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Elections
Posted 10:39 AM, Jun 29, 2007 |
Our homeowner’s association is having elections for officers soon. I’m considering running for President. I worked on my platform, slogan, and logo this morning.
Platform: Anti-dog, pro-shopping-cart.
Slogan: I’ve been sleeping long enough.
Logo: It’s going to be a picture of a half-asleep giant - probably lying on the ground with one eye open - being awakened by a white little rat-dog barking incessantly. I’m not sure how to draw “incessantly,” though.
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Irregularities at the Palms
Posted 5:39 PM, Jun 26, 2007 |
The EC and I are back from our less-than-24-hour Vegas excursion, which left with us getting a lot of tasty cheap drinks and playing some table games, including roulette, which was poorly run.
So here’s the story: We’re at the roulette table, the EC has money on 2, and 2 comes up. I don’t have any money on 2, so I lose my $5. But the EC wins. So then we all place our bets again, and then just kind of, well, wait. I’m sitting there, wondering what’s going on, wondering if he’s going to roll the little ball and get the game started, but nothing happens. This odd inactivity goes on for maybe 45 seconds or a minute. Then, the employee running the table collects everyone’s money and declares, “Two, again,” as if the ball had stopped on 2. Now, the EC won again, having left out her previous winning bet, but I (again) lost my $5.
I look confused, and other players must’ve as well. The guy running the table says, “Did I spin the wheel?” to which I reply, “No, I don’t think you did.” I also point out that the electronic sign on which the last 15 numbers or so are recorded hasn’t been updated to show another 2 being spun. Also, the EC and I are sitting right next to the wheel, which, when the ball is cruising around, makes a little rattling sound. To sum up: I’m sure he hadn’t spun the wheel.
No problem for him, though. He says, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I spun it,” as if convincing himself, and then finishes collecting the money (and paying out on 2, again).
This is highly irregular, by which I mean illegal.
I could’ve protested more, but didn’t. I should’ve. They should have either:
1) Run back the tape and correctly replaced everyone’s bets and then actually spun the wheel, or
2) Given everyone back their money and paid out the winners on 2.
Generally, it seems, when a mistake is made by a casino employee (in low stakes, anyway), when it isn’t worth holding up the game and running the tape and so on, the edge is given to the player. If the dealer accidentally exposes their hole card, the players are generally given the option (in my experience) to forfeit their hand and take back their bet, or to play on with the extra information (which obviously favors the player). Similar things happen when the upcoming card is accidentally exposed before it should be - players are able to use that information to help them decide whether they want to hit or stand. I assume roulette is no different.
The problem is less with the mistake happening - everyone makes mistakes - but more with the employee looking at the evidence against him having actually spun the wheel (i.e., several players were pretty sure he hadn’t, he was pretty sure he hadn’t, the board hadn’t registered an additional 2, and the 1-in-38 chance that the same number would be spun twice in a row) and simply deciding that he had, in fact, spun it, and to show just how sure he was, he was going to take my money.
This is one of those experiences that I will regret not pursuing, just to see what would have happened. It probably would have been nothing exciting, but in Vegas, maybe it would have involved a vise and a trip to the desert.
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The National
Posted 12:51 PM, Jun 24, 2007 |
Even though the current listen is The White Stripes’ Icky Thump, it’s actually splitting time with The National’s Boxer at the moment. There’s a lot I like about The National, not the least of which is Matt Berninger’s lyrics. I like them (and him) even more, now that I’ve read Pitchfork’s guest list by him.
One of his favorite songs from the past year is an Andrew Bird song, “Yawny & Apocalypse,” and one of his favorite older songs is Paul McCartney’s “Every Night,” which is also terrific. And no smug rarities trotted out here like most artists do, listing obscure bands and singers instead of things people can actually identify with.
His favorite recent concert is Menomena in NYC - the EC and I saw Menomena (along with the aforementioned Rittonians, who are gradually gaining YoG fame) and it was an excellent show.
The last great film he saw was the excellent Children of Men - not the last great film I saw, but excellent.
And, best of all, his ringtone is the standard T-Mobile noise, but his phone is always just on vibrate anyway, which is precisely how I choose to live my cellular life.
The whole guest list makes me want to check out The Larry Sanders Show.
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Prototypical
Posted 10:48 AM, Jun 24, 2007 |
Yesterday was the prototypical California summer day. I woke up, went to play some ultimate frisbee, and then went to the beach for 4 hours and played beach volleyball. Despite sunscreen, I am now burned, but am retreating tomorrow to the air-conditioned confines of the Sands in Las Vegas. I just can’t get away from sand, though - I’ve been finding it in my ear since yesterday.
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Tim Kurkjian Strikes Out
Posted 8:58 AM, Jun 22, 2007 |
Actually, this should be titled, “Tim Kurkjian (and His Editor, and the Jacket Designer) Strike Out,” but I only have so many bytes of space.
I finished reading Kurkjian’s baseball book, “Is This A Great Game, or What?” The book has some problems.
The problems start with the book jacket, which is horrible, and which you can see here. Let’s put the boring font aside. The picture of Tim is, well, not good. They should have left Tim off the cover. The cover would have been better with a picture of a baseball diamond - a better picture than the background one in front of which Kurkjian is lamely pasted - with smaller writing. Baseball is a pristine, clean game - straight white lines, crisp bases, carefully mowed outfields, and raked infields (they rake them before the game and twice during, and also replace the bases so they’re nice and white). So, with such a pristine, clean game, why the cluttered cover? Also, do we need the box that reminds us that Kurkjian is “ESPN’s baseball commentator”? No, not really. Maybe we do if they don’t put his picture on the cover, but we sure don’t need both.
But Kurkjian can be excused for that, as well as excused for such poor editing that actually allowed the sentence, “Being too recognizable wasn’t a problem for future Hall of Farmer Roberto Alomar…” Maybe Alomar, since retiring, has taken to corn or soybeans, but probably not.
So far, I’ve pointed fingers at the editor and the jacket designer, who I haven’t named. And now I’m going to blame Kurkjian for the biggest problem, but before I do: I love Tim Kurkjian. I picked up the book because it was by him. He’s a smart, and baseball-smart, guy. His commentary is insightful, and when he has something to say on ESPN, 99% of the time it’s worth listening to. So how is this book the complete opposite?
I thought the book was going to be a collection of stories and anecdotes about baseball, but it’s actually a collection of paragraphs about baseball. There’s no coherence. For example, from a random page, this one about the wackiness in MLB compared to other professional leagues:
They don’t have cow-milking contests in the NHL, but Pirates Jay Bell and Stan Belinda, who grew up on a farm, engaged in one. “Jay lost by a quart,” teammate Andy Van Slyke said. “It wouldn’t have been that close except Jay was pumping skim milk and Stan was doing whole milk.” They don’t have bubble-gum blowing contests on the PGA Tour, but Indians pitcher Jesse Orosco, Steve Olin, and Kevin Wickander took part in one that was eventually won by Orosco, who jammed thirty-six-pieces [sic] of Bazooka bubble gum in his mouth and blew a bubble that Olin said “was only slightly smaller than a hot air balloon.” That’s just a random paragraph. Let’s ignore the strangely-hyphenated “thirty-six-pieces” when “thirty-six pieces” would have sufficed.
The paragraph may seem fine, you may shrug your shoulders (okay, so it’s not even a very interesting paragraph), but the whole book is like that. Each topic gets two or three sentences. It’s kind of like Kurkjian spilled his brain on the page.
I’m sure his brain is filled with great stories, but none of them are given a chance to develop in this book. Every character, every player, is just a name. They’re all indistinguishable from one another, even though one of Kurkjian’s arguments for the superiority of baseball over other sports is that we can see the players, we can talk to (or yell at) the players - they get to have personality (or at least they did before multi-million dollar contracts they don’t want to jeopardize).
Kurkjian also repeats himself in the 250 pages of the book. He twice mentions the time he interviewed Ted Williams, Willie Mays, and Hank Aaron, all within five minutes of one another. I bet it is a good story - maybe even one I wouldn’t mind hearing twice - but Kurkjian doesn’t give us any more substantial information than what I’ve already written: that he interviewed the three guys in the span of five minutes.
It’s sad when the best thing you can say about a book, any book, is, “Well, at least it didn’t take me long to read the whole thing.”
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Rationalize This!
Posted 2:20 PM, Jun 18, 2007 |
Most math pages on the web state things like, “You must rationalize the denominator,” and even pages like those at Wikipedia don’t explain why you do (or don’t) need to rationalize. They just kind of assume you better, or else. This page states that, “Sometimes… it is desirable to find an equivalent expression for a radical expression that doesn’t have any radicals in the denominator.”
One page says the purpose of rationalizing denominators is that we can all compare answers - much like how we always write, say, 7, instead of 3 + 4. There’s some use to that argument, I suppose, except how often are we comparing answers, except when our teacher is correcting our papers?
The trusty folks over at MathForum come up with the correct answer - in fact, they note that this whole “compare answers” reason is really designed for teachers (and for students checking their answers in the back of the book). MathForum also notes that it’s useful when combining fractions. I’ll buy that - I’d rather find a common denominator involving plain old integers than messy square roots, but in both cases, ultimately, the process of finding the common denominator is identical - don’t let the square root sign throw you off. But then the MathForum folks get to the real answer:
Before calculators, there was a specific reason to rationalize denominators that went beyond this: when you actually calculate the value of the expression by hand, it is a lot easier to divide sqrt(5) by 5 than to divide 1 by sqrt(5). (Try it!) Since that was a useful form, it became the standard form that teachers expected. We maintain the tradition because it’s helpful to have SOME standard form, and that one is at least as good as any. And then this additional piece from MathForum says it better than I can.
Students come in to Ye Olde Math Shoppe and have trouble with radicals, and partially with rationalizing denominators that involve radicals. They blindly push ahead, their teachers not explaining why they’re doing this except to say, “That’s the rule,” most likely, which, if you’ve ever done anything and that was the only reason for doing it, you’ll probably recognize that it’s not a good reason at all, and certainly not a reason that will inspire any student to do the work. Rationalizing denominators is one of those weird things that has carried over from the days of doing things by hand, and is now so ingrained, we’ll be doing it when the aliens land.
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Predictions & Expectations
Posted 10:55 AM, Jun 18, 2007 |
When I was ten, I thought maybe I’d grow up to become a professional baseball player. (This was when football wasn’t the three- or four-nights-a-week ubiquity that it is now.) Of course, that didn’t happen - maybe, as a kid, I didn’t really think it would, but there was always that indefinable something that said, well, maybe it will.
But, that was the first of many unmet expectations. It seems, as I get older, I make the same number of predictions and have the same number of expectations, but they’re for the near future, not thirty years down the road (with rare exception).
I wonder if my predictions are in a “closer range” because I’m getting older, and thus have less time to even predict about. (When you’re the world’s oldest man, I imagine most predictions are about the following day, or maybe even six hours away. It becomes useless to predict 30 years in the future when there isn’t going to be 30 more years.) However, I suspect my predictions are in closer range because I feel like I have a better chance of being correct, of hitting some sort of metaphorical, Nostradmical jackpot.
Of course, I don’t. Predictions that I made a year ago haven’t come to pass - quite the opposite, and quite a large number of them. (Now, this isn’t to say that things haven’t shaped up just fine - things are excellent, but, as always, things could be better, particularly if my predictions had panned out.)
Since, I suspect, the success of predictions is inversely related to how far in the future they try to predict (i.e., predicting 30 years in the future has slim chances for correctness; 30 minutes is a safe bet), I’m limiting my predictions to, maybe, tomorrow. Maybe this is what they mean, living one day at a time.
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Like Trying to Balance Billiard Balls
Posted 12:28 PM, Jun 17, 2007 |
So scientists are creating two “perfect spheres” that will be used as the global standard kilogram. The current standard is deteriorating, so isn’t much of a standard.
Why spheres? Picture this - the local butcher is trying to sell you 1 pound of ground beef. On one side of his two-pan balance, he’s got a big glob of ground beef. On the other side, he’s trying to balance this perfect sphere, which inevitably keeps rolling off the edge of the pan and into a pile of leftover sausage casings and the like. If they had just decided to create perfect cubes, we wouldn’t have this problem.
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You Said (A Very Short Play)
Posted 2:46 PM, Jun 14, 2007 |
Act I
You cannot be serious, I said.
I am very serious, you said.
But if you are serious, then that means…, I said.
Precisely, you said.
But…, I said.
I’m sorry, you said.
I don’t think you really are, I said, angrily.
Act II
I really am, you said.
I don’t believe you, I said.
That’s too bad, you said.
Is it?, I said.
Is it?, I said, angrily.
Act III
Put that down, you said.
No, I said.
Put me down, the lamp said.
No, I said.
Are you okay?, you said.
No, I said.
Act IV
It’s lonely in here, I said.
Yes, I’m alone, you said, but you said it somewhere I was not.
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Finished Story
Posted 12:25 AM, Jun 13, 2007 |
 Summer arrived yesterday; the warmth of the morning woke me in a sweat, the blankets thick and heavy, my forehead covered in a thin film of perspiration. Kate had already left for work, and the walls of the apartment creaked, the wooden shelves popped, the hardwood floor let out echoing cracks as things begin to contract in the heat. The warmth was drawing everything closer, reducing the space in the universe.
It was just after nine-thirty when I finally swung my legs to the side of the bed and put my bare feet on the bedroom carpet. I curled my toes, squeezing the shag, and yawned. Behind me, the sun and the temperature continued to rise; a dog barked menacingly at the new season.
A quick shave to reduce a weekend stubble was followed by a hot shower. I stood at the mirror, my hair black with water, my face flushed, the walls dripping with condensation. Steam hung like cloud cover, obscuring the skylight and diffusing the sunlight. The bathroom seemed to shrink beneath the haze of water vapor.
Standing in boxer shorts, socks, and a white tee-shirt, I flipped through clothes hangers holding shirts of every color and pattern, trying to find the right one for summer, when a draft blew across my bare knees. The sudden gooseflesh seemed to cast shadows, even in the low light of the walk-in closet.
The former residents of our apartment had a washer and dryer in the walk-in closet, and the remnants of the closet’s former purpose - a giant, white PVC pipe, industrial-looking outlets, and an abandoned wire shelf for detergent and fabric softener - were all hidden by my hanging clothes. As far as I knew, the inch-and-a-half diameter pipe that jutted out at a forty-five degree angle didn’t connect to anything, but, as I stood there, my knees spreading cold to the rest of my body, I figured it had to connect to something. It must go somewhere. Somewhere cold, apparently.
As I was tucking my short-sleeved shirt into creased khaki pants, another draft emerged from behind the line of shirts. The hair on my arms stood as I buckled my belt. I grabbed my shoes off the floor and reached up to pull the beaded metal cord and turn the light off. As the light snapped off, a loud crack that reminded me of glacial ice shearing into the ocean echoed through the closet. I turned the light back on and stood still, waiting for the echo to disperse. The draft had intensified and was now almost a steady breeze from a previous season; Minnesota summers were cold, but not this cold.
I separated the clothes hangers near the washer and dryer hookups, the apparent source of the draft. The shirts billowed away like a patchwork curtain and I crouched down, my knees sore from yesterday’s tennis. The PVC pipe was gone, as were the outlets. In their place was a small, square door, starting at the floor and no more than three feet tall and wide. The wire shelf used to hold laundry detergent was still there, but it had moved downward and now looked like the skeleton of a miniature awning, the fabric torn off after a terrific storm.
The door had a round, brass knob that reflected back a warped version of my face as I leaned in to inspect the door. There was no door frame - the outline of the door was barely visible and looked like a thin line etched in the yellow paint with a knife. I ran my finger along what appeared to be the edge of the door and could barely feel any edge at all, any break in the paint; it was like trying to guess someone’s fingerprints merely by rubbing your finger against theirs. Even though the door seemed to fig snugly into the wall, the draft continued to steadily billow out; the cold air came from the entire door, as if it were made of thin fabric.
I pressed the palm of my hand against the center of the door; it felt like smooth metal and was ice cold, but the draft was clearly coming through the door at the same time. I leaned slightly to the right and moved my hand around, testing various parts of the door. As I placed my index and middle fingers and thumb around the miniature knob, I felt a tap on my right shoulder.
I turned my head quickly, almost falling over from my awkward, crouched position. A shirt sleeve was waving back and forth in the draft; its empty cuff swung back and forth in front of my face.
I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath, but as I exhaled, I could see the warm cloud of carbon dioxide come from within me. I thought of winter, barely behind us, and also looming on the horizon. I could feel winter closing in already, the imminent blizzards, negative windchills, stalled automobiles, muddy buses. I thought of all this as I watched the shirt sleeve swing back and forth through my hanging breath, dispersing it, like two ghosts colliding in the ether, visible only for a moment. Then, I did what everyone does with doors, eventually. I turned the knob.
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Celebrity
Posted 11:37 AM, Jun 11, 2007 |
I understand that celebrities are everywhere in Los Angeles - Reese Witherspoon shops at the Whole Foods down the street, as does Dustin Hoffman. But if you ask me, celebrities around here are like newborn pigeons - you know they’re out there, they must be, but you never see them.
Until last night.
At dinner, who should walk in but… Kevin Sorbo. Native Minnesotan Kevin Sorbo, best known as TV’s Hercules. He was also in 4 episodes of Dharma & Greg, for those of you who weren’t impressed by his Hercules efforts.
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Tryout
Posted 5:22 PM, Jun 9, 2007 |
Now that Paris is safely back where she belongs:
Yesterday, I participated in a run-through for the aforementioned Crosswords game show. The run-through was good - even though we didn’t sign a confidentiality or non-disclosure agreement, I’m still reticent to provide specific details.
All of us, the participants in the run-through, were told repeatedly that the reason we were asked to participate in the run-through was because we would “definitely” be getting called when taping starts. They wanted to test the show on actual contestants to ensure that the difficulty was where they wanted it, and so on.
The good news is we played two run-through games, both of which I won (and both of which I failed to “win” the bonus round. Also, the game was pretty enjoyable and fast-paced; it’s a show I would actually watch. The host, Ty Treadway, was there, and he was really personable, affable, and quick-witted; I think he’ll make a good host. I was told on the phone that Merv Griffin himself would be there, but alas, he was nowhere to be found. The run-throughs were recorded for Merv, I guess.
In other exciting news, I won at lawn bowling yesterday, 22-3, and I won a vintage Califone turntable a couple weeks ago, and I’m waiting for it to arrive. So many exciting happenings. How about you?
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Set Her Free!
Posted 10:22 AM, Jun 7, 2007 |
Sorry, I’ve got to follow up on celebrity gossip. Earlier, I posted about Paris and her jail time. Today, she was released! Gods be praised!
Of course, she only served 5 days (less, actually - she arrived just before midnight Sunday and was released in the early morning Thursday) of her 45-day sentence, of which she was expected to serve 23 days. You might recall LA County Sheriff spokesman Steve Whitmore saying, “She will do about 23 days.” He also said, “She has been given a full sentence. She will do her full sentence.” Even the judge, when she was sentenced, said that she would not be allowed any work release, furloughs, or use of an alternative jail or electronic monitoring in lieu of jail.
But… But… But that’s what happened, right? I mean, she has to remain confined to her home for 40 days. She got an electronic ankle bracelet (which I understand she’s going to have outfitted with diamonds, even if it’s just for a month of use - or less).
Apparently medical considerations played a part. I guess maybe she was suffering alcohol and driving withdrawal while in prison.
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Dishes
Posted 6:31 PM, Jun 5, 2007 |
I ran across the picture of Audrey Hepburn today. Is it just me, or does she look remarkably like Natalie Portman? I couldn’t find quite the right Natalie Portman profile to really do a compare and contrast, but in my head, anyway, they look really similar.
PS. There are a ton of Natalie Portman photos out there. I only have so much time.
Also, while Margaret Thatcher is not much of a dish, this is a great photo.
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Constance
Posted 10:28 AM, Jun 5, 2007 |
I’ve got this plant, Constance, a Dutchman’s Pipe, that I’ve had for several years, after taking care of a friend’s Dutchman’s Pipe and making a cutting of it. So, it started off from a little tiny thing, and is now tall and gangly. Sound like anyone you know?
When I was taking care of my friend’s, it bloomed and produced several flowers, but mine, until now, hadn’t bloomed. But this morning, I noticed two flowers, coming along nicely, and maybe a couple more - they look like flower buds, but they’re too small to tell at this point. Here’s one of the easily identifiable ones.
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Send Me My Title, Here
Posted 11:49 AM, Jun 4, 2007 |
I just finished paying off my car. Now I own a car. That’s cool. I always wanted one. They just have to send me my title, which I plan on burning, much like students burn their old tests and papers and homeowners burn their mortgage papers once they pay them off. It’s the same thing, right?
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Two Other Things
Posted 11:34 PM, Jun 3, 2007 |
I have two other things to say, in addition to all the notes below:
1) The Twins have not won a game since I wrote that they had won 8 of their last 9. Um, oops?
2) On Jeopardy! this week, the final answer was about a 17th-century physician. It turned out to be Harvey, who came up with the idea of the blood circulating (and was derogatorily known as “The Circulator” thereafter, which is an awesome nickname and not derogatory at all, if you ask me). One of the contestants answered “Grey,” and Alex made a comment about Gray’s Anatomy. Presumably that’s what she was thinking of, the book, not the popular American melodrama, Grey’s Anatomy, even though her spelling matched the show, not the book. Several audience members snickered audibly. Also, there was a category on 90’s TV, which this particular contestant was obviously thrilled to see. Of course, Grey’s Anatomy wasn’t on in the 90’s, but still. So, what did she mean? Was it a joke answer? The world may never know the truth.
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Paris Incarcerér
Posted 2:57 PM, Jun 3, 2007 |
Finally, Paris is going to prison! This is the one and only time celebrity gossip will be covered on this site, unless it involves Amelie Mauresmo, or if you consider the dumbo octopus to be a celebrity — I do not.
Paris “The Menace” Hilton is off to prison for a 45-day sentence. But wait! She was sentenced to 45 days; however, LA County sheriff spokesman Steve Whitmore says, “She will do about 23 days.” He goes on to explain: “It’s the state law… you get days off for every day that you serve.”
Problem #1: You get days off for every day that you serve? Shouldn’t it be the other way around, that maybe if you have a good week, you get a day off?
Whitmore continued: “She has been given a full sentence. She will do her full sentence.”
Problem #2: I’m positive her full sentence was 45 days. And she’s only going to serve about 23 days, according to Mr. Whitmore. I’m positive 23 does not equal 45.
Hilton will be housed in the “special needs” unit.
Problem #3: Hilton has no special needs. What special needs could she possibly have?
Problem #4: Why are they not just locking her up and throwing away the key? Or just giving her the key and seeing if she knows how to use it, or if her butler opens everything for her?
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Name
Posted 10:44 PM, Jun 2, 2007 |
Name for a dog I do not have, but want: Musclecar.
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Oh, And This!
Posted 6:32 PM, Jun 2, 2007 |
Not only is this site, of course, your headquarters for:
1) Lists of useless trivia and banal ramblings, and
2) Cryptozoologic news (sorry I missed out on the monster pig story - sorry I let you down),
we’re also your HQ for:
3) Amelie Mauresmo news! The world’s most mannish woman took a beating at the French Open again, losing in straight sets to Lucie Safarova. Mauresmo did make a good decision in staying in the women’s draw - the men’s draw is a lot tougher. She might be bigger than Federer and Nadal, but those guys got game.
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Not Much Happening
Posted 6:29 PM, Jun 2, 2007 |
Some thoughts from the past few days:
1) One (or more than one) person in our building is disgruntled with, well, just about everything. On a note about the recent death of our carpet cleaner, this person wrote that they died “suddenly and suspiciously.” On another note, which listed our property management company’s name, they cleverly (?) wrote in mis before the word management. They may or may not be selling an ugly lamp, as well.
2) Went to see 28 Weeks Later today. You know, it was a zombie movie. Lots of blood and gore and inventive ways to kill zombies. Not bad. But not good. And not for the faint of heart.
3) The Minnesota Twins are on a real tear, going 8-1 in their last 9 games. So that makes me happy, anyway.
4) I had something funny to write in this spot. Oh, here it is - Roger Clemens was scratched from his first major league start this year due to a fatigued groin. You can write your own joke here.
5) Did you know that sequoia is the shortest word in the English language to contain all five vowels? It is. This fact is neither important nor life-changing, but can be handy at parties when you show up wearing the same shirt as someone else or you can’t think of anything else to say.
6) It’s June already! Can you believe it? I can. If you can’t, look at the calendar. It really is.
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