How'd it get to be Tuesday?

This seems like a waste of time, but if I had a job, I'd just be typing something else that hardly anybody reads anyway. Here's some pictures I took of some dogs I know.


Wilson


Sadie


Winnie


Luna


OK, so not a dog per se, but a critter nonetheless.

Now I'm out of dogs, but still have more pictures. So much for sticking to the theme.


My brother climbing a tree. He taught Sadie everything she knows.

That's all for now; I'm pushing my luck as it is having both the electricity and internet connection working at once. I feel a crash coming on.

Another Almolst Holiday

The trouble with these holimondays is that you never know what to do on them. I mean, sleeping in is a given, but you don't wanna go anywhere, b/c everybody will aready be there ahead of you.

I almost made it to Albertville to visit my sister-to-be-in-law, but we caved at the last minute on account of my sister double-booked herself with her volleyball coach's dog. (This is gonna be one of those stories that makes you appreciate the interesting things I write).

I'm ready to carpet bomb Charter at this point, since my connection is still nonexistant at home. I've stolen my sister's PC to waste time on blogger in the hope that you my readers will be able to waste some of your own without all of the effort of actually writing.

All that happened yesterday was that I tried to take back a hand exerciser, but they only wanted to give me $7.99 because they upped the price on the new ones to $9.99. Now, they've already switched it for me once at that price, but this time the cashier wanted $2.18 to cover the difference. Of course, she only knew that I'd originally spent $8.16 b/c I actually brought the original receipt; if I'd left it it'd've been an even exchange. She said she couldn't trade it (same UPC, same product) because she'd seen the receipt. I admire her honesty, and didn't argue the point. I was really proud of myself for not making a scene, even though I couldn't have lost the argument if it got to the manager. Plus, there were people waiting behind me, which was more the fault of them being understaffed, but they might not have seen it thataway. The upside is that this one broke much sooner than the first one I bought, which means my hands must be getting stronger somehow.

I'm bored, if you couldn't tell. Nothing seems to be happening here; my yo-yoing is only getting worse and work is pretty stagnant.

Anyway, if you want to kill some more time, check out the Infinite Cat Project. Then tell me I have too much time on my hands.

I'm planning on actually doing something tomorrow. Stay tuned.

TEOTWAWKI

It looks like time stood still today. I knew something was funny.

I also thought i felt an earthquake earlier, and meant to look it up, but never did. I'm sure these events are related somehow.

Nothing much exciting happened at work, except the string of the yo-yo broke and i got to replace it. Now it's back to its full length, so I'm getting like 100% more job satisfaction.

I'm too lazy to write anything serious now, so I'll just paste another letter to a would-be boss. This one had to do with me answer his question about my GPA and where the other half of it ended up.

Dear Mr. Shaw,

I am writing to address your concerns concerning how I spent my time in college. Were I in your place, I would be asking the same question: if this kid has the combination of ability and masochism necessary to get into Caltech and stay long enough to get a degree, then how come his grades are barely enough to squeak by?

As engineers, you and I are not in the business of making excuses. We push our systems to the point of failure, pick up the pieces, learn everything we can from them, push the point of failure further away when rebuilding whatever it is we broke. Engineers are notorious for extending this worldview into worlds where it is not generally expected, and indeed, where it can be unwelcome. I don’t say this to dodge the central question, but to attempt to get across the idea that when I fail it is never because of lack of trying and it is rarely without learning something. It is because of thinking too hard, working on too many things at a time, expecting results too early, or some combination of all of these. My greatest strength and greatest weakness is the ability to be obsessed with dozens of ideas at a time. When in the real world, there are typically only a finite number of projects to attract my attention, but in a thriving collegiate setting, the sky is the limit. Fortunately, all I need in an R&D setting to keep these tendencies under control is someone with some common sense and a rolled-up newspaper to hit me over the head every now and then.

Among the more tragic features of live at Tech was the fact that, while Admissions actively seeks well-rounded students, the reality of the curriculum (especially in the first two years) requires most students to maintain an often unhealthy (mentally, physically, and emotionally) level of focus on academics. The immediate result of this intensity is to starve the extracurricular organizations of students who have the time to commit themselves to them fully; even though there is no shortage of talented students who would like to participate, many of these feel it not worthwhile to join organizations if they can’t go all-out. For students with academic scholarships requiring the maintenance of minimum GPAs, the compromises required of them have visibly disheartening effects.

When I discovered these harsh realities, I made a conscious decision to optimize my collegiate experience for overall quality of life, learning, and relationships, not on my transcript. This decision was not by any means an easy one for me at the time, and if my reasoning seems long-winded, it’s only because an extremely vocal minority of the voices in my head made no end of protesting it. If I had it to do over again knowing what I know now, I might not do it, but then I wouldn’t know what I know now, so I’d end up doing it all over again (you know you’re a hacker when you can put infinite loops in prose). I remember my failures for years longer than my successes, and I count those scars as the most valuable experiences of my career so far, not just because they came at the greatest cost.

As to how I spent my time when I wasn’t studying, I was basically doing everything else. Since so many student organizations were short-handed, I became a varsity cheerleader, trumpet player in the pep band, jazz band, concert band, and graduation brass section. I even enrolled in Pasadena City College as a music major to play in the Lancer Marching Band, since Caltech had no marching band. While at PCC I also played herald trumpet for the Rose Bowl Queen and her Court at official functions, including the coronation. I was active in the Society of Women Engineers, the Korean Club, Caltech Christian Fellowship, Chinese Club, Caltech Y (including community tutoring and Alternative Spring Break), CLASES (Latino club), Caltech Ballroom Dance Club, Gymnastics Club, and California Tech. It goes without saying that, having sworn undying loyalty to Fleming Hovse, I never shied away from the needs of my fellow Flems. I spent a sizeable chunk of time on house activities that are too numerous, scandalous, and/or secret to enumerate here. Finally, every spare second I had was devoted to picking the brains of my erudite and eccentric classmates, where by “picking brains” I mean “chasing skirts.”

A clever reader might suspect at this point that I participated in these activities to avoid the stresses of legitimate studying. Hopefully I can allay this fear somewhat by describing some of the classes I took outside my option to challenge myself and broaden my horizons. I took the infamous EE/CS 51 and 52 courses in embedded programming and digital circuit design, which have been known to convert aspiring electrical engineers into raving lunatics or even literature majors. These courses were not required for me as a mechanical engineer (at the time), but I knew that they would push me as I had never been pushed before. Fifty-two, in particular, was probably the most arduous and yet most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had; the pace of learning and applying knowledge was beyond all prudence and sanity for someone as scatterbrained as me. I ended up not finishing that class in the end, even though the hardest parts were behind me, not because of the intellectual challenge, but for the emotional trauma I put myself through. In some ways I’m prouder of that F than of any A I’ve ever made.

As bad as my transcript looks on paper, taking into account a few more quirks about Caltech might help one to get a clearer perspective. One of these is the abnormally high “flame rate” of the freshman class. Since the bottom quarter of the bell curve disappeared out from under me, my standing compared to the rest of the survivors was proportionally reduced. One hundred percent of the incoming freshmen were in the top ten percent of their high school classes, and dozens of valedictorians and salutatorians were among them. Since the only way to have everybody stay in the top ten percent of the class would be a massive tie for top GPA, ninety percent of us were disappointed. Since many of my classmates had immediate and serious consequences of letting their grades fall, I was willing to do my part in holding up the tail end of the curve. (All kidding aside, one of Caltech’s greatest attributes is the spirit of cooperation among students, which fosters collaborative learning and improves the social skills of otherwise reclusive scholars).

This survivor’s curse extends to individual courses, where Tech’s late Drop Day encourages many grade-conscious students to bow out if they aren’t satisfied with their midterm grades. I’m the kind of guy who bites the bullet until the bitter end, so I didn’t pull that trick in many cases where it would have benefited my bottom line.

Another reason for the difficulty of maintaining grades is the combination of a staggering array of required courses and high turnover rate of instructors for them. During my time at Tech, very few classes in my option were taught by an instructor who had taught it the year before. Consequently, much of the professors’ and TAs’ energies went into designing the courses (which often differed greatly from their descriptions in the catalog) and homework sets, whereas veteran instructors who knew what they were going to say could concentrate on saying it. Students routinely found bugs in course notes, problem sets, and even exams, which had to be fixed at the last minute. I can remember being assigned proofs for theorems that turned out not to be true and writing code in a custom language whose specifications changed without warning during the course. Although these problems affected everyone equally, I didn’t lose as much sleep over them as most of my classmates.

Just to make sure this dead horse doesn’t get any ideas of getting back up, I feel I should mention that certain personal, medical, and familial situations had a severely adverse effect on my concentration and motivation, particularly in my senior year. In the interest of privacy and (while it’s probably too late) brevity, I’ll omit the details except to say that I have spared no expense or time since then to regroup, readjust, revise, resurrect, and rebuild myself. This process spilled over into the months following my graduation, and, combined with two close family members’ serious medical problems, delayed my job search and created a minor gap in my employment history.

Obviously grades alone cannot describe the value of a student’s education or ability, just as the number of stars for a movie review is not sufficient to tell if the film is worth seeing. A GPA is a one-dimensional measure of a vastly more complex set of experiences, aptitudes, and abilities, and, while I wouldn’t mind mine being higher than it is, there are more important things to consider. If it helps, you can think of my degree as being an overall Two Thumbs Up. I don’t, because I like to think our faculty is smarter than most movie reviewers.

Thank you again for bringing me out to interview. Your leap of faith means the world to me, and I know you won’t regret it. I know also that as bad as I want this job, I want you to have only the best engineers working on these systems as you can possibly find, because the future of medicine, and therefore the quality of life for billions of people, are at stake. While I may not appear to take myself seriously, know that at the core of my convoluted thought process I am dedicated to producing excellent results. I appreciate this opportunity to show you my scars and to tell some of the war stories behind them, as it would have been far easier for you to assume that I just didn’t care enough to excel in academics.

Sincerely,

Jay Carlton

Surely You're Joking

Just found out there's gonna be a Feynman stamp. One of my regrets in this life is getting to Pacific Tech too late to meet him. He was a character, that's for sure.



If you haven't read Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman, you're missing out. Don't worry, it's actually comprehensible.

Death to Charter

It figures that they'd pick my day off to break the cable system in all of Hoover and Homewood. I guess that counts as being relevant to somebody other than me, but I'm not sure.

Anyway, I've put up another of my billion-dollar ideas over at Halfbakery. It needs a picture to go with it.

Also, I dumped some more pictures in my bucket. I keep meaning to annotate them and put them in some kind of order, but that seems too much like work, and, like I said, this is my day off.

The Difference in a Recruiting Firm and a Staffing Firm

is that you have to wear a tie for an interview with a recruiting firm. Also, they're much pickier about who they send to their clients, and mainly concentrate on managerial types. Turns out Leslie made the right call in that regard; if they don't specify business casual, a suit is the way to go. Not to mention that I have to wear the suit like 60 more times before it goes out of style if I'm gonna make it as cost effective as the rest of my wardrobe. (One of the things I'm learning by being destitute is to appreciate all the stuff I've already acquired).

I had an interview with one of the recruiting firms this morning for a project manager position at an industrial locality. Obviously I don't have any experience designing industrial equipment, but I think I was just called in to help train the new recruiter. She just sat in on the interview and nodded vacantly, but it was fun.

On an interesting side note, the interviewer was once a manager at another gadgeteria I used to work at. Small world.

The most exciting thing I did today was get a free T-Shirt from Old Navy. They don't do that for just any old customer, only those of us who are ranked first mate or above. I've just been promoted to rear admiral, and all the cashiers have to salute me when I come in.

My internet connection got really slow this morning, so I had to go next door and use the Colonel's ISDN line. That made my cable modem jealous and forced it to cooperate. My poor machine is lonely with me being away all this time during those long working hours. Not to mention in need of a makeover in the worst way.

I'll post more interesting things later, including some comments on the rest of the world for those of you who aren't enthralled with my inward analyses. I for one am sick of me, so hopefully this will be the last narcipost for a while.

This is the dullest sharpening gig ever.

I got in trouble again, this time because the percentage of my net sales from replacement/service guarantees wasn't above 4%. That means that, while I was selling enough, we weren't making enough profit (a.k.a. free money) from the guarantees. The only punishment was to make me watch the RSG DVD again. Apparently I just didn't understand the concept. All you have to do is sell the product by overstating its virtues, and then sell the replacement guarantee by underestimating its quality. It's sleazy, is what it is.

I put my foot in my mouth pretty good. I asked a customer (who was about my age) if she had anything picked out for father's day, and it turns out her dad had died in the last two weeks. That's really sad.

Other than that, work was all right, as my manager wasn't there, but I'm going back in at 9 in the morning. Somehow I'm working full time hours for part time wages and non-benefits.

I'm pretty much officially approaching broke now. I lost money taking this job, because now I'm ineligible for unemployment (of course, i'd be ineligible if I'd turned it down too...). I guess it'll all work out in the end, as the dollar isn't going to be worth a yen in ten years anyway.

I should really look into increasing my dosage. Life still won't be enjoyable per se, but I won't notice.

I did get called by another headhunter today. So now I'm working with like 4 different agencies, not including places I'm directly applying to. I should really pull an all nighter and apply to another fifty or so places, as I might just be getting the knack for it.

I think I'll give my two week notice tomorrow. Depending on how my boss's day off went today, I may not have to. The team is back up to a full roster now, so my absence won't be unbearable as soon as the newest three associates complete their training.

Nobody comments on any of these posts anymore. I might have to stage a one-man writer's strike. You wouldn't want that. Just throw me an emoticon or something; I'm dying here.

It's RIP to Earnest T.

Some sad news today. Two accomplished actors, who stood for everything that was right in entertainment and advertising, have passed away. The first was Thurl Ravenscroft, better known as Tony the Tiger. Instead of burying him, they're gonna have him sliced into little flakes and frosted, a process which will of course preserve his remains indefinitely.





Also, I just read an obituary tied to a brick that came crashing through my window that Howard Morris died on May 21. If you've never heard of Earnest T. Bass, then you're missing out on some of the true gems of western culture. Some sound files are located here. I'd say something funny, but there's nothing I can do to compare with his comedic genius.

Why I Didn't Get Into Grad School: Exhibit A

My Personal Statement

It may seem familiar, but all similarities between my essay and any other work is purely coincidental and untentional. Written January 15, 2003 (started hours ahead of and finished minutes before the application deadline, of course).

As I pondered, contemplating a better vehicle for stating
My interests, objectives, and what purpose I believe I’m destined for,
Eventually I got to thinking I could keep my attention span from shrinking
If in lieu of prose I did my inking in a form less prone to bore.
“Well at least,” I mused, half joking, “it hasn’t been done before…”
Just a page and nothing more.

Mechanical engineering, the direction I’ve been steering,
Is a quest I love so dearly that at times all else seems but a snore.
Then again, please don’t be fearing that I’m at all afraid of veering
Into disciplines that may be nearing mine; for I’m eager to explore.
As a researcher I’m as giddy as a kid in a candy store
Stocked from ceiling down to floor.

I’m a four-year member of SWE (better ratio than IEEE),
And also joined SHPE and the Mars Society, if you’re keeping score.
Something of an interloper, curious ponderer and high hoper,
A former EPR spectroscoper—I could’ve majored in the core.
Now I seek to make my mark in the annals of post-Newtonian lore
As a scientist and engineer, and maybe something more.

In research that’s still ongoing, I help keep the data flowing
From the modeler to the mesher to the finite element cruncher core.
Fortunately my skill set as a coder exceeds my talents as an oder,
And I’m handy with a motor (something ME72’s good for).
I can plug, chug, and debug and perform other needed chores.
An engineer indeed I know I am—I think—therefore.

My purpose is to reach enlightenment, or if I don’t, to thrive in spite of it
And contribute to the scholarly environment I so ardently adore.
I’ve spent four tough years already drinking from a fire hose a steady
Torrent of aqueous knowledge till my head be thoroughly waterlogged and sore.
A productive academic career thus far, despite a GPA of 2.4.
Consider me anyway please, I implore.

Because I swapped Poe’s dark symbolism for facetious philologism,
An unkindness of wrathful Ravens tried to tap through my chamber door.
Yet I’d an ace up my proverbial sleeve here as my sympathetic sister Beaver,
Having heard a thousand nevermore’s, scrambled over to see if her
Brother’d been devoured by the ungainly fowls and lay writhing on the floor.
She was relieved to find the raving avians had yet to breech my chamber door.

An unparalleled quick thinker, the she-beaver began to tinker,
And ‘fore the prophet-bird-devils knew what had hit ’em had reinforced my chamber door.
She rescued me from this jam by constructing us a dam,
And the Ravens, lacking arms, had neglected to bring a battering ram.
Tho’ my window was wide ajar the birds kept wrapping, tapping, while I them ignored.
Until they starved, and then nevermore.

Evolutionary Throwbacks

If you look at someone hard enough, it isn't hard to find areas where that person may be behind the curve in terms of crawling out of the primordial ooze. One area I need to work on over the next ten million years or so is in adopting a human sleep pattern. I'm still hibernating, and it's almost June.

I had to work from 2-6:30 today, and you'd think even I could manage hours like that. Granted it's Sunday, but I gotta do what I gotta do. Still, I couldn't get up before like noon, and fell asleep as soon as I got back from dinner at like 7:30. I woke back up like an hour ago, and now I'm not tired enough to sleep, but too tired to do anything useful.

The trouble with this job is that it pays marginally better than Unemployment Compensation, and I can't quit the former without losing the latter. If I'm terminated, I'm likewise out of luck. Thus I need to find a way to be laid off.

Layoffs are the kind of thing that you can count on to happen when you least need it, but when you could use one, there aren't any to be found. I guess I shouldn't bemoan being employed, and I'm not; it's the terms I don't care for.

The problem I keep coming up against is the fact that I'm a technophile and a problem solver first and foremost. I tell customers the best solution for their need in an honest manner, seeing the thing from his point of view, or what his point of view would be if he knew what he were talking about. I don't push products simply because of their profit margins or other shallow incentives, because I have too much integrity for that. Coming from an aerospace environment, where developing the highest quality product is paramount compared with trivialities like cost, it's really sad to be pushing somebody else's poor excuse for technology so they get rich at the expense of my reputation.

I almost managed to get terminated Saturday by doing exactly my job. Basically, we have promotion that gives customers 20% off their second product if they buy two products, and 10% off the third through fifth if they buy more than that. So I was ringing up this woman (which is not as fun as it sounds) who was planning to come back the next day to exchange a gift she received for an upgrade, and was also buying a smaller item that day. So I said, "Oh, and if you bring your receipt from this transaction tomorrow, we can give you 20% back on this thing you're buying right now." She smiled heartily (which gave me more satisfaction than anything else I'd done on this job up until that point) and left happy.

Well, you'd've thought I'd swallowed an iPod or something by the way my manager reacted. She went off on a tirade on how she'd have to do all this paperwork to honor what I said (which was really just what the sale said), but my point was that I was simply acting in the customer's best interest. I told her that I look at everything from the customer's point of view, and she basically told me in no uncertain terms that this was heresy. I'm supposed to maximize sales in every instance, not "exploit" the terms of the sale. She further went on to say that the concept of a sale went against the way the company did business, and she found the whole thing bizzare. Apparently I went way outside my authority in tellling the customer how to save money, and that if any loopholing was to occur, the customer should initiate it. Naturally, she'd go out of her way to honor any claim like that on the part of the customer (it involves a simple return for an even exchange of the old product when buying the new one to take advantage of the sale) but said that most customers would never think of doing that. I reminded her that the terms of the promotion said nothing about the multiple purchases happening on the same day, and she acted like the ambiguity was my fault. She said that I "created issues" by "manipulating the system." As far as I'm concerned, however, I'm barely even debugging the system. (Don't even get me started on the myriad ways the company could streamline its operations by going paperless).

Where I come from, loopholes are not swept under the rug. The boundaries of any theory are where the most interesting things happen; where there are flaws there are areas for improvement. I told my manager that we were in uncharted waters, and she agreed, but was still threatening me with termination for providing excessive customer service. I tried to explain that I could not be held responsible for short-sidedness on the part of the marketing and legal people, but of course it's easier for her to shoot the messenger I guess. Customers, I'm told, don't think "the way I think," and I shouldn't help them cause trouble. Ironically, there would have been no issue at all if the customer had done everything on the same day, because of the daily update interval for our POS systems (an artifact of an ancient way of doing things from the days when communications of a few KB of text was expensive). Once again, for a company selling overpriced high-enough technology, we fall short of our purported standard by a considerable gap.

I'm kinda mad at myself for answering "Yes, for now," when she asked finally, "Are we cool?" Now I'll have to give two whole weeks' notice instead of being done with the place immediately. There's a possibility of getting commission, but it requires really milking every customer for his last nickel, including selling overhyped replacement guarantees which serve mainly to quintuple the profit margins. What's really disgusting is that they apply quotas on how many of these we sell, which encourages associates to mislead the customers and intimidate them into buying the policies. It's hilarious to watch them sell the RSGs: first they extol the virtues of the product, and when the customer decides to get one, they then try to scare them into believing the product will break several times in the first three years of operation. Since the replacement guarantees are "more important than products," there's no real incentive to make lasting devices.

Anyway, I have a couple of leads to call tomorrow, which should work out better for me. If I'm going to sell out, I need to do it for enough money to pay the bills, at the very least.

I guess I'm really not supposed to diss my employer like this, but I figure there's an amendment somewhere that lets me get away with it, and besides, if I'm going to be chewed out for helping the customer take advantage of our sale, I don't feel all that bad for venting my frustrations here as opposed to the obvious approach.

Goodbye Hello, Hello Photobucket

That's right, photo fans, I'm dumping Hello for a new image hosting system. This should provide more flexibility for taking pictures from one place and putting them in another.

As the inaugural pic, here's one I took from inside the car wash. No real reason, but it looks kinda neat, and you'll swear your monitor looks cleaner just for displaying it.

Sorry, highness. I totally uploaded this one yesterday, but it must've gotten lost somewhere along the way. Might be in somebody else's blog.

Lethality Engineer

I like the sound of that. This morning I got teleconferenced while I was in the shower by three engineers in Colorado Springs. Turns out they're looking for somebody to blow stuff up, or something. I took notes, but I'm too lazy to read them now. It's a missile defense group, a small group in a huge company. They tell me I'm on their short list for the position, even though I hardly remember applying for it.

As soon as that was finished, I went in for my second interview of the day, with the recruiter for the administrative/clerical staffing section of the place I went the other day. Not great money, but better than what I'm doing now. If I didn't need a job so bad, I'd have asked the interviewer out. We got along great, and she was definitely into me. We talked about the economy, education, demand for jobs, social security, what to do when all the baby boomers are in a persistent vegetative state (hint: it rhymes with "mull the slug"), and other clever nonsense.

It looks like I've got some new readers in Boston, to whose email I'll reply tomorrow, and who need to weigh in on the quantum singularity vs. Holy Trinity question. They're both astrophysists, and one of 'em's a Catholic to boot. Oh, and congrats on being engaged, getting degrees, and enduring the locals.

My costume for the 8:30 showing. I was trying to out-geek Leia, and according to her I succeeded.

And for those of you still in the dark, I went and spelled it out on the back.

These two were watching Episode II on their iBook while waiting for Episode III to start. Don't get no better'n that.

Remember, this is a 12:02 AM showing. I don't know how that kid's dad convinced his mom to let him out that late on a school night. What's funnier is the fact that the dad split his two kids up so that he could get a better seat than the ones in the front section of the theater.

Our resident Jedi master, who defended us against Green Light Saber Guy. (OK, so I talked him into instigating a battle, but the crowd loved him.) The plan here was to take the picture with no flash, using the Light Saber as source lighting. Looks like it worked.

Last Minute Plea

This picture makes me happy and sad at the same time. Kinda like the movie.

Queen Amidala and her escort. My only complaint is she didn't have the two-tone lipstick.

Priceless.

Showtime

This is one of those pictures I took to make me feel better about buying a digital camera. I figured I'd break even vs. 35 mm after 3000 or so pictures.

I went to the 12:02 theater, and the line next to mine was for the poor suckers who had to wait until 12:03. We ripped on them as the ushers let us in: "Why not just wait for the DVD?" Of course, it goes without saying that the 12:01 crowd was equally obnoxious to us.

The one on the right is a local celebrity, or would be, if anyone watched UPN. The other girl is a publicist or other hanger-on. This was just as they were finishing up doing a video feed outside the theater.

Sir! Sir! I've isolated the reverse power flux coupling!

Well I'm going to see Episode III tomorrow at 8:30, but I still couldn't resist the temptation to buy a ticket for a 12:02 AM showing. I figure I missed being there opening night for the last two episodes, and I won't get another chance.

Work has been dull since they took away my favorite toy. My boss said it was distracting me. She had complained previously that I looked too busy carrying around my clipboard and making notes on how to improve products, so I had thought the yo-yo was a good way of breaking the ice.

I didn't make her very happy today, firstly because I read my schedule wrong again and she had to call me, secondly because I trounced her and everybody else in Texas Hold 'em, thirdly because I pointed out another half-dozen design flaws in the POS system, fourthly because I disagreed with her on company policy regarding word-of-mouth discounts, and pentawise on account of my calling the enemy at a customer's request to ask about a hypothetical product that we didn't have.

See, it turns out there are discounts that we can give to customers who ask about them, but that we can't tell them about. Seems to me like a recipe for disaster, since sites like fatwallet and techbargains routinely distribute coupon codes. I hate having to withhold information from my customers, and resent not being able to look up product specs and third party reviews on the internet at work. I'm more interested in finding the right solution to my customer's concerns than about selling them one of ours pre-packaged. She tells me I'm in it for the commission and hte spiffs, but a Jedi craves not these things.

She tells me "You don't have the mindset for retail." I was not in a position to disagree, having sold almost nothing all day.

Good news on the car front, for those of you keeping up, she's totally unscathed. I called the dude that was scared of the bug to tell him there would be no claim, and resisted telling him "Maybe we'll bump into each other again one of these days." Okay, so I didn't so much resist the temptation as not think of the line until after I had hung up, but that's probably for the best.

Three and a half hours till showtime. I guess I should watch episode II while i'm waiting. I want to take pictures of people in line, but I don't think they'll let me take my camera in.

Now I'm autistic _and_ artistic.

Well I started my art lessons today. Turns out she wants me to use acrylic and oil in the same painting. Sounds like a scam to me (having my art teacher also be my paint supplier seems like a confict of interest), but I'll go along with it. I was about the median age for the class, as the next youngest was 11 and the next oldest was like 45.

I took pictures detailing the progress of my painting, of course, which I'm gonna upload somewhere more convenient than the place I've been sending them. I'll upload them soon enough for my eager fans.

After that, I helped my sister-to-be-in-law's fiance, the man of whose men I am officially the best, (a.k.a. my brother, if that saves anyone any math) move her stuff from what I thought was the middle of nowhere to some other place no-one from nowhere has even heard of.

The quote of the day came from the Shift Manager at the local roast beefery. Here it is in its original context:

Me: I'd like a grilled chicken sandwhich.
Arby: We don't have grilled chicken.
Me: What about a grilled chicken wrap?
Arby: That has grilled chicken on it.
Me: I'll have that then, with a side of fruit.
Arby: What?
Me: Froo-ot.
Arby: [dead serious, staring at me like I'd just ordered crème brûlée] What are you talking about?
Me: Never mind. I'll have the curly fries.

I've been doing my best not to discombobulate people I meet with my exuberant lexicon of esoteric sesquipedalian neologisms, but sometimes even the little ones can throw people for a loop.

Small Victories

One of the things you learn to do when you hit rock bottom, is to relish any chance you get to stick it to The Man. Today I got revenge on one company whose product I've been using daily for as long as I can remember. They've been trying to use forced obscelence to squeeze extra money out of me for years now. I'm as big of a technophile as the next geek, but two blades were plenty. Now they're up to 4, and trying to do away with old-fashioned customers like me.

Anyway, things with this fine company have gotten out of (quality) control. The little artificially intelligent hair preparers aren't glued in right half the time, and the extra protrusions end up leaving a 1/16th-inch sideburn all down my face. And a scar if I'm lucky.

So I bought a pack of 8 of the Sensor 3 for $15.99 the other day b/c they were out of the sanely priced ones. Sure enough, after taking that hit (which was before I ran out of money, although it probably helped propel me thataway), two of the mil-spec blades turned out to be duds. This from the guy who invented the safety razor.

Anyway, I used the six that worked, and took the other two back. Now my receipt file has paid for itself. I rule.

Not one of my best stories, but there's no point in a blog that's interesting all the time. I've got to make the good entries stand out somehow.

Traces of love...i wish. My sincerest apologies to Yui Ichikawa. I'm only posting this to remind people to haggle me to keep at it, or quit while i'm not too far behind.

Good ole friday the 13th.

Well I got rear-ended by another Accord, but since it was the same year, they must have known to be nice to each other, because there's no visible damage. I'm gonna have Tameron Honda look at the paint to see if they see anything, though. The dude who hit me had already stopped at the red light behind me, but took his foot off the brake when a cockroach fell into his lap. Pansy.

I started selling stuff, at least in theory. All my customers have left happy so far, but that's because most of them didn't buy anything.

Oh, and I realized that, no matter how dumb my ideas may be, they can't be too stupid for the Sharper Image. Behold, the solar-powered flashlight.

I started drawing, or practicing drawing. Got some great 60-lb. paper and pencils of all softnesses. If that doesn't make me an artist, I don't know what will. Right now I'm concentrating on lines that are straight and circles that ended up where they started. Pretty much everything else can be built with that stuff anyway. Also got some tracing paper, so I can prove to myself that my muscles are capable of going throught the right motions. I started with ugly people, so i wouldn't feel bad for messing up, then moved quickly onward to gorgeous ones. I figure sketching could be a better ice breaker than dancing when there's no music, or no floor. Pretty good scheme for getting a captive audience, if nothing else.

I guess it was inevitable that I try visual arts again. My Renaissance manhood depends on it. Plus, I don't want to be embarrassed in another job interview where they ask me to sketch something.

Go Bucs.

A certain high school has just been listed in a certain magazine for its prowess in certain activities. I'll give you a hint: it ain't web design.

I was almost 5 minutes late to work...

...but then they told me that I was supposed to have been there at 9 instead of 1. Oops. They were really nice about it though, and since I was just doing training anyway, it didn't inconvenience anyone.

I hope that bad luck in writing down the hours for today means that my interview with a local staffing firm went well. I had called them at 9 and they told me to come in at 10. What's cool is that if I hadn't written the wrong schedule down, I probably wouldn't have gotten the interview in the first place. Good karma I guess.

I haven't been writing for the last couple of days, b/c I've been busy filling out the "Best Ideas" forms for my employer. Every time I submit an idea that they later implement, they're supposed to give me $100. I've come up with about 45 ideas so far, and I've only been there 4 days. Despite my track record, many of these are great ideas, and my managers are already trying to get me transferred to the product design team in San Francisco. In the meantime, i have a better chance of making ends meet by submitting ideas than by selling. The commission is more of a theory than a form of payment this time of year, although in december it works much better.

Tomorrow is my first art lesson, or really a pre-lesson interview. I hope it goes well, b/c I need to be able to sketch my hair-brained ideas.

For my dedicated readers, I'll paste another article from the archive. This one is about MacHomer, a hilarious and brilliant one-man show that came to Tech during my tenure.

The concept is foolproof: take a play that’s so renowned that no critic in his right mind would attack it, and cover all the rolls with characters from a show that’s at least ten times as popular The sum of the works of two of the greatest creative minds of all time, Matt Groening and William Shakespeare could not possibly result in anything short of brilliance. Starring the theatrical talents of Rick Miller, MacHomer provides the audience with impeccable Simpsons impersonations, hilarious and convincing acting, and a sophisticated use of multimedia. The end result is a creation that transforms the Scottish play from a tragedy into a sitcom, without losing respect for the masterpiece.

The fact that he managed to preserve the dignity of both MacBeth and The Simpsons is a testament to Miller’s outstanding vocal talents. Characters drawn from all over Springfield are imitated in a manner that is acutely precise in sound and true to the personality of the character. From the half-gargled nagging sigh of Lady MacHomer (Marge Simpson) to the evil yet senile tone of Duncan (Montgomery Burns), Miller has virtually all of them nailed. Although I was skeptic going in to the performance, I was amazed at the level of professionalism with which the Simpsons universe was adapted and presented.

There were a few characters whose imitations could have been better, notably Bart and Lisa Simpson, who had only minor roles. Originally cast as Fleance, Bart actually rejects the part, causing an on-the-spot tryout process to commence. (Eventually we are left with Rod Flanders handling the role, whose innocence is every bit as annoying on stage as he is in cartoon form.) In virtually every instance, the character speaking is immediately recognizable to a dedicated Simpsons fan, but for the sake of the unenlightened, Miller provides pictures of each cartoon character when introduced, along with the name of the role that character played. Surprisingly, the quality of the drawings flashed on the screen rivals that of the original animators. It’s something of a miracle that Miller has been able to take the show on tour for six years without getting sued. The Simpsons is one of the few consistent money-makers in the Fox arsenal; it’s surprising that an actor can borrow their trademarked catch phrases, and even their images, and make a profit in the process. However he does it, more power to him, because he does it extremely well.

The pace of the performance is at times faster than most American audiences can handle. In the span of a minute, Miller seems can go through five different characters, each with different accents, facial expressions, voices, and non-verbal noises. Unfortunately, sometimes I seemed to detect delay in the transition between different characters’ voices, but this problem may due more to my mind being slow than to Miller’s voice(s). Perhaps there’s also a lag due to the physical limitations of the range of the human throat, especially when switching between characters with radically different speaking styles.

Another impressive feat is the actor’s synchronization with the multimedia; music, video, and sound effects are timed precisely with the performance via a custom DVD. While the use of automated effects may be considered cheating to one-man-show purists, it proves invaluable background information on the scene and setting of the play. Without this visual information, those of us who haven’t read MacBeth in a few years would have had a much harder time keeping up with things.

I’m sure that had I managed to re-read MacBeth before attending the performance last Friday, I’d have been able to catch any number of clever adaptations of the script. MacHomer weaves in and out of the script so much that the viewer at times doesn’t notice when ridiculously out of place lines are inserted into the Elizabethan text. My personal favorite comes at the end of an especially well-metered soliloquy when MacHomer does Homer’s drool-voice and declares “Mmmm…iaambic pentaameter.” It’s funny, not only because it’s true, but because it’s exactly what Homer would say there.

In addition to the play itself, the audience is treated to two additional performances. In the first, the Simpsons sing “We Are the World,” a song that raised awareness for something back in the eighties. This song would be impressive by itself, but after an hour of Simpsons impersonations, the audience is both fully convinced of the man’s Springfield adapting abilities and tired of hearing them. As an encore Miller presents twenty-five of the world’s most annoying recording artists (chosen by him) singing “Bohemian Rhapsody.” While the artists chosen may be a few years out of date, the ones I recognized were extremely well impersonated. The Mick Jagger dance alone makes the whole evening worth it.

Fear the scanner.

As a reward for being the top comment-poster, I'm posting this eighth grade picture of Leslie and some other people and me taking second place in the Scholar's Bowl tournament. I wish I could say those were simpler times.

Good enough to eat

or at least to feed on. Now my humble blog can be eaten by various feed readers, including KlipFolio (or at least my copy until I upload it), and various RSS and Atom clients. I'm working on an AvantGo channel as well, for those of you who have wi-fi PDAs and cell phones, or oldskool devices like mine that require hotsyncing before being mobilized. Looks like the AvantGo people want me to pay for distributing content thataway, so you'll have to create a personal channel your own self, but it's not hard.

The theory here is that eventually people will want to know immediately when I've updated this thing. So far, nothing outstanding is coming of it, but I've never been known to do something without overdoing it.

Today hasn't been very productive idea-wise, so if you have a question that you've always wondered about, but your migranes wouldn't let you, send it in to me. So far, ya'll's comments have been pretty sparse, almost as few and far between as my employment history.

From the Can't-get-enough-of-myself Department

Before I lose this link again, here are some tunes I recorded with the Pacific Tech Thursday Swing Band. That's me playing solo trumpet on "Sabor a Mi" and (don't say I didn't warn you) singing on "Put a Lid on It." The first minute or so of "Lid" is brutal, but wait for the scat solo; it should be amusing.

Anyway, the Tide is low again, as they just graduated a half million or so seniors. My sister-to-be-in-law was among them, and looked hip despite her square hat.

I'm all out of inspiration today, although Scott Adams did answer my query. My readers have been silent so far, with the always notable exception of Leslie.

The only good reason for pushing the question on people is in a feeble attempt to push the science vs. religion debate back into the abstract realm where it belongs.

All I've got to look forward to at work now is selling these. The one product in the place where my employee discount doesn't work is, of course, the only one worth buying. Now I have to brainwash myself into believing in the products so I can sell them and not betray my conscience.

Well that was briefly exciting.

So this headhunter sent me an email about a position for a Ph.D. in LA, making way more money than I'm worth. So I called him, but it turns out they were serious about the Ph.D. thing. He said to call back in 5-10 years.

His first question was easy: "Will you move to L.A. for $100,000, yes or no?" but his second question "How many years experience do you have?" was tough.

I guess it's nice to know my resume looks like a Ph.D.'s. I shoulda gone to grad school.

Cinco de Cinco de Cinco

That 5-5-5 deal makes me want some Arby's. Anyway, I went dancing with some Samfordites after swing. One of them wasn't 21, so we were stuck going to Banana Joe's. Fun though. I think I contributed to the delinquency of a Baptist, but that's hard not to do these days.

Oh, I had a epiphaninni today (that's an observation that would be an epiphany if it weren't so stupid). What I noticed was that people used to watch TV shows to live vicariously through characters they could never hope to become, like Superman, or Donna Reed, or Captain Kirk. Now, I find my aspirations lowered to the point that I get excited for people who manage to clean out their basement and have a garage sale. What's sad is, watching those shows makes me feel like I've accomplished something, substituting their successful projects for my own incomplete ones. Sorta like how porn works (from what I've heard).

Well I for one can't wait for the next 05/05/05. A party like this only comes every hundred years. Unless Mexico comes up with another fake holiday in the interim.

I'm gonna go ahead and schedule a party for 06/06/06. Ya'll are all invited.

Update

Looks like all that time on the cutting edge made me sharp enough after all. I'm a bona fide, employed Image Sharpener.

The coolest perk is an excuse to wear all black.

Sorry if the whole hypertext-subtext device is getting old, but it's just a really concise way to write multiple threads at once, and is a pretty good description of what's going on in my head.

Another reason to love the 'loft.

It looks like my day-0ld externally-imposed aspiration of being a grounded flyboy has come to naught. Turns out you have to be off all antidepressants for a year before you can be considered for OCS. That and you need a GPA of 2.5 (regardless of where you got it). The military is probably the only institution that can ask questions about mental health in an interview and get away with it, although I guess technically they never inquired into why I was prescribed the stuff...

Still no answer from the Great Minds on the Hole & My Soul question. We may never know for sure. Sorta like the cat and butter problem: if you affix a piece of bread to the back of a cat, with the butter side facing away from the cat, and then drop the cat-pastry from a tall cliff, how does it land? A cat has to land on its feet, and the bread would have to land butter side down. The guy who asked me this one was of the opinion that the cat and toast just hovered in midair indefinitely. I think the kitty would probably eat the bread eventually, and then fall gently to land on its feet.

Oh, yay, I only lost one week of unemployment, so I'm getting paid for doing this after all. Who'd'a thunk?

There's a new toy at Amazon.com that counts instinces of statistically improbable phrases, which tend to characterize the author's style. Unfortunately, not enough clever authors have sinded on yet to make it worthwhile. Wodehouse and Adams would be interesting to see.

Sharper Image hasn't gotten back to me yet. Maybe the background check came up with some fuzziness. Imagine that. I'm not sure what turned off Radio Shack, but I don't really wanna work there anyway. I just don't have the heart to sell any poor schmuck a cell phone.

Surely the father of Dilbert would know.

Hi,

I had this question on my mind, and I'm submitting it to some of the world's foremost thinkers. I just emailed Kip Throne and Stephen Hawking, and I figure you're probably next in line.

Here goes: Basically, if an astronaut gets too close to the boundary of a black hole and gets sucked in, does his soul escape? If not, can he be said to have really died, or is he stuck forever in an undead state? The laws of physics break down inside one of those (at least as far as physicists can figure (phigure?)), but what about the rules that govern the important stuff?

Don't worry if you can't come up with a good answer. You don't have anything to worry about form Hawking in the comic strip department.

Yours,

Oscar J. Carlton IV
DNRC Member since 2000

And people say I have no humility.

I submitted this query to two people who are decidedly smarter than me, to see if I could stump them. Tell me what ya'll think. (Don't operate heavy machinery within 24 hours of reading this, because you'll probably get dizzy.)

Kip,

I just finished reading A Brief History of Time by that gambling buddy of yours, Dr. Hawking, and came up with a thought experiment that made me scratch my head. He mentions in a couple of instances how unfortunate it would be for an astronaut to be sucked into a black hole, and I was initially inclined to agree with him.

However, even though I don't see a way to survive such a trip, I'm not sure it's possible to die from it either. From a quantum theological perspective, if one is sucked into a black hole and spaghettified beyond all recognition, is his soul able to escape? If not, then there is no way for him or her to reach Heaven, Hell, or Purgatory; he's essentially in limbo for all eternity. Of course, if you can't separate your soul from your corpse, then you can't be sure you're dead.

Ergo, poltergeists could conceivably exist, although they can't do much spooking if they can't escape the black hole. QED.

My head hurts, but I'm just a mere mortal. What do you think? Is the hapless astronaut doomed to be undead forever (although his conception of time in his place of rest is a whole other headache)? Or does the soul eject at the last instant and allow the corporeal components to be compacted into oblivion?

I'm losing sleep over this, Kip, and if you can't answer this paranormal paradox, I'm gonna have to start my own Theogravitational cult.

Thanks,

Oscar J. Carlton IV
Theoretical Engineer and Applied Metaphysicist
Red Necktologies

P.S. Maybe you could consider having NASA sprinkle your ashes into the first event horizon we manage to reach with a probe. Seems fitting, don't you think?

This picture is remarkable only in that it's the first one I took with my digicam. I need a job.

The one on the right is my cousin Jack, in the Caltech class of 2019. On the left is Clayton, his partner in crime, and brother to the cousin^2 in the previous picture.

My cousin's cousin (no relation, at least not by Alabama standards). She tends to be more photogenic than my family.

Apparently I'm not qualified

for Unemployment Compensation. First I didn't find the place in the 7 days they gave me from the time I called the people (b/c the state and local systems don't communicate unless it's in their favor, not mine). If they'd had an online app, it would've saved me hours, but as it was I had to wait on the dude to type my crap in at like 10 words a minute.

Made it to the gym, but didn't last long. The warm-up about killed me. My barber the Colonel's son wants me to be an officer in the Air Force (it's just like being a "civillian in a blue suit"), but you have to run a mile and a half (not to mention being at the mercy of the current c-in-c). Combine that with a 4-year commitment to make 75% of what a comparable civillian position makes, and I think I'll pass over (or under) the wild blue yonder. What's the point if you're too blind to fly anyway? I would look sexy in a blue suit though.

I applied to BP, Apple, Pixar, Cisco, Comcast, and Charter today, among others. I'm just going down the list of Wired's 40 Companies to Watch and using the classifieds in the paper. Naturally, I've had to re-enter the same information close to 200 times by now in slightly different formats for all the different job sites. This is supposed to be the information age; pick a standard and run with it, for the love of Pete.

Since they never read cover letters, and I figure somebody should read this one I did at 3 this morning for Apple:

I wish to obtain a job with an industry-leading or up-and-coming high technology company whose mission I appreciate and whose products I respect. Apple's history in the marketplace at times reads like a romantic novel, and, while I understand the importance it places on gorgeous hardware and smart marketing, I also realize that the secret to its success has always been intuitive, user-centric software. In this area I know I would be an asset to the company creatively and technically. While my credentials may lean toward mechanical engineering and mathematics, don't let that fool you. I've used computers religiously and relentlessly, and can tell which systems were developed to make the users' lives easier and which were made with the programmers' convenience paramount. I know, as Apple obviously understands, that the next era in the information age will come about by refining powerful but awkward technologies into ubiquitous smart tools (and toys) that learn the user's habits instead of the other way around. In the words of Arthur C. Clarke, you know your product has hit home when it becomes "indistinguishable from magic."

If you haven't noticed, I tend to alternate between naive optimism and complete misanthropy.

One of the few pictures I've successfully taken of animate objects. They had to hold that pose for like 45 seconds for me to screw up twice and let the flash recharge both times.

I remember LEGOs being bigger...it doesn't look like a thousand, does it?

Another gem from my collection

I'm trying to remember what the source for this article was, but all I know is that the athletes didn't think it was very funny. Hopefully time has healed most of their wounds, b/c this may sting a little if it hasn't.

Caltech's hoops IQ lacking
By PAUL OBERJUERGE, Sports Editor
REDLANDS - Hey, Coach Downtrodden: Stop your whining. You think your program is hopeless? No talent, no support, no history?

Stow it.

Check out Caltech's basketball program. Then you will realize your troubles are absolute zero. As solvable as Euclidian geometry or classical mechanics. Not even worth discussing.

Caltech plays NCAA college basketball. Well, it schedules games and has kids who show up. Whether what it does is basketball is open to debate.

Caltech is perhaps the nation's best school, academically. It is small. It is elite. It is lousy with National Merit Scholars, kids with IQs off the charts, and every second guy scored 800 on the math portion of the SAT.

Heck of a place to go to school.

Hell of a place to try to win basketball games.

Caltech is a member of the Southern California Intercollegiate Athletic Conference, like Redlands and Occidental and those folks, and Caltech is having a bit of trouble keeping up.

To the tune of 193 consecutive SCIAC men's basketball defeats. Going back to 1985.

Now that's a program in a black hole.

The 193rd consecutive defeat came at the hands of Redlands on Wednesday, a 137-68 setback that, get this, actually wasn't all that bad a night for the meager Beavers.

Their points as a percentage of Redlands' score, a number Caltechsters can calculate in their heads, was just shy of 50 percent. Which is much better than that 85-27 game with Claremont last week.

Not that it made first-year coach Roy Dow happy. You chat with Dow, and you realize this guy is hot as a white dwarf. He doesn't like losing. Even after he tells you, "Every single guy on this roster would get cut by every other team in this league.'

Decades of Caltech rationalization of its hoops status doesn't achieve critical mass with Dow, formerly of Maine's Colby College. "No moral victories is what I told them,' Dow said, fixing his glare on a reporter.

In that case, Caltech victories will be as few and far between as five-digit primes. The Beavers are 1-18 this season, overall, with a victory over somebody called Cooper Union to open the season.

At school, Caltech's guys solve problems for profs. On the court, they create them for coaches.

How to put this delicately ... These guys can't play.

They are short, slow, weak, stiff and clumsy. They can walk and chew gum at the same time, but it seems to require their utmost concentration. Factor in opponents and a basketball, and, Houston, we've got a problem.

It comes as no surprise when Dow says only three of his guys played varsity prep basketball. We believe him. Especially when we saw some of Caltech's reserves. Guys who can't dribble or shoot. Who wouldn't play for most of the county's smaller high schools. They understand the parabola behind draining the three; it's getting the muscles to cooperate that is the killer.

There also is the matter of distractions. Like, these guys are wading through a curriculum that would make a Rhodes scholar blanch. They are known to skip a practice or 10 to grapple till 3 a.m. with quantum physics and thermodynamics.

Caltech's best player, senior 6-4 forward Jonathan Bird, "has missed 75 percent of our practices and 50 percent of our games,' Dow said. Studying. Imagine that. Bird will be absent for Caltech's game Saturday because he won an internship that will have him at the observatory on Mt. Palomar that night. Slacker.

The Beavers never quit, but they were no match for Redlands. It was as competitive as a computer vs. an abacus. Redlands' trapping defense forced Caltech into 44 turnovers (dribbling; hard!), and the Bulldogs all night basically scored two points for every one by Caltech. Even when Redlands coach Gary Smith plumbed the farthest reaches of his bench.

How to get better? Uh, that's a problem, too, at a school where the average incoming student (in a class of only 250) scored 1510 on the SAT, including 774 on math. "You don't normally associate basketball talent with the profile of our average student,' said Mark Harriman, associate athletic director.

Caltech won't cut the athletic department some slack and let in some "dumb jock' who managed a mere 1400 on the SAT. So that is a dead end.

Also fruitless is the idea of creating your own talent. Every Caltech team is thin on experience because kids get tired of losing, and they get busy with classical waves and kinetic theory.

Caltech has a plan, though. The Beavers are going proactive. Instead of opening practice and see which future Mission Control engineers turn up, they have identified kids who have a shot at qualifying academically, and e-mailed every last one of them to see if they play basketball.

Dow said they have found a dozen-plus geniuses who also can play a little. He figures if he can get a couple of those guys into school, "a 6-7 guy and an athletic guard,' and fill around them with the more coordinated of the Einsteins who just show up ... well, Caltech isn't going to go another 193 SCIAC games without winning one.

Said Harriman: "We want them to excel, academically, but we also want them to take the interest and commitment to being on the team. The byproduct may be a loss, but we don't want it to be the expectation of a loss.'

Said Dow: "Check back in two years. We plan to win.'

Hmmm. Well. These Caltech guys are known for getting things done, when they put their minds to it.

"Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum sonatur."

Translation: " Whatever is said in Latin sounds profound." -unknown

Overqualified is the New Underqualified.

A certain retail establishment, which shall remain nameless, has informed me that I flunked their personality test. That's not the first time that has happened to me, but I would prefer it to be last. The fact is, I have a rare personality type, and these little automated people-sifters don't seem to know what to do with me. I'm like a Canadian quarter in the Chuck E. Cheese Token Vending Machine.

I had another interivew tonight, and with it a third grade level math test. Unfortunately, the numbskulls who wrote the test numbered the bubbles, so the answers looked like

o 1. 2
o 2. 2.43
o 3. 849
o 4. 384
0 5. 84.9

Combine that with the fact that they were too cheap to use original forms, and the xerox machine made the plusses look like division symbols, and you can understand my befuddlement.

Anyway, I felt generous today and gave away another billion-dollar idea.

I'm gonna start a think tank, or maybe a theoretical think tank, which would be cheaper and accomplish the same thing.

Recognized at last.

Finally, I have a place to stick all the hair-brained schemes that none of my friends will listen to anymore. I'll send ideas there that are at a later state of cohesiveness/delusion than the ones that I introduce here, but it's all me.

My innaugural invention is up now. It's not patented, so have at it.

From my muckraking days at Pacific Tech:

From the California Tech, ca. February 2002.

Until today I didn’t appreciate the subtle difference between good modern art and bad engineering, but now I know. For one of them, you flame out of Caltech, and for the other, they pay you two million dollars.

I’m starting to notice a pattern here. I spend the prime of my life trying to hold on to the last few remaining scraps of sanity, and then I find out that we have yet another previously unheard-of faculty committee has been tirelessly working to solve a nonexistent problem. Instead finding practical solutions to ever-present woes, the current administration prefers to discover hidden ones. These problems assigned to committees of overeducated people with too much time on their hands, who then set about trying to outdo the other committees in their race for a panacea.

This week it’s the Institute Art Committee. What’s funny is that, while I am an artist at this very Institute, I hadn’t heard of this committee until today. The committee’s task, according to its first chairman, is to "bring scientists and artists together in a dynamic, informal relationship and see what happens." In the present case, they’ve found a renowned sculptor, Richard Serra, and allowed him to survey the lawn connecting the Beckman Institute and the Broad Center.

For those readers unfamiliar with Serra’s work, he can be described as a minimalist maximus. He takes a simple idea, finds a ton of steel and applies as much force as necessary to mangle it until it’s a work of art. Whereas some artists are content to take a mere canvas or twelve-foot statue to get their points across, Serra takes a modicum of inspiration and a heap of steel or lead and creates something. His gimmick is shear size and power put into the production, and the eventual result is of only secondary importance. Speaking on the nature of his creative process, Serra stated, "you don't become involved with the psychology of what you're making, nor do you become involved with the after image of what it's going to look like." I wish I could design with that kind of freedom, but lawyers tend to file more malpractice suits against engineering firms than art studios.

The great thing about having such a gigantic canvas is that the work, once created, is impossible to ignore. While passers-by may not like it, they’re stuck with it. Since the structures are stationary, neigh indestructible, and critically acclaimed as art, poor unenlightened critics are forced either to praise the work with vague sentences with big words, or risk sounding ignorant by voicing displeasure at something that can’t be changed.

Don’t get me wrong here. I get as excited as anyone about huge pieces of metal, especially if they’re shiny. The only complaint I have about the proposed structure is that it isn’t anywhere near big enough. For two million dollars, the thing ought to be visible from space. People shouldn’t be complaining about not being able to traverse the Beckman lawn; they should be more concerned that the new sculpture blocks out the sun entirely for miles around. The neighbors should cringe in fear of the mightiness that is the Sculpture, and it should inspire future generations to wonder what god-like creatures could have erected such a sublime object.

This artist is, disappointingly, not as ambitious as the pyramid designers. Knowing that Pasadena, while on the whole an art-loving, open-minded group of well-read citizens, would likely disapprove of anything more spectacular than the Rose Parade, he compromised and scaled down the project. The result is a lightening bolt-shaped wall sloping diagonally across the lawn, trying to bridge the distinct architectural styles of BI and the Broad Center. In trying to please everybody, and ended up with a rapidly growing contingent which vows to fight the thing. Even as you read this, dozens of members of the long dormant guardian society Techers for the Eradication of Really Random Iconoclastic Big, Long EyeSores (TERRIBLES) have staked themselves to the Beckman lawn in order to prevent the wall from scarring the natural beauty of the scene.

If the art committee truly wanted a sculpture to capture the essence of Caltech life, they shouldn’t have looked this hard. I feel personally slighted as an accomplished theoretical engineer and artist (in residence, come to think of it) I was not consulted to assist in the design or building of one of these things. What better preparation for abstract sculpture can there be than mechanical engineering, jazz, and ADHD? Caltech students have a legacy of constructing site-specific works of art that increase the enjoyment of the space around them and add entropy to the system, and I’m perturbed that the Art Committee thinks we need outside help in shaking things up.

On the other hand, elements among the higher-ups have been slowly depriving the students of the freedom necessary for art and science to thrive. The music department has seen cuts in funding, and the art department has made cutbacks as well. It just doesn’t make sense to me to take money given for public art and contract an outsider to do our sculpting for us. I suppose the prevailing theory is that the two pursuits are mutually exclusive. Mr. Serra may be an excellent artist, but he isn’t one of us. He doesn’t know torments we put ourselves through, or the reasons we’re willing to go through them. He’s never had the joy of falling asleep in 22 Gates, or the pain of hitting his head on the dryer door in the laundry room. He’s never been run down by a Daihatsu, had to register for a course three times before getting noticed by the Registrar, tried to write a working program in a language that hadn’t been fully written, let alone tested. I don’t imagine he’s fought off scores of underclassmen for strawberry donuts or been unwittingly made a California resident by guilt-tripping signature-mongers outside of Target.

While I’m off the subject, I’d like to point out that the Broad Center is one of the coolest buildings I’ve ever seen. It’s all new-fangled, smooth on the sides but with sharp corners everywhere, and shiny to boot. What makes the Broad Center a masterpiece is that its complex and intricate form doesn’t preclude it from its function; its walls are aesthetically pleasing while still supporting a roof. As far as I’m concerned, the building itself more than artistic enough to meet the public art requirement in the Master Plan for which Vectors is proposed. People will be fixating so much on its splendor that they’ll trip over the sculpture.

Now if Serra could build us some eigenvectors, then he’d be an artist worthy of Caltech.