Todd Stadler's blog

cockahoop always points north

For other "geeky things that are pretty", consider the Internet Mapping Project. It won't help you figure out how to download your Metallica MP3's any faster, but it makes for nice art.

el conejo misterioso

Just when I thought things couldn't get any eerier, along comes Interactive Magic's page of somehwat tame magic tricks. Lying among them is a trick whose trick I haven't quite figured out.

Will someone please tell me why this "psycho test" seems to work? I mean, I have my guesses, but does it work for everybody else? I'm a bit baffled right now. I'm sure it doesn't help that I'm still listening to "mild und liese" as I type this. Where is the soul-comforting guitar strumming I crave?

schoolhouse rock

Of course, everybody knows that music has a very close relationship to math. Even the crustiest, drunkest punk drummer has to count to four every once in a while.

But sometimes, the relationship is even more crazy than that! Consider an explanation of the largest number ever used in a mathematical proof.

Then consider the lyrics to Built to Spill's "Randy Describes Eternity". They're not all that similar, are they? And yet they both make you think about very large numbers. Veeery large numbers. Wow.

Not convinced? Then consider the eery, other-worldly sounds produced when mapping graph eigenvalues to musical notes. Doesn't it remind you of something off of Radiohead's "Idioteque"?

Or, more precisely, doesn't it remind you of Paul Lansky's "mild und liese", which Radiohead sampled for that song? Ah, those wacky electronic music pioneers.

But I think you see my point about music and math. Their interconnectedness isn't just a coincidence. Wheels within wheels, my friends.

but the numbers keep on circling me

Julia sent me a really interesting issue of Science News recently. The main article concerned packing circles within other circles, a topic that piqued my interest as it was a recent mathematical discovery, yet simple enough for most algebra students to comprehend.

The topic also has some really cool images associated with it, bordering on abstract art. Such infinite geometry is beautiful.

Once in the mood to appreciate math, I couldn't stop poking around, following links from one .edu page to the next. One page had a few mathematical puzzles listed as "surprising results". The first of them, an apparent paradox involving infinite exponents, is interesting. A few of the riddles are confusing. The last one, whose answer is here, really annoys me. Apparently math people are too busy studying algebraic topology (or ice skating) to realize that rubber doesn't move like this.

things change, things stay the same

When I originally created an entry for this day, it was to celebrate Sen. Jeffords' (I-Vermont) defection from the Republican party. It seemed meaningful and exciting at the time.

But now that I am getting around to editing the entry for this day (about a month later), I find myself less than excited. All that Jeffords' move did was to create political gridlock by creating a balance of power between the White House and the Senate.

Don't get me wrong, I think that's a generally good thing. Anytime both parties have to fight it out between themselves and agree on things, anytime less gets done by our politicians, things seem to go better. It's no surprise Americans have a habit of electing different parties to the White House and Congress.

But what has Jeffords done lately? What has any political muckraker done lately? I mean, for heaven's sake, where is Ralph Nader? Is the media ignoring him even more than it used to, or was he not really committed to changing things in a big way?

Ah, well, at least we've still got McCain stirring things up. Bucking his party's more annoying trends and fighting for good things.

It's too bad he looks like a total doofus. I fear America can no longer elect a president who looks old, stodgy, or downright goofy, no matter what their political ideology.

office space was a documentary

Today has been rife with the kind of goofiness that only big corporation bureaucracy can create. Or so I'd like to think, living in my own little fairy tale world of naivete.

Like today's group meeting. Blair (my manager's manager's manager) moved the room reservation to Tuesday sometime without telling us before today, which is Wednesday. So when we all tried to meet in our normal conference room, it was full with some other meeting.

After some stellar spur-of-the-moment decision making, we all marched to the courtyard outside to have our meeting. Now, back at college, having class outside was a good thing. We would sit under a tree on the nice grass and generally ignore the teacher.

Work, however, as I have learned too many times, is not college. For instance, there is no grass in our courtyards, just concrete. Oh, and a whole lot of noise from turbines. Accordingly, any chance of effectively disseminating information was shot to heck. Plus it was very bright outside, so I had to close my eyes most of the time. Whee!

From what I could hear, there was somebody presenting on how to use our time management software. It probably wasn't the presentation she hoped to give since, whoops, there was no overhead projector for her transparencies. This led to a lot of silly meta-instruction such as "If you could imagine such and such a screen, you would click on something that said this, and then..." Not exactly the most memorable or stimulating instruction I've ever had.

It doesn't help that this time management software is itself a goofy idea in my opinion. What better way to spend my time at work than accounting for how I spent my time at work? Oh wait, didn't I already do that in my weekly status report? Oh I see, I'm supposed to indicate how many hours I worked on everything. Except the categories they gave for sorting my time are patently useless. Almost everything gets filed under "debugging".

And there's no way to indicate how much time I spent sitting around doing nothing in meetings. Why is that? Because the people who came up with this rigamarole had the exceptionally goofy idea that meetings are where work gets done. Pity my poor manager, who has no way to indicate why, in a two week period, she only got one week of work done, because the other half of her time was spent in meetings. Guess she'll have to work harder and smarter next week!

I won't even mention how they expect us to account for our vacation days.

But the meeting wasn't over yet. We then were told we needed to start working from our other computer accounts. The ones we weren't using. See, every time we switch projects, we get new accounts. Each account has its own way of doing things, and care is taken to make sure the new process is not like the old one. That's how we know things are getting better!

Except on this latest project of mine. On this one, I have two accounts, because there are two distinct groups working on the project. So I have to use my other account now. Except, whoops, it won't actually work for people in my group, so never mind. Apparently, this is what we call "synergy".

Thankfully, when we got back to our cubicles, the whole "meeting time" thing had been straightened out. My supposedly not-at-work über-boss had sent us mail indicating that the meeting time had now officially been changed to Tuesday (any good Intel manager does work when he isn't working). Seconds later, we got an auto-reply from his e-mail account, since he had also sent his e-mail to himself. The auto-reply let us know that he was out of the office and wouldn't be responding to e-mails today. Right.

Have I mentioned I'm quitting my job here soon?

rubbernecking in america

And crappy radio isn't the only reason to hate driving in Oregon, either.

Oregonians are some of the worst drivers I've ever seen. You could argue that they're not as maniacally dangerous as Houstonians, but that's not as comforting as you'd think when you're crawling home at five miles per hour, wondering what accident everyone is straining their necks to look at.

And often, by the time you start speeding up again, you realize there is no flaming wreckage to behold - it was taken off the freeway an hour ago, but the rubbernecking traffic remains!

Or maybe it's that Oregonians haven't quite figured out how to merge onto a highway. Not only do the people on the on-ramp not speed up enough, but the kindly, backwards Oregonians on the highway slow down to let these confused souls on. If you're lucky, it will cause an accident you can watch.

It's a darn good thing this place has decent public transportation from which I can watch traffic with glee as I speed by.

video stars killed the radio

Listening to late-night radio can be a hoot. I guess those in charge of programming figure no one's really listening.

Last night I heard four public service announcements (PSAs) in a row as I pulled up in front of my house. They must have been trying to cram in a lot before the day ended, trying to fulfill some obligation to the public or something.

But weirder than that was hearing the phrase "great porn" on the radio. No, not from Howard Stern or stupid Adam Carolla and pals. I heard it in an ad for a porn store.

Which just blew my mind. Two guys were talking back and forth about where to find great porn, and the one guy was happy to report that he gets his at this one store. Can they really talk about that? I mean, at least the late night 1-900 numbers make offers of meeting exciting new people, even if they are skimpily dressed.

I'm not a total prude, but I'd be fine if they passed a law that allowed me to live without ever hearing the phrase "great porn" again on the radio.

it's still an ad, ad, ad, ad, ad, world

Speaking of potentially subversive advertising, I got the following e-mail today. Please note the "from" header:

Date: Thu, 17 May 2001 18:24:22 -0700
To: s_a_l_r@aracnet.com
From: suz_somers@hotmail.com
Subject: I really liked your idea!

Dear Dan,

I really loved your idea of setting up an open source competition for the discovery of new nutraceuticals. (I fully sympathize with your idea to create intstr.net, and the fact that in the face of malicious attacks you were able to keep your site up) As you may know, I suffer from breast cancer, and am currently taking herbal treatments for my illness. I would love to contribute to your upcoming breast cancer competition by pledging a several million dollar reward for the person who comes up with the best idea for fighting breast cancer. you have all my support for your cause. I look forward to a better future for all humanity. Best wishes,
Suzanne

Now, I am at times a gullible man. But do I really think that Suzanne Somers wrote me an e-mail from her Hotmail account?

Or rather, do I think she accidentally sent it to me, when she meant to send it to Dan, he of apparent "nutraceuticals" fame?

No, digging around on the net has caused me to think this is a particularly weird or insidious type of spam.

This letter made me think that I was privy to a personal e-mail, and not just any one, but one from a girl I thought was pretty back when I watched her crappy, crappy sitcom. Thus, I didn't delete it.

In fact, I looked into the few facts carefully placed in the e-mail. It turns out Suzanne Somers really is battling breast cancer. And that instr.net really claims to have been a "victim of malicious attacks", although it is clearly functioning quite well, thank you.

But it seems to much for me to believe that good ol' Suzy would offer seven-digit financial support in an e-mail from her Hotmail account. She might, you know, want to brush up on her business communication.

Sigh. Oh well. At least the first example of this kind of spam was entertaining to me and kept me on my toes. It's the next several thousand iterations I'm not looking forward to.

it's an ad, ad, ad, ad, world

What is to be made of this CNN story, found under the stunning headline "Model Niki Taylor Taken Off Respirator, Asks For Soft Drink":

ATLANTA, Georgia (CNN) -- Model Niki Taylor has made "significant improvements" and has been taken off a respirator, her doctor told reporters Thursday.

Word of her improvement comes nearly three weeks after a car accident in Atlanta left her in critical condition.

The first word spoken by the model since the April 29 crash was "Coke," said her manager, Lou Taylor (no relation). Her doctor rejected the request for the soft drink, saying she was not ready yet.

I'm not so much appalled by the prominence given celebrity nonevents as the detailed coverage given to the fact that 'the first word spoken by the model since the April 29 crash was "Coke."'

Am I so jaded that I expect advertising to come from everywhere, or is it really just a coincidence that this story takes place in Atlanta, Georgia, home to Coke HQ?

Might Niki, unable to model because of the crash, have picked up some extra money by saying the right word when the press was around?

If not, with the line continually getting blurrier between reality and entertainment, and with the continuing increase in product placement, it's only a matter of time before something like this happens."

time after time

Plastic today had a pointer to an interesting story on time travel. Usually, such stories from quasi-scientific sites are ultimately disappointing because, well, if time travel were ever possible, people from the future would likely be flying all over the place, no? Unless there's something horribly wrong with the Earth right now that we're unaware of that only gets fixed in the future. Like maybe we smell and just don't know.

Regardless, this story avoids that trap. The method described here only allows for time travel to points when the proper apparatus has been activated. In other words, people from the future will only be able to travel back to when the device was perfected and turned on, and not any point before then. Since this device hasn't been invented yet, we are therefore unburdened by annoying German tourists from the future.

Still, this makes me consider, once again, the many problems of time travel. Sure, there are all the many technical paradoxes about killing your grandparents, blah blah blah. But I'm worried about more important things.

For example, what advertising executive wouldn't thrill to go back in time and create all sorts of hype for a product that wouldn't exist for many years? Think of the level of hype that could be generated! And the kids would just eat up any product from the future. So clearly, the moment this first time portal is turned on, the immediate vicinity will be deluged with massive amounts of annoying futuristic ads.

Only slightly less annoying than that would be the probable decision of several world governments to conveniently dispose of their wastes by storing them in the past. Not to blame any governments in particular, but if disposing of nuclear and toxic wastes is a problem now, I can only expect it will be moreso in the future. Instead of leaving such an environmental disaster for our children to deal with, as is the current modus operandi, politicians of the future will be able to leave their problems for their grandparents to deal with. I fear it is a solution all-too-tempting for the weak and foolish politicians we will no doubt elect in the future.

Or perhaps invading hordes from some future superpower will come back and kick America's butt when we were weak and foolishly undefended by a perfectly functioning space laser program. If only we had known...

In short, the minute this time machine is turned on, it will be flooded with crap (literally) from the future. I wouldn't want to be anywhere near it. Fortunately, the article says the research is being done in Connecticut. Perhaps no one will notice large amounts of futuristic sludge appearing suddenly.

Oh well. I doubt it is really much of an issue, as some scientist in the near future, tired of having his time machine destroyed by advertising run amok, will no doubt send a neutron bomb back to the first ever time portal and destroy it and the scientist who made it, ending once and for all this horrible mess of time travel.

the web is my sticky-note pad

Note to self: do not, under any circumstances, engage bus driver in conversation concerning video games. Gadzooks, that man can go on! Who knew there was so much to say about "first person shooters"?

dear mom, please support my company

Gads, this is pitiful. The following appeared in a rah-rah article on Intel's intranet today, telling us that everything is going to be okay, we will come out of this slow economic time better than before, etc., etc.

Why should your colleagues, family and friends buy a computer system based on the Intel Pentium 4 processor? Because it will provide you with:

Fast digital music, allowing you to quickly create MP3s and sync up files between your PC and audio devices. A Pentium 4 processor-based PC offers an amazing digital music experience.

Intense 3D gaming, feeding your need for speed and performance with immersive 3D gaming experiences.

Powerful video, connecting the Pentium 4 processor to your home entertainment center makes it fast and easy to view, create, edit, and share your home movies.

Advanced technology, thanks largely to the all-new Intel® NetBurst micro-architecture.

Well, thank goodness! I now know that Intel, whose processers I helped make, or at least keep from being a bug-ridden fiasco, makes really swell processor!

What, are we firing the marketing and sales departments that we need to mobilize every Intel employee to advertise to his friends and family? Or is Intel converting into a full-on cult, with proselytizing and everything? After all, we already have a holy trinity of sorts.

My favorite selling point above, though, is "advanced technology". The other three points really didn't make this obvious enough, I suppose. Oh, fine, you might not care about MP3s or video games or watching movies, but, uh, this is ... well, it's newer! And better! So you should buy it.

And as an engineer, I'd like to voice my distaste for the name NetBurst. What a stupid name. It's a new micro-architecture. Anyone who understands that word should be smart enough to not be taken in by a name like NetBurst™. Ah, marketing. Whoops, I didn't say that.

Oh great, now they're going to fire me.

ack! i need a cathy diet!

It bothers me that the humorous/comic strips section of Powell's books has a "Cathy overflow" section, but no other strip has one.

What does this mean? Inasmuch as this shelf was the top shelf, and therefore put Ms. Guisewite's horrible, horrible vision of the world out of reach of most consumers, this is a good thing. I just worry that there are that many Cathy books.

cher and cher alike

At lunch, Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" was playing at Geraldi's.

Colin reminisced about the video, which I hadn't seen. Apparently in it, Cher, wearing some ridiculous plastic v-shaped thong, prances around on a battleship. Oh, like I expected a Cher video to make sense or have any decorum whatsoever.

I asked Colin if there were any sailors on the ship at the time they shot the video. He replied that, yes, there were many young studly sailors in the video.

I told him I thought the video would have been much better if it had been populated by throngs of necessarily old WWII vets. Cher would prance and prowl among them, writhing wistfully in front of their long-past-responsive bodies, wishing for all the world that she could, in fact, turn back time.

It just seemed a much better interpretation of the song's lyrics than the obvious one. Which is, of course, yet another endorsement of plastic surgery.

You'd be surprised how many of Cher's songs revolve around that topic.

As a side note, I have now seen the video, courtesy of the above link. In trying to find out more about this video, I discovered it was number forty-nine on VH1's list of the top one hundred videos. This frightens me.

There doesn't seem to be anything terribly inventive about this video. True, I can't name any other ones that have women in their forties wearing v-shaped thongs, much less on a battleship.

And what's up with that battleship? Did they pick it for the obvious phallic imagery of Cher straddling a large cannon? Or was it easy to convince several hundred sailors to act like complete idiots around a woman? At ease, boys! Have some saltpeter!

correspondence course

My friend Beeman is travelling in Spain right now. Beeman's a great guy. I like him a lot. So I sent him this clever apparent form letter, just to let him know how I feel:

will never know you didn't write it yourself!
------------cut-here--------------------
Hello, dear travelling friend! How are you doing? That's great! Me too. Yes, things are fine here in the town where we live. I have been hanging out with some of our mutual friends, but things are not the same without you. Our favorite hangout just seems empty. But I hope that you are having a good time over there. I hope to hear from you soon! Take care!
Sincerely, Your Friend
------------cut-here--------------------
Now simply press the "send" button on your e-mail program, and your friend

Very clever. That's how Beeman and I are to each other. In fact, he sent back a funny e-mail that was almost as clever as mine (how clever you perceive it to be may be mitigated by how much Spanish you know):

even in Spanish!
===========cut=here============
Hola muchacha,
Yo quiero besarte abajo de la luz de la luna, y tocar tu chi-chis en una playa romantica. Despues, nos vamos a mi cuarto para hacer amor una vez, dos veces, por horas y horas, hasta estamos tan cansado para hacerlo otra vez.
Con mucho amor,
El Guapo
===========cut=here============
If you would like the form response for a same-sex friend, just click

Sometimes people call Beeman and I the "Clever Brothers", even though we aren't really brothers. Heck, we don't even have the same parents!

Still, we like to kid around, as evidenced by the following conversation which didn't actually take place, but was pieced together from e-mails Beeman and I sent each other while he was in Spain. If you think that's a clever way to write a story, just wait till you read the story itself!

Beeman:
Howdy kids. Interesting trip so far. My flight to Newark got hosed, so I got to stand in a bunch of lines for a few hours, and after 11 hours of "travel", I had reached Seattle.

Todd:
You suck. I could walk to Seattle in eleven hours. You must be doing something wrong. Are you on the marijuana?

Beeman:
... After my first meal, my credit card was refused. Hmmm. So I paid with what little cash I had left, and headed for the ATM, which refused my card. Trouble. Foreign country, no money, and no ability to get money.

Todd:
Oh yeah. Sorry about that. We were trying to, um, correct a mistake we saw in your bank account. I guess you must have, er, left your computer on, logged into your bank account. Yes, and we saw an accounting error and wanted to correct it. So we did. Everything should be fine now, though. You don't remember how much cash you had in your checking account before the trip, do you? Just wondering.

Beeman:
... And there's no cereal here! Aside from those little details, it's been pretty cool. Since all of Madrid is pretty much closed on Monday...

Todd:
Yeah, sorry about that, too. I guess you also had a window open on your computer where you were accessing the national Spanish calendar system or something. I don't know, maybe Hermann was using your computer for hacking or something (you can't trust that guy), but I saw that window open and tried to close it, but I think I accidentally hit the hot key for "make Monday a national holiday". Sorry about that. If I knew how to open the window again, I'd change it. Man, the Internet sure makes things more convenient, but sometimes too convenient, if you know what I mean.

Beeman:
... I met a girl who is dying for me to meet her Brazilian model girlfriend. Life on the road is tough.

Todd:
I don't know who you're trying to make jealous over here, because we all have girlfriends. Single loser!

Beeman:
... Also, I'm doing way better with Spanish here than I expected! I think it's because more people here speak slowly and precisely, whereas in Mexico they use more slang and skip a lot of syllables.

Todd:
Actually, I'm not sure if you noticed or not, but in Mexico, they speak backwards. That's why they're so hard to understand. They actually live backwards, too. They're "born" by rising out of a grave, very old and wrinkled, and they "die" by inserting themselves into a woman's vagina when they're very small. Yeah, don't try that at home, eh?

Beeman, Portland isn't the same without you. I think today's Oregonian captures it best: "Portland Rockets to #1 in Livability Survey. Metro Air 'Just Seems Cleaner', Say Meteorologists.

Well, anyways, things are different here. So do you like it over there in Spain? I mean, do you really like it? Do you think you'd consider living there? I hear rent is pretty cheap over there. And there are lots of young single women, too, huh? Yeah, I think Spain is pretty cool. Much better than Portland. I'm just sayin'.

Bueno, espero que tu tengas buen viaje, y que conozcas a muchas chicas bellas. Escribe todo que pasa así que lo acordarás. Toma fotos buenas, y muchos consejos similares. Nunca besa a una mujer con una barba - ella no es una mujer, ¡es tu compañero de cuarto del albergue! Si hay un búfalo que te habla en inglés, significa que estás cerca de una biblioteca. ¡Qué buen negocio! ¡Una ganga verdadera! No sé que estoy diciendo. Ayúdame.

Love, Todd

As you can see, Beeman and I are great friends. Great clever friends. Don't you wish you had friends like this?

thou shalt not make silly idols

Finally, I'm not sure if it's the Protestant in me, but I have to giggle at these wonderful Catholic sports statues. I suppose it's nice to want to encourage your athletic child to remember his or her savior, but I have to wonder about the scenarios depicted here.

I mean, fine, there's Jesus helping some kid at bat. The catcher, who is apparently an atheist, is doing things on his own, but doesn't seem overly concerned about divine intervention on the behalf of the other team.

But what about the other statues? Are children actually playing against the Son of God? Can they possibly expect to win? For one thing, in the basketball scene, he's quite a bit taller than any of the children trying to block his shot.

And do you really want to encourage your children to think about tackling their savior, as one Satan-loving child is depicted as doing?

Frankly, these statues raise questions more than they encourage a child in the faith. Questions like, "why does Jesus wear sandals when he's running at a track meet or out on the court, yet he wears ice skates when playing hockey?"

I'm guessing that these scenes are taken from some book in the Apocrypha that I just haven't read yet, but still, I have to wonder what the folks at Catholic Supply were thinking. I now see why Muslims so adamantly oppose any physical depiction of God.

words, words, words

What does it mean that the words priapism and tumescence have been at the forefront of my brain today? Did I read an article on sex? Was I listening to a song with naughty but medically accurate lyrics? Why, mind, why?

Another song title

While reading an article on CNN about plate tectonics (which seems to have disappeared from their archives), I came across the following phrase, which filled me with glee:

"so-called Dongwanzi ophiolite"

Presumably it's only so called by the laymen. Real scientists likely have a much more obscure, confusing phrase.

So I think I'll write a song someday with that phrase as the title. You know, so all the alt.kids will know it's cool and stuff.

a worse outlook

I don't even understand what's so great about Outlook in the first place.

Our group at work, haven to many people comfortable with, if not experts in Unix or Linux, was forced to switch to Outlook for calendaring needs in the past year. There was no end to the groaning.

For one thing, it's a scheduling system based on e-mail. I can't even begin to guess why this seemed like a good idea. Did no one realize that, due to the way the Internet is designed, e-mails sent in some order aren't guaranteed to arrive in that order?

That means that if somebody schedules a meeting and then changes its time or location soon after, I may receive the second e-mail first, and the first e-mail last, which means Outlook is not aware of the change that was sent out second. Great!

I have countless meetings on my calendar that are incorrect because of this problem. Some of them are even cancelled, but Outlook isn't aware of this. Sigh. It's not that I'm completely anti-Microsoft, but I don't understand this one.

a bad outlook

We got another virus alert at work today. I simply can't believe how many viruses have gone around that affect only Outlook. It's like a joke.

How can anybody think that it's a good idea to install a piece of software that is so easily made to do bad things? If this were anyone besides Microsoft, would we really use this junk?

And besides, what is so all-fired great about Outlook that makes these viruses worth bearing? Are people truly so ignorant as to think that this is the only way to read their e-mail? I'm just baffled.

I mean, there are downloadable packages out there for producing Outlook bugs. All you have to do is add your own personal destructive technique or cute flair, and send it to someone with a large Outlook address book.

And yet this is the most popular way for people to read mail? You can download Pine or Eudora for free, and they're practically immune to these viruses because they don't automatically execute every stupid file someone sends you.

Really, this is just proof of the endless stupidity of humanity. We have too many people using computers who don't know what they're doing. I can't imagine any other invention being used so ignorantly by people to such ill effect. And it's not the people's fault that the product doesn't recognize that they're stupid.

dance as metaphor? no way!

It seems to me that dancing through the years naturally reflects the changing societal mores. Not that this is in any way surprising, but it's interesting to me.

Back in the days of ballroom dancing, there were not only rules for how to do a particular dance, but how to pick a partner, how to dress, and how to behave one's self at a dancing event. Great importance was given to order in society, to make sure that everything went smoothly. It was all very orchestrated.

Gradually, the societal rules started loosening, while the dance rules remained. The focus moved from the entire room, or society, to the couple level. This can be seen in the emergence of swing.

Then, as we move into more recent years, the rules dissolved even further. No longer did we see couple dances with many complex maneuvers, but dances in which all the moves necessary were very simple and done by one person, such as the twist or mashed potato.

Eventually this gave way to an even less defined dance structure, in which people were expected to do their own thing to the beat.

Perhaps an extreme example of this is the mosh pit, in which any regard for the tempo of the music is largely ignored in favor of the power or intensity of it all. Indeed, it may be said that dancing, as such, is looked down upon.

This is a very simplistic view of soceity and dancing, of course, and it ignores parallel trends in music that encouraged such dancing, but I find it all rather interesting nonetheless.

mapmaker, mapmaker

Who designs suburban streets? Why do they have to curve so much?

I mean, are they designed to go anywhere? Are they supposed to evoke a winding country road?

You'd think that efficiency in travel time, navigation, and land usage would guide the layout of streets, but that doesn't seem to be the case at all in the suburbs. And the thing is, most suburbs I know are like this.

Do people find grids to be aesthetically disquieting?

e*tirade

Out of sheer academic interest, I would like somebody to come up with a more aggravating phone system than that employed by E*Trade's Optionslink.

In an attempt to get my stocks out of their hands and into mine, I went to their website. I wanted to know whether they had actually processed my request for a stock transfer. They attempted to hide this information from me.

So I hunted around and eventually found their 1-800 number. If they would not tell me on their website, then I would get the answer from a human being on their phone line. Ho ho, says the audience, ho ho.

Indeed. They were far more clever than I. They did everything they could to ensure I would not hear the warmth of a human voice when I called. It would be too easy a victory to let me talk to an entity capable of feeling compassion. Compassion for a man scorned by a coy website. But if the website was coy, the phone system was downright belligerent.

I'm not sure who thought that being able to say my nine-digit identification number would be easier than typing it in on the phone's keypad. Are there yet people who don't know how to use the phone keypad? Maybe I missed all the ads for phone typing classes, but I'm fairly certain that the ordering of the keys makes sense.

Regardless, I was forced to listen to instructions that were twice as long as they needed to be, so that I understood how easy this technological marvel was.

Once past the Scylla and Charabdis of my ID number and password, my odyssey had only begun. For I was then confronted with several minutes' worth of information, none of which dealt with how to get this information to stop.

Forced to listen, I was told at length about how Intel was changing stock brokers from E*Trade to PaineWebber, how this transfer was taking place, at what time, and so on. My sole consolation was in thinking that this change was taking place because of E*Trade's monumentally crappy phone system.

Clearly revelling in their power to prevent me from completing my task, they then reminded me that all the information I was just told could be found at a website, one whose URL was too complicated to actually remember. Perhaps when I'm feeling masochistic I'll go look it up.

And yet the fun continued. For there was yet more extremely important information that had to be spoken at me before they could tell me what my options were on the phone menu.

It was somewhere in the middle of this second tirade that, out of sheer desperation, I banged the headset of the phone against my desk, imagining that the computer voice inside was at least mildly dinged in the process.

Much to my surprise, this outburst of noise actually stopped the flow of very important information. I was then given a set of options to choose from. Well, I guess violence does accomplish something!

I then began meandering through the maze of options, trying desperately to find a number I could press (or a phrase I could say!) that would lead me to a human being. But no matter what option I was given, it was clear that they didn't want me to talk to anybody.

So I started doing things intentionally wrong. I pressed options that didn't exist. I said the word "help" over and over, though I was not told it would, in fact, help.

At some point, the computer became confused enough to suggest that I say "customer service", if that's what I wanted. It sounded sort of upset that I obviously hated it. So I said "customer service".

In its last gasp at maintaining control of our conversation, the computer asked me if I was really sure I wanted to talk to a human.

"Yes," I said, "you stupid bucket of @$@*%^& @%*& ... Why don't you @$*&@ *@&@$ ... !!"

Cleverly, the computer tried to make sense of my suggestions to it, and once again became confused. So I again asked for "customer service".

This time, when it asked me if I was sure, I simply said "yes", cowed into submission by a computer that didn't like being cursed at.

I was then given another list of options, wherein I was told to press 1 if I wanted to talk to customer service. I guess they just wanted to be sure.

Thankfully, the human at the other end of the phone line was unable to confirm if my shares had been transferred, and suggested I call another 1-800 number, whose workers had already gone home for the day. Yay!

But just think about it. What if this phone system were a website?

Would a company delay your ability to use their site by splashing up screens of text you don't want? Would they hide the help button several pages down once you got inside the site? Would they ask you to confirm, several times, that you really meant to click the help button?

The sad thing is that some companies do this on their websites, but those companies will or should die a painful death. I wish no different a fate to the phone system at E*Trade.

real social science

Of late, there has been great upheaval in my social world. My friends are involved in an unprecedented number of relationships.

While normally this would be good, it bothers me from a scientific point of view. You see, my circle of friends has always believed in the conservation of relationships.

There are a fixed number of free-floating romantic structures allocated to us, and as such, when a new relationship forms, an old one ends, or vice versa. It's not pretty, but it's science.

We've observed the effects of this exacting law of love over and over. And yet here we are today with no less than four relationships among those I talk to regularly.

Admittedly, Aaron and Morgan have been dating for longer than mankind has walked the earth, and are even now engaged, but still.

To have Jerry, Hermann, Doug, and I (albeit long-distancially) involved at the same time causes some consternation. Can it all last? And how is it that that great lothario himself, Beeman, isn't involved in all of this? Troubling questions, indeed.

At least until I heard the news today. While I was out of town last week visiting Julia, there was a breakup.

Not a couple that I talk to every day, but I did see them around at parties. Now, I don't want to revel in such a sad event, but I must say I am relieved that the convervation of relationships holds true as a law.

The only thing worse than romantic unhappiness is finding out that the very laws of science - of nature itself - are wrong.

Still, I now live somewhat in fear of this strict law. It will do whatever it must to be sated. We may try to date more people than it will allow, and perhaps for a time it will seem vanquished.

But it will, if necessary, seek out any and all relationships in our proximity and destroy them as need be.

Fear science, my friends, for it is a cold and ruthless killing machine.

man vs. man

You know, I don't know how much I can really say about my uncertainty on leaving my job. Not that that'll stop me from trying.

My left brain is fairly troubled by the whole thing. Right now, I'm in a position that will be needed no matter what the economy does It's very secure. I get paid well, and I have a lot of friends at work. In fact, when I leave, there will be some people I won't very much of.

Never mind all that, my right brain says. Be free! And I will be. I'll be quitting my job in the tradition of many free-thinking iconoclast movie protagonists. And Hollywood scripts are a great thing to base my actions on.

Bah, thinking. It's doing me no good.

a crapella

I'm not sure why, but I found myself reading this article on the Rice Philharmonics, one of my alma mater's a capella groups. And it made me sad.

Never mind that it's a total fluff piece written by Rice's in-house propaganda factory, known to churn out more than their fair share of really goofy journalism.

No, what bugs me is the tale, seemingly approved of by the author, of how this group of happy nerds changed their style, their personality, to become more popular. To fit in.

"Until last year, the Rice a cappella group was very traditional in format, even singing a lot of spirituals and madrigals. But one thing they learned is that now collegiate a cappella is into contemporary pop rock." So they dropped a favorite song written by a former Philharmonics member, because they "realized [they] had to do more mainstream music" in competitions.

I likely wouldn't have issues with this if it didn't seem so emblematic of things at Rice. If you read between the lines, you can actually hear the administrators admonishing those who would walk the road less travelled, chiding them for being different.

That's what I feel the prevailing attitude has been at Rice, more and more each year. Of course, I wasn't exactly the darling of Rice's social scene, so maybe I'm just brewing in my outcast role, doomed to sneer at all the Who's down in Whoville.

So now they've placed in the competition for which they changed their style. Good boys and girls. You've followed the rules very well. Still, it bothers me when anyone thinks they have learned a lesson when they are told they have to conform to win approval. To change who they are.

Or maybe I'm just bothered that they had the gall to title the CD which incorporates this new style No Timidity.

social engineering

So this whole "job leaving" thing has got me thinking. No, really.

See, my whole life, I've been on this engineer track, as it were. I was smart in high school, good at science and math and computers.

When I got to Rice, I firmed up my decision to stay in the technical field and eventually found myself majoring in computer engineering. I liked some of the classes well enough, but mainly I had discovered I didn't like pure physics, pure computer science, or even the circuitry part of electrical engineering.

During the summers, I got internships at several high-tech corporations. The jobs were fairly boring, and I rarely did anything important, but I was building a resume, right?

When I started looking for jobs at the end of college, I only had two offers. One from AMD, and the other from Intel. Seeing as I didn't want to live in Sunnyvale or be a product engineer, I went with the Intel job.

Of course, I was just happy to have a job out of college, and a prestigious one that payed well, at that. But over time, it became apparent that I wasn't always enjoying my job. Some days it was good, some days it was bad.

I came to question why I was in this position. What made me think I was an engineer? I noticed that I had never really asked myself that honestly up until that point. I had just trudged along. After all, engineers make money. Engineering is a good, respectable field. And so on.

But my point isn't so much what happened to me. Rather, I've been thinking a lot lately about current trends in child rearing.

I think this was brought out by a recent trip to Toys 'R' Us. While pondering buying a really cheap electronic drum set, I noticed that they were selling some goofy "Mozart for Babies" CD. It turns out that there are all sorts of stupid recordings like that.

And it bothers me. Not only because someone is trying to make a quick buck by repackaging the same old recordings, or, worse, making new ones on "baby-safe" instruments like the glockenspiel or vibraphone.

No, I am simply bothered by this push to turn our children into baby geniuses. Can't you people see that's an awful idea!

Somehow, parents have gotten it into their minds that their children must be raised to their full potential, and that can only be achieved if the parents cram lots of stuff into their children's heads, like it or not. So goodbye unstructured playtime, it's time for more edutainment.

So what's my point with all this? My point is that this is all futile. I fancy myself a fairly intelligent guy. I always got good grades, did well on my SATs, got into a good college, ... all the things that these overbearing parents want for their children.

(Heck, while I think my parents did a bang-up job of raising me, they certainly did it wrong by today's standards. No playdates, no educational products foisted upon me, and lots of unstructured time. Just lots of Legos and listening to popular music. My poor, naive parents.)

And yet, here I am, many years down the road, and I realized that the path that I had chosen wasn't what I wanted. That was hard enough to decide without my parents pressuring me. I can only imagine how difficult it would be to change paths if my parents had built up my entire childhood to see me become the next Einstein.

(As a side note, Einstein is the only legitimate scientific genius, just like Mozart is the only classical music that will help your baby become an Einstein. Nobody seems to care much about has-beens like Feynman or Hindemith.)

I guess I just fear for all these children being raised in such high pressure atmospheres. Will they ever learn to follow their hearts, to do what it is that brings them the most joy? Will they ever learn to be creative and think differently? Or are we just raising a crop of intelligent robots?

trippin' in berkeley

I went down to Berkeley this past weekend. It was, of course, a good time.

I got to see my old housemate Grayson, Josh, Christy, and Todd. A weekend of meeting old college friends and hanging out - an activity I am only more likely to repeat as time goes on. That means I'm old.

I have to say, I've never had a beautiful girl explain phase transition diagrams to me before. It's so cool to be dating a smart girl.

may day! may day!

So I'm almost certainly quitting my job. No, really, this time I mean it. Intel is offering a nice separation package, and I figure it's not too often I get paid to quit.

Of course, along with this sudden feeling of freedom comes a sudden feeling of fear. It would be a lot easier, but not as nice, if I got fired. Because that would be involuntary.

But perhaps I'm blowing this decision out of proportion just because I've never quit my job before. Heck, I've never had any other job outside of college internships!