When the automatic sliding doors at the downtown transit center open or close it sounds just like a barista turning the steam on full wide to heat up milk. That an actual espresso joint exists near one of the entrances is an example of a society-provided source of free amusement.
It's deliciously awkward when a passenger pulls the cord for a drop-off request and, before reaching the designated drop-off point, the bus has to slow, stop, and wait in front of a red light. "Damn, yo. Bad timing on the cord pull. You got schooled." As the bus sits in idle watching the flow of perpendicular traffic, the relentless push of the clock assaults the ding and automated voice declaration "Stop Requested!" that had accompanied the pulled cord, trying to force these auditory cues into distant memory, no longer relevant by the time the light turns green. Still, bus drivers rarely forget to pull over after they've crossed the intersection.
There are always at least two other passengers who get off the bus with me at my morning drop-off location outside the gate, so I've left it to one or the other of them to pull the cord. I'm drowsy in the mornings, enveloped in an invisible cocoon; it's too early to force my fingers against the tight pressure of a plastic string. Besides, if I pulled it even only a couple days in a row, it would set a dangerous precedent, the other passengers expecting me to pull the cord each morning thereafter. The routine nature of the morning commute introduces some awkwardness of its own: since the bus driver, passengers, and bus stop are all reliably the same each morning, it shouldn't be necessary for the cord to be pulled at all. Think of the hundreds of "Stop Requested!" declarations that could be avoided if the bus driver took a moment to say that pulling the cord was unnecessary, "I know you all get off there." Maybe he wouldn't feel right about providing passengers information that cuts the corners of his own employer's written procedure for how to get off the bus where you want. Maybe he's in love with the imaginary woman behind the voice; I guess as a bus driver you would have to at least like her. Maybe at the end of his shift he just stands inside the bus pulling the cord again and again to hear her voice, pulling quickly before she's finished speaking so that all she says is "Stop, Stop, Stop."
In at least one driver, their nicety communication is tied more strongly to their repeated physical action than to what is spoken to them by the passengers. The other day, a passenger getting off the bus said something like "have a good day" to the driver, an utterance that was not acknowledged for an awkward duration until, in conjunction with his opening the door, the driver said "have a good day" in a tone that was kind but seemingly oblivious to what the passenger had already said.
Last week on the bus an attractive girl asked me, in Polish, if I was from Poland. I've never wished more than then that I knew the language.
I've bought my tickets to Fairbanks for Nov. 25-29.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
Fun With Probability
What better way to follow up a post involving the acronym RIP than to write about murder? Consider the Venn diagram below. The blue circle is the likelihood that I'll be murdered. The orange circle is the likelihood that I'll become a serial killer.
That I've made each circle the same size is purely for aesthetics and is not a reflection of the relevant statistics. While on the topic of appearance, the orange and blue color scheme was chosen for the visually assertive quality typical of complimentary color pairs. The black which denotes the overlap was a substitution for what would probably be a displeasing bile-brown.
An intuitive cornerstone of probability is that the likelihood an event will occur decreases for each additional criteria necessary to define the event. This truth is illustrated in the Venn diagram, where the overlap of the two circles, which represents both criteria being met, is smaller than each of the individual criteria circles. I don't want to be murdered. My risk of being murdered is greatly reduced if I become a serial killer.
One may rightly question the validity of this model and ask "isn't a serial killer more likely than an average member of the general population to be murdered, since their intended victims will presumably act in self-defense?" I would attempt to address this legitimate query by proposing the following subjective qualifier: serial killers are murderers who, when engaged in their illicit behaviors, take measures to ensure that they are never at a greater risk of being murdered than an average member of the general population.
If someone were seriously considering becoming a serial killer, isn't writing about it in their blog one of the stupidest and most easily avoidable self-incriminating things they could do? Well, not necessarily. It depends on how sophisticated the investigators are willing to believe the suspect to be. The almost inconceivable idea that blog entries concerning illegal activity were not the creative outlet of a harmless individual but rather the self-documentation of a real criminal is itself material for a defense attorney. Then again, prosecutors might argue that using such an argument as a defense had always been the original intent of this person sitting here before you who deserves to go to jail. Pretty soon, the whole affair becomes very reminiscent of that scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail with the guy having to decide from which goblet to drink to avoid being poisoned, and the endless circular logic that that entailed, and all for naught!
There is a gaping hole in this whole business, however. Being murdered is largely up to chance, whereas becoming a serial killer is a choice; two vastly different categories. Putting these incompatible criteria together on the same Venn diagram doubtless breaks countless rules and makes the pioneers of probability theory turn over in their graves. RIP indeed.
That I've made each circle the same size is purely for aesthetics and is not a reflection of the relevant statistics. While on the topic of appearance, the orange and blue color scheme was chosen for the visually assertive quality typical of complimentary color pairs. The black which denotes the overlap was a substitution for what would probably be a displeasing bile-brown.An intuitive cornerstone of probability is that the likelihood an event will occur decreases for each additional criteria necessary to define the event. This truth is illustrated in the Venn diagram, where the overlap of the two circles, which represents both criteria being met, is smaller than each of the individual criteria circles. I don't want to be murdered. My risk of being murdered is greatly reduced if I become a serial killer.
One may rightly question the validity of this model and ask "isn't a serial killer more likely than an average member of the general population to be murdered, since their intended victims will presumably act in self-defense?" I would attempt to address this legitimate query by proposing the following subjective qualifier: serial killers are murderers who, when engaged in their illicit behaviors, take measures to ensure that they are never at a greater risk of being murdered than an average member of the general population.
If someone were seriously considering becoming a serial killer, isn't writing about it in their blog one of the stupidest and most easily avoidable self-incriminating things they could do? Well, not necessarily. It depends on how sophisticated the investigators are willing to believe the suspect to be. The almost inconceivable idea that blog entries concerning illegal activity were not the creative outlet of a harmless individual but rather the self-documentation of a real criminal is itself material for a defense attorney. Then again, prosecutors might argue that using such an argument as a defense had always been the original intent of this person sitting here before you who deserves to go to jail. Pretty soon, the whole affair becomes very reminiscent of that scene in Monty Python and the Holy Grail with the guy having to decide from which goblet to drink to avoid being poisoned, and the endless circular logic that that entailed, and all for naught!
There is a gaping hole in this whole business, however. Being murdered is largely up to chance, whereas becoming a serial killer is a choice; two vastly different categories. Putting these incompatible criteria together on the same Venn diagram doubtless breaks countless rules and makes the pioneers of probability theory turn over in their graves. RIP indeed.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Dead in the ground, with a portfolio
Opinions you have about anything are reinforced each time you share them with another person. Possibly because my working hours are spent deep inside an acronym mating ground, the titles I've decided on for the concepts responsible are Repetition Influenced Perspective (RIP) and Combative Human Assailed Stock Market (CHASM).
RIP: Leave a prisoner confined to a solitary cell with an automated voice repeatedly telling him through a wall speaker that his name is one it isn't and, eventually, he'll break and accept the speaker-spoken name as his own. The timing here is critical; continue to subject him to the same treatment even after he's accepted his new name and you've made a vegetable of him, if he wasn't one already. A similar thing is happening, albeit in a far less severe manner and, significantly, with control of the wall speaker being delegated to our internal self, when we hear ourselves express how we feel about something.
CHASM: Simply by listening passively, the person you've shared your opinions with has invested in your honesty. Each opinion shared is a different stock, and the more you share about how you feel, the more shares of you they necessarily buy. Stretch the metaphor to its limits: if it comes to light that you have lied, the price of the associated stock falls and, like the real markets, can trigger a widespread crash, since the truth of the other opinions you've shared is suspect. The more people you talk to = the more investors you have --> the greater the repercussions of a crashed market. No one wants to walk around feeling undervalued. Sorry about the puns, I hate them too, and you can invest in that.
RIP: Leave a prisoner confined to a solitary cell with an automated voice repeatedly telling him through a wall speaker that his name is one it isn't and, eventually, he'll break and accept the speaker-spoken name as his own. The timing here is critical; continue to subject him to the same treatment even after he's accepted his new name and you've made a vegetable of him, if he wasn't one already. A similar thing is happening, albeit in a far less severe manner and, significantly, with control of the wall speaker being delegated to our internal self, when we hear ourselves express how we feel about something.
CHASM: Simply by listening passively, the person you've shared your opinions with has invested in your honesty. Each opinion shared is a different stock, and the more you share about how you feel, the more shares of you they necessarily buy. Stretch the metaphor to its limits: if it comes to light that you have lied, the price of the associated stock falls and, like the real markets, can trigger a widespread crash, since the truth of the other opinions you've shared is suspect. The more people you talk to = the more investors you have --> the greater the repercussions of a crashed market. No one wants to walk around feeling undervalued. Sorry about the puns, I hate them too, and you can invest in that.
Friday, September 11, 2009
The Evolution of Time
Time passes faster in the mornings than it does in the afternoons. An 8 hour shift beginning at 6 is brought to its end more quickly than one beginning at 9.
Reasons for why this is the case are too numerous for me to completely list here, and come from a wide array of specializations including philosophy, psychology, neurology, botany, and cultural studies. One reason, put forth by the linguistic community, is this: in the alphabet, the 'A' of AM precedes the 'P' of PM and, in the minds of the masses, there exists a correlation between cumming first and being faster; they are something like cousins. Further, when enough people make the same assumption, it becomes the truth.
It's a complicated matter: while always faster, the degree to which AM time passes more quickly than PM time is not a dependable constant and cannot be counted on. The military, desperate to force time into a predictable nature, created a system absent of letters. The initial result of this strategy was the result hoped for: seeing only numbers, the linguists reluctantly withdrew their passage-of-time justification and bowed out of the scene. No sooner had they left, however, than the military's cheers and jubilance was immediately subdued by the arrival of the mathematicians, who pointed out that the smaller numerals precede the larger ones on the real-number line.
Time's faster morning-hour passage was preserved. Guns and artillery proved no match against these wicked instruments:
Reasons for why this is the case are too numerous for me to completely list here, and come from a wide array of specializations including philosophy, psychology, neurology, botany, and cultural studies. One reason, put forth by the linguistic community, is this: in the alphabet, the 'A' of AM precedes the 'P' of PM and, in the minds of the masses, there exists a correlation between cumming first and being faster; they are something like cousins. Further, when enough people make the same assumption, it becomes the truth.
It's a complicated matter: while always faster, the degree to which AM time passes more quickly than PM time is not a dependable constant and cannot be counted on. The military, desperate to force time into a predictable nature, created a system absent of letters. The initial result of this strategy was the result hoped for: seeing only numbers, the linguists reluctantly withdrew their passage-of-time justification and bowed out of the scene. No sooner had they left, however, than the military's cheers and jubilance was immediately subdued by the arrival of the mathematicians, who pointed out that the smaller numerals precede the larger ones on the real-number line.
Time's faster morning-hour passage was preserved. Guns and artillery proved no match against these wicked instruments:
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Paint No Sign, Signal
My driving instructor raced cars in Germany four decades ago. He teaches a very precision-oriented, methodical, and engineering-friendly approach to vehicle maneuvering known as reference point driving. Rather than be at the mercy of the optical illusions associated with gauging distance by looking at objects through windows and in mirrors, reference point driving uses the intersection of road/curb lines with well-defined locations on the car to complete accurate turns, stay centered in lane, parallel park 5" from curb, etc.
I almost always find the obliteration of ambiguity attractive and, from an engineering point of view, I'm very glad to have been taught how to drive in this way. I passed my driving exam with a comfortable buffer of points to spare. After the exam, he went into the Anchorage Driver Training office and then returned to the car, sitting once again in the passenger seat, with the paperwork I would need to present to the DMV for my license. I was still behind the wheel, but asked if instead he would drive us there. Though getting in an accident while on my way to the DMV for a license after having minutes earlier passed my driving exam was an amusing possibility, I was by this point both hungry and thirsty and was not interested in doing anything to put quenching these biological demands at risk, no matter the richness of the action's potential irony.
I've failed in my short-lived attempt to sever communication with my family.
My sister's last week in Boston was marked by the arrival of our parents there for the occasion of a relative's wedding anniversary and altogether large family gathering. Recently, she visited three colleges in the area: Williams, Bennington, and Middlebury, liking the latter the most. The beyond-words enthusiasm she expresses when trying to describe its campus induces smiles. She called me for help finding the email address of the professor of a class for which she is currently enrolled at UAF, to let them know she'll miss the first day on account of not arriving from Boston until the weekend. When I got off work and was back at my apt. I called her, ready to relay the information, but it was a bad time to talk. The three of them were in a car on the freeway, my dad driving and growing more irate as he didn't know which exit to take to get to the restaurant where they were supposed to have shown up to dine with relatives some time ago. His agitation was not helped by my sister laughing in the back seat.
I was to blame for some of her outbursts. When you spell out something letter by letter over a phone, it's unlikely the person on the receiving end will accurately reproduce the series. To further avoid miscommunication, I made a condition that all the words representing letters would be animals. Thus, mzhou@uaf.edu became monkey-zebra-horse-otter-underdog @uaf.edu. She retaliated that the 'u' should be unicorn. My dad's frustration culminated with his shouting from the front seat "Goodbye, Aram!" Shortly after, my sister said, concerned, "I have to hang up, he's going to get in an accident."
I almost always find the obliteration of ambiguity attractive and, from an engineering point of view, I'm very glad to have been taught how to drive in this way. I passed my driving exam with a comfortable buffer of points to spare. After the exam, he went into the Anchorage Driver Training office and then returned to the car, sitting once again in the passenger seat, with the paperwork I would need to present to the DMV for my license. I was still behind the wheel, but asked if instead he would drive us there. Though getting in an accident while on my way to the DMV for a license after having minutes earlier passed my driving exam was an amusing possibility, I was by this point both hungry and thirsty and was not interested in doing anything to put quenching these biological demands at risk, no matter the richness of the action's potential irony.
I've failed in my short-lived attempt to sever communication with my family.
My sister's last week in Boston was marked by the arrival of our parents there for the occasion of a relative's wedding anniversary and altogether large family gathering. Recently, she visited three colleges in the area: Williams, Bennington, and Middlebury, liking the latter the most. The beyond-words enthusiasm she expresses when trying to describe its campus induces smiles. She called me for help finding the email address of the professor of a class for which she is currently enrolled at UAF, to let them know she'll miss the first day on account of not arriving from Boston until the weekend. When I got off work and was back at my apt. I called her, ready to relay the information, but it was a bad time to talk. The three of them were in a car on the freeway, my dad driving and growing more irate as he didn't know which exit to take to get to the restaurant where they were supposed to have shown up to dine with relatives some time ago. His agitation was not helped by my sister laughing in the back seat.
I was to blame for some of her outbursts. When you spell out something letter by letter over a phone, it's unlikely the person on the receiving end will accurately reproduce the series. To further avoid miscommunication, I made a condition that all the words representing letters would be animals. Thus, mzhou@uaf.edu became monkey-zebra-horse-otter-underdog @uaf.edu. She retaliated that the 'u' should be unicorn. My dad's frustration culminated with his shouting from the front seat "Goodbye, Aram!" Shortly after, my sister said, concerned, "I have to hang up, he's going to get in an accident."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
