进行。

  剃头匠孙七是最先出场的，知道消息后，孙七的剃刀立时撒了手，差点伤了客人。小崔和程长顺争论着南京会不会守住。刘师傅差点因为丁约翰的漠不关心打了起来。小文揣着手，立在屋檐下，正给太太计划一个新腔。他的心中没有中国，也没有日本，只有美妙的琴音与婉转的歌调。大赤包与冠晓荷则十分兴奋，因为日本人一时半会离不开，他们可以放胆干，大发国难财。而因为日本人不走，李空山也不会，高第就要被迫嫁给李空山。冠家最关心国事的姨太太卢桐芳悟出了每个人的私事都和国家有关的道理。她自己也因为日本人占领了东北，而回不了老家了。管你关心不关心，国家命运关系着每个家庭，每个人的命运。为了进一步证明，老舍又写了祁天佑生意遭受重创。即使他的生意再小，也与国像皮与肉那样不可分开。天佑太太则怕自己死在日本人掌管的北平——也许棺材出不来城，也许埋了又被贼盗把她掘出来。写到死，就会想起生。这个本来美好的事情发生在钱家。但钱孟石的遗孀怀孕了，但钱默吟并不开心。在眼下的时刻，新生儿的到来并不能带来希望，反而一生下就打上了小亡国奴的烙印。其实老舍耗尽一章的篇幅就是想告诉读者，不管小羊圈的人关不关心，不管百姓如何把头埋进沙子里，或者有没有意识到，北平陷落的那一刻，他们都是亡国奴。

  不知道等到什么时候，还要经历什么事，他们才知道反抗。

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