Corporate America Saves the Day!

I was recently looking back over my blog posts. Aside from enjoying my rapier wit, lamenting my typos, and reliving the old grad school days, I felt a deep sense of loss. My job and personal life make regular blogging (or blogging at all) particularly difficult. I work long hours; I spend my non-work hours interacting with my girlfriend (interaction: the key to good relationships); my otherwise free time is spent reading. That leaves very little time to craft personally indulgent blog entries.

I also realize that The Web doesn't care about me, and probably despises me in a mild way. The way you might feel about a zit on your butt: not particularly threatening or noticeable, but not pretty to look at and possibly making the place look scummy when you try to impress someone. Therefore, I have decided to see what you, The Web, were spared by my employment.

• Obsession (probably unhealthy) with the Eliot Spitzer debacle.
• An extensive set of posts about Asimov's Foundation series.
  
• Posts about reality TV.
  
• World War II: The beating of a dead horse.
  
• Inane yammering about Battlestar Galactica
• Obamania!
• Moleskine notebooks: Blogger v0.0
• Gas prices are high; let's ride bikes!
  

Weekday Brad Lives for the Weekend

At the moment, I am in a nondescript office building in Hackensack, NJ, running fake analyses of catastrophe risk. This is weekday Brad in a nutshell. Weekend Brad is far different. He lives a glamorous lifestyle that includes a 2-hour busride through Weehauken, Hoboken, and North Bergen that culminates in a grand arrival at the Port Authority Bus Terminal in Manhattan. From there, his travels take him all over that fair island.

I have little photographic evidence of my adventures. Little, save one small nugget. A friend and I trekked all the way to 112th and Broadway to see the diner featured in Seinfeld. On the show, characters refer to it as Monk's, but it's actually Tom's. I was extremely creeped out by the manager. And the food. It was terrible despite the fact that they still make a "Big Salad". (Aside: the photo to the right, which provides irrefutable proof of the event, was taken on an iPhone.)

I had another encounter with TV stardom. One of the judges on America's Next Top Model, Nigel Barker, happened to walk past me while I was sitting outside a cafe in the Chelsea Market. Mr. Barker is a judge on the show, a photographer, and a former male model. He was with his wife (also a model) and young son (soon to be a model). I later found out that my girlfriend thinks Mr. Barker is very attractive. Needless to say, I wish I had seized the opportunity to "eliminate" the competition.

I did a lot of other things in the city that mostly involved existing in the vicinity of various landmarks and neighborhoods. I saw the UN Building and briefly contemplated what would happen if I tried to scale the fence. I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and noted that my friend and I were perhaps the only native English-speakers to walk across it. I saw the skating rink at Rockefeller Center where a dirty hippie fell hard on the ice while holding his girlfriend. I walked though Chelsea, SoHo, Greenwich Village, the Meatpacking District, TriBeCa, NYU, Columbia University, the Financial District, parts of Central Park, Grand Central Station, the Upper East Side, and Times Square. I nearly bought bootleg DVDs on Canal Street. I sat in Washington Square Park for an hour watching pedestrians avoid or fail to fully avoid stepping on a dead rat (New Yorkers have an innate ability to avoid a rat without having noticed it).

So maybe I didn't have a "glamorous" weekend. It was more of a "get-as-much-NYC-stuff-as-possible-squeezed-into-2-days" weekend. The best part was watching the New Yorkers step on a dead rat.

Hackensack-bound

I'm guessing that I lost most of my "readership" because some blathering about Kaju Katli doesn't exactly keep your thirst for blog posts quenched for months.

So what's going on in my life?

I previously mentioned that my girlfriend was going to move to California. We can officially change verb tenses because she movED out here just about a month ago. And wow...living together is incredibly easy. I've lived with 3 peers for several years up until May. At that point, I moved close to Fremont to essentially live alone for 4 months. And now, I'm living in a (spacious) one-bedroom apartment with my girlfriend, who I've never lived with before. I was expecting all kinds of friction and adjustment, but it just hasn't happened. Sure, she had to watch Big Brother 8, hates all things produced by the History Channel, and gets annoyed by the copious amounts of body hair that I leave all over the apartment, but that's about the extent of our problems. We're keeping the lines of communication open, and it's going great. You naysayers out there might say that it's only going well because I'm moving to New Jersey for 6 weeks. I doubt it, but it's possible.

"Whoa, wait a second! New Jersey for six weeks?!", you might exclaim. Well, yes. I'm starting a new job October 1 that requires that I train in beautiful Hackensack, NJ, for a time. I feel like I'm ditching Christy (my girlfriend). Thankfully, it's not 3 months of training, as I was originally told, but it still blows. I'm going to try to make a few trips back to CA. Hopefully, the time will go quickly.

I have a ton of crap to do before I go. There's lots of work to be done on the project I'm currently on. I have to arrange bill payment and other mundane tasks. Most importantly, I have to read all 7 Harry Potter books. I started a few weeks ago. I'm currently in the middle of book 6. I need to finish this one and book 7 in about a week and a half. Possible, yes, but not easy when working long hours and spending quality-time with the lady-friend. At this point, I'm not sure I understand all the hoopla about the series. If I was between 9 and 14 years old, I'd be crazy about the books. I just can't understand how or why these books became so popular among adults. You can quote some time-worn line about it exploring classic themes about growing up, uncertainty, destiny, etc., but I'll remain unconvinced. Many other books explore the same themes better. The conflicts that arise between friends and rivals seem so contrived half the time, that I almost want to stop reading. But I must carry on.

The only thing I can think of that drives people to the series is the names. Hogwarts. Mundungus. Draco Malfoy. Hermione (I thought this was "Hymen-knee" when I first heard it). Albus Dumbledore. Bernie Botts. Bellatrix Lestrange. Luna "Loony" Lovegood. And on and on. It's quirky, funny, and mildly subversive in a way that parents can accept (that is, it's not subversive at all).

Sorry for the aside about Harry Potter.

I hope to write here a little more often when I'm in New Jersey. There won't be much to do aside from work, so I hope to have some time to keep everyone updated.

Randomness

I have no political polemics to write down, so I'll discuss some random topics and list them with bullet points all professional-like.

• If we're going to talk about randomness, I might as well mention the recent book I read: Nassim Nicholas Taleb's "The Black Swan". I'll be honest, it was a weird book. At times I felt like I was reading one of those corporate-ese books on effective selling, motivating your underlings, or, in this case, wise investing. At other points, it felt like an irreverant, amusing philosophy book. At still others, he went into fascinating detail on how we deal with randomness psychologically. He dealt with how the really big events that shape our lives, history, and stock portfolios are incredibly rare. It's an interesting point, but he never seems to explain how he uses this fact. He explains that the Gaussian random distribution is defunct (not news). He also mentions that he puts a big chunk of the capital he invests in super-safe government bonds and speculates wildly with the rest. He tries to find those investments where the upside is rare but huge while the failure of that investment wouldn't have adverse effects. Great. But give me a concrete example and compare your results to those of the S&P 500. Otherwise, what is the use of telling me that unexpected things can happen? One other annoying aspect of the book is that he projects an image of an embattled and humble scholar while simultaneously reeking of immense smugness.
  
  
• Some guy in my office keeps bringing in Kaju Katli. The appearance is off-putting (see left): they are made of some hardened off-white paste and covered with a thin layer of aluminum foil that is meant to be ingested along with the hardened paste. But I love them. I LOVE THEM. And it makes sense: they're primarily made from cashews (Kaju = cashew). If you're an uncultured American like me, you should give these a try. I wonder if I can get my girlfriend to make these...
  
  
• Oh right, my girlfriend is moving out to California soon!
  
  
• Having a TV in my bedroom is a horrible idea. I got up early this morning, so at 8am I decided to watch some news for 15 minutes. Unfortunately, I flipped channels during a commercial and settled on "Charmed", the "Buffy" knock-off featuring Alyssa Milano and Rose "Machine-Gun Leg" McGowan. It's a terrible show about witches that would be unremarkable if these two sirens were not in it. But because my willpower is unusually weak in the morning, I found myself watching it to the end and arrived at work a little later than usual (9:05 rather than 8:30). Oops.
  
  
• If you didn't catch it just now, my daily commute to work is 5 minutes (in bad traffic). Less if I hit the stoplights just right.
  

Politcial Actor Committees

I realize that my initial pledges of triviality and banality have been violated as of late, but I guess I just got caught up in some politics. I have another thought that I simply transmit to my zero readers, and then I'll *try* to curtail the political nonsense.

Fred "Law & Order" Thompson has been getting lots of press with his weird, teaser-of-a-bid for the GOP presidential nomination. Lots of people are drawn to him for reasons that I'm not sure I care to know in detail. But his popularity in the press has made me wonder: if he gets the nomination and gets elected, what does that mean? Does it mean that when Americans get themselves into a "pickle" (an Iraq-flavored one in this case), they feel the need to elect an actor to high office?

There's some precedent here. As a Californian, the most readily available example is my own governor, Ahhnold Schwarzenegger. The CA budget was on the fritz so Californians decided to throw out the current governor and install an actor in his place. "He defeated a robot made of molten metal; surely he can balance the budget!"

But there's one more example I would like to mention: Reagan. I didn't exist at the time (that is, I hadn't been born, but I was probably conceived briefly after Reagan's inauguration), so I'm not sure if there was a clear "pickle" in the 1980 election. Perhaps voters considered the Iranian hostage crisis a big pickle. I don't know. But we elected a (bad) actor in the process. The good people of California had elected him governor decades before "to clean up the mess at Berkeley." (real quote, no joke!)

It's just something to think about. At this point, a sophistimacated blogger might segue into a meditation on American decadence, decline, and disrespect for intellectual ability. But, you know me better than that.

We can't let Iran become the next Iraq

I finished reading "A Tragic Legacy" by Glenn Greenwald, and it was pretty damn good. Pretty damn incriminating, too. I basically hit on the major points in the previous post. Greenwald spends a good deal of time enumerating just how successfully Bush has collapsed his own presidency. He exhaustively backs up his theory about that Bush always frames his rhetoric as a Good vs. Evil struggle. While a big chunk of the book is a retrospective on the Bush presidency, there is some urgency as well. The biggest point of the book, for example, is that we're starting to see some noise from the White House regarding Iran that disturbingly resembles the the lead up to the Iraq invasion.

Things are different now, sure, but that doesn't mean we're definitely not going to see some military action in Iran. Yes, the POTUS' approval rating is still sub-30%, and we lack the military resources for a real war against Iran. And yes, Congress will likely not explicitly authorize military action in Iran. But, according to Greenwald, there are ways--sneaky, criminally deceitful ways--around these issues. What follows is my interpretation of Greenwald's thoughts (he should, naturally, get all the credit).

Public approval, for one, doesn't technically mean anything until the election. Bush thinks that "history" will vindicate him. And yet, public pressure might actually be a useful force (Bush's fellow Republicans may desert him even faster than they are now is he decides to bring the entire GOP down with him). Nevertheless, there is a conceivable way around this. If there were, God forbid, a terrorist attack on the US in the short-term, that could put more people behind the President (even if that meant that they support attacking Iran, a country that has no ties to terrorist attacks in Western countries). While public approval isn't necessary, an occurrence like this could take some pressure off Bush and rally some Congressional support.

Given that no major political-shifting event occurs, the President may not even need Congressional support for an attack on Iran. His legal wizzes may find a way to classify a conflict with Iran as an integral or natural part of the campaign in Iraq (for which Bush has authorization from Congress). This particular point was surprising to me, and yet it seems like a natural path if Bush Decided (as "Deciders" are wont to do) to attack Iran. What geographical luck that Iran is right next to Iraq!

The problem that we have over-extended our military is, to reasonable people, insurmountable. To the White House, this isn't a problem, at least for the early phases that a conflict with Iran would take. The early phase would be air strikes on nuclear installations. There might be a few border skirmishes, but nothing too major. It is unlikely, though, that Iran would stand for this because the far-right Nationalist movement in power would need to save face. There would certainly be counter-attacks on carriers in the Persian Gulf. Iran might move for an all-out invasion of Iraq knowing that the numbers they would be able to apply would overwhelm American and British forces. At that point, US troops would be engaged in a struggle to save a land from invaders that they, themselves, invaded in 2003! It would be sad, terrible irony, indeed.

While military and political strategists would intend to keep a hypothetical conflict with Iran limited, I personally can't trust them after the Iraq debacle.

Greenwald details a neo-con lovefest that occurred early this year when Bush met with the neo-conservative "brain trust" that he has listened to regarding Iraq and Israel. They urged him to not listen to public outcry and attack Iran. These people are not fringe thinkers. They have created policy that the President has followed very carefully in the past.

It is important to take the President to task regarding his statements about Iran. We cannot afford to believe vague talk about threats and terrorism when these were applied in the lead-up to our invasion of Iraq. They were either mistaken, misleading, or outright lies at that time, and there is no reason to believe that Bush deserves more credibility now.

Tragic Legacy

I just got it from Amazon, and I'm excited to read Glenn Greenwald's A Tragic Legacy: How a Good vs. Evil Mentality Destroyed the Bush Presidency.  I've read some excepts here and there, and I really liked what I read (I also enjoy his blog a great deal).  It seems like Greenwald has finally distilled all that I've been thinking about these past few years into succinct, clear terms.  The gist is this: George W. Bush has a filter through which everything is either good or evil. This is a major cause of our current and (probably) future problems.  His Good vs. Evil viewpoint is criminally inappropriate and simplistic for a chief executive to apply to his dealings with domestic and foreign issues.

Gee-Dub is a well-meaning man.  He just isn't shrewd enough to rise above gut reactions to terrorism or threats.  Instead of holding nuanced views on how to deal with terrorism and threats to democracy, he sees himself as a Churchillian savior of Western values in a time of intense crisis.  And the public will inevitably give him that authority when the wound is fresh. It is the mark of a true leader that clear thinking guides action rather than "guts".  He doesn't realize that fighting our enemies has far-reaching results for how the rest of the world views the US, our moral standing, the abandonment of our founding principles, etc.  In a sense, Bush doesn't have the "luxury" of a World War to make our path clear.  We can't bomb indiscriminately.  We don't really know who we're fighting, for the most part.  If we "win", there will be no peace treaty to mark the event.

I hope Mr. Greenwald addresses the other side of the issue: Bush critics who froth at the mouth while expounding on Bush's crimes and arrogance.  These people are guilty of exactly the same sort of sloppy reasoning that they criticize.  While most of these people are thankfully on the fringes, it should be remembered that the dualistic attitude that we condemn Bush for holding can be applied by both sides of the political spectrum.  Bush's actions, while pretty damn terrible, are most likely mistakes and not willful acts of destruction.  If we acknowledge that a well-intentioned leader can be misled down this path, we are more likely to avoid repeating similar errors instead of lazily classifying him as evil or incompetent.

Anyway, I can report back in a few weeks when I get around to reading it.  

Cubic Opprobrium

I have been in my new job for a whole month now. I think it's time to stop and take stock of the situation.

I like it. It's a good feeling to make progress on something and get some immediate feedback. Relatively recently, I've felt like a contributing member of the group that others are depending upon. I've been doing work all along, but this week I've been tasked with some work that is mine alone.

Cube life is a little weird, but none of my colleagues seems to dwell on it. I think grad students are conditioned by their professors, peers, and pop culture (Office Space) to think that working in a cubicle is soul-crushing and rife with hopelessness, dark humor, and absurdity. I have some bad news: it's not. It's strange to not have a closed office and to be able to hear conversations from 3 cubes away. But people adapt: we speak quietly and take larger groups to one of the many closed-off conference rooms positioned around the building. This sentiment that cubicles represent the basest form of employment isn't seen in academics alone. However, it seems much more evident among my friends in that group than in others.

If a cube isn't so bad, why was I so certain that it would be a terrible situation? It's simple: working in a cubicle is a fate that many students would have if they didn't stay in academia. Ridicule is a natural way of distancing oneself mentally once the choice is made to avoid it.

Back to my job: As I said, I like it. Nevertheless, some stuff is slightly annoying like the incessant use of Microsoft products (like Excel and Access...ugh). I also managed to join the busiest, most work-aholic group. They are consistently the last people to leave everyday (at 7, 8, or even later). I will be moving on to another group that does quick-response modeling of hurricanes. When there are no 'canes out there, it's slow and 9-5. When the season gets active, my hours will probably become crazy. I think I'll enjoy that more because the urgency and real-time nature is pretty exciting. Plus, I'll have the chance to learn a bunch and actually apply it rather than just store it away (alongside my knowledge of WWII aircraft, Greenland, galaxy formation, Radiohead, and geology).

Zombies and Me. The Conclusion?

I realize that the last post on zombies just sort of ended. Oops. Well, it's about time I wrapped it all up. Plus, it is about time that we start to look toward the future.

Zombies movies/books are cool for the following reasons:

1. The collapse of civilization is morbidly fun to watch.
2. The destruction and reordering of social hierarchies provides interesting stories.
3. Zombies stories can serve as effective allegories that explore societal ills.
4. Zombie stories can serve as extreme "laboratories" of human behavior.
5. Zombies show us what's at the bottom of the Uncanny Valley.
6. Thinking about a massive horde of undead is an enjoyable mental exercise.
7. Zombies provide a useful template upon which extreme and creative situations can be imagined and portrayed.

What's in the future? There are a few sequels of current zombie movies that will soon be released (28 Weeks Later was recently released, Day of the Dead is coming soon). I'm sure zombies will be a fluctuating part of our cinema and pop culture for a long time.

If you thought I was asking about what the zombies OF the future might be, then I can answer that question. The Borg. For the uninitiated, the Borg are a fictional race of beings that exist in the pantheon of Star Trek aliens. Members of the Borg are not normal aliens as we usually think of them. They come from all different types of races, but they alter themselves through micro- and macroscopic biomechanical implants. They are part humanoid (flesh and bone) and part machine. Usually by force, they assimilate other races as they spread through the galaxy. The newly assimilated individuals cease to be unique and become one more node in the collective consciousness of the Borg. They are emotionless, amoral, and strive for one goal: continual assimilation of other species. In addition, the separate beings that make up the Borg are called "drones" and will usually not respond to a human presence unless the collective consciousness perceives it as a threat or decides to begin assimilation. They assimilate by simply injecting some nano devices into the subject's bloodstream. In combat, the Borg are extremely adaptive and able to sustain intense damage with little regard to the individual members who are destroyed.

In short, the Borg are like the zombies of old: uncaring, amoral, relentless, half-dead, and continually expanding with ease. They bring one new feature to the old template: they're wired! I was proud of myself when I made the zombie-Borg connection. Sadly, it was already on Wikipedia. Nevertheless, it's a compelling argument. Not only are zombies and Borg "philosophically" similar, but stories involving the Borg have been played out in zombie films for ages. How is one to treat a newly assimilated comrade or family member? Is he or she dead? Or, is there some memory left behind? How often do we see Star Fleet officers underestimating the Borg only to see how powerful they can be in unconventional ways? To be sure, fighting the Borg involves their powerful intelligence while zombies are stupid. A horde of zombies, however, has a certain intelligence. It uses its numbers and disregard for massive losses to overcome defenders. If we add a small amount of communication, not between individual units but as a hive mind, we would have a very Borg-like beast, indeed.

I think that's about all I have to say about zombies. I don't want this to become a zomblog. So get out there and enjoy those movies, and Hollywood: keep making them! You'll always have an audience.

Schools Don't Burn Themselves Down

It's been a long time since last I wrote to you, Web 2.0. Don't worry, I haven't moved on to Web 3.0. I've just been very busy and under a lot of stress. You understand, baby.

As I wrote about earlier, I took myself an internship for the summer. But that kind of thing doesn't just happen in a vacuum. I had to shop for a car, buy a car, look for new housing in an unfamiliar area, sign a lease, move into a new place, get used to suburbia, and, most importantly, get used to wearing nice clothes and shaving everyday. I did all that stuff and started working at the new job.

That's where the disturbing title of this post comes in. The first group I'm working with is developing some new techniques for quantifying fire risk in buildings. I came in late in the process as things are getting finalized and tested. So, I've been entrusted with breaking the software by throwing weird types of buildings at it. Like schools and nursing homes. It's pretty cool work, but I can't really say much more about it. In a month or so, I'll be moving on to work with the hurricane group.

All this stuff requires some major reading. I don't have an engineering degree. I have not managed to study tropical cyclones in detail. But now I'm up to my elbows with response surfaces and extratropical transitions. Hence, no free time.

I'm also determined to get some open source stuff in the company. Everything is Microsoft. Excel for data analysis, DOS batch files, Visual Fortran for hard-core analysis. I think the place is ripe for some Python. Yes, it's a promising idea, but it means that I need to better learn Python AND learn all that other crap (Excel is a particularly pathological program). Busy Busy Busy.

I'm not complaining about all this stuff. I just wanted you, Web 2.0, to understand why I haven't written.

Zombies and Me. Part 3: Zombies are Just Plain Awesome!

To view Part 1, a list of zombie movies and books, click here. To view Part 2, my fascination with how zombie films explore the breakdown of society, click here.

The idea of how the apocalypse affects our society is not the only thing that sets zombie movies apart. Many movies have this concept, but I don't have such positive feelings about them (cf. Armageddon).

Zombies serve as useful secondary plot devices that allow filmmakers to explore some aspects of the human condition that would not otherwise be feasible. The pseudo-zombie movie The Omega Man needed zombie-like creatures to provide the dramatic tension, other characters, and some cool skin diseases. Without something like zombies, it would have been impossible to explore just how interesting the Last Man On Earth (LMOE) condition can be. In other words, the audience can take only so much of a cocksure Charleton Heston cruising around a deserted Los Angeles. I think Hollywood has proved that Tom Hanks is the only actor who can be the sole character in a film (unless you count a bloody volleyball).

Zombies are more than mere plot devices. Their importance extends to providing fascinating artificial laboratories for characters where one can explore human nature in an extreme setting. One such laboratory is: how do humans react when the zombie chasing you is a beloved relative or friend? That is, the zombies only appear to be these people. The zombie is something else: an impersonal force of nature with no feelings, few memories, and very little intelligence. Nevertheless, the wave of uncaring death looks like people we knew in our former lives, and this adds to the difficulty of dealing with it. What kind of people try to ignore reason and hope that this person would never hurt them? What if a character becomes so inured to exterminating human-like creatures that he begins to murder normal humans?

The original zombie movies were fairly simple in this regard because the zombie obliterated all connection to the living human that gave up its body. This causes some drama in the middle section of a zombie movie when the wife is forced to kill her husband, etc., but this is usually overcome in a short period of time. It should be noted, however, that some zombie movies try to push the envelope in this regard. George Romero's latest, Land of the Dead, and, to some extent, his version of Dawn of the Dead give the zombies some retention of their former lives (working in a gas station or going to the mall). Peter Jackson's Dead Alive also allows the zombies to pursue the goals that they had before conversion albeit with much more directness (case in point: the zombified mother tries to stuff her grown son back into her womb).

This tension and discomfort caused by an object that resembles a human but differs ever so slightly has actually been studied in detail. The notion of the "Uncanny Valley" (wikipedia) captures our discomfort thusly: as an object becomes more and more similar to a human form, we react more and more positively. That trend ceases, however, when the similarity gets into a region that is quite close, but still not human-like. At this point, the familiarity drops precipitously and we react with revulsion to the object. Only when the object is an exact copy of a human will we accept it as familiar. Scientists study this phenomenon with regard to corpses, robots, and animated films. Computer animators are well aware of the Uncanny Valley and currently make efforts to stay out of it by making movies about animals, anthropomorphic cars, or obviously exaggerated humans like The Incredibles. The resources required to make a computer-generated human that audiences will accept on a visceral level are too great (the box office failure of Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within is often quoted as an example of discomfort due to the Uncanny Valley). Where does the Uncanny Valley come from? Is there some sort of evolutionary reason? If so, where would the Uncanny Valley crop up in prehistoric man's environments? Maybe we had to regularly fight zombies. I suggest that we study this hypothesis immediately.

The zombie aesthetic is a clear exploration of the Uncanny Valley. Not only do we fear what the zombie will do to us (eat our flesh, infect us, etc.), we are very uncomfortable when we look at these creatures. Zombies are doubly creepy: they look like corpses which reside at the bottom of the Uncanny Valley. Plus, they do something that corpses shouldn't do: they move.

Enough high-minded, faux-academic talk. Zombies allow the filmmaker/writer to picture really crazy scenes and scenarios which are, honestly, too screwed up to seem worthy as an "exploration of the human condition." They're just really cool and fun to think about. One of my personal favorite topics explored in zombie narratives are the details of zombie combat, defense, and escape. Max Brooks' remarkable Zombie Survival Guide focuses on these topics giving weirdo military nuts like me a treasure trove of cool stuff to think about. Like: a bicycle is the best form of transportation because it is nearly soundless, requires no fuel, is faster than walking/running, and can be carried relatively easily. Or: the harpoon is really the only reasonable weapon in underwater zombie combat. According to Planet Terror (part of Grindhouse), a pocket bike is a great way to stay low, keep mobile, and look like a circus clown. A tough, zombie-killing circus clown. I also like to think about the best possible defensive wall design. Since zombies lack the cognitive ability to climb, it need not be too high. But what if they crush each other, forming a ramp that other zombies can simply walk up? The crushing force may also render simple wooden or brick walls useless.

People can write volumes about how to manage ammunition when the number of zombies is in the millions, how to set up choke points in an escape route, how to lure zombies out from where you don't want them, what types of firearms are superior zombie-fighting instruments, what to stockpile in a zombie-proof bunker, when not to use fire to fight zombies, and how to fight zombies from zeppelins. The zombie is an interesting creature because it is probably very predictable. This allows great confidence in computer simulations of tactics, semi-analytic techniques for zombie flux, modeling of infection rates, and zombie speeds in different types of terrain.

There are other more fantastic topics that zombie movies explore. What happens if a pregnant woman is infected? Does she give birth? Will the baby be infected? How would an infected baby behave? Dead Alive, as always, ups the ante when a zombie priest impregnates a zombie nurse (at the dinner table, no less!), and she gives birth within days to a psychotic little imp who laughs maniacally and wreaks hilarious havoc. One of the most surreal scenes occurs when our human protagonist takes the zombie baby for a stroll through the park in a barbed wire-covered baby carriage.

I'm a poking machine

I just got my ass on Facebook, and wow. It's a blast. Nearly every undergrad is on Facebook at this point, but I missed the boat by one year. I graduated in 2003, but Facebook was unleashed on all American college students in 2004. So, it's a crapshoot whether some of my classmates or older friends are on it. I already blogged about my experience with MySpace. Well this is much better. The interface is clean, efficient, and very snazzy. There is much less spam and worthless crap floating around. Plus, users aren't considered smart enough to mod their own pages (thus adding idiotic backgrounds, fonts, and music).

The best feature, however, is poking.

This is how you do it: you click "Poke X!" on X's page (or in a friend list). It just pops up as a poke on X's homepage. That's all there is to it. You can't add a message (other features allow you to send messages, post notes, comment on photos, etc.). I'm not sure why this feature was originally included, but it's amazing. I don't want to get too deep here, but it's truly a new form of communication. You can't send any information other than "I still exist, and I thought about you for some reason." How else could you do that in person or on the phone? There are ways, I'm sure, but they are all unnatural and will inadvertently carry additional information (like: I'm creepy). The Poked has no idea why the Poker was thinking about the Poked. Occasionally it's just because the Poker noticed that the Poked was signed on at the same time. In this case the transferred information is: "I noticed you were online while I was online. Oh right, I also still exist."

The cost of sending this limited information is quite low, as it should be. It may well be the most efficient (in terms of cost per amount of info) method of communication that we have.
The only drawback is that poking can get out of hand. My friend Meera and I have been involved in a poking war ever since I started on Facebook. But even this isn't such a big distraction. One cannot poke someone repeatedly. They can only poke again after the Poked has acknowledged the previous poke. At this point, the efficient information flow is stopped, but it's a small price to pay.

The second best feature is, of course, the news feed. If your friend uploaded new photos or added new friends, that information can be sent to you. When I added "the philosophical ramifications of lifting heavy zombies" as a new interest, all my friends instantly knew about it. Some people attack the feed as "stalkerish" or "pathetic", and I agree with them. But I still love it. If I could, I would poke it.

Facebookers: Feel free to add me! You're going to have to know my real name, of course.

The Announcement

I have decided, after countless hours deliberating, discussing and researching, that I will leave grad school for a "real" job. I applied for and accepted a position at a company in the Bay Area that does some pretty cool work. The job will be technical but also interdisciplinary and (hopefully!) interesting.

Why ditch grad school?

I gradually came to the conclusion that I don't fit into the academic mold. I realize that academics come in all shapes and sizes, but I can't imagine spending the rest of my life studying galaxies or cosmology. Part of the reasoning here is that I need some ties to the "real world". I also dislike the pure research atmosphere and crave a little more structure. I want some semblance of job stability and an ability to put down roots. Please understand: it is amazing stuff that needs to be worked out, but I feel that my future does not lie here. Given my distaste for continuing research work after grad school, I started to seriously consider the point of finishing grad school itself. I don't need the Ph.D. to feel good about myself.

A parallel self-conversation concerned the fact that I never really enjoyed grad school. I understand that this is not exactly a unique or meaningful statement. I knew going into grad school that it would suck on some level. Nevertheless, there should be a few moments of accomplishment and excitement sprinkled into it. I accomplished a few things, yes. But the excitement never surfaced. My motivation for conducting research was never the subject itself or a thirst for understanding. I did the work because my advisor would be upset if I didn't. This force alone does not a good researcher make.

At this point, you might wonder why I hadn't switched my path much sooner. The answer: I never questioned why I was following the path I was on. In high school, I enjoyed and excelled in physics. I hesitatingly decided to major in it in college. I did surprisingly well in college and found myself a senior with many physics courses under my belt. What then? Grad school, of course! I ended up at Berkeley as a grad student, did the coursework, and started working with a professor right away. I never felt like I fully engaged in research even after co-writing a paper and going to some conferences. The point of all this is that I never truly examined what I wanted to do or where I wanted to be. I "followed my nose", taking the well-worn path that everyone around me expected me to take. Well, it might be a little late, but I'm examining my options now.

At the end of last summer (August 2006), my dislike of academia and grad school reached a crisis level. I was no longer interested in furthering the project I was working on or any other project in astrophysics. I decided to jump outside the "grad school track" and see if some other track was more appealing in both the short- and long-term. If I jumped out and realized that I needed to be back in physics, then I could go back. It would be an uphill battle, but I would at least know that I wanted to do it.

A Ph.D. in physics is an impressive thing, but how necessary is it? What doors does it open that are closed otherwise? Aside from academic jobs, the doctorate makes consideration for quantitative financial jobs much easier. I applied for and interviewed for a few of these types of positions, but it was a very half-hearted pursuit because I never felt great about this field. My degree in astrophysics wouldn't place me in a position to go into an industry like semiconductor or biotech. So that path is out. What's left? Consulting is a possibility, and I pursued it. I also tried to talk to people who did things in software and modeling. The latter field eventually yielded some fruit.

So we'll see what happens. The company that hired me is bringing me on for what is technically an internship, but it's really an exploratory session to see what interests me and how I can best fit into their organization. I'll have an opportunity to perform commercially-minded research as well as some financial analysis and consulting. This is really the best possible situation because it allows me the chance to explore all the fields that I have been considering. At the end of the summer, I hope to have a permanent position doing something that fits me.

A Year of Bradhoc!

The anniversary of the start of Bradhoc has just whooshed by with very little fanfare. I suppose that's my fault for not drawing attention to it, but you people need to be more pro-active. Plan a parade on your own for once! Geez!

Anyway, I humbly thank Google for running blogger. I also want to thank my loyal fans (thanks Mom and Dad!). And finally, I want to thank the zombies. Without the clawing, hungry avalanche of putrid, decayed flesh, where would I be? Indeed, where would any of us be?

I have been mentally busy and gave the blog short shrift. So, there are some big announcements looming. Plus, I hope to write the final installment to my zombie essay soon. Stay tuned in the coming weeks, and you shall be rewarded.

Two Small Things

I have nothing lengthy to say right now. However, I did want to share a snippet of overheard cell phone conversation. Near the math building, I overheard a surfer/frat boy (common hybrid in these parts) say: "I would rather be sterilized as an infant." Finally. They're listening to the rest of us.

I also felt the need to post the below picture. For one, I feel it satisfies my science quota for a month or so. For another, it is basically a roundhouse kick to the face of the scientific establishment. It finally makes clear what has been staring in the face of cosmologists through fierce, bearded eyes.



(I don't remember where I found this picture. I certainly wasn't clever enough to add a small Chuck Norris picture onto a well-known Big Bang recap picture. If someone objects or finds the original source, let me know. Oh, and yes, even Chuck Norris' EYES are bearded.)

Recycle In Peace, Mt. Aspartame

I love Diet Coke. I love the taste. I especially love the lies that it represents: I am not drinking sugar. It also allows me to think that I am "not" addicted to caffeine (I don't drink coffee. Ergo, I'm not a caffeine addict). Like all relationships based on lies, ours isn't perfect. I occasionally go overboard and drink too much in one day. I'll usually get some mild dizzyness and cold sweats from the apartame and caffeine. Nevertheless, I still love Diet Coke.

I decided to show my appreciation by building a tower of Diet Coke in my office. I called it Mt. Aspartame. It started as a collection of 20 oz. bottles that I put on top of a filing cabinet. I ran out of space and requisitioned some catalogs to set on the first layer and provide a surface for the second layer. This continued unabated even when I had to start snaking around ductwork in my pursuit of the ceiling. The before picture is a bit dated, because there were two more levels at the tower's zenith. It is also worth noting that the picture taped to the filing cabinet is a webcomic from Natalie Dee. Click here for the link.

I almost got to the ceiling. But at 8:40:00 pm on Thursday, March 1, AD 2007, the bottles came crashing down. How do I know? For one, my officemate happened to be in the office when the whole, shoddy, empty edifice fell. Why did it fall? The short answer: because we tempted fate, God, and the laws of Physics. The real answer: a 4.2 magnitude earthquake. My officemate, who took the magnificent before and after photos, was more than a little annoyed. After all, the bottles on the floor would have significantly impeded his evacuation (digression: our building is slated for demolition because it is not up to code for earthquake safety. Apparently, the facade of the building would fall off, taking our office on a seven-story joyride to the ground.) I understand his annoyance. But I was secretly pleased. I had been alternating in calling the tower "Mt. Aspartame" and "my earthquake detector". Mt. Aspartame may have perished in the Great East Bay Earthquake of 2007, but the earthquake detector worked flawlessly.

I should say that other officemates have different theories for why Mt. Aspartame collapsed. The mountain was composed of only Coca-Cola products to ensure uniformity and because Coca-Cola has exclusive rights to UC Berkeley. Because of this, a few Dasani, Sprite, Cherry Coke, and Coke Classic bottles were in the tower in load-bearing capacities. I consider these inferior beverages, but I never once thought that they would be inferior structural components. Some say that the inclusion of these inferior products rotted the structure from the inside, allowing a relatively minor external threat to destroy the whole thing. Perhaps this is true to some extent. Nevertheless, there was no way to completely eradicate all impure elements from the tower. The catalogs used in the platforms were surely substandard. If I were to take the argument to the logical extreme, I would have to bathe each bottle in Diet Coke to eliminate my saliva from the lip of each bottle.

I came into work the next day and cleaned up the 200+ bottles. All ended up in a recycle bin for an enterprising homeless man to collect and send to a humble death at the recycling plant. I had no intention of rebuilding. I challenged the natural order, and I was punished for my impudence. I may be brash, but I will never deny a learning experience when I see one.

Godless Money

I recently heard of a US Mint mistake that smacks of sweet, drippy irony. First, some backstory: The Mint is making dollar coins with president heads on them. Apparently, this is because the Mint wants more coins to be taken out of circulation by amateur collectors who think they're going to be rich after 20 years because no other everyday shmoes are going to do that, too. I was mildly aware of this because I run in numismatic circles, mildly numismatic circles, that is.

The news is this: a recent batch of these coins is missing "E Plurbis Unum", "In God We Trust", the year, and the Mint location (see this AP article). Hence, they are "Godless" coins. They're also "Latinless", "timeless", and "homeless", but Godlessness sells more newspapers, apparently.

I bet this is great fodder for our atheist bloggers (hi, Sean Carroll) who will probably try to use the Godless coins exclusively. I bet Michael Newdow (wikipedia) is going to be hoarding them, too.

I propose that this "mistake" was purposeful. The Bush administration, being much more "Biblical" than previous administrations, wants a lasting nod to Christianity. After all, Paul wrote in an epistle that "the love of money is the root of all evil" (1 Timothy 6:10). You shouldn't sully God's name by putting it on actual currency. If they're going to be money-grubbing Republicans, they might as well acknowledge that loving money is a bad thing.

I think I have a good compromise scheme. According to John Hodgman, national treasure and Bullshit Laureate of the United States, Jefferson, Van Buren, Garfield, Teddy Roosevelt, FDR, Nixon, Bush I, and Bush II all had/have hooks for hands. Their coins should have sharp hooks all the way around the coin, bloodying the hand of any who dares spend it. I think God wouldn't mind putting his name to that kind of money. It would be pretty difficult to love.

The Shirtless March of Progress

I'm taking a short break from talking about zombies (it puts you on edge if you overdo it). So let's talk about the opposite of zombies: bums. Many are on the street because they want to be. Others are there for mental health reasons. Something must be done, but how? It's a difficult question because living on the street is terrible for their health, but these people may not want to leave. Is it right to force them "for their own good"? Instead of addressing the important issues here, I just want to tell a few stories about how the lives of those living on the street and my life intersect.

A few days ago, I was walking on Berkeley's campus and saw a street person, but he was clearly industrious because he was collecting cans and bottles. He was shirtless, with dirty black pants and a ratty black shirt tied around his waist. He carried a black lawn bag filled to capacity with bottles and cans. And he was talking on a cell phone. I didn't interact with the man as he was clearly busy. I simply smiled and went on my way.

It did beg the question: where did the cell phone come from? Did he steal it? I normally doubt this possibility because most homeless people are peaceful and never break major laws (aside from loitering, drug dealing/use, and public urination). I had a plausible explanation a day later. The next day, I went to the Verizon store to exchange a faulty phone. As I was waiting, a homeless man walked in with a bag of money to buy a pre-paid phone. The clerk at the cash register was clearly accustomed to this occurrence as she went through the paper work and started to count out the money in the bag. She stopped, however, when the coins became progressively more deformed. She requested money that was more obviously money and that had not been cut, flattened under a heavy object, or worked upon with caustic chemicals. The man chafed at such a request and argued for a while, stating that it's money and that he finds it all over the place. Whether he found it in under a dry-docked ship or in an abandoned chemical factory, he didn't say. Ultimately, he left in a huff as he didn't have enough indisputable currency to purchase the phone.

Earlier today, another homeless man left the bus in a huff. I see this man on the bus occasionally, and I know him as "The Crowned Bishop". He speaks with a ridiculously gravelly, loud voice that is nearly impossible to understand. He also keeps a bottle of liquor in the front of his pants. Today, he got on the bus and immediately started talking at a man in the back of the bus. The man ignored him or expressed his distaste discreetly because The Crowned Bishop started up another conversation with a girl next to me. She left the bus (ostensibly to transfer), and he started talking at some other poor woman. He was eventually rebuffed by all the women on the bus and lamented his poor "lady skills" for all to hear. He was also taking periodic swigs from some sort of fortified grape wine that he kept stashed in the front of his sweatpants. This sad episode stands in stark contrast to one of my other encounters with this man. Reeking of Wild Irish Rose, he began to immediately exclaim his contentedness with his position on Earth. He said that he was "A crowned bishop! Crowned by God!" at least 30 times over the course of a 5 minute bus ride. He was addressing this all to a man sitting across from him and trying to ignore him.

Because I see The Crowned Bishop only once or twice a month and because he is a walking psychology experiment, I consider myself lucky whenever I see him. Today would have been special if this encounter was all that happened. No, today was remarkable because I saw the other pivotal-but-elusive bum in my life.

She entered my life a few months ago. My girlfriend and I were walking down Shattuck Avenue in Berkeley one summer morning. This woman was walking the opposite direction on the same side of the street. We were the only people out and about at the time. As she drew near, we began to hear her ramblings and outbursts directed at cars and closed storefronts. When we were within 20 feet, she noticed us and directed some vitriol at me regarding the company I keep (my girlfriend). She expressed her disapproval primarily through the use of a certain expression that I will not repeat here, but one that is quite lewd and inappropriate. Naturally, I continue to use this expression as a term of demented endearment for my girlfriend. She has even used it for herself, but I'm sure she regretted it. Just the other day, we had a conversation about how we wanted to see her again. The event was made all the more memorable because my girlfriend and I disagree on the gender of this person. This morning, I was able to end the debate once and for all. I saw this woman on Telegraph launching verbal attacks at passerby. She was wearing a tube top.

With the day being so auspicious, are there any kings to crown or wars to start?

Zombies and Me. Part 2: Society is Crumbelievable

I was riding my bicycle through downtown Chicago. I was going relatively slowly amidst a group of people just north of the Chicago River on Dearborn. We were all enjoying the sunny day and the leisurely stroll. Suddenly, the crowd around me started panicking. They were running in all directions. As I looked back, I noticed that the back of the crowd was slowly being overtaken by hungry zombies. They were fast-moving and taking people down in the middle of the street. I was swept along with the now-faster crowd of pedestrians until I looked to my left and saw an old man get taken down. That's when I put my bike into high gear and took off, leaving the poor souls behind me. I crossed the bridge over the Chicago River and looked back. The crowd was sinking into the distance, and I became relieved. Until I saw him. A young boy zombie had found a bike and was gaining on me. I was initially stunned that a zombie could even ride a bicycle. As I turned left onto Wacker Drive, he was right next to me, growling and clawing with his ragged hand. I kicked him away. He veered away and almost lost his balance. As he came in for another attack...I woke up.

I love these dreams. They're so exciting. I have a zombie dream about once a month, a rate that is far too low. In most other dreams, I'm more actively engaged in fighting zombies either in hand-to-hand combat in the Sierra Nevadas or by manning massive defense breastworks in San Francisco to stem the tide of decaying flesh. This last dream, set in Chicago, was far more harrowing than others, but I don't mind. I have no idea why the locations are so specific and interesting.

In my last post on zombies, I listed important films and books that define and develop the zombie paradigm. In this post, I want to go deeper and explore just why I yearn to fight zombies in my sleep.

My personal fascination started when I was a senior in college. I deeply enjoyed Dead Alive, 28 Days Later, and Dawn of the Dead (the remake). Sure, I enjoyed the ridiculous gore and violence as much as the next de-sensitized, brute. At first, I thought that was the ONLY reason I liked these movies. Then I saw Night of the Living Dead, George Romero's original masterpiece. This movie had incredibly poor production values, it was slow, and the zombies were laughably awkward. Still, I enjoyed it more than the others, and this initially had me puzzled. The others met my 21st century standards for movie violence while Night surely did not. I realized that there was something pure, something important in Night of the Living Dead that I connected to on a deep level.

After much thought, I decided that one reason I loved these films was the way in which the filmmaker depicted the effect on culture and society. I have always been fascinated by events that are capable of bringing down society as we know it, reducing us to our most primal level. The events are interesting in their own right, but it is even better to explore how certain people who occupy a place in the pre-zombie society must adapt to their new existence. A skillful filmmaker (I'm looking at you, George Romero) can utilize this reordering of roles as a scathing and effective commentary on our normal, pre-zombie society.

That's a lot of words, and it can be best explained through examples.

In Night of the Living Dead, a black man becomes the only level-headed leader in a house besieged by zombies. He has the ability to save them all, but the rest drop like flies because they don't listen. At the very end, [SPOLIER] he is the last man alive as some zombie-hunting hillbillies with guns come up to the house. The audience initially thinks that our hero is saved. But, alas, they catch a glimpse of a black man in the house and immediately take a shot, killing the hero of the movie at the last second. They didn't bother to see if he was a zombie. Would they have acted differently if it was a white man? Apparently, the status quo, as disgusting and twisted as it was, regained control. Who is a greater menace: man or zombie?

Another example of a person of low social standing coming to the fore and becoming a leader occurs in Shaun of the Dead. Shaun is an aimless, lazy guy who hasn't grown up. His girlfriend dumps him. Then the zombies attack. He tries to save his mom, girlfriend, and friends and finds himself as the leader of the group. Those who don't listen or question his policies die. When it's all over, [SPOILER] he has the girl and even keeps his zombified friend around so they can play video games together. He grows into a man, but he does not abandon his reckless youth. Isn't that the deal that most men strive for? In this case, he was only capable of success in a zombie world.

Dawn of the Dead (the remake) has a mall security guard who considers his post so important that he locks up refugees who have escaped their own crumbling worlds and end up at the mall. He considers them criminals for two reasons. First, he most certainly enjoys the new-found power and respect that allows him to command his fellow guards and detain the refugees. Second, and most critically, he refuses to acknowledge that the world is collapsing around him. By being an asshole to the others, he is able to escape the unavoidable conclusion that his life will never be easy or predictable again. He is ultimately captured by the refugees and forced to accept that survival is all that matters. The tone of the film is different from here on out. The mall-dwellers become concerned with living and finding a permanent home.

The reordering of roles happens in plenty of other movies. For example, it's incredibly common plot device in disaster movies like The Poseidon Adventure, Armageddon, Airplane, War of the Worlds, or The Core. What else do zombie movies have to offer to set them apart? Stay tuned...

Zombies and Me. Part 1: The Definition

Read the following sentence carefully: I love the idea of zombies, but I don't love zombies. I'm not a proponent of zombie hugs or giving zombies the right to vote. I don't want to become a zombie who feasts on my loved ones. I prefer not to participate in a massive society-crushing zombie outbreak. But I love the idea of zombies.

I better be clear about what I mean by "zombie". This is my definition: "a human body in which higher brain functions are dead or nearly dead. The body is malevolent in nature and will stop at nothing to eat human flesh or attack humans." The body may or may not be dead in a medical sense. I'm not picky about how it became a zombie. There's an idea in voodoo lore that witch doctors can control another human by taking his/her soul. This is more of a trance, and the subject is, in essence, controllable. The zombie ideal is uncontrollable, an impersonal force of nature. This modern notion was invented by George A. Romero in Night of the Living Dead.

There's a lot of stuff out there in movies and books that discusses zombies. To be even more clear, I think I need to list the zombie movies and books that follow my favorite conception of zombies. Purists, be forewarned: I'm going to throw in a few that are questionable, and I will leave a few out (and with good reason: they suck!). Note that this also functions as a great summer movie list. In the posts that are to come, I will be drawing my material from these films and books.

• The Romero Sequence
  
1. Night of the Living Dead (1968) -- a mixed group tries to survive the night in a farmhouse beseiged by zombies.
   
2. Dawn of the Dead (1978) -- In the midst of a widespread attack, society is crumbling and a few try to escape via helicopter. They land on the roof of a mall and try to eke out a living. Their perfect world crashes down when a marauding motorcycle gang tries to take over.
   
3. Day of the Dead (1985) -- A look at how the military (mis)handles the zombie threat. They attempt to train the zombies as instruments of warfare...to disastrous effect.
   
4. Land of the Dead (2005) -- An oasis of humanity in which those with money and power live in luxury while others live in squalor. Don't worry: the "haves" get their comeuppance, and the "have-nots" are able to move on.
   
5. Diary of the Dead (Early 2007!) -- An indie that's set for release early this year. It apparently follows some student filmmakers in the woods as they encounter zombies. I've heard that it's set at the same time as the original Night of the Living Dead. I'm so excited!
   
• Remakes from the Romero Sequence
• Night of the Living Dead (1990, 2006)
• Dawn of the Dead (2004) -- a modern re-vamping of the shopping mall setting for a zombie attack. It's campy and goes for the laughs as much as it goes for gross-outs. Nevertheless, it has some great views of society's collapse as seen through the eyes of those trapped in the mall.
• Day of the Dead (April 2007!) -- Here's the trailer. Starring Ving Rhames and Mena Suvari.
  
• Other films
• 28 Days Later (2002) by Danny Boyle.
• 28 Weeks Later (May 2007!). The US of A swoops in to rebuild Britain after the zombies die out. It looks like a few might be left...
  
• Resident Evil + sequels (2002). I'm not a fan. It's too videogame-ish with only passing reference to the world outside the small group.
  
• Shaun of the Dead (2004) by Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright. THE BEST comedy based on zombies. I initially expected a Wayans Brothers-style spoof movie. I was totally wrong. This movie is flat out amazing, even for those who don't like zombie movies.
  
• Zombi II (1979) by Lucio Fulci. This Italian-made movie isn't all that great, but it has a scene where a topless female scuba diver encounters an underwater zombie. Then a shark comes along, and the zombie fights (and bites!) the shark. The most sublime scene in film history.
  
• Films that are a bit outside of the Romero-style zombie flick
  
• Dead Alive (1993) by Peter Jackson. A monkey from Sumatra or something bites an older woman who succumbs and reanimates as a pseudo-zombie. In life, she was a well-off widow who tortured her adult son. The son tries to keep his mother's zombie body under wraps with hilarious and gory consequences. Oh yeah. And a minister joins the fight against zombies and says, "I kick arse...for the Lord!!" This is considered one of the goriest movies of all time.
  
• Slither (2006) by James Gunn. Fun, horror-comedy film that is zombie-ish. Worm creatures from outer space land in remote Oregon and screw with a small town. Some people are turned into mindless slaves under worm control.
  
• The Omega Man (1971) with Charlton Heston. Bio-warfare leads to most people dying in LA, but some turn into zombie-like freaks who wear sunglasses and black cloaks. They don't particularly like the only immune man in the world. Maybe because he drives a stolen convertible around town?
  
• Re-Animator (1985). A med student figures out a way to revive corpses, but they have a funny habit of going on killing sprees.
• Zombie Honeymoon (2004). A zombie romantic comedy.
  
• Books that follow the Romero zombie ideal
• The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks. In a faux-serious book that never cracks a smile, Mr. Brooks enlightens the reader on how to fight zombies. Pay special attention to underwater zombie combat.
  
• World War Z by Max Brooks. Great recent book that reveals how mankind dealt with a massive zombie infestation. Written as a series of interviews, it gradually reveals how we fought back and how Cuba became the biggest superpower on Earth.
  
• Monster Island, Monster Nation, and Monster Planet by David Wellington. I haven't read them, but they detail the spread of zombism across the US and involve Somali kids recovering AIDS medicine from an infested Manhattan for some reason.
  

Crackpottery

No, "crackpottery" is not a ceramic vessel for smoking crystalized cocaine. It's the term I've applied to the work that crackpots engage in. Because I'm (loosely) associated with a physics department, I regularly receive emails from weirdos about their theories. They range from the bizarre (cf. "Clean Jesus' Heavens", click the pic at left to see a bigger version) to the malicious (cf. emails from a certain guy who said, "In one year from the date (3-28-06) the physics dept will be guilty of negligence and will be legally liable." Apparently, we ivory-tower types have not resolved the GLARING inconsistencies in wave-particle duality).

I recently received a message written in terrible broken English. It was written by an expert in cognition. He prefaced the email with some questions, possibly rhetorical. He then proceeded to outline his recent discovery of "Double-activenness thinking".

For some reason, I was inspired to answer his questions in the manner in which they were asked. I have reproduced the questions and MY answers here.

A ) Animals have no language function , but they can also respond to external things like human being , why ? How does they respond to ?

Animals does respond to things like human being through think of self in box inside
Chairman Hu of china . Animal replies in kind to chairman if self responsed in visual linguistic center . Center serves same porpoise as thinking mode in human except no linguist ability .

B ) when brain begin one thinking , is visual linguistic center often used
more early than hearing linguistic center ?

Which depend on thinking mode and consciousness level . If above self and
Bolr logic demands it , then visual linguistic center used more early and often . In most cases and otherwise , and if you sound - hear the thoughts of others , then hearing linguistic center active in brain and thinking .

C ) When one sentence , such as " When I am in love with you , ...... " , is expressed in thinking , will it have only one thinking mode ? ( limited in brain thinking )

It always do have one thinking mode . Most brain speacilists and speechilists say no according to present theory situation and love level . But it obvious clearly thart hearing linguistic center only used only this time .

D ) Why do people need two thinkings for one thing to remember easily
one thing ?

One thing need be remembered through two thinkings of two sorts because box of memmaries need two openings : one input and one output . Without two openings, we have no (zero) remembrance abilities if because divergence not equal zero.

Idiocracy On the Bus

I've recently seen the movie Idiocracy. In case you aren't aware: The protagonist (played by Luke Wilson) is an astoundingly average army guy. He is chosen to participate in a human cryogenic experiment where he is frozen for a year. The army needs a woman test subject and ends up hiring a woman-of-the-evening (played by Maya Rudolph). Due to various mistakes they are forgotten for 500 years.

They wake up during the Great Garbage Avalanche of 2505. The IQ of the world has become so low that these two are the smartest people on the planet. Various gag jokes involving the idiots of the world occur, and it's a pretty funny movie in general. The reasoning behind why the world is so stupid is that idiots have tons of kids (often by mistake) and smart people have fewer. The movie is an interesting commentary that is quite serious underneath the veneer of gags. Our culture values stupidity. Intelligent, affluent, and well-off people also severely limit child-bearing. One Slate reviewer even equated the movie to the incredibly somber Children of Men.

I don't usually take such a hard line on the subject. I believe that our culture will come back to valuing intelligence. Sure, Paris Hilton is still prominent, but she and her ilk are fading. I maintain this optimism except for one time: when I'm on the bus.

I take the bus nearly every day to work. Living in Berkeley, you see an incredible mix of people. I haven't lost faith in the intelligence of our society because of the bums, mumblers, panhandlers, and smelly hippies. I recognize that they get attracted to Berkeley and the bus in disproportionate numbers. Plus, they're just going along as best they can. No, I feel like the world will have a garbage avalanche because of 16-22 year olds.

Certain members of this age group do things that defy rational explanation. Why, for example, are they playing music on their cell phones with an incredibly poor, tinny quality? What's the point? It sounds terrible and drains your battery needlessly. And the kids gather around the crappy music and listen to it. I've even seen some of the more tech-savvy kids crank up their iPod volume and listen to the music on the earpieces (which are earpieces, not speakers!) with that same metallic, drill-into-your-brain sound quality.

I realize that kids always feel the need to broadcast their music loudly and annoyingly. I did it in high school. I used to drive my mom's Sunfire through the suburbs and blast Incubus or Metallica on the tiny speakers. At least people outside the car could hear the bass. I'm also reminded of the previous generation's punkers and rappers who used to carry around the huge boomboxes. (The nerds took them to task in Star Trek IV when Spock incapacitated a punker on a bus across the Golden Gate Bridge because he refused to turn off his music.) I wouldn't mind the music if it was played with any quality. Why did our standards for sound quality decline so much among the asshole teenager crowd? What is happening to our rebellious youth?

And where did the word "hella" come from? Of course, I can read Urban Dictionary's entries. It may have come from San Francisco or Oakland/Berkeley. It means "very" in most circumstances, but it originally meant "hell of a lot of". Some examples: "people on the bus are hella stupid" or "my pet-peeves are hella numerous" or "I have hella indignation". Fine. Say it a little. It's local and fun. But I have observed halves of phone conversations where "hella" was used at least twice per sentence. How do you expect to find a job when you speak like a moron? Saying "like" too often is annoying, but at least that's a word in the English language.

I have other problems with our youth that aren't found on the bus. Some kids nowadays are so incredibly dumb that they don't understand basic principles about the internet. While "Web 2.0" is about sharing and collaboration, it retains the ideas from "Web 1.0": accessibility and
retention. The stuff you post can be accessed by a huge number of people if they were so inclined. And they will continue to be able to access it for years to come. So don't post pictures of you smoking illegal substances on MySpace. Try to refrain from talking about cheating in a class on LiveJournal. That will come back to haunt you, sometimes sooner rather than later. The cheating incident actually happened: a student in an astro course tried to solicit answers on homework through her LJ page and was turned in by another student. OOPS! I try to practice what I preach with this blog. I don't have my real name anywhere, but I'm sure that it can be connected with some searching.

OK, end rant. It's time for my prune juice and a nap.

Bradvice part 6: Urine for a Treat

A reader has sent a particularly pressing Bradvice request. Let's see if I can help him/her/it:

Dear Mr. Bradvice,
I'm at work and wet myself again. Yes, I keep emergency underwear on-hand at all times and YES, I've followed all of Dr. Merton's Public Urination Rules meticulously: 1. Be in public 2. Urinate. However, even after all of this careful planning and foresight, I find myself holding an important document, now soaked in urine, without any clue as to how it got in my hands or how to take care of my yellow mess. Please advise immediately, this document must be given to my supervisor ASAP.
Amateurinator

Dear Amateurinator,
Ah...to be young and incontinent again. It's a great time in all our lives. Things seem so important and earth-shattering. The sense of powerlessness over your newly-discovered bodily functions is traumatic, to be sure. It makes you grasp for the advice of whatever snake oil salesman comes to the fore. In your case, it's a questionably-credentialed "Dr. Merton". In my day, it was Fritz P. Everywhere. The intense mortification you feel will probably not be lessened by assurances, but try to be calm and realize that we all go through these trials and that they seem tiny later in life.

Regrettably, I was not able to assist you in a timely manner. I was off on holiday visiting tropical Chicago. I assure you, your supervisor did not mind being handed a micturated-upon document. If this person has any compassion, he or she will fondly remember the days of incontinence and also remember that urine is a sterile substance. If this person has a problem with it, he or she was going to be set off by even the smallest of faux pas (like vomiting in the copy machine, pushing a goat down the stairs, or eating a web server). There was nothing you could do to avoid your supervisor's misplaced wrath.

I wish you all the best, and I hope that this helps others in your situation.
Bradhoc

Reader(s): send me more of your questions! No problem is too small or large. I'll tackle every issue from nuclear proliferation to fart proliferation.

Mole Men: A Cultural Exploration

On October 23, AD 2004, I celebrated my 23rd birthday. The golden birthday. My entire life, I was led to believe that I was the prophetic Mole Man Liaison. According to the legends, on my 23rd birthday the great fault blocks of Nevada would rift open revealing vast Mole Man armies. Standing serenely atop a raft of rock in a burbling lake of magma, they would rise to the surface and confront surface dwellers. The prophecy is unclear as to whether or not this is good for human life. Nevertheless, the Mole Man Liaison is to be the first to confront these armies to offer welcome and a selection of chert, shale, and other rocks not commonly found several miles underground.

I bore the weight of this responsibility through my youth. Was I to be a leader of surface dwellers who forged a pact of mutual security with these subterranean men? Or, I puzzled, would I simply be the first sacrificed to a wave of indifferent death? Both scenarios are good for me, personally, given the context in which they occurred. Even so, my mind raced. Where would I find decent selections of chert and other sedimentary rocks? Between the ages of 2 and 5, I was racked by self-doubt and could not begin preparations. Then, when I was 5 years old, I was hit in the head by a toy gun thrown by a careless playmate out of a treehouse. In a flash of white hot pain and fire, I saw the path in front of me. I set out immediately to ready my mind and body for whatever mankind and molekind required of me.

That process, however, is another story. Needless to say, I was prepared. October 23, 2004, has come and gone with no Mole Man contact. All our listening devices and forward contacts posted at ocean trenches have recorded no change in Mole Man activity with the passing of the fateful date. The conclusion is obvious: I am the chosen child born on October 23. I soon found out that several people were born on that day. Johnny Carson, "Weird Al" Yankovich, and Sam Raimi, giants of the world, have birthdays on this day. Ryan Reynolds, the thespian known also as "Van Wilder" and the "slightly funny dude in the third Blade movie", was born in Canada on this day. Brutus, one of Julius Ceasar's closest friends and assassins died this day by accidentally plunging a sword into his heart. Clearly, being born or dying on this day is not all that special. Perhaps, as most of the ivory tower intellectuals tell me, Mole Men will never willingly come to the surface. If empirical study leads to this conclusion, why do most Americans believe otherwise?

The question of where the October 23rd myth originates is, as stated before, an interesting one. The first recorded reference appears to be from 1619 in Virginia. Some colonists claimed to have come upon vast surface stockades and "foundries" near Williamsburg. The claim is dubious as there were no traces after a royal fact-finding mission visited the area in 1622. The royal mission did find symbols, pictograms, and mysterious words carved on trees in the area. The word "Croatoan" was carved 23 times into 10 trees that formed a circle. An adjacent, tree-carved star map with a few backgound stars and planets, supposedly indicates a year of AD 2004. This appears to be the origin of October 23, 2004.

There are a few problems with this date. First of all, the Mole Men had no apparent contact with humans (supposed observations of the Mole Men works were from afar). Second, the Gregorian calendar had not yet been adapted in England. 10/23/2004 in the Julian calendar is, in fact, 11/5/2004 in the Gregorian calendar (NB: nothing of any significance in the Mole Man world took place on that date either. People born on 11/5 include Vivien Leigh and Bill Walton). Did Mole Men know this? We also don't know if the Mole Men even know our calendar. Finally, how can we be sure that the Mole Men even know celestial motions? They are, after all, underground.

The evidence needs to be re-examined with an open mind. Perhaps the tree carvings were an elaborate hoax perpetrated by the Native Americans. Perhaps a conspiracy extends up to the highest levels of the English government or the Roman Catholic Church. Perhaps the royal commission fabricated their findings to simply ensure royal funding and job security for many more years. There are many alternative explanations, and we may never know the truth.

Chicagoland

Hello, blog-reader(s). I'm in Chicagoland (south 'burbs) for the holiday season to be with family, girlfriend, friends, and working-class Midwesterners. I probably won't blog too much, but maybe I'll come up with something super-awesome to say during this festive time. I'll be here for a few weeks, but not long enough to revert to saying "pop" instead of the clearly superior "soda".

Doctors Get Cocky

There's some good news in the fight against AIDS and also bad news in the fight against circumcision. It appears that circumcised men are roughly half as likely to contract the disease as uncircumcised men. There have been several studies that verified this in Kenya, South Africa, and Uganda. While nowhere near 100% effective at preventing the spread of HIV, the practice might be an extremely useful weapon in slowing the spread of HIV. Africa is still in the throes of a pandemic that is decimating its young population.

This is great and important news. Some may wonder, then, why I decided to blog about it. While I care about the result, I prefer to remain juvenile, tacky, and irrelevant. Has Brad grown up and become more worldly? No, there's no danger of that happening on my watch. The reason I blogged about it is this paragraph in the NY Times story:

Circumcision is “not a magic bullet, but a potentially important intervention,” said Dr. Kevin M. De Cock, director of H.I.V./AIDS for the World Health Organization.

Dr. de Cock! No wonder he's pushing for more circumcisions! I worry that there's a Dr. Noballs in the WHO. What would his solution to AIDS be?

John Hodgman: 2005-2441

A WHILE AGO, I briefly referred to John Hodgman, a professional writer. Then, in the post directly below this post spatially but before it temporally, I wrote an essay of sorts about Mole Men that was an homage to Mr. Hodgman's writing style. Who the hell is John Hodgman?

He's a professional writer. I, on the other hand, am not. I conclude sentences with propositions, and it is something I've struggled with. He was formerly a professional literary agent who convinced Bruce Campbell to write a book about chins, I think. He wrote a most excellent compendium of all knowledge in the style of Poor Richard's Almanck (by Ben Franklin). He appears on a famous left-wing fake news program. His likeness is used to sell a certain kind of computer while maligning (ever so gently) the competition.

I was first made aware of his existence through his writings for McSweeney's. His column, called Ask a Former Professional Literary Agent, was weird, tweedy, pedantic, and forced. In other words, I loved it. I didn't note the name at the time. While I was not aware of him before or after these items were "published" online, he was writing pieces for the New York Times Magazine.

The next time I met Mr. Hodgman was through the television. He was a guest on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart. He was promoting a book that parodied a truly hot topic: popular almanacs of the 18th and 19th centuries. In his version, he made everything up. It may have seemed like a recipe for disappointment or a managerial position at Wendy's, but it was simply part of the grand drama that is Hodgmania. The interview was phenomenal. He made Jon Stewart laugh more than I've ever seen him laugh with a guest. It was the first time in my life that I bought a book, The Areas of My Expertise, that was promoted on a talk show. Unfortunately, YouTube yanked the video, but check out this legal interview done for Boston University's student-run talk show. The 21-year-old host does a pretty good job.

The book was amazing. The humor satiated my hunger for absurdist, hyper-culturally-aware parody that I never knew was burning away inside me. I don't even want to mention the 800 hobo names that he provides. Everyone does, and it's just a cliche by now. (see two drawings done by fans of the book: #550: "Douglas: The Future of Hoboing" and #728: "Moderately-Falutin' Pete").

I now own the audiobook. I've never owned an audiobook because my vision still operates, and I'm not too busy to use my hands and eyes at the same time. Nevertheless, it has some great stuff in it and some lively banter between the author, Mr. Hodgman, and his troubador, Jonathan Coulton. I was listening to the entry on Iowa and the great hobo dirt rocket and started laughingly uncontrollably on the bus. Don't worry, it's normal in Berkeley.

After the Daily Show visit, Mr. Hodgman has become a common guest and writer on the program. He functions as the show's "resident expert" and comments incorrectly on a vast array of subjects. I dare say that his segments are some of the best to grace the show. Go to comedycentral.com for some of the latest clips.

On top of all that, he plays the part of the "PC" in the new Apple TV commercials. Watch a collection of 6 ads here (via YouTube). Everything is, indeed, coming up Hodgman.

October 23: A Hodgmaniacal Exposition

***What follows is a piece of writing that I cooked up as an homage to Mr. John Hodgman, a professional writer. A forthcoming post will explain. For now, though, read and bask in faux-Hodgmania. I assure you that it is a poor but earnest imitation.***

SOME CALL the 23rd day of October "Mole Day". Oddly enough, it not associated with moles because of Avogadro's Number. As most are aware, it is the only common "futuroversary" (commemorating an event that has yet to happen) that schoolchildren in the United States celebrate. Schoolchildren in other countries and cultures celebrate a multitude of futuroversaries such as "No Poverty Day" (Sept. 12; Malawi), "Dentifrice Day" (July 4; United Kingdom), "Skynet's Birthday" (Sept. 31, usually observed; Russia), and "Mypos Day" (March 2; Bronson Pinchot's household). Mole Day, the sole American futuroversary, is therefore worthy of closer study.

On October 23rd, sometime in the future, children are taught to believe that Talpidish Humans, or "Mole Men", will emerge from their lairs deep in the Earth. They will most likely emerge from the Basin and Range Province of the United States that is bounded, roughly, on the west by California, on the east by Colorado, on the south by Mexico, and on the north by Idaho. The crustal layer is very thin in this area, and the climate is ideal for the leathery, scabrous Mole Man skin.

Much of Talpidish Human biology is currently unknown. The University of New Mexico acquired a Mole Man skeleton and an intact snout (which does not decompose) in 1957, but it was misplaced soon after being stored in the university's underground vault. Some suspect surface-dweller tomfoolery or governmental treachery, but faint snout- and claw-marks indicate a Mole Man party infiltrated the vault and absconded with all the Mole Man remains, a fraternity's pet goat, and $20 in loose change. We have also had limited contact in various oceanic trenches with researchers in bathyscaphes and other submersibles being attacked by one or two Mole Men. In each attack, it seems that the creature was startled and reacted defensively rather than maliciously. It would typically claw the exterior of the crew compartment while in a defensive posture and then bound away backwards so that the snout was always facing the threat. There is a rumor popular among conspiracy buffs, coke fiends, and eastern swells that "Area 48" in Nevada houses captured Mole Men. The government denies it.

Despite the difficulty in performing a thorough study, intrageobiologists are certain of several facts. Mole Men (Talpidus sapiens) are lithivorous, feeding primarily on olivene-rich solid and molten rock. Their 6-7 foot frames are covered by a thick layer of tough, hairless skin, impervious to heat. They have eyes, ears, and noses, but all of these appear vestigial because they tend to be worthless underground. Interestingly, all witnesses have described that places recently occupied by Mole Men have a scent reminiscent of raspberries. In a mysterious quirk of evolution, Mole Men possess a second visual organ between the eyes that detects soft x-rays.

Seismometer networks and neutrino-beam devices can penetrate the rocky crust of the Earth and have revealed much about the movements of Mole Men. They live several miles underground near the asthenosphere (the crust-mantle boundary). The Mole Man hunting grounds are located near plate boundaries and volcanic hotspots as these have the richest olivene crystals. It also appears that certain sedimentary rocks, especially chert, are highly praised. Thus, the richest groups live near subduction zones where portions of the seafloor are plunging under bordering plates and melting into the mantle. The Mole Man communities are semi-nomadic family groups numbering roughly 250 members. While seemingly independent, a vast majority of the family groups are tied together in some sort of loose confederation.

Modern scholars have no idea how Mole Men will behave once exposed to sunlight. There is evidence of some violent behavior, but scholars caution that all of our contact has been with the outermost communities. Many speculate that these Mole Men have been driven out of the central community groups for not fitting in or playing by the rules. However intriguing these ideas, the uncertainty remains. Rogue Mole Men could have been driven out for being too violent or perhaps not being violent enough, for example.

If Mole Men are protective of their secrecy now, it is indeed odd that they will crawl out of the ground en masse to make contact and befriend/enslave surface dwellers. Most contemporary scientists and intrageosociologists believe that Mole Men will never emerge. For one, there has been no confirmation of the October 23rd date for emergence. This date has been firmly rooted in the deep undercurrents of mythology and legend for centuries, an interesting historical subject in and of itself. The consensus, however, is that Mole Men are nothing more than giant, lithivorous, troglodytic creatures with extreme temperature tolerances, specialized visual apparatuses, and complex social structures. In short, Mole Men should not be considered magical or otherwise extraordinary.

Chunky Work

Computers have been extremely important in the advancement of cosmology. We can simulate, analyze, and solve as never before. Back in the dark ages of cosmology, simulations could only use 256 particles to show how structures form over billions of years. The most recent simulation has over 10 billion particles. State-of-the-art visualization and analysis tools make working with vast amounts of data in real-time feasible. The internet allows for a researcher to run a simulation on a supercomputer in central Illinois while he sits in Chicago. He can then transfer the outputs to a collaborator in California (ie. me). Any paper or publication that a researcher needs to access is only a few clicks of a mouse away.

All these technological innovations come at a price that is much higher than the cost of a laptop or supercomputer time. That price is temptation. Temptation to procrastinate. The series of tubes we call "the internet" is the primary source. It's bad enough that a wide array of information is available. It started out with researchers dealing with a connection to the web that was really just boring text websites. Now, we have to contend with higher speed connections, more interesting content, and more efficient information flows via social networking (MySpace, Facebook), content aggregators (Fark, Digg, Metafilter), YouTube, Wikipedia, GoogleMaps, and, yes, blogs. Don't even talk to me about TheFunniest. It has become possible to sit down in an office for 9 hours a day and never do any real work. Why debug 500 lines of code when you can read the Wikipedia article on the Battle of Kursk, follow a photoshop contest on Fark.com, stalk friends-of-friends-of-friends via MySpace, or watch a video of an awesome RC helicopter on YouTube?

The solution is Blocking (found via Digg, ironically). I personally need a small amount of software to implement it, but there's no real need in principle. The process is incredibly simple. Embarassingly so. Separate the day into pre-arranged hour-long chunks. Do 48 minutes of continuous work (with NO distractions allowed) and then take a mandatory 12 minute break. I keep track of how many blocks I do and try to meet a pre-arranged quota. That's it.

It sounds like I'm wasting electrons just writing about it, but the details are what made this work for me. I have found that my self-control withers in the face of the internet. I need there to be no way for me to convince myself that it's okay follow the course of the Pecos River on GoogleMaps rather than write IDL code. It sounds juvenile, but the part of the brain that comes up with great excuses for hitting the snooze button is not only active in the morning. It's working all day scheming for instant gratification. Here are some of the crutches I use to make this scheme work:

1. Use a actual timer. I downloaded a timer for the Mac called Minuteur that makes entering the 48 minute time simple. I make it play an ear-crushing, civil defense-worthy siren at the end.
2. Use multiple desktops. I use multiple desktops on my Mac via the standard freeware Desktop Manager. This is absolutely crucial for me. I need to make it so that all distracting windows are safely hidden on their own desktop while I use the remaining five desktops for workspace. The accidental reading of a New York Times headline while writing code is enough to put me into a procrastination tailspin.
3. Turn off instant messenger. I'm far too polite to ignore instant messages even if I'm busy. If a friend sends me a link to something funny, I have to check it out (out of courtesy). At that point I might as well just take the rest of the day off.
4. Ignore others. Communication with friends and acquaitances ist verboten!
   
5. Staple your butt to the chair. This makes avoiding conversations easier. I even deny myself bathroom breaks. In cases of a Code Brown or a Code Yellow, I pause the countdown clock, do three push-ups and recite 5 Hail Marys. After taking care of business.
   
6. Listen to music that you like and set up the playlist before the 48 minute session. It helps me ignore officemates and keeps me awake.
   
7. Use German phrases to snap yourself back in line. It just sounds intimidating. Like "HALT! Hammerzeit!" (Stop! Hammertime!)
   

I came up with a much more lax version of this scheme a while ago. I followed it for a few days and quickly relapsed. It failed that time because of two things: (1) it wasn't comically strict and (2) it didn't have a name. This does. Blocking. Remember it. Sounds German. Maybe I'll change the spelling to "Bloch-ing"...

Sure, it doesn't work perfectly. The excessive rigidity can be bothersome. I'll occasionally work past the 48 minute mark and credit the overtime minutes on the next block in case I'm on a roll. I take some less structured time to think and solve a difficult problem while wandering or at the gym. Worst of all, I can still find ways to waste time. One day, I decided to "once and for all" scrape the scotch tape left on my desk from its previous occupant. The compulsive scraping of my desk surface probably raised some alarm bells for my officemates (in case muttering German phrases to myself hadn't already). All in all, though, the system works. It may seem oppressive, but it makes me feel accomplished at the end of the day instead of guilty and worthless.

Failed Blogging Attempts

Ever since I started "blocking" my working hours (more about that later), I haven't been able to find the time to surf the web waiting for inspiration to kick me in the bathing suit area. I also haven't had the time to just sit and stare at a half-finished blog post that requires a bunch of extra effort to finish and edit. I have a few of these posts lurking in my Blogger account, just waiting for the day when the coach (me, in this analogy) is going to put them in the big game (make them available for the world to see).

Now that I think about it, it's pretty sad that I spend so much time on certain posts. It's a bad habit because blogs are supposed to be spontaneous, inane, and annoyingly amateurish. In my defense, some of the posts are about topics that I am relatively uniquely placed to comment on. Nevertheless, I feel that it's a bad habit overall and should be able to crank out a pithy post (if it needs to be pithy). Because blogs are also supposed to be self-indulgent, let's take a look at some recent posts that I started but never finished. Maybe I'll be able to salvage some self-respect by getting something important across.

Infamous Capote
This was supposed to be my big movie review. I also wanted to brag that I've already seen "Infamous", the second movie about Truman Capote's writing of In Cold Blood. I not only saw it in limited release, but I had just finished reading the recent biography of Capote. In this case, I felt like I could actually be of use to the general populace. The problem came when I began to aim for a unique angle to approach the subject that hadn't been touched in some movie reviews. For some weird reason, I started out the post expressing my disgust that the story of the Clutters' murders was being used, maybe exploited, once again for high drama. I don't actually feel disgusted about that. It came off as sanctimonious, and it made me gag when I read it later. It was also a long post because I felt the need to summarize the story of how Capote came to write the book and what happened as he became engaged with the material and people involved.

For what it's worth, Infamous is pretty good movie. It's not quite as focused as Capote (the one with Phillip Seymour Hoffman), but the details were fascinating for someone freshly off reading the biography. It also seemed to nail Capote's character better. My post about it just sucked.

A Fun Order of Magnitude Problem
I had always intended to give non-science readers a glimpse into the mind of physical scientists. In particular, I wanted to talk about how our minds are tuned to work in two modes: approximate and exact. The exact mode is how most people imagine scientists to be. The approximate sense relates to how we often get useful answers and ideas without doing the intense (and occasionally impossible) calculations that an exact approach would require. There's a lot of intuition involved when doing one of these calculations well.

I realized that I was light on the science in the blog. I had also taken a course on order of magnitude approximation where I got lots of practice. I enjoyed the course because the idea was that you try to get answers without doing the hard work. You can apply these techniques to many areas of human endeavor from physics to sociology and often sound like you know something. I trashed the post when it turned out boring for the non-science people and uninspired for the science people. I had it in draft form for too long and just decided to trash it instead of sink more fruitless labor into it. Why force myself to write about science?

Ahh...I feel better. I have exorcised the lurking-post demons.

Stranger than Casino Royale's Fiction

I hate it when I see two new movies in one weekend. This last weekend I saw the blockbuster Casino Royale and the relatively more cerebral Stranger Than Fiction. The former, a sort of James Bond prequel, has had a lot of hype surrounding it. Rather than fuel that fire needlessly, I want to review Stranger Than Fiction. It's not quite as memorable as Casino Royale, but it's worth checking out.

I walked out of the theater after seeing Stranger Than Fiction knowing that I had liked it, but I wasn't sure why. It has the absurdist elements of a Charlie Kaufman screenplay (like Being John Malkovich or Adaptation) and also the feel of an earnest, minimalist romantic comedy like Punch-Drunk Love. I'm not sure if I bought the surreal aspects of the story, but that's somehow fine. Ultimately, I think Will Ferrell and Judi Dench sold a shaky script.

So what happens? As most people can figure out from the trailer, Judi Dench plays "M", the leader of MI6 and a novelist. She has been writing a novel for nearly ten years and suffers from writer's block. In particular, she cannot think of a fitting death for her protagonist that is both appropriate and tragic. Her hero, James Crick, is a real man who begins to hear a narration of his daily activities. He tries to seek help to understand what he's going through. He sees a psychiatrist who assures him that he has schizophrenia, and he takes a much-needed vacation. Despite his vacation status, he manages to foil a bomb plot at an airport in Miami. Finally, he finds a literature professor named Le Chiffre (played by Dustin Hoffman) who is willing to humor an apparently crazy man who thinks a British woman is narrating his life.

Mr. Crick also meets Vesper Pascal (played by Maggie Gyllanhaal) when he does an audit on her. Ms. Pascal is a baker who refuses to pay the portion of her taxes that funds wars and political kick-backs. She initially despises Mr Crick because he represents the government and because he appears to be a typical alpha-male tough guy. He eventually breaks through her tough exterior after she bakes him some cookies and he kills some bad guys in a stairwell. After that, it's pretty much love all around. He manages to woo her through some skillful guitar playing, and she repays the favor by saving his life from a poisoning.

The big revelation comes when Mr. Crick sees a taped interview of the novelist, played by Judi Dench, and immediately recognizes the voice narrating his life. He tells Dustin Hoffman's character who regretfully informs him that this particular author always kills the protagonist. It should be noted that Le Chiffre has seemingly bought this cockamamie story about being a character in a novel. Despite the odds, "Crick. James Crick." sets out to find this author and let her know the full story.

He finds her after being tortured by Le Chiffre in a very ballsy fashion, if you catch my drift. After presenting himself to the author as a living and breathing character, M gives him the chance to read the novel and her outline for the ending that details Mr. Crick's death. Mr. Crick then reads it and tells M that he accepts his fate. He feels that his imminent death (and the manner in which it occurs) would bring more meaning to his life than most people ever accomplish. M grudgingly and guiltily agrees to finish the book and effectively end this man's life.

Aware of his imminent demise, Crick goes about his business as a spy/IRS auditor and chases Vesper Pascal around Venice. We find out that she had used her tax evasion scheme to work with Le Chiffre and betray Crick because her husband had been kidnapped. We never met her husband, but he apparently was being held to make Vesper follow the terrorists' demands. Crick catches on after a phone call from M about some missing money. He chases her into an abandoned building where she dies in its collapse into the sea, and he saves a boy from being crushed by the building. M had meant for Crick to die a hero's death in the collapse (in her novel, of course) but we find that she spares him that fate. He ends up in the hospital in a full-body cast. M's reasoning for the change is that the story of a man who finds out his fate and becomes resigned to it is much less tragic than that of a man who is ignorant of the inexorable path he follows that leads to his demise.

I remember being satisfied at the film's conclusion, but in retrospect I feel differently. The plot was too convoluted and polluted with twists that it became very difficult to recall precisely the motivation for the characters' behavior. Vesper's betrayal, in particular, was an almost forced twist that added very little to the ultimate conclusion other than make Mr. Crick single and probably unable to form meaningful relationships or to trust others. It really seemed like two films: one about a desk jockey struggling in the currents of fate and another about an greenhorn spy fighting a terrorist organization and discovering what it takes to be an effective covert agent.

Wikipedia Brown

I have nothing creative to offer in this post, but I will let someone else's intellectual labors satisfy that need for you. I came across (via Metafilter) a brilliant satire of an Encyclopedia Brown story called "Wikipedia Brown and the Case of the Captured Koala". As any nerdy kid, I devoured the Encyclopedia Brown books. I read every single one that my local library carried and then bugged my parents to buy me some that were not at the library. I grew out of it when I realized that the books were written at a fifth grade level and that I was still reading them at age 23...I mean 11.

In case you're not up to speed on the Encyclopedia Brown series (Wikipedia entry), Encyclopedia was the nickname of a geeky, smug 10-year-old kid named Leroy Brown who lived in Idaville. His dad was the incompetent chief of police who used his son to help him solve cases. At the end of each story, it became clear that Encyclopedia knew "whodunnit" whether it was armed robbery or the theft of some marbles by Bugs Meany, the local bully. The reason was always some sentence in the preceding story that made it clear that someone was lying or that a certain fact was key to the case's solution.

One example includes the theft of 1 million pesos in single peso bills. One of the suspected robbers said he overheard the "real robbers" talking about counting the money that afternoon. Of course, that's impossible! It would take days to count that many bills. (Unless they had an automatic counter, other gang members, or the bills were bound in larger groups...) Other keystone facts in other cases included: squirrels always go head-first down a tree, people don't wear gloves when it's hot outside, and that "bookkeeper" has three sets of double letters.

Here's a fun case to crack: Encyclopedia Brown's death! The Onion, as usual, does a wonderful job reporting.

The Sea Lions Cometh

The geneticists have the ability to make a mouse glow in the dark. They can make tomatoes with tougher skin. Turkeys and porn actresses are now 99% breast. Humans are starting to expect genetically modified foodstuffs. Some other species are not quite so content. Why do humans reap the rewards while other intelligent mammalian species go wanting? As usual, the animals with the most bruised collective ego are the California Sea Lions (Zalophus californianus).

It has long been known that sea lions are the aquatic mammals most likely to hold a grudge. They show up all along the Pacific Coast and act like they own the place. They sit on a beach or a dock, sun themselves, defecate, and move on without a word of thanks. In short, they are a surly, lazy bunch. As most human couch/MMORPG potatoes, they have superiority complexes and will raise a major ruckus if they feel they have been wronged.

Being lazy, the sea lions want to maintain their impressive blubber without doing too much of that annoying swimming. On numerous occasions they have called for slower, fatter, dumber fish. And they prefer fish that glow in the dark for easier hunting in murky or slightly dark waters. Since we humans are "already working on that genetic stuff", they think we should try to make fish that are easier to catch but also some that taste like strawberries, peanut butter, or turkey. The fact that we have yet to do that for them has angered them more and more. Their ire has been charming and almost cute, like the empty blustering of a non-nuclear North Korea. In the same way that North Korea grew some radioactive fangs, it looks like the sea lions are ready to fight back. We need to be ready, and we have been far too complacent with our blubbery enemies.

The occurrence that prompted me to write this post and wield my extensive public influence was reported in San Francisco (see this article). The title of the article says it all: "Rogue sea lion bites at least 14 in San Francisco Lagoon". Random, isolated incident? HA! More like the tip of the iceberg.

People have called me alarmist for ringing the alarm bells about the impending sea lion invasion. Let's take a look at the evidence:

1. Probing attacks in crucial ports on the Pacific Coast (see above). These attacks have been used to test costal defenses and military responses. Given that the response of the government to the sea lion attacks is to wait "until the testy marine mammal has moved on", we have not projected an image of strength.
   
2. Destroyed piers in Crescent City, CA, due to a "tsunami" (see this article). If it was a tsunami, why didn't the tsunami warning system, an expensive operation, warn the citizens properly? If human error is not the reason, what else is it? Have the sea lion scientists developed a wave machine? If so, what are its capabilities?
   
3. Sea lion landing barges have been spotted by US spy planes and some tourists; see the picture above.
   
4. The proposed Nazi invasion of Great Britain was code-named "Seelöwe", or "Sea Lion". In preparation, the Nazis built massive landing barges in various inland waterways in France. Landing barges? See point #3.
   

The Nazis never invaded England because they lost the Battle of Britain, an air superiority battle. Without air or naval superiority, the Nazi barges would have been cut to shreds in the English Channel. With Nazi sea lions, the picture is different. They have stealth and will not be as susceptible to air attack en route to the landing beaches. Many sea lion battalions are already in place on the coast anyway. We may not be able to stop their landing, but we clearly have air superiority unless the seagulls go in on the side of the sea lions. Perhaps the barges spotted by the tourists are for armored divisions? Will air power have any effect?

America needs to awaken from its slumber before the attacks begin. Arm every man, woman, and child with a spear gun. Fill the harbors with poison fish. Mine all the rocks that sea lions might be tempted to sunbathe upon. Ship all American sea lions to internment camps in--Okay . . . I just read the rest of that article about the sea lion attacks in San Francisco. It's probably just some crazy animal who may or may not be high on bad algae. Nevermind. We're fine. Go about your business.

My world has been shaken (not stirred)

This is an extremely troubling bit of news that most news outlets have been ignoring or downplaying. I recommend that small children and people with heart conditions, fatty liver, or chronic geekiness do NOT read any further.

In the new James Bond movie, James Bond does not care about how he takes his martini! Read that again; let it sink in. Be careful, such a shock may lead to shoulder-shrugging or not caring.

For confirmation, check out this fluffy CNN article. The article tries to focus on other issues like the premiere of Casino Royale or the Queen of England. No matter what journalistic mind-trickery they use, it's impossible to hide the fact that Daniel Craig's James Bond says this when asked how he takes his martini: "Do I look like I give a damn?"

We should not blithely accept such apathy. The article quotes the line as an example of the film's extra dose of "grittiness". I thought it was outright indecisive and weak. What has society come to when apathy seems tough and uncompromising? Even Roger Moore, the most shameful Bond of them all, carefully built his strength with his fussy cocktail and wardrobe choices. He then valiantly bested Jaws (shown at left) on several occasions. Modern pressures and distractions have made us soft and permissive about our beverage choices. We don't want to be subject to the ethical ambiguities of killing henchmen, blowing up hotels, or spreading STDs from the Riviera to the Orient. We seem to have forgotten that the veneer of punctiliousness protects us from such fruitless philosophizing. We don't need a gritty hero, and we never have. We need the velveteen touch of a dandy fop!

The Cult of Grittiness stops here! As a first step, I will insist that unnecessary and extravagant steps be taken to slake my thirst. How else will I be able to defeat men who can be showered with blocks of stone and survive, bite through chains, and eat sharks? Through strength alone? It is interesting how easily we forget how we pulled ourselves out of the "solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short" existence in the state of nature. I'll remind you: an early man put down his hunting spear, took a bath, donned a bowtie, and foppishly suggested a game of baccarat in Monaco. After a few hands, he created civilization.

I voted a straight body-builder ticket

I just wanted to say that I voted for AHH-nold for governor of Caleeforneeya. I think he'll balance the wackos in the state legislature and be willing to compromise on energy and spending issues. The social issues that the Republicans cling to so dearly grate on me quite a bit, and I realize that AHH-nold won't be compromising on many of those (cf. gay marriage bill veto). Nevertheless, I'm will to take some bad with the good.

I just hope that AHH-nold 3.o is willing to keep this state moving in the direction it has been pointed in these last few months (AHH-nold 1.0 was the original, populist version elected; 2.0 was the one booed at during graduation ceremonies for cutting funding to higher education; 3.0 is the current politically savvy version). I took a risk in assuming that AHH-nold 4.0 wasn't going to be a murderous robot or an evil doctor who will try to freeze the state because his wife died.

Berkeley Loves Borat

I saw the new Borat movie this weekend. I hate to add to the hype already surrounding it, but I need to get something off my chest: it angered me that the crowds were surprisingly old. That is, there was a lot of gray hair in the audience. I don't hate old people. It's just indicative of a situation that I always knew existed, but that annoys me everytime I have to confront it. Let me explain.

In case you live under a rock in Uzbekistan, Borat is just Sacha Baron Cohen (an Englishman) playing a man who makes people uncomfortable with his apparent lack of English skills and ignorance of Western customs. He pretends to be a journalist from Kazakhstan who was sent to the "US and A" to figure out why Americans are so successful. Cohen uses Kazakhstan as a stand-in for an obscure foreign country, and most of the facts he presents about this country are totally fake or embellished immensely.

He interviews real people who have been duped into thinking he is an actual reporter from Kazakhstan. In these interviews he reveals his own (fake) viewpoints on hygiene, prostitution, modern technology, appropriate social customs, or women's rights. Each interview segment ha two main methods of getting a laugh.

1. The subject either squirms or gets incredibly angry. They rarely get visibly angry because they want to give this smiling foreign man the benefit of the doubt and respect his customs. Example: Borat does not understand a toilet, poops in a bag, brings it to the hostess of a dinner party, and asks what to do with the waste.
   
2. The bigger pay-off: get the interview subject to say something racist, anti-Semitic, bigoted, or absurd. Example: he gets a gun shop owner to reluctantly say that a certain handgun is great for killing Jews.
   

The aging "liberal hippie douche" (LHD) (thanks South Park!) population of Berkeley picks up on the second one. As a super-liberal friend of mine put it: "Borat really highlights what's wrong with America." I strongly disagree with this statement. I certainly think that anti-Semitism is wrong and that women need to have the same rights as men; I am, after all, a liberal. I get pissed off when people from either extreme (radical or reactionary) jump on an ambiguous issue and elevate it to a clear case of X (where X = "moral decay", "Republican hypocrisy", "activist judges", or "how Bush is going to destroy the world").

I don't want to make this post all about why I hate the extremists on both sides of the political spectrum. So back to my original point: older people don't really want to see a movie where a comedian makes fun of people and engages in potty humor. They didn't belong at this movie! These unthinking liberal drones in Berkeley (old and young) popped up because "red state America was gonna get theirs!" They probably didn't show up at Jackass: Number Two; why would they show up at Borat?!

I DO like the fact that Borat was not as clear a case of Republican-bashing as the LHDs hoped. There is a lot of riffing on fake customs in Kazakhstan like the "Running of the Jew" (I'm sure this absurd joke was unappreciated by many there. After all, people hissed during the preview for Mel Gibson's new movie. Who hisses anymore? Geez). There was also an extended, homoerotic fight/wrestling match between two naked men that spilled out into a real estate convention. I was elated that a few of the aging LHDs walked out of the theater during this scene. It was a small victory.

I bet the people who walked out don't even support America's "War of Terror" or want George W. Bush to drink the blood of every Iraqi man, woman, and child.

I worship at the altar of McPhee

I wrote earlier about one of John McPhee's books, Annals of the Former World. I loved the book and bought a bunch of others. The one I'm reading right now has a part online at The New Yorker. The larger book is called The Control of Nature, and this part is about the Army Corps of Engineers' effort to wrangle the Mississippi River. Among other things, the Corps is trying to keep the Mississippi from changing course and hijacking the bed of the Atchafalaya River. If they fail, towns along the Atchafalaya River and downstream from the control structures will be inundated and New Orleans will no longer have a deep river for industry, navigation, or drinking water.

This book was written in the '80s and brought to light many dangers facing New Orleans and the destruction of the Mississippi delta. It reflects the same, wary attitude that most Americans now have about the future of living on the delta. McPhee focuses on the river rather than the city. The concern for the safety of human settlement that faces the Mississippi he expresses in this piece is underscored by the very real dangers of living in that region that came to light just last year.

Like all of McPhee's work that I have come across, the writing is delicious and warm. The profiles of people, machines, and rivers are rich and textured. It's always worth the read.

Here's the link to the excerpt.

Activate THIS, New Age freaks!

This is part two of my polemic against wacky New Age junk. That copy of OpenExchange that I was examining had another ad that jumped out at me. One might say that it "activated" my contempt, all 22 strands of it.

Erin W is an expert in alchemical hypnotherapy, cranio sacral balancing, Hellerwork structural integration, Shamanic healing, deep tissue massage, reflexology, and DNA activation/Etheric surgery. I initially read "Satanic healing" and got really interested. But, alas, it's Shamanic. She was trained at the coolest college ever: The Rocky Mountain Mystery School.

The ad is supposed to reel you in by saying that 2 strands of our DNA are activated, making us operate at 5-10% of our potential. Her technique, which is actually an "ancient rite of passage", activates all 22 strands of DNA and can increase brain power. It's pretty clear to me that her "ancient rite of passage" is just some sort of massage during which she burns incense and plays cheesy music. That's fine, but making it seem scientific angers me a bit.

Did the ancients know about DNA all along? If so, we better revoke Watson & Crick's 1962 Nobel Prize! I'm guessing that instead of exploiting Rosalind Franklin and excluding her from getting recognition, they just visited a Shaman and stole the idea from him! Sure, Franklin made some grainy images of diffraction patterns of DNA which played into Watson & Crick's own work, but ancient shamans have seen the DNA double helix while high on peyote. Okay, maybe they didn't publish their findings in any journals, but that doesn't make it any less exact. Right?

What is different about activated DNA? If it's activated, does that unlock all the special proteins that lie dormant for most people? Does that mean I can use proteins that give me powers like those of General Zod (at right)? I was always under the impression that our cells carry 22 pairs of chromosomes plus the sex chromosomes. If "science" is to believed, each member of the pair is a long, contiguous strand of DNA. This means that we have 46 strands at most times (except during a short period before mitosis when we have duplicates; 92 in all!), but some are copies. Ms. Wallace says she can only activate 22 strands. I think I'm going to improve upon her method and activate all 46 strands. It's like having 22 strands activated, but twice as intense. I'll charge twice as much, too. The amount of incense that I'll need to burn will be staggering.

I'll probably have to go down to the Quantum Chromodynamical level to do it. By extrapolating a little, it seems that I'll need to also go deeper into history and use the long-forgotten methods of Australopithecine man. I've already established a connection across the abyss of time and space to channel the mystic known as "Linus". He was a contemporary of the famous Australopithecus afarensis woman, "Lucy". The techniques that he mastered for manipulating blankets are essential to the activation of quarks and gluons.

Butterflies have 380 chromosomes. Does that make them wiser, more spiritually attuned organisms? After all, a butterfly alighting on a leaf in China can cause hurricanes to hit Florida (I read about it in Jurassic Park and saw a movie about it: The Butterfly Effect). The insects don't have the brain capacity to master their power, but what if we smoked butterflies or applied mashed butterfly to the skin? That would be an extremely powerful (and expensive!) treatment. Wait! Ferns have 1,200 chromosomes! A fern treatment isn't nearly as exotic as a butterfly treatment. I'll just keep the number of fern chromosomes quiet.

Unleash the Power of . . . Angels?

I had just finished punishing my body (working out) and needed some calories. I ended up at a Baja Fresh, but alas! I had no reading material. I didn't want to get it to-go so I had to come up with something fast. I can eat alone, but I sure as hell can't do it without a book or newspaper. Desperate for something, anything, I picked up a copy of a Bay Area advertising magazine called "Open Exchange". There was a hot chick doing yoga on the cover; so far so good.

I start leafing through the various pages devoted to yoga, meditation, life-coaching, aura surgery, feng-shui, and hypno-, herbal, crystal, and aromatherapists. It's pretty telling when the "Science and Nature" section has only 3 entries while the "Psychic & Intuitive Arts" section has 18 (not including the "Spirit & Soul", "Feng-Shui & Geomancy", or "Astrology & Numerology" sections). I need to say that I find the New Age crap to be complete bullshit and more than a little exploitative. But if people are going to be stupid, others will always find ways to steal their money. It's just capitalism: some people are batshit crazy and need a way to waste hundreds or thousands of dollars; businesspeople step in and fill that need. Maybe the batshit crazy people will be a little happier because someone indulged them.


Despite my negative attitude, there were two ads that really jumped out at me. The first one is really confusing and filled me with questions. If you're too lazy to click the link, here's the synopsis: Britt Nesheim (at left) is an instructor in the art of healing and communicating with "Enchanting Spiritual Beings" (Check out her website: www.angelfairygoddess.com). She can put you in touch with archangels, guardian angels, ascended masters (me with my master's degree when I climb a hill?), and star beings. Don't worry about her being legit; she hs been certified as an ATP (Angel Therapy Practitioner) by Doreen Virtue. In the courses that Britt teaches, you'll learn from other students' experiences and gain confidence in bullshitting yourself, err..."your intuitive skills."

I know what you're saying: "But what if I want to communicate with fairies, animal spirits, and mythical creatures?" Well, Britt can certify you to be a Fairy Intuitive as well so that you can communicate and heal with these beings. She has all her bases covered because she offers a course to be a "Priestess or Priest of the Goddess" so that you can heal or communicate with Celtic AND Greek goddesses and ancestors.

My questions: do the archangels, guardian angels, ascended masters, star beings, Greek goddesses, Celtic goddesses, ancestors, mythical beings, and animal spirits just hang out together? What about the Hindu Gods? Egyptian Gods? Aztec Gods? Are those just silly superstitions? And why do people only want to talk to goddesses? I mean, Athena can do some cool stuff, but Zeus can shoot a lightning bolt up someone's ass if he cuts me off on the freeway. That's spiritual healing with gusto and guaranteed results. The Yeti is a mythical being; how can I heal a loved one with him? Seems like he'd rather rip off your arms than cure the gout. Maybe that's just me. That begs the obvious question: can you only heal with these enchanted beings? What if I wanted to rob a bank with my guardian angel or save more on my taxes with a Coyote Spirit? Can I learn to play the piano from a star being?

So many questions. Maybe I should enroll. Once I control a spirit army, you better watch out. I'll be unstoppable.

(I'll save my other favorite ad for a later post.)

Band Names Made Easy

Because I have no original thoughts, I thought I'd try a fun activity that I saw on the web: making up band names. The article that gave me the idea was a Wired article by Lore Sjoberg on the making of his MySpace page. He has some great made-up band names on his profile like Noun, Lern 2 Spel, Found White Cat, and Futile Gestures in a World Devoted to Ignorance Feat. Jizbom. This inspired me.

Sure, the guy writes comedy pieces for a magazine and makes webcomics for a living, but it seems like he effortlessly made up dozens of band names. Whenever hanging out with friends and joking about funny names, I always encounter a mental block when I try to offer some spontaneous examples of my own. If I do think of anything, it's always The Golgi Bodies, cD Galaxy, or some similarly nerdy name. After thinking for a second, I decided that my thinking had become very uptight, to paraphrase The Dude. It's actually incredibly easy. Here are some band names that are all inspired by my office in the astro department. I've also listed possible bands/groups that they could be applied to and their first albums:

1. Brian and the Stars (50s doo-wop, first album: "Iowa Memories")
   
2. MultiSync LCD (crunk hip-hop group; first album: "Progressive Scan")
   
3. Sharpie (80s hair metal band that does lots of shitty ballads; first album: "Permanent")
   
4. 1000 mL (post-punk, Blink 182-rip-off, commercial drivel; first album: "Nalgene")
   
5. Ice T (rapper who appears on Law and Order: SVU)
   
6. Guide to the Good Life (70s funk party band; first album: "In Berkeley")
   
7. Sea Salt and Vinegar (female singer-songwriter; first album: "Kettle")
   
8. DietCoke with Lime (ethereal, waifish female vocalist and back-up band, Lime; First album: "Aspartame")
   
9. Discarded Red Sweater (emo/sad bastard band; first album: "Forgetful Student")
   
10. Numerical Recipes (art-electronica group a la Brian Eno; first album: "Runge-Kutta")
11. Tomb on the Roof (socially-conscious hip-hop group; first album: "No Windows")
    
12. Our Star the Sun (indie band with lots of electronica and clapping; first album: "Magnetic Reconnection")
    
13. Sun Blade (goth metal; first album: "Obsolete and Useless")
    
14. Two Red Bricks (post-post-punk trio with classic rock sensibilities; first album: "Poor Man's Doorstop")
    
15. Surge Protector (Chrstian rock band; first album: "JC Adaptor")
    
16. LaTeX Graphix (creepy, satanist band that performs disturbing sex acts and cattle mutilations on stage; first album: "\begin{freakshow}")
    
17. Fire Door (stadium rock band; first album: "Keep Closed at All Times")
18. 4 Grad Students in a Confined Space (never a good band name)
19. Dead Plant Society (vegan activist band from San Francisco; first album: "Eat Rocks, Too")
20. Koob Scisyhp (indie band from Luxembourg with guitarists who use violin bows and a vocalist who sings in a mixture of Sanskrit and Basque; first album: "...drawkcab")
    

There you go. I did all that in the space of 20 minutes. Figuring out the correct match of band to name took most of that time.

15 Butterflies play indie rock with a choir while Superman and Santa look on

Last night was weird. I was supposed to be holed up in my office grading, programming, and just generally TKOB (takin' care of business). Instead, I was watching an indie rock group dressed like butterflies and ringed with inflatable Santas and Supermen. It was a Sufjan Stevens concert (I spelled "Stevens" with a "ph" initially; sorry). Sufjan (pronounced like Soof-yan) was there along with a string octet, trombonist (tromboner doesn't sound right...), two trumpeters, bassist, drummer, pianist/guitarist, and a sizable choir.

If you're into Sufjan Stevens, this was a great concert (in case you're wondering, I'm into Sufjan Stevens). The opening band, My Brightest Diamond, was amazing. I was in a state of ecstasy when a hundred inflatable Santas rained from the balcony. Maybe that's overstating it. Nevertheless, it was a great concert for a guy/band that can't, by definition, "rock out". Instead, these two performances focused on musicianship, instrumentation, and sad-bastard lyrics.

I didn't know I was going to the concert until 3 hours before. Even then, I wasn't sure if I could get in. I don't want to go into why because Ticketmaster would hunt me down and flay me. But it was unconventional; I'll leave it at that.

The take-away message: check out Sufjan Stevens if you get a chance. With so many people involved and expecting a paycheck, I'm guessing they didn't earn too much individually. Give 'em a hand. Also check out My Brightest Diamond.

Late Movie Review: All the King's Men

I just finished reading the book upon which the movie, "All the King's Men", was based. Before you think I'm a moron, I know that the movie did, in fact, come out a few weeks ago, get tepid-to-terrible reviews, and flop at the box office. I'm writing about it because I really enjoyed the book and was excited to see it acted out. Also, this is MY blog, frankly, and I want to write about it. So there.

The film did not have a great cast. This is not a unique observation (nearly every reviewer commented on this). I think each actor is, individually, very good, but was ill-suited for their role. There are 3 prominent Brits (Jude Law, Kate Winslet, Sir Tony Hopkins) who struggle to exhibit a Louisianan accent. Jude Law does moderately well, but Winslet and Sir Hopkins did not seem to try too hard. Another example is Jude Law's character. His character, the narrator, Jack Burden, is an "idealist" in that he tries not to know things, provoke action, hold opinions, or participate. He is on the sidelines. But how could I ever accept that Jude Law is on the sidelines? He's Jude Law!

On a positive note, the movie cut out many aspects of the book that would have ground the movie to a halt. An extended history of the narrator's ancestor (a narrative-within-a-narrative in the middle of the book) would have slowed things down a bit. I was a little upset that Tom Stark (Willie's son) didn't get injured in that football game. The little bastard had it coming.

Thankfully, the movie excluded the Homeric extended metaphors that have been sprinkled throughout the book. It would have been strange, indeed, to hear how the silence between two characters was "as deep and dark as a misty chasm between two great mountains. A chasm that was carved by glaciers thousands of years ago, worked upon by rivers, and littered with loose boulders and detritus from the cliffs above. This canyon was cloaked in the shadows of dawn but ringed with the anticipation of a flood of light as soon as the earth tilted and received the offer of sunlight from millions of miles away. The first stirs of life had begun before the deafening cacophony of a thousands beast roused and began to search for sustenance and courtship." (I made that example up, but it's representative) See? That may (or may not) have a place in literature, but it certainly doesn't belong in a film.

The movie was probably extremely boring. Having just finished the book not more than 3 hours before, I was fine with this. I was imagining the rich narrative (including those ridiculous 2-paragraph similies) that accompanies the subdued action and dialogue. It tried to stuff a lot into the time allowed, and the richness and depth of certain relationships just didn't seem to be established. Certain events and characters' fates were only powerful because of the rich and nuanced background. While this sort of criticism is always going to be found in movies adapted from novels, I think the film should have been simplified (cutting even more out) to develop some things more compellingly. For example, they could have focused on Willie Stark (the populist politician played by Sean Penn) rather than Jack Burden (Jude Law), but then they'd have to rewrite quite a bit because Willie's and Jack's fates are intertwined. Or, they could have focused upon Jack with Willie as this background figure who drives Jack's fate. Maybe those ideas suck, but I'm not getting paid for this.

The movie had some really cool visuals. I don't want to give anything away, but it seemed to have been shot with the understanding that it was a much better movie than it was. Sorry, Mr. Cinematographer (Pawel Edelman). They really wanted some Oscar gold and tried too hard. That's the primary reason for its ribbing by reviewers. It's not as bad as the 11% on Rotten Tomatoes, but critics get rubbed the wrong way when a movie talks a big game and has no follow-through.

I'm not sure I would recommend this film to friends. I certainly recommend it to those who have read the book and to those who want to see Sean Penn wave his arms and drink heavily.

Bradvice part 5: A 2-fer!

I decided to answer two questions today:

Dear Bradhoc,
I write a blog. I started a recurring type of post where people ask for advice, and I give it to them. I usually get non-sensical questions from my sister or roommate and try to make do. I recently had an idea: I'll phrase a problem from a physics textbook as an advice request. It seems like a funny premise, but I just can't make it work. What should I do?
Thanks,
Bradhoc

Dear Bradhoc,
It sounds like a really lame idea. If you really want to write it, try ignoring the physics. And be careful about implying negative things about the author of the textbook. Your best bet is to use a book written by a Brit. The chances of them reading it are lower.

Ultimately, I think you should ditch the idea altogether and write a post about Battlestar Galactica, Firefly, or Star Wars. If you manage to say something witty about sci-fi, at least a certain population of socially inept (but internet savvy!) people will read it and think it's funny. Isn't that better than crashing and burning in front of a wider, less forgiving audience? I've read your stuff, and I just don't think you're ready for the big time. Sorry, man.
Sincerely,
Bradhoc

The second one:

Dear Bradhoc,
Derive the mean and variance of the energy of the monoenergetic photons that undergo a single Compton scattering by the thermal electrons at temperature T, and hence obtain a Fokker-Planck equation for Comptonization. Why are there two terms of opposing sign in the equation for the mean energy?
-Peacock

Dear Peacock,
Fatherhood is never to be entered lightly. So, your concerns about the lack of affection in your childhood home are well-founded and need to be addressed. That's not to say that these past problems should prevent you from having a child of your own.

Assuming that you are going to bring the child into the world with a partner, make sure that she (or he) is aware of your concerns. Having a person who you trust and listen to is much better than doing this on your own. It is extremely important that lines of communication between you two stay open. If you think your childhood problems are very serious, talk to a therapist. Keep seeing the therapist for yourself and possibly family therapy during the course of your child's life to discuss concerns. Sometimes you might need a little help.

All in all, I'm of the opinion that if you really want a child, have it. The fact that you're concerned for the child's welfare already is a good sign that you'll be fine. No parent or family situation is ever perfect. Don't expect it to be. Even "perfect" families can fall apart after a traumatic event that no one can control. As long as you stay open to suggestion and help, you'll do very well. Despite that flowery advice, stay rational. If you can wait a year until you get out of school or until your job becomes more secure, do that.

It is important to remember that you will need to Lorentz boost the number density of photons and use the differential (as opposed to the total) Thompson cross-section. Be very careful with angles in relativistic processes, and don't forget the Compton recoil.
Bes of Luck,
Bradhoc

That's it for now. If you have a deep, burning question that only I can answer, send me a message through bradhoc@gmail.com or the comments.

Reasons to Loathe Me

It has recently come to light that certain people dislike me. Some of the hatred is understandable; some has me completely perplexed. In person, I can be either be attentive, sensitive, and understanding or an abrasive, loud-mouthed cynic. I try to temper that other side when I think the audience can't stomach it. Sometimes I fail. I'm realistic and understand that certain people will therefore hate me. There are others who do not fall into this category; they haven't seen the annoying side. If these people have no good reason to dislike me, I want to do them a favor by giving them a list of crappy facts about me.

1. I wear pre-ripped/pre-worn/pre-faded jeans. (but I only have one pair...)
   
2. I saw Jackass Number 2. My favorite part was the "Butt Chug".
   
3. I quote movies and make sure they're quoted correctly. Sometimes I correct others. Because I'm a good man, and thorough.
   
4. I play devil's advocate all the time. Living in Berkeley for 3 years has made me argue for the conservative side so often that I sometimes forget that I'm more on the liberal side. I've considered buying republican t-shirts just to elicit reactions from Berkeleyans.
   
5. Living in Berkeley has hardened my heart against the homeless. I used to give spare change all the time. Now I hoard it. It's only a matter of time before I make a suit out of dollar bills and quarters and jingle through the streets.
   
6. I love candy in "bite" form. Kit Kat Bites, Reese's Bites, York Bites: all great. Read here for a better review (I read blogs on candy). I also love wine in box form, preferrably cubic.
   
7. When crossing a busy street where there's a crosswalk but no stop sign or stoplight, I love staring down drivers and giving them the stink-eye when they blow past me. I like giving the stink-eye more than having a courteous driver stop safely.
8. I give the stink-eye to others: bicyclists who don't obey the laws. If they blow a traffic signal, I get pissed (my reasoning is that I, another bicyclist, will incur the wrath of the annoyed drivers who would not be angry if other bicyclists followed simple traffic rules).
9. All my MySpace friends are female or the Flaming Lips or Rupert Murdoch or Drew, the guy who draws Toothpaste for Dinner (my joyless MySpace page). Oh yeah, I have a MySpace page. Add me. Love me. Or at least acknowledge me?
10. I make a point out of eating at a fast-food place every weekend, usually lunch on Saturday. I've even spent an hour (each way!) just to get to an In-N-Out Burger on public transportation. It was worth it.
    
11. I like veal. And duckling. Most animals are delicious when they're young.

I hope that's enough ammunition for you haters out there.

The Nobel Prize is full of Smoot

You've heard the news. I just got some free champagne to celebrate the news. George Smoot, a physics prof here at Berkeley, and John Mather (a Berkeley PhD!) were awarded the Nobel Prize in Physics. What did they find? They did some of the first work on measuring and characterizing the CMB (Cosmic Microwave Background). See this previous post for a tongue-in-cheek recap of the latest results, using a similar set-up to the work done in the '90s. The results resulted in much rejoicing and made the Big Bang cosmology very difficult to disprove (suck it, steady state cosmology!). I don't want to say more; see here, here, here, or here.

There's some smoldering controversy going on that I can't and won't get into much. In brief, there have been a lot of advances in cosmology in the past 20 years and many people working on the same or similar projects. In other words, some hurt feelings are inevitable. Nevertheless, these two guys are worthy and hopefully only the first physicists to be honored for work in this "golden age" of cosmology.

I know George Smoot relatively well after being in his field (cosmology) and department (physics) these 3 years and working as a teaching assistant for his class (physics 7B) for two semesters. He's a really personable guy and loved talking to students about physics or whatever. I vividly remember him hanging around after physics tea to tell stories to me and other grad students about living at the South Pole (where he worked on balloon-borne CMB detectors) and other random crap. He was a lot of fun to work with even if he did give those students some nasty exams (that took forever to grade...grumble grumble grumble).

In the grand tradition of Nobel Prize awardees, I hope he starts working on some weird area of science that wouldn't otherwise get funding. Like . . . studying what happens when Brad gets $100,000 with no strings attached. It's very important to know, but no one seems to want to fund such a project. George, stop by my office when you want to begin the experiment.

Dirty Pillows

I decided to do a bit of an homage to a blog called "The Impulsive Buy". It's filled with mockery and self-deprecating humor. The guy who writes it, Marvo, lives in Hawaii and seems a little annoyed about his home state (he calls it "the rock in the middle of the Pacific Ocean"), although I'm sure he likes it. I like to read it every so often, so I want others to do the same.

Here goes the homage:

Dirty pillows. It's a fun nickname for boobs. It's okay to laugh. Go ahead, I'll wait. Done? Good.

I just bought another kind of dirty pillow at REI. I like to have a pillow when I sleep. So, because I recently splurged on a nice down mummy bag, I decided to get a camping pillow. I didn't want anything fancy, so I got a camping pillow that hasn't had a package re-design since 1954. That's not quite correct; they had to include the warning about how it's not fire-proof, a floatation device, or safe for children. In 1962, some kid caught on fire after his pillow burst into flames. He quickly jumped in a lake and started drowning. His brother threw him another one of these pillows, but it didn't quite cut the mustard. Sad story.

I went camping this last weekend during tarantula season on Mount Diablo. What better time to test out the pillow? I inflated it at our campsite and put it under my head. I got into bed. Then I removed it and got horizontal again. I did not notice the difference. Maybe I wasn't wearing enough pomade in my hair or flannel on my burly chest. Maybe my chest wasn't even burly enough...? Even so, it was nearly 100% worthless as a pillow and couldn't be used to save me from drowning, lay in an oven, or protect a child.

The pillow does not have an impressive, God-I-just-want-lay-on-you look to it (the Altoids are for scale):

Let's discuss the "canvas feel" top. Okay, it felt more like canvas than the bottom, but it's not saying much. Who wants canvas anyway? If I did, I could have just spent $2 on a burlap sack rather than drop a couple hundred bucks on a sleeping bag. I suppose that in 1954 people didn't know the beautiful sensations of silk boxer shorts, 1000 thread count sheets, or, um, cotton.

The pillow was also dreadful at protecting me from wildlife. We slept with no tents under the clear sky. While I never noticed any tarantulas on me, our camp site was surrounded by coyotes and was hit by a raccoon raiding party. The inflated pillow was of no help when hurled at these beasts. I also woke up in the middle of the night convinced that a raccoon was nibbling on my foot. Where were you then, pillow, when I was at my most vulnerable?

Item: Intex Camping Pillow
Price: $3.00
Purchased at: REI (Berkeley)
Rating: 1 out of 5
Pros: nifty packaging with '50s beefcake, clear night sky, no tarantulas on my face, super-low price
Cons: "canvas feel", worthless against mammals, flammable, drownable, raccoons drinking your beer, not being "outdoorsy", killing kids

I'm your master now

I have just received my master's degree in physics. I technically got it a while ago, but I just picked up the piece of paper proving my dubious accomplishment. I think it's important to notice one of the signatures on the left:

YES, that's the signature of my governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger. It makes me shiver to think that the hand that signed off on my degree killed the Predator, battled Sinbad for a Christmas present, tricked Jamie Lee Curtis into thinking he wasn't a spy, nearly killed John and Sarah Connor, terraformed Mars, froze Gotham City, pretended to be Danny DeVito's brother, participated in a sadistic game show of the future, taught a group of unruly kids, and won the Mr. Universe title several times. Oh yeah. He does something for the state government of California or something, too.

What action superstar signed off on YOUR degree? Huh? No one? Well, I guess that makes me better than you.

Battlestar Galactica: The Re-Nerding

I have a few things I'd like to say about Battlestar Galactica, the re-imagining of the series. I have this topic on my mind lately because the third season premiers this Friday. Let me first bring you up to speed on where we left the story: All the fat and hairy humans on New Caprica have just been discovered by the dapper and svelte Cylons. The Cylons took over, and it's up to the father-and-son team of Adamas to recover their honor. Or at least lose a few pounds and shave off that awful mustache.

OK, point-the-first: I hate the SciFi Channel for airing it on a Friday night. It was the smartest choice on their part because they won't have to compete with other nerd-attracting shows like Lost and 24. Plus, their core audience will either be at home anyway or have the technical know-how to record it while they're away buying parts for their robot at Radioshack. Nevertheless, it makes me come to terms with the fact that my life sucks. I have a bunch of friends who will be watching it, too. That reminds me that my friends' lives suck, too. Thanks for kicking us while we're down, SciFi Channel.

Point-the-second: Gaius Baltar, the promiscuous president of the colonies and geek extraordinaire, has an imaginary version of Number Six, a smokin' Cylon babe, in his head telling him things. The real version of Number Six back on the home planet has an imaginary version of Baltar in her head. Each of them is in love with the other, but they may just be in love with their imaginary versions.

At the end of the second season, the real Baltar and real Number Six finally meet again. What's going to happen with the imaginary versions? Will they just poof out of existence, effectively annihilating each other? Maybe the imaginary versions will fight each other while the real versions sit back and watch. Here's the most plausible outcome: imaginary-Six, fed up with real-Baltar will begin dating imaginary-Baltar. The imaginary versions are much more self-assured than their real counterparts and will probably have a more enriching sex life. The real versions, now sans-imaginary partners, will have no choice but to engage in a loveless relationship. They will eventually split (due to marital problems or the attack of the colonial fleet) and wrench apart the happy couple of imaginary-Baltar and imaginary-Six. The separation of the imaginaries will be so heart-wrenching that each imaginary version will create his or her imaginary version of the other imaginary person. Thus, real-Baltar will be left with a despondent imaginary-Six and an imaginary-imaginary-Baltar. Real-Six will have a disconsolate imaginary-Baltar and an imaginary-imaginary-Six to fill the hole in her heart. I think this next level of imaginariness is fitting for a third season. But it's more than that. This story is as old as a Caprican sunset and defines the human/Cylon condition.

Point-the-third, that is, the point that comes after point-the-second: I hear the argument that Battlestar Galactica (BSG) is not normal sci-fi and transcends the inherent nerdiness of sci-fi. After all, most stories are about people and their relationships with each other in situations of extreme duress. The biggest piece of evidence supporting this view is that, unlike Star Trek, the ship isn't an effective character in the show. The technology is there, but there is very little techno-scientific-babble.

This is tempting to believe initially, but it's clearly bullshit. There are many reasons. First, look at how the network views the audience (first point). Second, the people under extreme duress are fighting robots. Robots in space. If you wanted a series about people in extreme situations, watch 24 or Grey's Anatomy. Don't fool yourself into thinking that BSG is not sci-fi just because Adama doesn't go on at length about tachyon pulses, separating the saucer section, or tribbles.

Point-the-final (this is a fine plot point that I need explained): Anders, Starbuck's beau, was present when Number Six was talking about Baltar in the rubble of the building on Caprica. When Anders heard that Baltar was president, wouldn't that ring a bell and lead him to tell someone that Baltar is working for the Cylons? He had an entire year to do so while he was on New Caprica. Is Anders just a big meathead with bad memory?

Almost another month without the bradhoc

Alright, I'm sorry. It has been a long time since I last blogged. In the past I had good excuses. Travel, work, misplacing my thumbs. These have all been the case before, but not now. I've just been lazy. It took a huge kick in the blogging pants to get back on the blogging horse. What was the huge kick?

Prepare yourself: Wilford Brimley is a fan of cockfighting. He has campaigned against laws that ban the practice. Read the article for yourself. He appeared at a public hearing to speak against a proposed law in New Mexico. Note that celebrities like Pamela Anderson couldn't be bothered to support their cause in person (they don't like cockfighting). It's interesting that the pro-cockfighting lobby got a powerhouse like Wilford Brimley. The anti-cockfighting people got Pam Anderson. Seems about right.

And don't worry, there should be some more posts on the horizon.

No Whammy, No Whammy, NEVER!

I was having a conversation with some astro and physics people the other day. As usual, the conversation drifted to random number generators and the TV gameshow "Press Your Luck". Then we naturally started discussing the performance of Michael Larson on the show who figured out the "random" pattern of the show's supposedly random game and won $110,237 ($104,950 cash, a sailboat, a trip to the Bahamas, and a trip to Kauai) in 1984. If you have 7 minutes, I strongly recommend watching an edited version of the episode on Google Video. Stay with me in this post, too. I even call this story a "parable."

I like Mr. Larson because he wasn't the traditional, calculating egg-head type you might expect like the MIT Blackjack Team. Instead, he was an unemployed HVAC technician who drove an ice cream truck in the summer. The aftermath of his win also, and unfortunately, bears out the fact that he wasn't as cool and calculated as he might appear. According to Wikipedia, he participated in a weird get-rich-quick scam during which he withdrew $30,o00 in $1 bills. He initially invested in real estate in his native Ohio, but lost it all. He sadly died in 1999 of throat cancer while on the lam from the SEC.

In fact, the guy's history and original feat seem to say that while intelligent, he was just eccentric enough to decide to try to beat the Press Your Luck game. After all, who would have thought that the show's technical people would be lazy enough to allow a feat like this to happen? There were only 5 patterns, and there were several "safety" squares in these patterns that never had Whammies, a square that wipes out your previous earnings (see the Wikipedia article for gory details). Most people would never have taken the time to tape the shows, follow the tape frame-by-frame and try to figure out and beat the system. It takes a certain amount of "crazy" and distrust of the abilities of others, specifically of the so-called experts, to believe it can even be done. Maybe it requires a bit of arrogance.

I'm harping on this point because I believe Mr. Larson's story is a useful parable. It demonstrates that the "crazies" who don't believe what they're told by experts (doctors, the government, scientists, etc.) can sometimes be correct. This character is a hero to most people outside the establishment and a major annoyance to those within.

I feel like I'm in the threshold between the establishment and everyone else. As a grad student, I still have much to learn and can clearly remember my life as a layperson. And yet, I know much more than the average Joe or Josephine about physics. I like to think I have well-reasoned and informed opinions about many other topics, too. To me, the story of Michael Larson is both inspiring and unsettling. He beat the system! Yay! But...he had the audacity to challenge it when he had no reasonable chance of success. Boo! The "everyman" and "uber-man" are fighting inside me. It's tiring.

Anyway, I think the lesson is that authority figures need to listen to the crazies. Sometimes they're correct and avoid all the whammies the authorities can throw at them. Of course, sometimes they say that 9/11 was a conspiracy and hit a huge whammy right off the bat. Listening to these people is the price one pays to be in the authority. The short version: "have you hugged a crackpot today?"

The Follow-Up to the Long-Awaited, Highly Anticipated Review of "Snakes On a Plane"

I liked it. It had bad acting, an idiotic story, lots of gore, some gratuitous nudity, and snakes. On a plane. A mutherf*ckin' plane.

The crowd of zany, drunk imbeciles at the theater made it better by hissing throughout the whole movie, making funny comments, throwing toy snakes around, and screaming at every line Samuel L. Jackson utters. Oh, that wasn't sarcastic. The audience at my late-night showing really did make it better. Time to sleep.

The Long-Awaited, Highly Anticipated Review of "Snakes On a Plane"

It was ok.

Protecting the Homeland because I give a Dam

Like most Americans, I'm proud of the bureaucratic behemoth we call the Department of Homeland Security. Despite the successes, there have been problems. Along with trying to unite two truculent siblings (CIA and FBI) and deal with a pesky hurricane, it has become a filing cabinet for cronies and a pork barrel warehouse. Why, for example, does Indiana have more potential terror targets (8,591) than New York (5,687) or California (3,212)? (see this report)

In light of the missteps, I wanted to test the effectiveness of this agency and/or the willingness of normal citizens to activate it. I enlisted my brown-skinned roommate as help. Needless to say, I was not happy with the results. (I need to say, however, that we didn't actually plan what transpired; it grew out of being lost in Contra Costa County).

Behind the first line of East Bay hills are the San Pablo and Briones Reservoirs. They supply a lot of the water for Bay Area communities and have large earthen dams. The dams are pretty high (maybe 100+ feet) and face large communities. The San Pablo Reservoir impounds 8 billion gallons. A tiny proportion of that could be really destructive if released suddenly. The government knows this; a recent seismic study recommended lowering the water height in the reservoir by 20 feet because the dam would slump by that much in a 7.5+ earthquake (see this SFGate article).

So, what would happen if some suspicious characters were hanging around the San Pablo Dam? We wanted to find out.

First off, I was wearing a black t-shirt that happens to have semi-satanic pictures on the front (I got it at a Tenacious D concert). My brown-skinned roommate, also the driver, is, well, brown. He's Indian, but what do people know? (red flag #1) While it's hard to imagine a terrorist wearing a satanic t-shirt, maybe she could have thought that al Qaeda was partnering up with local anarchists?

We drove into a picnic area and boat launch, trying to find a way onto the dam. We first asked a guy if we could rent a boat. He directed us inside to talk to a lady in the bait shop. We informed her that we didn't want to fish and only needed to rent the boat (red flag #2).

She told us that it was too late in the day to go out because they were closing up soon. My (brown) roommate then told her that we really just wanted to get to the dam (red flag #3). At this point, I went to the restroom (preferring to piss there rather than befoul my own water supply). Her response to his request to get to the dam was supposedly very forceful: people are NOT allowed on the dam! After pressing the issue (red flag #4), my roommate finally got her to say that there was a fire trail that started in the parking lot and got close to the dam.

We hiked the trail and got to a place where we could have easily stepped over a chain and onto the dam. We didn't because of signs telling us not to. The signs didn't stress safety or property issues; they all said that it was a protected watershed. If it was so protected that we couldn't touch the dam, why do they let fisherman on it? Seems fishy.

Anyway, we hiked back and passed the same woman as we left in the car. She was headed to the trail with another worker to check on us. We were clearly coming from the fire trail (red flag #5). She gave us a dirty look. The hike took a while; certainly long enough to have a cop check on us. But we didn't see any other "authority" figures. I guess the danger we posed only warranted a middle-aged woman and a 16-year-old kid in a golf cart. Sounds about right.

One can argue that we probably didn't pose a threat. We certainly don't, but that's beside the point. I was prepared to and wanted to prove to a cop that I wasn't planning on destroying a large dam (provided I didn't get shipped to Guantanamo or Eastern Europe). What can I say? It was a boring Saturday.

Bradvice part 4

I've recently developed complicated codependency issues with a moldy half of an orange I left in the bathroom weeks ago. I can't seem to keep my mind off of that fuzzy surface-the more time we spend together, the harder it is to say goodbye every morning. I'm having trouble at work, have stopped eating (except for the occasional orange, but they're only substitutes Brad, only substitutes), and haven't been out with friends in months. Please help.
Romantic at Heart

Dear Romantic,
First, I'm going to empathize a bit. Fuzzy objects. We all love 'em. I'm particularly fond of hairy items, a slightly more mature form of fuzziness. A hairy back, chest, ass, and shoulders make a man look very distinguished; at least, that's what my mom says. Still, some people want to crap all over the obvious positive effects of hairiness by calling you "unattractive" or "yeti-like". Kids laugh at you when you take your shirt off at the beach. Roommates yell at you for clogging the shower drain. These people are not those you want to associate yourself with. Don't be ashamed of your attachment to a fuzzy orange. It's a beautiful thing.

Because of the antibacterial properties and aesthetic glory of the moldy orange, you find yourself unable to sever the attachment for even a short time. This leads to anxiety and loss of appetite. My advice: stop trying to sever the attachment. Carry the orange with you at all times. Be able to pull it out whenever you want. Have it at the ready so that you can rub it during that staff meeting or in the middle of that date with the girl in accounting. Palm it while sleeping on the subway, panhandling outside McDonalds, or defecating in the park. Never part with it. It's clearly the best thing that ever happened to you.

In short, reconfigure your life around the object of your affection. If that means you lose your meaningless job and alienate your friends, then so be it. After all, you must have a crappy life if it gets disrupted by a stupid orange that you found in the bathroom. Plus, I bet your friends are jerks.

Sierra Mist has poor taste

I'm sure I'm not the first to point this out, but the Sierra Mist commercials (starring Kathy Griffin and Jim Gaffigan as airport security screeners and Michael Ian Black as a person going through security) have a new relevance and are not very sensitive to current events. Here's a video of the commercial in case you don't watch TV much.

See, in the commercial, the two TSA people clearly want the bottle of delicious Sierra Mist carried by Michael Ian Black. They pretend that the magnetic detector wand is registering a "hit" on the bottle of Sierra Mist. Michael Ian Black surrenders the beverage only after Jim Gaffigan threatens a body cavity search.

With all the hubbub regarding liquids on planes, one might think such a commercial to be hitting a little too close to home. Being the hard-hearted bastard that I am, I think it's much funnier than it was before we were afraid that the passenger next to us would blow the fuselage open with a Red Bull.

A Finite Simple Group of order funny

I'm not a math person. I took two classes beyond what I was supposed to take as a physics major (probability theory and complex analysis for retards; ie. engineers). Therefore, I do not claim to understand all the humor in the following video in a deep way. It's funny for me not because of the math humor but because it reminds me of the corny physics humor that pops up in lectures and the physics department's holiday party. Plus, these dudes are nerds. Nerdier than me.

The Portal into Mathemagic Land

Bubble Wrap

I haven't posted for a while because I came down with a case of wasting disease. Wait, no. I think only deer get that. I have been sick, though. The fever recently broke, and here I am to update the world on my convalescence. I won't be able to get active right away, but my brain is quick enough now to get some work done (booo!) and write some faux-witty blog entries.

Besides, I couldn't very sit on an awesome web-scovery that I made while suffering from shaking chills, coughing, and randomly visiting sites: see this. It gave me the strength to beat this affliction.

PS: Can you guess what I managed to come down with? If you guess correctly, you get a hearty pat on the back. If you guess incorrectly, you get a hearty cough.

Everyone's a dick at the Weiner's Circle

I was in Chicago this last weekend. It was hot, and I was in the 'burbs for a wedding. I didn't have time to do much aside from being my girlfriend's sweaty arm-candy. It was a great time, but I would have liked to visit the city a little. One of my favorite parts of the city is a certain little hotdog place.

The Weiner's Circle is, at first glance, an exceedingly ordinary hole-in-the-wall in Lincoln Park (a neighborhood on the North Side). There are at least 300,000 similar places in the city and surrounding suburbs. They all serve the same delicious crap: Chicago-style hotdogs along with burgers, Italian beef, and/or gyros. A Chicago-style hotdog is a thing of beauty: Vienna Beef centerpiece with onions, jalapenos, mustard, tomatoes, pickle quarter, and neon-green relish. NO ketchup!

Anyway, the Weiner Circle serves more than food: it has panache. After a certain time on the weekends, the normal rules of polite society no longer operate on the premises. The women working behind the counter yell obscenities and impugn your character, your race, and your genitals. They'll supposedly show you their breasts (a "chocolate shake") for about $10. The patrons are a normal population of drunken, privileged idiots. Hilarity/destruction of civilization ensues.

This blog entry has an incredibly interesting account given by an out-of-towner.

Bradvice part 3: The Karstification Quandary

While spelunking last week I forgot my fiance inside a cave! What do I do??

-Desperately Seeking Bradvice

Dear Desperately,
This just serves as an excellent reminder of the dangers of caves. Caves are home to dangerous troglodytes. Caves house bears that eat loved ones and/or steal pic-a-nic baskets (an act that makes loved ones skip a healthy lunch). One can find really amateurish drawings in caves (especially in Europe). The Dead Sea Scrolls were found in a cave. Saddam Hussein was hiding in a hole, which is like a cave. In order to protect the world from these threats, we need to dynamite the entrances to all caves.

Desperately, my answer to you is that you should forget him or her. A week is long enough to be found and converted into a troglodyte. If you actually find this person again, he or she will not be the same. People who have been trapped in caves for shorter periods of time have an increased sensitivity to light, become vegans, develop an insatiable appetite for Us Weekly, use too many commas and other punctuation, and smell like feet. Just be glad you weren't married to such a terrifying perversion of nature. Move on and never look back.

Thanks for your question! Keep the questions coming, everybody. (email me at bradhoc@gmail.com or post a comment)

Serious Book Review: Annals of the Former World

Continuing the tradition of writing book, movie, and TV reviews for old material, I'm going to write a bit about "Annals of the Former World" by John McPhee. This book is a collection of previously published smaller books about the geology of North America. He organizes this daunting subject by following prominent geologists as they traverse the country on Interstate 80 from New Jersey to San Francisco. The book won the Pulitzer Prize and might be my favorite work of nonfiction.

McPhee's book is not a textbook. Instead, he offers up rich descriptions of his interesting and often eccentric geologist guides, interweaving their life stories with the life stories of the rocks, basins, mountains, fault lines, and rivers that they encounter. It is often called "nonfiction as literature".

I have a single complaint that can actually be contorted into a compliment. As someone with a relatively scientific outlook on things, I felt that some descriptions were lacking. I often longed for a picture or a map of what McPhee and his guide were talking about. While there are a few useful maps (I referred back to the map of Wyoming dozens of times in the course of "Rising From the Plains"), some are seriously lacking. McPhee inspired a voracious curiosity about what he described. I found myself wishing to see pictures of things he described like "red beds", anticlines and synclines, "the gangplank", or the Delaware Water Gap. As a former rock enthusiast, I also wanted to see pictures of rocks, but mostly for schists and giggles (sorry, bad pun).

One can argue that the book is not a textbook. Much of what he discussed and described was meant to "wash over" me rather than teach me. I'm supposed to get a mental picture rather than a detailed definition or explanation. Here's a passage from "Basin and Range" that demonstrates what I mean:

These mountains [in the Tobin Range] do not rise like bread. They sit still for a long time, and build up tension, and then suddenly jump. They have been doing this for about eight million years. This fault, which jumped in 1915, opened like a zipper far up the valley, and, exploding into the silence, tore along the mountain base for upward of twenty miles with a sound that suggested a railway locomotive.

I agree that the primary purpose of the book is to explore some of the romantic and lyrical aspects of geology. However, I do not think that including more detail in appendices and figures would have frustrated this goal. The prose is probably some of the best I have ever read. The images of gigantic crustal plates thrusting mountain ranges up while erosion melts them away, streams slithering over floodplains, and ice sheets scouring the landscape down to the ancient bedrock are incredibly compelling. The effectiveness would not be diminished by a few more diagrams or photos.

The result of my thirst for more detail was perhaps intended by the author. I went to the web and looked up all I could find. I examined the Delaware Water Gap in Google Earth with the 3D terrain on and did a virtual fly through. I found the gangplank in eastern Wyoming and read more about its formation and history. I dusted off my old rock and mineral field guides. McPhee instilled an excitement in me that was strengthened by my own research. Maybe that's what he intended.

I've already mentioned much of what is great about the book. He managed to make Wyoming and Nevada absolutely fascinating. I was reading the book on a recent flight from San Francisco to Chicago and read about what I was seeing out the window: the giant granite batholiths of the Sierra Nevadas, the tilted fault blocks of Nevada, the Laramide Orogeny in Colorado and Wyoming. He even held my attention while he discussed the formation of the boring central states like Nebraska, Iowa, and Illinois. Even geologists find it difficult to stay interested in these areas.

I passionately recommend the book to everyone. His clear, natural prose is like a warm blanket. The science he describes is fascinating. The life stories of the geologists and inhabitants of the lands he traverses are interesting enough in their own right. When juxtaposed with the slow but powerful forces around them, these lives become even more compelling.