Proper Bathing Suits:

At the fitness club, almost everybody wears demure bathing suits to swim. Suits are almost always one-piece. They are designed to conceal and misdirect, not to outline features or provoke. But there are a few whose suits cross the border into the obscene. These suits are all worn by men. They are made of clingy, thin Lycra that leaves you guessing only about the color of their genitals.

I don’t know what these guys are thinking. (I’m also not sure why the suits are socially acceptable, but I’ve never heard anyone complain.) I believe deeply that every possible type and shade of personality exists, so I suspect that some of these guys are clueless; some are down-and out-exhibitionists; and the rest fall uncomfortably in between. There might even be a few who wear tight Lycra because their mother made them do it.

Once, a man brought his two sons – ten and five, I think – into the men’s locker room. The older boy made a great show of being disgusted whenever a naked guy came into in view, and he always covered his brother’s eyes, or turned him away, to guard the little one against the awful sight. I wonder how this older boy would have reacted to the Lycra suits; no one wore them that day. But I think he would have reacted the same; there’s just not enough difference.

Where are we?

We went to Restoration Hardware today to buy House Numbers so that people can find our house. We picked out a pair of handsome iron digits and called the sales lady over.
She explained that they do not carry these numbers in stock, but that they would ship them directly to us.
“How will they know where to deliver them?” I asked.

She didn’t get it.

It was a really bad joke.


Speaking of Restoration Hardware: you probably have tons of paperback books all over your home. Have you ever wondered what they are worth? Well, before giving them away to a book sale or dumping them, consider this: they may be worth seven dollars apiece.

Take a bunch of paperbacks that are all the same height and width. Tear off their front and back covers. Leave them in the sun for a few months so that they develop a slightly browned look. (Hey, maybe they look like that already.) Then take some rough, ecru twine and tie them into tight bundles of four. Put the more aged-looking books on the outside, and tie them tight enough so that it’s hard to open them enough to figure out what books they really are. Then call them “antique book bundles” and sell them for $29 a bundle.
Hey, I didn’t make that up. But maybe Restoration Hardware did.

A Difficult Closed Captions ‘Translation’ Problem:

The Comedy channel recently broadcast a 30-minute show by the cerebral comedian Myq Kaplan. In one of his closing jokes, he referred to a show that’s like the Highlanders, only Jewish. What would you call such a show? Myq’s solution was to replace the leading ‘H’ sound with ‘CH’ as in ‘loch’. Now, how do you spell that in closed caption TV text?

The Comedy channel captioneer came up with, I think, a brilliant idea. It gets the joke across, although it is actually unpronounceable:

Kchighlander!

Raven’s Gift and the Mets:

It’s inevitable that for the next few months I will blog frequently about the progress of my newly published novel, and my astute observations about baseball. I believe that most of you would rather tear your eyebrows out in small bunches than read these blog items, so I am posting them to a new blog: RavensGiftAndTheMets. It’s up and running, and it even displays a nice picture of me. Please visit my new blog and see if it interests you.

The Course of Empire, Destruction (Don’t Embiggen):

Unlike many of you, I still read newspapers. I opened the New York Times Week in Review today to follow a story, and immediately recognized a painting, Thomas Cole’s, Destruction from his five-painting series, The Course of Empire. I spent some happy hours in front of this painting when I was studying Art 101 in college, and I was astounded by the contrast between the original, which is feet wide and feet high, and the color miniature in the paper, about 4.5” by 2.75”. There are many weaknesses of technique that separate Cole from the big boys, all very evident in this monumental canvas. But all those weaknesses disappear, emphasizing the powerful sweep of his conception, when the painting gets miniaturized.

John Dvorak’s blog is fond of displaying small pictures, inviting you to click on them to “embiggen”. If you find a way to embiggen this picture, please refrain from doing so. Thomas Cole never seemed so fine. Here’s how it looks in the Times, online.

Palm, Inc. and Me:

My first book, Raven’s Gift, a fantasy novel, is now for sale at Amazon.com. But first, a few words about Palm.


John Dvorak had a Tech Report piece on HP’s acquisition of Palm. He put it this way: HP to buy Palm. Why?

Over at Slashdot, the usual tough commenters got busy on this acquisition. One defender said it’s very simple: HP is buying experience.
But it’s easy to lose experience when you buy a company. The key people could flee if there’s a serious inter-company culture clash, or if HP does anything that looks like a lack of confidence in Palm. In any case, what has the expertise at Palm produced? They lost the PDA market. (I’m biased in their favor, by the way; I LOVED their PDA interface.) They are so-so in the phone market. Their best brilliant move in this century was to realize that people were ready for Netbooks and Tablets. They announced a product, but backed down and never built it, possibly because of how poorly their announcement was received. (They could have been first into this market, too; I wonder how they would have handled it.)

In any case, I’m with Dvorak on this one: HP to buy Palm. Why?


And now, back to me. There’s a question people ask about writing: can anyone learn to write? My own answer seems to differ from everyone else’s: A writer needs to deal with dozens of skills. Most of them are obviously learnable. So mostly, the answer to the great question is: yes. I learned how to get a cover for my book that I really liked. (Thanks, Mary K. Dolan.) I learned how to do final edits, making sure I wasn’t trying to publish a laughably grammatical text. I learned how to deal with CreateSpace, to get published and saleable on Amazon. Now I have to learn (I’m starting absolutely from scratch here) how to publicize my work. (I learned other skills as well. I shudder to think how many.) Ask me in a year whether I’m having fun. But meanwhile:


My first book, Raven’s Gift, a fantasy novel, is now for sale at Amazon.com. The “Look inside” feature is working, so you can sample the book at Amazon’s website. And here’s my website for the book.

Getting Personal:

William Porfo was recently abducted by kinky aliens. He’s pretty sure he won’t be able to afford the new Health Insurance plan, and he had an unusual idea to keep his house from flooding in the recent heavy rains. So if he has anything intelligent to say about journalism, I’ll quote him at the beginning of this article.

Journalism has discovered the lead human being. Instead of writing pyramid style (important information comes first), or classical French Newspaper style (please keep reading, news may eventually show up): articles, these days, almost always begin with a quote from a real person.

Now you might think that journalism has thus evolved to the very pinnacle of style, and nothing could possibly be better. But when you’re aware of this style, it starts to look very clunky, unless it’s used well. Eventually, readers will get used to the leadoff-human trick, and journalists will move on to something else. Keep your eye peeled for that warm and friendly person in the first paragraph; the news can’t be far behind.

All locked up:

I’m terribly sorry. This blog entry is going to get complicated.

I have been using a four-digit lock in the mens’ locker room at the fitness center. Many guys don’t bother to lock their lockers at all. I think that goes beyond trusting, and well into crazy. I want peace of mind while swimming and showering, and an unlocked locker won’t do that for me. Besides, a gang of thieves has been robbing lockers in NYC. If they come out to the burbs, my home town has to be a good target for them. I even keep my glasses locked up. Usually.

Recently I tried a simple key-lock instead of my four-digit lock, and I decided to stick with the key. The trouble with the digital lock is that when I lock it, I have to take a few seconds to randomize the digits. I may need to do that four times a visit, and one can get anxious over a good job of randomizing. The key is simpler and faster to use. As long as you have a safe place for the key.

I tied the key to my swim trunks with a secure knot. So when I come back from swimming, I’m sure to have the key. I open my locker, stash the bathing suit, take out the other key (isn’t this great? My $2.98 lock came with two keys), drape its cord around my neck, and I’m off to the steam room.

Now I have to explain what I do about lockers. The locker room has a scattering of full-height lockers, and nearly two hundred half-height lockers. The half-heights are stacked in pairs, and two of them have the same capacity as a full-height locker. When I first came to the fitness center, I would check every full-height locker to try to find an unused one. This took time, because – remember? People use lockers without locking them. I would walk to each full-height, full of hope, open it and go on to the next one.

Eventually, a clever fellow suggested that I take two half-heights when no full-height locker is free. It’s a great idea, since most of the half lockers are usually empty. I soon found I preferred this, and I always take a pair of half-height lockers. I lock the lower one, and I use the upper one for stuff that nobody would ever steal.

Now let’s get back to what happened today when I went off to the steam room, with key #2 draped around my neck. I breathed a little steam and realized that I had stashed my bathing suit in the upper, unlocked locker. That meant a thief who opened that locker and took a close look at my bathing suit (most unlikely) would find the key to the lower locker. But would this potential thief know what to do with the key? (He doesn’t read my blog, right?) Why should he assume it would fit a different locker’s lock? This thought calmed me enough to enjoy my steam bath, but I soon hurried back and locked my bathing suit in the lower locker.

Now I don’t want to put my bathing suit in the lower locker. My pants have to be there, and the bathing suit will make them wet. But I had another brainstorm, and I think I’m all set for my next visit. I will take two half-lockers that are not near each other. After I swim, I’ll put my suit in the unlocked locker. The potential thief will never be able to match the bathing suit key to my actual lock. (Since he doesn’t read my blog.)

New shapes and names for Pasta:

Let’s face it, pasta names are getting old, despite the recent “mini” variations. (Here’s a comprehensive list.)We need new names and shapes, and I’m here to help. Someone else will have to help me with the Italian, though. I have no idea how to use those great suffixetti:
Castorbeani – I don’t recommend these. They each contain a little poison.
Fluorescentetti – Mini-fluorescent pasta.
Florencetti – Dense pasta balls. They are gradually sinking into your sauce.
Fungozzi – Mushroom-shaped pasta.
Lamborghetti – Long, thin strands of race car pasta.
LEDetti – Pasta with tiny lights.
Mini Pene – Let’s not go there.
Mordoroni – Pasta shaped like sharp rocks and volcanoes.
Nipplatelli – Let’s not go there either.
Papparazzi – Little camera pastas.
Peanutelli – Don’t cook them. Just pack with them.
Pisateeny – Little leaning pasta pieces.
Porcupini – These are just for show. Don’t bite into them.
Terroristolini – It’s hard to say what these are; do they look like bombs?
Tortelluni – Moon-shaped tortellini, of course.
Vampirini e Zombini – You add a few of these to any existing pasta, and you have a brand new recipe.

I started this blog way back in June, 2003. I used to post six items per week, but in the last few years I have slowed down. One of my goals was to capture the faintly amusing stories that swam through my brain, surfacing briefly in conversation and then disappearing into the muck again. I seem to have largely accomplished that, although old memories still surprise me from time to time. According to Blogger, this is my 1,500th post. There’s still more I’d like to share with you, so let’s keep it going and see what happens.

Waste not, want not. Oy.

I particularly like my current watch. It’s an unusual thing, intended for oldsters who have to take a lot of pills and might suddenly visit a hospital emergency room. It has twelve nameable alarms (I use a lot of them), and a medic-alert button that can tell doctors what I’m allergic to. (Actually, the manufacturer appears to have designed this feature to make it easy for others to steal my identity; the watch asks for my name, address, birth date and soc-sec number, but I’m too clever to enter all that.)

The watch came with a plastic wristband that I have never liked. It chafed. And chafed. But I endured it for almost exactly two years, until the little retaining cross-band on the wristband broke. I declared the wristband unsafe, and I went out and bought a genuine leather watchband that feels wonderful. For $5.98. Why did I wait so long?

About those Mets:

A few days ago, I blogged about how ashamed I was to have lost interest in Major League Baseball. I’m making a great effort to do better. Here’s a progress report: It’s going to be harder than I thought, and for unexpected reasons.

I’m making time to follow the Mets’ games, especially when they aren’t twenty innings long. But that’s not enough. I have to know the players, and the team dynamics. So I’m reading ink on the Mets, and I’m listening to a good Sports Radio station, WFAN, which covers the Mets a lot.

But that’s not enough. I can’t just view the Mets’ opponents as a dreary stream of faceless competitors. I have to know them, know their stars, know the injuries and coaching issues that make them vulnerable or threatening. In fact, I have to follow Baseball. I’m reading game results, learning about new stats, reviewing schedules...and it’s taking up my time.

I know I’m on the right track, because I enjoy doing all these things. In my life, I’ve known so many oldsters who continue to relish baseball. I looked forward to becoming one of them. But I can’t help noticing that I have to give up other activities to make time for this sport. Baseball is cutting into my new, busy life. In fact, it’s likely that baseball fell out of my life because I didn’t have time to follow it properly any more. I’m going to try to keep up my interest for a while, but maybe I’m just forcing it; perhaps baseball and I deserve an amicable divorce.

Not so fast, Cassini!

An article in the New York Times Science section explains how our space explorer Cassini is being programmed to orbit round Saturn for many more years. Some of the orbits will be really broad and slow. There are two reasons for this, made explicit in the Times’ article. First, the broader orbits will save precious fuel. Second, and this is so incredible, Cassini is being programmed so that it won’t fly past the moon Titan too often. Each time it nears Titan, more people are needed to process the fantastic information that Cassini collects. But we mustn’t spend ca$h on such manpower too often, must we? Our wonderful country is going to collect information about the Universe more slowly, to avoid going over some yearly budget. Patience, patience...

Major League Baseball Closed Captions:

I felt like an idiot last night. I was watching a baseball game with Closed Captions turned on. The closed captions for baseball announcers are generally very poor. At best, the text falls far behind the announcers and then there will be a big gap to enable a text catch-up. Then the text falls behind and there’s another gap. There are badly mistaken words, and I have wondered whether the real time speech-to-text is being done by a harassed human or a computer program. The reason I feel stupid is that I was always inclined to suspect that the text was coming from a person. Until now.

The baseball announcer was discussing a relief pitcher who got into trouble in the seventh inning. One of his sentences began like this:

Mario Acosta, who had a good sex beaning...

Well obviously, that’s not what the announcer said. But I saw those very words on my TV. The correct words were:

Mario Acosta, who had a good sixth inning...

Now there’s a mistake that any computer can make.

Badge of Pride:

Living and working among programmers, I’ve seen many people wearing wrist braces to deal with their Carpal Tunnel problems. I always felt sorry for them. But not now; now, I understand.

I have my own Carpal Tunnel problem. I did not have the usual symptoms, no numbness or wrist pain, so I had no idea what my problem was. I figured my brain was degenerating, but that may not be the case. I was delighted to get a diagnosis of a curable illness. I’m proud to wear my brace, and to discover what it can do for me.

Art Stabile:

Many years ago I worked in a cheap, two-story office building. My programming required me to go up and down the staircase a lot. It was a narrow staircase in a wooden building, but there was one simple conceit that gave the stairs an airy feeling: the ceiling above the stairs was flat, which meant that you could touch it at the top of the stairs, and it hung way above you (making it hard to clean) at the bottom. The staircase walls were painted off-white, and the ceiling was acoustical tile.

As I walked up and down those stairs, I often tossed a sharp pencil up and caught it. (We used pencils in those days.) A hard throw would make the pencil bounce off the ceiling at a crazy angle. A careful toss from a lower stair (there were seventeen stairs), and the pencil would sail way up, then float back down for an elegant catch.

One day, I tossed a pencil and it just kissed the ceiling. And it stuck there, at a slight angle, its point buried in the acoustical tile. It was more than a dozen feet above my head; there was no easy way to retrieve it. I just left it there.

Eight years later when I visited the building, my pencil still hung from that ceiling.

Answering machine: USB or Wireless:

Our next answering machine is going to be controlled wirelessly from a computer, or else it will have a USB port for managing its memory. Our current machine is is digital, but it is entirely self-contained. When a new message comes in, it’s mini-hell to listen to it, because I have to skip over the first 14 messages to get to it.

Yes, we are saving fourteen messages, some of them over a year old. You can’t imagine how wonderful the associations of these messages are. I would love to copy them to a CD, but I can only do that by recording the machine’s audio output, at a considerable loss of quality. Darn!

Oh, it's hard to say, Eyjafjallajökull:

But in Tonga, that means: no.

Seriously, Americans, I strongly advise you not to try to say Eyjafjallajökull. Not, that is, unless you know how to pronounce Icelandic. You can hear the correct pronunciation here. I'm giving you that link to scare you off, not to help you practice.

The efforts of Americans to say Eyjafjallajökull remind me of a man I worked for in the 70's, an ex-Cuban named Jorge. He was happy to be called 'George,' but one employee decided to respect Jorge's heritage by speaking the name properly. He called our manager Hoarr' Hey' (accent on both syllables).

We Americans do need a pronounceable name for this volcano. We need to be able to discuss it, because its effects may transform our world for years to come. There are very few new words that we find easy to pronounce, but here's a good one: It's the iAsh volcano.

Update: I hope this is a better pronunciation link.

The Software Doctor is IN (1968):

In 1968, I worked part-time for the local university’s computer center. One of my duties was to serve at the ‘help-desk’ a few hours each week. People from many departments were trying to harness the mainframe’s power to solve problems, and everybody was new to what they were doing. People would bring in their keypunch card decks and their computer listings, give some explanation and then we would look together at their output, or their code.

My favorite experience as a help-desk person, which repeated itself many times, worked like this: A person would sit down, spread out their listings, and try to explain what they were doing. Mid-explanation, they would realize what they had done wrong. They would then stand up, beaming, and thank me profusely for my help, even though I had never managed to get my mouth open.

Dutch Courage:

I’ve waited many, many years to tell this story. There’s no statute of limitations involved, but I have to assume that people I work with can read my blog, and this story could, let’s say, put a certain damper on opportunities.

I was working as a contract programmer at a fairly large company. My boss, Bob (I don’t even remember his actual name) called me in to help him prepare for a status meeting (with Marketing and his own superiors). His project was going badly. We were way over-budget and behind schedule, and none of us programmers knew when our code was going to be bug-free. I had inherited a lot of code written by another programmer, and discovering what he had omitted or missed was a wild, unpredictable adventure.

We talked awhile about where we were, and then he sent me on my way. His office was set back in a sort of suite that he inhabited by himself. I was a good fifteen feet away from him, having walked down the entryway, when I let myself out. I turned back to look at him, just in time to see him finish taking a swig from a bottle and stashing it back in his desk.

Oh, my God. Was I working for a guy who needed a slug of alcohol to face a tough meeting? (It was morning, by the way.) I really needed to know! As a consultant, I always tried to stretch the work I was hired for into new and longer assignments. I tried to develop good working relationships, and I usually supported my boss in every way, hoping that he would be strong enough to keep me around for more work. I wondered if, at this company, I was backing the wrong horse.

It was going to be easy – but risky – to find out. I knew exactly where he had put the bottle. I just needed to get into his desk to see what it was; after all, my eyes might have played tricks on me. But I had to try to get into his desk when he was not at work; when his desk was unlocked; when nobody would see.

If someone caught me in his office and wondered why I was there, I could cover myself. I typed up a little generic note about a programming problem; I would explain I had gone to his office to leave a note on his desk. As for the rest of my risk, well, it was risky.

I often worked late because we were behind schedule. About ten days later, Bob went home (I was pretty sure) without locking his office. I worked very late, waiting until there were few people, few prying eyes, still in the building. I prayed that a security guard would not come by and lock Bob’s office for him. Finally, all seemed quiet, and I ducked into his office.

I had no alibi if someone saw me open his desk, and as I’ve already indicated, you could see that drawer being opened from the entryway. I yanked on it, hoping his desk was unlocked. The drawer flew open. I brushed a few file folders out of the way, and there it was: a big bottle of Listerine.

The Mets: One more time...

As most of you know, I’m a long time Mets fan. And I consider myself pretty adept at watching baseball games. I can follow what the pitchers are doing, and I can anticipate ballfield tactics as they develop. But last year I seemed to lose interest in the game. I followed few Mets games and paid little attention to baseball.

Perhaps that’s partly baseball’s fault. It was also partly the Mets’ fault. They got so bad, I could not bear to watch them lose. But I kept telling myself that that was a poor excuse.

In the deep past, I rooted happily for the Mets when they won ¼ of their games. I’ve rooted for winning Mets teams, but I’ve also rooted for, and followed, the adventures of boring losers. So why, last year, did the quality of the team put me off? Well, I’m going to try harder this year. I’ve been reading about the Mets in spring training, and I’m reasonably sure that they are going to be atrocious again this year. If I’m still a man with some hot blood in him, I should be able to enjoy watching them pile up the losses in 2010. Shouldn’t I?

iPad, the Destroyer:

Daniel Eran Dilger has written a provocative column titled iPad, the Destroyer. In it, he argues that the iPad is going to kill off a remarkable collection of older technologies. I'd love to give you a sample list, but cherry-picking his list diminishes the depth of Dilger's overall vision. I personally am unlikely to buy an iPad (at least, not for several years), but I think that most of Dilger's predictions are correct.

If you doubt the ability of the iPad to affect the world, consider how fast web-site developers are scrambling to remove the use of Flash (unsupported by iPad) from their sites. And, as Dilger argues, the iPad could actually kill media DVDs. Here are two small, but convincing items from Dilger's article:

1. The government, and many large companies, use special purpose tablet computers for inventory control, maintenance documentation, etc. The iPad is exactly the right shape and size to replace these much more expensive special computers.
2. Small-format game machines like the PSP and DS. Great games for the iPad are much, much cheaper than DS and PSP games.

I strongly suggest you read about the big ticket items targeted in iPad, the Destroyer. You'll also get a good look at why and how Steve Jobs has been in the forefront of killing off older technologies.

Accelerate and Brake:

I want to thank Jim Romanesko for this story. At his “Obscure Store” blog, he wrote, and I quote:

Remember when older drivers hit buildings after hitting the gas pedal instead of the brakes? That's been replaced with the-Toyota-did-it! Excuse.

(Romanesko points to this story, and I’m sure there will be lots more just like it.)

In a NYT article, the writer stated that if you think your foot is on the brake but it’s on the accelerator, you’re likely to experience the following disastrous sequence of events: You press down; the car moves; you want to make it stop, so you press down much harder, but your foot is still on the accelerator.

I personally think it’s time to ask the big question: Why not put the brake and accelerator pedals much further apart in an automatic car, and make us learn to put one foot on each pedal? There would be no more pressing the accelerator when we thought our foot was on the brake. (And we could still build the current configuration for people who have a disability and really need it.) I’ve driven with one foot on each pedal, and I don’t see the problem.

I patent you!

Judge Robert W. Sweet did the unexpected this week, striking down patents on two human genes. (Believe it or not, the NY Times says that 20% of our genes have been patented, in a decades-long fit of truly human idiocy.) Judge Sweet was expected to affirm the patents, but no fool he! The patenter claimed that the work of isolating the DNA from the body transforms it and makes it patentable. But Sweet accepted the reasonable counter-argument that genes, as products of nature, fall outside of the realm of things that can be patented.

This case has thrown the med biz world into a tizzy, because: what about all those other DNA patents?

But that’s the tip of the iceberg. Bluefoot Holdings, a well-known patent troll organization, announced that they have acquired Christopher Columbus’s patent on North America, and they intend to enforce it. (During the age of discovery, patents for discovering land masses were granted on very favorable terms, in order to offset the great cost of making such discoveries, including the inevitable loss of life. The North America patent will expire in 2158, so Bluefoot has plenty of time to exploit it.)

A press release by Bluefoot Holdings reads, in part, as follows: It has come to our attention that a large population is living on our continent without having licensed the right to do so. We will set the cost of such licenses reasonably low – pennies – and we expect everyone to pay. The release singled out urban areas with concentrated populations, such as Manhattan, for special scorn. These areas execute great wear and tear on the continent, and such use will be licensed at higher rates.

In addition, a Bluefoot troll warned mining companies that Bluefoot Holdings is coming after them: first, for removing valuable properties from their continent without payment, and second, for leaving parts of the continent in such bad shape that Bluefoot can no longer expect to exact money from those regions. “We are going to finish the work that Christoper Columbus began,” the troll warned. “We know it’s good for capitalism, so look out!”

Bellywise:

My swimming is very competitive. I always swim continuous laps, trying to beat my best time for swimming a mile. (I’m a slow swimmer, barely faster than 1 MPH.) My swimsuit has a waist-string that I must tie tight, or else the suit will drift off me when I change directions at each end of the pool. And that presents a problem. After I’ve swum for a few minutes, the string stretches. I have to stop and tie it tighter, which means I have to interrupt my continuous lap swimming.

Recently I found a solution to this problem. It involves doing something that for reasons of anti-vanity, I have never done, and would never do, in real life. Before initially tieing the string, I suck my belly in very tight, as if I’m trying to look good for some passing female. While in this ridiculous position, I tie the string. After that, I’m fine.

Garden Hoe!

At my age, I’m not allowed to shovel snow. I cheat just a little, and I avoid any heavy lifting. I have a fine bunch of tools for my petty battles with snow. First, a snow shovel with an unusual shape that balances the weight of the snow beautifully. Second a snow-chopper. Shovels are terrible for breaking up ice and icy snow. Third, a broom, which pushes light snow and slush away, effortlessly.

Today, with nothing else at hand, I tackled a thin layer of icy snow with a garden hoe. You know, that last bit of snow that won’t let go of the ground or the cement walk, that’s trying to morph into dangerous ice. My garden hoe is a five foot wood handle attached at right angles to a thin metal blade. It’s made to scrape weeds, and it’s wondrous at scraping snow! If you have a hoe, try it.

When Will AI Surpass Human Intelligence?

Slashdot raises this question and points to an article in which various experts make their predictions. Here’s mine:

When humans get a lot dumber.

Okay: A Picture of a device

'Anonymous' posted a comment on my Superbowl revelation, saying that my blog is cool, but it lacks pictures of devices. I'm stung by this criticism, of course. Anon, is this good enough for you? (I borrowed this image of a beer-filled USB memory without permission from The Walyou Blog. ) Walyou, thanks, and I hope you're not annoyed.

All Superbowl, All Day:

You may have noticed that TV coverage of the Super Bowl, especially the pre-coverage, is approaching an extreme. Well, it's going to get worse. I'm sworn to silence about which network is involved, but I can tell you the gruesome details about what's planned for next year.

It will start next November, when the network invites football fans to vote online for the ten best superbowls ever. Now I know many of them were absolute turkeys, but there will plenty of controversy about this, and lots of excitement over the voting, which will remain secret.

Saturday noon before the Superbowl, the countdown will begin, with each of the chosen games replayed in its entirety. There will be new commentary replacing some of the original announcing, and of course, new ads. But by eliminating the half-time and the hoopla, each game will be kept within a three-hour time slot. And then, as the very best previous superbowl comes to its end, next year's real Superbowl will start.

Fans who can skip a night of sleep will get about 35 consecutive hours of Superbowl Football. For the rest of us ... well, this is one network we'll just have to do without for a while. I think this is an awful idea. If you agree with me, please complain to your Network Presidents.

Screwed:

When PCs were first designed, little thought was given to the likelihood that their owners would need to open them up, to change boards or jumper wires. The first PCs were hard to open, sometimes requiring uncommon screwdrivers. But as PC sales increased, vendors got smart about case design. Within a few years, there were cases that could be opened with nothing more unusual than a quarter, or with clever fingers alone.

Right now, I'm working with a PC that requires me to unscrew fourteen screws to remove its cover. Fourteen! I wish I could talk to the person who designed this case. The way I see it, surely thirteen screws would have been enough. Don't you agree?

Hello, You've Reached our Happy Family at ...

The title of this blog item is the way our answering machine's announcement begins. We used to have a more vanilla announcement: “Hello, you've reached {our number}; please leave a detailed message.”
The trouble with our old outgoing message was that people called and left messages for “Dr. Smith,” whose number differs from ours by one easy to misremember digit. The last message we got for Doctor Smith was pitiable, something like this: “I'm in great pain and I desperately need a pain reliever fast! Please call me right away.” I decided to change our message to discourage such mistakes.
I really wanted our outgoing message to say: “Hello, if you're calling Doctor Smith, please hang and dial {xxx-xxxx}. Otherwise, please leave us a detailed message.” But that seemed too extreme. So far, the “happy family” thing has done the trick. People pay little attention to OGMs, but maybe they notice we don't sound like a doctor's office.

All Mozart All Day:

January 27 was Mozart's birthday. I have easy radio access to three radio stations that play classical music, morning to evening, and they chose to play nothing but Mozart that day. (They were fund-raising, too.) I have a radio program on the fourth station that plays some classical music, WPRB (103.3 FM in central Jersey and Philadelphia). It's quite common for radio stations to “feature” some composer on his birthday. I generally do not do this. I figure that there are always some fans out there who would rather not hear “wall-to-wall composer X,” so I'm the one who is going to offer an alternative choice.

But Mozart! All day, I had the pleasure of choosing which of two or three of his fine compositions to listen to. What pleasure!