Desperate Undergraduate!Desperate Undergraduate!

1. 소변 검사
특별한 것은 없었다. 채혈 준비하는 과정 동안 소변을 먼저 받았다. 헷갈리는 것은 정확한 검사를 위해 소변은 아침 첫 소변이여야 하고 소변 중간을 받으면 좋다고 들었는데 딱히 그런 설명은 듣지 못하였다. 작은 종이컵에 1/5 가량 소변을 받으라고 하여 적당히 받았다.

검색 결과, 국가건강정보포털을 보니 역시나 중간뇨를 받아야 된다고 나와있었다. 다소 그림이 민망하지만 참고를 위해 블로그에 게시하였다. (출처: http://health.mw.go.kr / 국가건강정보포털)

2. 채혈

왼손을 할까? 오른손을 할까? 고민을 하다가 내가 오른손 잡이니깐 왼손을 채혈하였다. 역시나 혈관이 작다며 폈던 주먹을 다시 쥐라고 하셨다. 4개의 통에 채혈을 하여 수집해 가셨다.

3. 청력검사

다른 방으로 이동하였다. 청력검사를 하였는데 아무런 소리가 들리지 않는 무소음 방에 들어가서 오른쪽이든 왼쪽이든 소리가 들리면 버튼을 누르는 청력검사를 하였다. 별다른 문제는 없었다.

4. 시력검사

놀라움을 금치 못하였다. 요즘은 시력검사를 숫자가 적혀 있는 표지판을 보고 하는 것이 아니라 전자적인 장비로 서로 다른 크기의 숫자를 랜덤하게 보여준다. 외울 필요는 없겠지만 외우는게 전혀 소용이 없는 아주 과학적인 방법이었다.

5. 색맹검사

물론 시력검사와 함께 놀라움을 금치못하였다. 색맹검사를 위한 색맹검사용 책의 랜덤한 페이지를 펼치는 것이 아니라 화면에 전자식으로 출력이 된다. 정말 신기하고 재미있었다.

6. 복부 초음파 검사

사실 이 부분이 겁이 났다. 작년에 의사 선생님이 담낭에 좁쌀만한 혹이 있다고 하셨다. 1년뒤에 이것이 커지면 문제가 되니 일단 지켜보자고 하셨다. 그 얘기를 해드렸더니 의사 선생님이 더 꼼꼼하게 봐주신것 같다. 이번에도 좁쌀만한 혹이 발견이 되었지만 그 상태 그대로 작았다. 선생님은 괜찮다고 하셨다.

7. 갑상선 초음파 검사

어린 시절, 어머니께서 갑상선이 아파서 입원하셨던 것이 기억이 나서 갑상선 초음파 검사를 신청하였다. 다행이 아무런 문제 없이 검사를 마쳤다.

8. 신장 및 허리둘레

Gym 에서 볼 수 있는 인바디 체크 기계에 올라갔다. 몸무게는 뭐 당연한 것이지만 키 재는 것이 신기하였다. 가만히 정면을 응시하고 있으면 키를 측정한다. 이것 내가 꼭 찾아 봐야 되겠다고 생각했다. 세상이 정말 좋아졌다. 무슨 수로 내 키를 측정할까? 어떤 레이저를 쏘는 것은 아닐까? 일단 측정 결과는 170/66 이었다. 평소 Gym 에서 재던 몸무게와 같았다. 작년에는 가슴둘레도 측정했던 것 같은데 이번에는 가슴둘레는 측정하지 않았다. 다만 허리 둘레를 측정하였다.

10. 혈압검사

작년에 고혈압 전단계를 판정받았고 이번에는 수치가 낮았지만 정삼 범위는 아니었다. 선생님이 마치기전에 다시 한 번 더 재보라고 해주셨다.

11. 흉부 단순방사선촬영

흉부 엑스레이를 찍었는데 상의를 완전 탈의하고 촬영을 하였다. 엑스레이가 상의 투과를 해서 굳이 안벗어도 되지 않겠나 생각하였는데 담당 선생님이 하라는대로 상의 탈의를 하고 엑스레이를 촬영하였다.

12. 혈압검사

최고치는 138, 최저치는 95 로 "높은 정상" 그룹에 속하였다. 그나마 작년부터 헬스를 꾸준히 한 덕에 이렇게 혈압이 떨어진 것이라 생각한다.

C언어에서 외부에 있는 어떤 라이브러리(함수, 모듈 등)를 사용하고 싶으면 그 함수의 헤더파일(.h)과 소스파일(.c) 파일을 메인 함수에서 #include 문장으로 표현하고 main 함수에서 그 라이브러리를 사용하면 된다. 여기서 외부에 있는 어떤 라이브러리는 내가 특정 경로를 통해 획득하여야 하는 라이브러리이다.

파이썬에서는 이렇게 어떤 라이브러리를 쉽게 획득하고 설치 및 삭제를 도와주는 setuptools(easy install)과 pip가 있다. 여기서 왜 두개냐는 의문을 가질 필요성이 있다. 나는 왜 하나의 프로그램이 아니라 두개의 프로그램으로 라이브러리를 설치하는지 궁금했다.

인터넷의 문서들을 보면 setuptools를 설치하고 커맨드에서 "easy_install 패키지명"으로 설치하지 않고 "easy_install pip"로 pip를 설치하고 나서 "pip install 패키지명"을 입력한다. 그 이유에 대해 인터넷을 찾아보니 pip가 east install 보다 패키지의 설치 및 삭제 등의 기능이 더 강력하다는 것이다.

http://stackoverflow.com/questions/3220404/why-use-pip-over-easy-install

Bill Gates: Congratulations, Class of 2014! Melinda and I are excited to be here. It would be a thrill for anyone to be invited to speak at a Stanford Commencement – but it's especially gratifying for us.

Stanford is rapidly becoming the favorite university for members of our family. And it's long been a favorite university for Microsoft and our foundation. Our formula has been to get the smartest, most creative people working on the most important problems. It turns out that a disproportionate number of those people are at Stanford.

Right now, we have more than 30 foundation research projects underway with Stanford. When we want to learn more about the immune system to help cure the worst diseases, we work with Stanford. When we want to understand the changing landscape of higher education in the United States so that more low-income students get college degrees, we work with Stanford.

This is where genius lives.

There is a flexibility of mind here – an openness to change, an eagerness for what's new. This is where people come to discover the future and have fun doing it.

Melinda Gates: Some people call you nerds – and you claim the label with pride.

Bill: Well, so do we.

There are so many remarkable things going on here at this campus. But if Melinda and I had to put into one word what we love most about Stanford, it's the optimism. There's an infectious feeling here that innovation can solve almost every problem.

That's the belief that drove me, in 1975, to leave a college in the suburbs of Boston and go on an endless leave of absence. I believed that the magic of computers and software would empower people everywhere and make the world much, much better.

It's been almost 40 years since then, and 20 years since Melinda and I were married. We are both more optimistic now than ever. But on our journey together, our optimism evolved. We'd like to tell you what we learned – and talk to you today about how your optimism and ours can do more – for more people.

When Paul Allen and I started Microsoft, we wanted to bring the power of computers and software to the people – and that was the kind of rhetoric we used. One of the pioneering books in the field had a raised fist on the cover, and it was called Computer Lib. At that time, only big businesses could buy computers. We wanted to offer the same power to regular people – and democratize computing.

By the 1990s, we saw how profoundly personal computers could empower people. But that success created a new dilemma: If rich kids got computers and poor kids didn't, then technology would make inequality worse. That ran counter to our core belief: Technology should benefit everybody. So we worked to close the digital divide. I made it a priority at Microsoft, and Melinda and I made it an early priority at our foundation – donating personal computers to public libraries to make sure everyone had access.

The digital divide was a focus of mine in 1997 when I took my first trip to South Africa. I went there on business, so I spent most of my time in meetings in downtown Johannesburg. I stayed in the home of one of the richest families in South Africa. It had only been three years since the election of Nelson Mandela marked the end of apartheid. When I sat down for dinner with my hosts, they used a bell to call the butler. After dinner, the men and women separated, and the men smoked cigars. I thought, "Good thing I read Jane Austen, or I wouldn't have known what was going on."

The next day I went to Soweto – the poor township southwest of Johannesburg that had been a center of the anti-apartheid movement.

It was a short distance from the city into the township, but the entry was sudden, jarring, and harsh. I passed into a world completely unlike the one I came from.

My visit to Soweto became an early lesson in how naïve I was.

Microsoft was donating computers and software to a community center there – the kind of thing we did in the United States. But it became clear to me very quickly that this was not the United States.

I had seen statistics on poverty, but I had never really seen poverty. The people there lived in corrugated tin shacks with no electricity, no water, no toilets. Most people didn't wear shoes; they walked barefoot along the streets. Except there were no streets – just ruts in the mud.

The community center had no consistent source of power, so they had rigged up an extension cord that ran about 200 feet from the center to a diesel generator outside. Looking at the setup, I knew the minute the reporters and I left, the generator would get moved to a more urgent task, and the people who used the community center would go back to worrying about challenges that couldn't be solved by a PC.

When I gave my prepared remarks to the press, I said: "Soweto is a milestone. There are major decisions ahead about whether technology will leave the developing world behind. This is to close the gap."

As I was reading those words, I knew they were irrelevant. What I didn't say was: "By the way, we're not focused on the fact that half a million people on this continent are dying every year from malaria. But we're sure as hell going to bring you computers."

Before I went to Soweto, I thought I understood the world's problems, but I was blind to the most important ones. I was so taken aback by what I saw that I had to ask myself, "Do I still believe that innovation can solve the world's toughest problems?"

I promised myself that before I came back to Africa, I would find out more about what keeps people poor.

Over the years, Melinda and I did learn more about the most pressing needs of the poor. On a later trip to South Africa, I paid a visit to a hospital for patients with MDR-TB, or multi-drug-resistant tuberculosis, a disease with a cure rate of under 50 percent.

I remember that hospital as a place of despair. It was a giant open ward with a sea of patients shuffling around in pajamas, wearing masks.

There was one floor just for children, including some babies lying in bed. They had a little school for the kids who were well enough to learn, but many of the children couldn't make it, and the hospital didn't seem to know whether it was worth it to keep the school open.

I talked to a patient there in her early thirties. She had been a worker at a TB hospital when she came down with a cough. She went to a doctor, and he told her she had drug-resistant TB. She was later diagnosed with AIDS. She wasn't going to live much longer, but there were plenty of MDR patients waiting to take her bed when she vacated it.

This was hell with a waiting list.

But seeing hell didn't reduce my optimism; it channeled it. I got in the car and told the doctor who was working with us: "Yeah, I know. MDR-TB is hard to cure. But we should be able to do something for these people." This year, we're entering phase three with a new TB drug regime. For patients who respond, instead of a 50 percent cure rate after 18 months for $2,000, we could get an 80-90 percent cure rate after six months for under $100.

That's better by a factor of a hundred.

Optimism is often dismissed as false hope. But there is also false hopelessness.

That's the attitude that says we can't defeat poverty and disease.

We absolutely can.

Melinda: Bill called me after he visited the TB hospital. Ordinarily, if we're calling from a trip, we just go through the agenda of the day: "Here's what I did; here's where I went; here's who I met." But this call was different. He said: "Melinda, I've gone somewhere I've never been before" and then he choked up and couldn't talk. Finally he just said: "I'll tell you when I get home."

I knew what he was going through. When you see people with so little hope, it breaks your heart. But if you want to do the most, you have to see the worst. That's what Bill was doing that day. I've had days like that, too.

Ten years ago, I traveled to India with friends. On the last day there, I spent some time meeting with prostitutes. I expected to talk to them about the risk of AIDS, but they wanted to talk about stigma. Most of these women had been abandoned by their husbands, and that's why they'd gone into prostitution. They were trying to make enough money to feed their kids. They were so low in the eyes of society that they could be raped and robbed and beaten by anybody – even by police – and nobody cared.

Talking to them about their lives was so moving to me. But what I remember most is how much they wanted to touch me and be touched. It was as if physical contact somehow proved their worth. As I was leaving, we took a photo of all of us with our arms linked together.

Later that day, I spent some time in a home for the dying. I walked into a large hall and saw rows and rows of cots. Every cot was attended except for one far off in the corner that no one was going near, so I walked over there. The patient was a woman who seemed to be in her thirties. I remember her eyes. She had these huge, brown, sorrowful eyes. She was emaciated, on the verge of death. Her intestines weren't holding anything – so they had put her on a cot with a hole cut out in the bottom, and everything just poured through into a pan below.

I could tell she had AIDS, both from the way she looked, and the fact that she was off in the corner alone. The stigma of AIDS is vicious – especially for women – and the punishment is abandonment.

When I arrived at her cot, I suddenly felt totally helpless. I had absolutely nothing I could offer her. I knew I couldn't save her, but I didn't want her to be alone. So I knelt down next to her and reached out to touch her – and as soon as she felt my hand, she grabbed it and wouldn't let go. We sat there holding hands, and even though I knew she couldn't understand me, I just started saying: "It's okay. It's okay. It's not your fault. It's not your fault."

We had been there together for a while when she pointed upward with her finger. It took me some time to figure out that she wanted to go up to the roof and sit outside while it was still light out. I asked one of the workers if that would be okay, but she was overwhelmed by all the patients she had to care for. She said: "She's in the last stages of dying, and I have to pass out medicine." Then I asked another, and got the same answer. It was getting late and the sun was going down, and I had to leave, and no one seemed willing to take her upstairs.

So finally I just scooped her up – she was just skin over a skeleton, just a sack of bones – and I carried her up the stairs. On the roof, there were a few of those plastic chairs that will blow over in a strong breeze, and I set her down on one of those, and I helped prop her feet up on another, and I placed a blanket over her legs.

And she sat there with her face to the west, watching the sunset. I made sure the workers knew that she was up there so they would come get her after the sun went down. Then I had to leave her.

But she never left me.

I felt completely and totally inadequate in the face of this woman's death.

But sometimes it's the people you can't help who inspire you the most.

I knew that the sex workers I linked arms with in the morning could become the woman I carried upstairs in the evening – unless they found a way to defy the stigma that hung over their lives.

Over the past 10 years, our foundation has helped sex workers build support groups so they could empower each other to speak out for safe sex and demand that their clients use condoms. Their brave efforts helped keep HIV prevalence low among sex workers, and a lot of studies show that is a big reason why the AIDS epidemic in India hasn't exploded.

When these sex workers gathered together to help stop AIDS transmission, something unexpected and wonderful happened. The community they formed became a platform for everything. They were able to set up speed-dial networks to respond to violent attacks. Police and others who raped and robbed them couldn't get away with it anymore. The women set up systems to encourage savings. They used financial services that helped some of them start businesses and get out of sex work. This was all done by people society considered the lowliest of the low.

Optimism for me isn't a passive expectation that things will get better; it's a conviction that we can make things better – that whatever suffering we see, no matter how bad it is, we can help people if we don't lose hope and we don't look away.

Bill: Melinda and I have described some devastating scenes. But we want to make the strongest case we can for the power of optimism. Even in dire situations, optimism can fuel innovation and lead to new tools to eliminate suffering. But if you never really see the people who are suffering, your optimism can't help them. You will never change their world.

And that brings me to what I see as a paradox.

The world of science and technology is driving phenomenal innovations – and Stanford stands at the center of that, creating new companies, prize-winning professors, ingenious software, miracle drugs, and amazing graduates. We're on the verge of mind-blowing breakthroughs in what human beings can do for each other. And people here are really excited about the future.

At the same time, if you ask people across the United States, "Is the future going to be better than the past?" most people will say: "No. My kids will be worse off than I am." They think innovation won't make the world better for them or for their children.

So who's right?

The people who say innovation will create new possibilities and make the world better?

…or…

The people who see a trend toward inequality and a decline in opportunity and don't think innovation will change that?

The pessimists are wrong in my view, but they're not crazy. If technology is purely market-driven and we don't focus innovation on the big inequities, then we could have amazing inventions that leave the world even more divided.

We won't improve public schools. We won't cure malaria. We won't end poverty. We won't develop the innovations poor farmers need to grow food in a changing climate.

If our optimism doesn't address the problems that affect so many of our fellow human beings, then our optimism needs more empathy. If empathy channeled our optimism, we would see the poverty and the disease and the poor schools, we would answer with our innovations, and we would surprise the pessimists.

Over the next generation, you Stanford graduates will lead a new wave of innovation and apply it to your world. Which problems will you decide to solve? If your world is wide, you can create the future we all want. If your world is narrow, you may create the future the pessimists fear.

I started learning in Soweto that if we're going to make our optimism matter to everyone and empower people everywhere, we have to see the lives of those most in need. If we have optimism, but we don't have empathy – then it doesn't matter how much we master the secrets of science, we're not really solving problems; we're just working on puzzles.

I think most of you have a broader worldview than I had at your age. You can do better at this than I did. If you put your hearts and minds to it, you can surprise the pessimists. We can't wait to see it.

Melinda: Let your heart break. It will change what you do with your optimism.

On a trip to South Asia, I met a desperately poor mother who brought me her two small children and implored me: "Please take them home with you." When I begged her forgiveness and said I could not, she said: "Then please take one."

On another trip, to South Los Angeles, I was talking to a group of high school students from a tough neighborhood when one young woman said to me: "Do you ever feel like we are just somebody else's kids whose parents shirked their responsibilities, that we're all just leftovers?"

These women made my heart break – and still do. And the empathy intensifies if I admit to myself: "That could be me."

When I talk with the mothers I meet during my travels, I see that there is no difference at all in what we want for our children. The only difference is our ability to give it to them.

What accounts for that difference?

Bill and I talk about this with our kids at the dinner table. Bill worked incredibly hard and took risks and made sacrifices for success. But there is another essential ingredient of success, and that ingredient is luck – absolute and total luck.

When were you born? Who were your parents? Where did you grow up? None of us earned these things. They were given to us.

When we strip away our luck and privilege and consider where we'd be without them, it becomes easier to see someone who's poor and sick and say "that could be me." This is empathy; it tears down barriers and opens up new frontiers for optimism.

So here is our appeal to you: As you leave Stanford, take your genius and your optimism and your empathy and go change the world in ways that will make millions of others optimistic as well.

You don't have to rush. You have careers to launch, debts to pay, spouses to meet and marry. That's enough for now.

But in the course of your lives, without any plan on your part, you'll come to see suffering that will break your heart.

When it happens, and it will, don't turn away from it; turn toward it.

That is the moment when change is born.

Congratulations and good luck.

이번에 온오프믹스에 "으으리 리버싱 파으리썬" 세미나가 등장하였다. 해커의 언어인 파이썬과 리버스 엔지니어링에 대해 배울 수 있는 좋은 기회라고 생각하여 신청하였다. 절묘하게 요즘 난 파이썬에 대해 공부하고 있다. 내가 학부 시절에 가졌던 마인드는 윈도우 프로그래밍을 배우기도 바쁜데 인터프리터 언어를 배울 필요가 있을까? 라는 생각이었다.

하지만 시간이 지나고 나서 파이썬의 강력함을 맛보게 되었다. 회사에서 팀장님의 지시로 프로그래밍을 만들 때, 프로그램을 자바로 작성하는 나만 단위 시간에 코딩의 효율이 낮았다.

일단 빠른 시간에 프로그램을 만들려면 라이브러리가 풍족해야 한다. 파이썬의 라이브러리가 풍족한데다가 사용함에 불편함이 없다. 예를 들어 자바 언어를 이용하여 SSH 접속을 구현하고자 할 때 프로그래머가 알아야 될 것이 많다. 하지만 파이썬은 그렇지 않다. 더 기막힌 것은 크롤러를 만들 때 HTML 또는 XML 을 파싱할때이다. 파이썬에서 Beautiful Soup 라이브러리에 한 줄마다 적어주면 파싱이 된다.

이번 세미나는 매주 일요일에 진행되며 약 2달간 진행된다고 한다. 파이썬과 리버스 엔지니어링의 기초에 대해 배울 수 있으며 실라버스는 다음과 같다.

뱌아흐로 2014년은 의리의 시대이다! 특히 보잉이 잘 어울리는 김보성 형님, 하는 일 마다 잘 되시길 기원해요~~

#include <windows.h>

LRESULT CALLBACK WndProc(HWND, UINT, WPARAM, LPARAM);
HINSTANCE g_hInst;
// 윈도우 이름 및 타이틀바에 등록할 문자열
LPCTSTR lpszClass = TEXT("First");

int APIENTRY WinMain(HINSTANCE hInstance, HINSTANCE hPrevInstance, LPSTR lpszCmdParam, int nCmdShow)
{
	HWND hWnd;
	MSG Message;
	WNDCLASS WndClass;

	g_hInst = hInstance;

	//----- 아래 부분은 윈도우 클래스를 설정해주는 것이다. -----

	WndClass.cbClsExtra = 0;
	WndClass.cbWndExtra = 0;
	WndClass.hbrBackground = (HBRUSH)GetStockObject(WHITE_BRUSH);
	WndClass.hCursor = LoadCursor(NULL, IDC_ARROW);
	WndClass.hIcon = LoadIcon(NULL, IDI_APPLICATION);
	WndClass.hInstance = hInstance;
	WndClass.lpfnWndProc = WndProc;
	WndClass.lpszClassName = lpszClass;
	WndClass.lpszMenuName = NULL;
	WndClass.style = CS_HREDRAW | CS_VREDRAW;

	//----- 위 부분은 윈도우 클래스를 설정해주는 것이다. -----

	// 여기서는 위에서 설정한 클래스를 등록한다.
	RegisterClass(&WndClass);

	// 설정하고 등록한 윈도우를 생성한다.
	hWnd = CreateWindow(lpszClass, lpszClass, WS_OVERLAPPEDWINDOW, CW_USEDEFAULT, CW_USEDEFAULT, CW_USEDEFAULT, CW_USEDEFAULT, NULL, (HMENU)NULL, hInstance, NULL);

	// 생성한 윈도우를 출력..(이 함수를 호출하지않으면 윈도우가 보이지 않는다.)
	ShowWindow(hWnd, nCmdShow);

	// 사용자가 종료하기 전까지 반복해서 메세지 처리를 호출한다.
	while (GetMessage(&Message, NULL, 0, 0))
	{
		TranslateMessage(&Message);
		DispatchMessage(&Message);
	}
	
	return (int)Message.wParam;
}

// 여기서 실제로 메시지를 처리한다.
LRESULT CALLBACK WndProc(HWND hWnd, UINT iMessage, WPARAM wParam, LPARAM lParam)
{
	switch (iMessage)
	{
	case WM_DESTROY:
		PostQuitMessage(0);
		return 0;
	}

	// 프로그래머가 처리하지 않은 나머지 동작을 기본처리로 넘긴다.
	return DefWindowProc(hWnd, iMessage, wParam, lParam);
}

#include <stdio.h>
#include <windows.h>

int main(void)
{
	HWND hWnd = FindWindow(NULL, "계산기");

	if(hWnd) SendMessage(hWnd, WM_CLOSE, 0, 0);

	return 0;
}

오늘 Win32 API 수업 시간에 배운 내용이다. 계산기 프로세스를 찾아 종료 시그널을 보내는 프로그램이다. 실습을 하면서 WM_DESTROY 시그널을 보내도 종료가 되지 않아 너무 이상했다. 집에 와서 테스트해보니 WM_CLOSE 시그널을 만나야 종료가 된다. 생각해보면 WM_DESTROY 시그널을 만나도 죽을 것 같지만 실제로는 WM_CLOSE 시그널을 만나야 한다.