November 26, 2002

Mist

It has been misty most of the day now.

I awoke at around 8.15am. I looked out of my window and saw the mist, it was more like a fog then. It looked like a big blanket surrounding my existence. I took it as a sign and I slept.

I never close my curtains when I sleep
I like to connect with the outside when I wake

The mist was still there. Wrapping its self around my house. Mist at 10am is weird. It was cold also, far colder than it has been the past few weeks. 3C isn't fun to be in.

Cold is wrong
Hot is good

Oh for the sun. The sun is nice. The sun is my friend. This really explains one of my reasons for wanting to move to California.

64 octets from 10.0.0.1: icmp_seq=2 ttl=128 time=2.3 ms

I finally got my wireless network card to run under Linux. It only took me two straight days before I found the one thing that I had been missing. I really hate firmware updates that none of the How Tos mention. One day I'll likely node the experience. If anyone has a Linksys Wireless PCMCIA card that they can't get working under linux msg me and I'll try to help you.

Friday 1800 -> Monday 0005 - 8 chings.
Oh yeah

A good weekend as far as e2 went. A silly number of chings. Many of which we're given to me by SharQ - noder apon high. Its nice to see people appretiate my work. I wrote my longest ever node also. It clocked it at just over 2,660 words.

You are my sunshine
my only sunshine

She will be here in less than 65 hours now. I almost can't believe it. I've not seen her since september. Its too long. This time will be too short, not even four whole days. I miss you, I want to see you.

Hi. My name is elem_125
This is my daylog

signing out...

I used to think that daylogs were silly. Now I find them to be hopelessly addictive.

my attention span keeps shrinking. I can time it now. I used to be able to focus for an hour. now it has become 35 minutes. How much longer until I can't take more than one intruction at a time?

i went to wreck beach today. I am in my third year at UBC and today was my first time at wreck beach. I wrote a poem. it stinks. Does anyone know why there are planters and flagpoles and other erections on the beach near the stairs?

I have taken to carrying around a box of granola and eating it whenever I get hungry so that I will not go after candy. I'm still fat. I haven't shaved my legs in over three months now. I'm going to bleach my leg hair and dye it blue this weekend. (probably not)

I went downtown and there's this shoe store with gorgeous rhinestoned ruby slippers. They are in a glass box guarded by a security guard. I stuck my nose on the window of the store and breathed so as to fog up the window. The security guard laughed for five minutes and he was still laughing when I left. I like to think it made his day.

I have to write a term paper for an english class, and if i can convince my prof that I'm a commerce student or something other than an English Major, I'll be able to get a decent mark. If she realises that I am an english-major-type, then I am done for, since my whole paper is a cliche.

Maybe I should go into commerce. Perish the thought.

It's all about pretending to be something that you're not.

The kids at daycare told me that I should live there.

my roommate gives me shit about keeping the recyclables on the back of the counter instead of putting them in the garbage can. She says I leave them there too long. She hasn't taken the garbage out in months. the girl at macdonald's gave me a large paper bag and three napkins for my single apple pie.

well it's been a week.

A week ago today I was on my motorbike. coming into work. daylogs and nodes on my mind. I had spent a fabulous previous evening with girlfriend at the Astor theatre - this pleasant little late 50's cinema that has been redone. She had taken me to see the Mad Max double - I and II - AAhhhh very cool. Loud music, throbbing V8s, BAD 70's fashion (hard to imagine that at the same time Mad Max was released Lucas was working on Star Wars), and terrible scripting.

So here I am day dreaming about the node I was going to write, and the 15-20 C!ing's it was going to receive (NOT) when WHAM! a car turns right in front of me, suddenly. Having no time to react, but still being remarkably skilled (hahaha NOT) I managed to T-Bone a brand new Magna VRX. erg. so over the handle bars I soar, cross the top of the car I roll, thumping the ground I continue to roll down the road. I think I did two complete rolls on the road before I managed to do a big shake and pick myself up. Now came 'the fun'.

As I am standing up, looking back at the accident, the lady (a women driver...) jumps outs the car, "Are u ok?!!" she asked - some what panicky. "NO! I _really_ Farkin' HURT right now. DON'T talk to me!!" and gave her the 'dismissed' hand signal. This reduced everyone to stunned silence. Myself included - I am not a big swear-er) "I will want your details though!" I cast as she slunk off.

I had moved to the curb during this exchange, and removed my helmet, gloves jacket and other 'bits' I could take off, and was looking at the 'bike in the middle of the intersection, slowly leaking fluids (yes more than one..) I wandered towards it.. limping slightly, I was to discover later that I cracked my upper right femur, when a guys voice very tentatively said, "err.. can I help u mate?" I very calmly and quiet pleasantly turned to the guy and said, "Yes please. if you wouldn't mind that would be greatly appreciated." his stunned look told me that he had been expecting for me to rip HIS head off.. so we picked up the bike, and rolled/dragged it to the side of the road. Then I went back and picked up all the OTHER bits of faring, plastic, headlamp, indicator, etc that was still left, generally tried to tidy up.

Anyhow I could ramble about these details in great detail, but I wont as they are just details that lead to my receiving a quote from the motorcycle repairer saying, "DUE TO EXCESSIVE DAMAGE THIS BIKE IS DEEMED BEYOND ECONOMICAL REPAIR"

Brilliant. bloody brilliant.

I ended up with a very sore left heel, a slightly cracked upper right femur (not enough to plaster, but causing me to limp a week later), two sprained wrists, and a sore neck.

I am ok though. just extremely ticked off that STUPID VRX LADY WHO FAILED TO GIVE WAY! grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

That silly Matthew
always fixated on breasts
Matthew the breast-man

I like boobs a lot
so what? They feel good, oh yeah.
I want some to feel.

Werd mah brotha Matt.
I could go for some feelage.
Alas, none at hand.

Punny word play man.
Starting a breast feeling club.
Would benefit all.

Who is in the club?
The feelers? Or the felt too?
Sign me up, I'm in.

Chicks can join up too
They must feel themselves of course.
And bras are not allowed.

If they feel themselves
there will be no room for us.
I feel all left out.

I need some service
Has nothing to do with goods
lots to do with chicks

This boob club sounds fun
I will fully endorse it
let's try it at once!

---

<sub>I suppose this deserves some sort of explanation. While sitting in ethics class, bored out of our skulls, a classmate and I began conversing in Haiku. (and bad Haiku at that) The results, as you can see, were interesting.

By hating ethics class, do I automatically set myself up to be a wholly unethical person?</sub>

Hrmm. Work is boring, haven't daylogged in a while so I thought I'd whip one up. Don't have a fantastic amount to say, but hey, what else are day logs for except crapping on?

I've been trying to get on the X Box all afternoon (yes, we have one at work), but the same people have been playing Project Gotham for ages. And I don't have the social confidence, or motivation, to go in there and ask them to get off. Ah well, I've probably been more constructive sitting here reading stuff online than I would've been playing Munch's Odyssee.

I've got more work to do, but I got a lot done this morning, half my list for the week, so I can't bring myself to start something new... it's amazing how much better I am at occupying myself with non-work things now, compared to when I started here nearly two years ago. That seems like so long.

Anna and I are going into the city tomorrow, to sit in on some cases at the Magistrate's court, just for the fun of it. Should be fun, I've never seen an actual case before, but with all the courtroom dramas I've been watching since getting together with Anna, it's got me kind of interested.

It's so cool how Anna and I end up in these long discussions about laws and science and morals and all sorts of things, it's fun to discuss and argue it and try to explain my point of view, and I love how she makes me want to learn more about things, so I can explain things to her better. She can talk for a lot longer than I can though, hehe, I get tired of the conversation after a while, especially if I've got to the 'Oh well, I'll have to learn more about that before I can argue' stage.

I wonder how I'm going to go working full time again, now that I've finished uni... I've definitely got a better relationship with people here now, and lately my socialising has been better than usual, I've actually been partaking in conversations somewhat, but I'm sure that won't last long. Or maybe it will, I don't know, but I'm going to find it hard to stay motivated.

OK, I've managed to get myself into this de-motivated mood, I'm meant to go out for drinks after work, but I'd really just rather go to Anna's and have a nice dinner with her... I'll see if I can get out of it.

Antarctic Diary: November 26, 2002

Cold

Last night -18C. Slept in the expedition sleeping bag with a fleece liner. Wore socks, two pair of long underwear, a fleece vest, and a fleece hat. Snug as a bug.

When I woke up there was frost condensed on the inside walls of the tent. The tent is not doing so hot minus one inner spar. Guess I'll have to risk having it fall in on me.

Antarctic survival.

I could write an entire wu on "what it's like to wake up on the ground in Antarctica", because now that I'm back in the dry valleys, it all comes back to me. To imagine I could be stuck in traffic on 101 or 280 in the SF bay area heading to work, and instead, I'm waking up on the volcanic earth of the seventh continent, in the shadow of an 80' high glacier that creaks and moans all night--it's like being in a novel.

Maybe I'm nutz. But it feels like life to me. Like nothing else matters but breathing and seeing and being. Like things that matter, don't. Nothing to worry about but keeping myself healthy till I can get myself home.

In the silence, the sound of your own heart is interrupted only by the occasional rush of katabatic wind coming in off the pole.

The sun was absolutely brilliant this morning. Two pair of long underwear. Fleece vest. Fleece coat. Hat. Slathered myself with sunscreen. There's no ozone in the sky here, so between windburn and UV one is fried immediately. Sunglasses are manditory all the time. Only wore my fleece gloves. The wind was absolutely biting, and the chill was down to -30, so the gloves did almost no good. Trudged through snow and dirt to get to the u-barrel, then into the hut for breakfast. Bagels and cream cheese.

The hut was packed with scientists getting ready for their day in the field. Two glaciologists were heading up to the Taylor Glacier. Four limnologists were heading out, two to Lake Fryxell and two out the front door to Lake Hoare. The diver was heading out but as the compressor was down, she was just going to make sure the gear was intact.

The wave of helos started at 8AM. They dropped off a mechanic to fix the broken compressor (and while he was here he worked on a couple of the SkiDoos). The two glaciologists hopped that helo and headed east to the glacier. Within 5 minutes a second helo dropped in picking up the limnologists and taking them east. Two more helos came in, one to drop off some cargo and another to pick up the assistant camp manager who suddenly needed to go to Lake Bonney to get things checked out there.

While we were monitoring the comings and goings of the helos I talked to one of the scientists who admitted it was a pretty interesting situation to go to work and come "home" every day by helicopter.

As I sit here now, we're awaiting the wave of helos returning everyone to camp.

Got the cams integrated to the net. Hiked around the glacier.

It's damn cold this year. Last year this time we were hanging around on the sand in our shorts and t-shirts. Today we're layering.

The joke in the hut is it's damn cold.

As if anything else would be rational.

---

10:20PM, Antarctic time.

Just found out I'm going to be spending 5 days alone with my boss at Lake Bonney. That's a more remote camp, about 15 miles up the valley from where I am now at Lake Hoare.

The thought of isolation is interesting, as I'm sure we'll migrate to opposite ends of the camp. Lots of time to think and write. The network will be up (I hope) and I'll be able to put up some nodes. A bunch of hikes.

But it's already getting strange to be here. Perpetual daylight puts one in a different frame of mind. Not Insomnia-grade craziness, but something more subtle. When I sit to write, I can't. I want to . I have the time. But I stare at the keyboard unable to get to work.

Outside is my tent. It's -11C, about +8F now. Positively balmy compared to last night. But my tent is about 1/4 a mile from the hut, so I have to hike for about 5 minutes to get there. Uphill. I'll take a picture of it--my decrepit tent with the missing spar. Today it looked like it was going to blow down in a mild breeze.

I'm noticing smells this year. Last year I couldn't smell people. This year I can. No showers for 10 days. Man, I'm gonna reek.

Thanksgiving's a holiday here. Nobody works. So tomorrow night is the beginning of Party time, if there is any.

OK. I'm heading to my tent. Boots on. Don the red parka.

I'm off.

Peace.

iceowl

Hi. Mmmmm.... I thought I would write something here....

...Ok... wait, I'll start again.....

Cough, cough....

I just wanted to say here how an incredibly lucky bastard I am, because I found someone who's just like me, and loves me, and whom I love aswell... It's amazing... I never thought it could happen to me, I mean, I've been all my life waiting for this moment, and now that moment is now... Wow..... :))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

I spent the weekend with my mother and sister -- both good and a bit... well, green. My sister is pregnant, and as a result all the attention fell on her. This is exactly as it should be, but it still leaves me feeling a bit -- like an older sibling when the new baby arrives.

Mom did well with Jenn and I -- we both think we're mom's favourite because we both have a special relationship with her which is distinct and different from the other. While that hasn't changed, Jenn now has more in common with mom, and they talk a lot about the pregnancy, how Jenn's is going and how mom's went, and things of that ilk. Conversations in which I cannot take part.

I am certainly excited as all get-out to be a soon-to-be aunt (I bawled yesterday when we heard the baby's heartbeat at the doctor's office). These feelings I have are not the majority of what I feel, they're a nagging negative that I wasn't expecting. I've always been the baby of the family, and while it shouldn't bother me at age 26, it does just a bit.

Our old apartment, three years ago, was a loft sort of thing, the attic of a three flat with slanted walls and a huge storage area with a washer and dryer in it. It wasn't well sealed off so we were always getting creatures in the storage space when it got cold or rainy; a squirrel mom made a nest for her babies in our easter baskets, and a sparrow made a nest behind our dryer.

One night, a few days after the handyman had come in to seal the attic off once and for all, we heard tiny, high pitched chirping from behind the dryer. The eggs had hatched and the sparrow mom couldn't get back in. The babies were all gangly and underfed, no feathers yet, just hideous, rinkly, leatherlike skin. I scooped them up, knowing the mom wouldn't be back, and put them in a little basket filled with torn up tissues.

It was JUST THEN that Brian said
"Don't do this. Don't get attached to these birds. They aren't going to make it."

Being the dreamy, fairy tale, literary type, I scoffed. Of course they were going to make it. I was going to feed them and they would live with us, sitting on my shoulder as I cooked, or delivering messages to friends and coming back with little rolled up notes. They would ride on the dog's back around the house, and sing us awake in the morning.

I called an emergency vet and asked what I should do. The vet assured me they weren't going to make it, but to keep them warm, and feed them mushed up animal crackers mixed with water.

So I fed them and they slept and pooped, and I thought,
"I'm taking care of these birds, and everyone is wrong, they're going to live!" And I held them in my hands and petted their necks while they nestled against my breast.

And I kept petting them as they stopped breathing and moving and both of them died only two hours later. And I cried of course. I cried that I couldn't save them, even though I'd done all I could. And Brian hugged me and told me he was sorry and he knew how sad it was, and not once did he say "I told you so."

Anyway. Ever since about July I've been making plans of how I was going to tell our family I was pregnant. It was going to be at Christmas. I was going to wrap empty picture frames with post it notes that said "pictures to follow in nine months". I was going to tell everyone that we had MADE them something for Christmas...wink wink.

And each month went by and I wasn't pregnant and like Homer Simpson with the suckling pig, I bravely smiled and said "it's still good! It's still good!" Even this month, when my woman's intuition ASSURED me that this was the time, the place, the moment: I agreed with the cosmos that THANKSGIVING was the ideal time to discover you're pregnant. This Christmas would surely be the best Christmas ever, as I greeted my parents at the snowy doorstep with pink cheeks and braided pigtails and held my arms out and said; "LOOK AT ME! I'M GLOWING". And I would gladly puke and have backaches and headaches and swollen feet and rub my belly absentmindedly while people talked.

And Brian said,
"Don't set yourself up for a big fall. Please."

And, being a woman, with women's intuition, I scoffed and said
"I just know. I FEEL it. I can tell."

And of course, this morning, as I sit here doubled over with cramps, I realized that I was wrong. And I am rubbing my belly absentmindedly while other people talk, but it's only because I'm still petting a little baby that isn't there.

And Brian never once said "I told you so."

Today, my wife and I are flying to my parents' house for the first holiday since our wedding. While I'm normally a bundle of nerves about holidays with my family to begin with, this event has increased the stress ten-fold.

Most of my skittishness this time is that we aren't renting a car upon arrival in Albany. I know, it sounds like such a simple, needless thing to be breaking myself over, but it's true. At least if we had a car we could escape the aftermath of one of my family's patented holiday blowouts, if need be. I'm sure that everyone's family has some kind of memorable holiday story about one member getting pissed at another member. How I wish that the memories of my childhood could have the same kind of quaint, almost cute little spats that seem to be over well before the holiday meal. No, I'm afraid that's simply not the case. The turmoil caused by a christmas that wasn't going perfectly in my mother's eye would have repercussions lasting well into the spring.

The first holiday that I spent out of my parents house was when I was living in Horseheads with Amy. We were invited over to her parents' house for dinner, and it was really nice. However, I was worried out of my head for something to go wrong. For someone to go and do something to cause ripples that could be felt until the end of time. Nothing happened. Even throughout he opening of gifts, I waiting for turmoil that never materialized. The second that I got in the car with her to go home, I grabbed her, pushed my face into her shoulder, and cried for about ten minutes. We talked a lot about family that night, eventually deciding that my family was, as I has always suspected, fucked up.

In talking with my older brother last year about such fun holiday memories, he also admitted to having a very similar experience the first christmas that he spent with his wife's family. But, we also admitted that things have been better lately with my parents. My mother has finally reached the other side of her decades-long nervous breakdown. We both have huge geographic buffers to escape to in order to comfort those fears. And, more importantly, we have self determination, with the ability to just stay the hell away from there if so desired.

This year, my wife asked if we could go out there for Thanksgiving. I agreed, more for us than for her. It's important for her to meet all those people back there that she hasn't been introduced to. I know that it's important to be there for holidays and such. I can at least put my feelings aside enough to do that.

But I will also pull her aside at some point, let a few tears of terror creep down my face, and whisper to her my reminder. This is not the family I grew up with.

Yesterday I received an email from a recruiter (re: headhunter) wanting to know if I was interested in doing web development for the Federal government. I don't want to get too terribly specific with which branch of the government (I'm being supersititous here, which is silly, because I'm an atheist), but suffice it to say I was very excited to get the query. Taking a look at the website of the department in question -- which was pretty sorry stuff if you ask me -- I told him I was very interested in hearing more. And of course, I haven't heard a peep in response after that.

I felt uncomfortable the more I thought about the initial email. For starters, I get three messages a day from headhunters, sometimes more. I'm wary of recruiters, anyway -- wary of contractors in general. The whole idea of outsourcing your human resources staff just seems like yet another unnecessary level of abstraction mounted to an organization, just one more middle man to deal with. I told him my salary requirement (probably too high), plus my desire for continued tuition remission or a similar commitment to training. I'm sure I was asking for too much, this is an employer's market right now, unlike the heady days of the late 1990's when anyone who knew how to use a shit WYSIWYG application like FrontPage (or worse -- GoLive!) could get any job they wanted.

The lack of response is somewhat bothersome, just as the lack of response from the last job interview I was on really troubles me. Is the economy so bad, that these people don't feel it matters to tell the candidate "No, we're not interested"? I interviewed exactly one month ago this coming Friday, and I've heard nothing. I had to get friends of mine in the company to find out what the story was (a person was offered the job, but never responded to the offer). Numerous email messages to the guy who interviewed me garnered zero response. I know they're getting flooded with resumes, but come on! How long does it take to type a short email -- just three words are necessary, "No, not interested."

Ultimately, I'm glad that I have a job -- a lot of people in web development don't. But I sit here chafing with boredom, desperately wanting a new challenge. And yet that challenge keeps eluding me. It's frustrating to do the same things day in and day out -- to follow a cycle attuned to the rhythms of higher education and the constant turnover of students you have to deal with. Yet, the job market is terrible. I can't help thinking that it might be better for me to just bide my time until things turn around again, as they inevitably will.

Does anyone want to swap parents? Mine are really pissing me off.

After having made it quite clear what I am planning to do for my AS levels (Maths, Further Maths, Physics (Blurrgh! but I need them to get into a decent computing degree course, so it's kind of necessary) and Computing), a form is given out to everyone at school today, for post 16 intentions. I fill in that I will stay on in sixth form, and tick the boxes beside the subjects I want to take. I hand the form in.

I get home.

Parents get home.

"WHAAATTT!!! YOU FILLED IN THE FORM WITHOUT CONSULTING US!!!!"

"Well, yeah, I've decided what I want to do alrea..

"THAT DOESN'T MATTER! YOU SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT IT HOME!!!"

"What's the point? I know what I'm taking..

Etc. The Hobby of my parents is to annoy me whatever I do.

But seriously, they're really nice, does anyone have some parents to trade?

---

Last Daylog * * * Next Daylog

Upon Being Stood Up

Why would I wait for you? Why waste my valuable time? Because you are worth more to me than I am. I am no longer hungry and I have no reason to wait here alone. The waitress smiles warmly. I suppose I am not physically alone, but always mentally alone. Perhaps that is what I'm looking for with every glance at the front door, scrutinizing every person who dares to open the door and not be you. My mind tells me you are with another, enjoying yourself more, pitying the lone drinkers at the bar, laughing about an old joke. My heart reassures my mind that while this may be the case, you still wish to be with me, perhaps at a more convenient time. The dinner I order has arrived and I have no urge to eat it. My head hurts from too many cigarettes. I order a drink. Maybe I'll feel better. I chew my food without gusto. I let the bartender out of the conversation. The food angers my agitated belly.

The drink tastes terrible. Is it me or the drink, I cannot tell. I motion the bartender, he gives me the 'one minute' signal. I nod obligingly. I hear the door. It is not you. I want to punch the man and woman. The bartender apologizes, I keep the drink anyway. Perhaps the taste will enforce discretion. I continue annoying my stomach with the food, and sipping my bad drink. Happy drunk people occupy the next booth. They try sushi for the first time, satiated and repulsed at the same time. A chunk of ginger offends my mouth and I spit it out. I catch a guy in the next booth stuffing a whole tuna roll in his mouth. A half smile. I complain again about the drink, I don't have to pay. The happy folks complain about the music. A mysterious fortune:

"Sometimes even love shows a rerun."

I tip the waitress generously and tell myself one more smoke. I am disappointed, but incapable of being angry. I see it as more of a reflection on me, that you just do not enjoy my company enough to go out of your way to get it. I am still afraid to go to the restroom for fear you will stop in, not see me, and leave like every romantic comedy at the videostore. "You've lost that lovin' feelin" plays on the radio instead of the Asian standards. The neighboring table has won. "Something beautiful is dying..." Something beautiful died long ago, beaten by too many cruelties, too much time alone in the dark.

"How long is a day in the dark? Or a week?"¹

I put out my cigarette, acknowledge my headache, assemble my things, and go to another place where you are not.

¹The English Patient Director: Anthony Mighella, Writer: Michael Ondaatje, Screenplay: Anthony Minghella. Miramax Films, 1996.

The alarm went off a 5:30 this morning, so we could leave home at 6:30 for our flight at 9:00. We were flying Delta out of the A concourse this time (usually it's B) which, we found out, has an excellent kids play area (even tho it's much smaller and generally has much less stuff than B). Plastic houses and slides and bridges and everything. Plus now I think it has Amelia's sippy cup, because that's the last place we remember seeing it.

Amelia was very kind to us, and slept for most of the two hour flight.

It's much warmer in Jacksonville, Florida than it is in Cincinnati, Ohio right now.

We're picked up at the airport by Ruth Anne's father, and taken to Jen and Jack's palatial estate. The only thing that keeps me from being totally jealous is that it's on a suburban street fulls of dozens of identical palatial estate.

They have a DSL modem, but it took a while to figure out how to make it work for me. PPPoE? What is this, the dark ages? A bunch of trial and error ensued, hunting around on Jen's Windows box for the settings I need on my Macintosh. Turns out all I needed was PPPoE, the name and password, and check the "connect automatically when needed" box. Poof! I'm back online.

My father in law told me about this experiment where you take two heavy metal balls and suspend them from long wires. Allegedly, one can measure the distance between the wires at the top and bottom with a tape measure, and see a difference which can be attributed to the gravitational pull of the two balls on each other. We both assumed that this was poppycock, and proceeded to try to run some numbers.

Picking some numbers

• L : length of wire : 10 meters
• m : weight of balls : 10 Kg
• r : distance between centers of balls 0.1 meter
• D : minimum measurable displacement .001 meter

Some rough constants :

• g : 10 m/s^s
• M : mass of earth : 6 x 10^24 Kg
• R : radius of earth : 6378 Km

The displacement could be measured like this : measure the horizontal displacement D of the ball and the length L of the wire. the angle theta would be arcsin(D/L). the force necessary for that displacement would be the mass m of the ball times the sin of the angle or m * sin(arcsin(D/L)) or m*D/L. The ratio T1 of this force to the force pulling down is (mD/L)/(mg) or D/gL. For our numbers above, this gives a ratio of .001/10*10 or 10^-5. Thus, the ratio of the forces must be at least 10^5 to have a measurable displacement.

The attraction between two bodies is given by Gm₁m₂/r² Thus, the force between balls is Gmm/rr and the force between the earth and the ball is GmM/RR. The ratio of these forces is (m/rr)/(M/RR) or mRR/Mrr. For our numbers above this makes the ratio of the forces (10*6378000*6378000)/(6x10^24*0.1*0.1) or (10*4x10^13)/(6x10^24*10^-2) or 4x10^14/6x10^22 or 2/3 * 10^-8. Thus the actual ratio of forces is around 10^8, which is three orders of magnitude too small.

Please find holes in my reasoning and/or calculations.

mspie: I totally have a craving for chicken pot pie
mspie: wanna hear it?
   mrpants: yes
mspie: ok you get a big bowl
mspie: and in the bowl you put some shredded chicken
   mrpants: HOW MUCH, WOMAN
mspie: which you could roast yourself - or you could use leftovers
   mrpants: NINETEEN LBS?
mspie: maybe one cup, more if you want
   mrpants: oh
   mrpants: 1 cup shred cluck. check
mspie: and then you put some fresh ground pepper
   mrpants: grindgrind
mspie: shred cluck haha
mspie: then the juice of one lime
  mrpants: check
mspie: about three fat cloves of garlic
   mrpants: aw yeah
   mrpants: more
   mrpants: dare ya
mspie: no - you don't want to get crazy with it in this dish
mspie: it can be over powering
   mrpants: imo git crazy innat kitchin wit yew
mspie: mmm
mspie: well I never said YOU couln't be overpowering
mspie: so yeah
mspie: then you get some fresh asparagus
mspie: white or purple or green
mspie: but it MUST be fresh
mspie: like, if you can't hear it snap, forget it
mspie: and you chop it on a slant, about an inch long
mspie: then you toss in one can of condensed creamy chicken soup
mspie: add maybe a little less than a 1/4 cup of water
mspie: and put in some basil - fresh is best
mspie: you could also chop up carrots or potatoes, leftovers or canned
mspie: but if you use anything from a can you have to rinse the shit out of it or it tastes like a can
mspie: and you mix it all up
mspie: pour it in a pie shell
mspie: smooth it in
mspie: put the top on
mspie: cut it all purty like a fine motherfuckin pie
mspie: sprinkle some paprika on the top
   mrpants: dude
mspie: bake it like 40 min on 350
mspie: eat up
   mrpants: i will suck on you
   mrpants: lick and kiss
   mrpants: and bite
   mrpants: you
mspie: yeah?
   mrpants: like a kashmiri princess!
mspie: I totally wanna make you a pie
   mrpants: some pie-crazed dervish
mspie: a chickin frickin POT pie par-tay
   mrpants: i wanna help
   mrpants: be in there
mspie: yeah?
mspie: aw
mspie: that's so sweet
mspie: when I am on my game I FLY in the kitchen
mspie: used to make 8 loaves of bread at a time
mspie: my owl bagles
mspie: OWN
mspie: HAHA
   mrpants: owlbagler
mspie: fresh baked soft pretzels
   mrpants: OWLBEAR
mspie: home made honey mustard
   mrpants: dude
   mrpants: pls
mspie: made all my own dressings and sauces
   mrpants: come to me
mspie: hee
   mrpants: you pie swooner
   mrpants: you baker crooner
mspie: you think you would like my cooking?
   mrpants: i shall eat and see!
   mrpants: MAYBE I'M BETTER AHAHA
mspie: aw
mspie: I bet we could cook the daylights outta some dinner
   mrpants: know what?
mspie: what?
   mrpants: imo save this conversation
   mrpants: as a recipe
mspie: you are?
mspie: hee
mspie: and blush
   mrpants: maybe node it under recipe
   mrpants: all aliased-like
mspie: heeeee
mspie: know what?
   mrpants: whaddya think?
mspie: I totally love you
   mrpants: mmm i love you
   mrpants: so - cool idea?
mspie: yes
mspie: cool
mspie: big ol softy