Slumberlord
Friday, June 30, 2006
Reversal
Do you think goats believe in their own Satan, just like people-Satan, except he has the head and upper body of a goat and the hideous fleshy thighs, long legs and five-toed feet of a human being?
Do you think goats believe in their own Satan, just like people-Satan, except he has the head and upper body of a goat and the hideous fleshy thighs, long legs and five-toed feet of a human being?
Monday, June 19, 2006
Learning, so fun
Powers of Ten
I love picnics as much as the next person, but every time I attend one I find myself asking the same clichéd questions, like “What would I see if I zoomed in on a carbon atom in my hand right now?”
Really, can you think of anything more fun than revisiting filmstrips you were shown in high school? I sure can't! “Powers of Ten” was an IBM-sponsored documentary and it's probably the "Citizen Kane" of the educational short. It begins with a lakeside picnic, then zooms way far out into space, adding a zero to the distance in meters every 10 seconds. It then comes back and does the opposite, zooming in closer and closer on a picnicker's hand until it gets to the atomic level.
"Powers of Ten" has Mickey Rooney-esque narration, a noodling organ soundtrack, and even manages some philosophical insight as it notes the similarities between the world as it appears from incredibly far away and the world as seen from impossibly close. Thirty years of scientific progress since "Powers'" release means that the film is not entirely accurate today, but there's only one logical flaw that I found distracting: The idea that Chicagoans, beyond perhaps some misdirected Bears tailgaters, would picnic on the lake in October.
Powers of Ten
I love picnics as much as the next person, but every time I attend one I find myself asking the same clichéd questions, like “What would I see if I zoomed in on a carbon atom in my hand right now?”
Really, can you think of anything more fun than revisiting filmstrips you were shown in high school? I sure can't! “Powers of Ten” was an IBM-sponsored documentary and it's probably the "Citizen Kane" of the educational short. It begins with a lakeside picnic, then zooms way far out into space, adding a zero to the distance in meters every 10 seconds. It then comes back and does the opposite, zooming in closer and closer on a picnicker's hand until it gets to the atomic level.
"Powers of Ten" has Mickey Rooney-esque narration, a noodling organ soundtrack, and even manages some philosophical insight as it notes the similarities between the world as it appears from incredibly far away and the world as seen from impossibly close. Thirty years of scientific progress since "Powers'" release means that the film is not entirely accurate today, but there's only one logical flaw that I found distracting: The idea that Chicagoans, beyond perhaps some misdirected Bears tailgaters, would picnic on the lake in October.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?
As mentioned some time back, I joined a fantasy baseball league this year. Not so many months ago I assumed fantasy baseball was some sort of MMORPG in which a goblin might try to sacrifice bunt a fellow goblin to second against a hard-throwing Elven righty. Not so.
I have since learned about the only slightly less nebbish truth, in which armchair analysts draft, trade, bench, and play actual players from Major League Baseball. The thing is that you don’t really do anything. All the action is motivated by the statistics “your” players create in real life. Those all feed into online systems and determine how well your fictional team played in a particular week.
It’s really just a matter of figuring out which players are going to get better and which are going to get worse, and at which times; it’s very similar to the stock market, another hobby people pursue without pulling muscles or straining their thumbs.
The idea behind signing up for a fantasy league was that it would get me acclimated to teams outside the American League Central, where my favorite team, the Chicago White Sox, plays many of its games. It seems to have worked, even if it does have me watching otherwise inconsequential games, hoping for the most absurd outcomes that will benefit my team (i.e., I want to see Juan Cruz pitch eight shutout innings against Cincinnati, then have Austin Kearns hit a grand slam in the ninth off a Diamondbacks reliever, and finally let Tim Coffey pick up the save. Last year, I had no idea who these guys were).
Some bad choices and some bad luck led to a mediocre start, but I’ve salvaged things with some quick adjustments and savvy pickups. The similarity to my real life is not lost on me, and I’ve begun to think about everything in baseball terms.
If I go on a few boring dates with a girl and decide not to call her again, I’ve put her on waivers. When I go to the grocery store, do I buy the streaky power-hitting bananas, which look good now and have vitamins, but won’t stay fresh very long? Or do I go with the OBP, carbohydrates and steady consistency of a box of spaghetti?
This disturbing habit has so far stayed on the “not crazy” side of the foul line, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before googling faltering closers every 20 minutes to get a read on their potential replacements seeps into real life and culminates with men in white coats hauling me off to a nice, quiet place after I try mishear a friend’s invitation to stop by for a drink as a threat to demote me to AAA ball, and react violently.
As mentioned some time back, I joined a fantasy baseball league this year. Not so many months ago I assumed fantasy baseball was some sort of MMORPG in which a goblin might try to sacrifice bunt a fellow goblin to second against a hard-throwing Elven righty. Not so.
I have since learned about the only slightly less nebbish truth, in which armchair analysts draft, trade, bench, and play actual players from Major League Baseball. The thing is that you don’t really do anything. All the action is motivated by the statistics “your” players create in real life. Those all feed into online systems and determine how well your fictional team played in a particular week.
It’s really just a matter of figuring out which players are going to get better and which are going to get worse, and at which times; it’s very similar to the stock market, another hobby people pursue without pulling muscles or straining their thumbs.
The idea behind signing up for a fantasy league was that it would get me acclimated to teams outside the American League Central, where my favorite team, the Chicago White Sox, plays many of its games. It seems to have worked, even if it does have me watching otherwise inconsequential games, hoping for the most absurd outcomes that will benefit my team (i.e., I want to see Juan Cruz pitch eight shutout innings against Cincinnati, then have Austin Kearns hit a grand slam in the ninth off a Diamondbacks reliever, and finally let Tim Coffey pick up the save. Last year, I had no idea who these guys were).
Some bad choices and some bad luck led to a mediocre start, but I’ve salvaged things with some quick adjustments and savvy pickups. The similarity to my real life is not lost on me, and I’ve begun to think about everything in baseball terms.
If I go on a few boring dates with a girl and decide not to call her again, I’ve put her on waivers. When I go to the grocery store, do I buy the streaky power-hitting bananas, which look good now and have vitamins, but won’t stay fresh very long? Or do I go with the OBP, carbohydrates and steady consistency of a box of spaghetti?
This disturbing habit has so far stayed on the “not crazy” side of the foul line, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before googling faltering closers every 20 minutes to get a read on their potential replacements seeps into real life and culminates with men in white coats hauling me off to a nice, quiet place after I try mishear a friend’s invitation to stop by for a drink as a threat to demote me to AAA ball, and react violently.
