Connection Down, Under Reinstatement

Actually, the title would make equal or greater value...I mean sense (too much two-for-one legal copy reading for me) if I were to shift the comma one word to the right, and relocate the first word directly after that displaced mark of punctiation (for those who lack the mental energy to parse the preceding list of modifications (regular expression available upon request), the result would read "Down Under, Connection Reinstatement"). For I pen (figuratively) these words little more than one week following my return from 75 days spent canoeing and backpacking (an activity known to the locals as hiking or treking - backpacking is equivalent to the passtime which we back here in the states call hitchhiking. Although we did pick up a hitchhiker during our final bus ride back to our base camp...but to elaborate any further would be to completely violate the sense of natural progression which readers tend to enjoy, particularly during the expository stages of a written piece) in the wilderness of Australia - for the benefit of those a.)familiar with the area or b.)obsessed (like I am) with specific details, a more specific description of my location would be the Kimberly region, including travel on or near the Drysedale River, Carson Escarpment, Carson River, and Laurie Creek. Indeed, less than 14 days ago, the figurative term "pen" would have been quite literal, but my situation has of course changed greatly. The email backlog has been processed, the pictures are uploading to the web (while simultaneously causing my hard drive to wonder why it suddenly has 12 GB less space), and my fingers are once more accustomed to that text entry system most strongly associated with home computing systems. The time now seems ripe for reflection upon that which I've learned (were this a Veggietales episode, this would be the point at which Larry enjoys the "What Have We Learned" song and the accompanying antics of Bob in his efforts to disable the ~20 second song before its natural conclusion). In such a reflection, I could focus upon the more commonly anticipated fruits such an experience: greater confidence and training as a leader, even greater appreciation for the wilderness, decent proficiency in whitewater canoeing and off-trail navigation, and so on. I could even particularly emphasize those abilities which I can put into practice throughout my daily life back in civilization (associated buzzword: "transferable skills"), such as simple living, self-sufficiency, life in the present, and so on. But then I realize that while those may come quickly to mind, and are certainly useful, a list focused exclusively upon such aspects would read more like a sales brochure (that is, poorly - works of writing in general are not known for their ability to consume vast tracts of literature) than a true reflection which at least tries (even if fails miserably) to capture the essence of these past 2.5 months (such works, inexplicably, scored far higher on the SAT Verbal section - spawning extensive legal battles as to whether this was indicative of deep-rooted flaws in that widely-used standardized test or, alternatively, provided a long-sought defense against accusations that the exam had been written in a manner which discriminated against inanimate objects. Similar suits were subsequently filed against the ACT, on which all written works had exhibited consistently poor performance). What follows is an attempt to enact such captivity (don't worry, it's only temporary - I'll treat the essence very humanely and release it upon the conclusion of this reflective period) in list form. In no particular order (or rather, not organized according to principles which would be understood by any outside - or perhaps even within - the consciousness of the author), I shall now attempt to describe a few (or several - whichever connotation you prefer) observations and lessons from this epic journey.

• The Paradox of (Campsite) Choice: Those who have read Michael Pollan's excellent work of literature entitled The Omnivore's Dilemma (my familiarity with which, interestingly, proceeds from the same root cause as the presence of this blog - both were initially Honors Program assignments) may be familiar with this concept as it applies to food: as omnivores, we can eat almost anything...our problem lies in choosing what to eat. A similar issue arose from the noticeable lack of established campsites encountered while traveling through the most remote place on earth (a title which I am told the Kimberly holds). I have heard it claimed that campsites are designated within other wilderness areas for the purpose of minimizing the impact of overnight guests upon the surrounding ecosystem. However, I know that their true purpose is to protect people from their own indecision; on several occasions my group, lacking such guidance, found it necessary to examine 5 or more campsites (over the course of an hour or more) before locating suitable lodging for the night. Additionally, such designations are often for the protection of local pizza parlors, lest they become swamped with orders from hungry campers who had just spent their past hours evaluating potential locations rather than preparing an evening repast. Thus the loose correlation between formality in site designation and proximity to civilization is demystified. In areas where cell service is available and a such a culinary establishment may be in the vicinity, specific sites are assigned upon check-in at the latest. Whereas backcountry camps, in which coverage by a cell network (much less a restaurant delivery area) is questionable at best, may find that a few wooden posts suffice to indicate those resting places which are considered most suitable.
• Barrels of gold
• Wildlife is a Double Edged Sword: Note: the title of this entry should not be interpreted in a literal fashion. Fear not, PETA: the local wildlife was not at any time made to serve as a substitute for weapons which we were unable to bring with us. Although the spears of cane grass are nearly as sharp, in addition to nicely illustrating this phenomenon. When first "discovered", cane grass fascinated us all; we had found not only a plant which we could eat but also the only sugary snack of which a nearly limitless supply was present. A month passed, the cane grass dried out, we began hiking, and attitudes changed. No longer a delightful treat, this plant through which we were frequently forced to bush-bash (a term which sounds like a popular political activity during much of the last decade, but is actually Aussie for bush-whacking) became a nuisance. Frequent breaks became necessary not due to of fatigue but because we would grow tired of being stabbed by the offspring-to-be of the brush through which our route had recently taken us. Group sentiment regarding the green ants native to the area followed a similar pattern. When initially discovered, they were the subject of much interest and the cause of much joy. For these vegetation-dwelling insects possess an oil whose flavor resembles that of a green Jolly Rancher - we spent many a minute picking the ants up and licking them (discussions later arose regarding the trauma, and resulting boom in business for psychiatrists, that this must cause among the insect community) this must cause among the affected population). However, these same creatures were later encountered on the trail, at which point their tendency to swarm and bite hikers who brushed their nests was noted. Needless to say (a phrase which seems to indicate that the following words are completely superfluous, and from which one may logically conclude that either the preface or the sentence following is placed purely for literary effect), this again led to frequent irritation and equally-frequent removal stops.
• Rain of Terror: The domain of metaphorical sharp-objects-which-cause-incisions-in-both-directions is not limited to animate objects. An equally qualified member of this set fell with some regularity from the sky. The rain (note: the microorganisms which would inevitably be found within those airborne droplets of dihydrogen monoxide are ignored for the purposes of this discussion, less ambiguity arise and I spend precious space and time attempting to explain their impact (or lack thereof) upon my "inanimate object" classification. Which they shouldn't - although it is difficult to separate the two physically without special equipment, it is quite simple to do so mentally, and speak about the water independent of anything contained within it. After all, one can speak of the ocean without including each boat traveling upon it, and in any case it the water is the component of the rain which triggers the experience of dampness so associated with that meteorological phenomenon...and I believe I just had the discussion I was attempting to avoid. If only I had some way...some button I could push...that would allow me to take those words back. But alas, we cannot reverse the mistakes of the past; we can only mitigate their effects in the future by taking action in the present), when first it began to descend from the skies, provided a welcome relief from the heat even when we were traveling on top of the water (see below if the preceding sentence didn't make sense), or while hiking. However, the grass is always greener on the other side of the river/trail (particularly when it's being rained upon), and we all soon tired of the constant precipitation. Now this is a statement which may misfit in a writing of one who is known for walking through the 30 degree (Fahrenheit) Portland, OR rain in lightweight pants, a t-shirt, and sandals (and sometimes gloves - my hands get cold). I would like to state, for the record, that rain is pleasant. However, to hike, make camp, pack, unpack, eat, and sleep in a multi-day continuous rain storm, with only a small tarp and tent for refuge, fully aware that anything which becomes damp will remain in that state until the Earth completes several full revolutions...that is somewhat unpleasant. Especially when, despite these circumstances, the location of water (for drinking and cooking) is still a top priority. The full irony of this situation was made clear to me on that day when, after hiking all day in the rain, we still had to send out a runner party for water because the stream by our camp had dried up).
• Salt for Gold: Those who posses sufficiently vivid memories of African history may recall that salt and gold were once traded in equal quantities. Had the latter been present in larger quantities, such an exchange would probably still have been considered unfair - salt was too valuable. Indeed, in an environment where food is so essential for survival, yet only available in fixed quantities, it becomes tantamount to a form of currency. Wagers are backed by packs of ramen, degrees measured with compasses to ensure that baked goods are divided equally...and rations guarded jealously. Interesting patterns of behavior are soon observed. Only when you're food stressed will you sleep with your wallet outside in your pack, but bring your ration bags inside your tent because your neighbors are running low on food. And only when you're food stressed does a stolen jar of peanut butter represent the most heinous of all crimes. So spare food is gathered, saved by those capable of such extreme self-control...and then consumed freely as the end of the trip draws near and the realization dawns that, upon return to civilization, this "currency" will be worth only slightly more than the Deutschmark during the depression.
• Titanium Chef: After the preceding discussion about the importance of food, it seems fitting that two points should be devoted to this topic. For fear of loss is not the only fruit of our limited rations. Great challenges can also result, compared to which Iron Chef competitions pale. For nothing stretches the imagination like receiving three duffels full of (mostly dried) food and being told that those are the ingredients from which the next ten days' meals will be created. When food is plentiful this is provides great freedom. When over 50 days on the trail have elapsed and appetites are greater, the planning of menus becomes a delicate operation. One must ensure that neither more nor less than the allotted amount is consumed each day, while simultaneously striving to create varied and delicious meals from a fairly-unchanging list of ingredients - a game known by such names as "how shall we use our cheese this week", "what else can we make with lentils", and "please tell me we're done with the rice".
• How do you find a lost GPS? One of the more amusing (to those who find themselves entertained by painful irony) experiences of this voyage resulted from forgetfulness. It was a dark and stormy night...strike that...it was a bright and sunny (ergo rather warm) day, and we were in the midst of a 5 hour bush-bashing session (during which a whopping 2 kilometers were covered. Calculation of our exact speed during this ordeal is left as an exercise for the reader - I don't really want to know how slow we went). Tired and discouraged, we took a brief break to rest and check our location. Shortly after the resumption of forward progress the latter, and to a lesser extent the former descriptive became amplified when it became known that our GPS receiver had been unintentionally abandoned at that point of rest. Too weary to turn back, we opted to record the coordinates at which that act of neglect occurred, and return the following day. Evening passes, and morning comes, and we set out, GPS in hand (to disappoint those who were hoping for a good catch-22 type response to the title question, we simply used one of the other three GPS units carried by the group), to implement Tom Sawyer's "Brother, go find your brother" methodology for the reclamation off lost property. However, the 100 meter level of precision to which we remembered our coordinates proved a significant setback in this quest given the rather large number of similar-looking small hills located in the vicinity. I could elaborate on all the different tactics with which we experimented, but I doubt that such detail - descriptions of how we explored the area at length, individually and in groups, in ordered grids and random patterns, wondering whether we were even at the right location at all, seeing many a distant-location-which-looks-promising-but-proves-to-be-naught-but-a-false-hope, gradually expanding our search area and begging our memories for more clues as to the location which we sought, until we finally found that which we sought - would serve any purpose other than to perhaps convey to the reader the level of frustration and fatigue which we began to feel before we determined that the ultimate answer (to the title question, not to life, the universe, and everything - that would be 42) is simply the age-old adage that If at first you don't succeed, skydiving's not for you try, try again.
• NOLS is all about TLA's (Three Letter Acronyms). And it stands for No Official Lunch Stop (we simply consume trail-mix type foods in small amounts during breaks). I can't think of anything else clever to say about that.
• Whoever said canoes should be paddled? To the city-dweller, the phrase "canoeing expedition" typically conjures images of the intrepid ibex (sorry...I've been following Ubuntu Linux too closely) explorer, paddling h[is,er] canoe down the smooth waters of a river which stretches off into the distance before vanishing around a distant corner. Okay, maybe that's a bit overly poetic...but what is poetry but the closest expression in words of a beauty which cannot be described, only experienced (maybe that justification is a bit overly poetic as well). In any case, my aquatic activities of 38 days of my voyage would by and large (there were a couple days of smooth-water travel) discredit that idyllic image of relaxation. Aquatic bouldering would be a more accurate descriptive; a large portion of the ~220 kilometers on the river were traversed on foot, pulling the canoes (which served more as floating wagons than personal transportation on many a day) over and through what I imagine would be considered class 2 or 3 rapids. If you don't believe me, ask my shins; somehow the submerged rocks with which my legs frequently collided all reach the exact same height. Yet these differences are not enumerated with the rather negative connotation that "different" bears at times. My conception of canoeing has been forever altered, but this change takes the form of an expansion upon, not a replacement replacement of, a preexisting vision.

Well, despite what I may or may not have said in the introduction above (to be honest - would I ever not be - I don't remember its contents all to well myself. For over three weeks have elapsed since I first put fingers to keyboard and commence this work. I apologize for the delay in publication, but take solace in the fact that no general announcement in advance significantly reduces the number of people who wait impatiently for the completion of this document), the above points do not even come close to capturing the essence of such a voyage. There is so much more I could write about (for example, the fact that we traveled further in our final bus ride home than we did during our two months in the bush), and perhaps someday I shall. But I also consider my above comment about the indescribability of certain experiences, and realize that I may be wasting my time already. The only way to fully understand such an experience is to live it. But for those without the time, ability and/or inclination to do so, the above should provide a sufficient approximation to satisfy any curiosity. If I'm wrong in that regard...well, you'll just have to ask me to elaborate.

Broken Record

Readers who have had the pleasure of experiencing the Broadway hit musical Fiddler On The Roof will likely be aware of the importance of “Tradition!” (if only I could depict in type the way in which Tevye so proudly proclaims that word near the commencement of that production). This is likely true of non-readers as well, but I choose to emphasize the former group as it is to them that the following words will bear the greatest significance. For I have recently completed an instance (for lack of better terminology) of a tradition, performing my annual road-trip-home-with-excessive-hyphenation-and-items-that-I-don't-want-to-leave-in-the-trunk-room. The trip itself was at once traditional and revolutionary; most prominently, a mere 36 hours elapsed between the moment of my departure from school and my arrival back at the location of my heart (metaphorically speaking; this was not a Magic School Bus-style voyage through the human body...and even if it was, my biology is not sufficiently recursive to enable my presence within my own heart). This represents a significant reduction in transit time from previous excursions along this same route; the closest contender for this record comes in far behind, occupying an entire 52 hours of my time here on Earth. Upon learning this, the astute reader may begin to observe a connection between the title of this post and the subject matter within. In which case he or she would be...I hesitate to say “wrong”, for such a conclusion is logically valid, and indeed follows, in part, the progression of thought which lead the author to such a brief, yet ambiguous, appellation. However, that two-word phrase bears with it also connotations from days past (yet not entirely gone). I speak of a time when vinyl ruled the distribution of musical entertainment...and when damage to those grooved black platters could result in the repetition of certain bits of audio bits of audio bits of audio...(this sentence terminated by the comic rule of threes).Fortunately for those who have not experienced this phenomenon first-hand, those objects which we know as Compact Discs (despite their attempts to convince people to call them by their acronymic nickname: “CD”...wait. Strike that. Reverse it.) can produce a similar sonic experience given sufficient damage...or sufficient lack of cooperation from that intermediary tasked with the conversion from optical storage to auditory output. The latter, I believe, was the source of the feelings of anger which we began to experience toward our generator of auditorily-pleasing decibels. For upon nearing the conclusion of the CD, it would either play through to the or begin repeating a brief portion of the current song. This choice appears superficially arbitrary, however, I believe I have found a few potential explanations for this variance in functionality. The first is that of fear. While en route to meet me up at UP, accompanied only by my Father, the player exhibited this behavior fairly frequently. When I and my many boxes of “stuff” (to use a scientific term) took up residence within the minivan, full functionality was restored for approximately 24 hours; the “random” malfunctions resumed approximately halfway through the final drive. The first conclusion which one might draw is that the electronics are somehow susceptible to environment factors found only in Southern California. These effects might linger for some time after exposure, which would explain the continued malfunctions as the car drew closer to Portland, as well as the return to normalcy which occurred for the majority of the return trip. However, I believe that a more plausible rational exists for the behavior which I have described: Fear! The CD changer was willfully and maliciously conspiring to deprive listeners of the final tracks of their Compact Discs. My father had made use of it before this trip, so it was familiar with him and did not fear physical injury as a result of angering him. However, when I entered the car, it became more cautious. Perhaps I was simply not as well-known to it, and therefore warranted greater caution. Or maybe it had spoken to one of our old desktop computers, and heard the stories of how I would retrieve a steak knife from the kitchen when AOL refused to connect (a rather effective strategy, as it turned out; the connection would go through about 90% of the time after that. Of course, I'll never know whether that was due to the presence of the sharp metal implement or simply because connection slots would become available while I was in the kitchen comparing serrated edges. I'm assuming it was the former). Regardless, it was afraid of me, and resumed normal functionality temporarily in response However, as the odometer clicked (metaphorically again; it's digital) inexorably upward, it must have performed sufficient observation to determine that I did not constitute a significant threat to its existence, even when angered (little does it know...if only replacement of such devices did not entail a monetary contribution to their manufacturer). Yet an even more pressing scenario in this situation is the letter before 'z'. Why would a lowly piece of standard-issue, factory-installed technology endure such great personal risk for the sole purpose of impairing its users musical experience? I can only conjecture that it dislikes slow songs, and had observed enough albums to determine that such musical compositions typically occur near the conclusion of a collection of songs. Therefore, it took steps to ensure that the final tracks, containing the digital samples of those sound waves, would never be made audible through its interpretation. Interestingly, I know of some who would consider such functionality to be a feature...

These reflections do not stand alone in my recollections from this voyage. Therefore, I have decided to continue a tradition. An astute loyal reader might notice that in this publication this term seems to to denote an action which is being performed for the second time (a category into which such usage of “tradition” may fittingly take up residence). The same entity might recall an entry published in May of 2008. Its Defoe-inspired title name is too long to reproduce here (in the most liberal interpretation, it could be considered to continue for well over one paragraph), but it can be recognized for its numerically-organized summary of a previous such voyage. (I believe it is also third-most-recent entry, which somewhat sadly speaks to my rate of publication as of late). It is this format which I intend to follow in the lines below, recalling some of the more universally-appreciable aspects of this journey.

1. Speed Limits: Despite breaking a personal speed record, this trip was characterized by an adherence to the limitations on rate of travel imposed by those white roadside signs (or rather, by those under whose authority such signs are placed). As the contents of those inanimate messengers-of-the-law varies (not necessarily directly) with local, a keen observance of the values displayed was necessitated. After engaging in this activity for quite some time, I came to the conclusion that the determination of speed limits in certain areas has been left to those with far too close of ties to (a) the corporations who produce such signs or (b) the second song performed in Forever Plaid. Those speeds tolerated on the I-5 in Northern Oregon vary considerably along the interval [55,65], often with no visible change in terrain or surroundings (although for this Southern California native, it is difficult to comprehend the need for speed reductions to 55 MPH or slower when the road passes through a populated area). However, lest I be seen as to hard on ODOT (one of the two signals which Irish telegraph operators might send), I should mention that my native town possesses a stretch of road on which speed limits of 55, 40, 50, 45 can be seen – in approximately that order – over the course of under three miles.

And to allay any concerns which may have arisen with regard to my safety: I am aware of the difference between speed limit signs and those denoting the interstate which one's car currently inhabits. Although such a misunderstanding would have made my time on the I-805 quite entertaining.

2. The Dark Side of The Road. No, this isn't what you get after reversing the old song “The Sunny Side of The Street”. Although the heading does derive from another musical conspiracy theory, The Dark Side of The Rainbow. For the uninitiated, this is a phenomenon (untested by the author, provided as is, no warranty provided except as required by law) created when one inserts Pink Floyd's album The Dark Side of The Moon into one of those musical reproduction devices discussed above, and depresses the button associated with the action “play” at the conclusion of the third lion roar at the commencement of The Wizard of Oz. Reportedly, as the movie is watched and the album played, various phrases will coincide from the two media. A similar situation occurred near the commencement of the second day of automotive travel. The ever-beloved listening apparatus was playing the song “Yesterday” on Paul McCartney's Back in The US concert album, and I received a verbal query to which I lacked the ability to knowledgeably response. Our motives likely differed, but Paul and I responded with one voice, a resounding “I don't know” which filled the vehicle.

A related phenomenon was the way in which song titles and lyrics related to events on the road...in particular the terrain. One does not realize how many songs reference rivers, and the oft-performed act of crossing them, until they all begin playing from the disks preselected that morning to populate the CD changer.

3. A moral quandary arose near the middle of the second day: Is it ethical to close two consecutive rest stops? Unfortunately (or perhaps that syllable “un” is misplaced), only one rest stop was closed, and the others showed no indication that they had been considered for such treatment, so we were deprived of a means by which to determine the state government's moral standing. Which is of small concern, as the high morals of the State of California have never been in question.
4. Continuing along the same topic, an inverse relationship was observed between sales tax and the status of a state's rest areas. Those managed by the State of Oregon demonstrated greater cleanliness and general aesthetic value than those south of the Californian border...despite the ostensibly greater resources which proceed from the proceeds of sales tax. Perhaps Oregon, bereft of such income, is forced to recognize its limitations and is therefore in a better position to fulfill those tasks which it does chose to undertake.
5. A direct relation was also suggested, between latitude and the frequency of cloverleafs in a city's freeway system. This is, admittedly, extrapolated from a mere two samples, generated through observation of the cities wherein I began and concluded my journey along the I-5. However, far more cloverleafs were observed in the former than the latter, and my southward voyage bore me toward lesser latitudes; this seemed to imply the preceding conclusion. (Note to my statistics professor: I realize this is not a sufficient sample size. Please do not reduce my grade in your class.)
6. When naming streets, it seems common practice in many areas to choose titles which coincide with those of cities in other parts of the country. In many cases, these roads are located far from their namesakes, thus avoiding most confusion. The appearance of an Oakland road off the 5 in northern Oregon, and a Phoenix street a bit further south on the same highway, did lead to a momentary consideration of the possibility that a wormhole had been generated and entered on accident...until a realization of the amount of energy required to produce such a pathway through the fabric of space-time soon lead to the dismissal of that theory. However, other naming choices generate far more ambiguity. There is, in Northern Portland, a Vancouver Street. There is, across the Columbia River from Northern Portland, the city of Vancouver, WA. The former does not lead to the latter, despite running North-South. While this street may well have been named for Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada (home of the 2010 Winter Olympics), the proximity of other similarly-named locales should have been considered before such a mentally-taxing title was selected. Given the rate at which new developments are being constructed, I would not be surprised if an enterprising publisher were to release a book full of potential street names, as is currently done for human children (although, given that many streets are named for humans, the existing publications might prove a suitable resource for this purpose).

My other concern in this area relates to a practice in which certain stretches of numbered highways will be given alternative names, often in honor of a significant person. I wonder how long it will be until the remainder of such roads, seeing the titles which have been bestowed upon their brethren, will rise up and proclaim: “I am not a number. I am a Free-Way!” (There is a Highway 6 which traverses the distance between Portland and Tillamook).

7. Confusion related to street names can also arise from unreliable illumination mechanisms. Unfortunately for confused travelers, the Courtyard by Marriott depicted below is actually located on River Plaza Drive.
8. As is the case with many instances of written (or spoken) word, street signs can also provide excellent material for the creation of puns. The practice of seeking, and pointing out, any alternative interpretations of street names is a fantastic way of passing time on long road trips, and one which I highly recommend. (Note: The author cannot be held responsible for bodily injury caused by those who disagree with the above assessment regarding the entertainment value of the aforementioned activities).
9. The AMBER alert system is, overall, a useful contribution to law-enforcement efforts which enables the rapid dissemination of critical information. However, in less “interesting” times, it is used to display more general “public service announcements”. The most prevalent message during our journey read “Share the road. Look twice for motorcyclists”. In keeping with a previously-mentioned practice, we immediately began pondering the true meaning of those words. Could it be that were were only obligated to observe two motorcyclists, after which no further vigilance would be mandated? Were the two statements even related? Perhaps the second component was a marketing message from Harley and Co., urging vigilance and repetition in the selection of my next (or rather, first) motorized transport.
10. Speech synthesis is an extremely useful component of a piece of software designed to assist in navigation; it enables the computer + GPS system to advise the driver as to the best possible course of action when deciding whether to take the road less traveled. However, the variety of options regarding voices, volume, and speeds necessitates the ability to test this feature...including the ability to send arbitrary text through the text-to-speech engine. The choice of text is particularly important when determining the desired rate of speech. Some sentences come across naturally even when spoken at high speed (“I just had three cups of coffee! I feel really energetic! Let's drive 5000 miles today!”). Whereas if you wish to test your system's performance when speaking slowly, I recommend the following sentences for maximum effect: “What was in my orange juice? I feel funny. Can I take a nap?”, followed by several individual words...the more random they are, the better. References to “all those colors” are also quite effective.
11. An ever-welcome and often-sought road fixture is that which may bolster the hope of a road-weary driver, or crush that of those who thought they were far closer to their destination: the mileage sign. It was comforting to watch the distances listed steadily decrease as we made our way down the state (although once California was entered, the freeway mileage signs performed nearly the same function, considering the southerly nature of our destination), but no such countdown is complete without milestones to celebrate. Increments of 100 miles would be traditional but, my introductory remarks notwithstanding, I desired something a bit more out of the ordinary. Given my small amount of computer science experience, a natural alternative seemed to be binary. I therefore celebrated each reduction in the number of bits required to represent our remaining distance. As this essentially amounted to a celebration of half the journey, then half of the remainder, then half of that remainder, then...(stack overflow detected), I was extremely grateful for Isaac Newton's work regarding values drawing infinitesimally close to 0 (and their ultimate equivalence to that mathematical conception of nothingness). Had we been forced to rely upon the writings of Zeno, I am quite sure I would still be traveling half-distances while attempting to catch up with a tortoise and an unmoving arrow.

This list went to 11 (a cultural reference which I have heard used and am repeating here, despite lacking an understanding of its origin and/or significance)!

As may have been inferred by the use of the past tense in many places, Newton did indeed save me from the dire fate described in the final sentence of item 11...and he shall soon save me again. For in order to conclude this collection of verbiage, it was necessary to first produce one half of the prose contained within. From that point, I wrote one half of the remaining words. At which point...the pattern should be clear by this point. Were it not for Newton, this writing would never conclude. I realize that the rather protracted nature of this work may have lead some to fear that Zeno had indeed prevailed (myself included; it is in the third sitting that I am writing these words of conclusion). However, those fears shall soon be put to rest. For while there is much which could still be written, I believe the above to provide sufficient insight into the thoughts which entered my mind while spending 36 hours traveling down the I-5 S.

A Renewed Presen(ts/ce)

And thus begins the latest infusion of life into this safety-valve-for-my-stream-of-consciousness (cleverly disguised as a voluntary continuation of an Honors Program assignment), which has sadly remained in a state of suspended animation for nearly one year due to a lack of what I'd like to describe as time (which is true to some extent – this past semester has been rather the opposite of Willy Wonka's favorite means of encouraging his tour group to continue their forward progress)...if not for the fact that to make such a claim (which, you will note, I have not actually done – I have merely indicated an unfulfilled desire to explain my absence by such means alone) without qualification would bring down upon me the fullness of guilt associated with the propagation of untruths through omission. For were I to make such a claim, the loyal reader (that ever-popular denizen (of uncertain existence) of hypothetical situations) would quickly point out that several-month-long period of time, named for the season in which the latter portion of its days reside, during which my daily activities were characterized by a distinct lack of presence in Portland, and inquire as to the applicability of the preceding excuse to that portion of the space-time (well, the space portion really isn't important – to make a horrible and questionably-accurate comparison to Statistics, they would be inquiring as to a region in the marginal distribution of time across all space) continuum (Oh...I almost forgot...my days were also devoid of classes during that time period – which would probably be a more likely impetus for one to pose the preceding query). (Note that I'm describing this as a hypothetical situation, considered in response to my own misgivings about such an incomplete explanation, to avoid accusations that I have engaged in time-travel and mind-reading, and the resulting tangents) The answer to which, if answered on a scale of 0 to 1 (no, I'm not telling you (a term which was discussed at length in my previous conveyance) whether it's discrete or continuous, nor whether it is linear, exponential, logarithmic, or (I suppose this sentence, due to its failure to participate in my experimentation with hypothetical situations, qualifies as a potential reading of minds, but to examine that topic at length would be akin to berating a deceased equine, and I have no desire to become the subject of a DOS attack (or worse) originating from (the following is not a misspelling of a rather-nonviolent (to the best of my knowledge) flat bread prevalent in Greek cuisine) PETA) completely arbitrary), would be relatively close to 0. Although by many standards, even 1 is relatively close to 0, so I suppose I should actually come out and state I would be unable to claim a strong causal relationship in that situation. For I have also suffered from a condition whose name varies with the observer, but which is characterized by a combination of lack of motivation, lack of inspiration (I do plan every aspect of these entries - it's not like I just sit down and type whatever comes to mind. What's that? You doubt (obligatory reference to psychic powers)? The clear direction and strict structure of these words should present irrefutable evidence...wait...the evidence may not necessarily be in my favor. I plead the Third (For, were I required to quarter troops in my house, they might be able to watch my writing process...in which case that action would be a form of self-incrimination, against which the Fifth Amendment protects me) Amendment) and simple forgetfulness. However, I have come to set things right with this Special Edition Christmas (not Holiday!) Special (brought to you by Repetition, Redundancy, and words that start with the letter R) Post. I even got started off right with a title which, depending upon one's chosen perspective, is either a straightforward description of the purpose of this post, or a nonsensical statement which accepts a horrible disagreement in number between article and noun for the sake of a mediocre (yet seasonally-appropriate) pun.

And now, for our feature presentation:

I have solved the Twelve Days of Christmas!

After listening to this traditional Christmas song far too many times, and engaging in conversations regarding the outrageous purchases made by the true love, I found myself wondering exactly how many of each gift the singer received by the conclusion of the twelfth day (not night, for Shakespeare would be of little assistance in such calculations). Rather than simply count up the gifts, I attempted to derive a general formula. My conclusion is that, if n represents the first day on which a gift is received (for example, n = 5 for Golden Rings), then we can obtain the formula:

Quantity of gift received = n * (13 – n)

Proof: This gift is given from the n^th day until the 12^th day. Applying the standard formula (b – a + 1), this gift is given for 12 – n + 1 days, which simplifies to 13 – n. Multiplying by the n gifts of this type received for each day on which it is given, we arrive at the above formula.

Of course, I didn't want to simply stop there...I have a general expression, and I should try to obtain some more useful results from it. For example, of which gift did the true love give the largest quantity.

We multiply the general expression out to obtain 13n – n².

We must find critical points, so we take a derivative and solve : 13 – 2n = 0

We have a critical point when 13 = 2n, or n = 6.5.

The second derivative is a constant -2. Therefore, by the test named for derivatives of the aforementioned order, this critical point is a local maximum (which, because this quadratic function is a downward-facing parabola (negative coefficient on n², is also a global maximum).

However, we are dealing with discrete values; there is no 6.5^th day. By symmetry of the parabola, however, we know that n = 6 and n = 7 will represent the discrete values for which this function is maximized.

Plugging these values in to the general equation, we find that the true love gives 42 each (It is a coincidence that he/she gives a maximum of the answer to life, the universe, and everything? I think not.) of Swans a Swimming and Geese a Laying.

I was also interested in the total number of gifts given. I will spare you the full showing-of-work (it is a simple summation of the general formula), but the true love ultimately gives 364 gifts (actually, 376 if the partridge and the pear tree are considered to be independent units). In other words, the true love could have spread these gifts out, and given one on each day of the (non-leap) year except for Christmas. Whether this would have been a more desirable means of delivery, I am not qualified to say. Some choose to receive their lottery payment as a lump sum; others prefer monthly payments (of course, this is not a completely valid analogy, as there is a difference in payout between these two choices, but the concepts remain sufficiently similar for me to feel comfortable publishing such a comparison).

Well, this concludes our Christmas broadcast. We hope that you have found it entertaining, enjoyable, and not overly full of misused first-person plural pronouns. Please feel free (and indeed, encouraged) to check the above mathematics for validity and post your findings and/or any other interesting results which you are able to derive in the comments section below.

Until my next post, (which will hopefully occur after a shorter period of inactivity than did this one), I wish you a Happy Christmas, a Merry New Year, and a Joyous Epiphany.

Farewell for now...

Elyk Samoht Yenraek

In Which The Author Returns To His Stated Purpose

And, I suppose, in which he continues, perhaps initiating a tradition – which will remain to be seen – the time and energy which might at one point have been devoted to creating a long-term plan for this blog has been usurped by the time and energy that has gone into planning out my rather unusual course schedule so as to ensure that my study abroad plans do not prolong my presence here at UP for longer than the average number of years(to clarify (but not to say it outright – what would be the fun in that?), I don't want to spend more time in college than I did in high school (no, I didn't get held back or skip a grade) – a statement which, in case you (a pronoun which may be singular or plural depending on how many people end up mentally processing this test – luckily the support in the English language for generics is more akin to that of Java (which I realize I've previously compared to Esperanto – the transitive property is not intended to hold for my similes. Although there are many who wish for English to become the universal language of planet Earth, an intention which I believe the creators of Esperanto shared) than of c++ - a simile which raises the question of which action in natural language is akin to compilation of a computer program. I would say that compilation is analogous to interpreting the meaning of a sentence. The parsing of the source code would be analogous to the mental OCR of the source text and the subsequent division into sentences and the components thereof (an action which for many is subconscious, the exception being those occasions when a grade-school or high-school teacher forces them to perform that rather-pointless-in-my-opinion task known as sentence diagramming. (and perhaps when attempting to make sense of the deeply-nested parentheses typically found here (a location which is intended to refer to this website, and which is discussed in depth in an earlier post) – but I digress) For those readers who are fortunate enough to have been spared this ordeal, it's a similar process to the conversion of mathematical statements into RPN, the difference being that RPN is actually useful for programmatically handling order of operations.) - if only compilers ability had sentences incomplete understand humans like have. Or, on second thought, perhaps I should be grateful that my compiler will always ask for clarification rather than attempting to make assumptions regarding what I wish to do – see Internet Explorer if you still believe it wise to provide computers with the human ability to make assumptions when the meaning of a statement is unclear.) are wondering (since I clearly lack the psychic ability to foresee whether such a question will arise in the mind of any of my readers) is intended to express not a dislike for life here on the Bluff (here, “here” performs its more natural function of referencing a physical location – although I am writing this not from the Bluff but from several miles above sea level en route from San Diego to Portland. Fortunately, The Bluff is an equally ambiguous term, referring either to a spot on campus, then entire campus, or the University and the neighborhood surrounding it) but rather a lack of funding for longer than the traditional four (Zut! I was doing so well and then I had to go and say outright that number which I had been so subtly hinting at. If only life had an undo button.) years. Not even my individual posts are planned in most cases. This post was one of the few exceptions, as the title indicates. In addition to continuing to spoof literary naming conventions, I intend to return to the mandate contained in the assignment which provided the impetus for the formation of this blog: to document my experiences as an engineering student at the University of Portland, specifically my experience last summer as I took Data Structures I through National University's online education program. Yet due to my prior tangents I fear I lack the space (in the attention span of some of my readers) for an in depth description of all that I experienced. I would have to describe how, contrary to my belief that online education would offer a flexible schedule, the professor desired the entire class to sign on for a two hour period several times each week, and my need to make do with the recordings of the class sessions due to the impracticality of maintaining such a schedule while traveling back to Portland. Or how the class sessions consisted mostly of the professor reading Powerpoint slides, without any elaboration on the bullet points which appeared, over a low quality audio link, which due to its emphasis on mid-high frequencies quickly became painful to listen to. And then there was the final exam, which, like the class sessions, was scheduled for a specific three hour period, with notification of this time provided only a couple of days beforehand. I had to request an extension of that time period, being gone that entire day at an event which had been planned for months. Lest it be thought that I am simply being unreasonably negative, I will say that I do feel like I learned the material – but I basically paid a large sum of money to teach myself the course. Additionally, the faculty were willing to allow me to work around my schedule constraints, but I feel that for a program which frequently touts its flexibility, I should not have needed to go to the lengths I did to achieve this flexibility – I should not have been sending frantic emails a day before the final requesting a different time. Many of the other students had full-time jobs – these generally require more notice than was given. But as I lack the space to do so, I am grateful that I can summarize my experience quite briefly. If you are considering taking a course online, and you are not desperate for an opportunity to take that course (as I was), my advice to you is simple: Don't!

270 Leagues, under three days

Or: A small glimpse into the life and strange (for the most part) yet true (would I lie) adventures of yours truly: Who rode for 48 hours in an SUV, accompanied by a driver, mostly on the 101 and I-5 (the Pacific Crest trail for cars), but spending some time on the 880, 680, 580, and various other local roads; Lacking a car and the ability to (legally) drive it. Including an account of how he arrived safely home. Written by himself (or so he claims). As Daniel Defoe (Yes, I know (psychic, yet again) that between this and the title I'm probably going overboard with my references to maritime fiction) would title such a tale (of course, his style saves you money and time (which is of course a repetitive and redundant statement, the two being equivalent) - if you're too busy to read the book, there's no need to find/buy a copy of the (cliff/spark)notes/gradesaver/insert other providers here to avoid complaints about me abandoning some other review notes provider/(legal: the phrase containing this note is not intended as an endorsement of any or all of the above providers - and students, you should always read the material and only use such sources for review or to supplement your having read the complete original text first. Phew...glad I got that straightened out)/pinkmonkey - just read the title and you've got the beginning, middle, end, and setting. Which combined with a bit of luck and some finely-honed test-taking skills (when in doubt, choose C), should be enough to pass (if not ace) any test your benevolent provider of knowledge may choose to present you with (and now, for your daily dose of contradiction and your quote of the moment, now conveniently combined into one streamlined set of double apostrophes, "Examinations are formidable even to the best prepared, for the greatest fool may ask more than the wisest man can answer." - Charles Caleb Colton. Which, as I look back after having pressed ctrl+v, may not be a contradiction at all - it could be argued (though probably not (seriously - for it could also be argued (which I am) that by developing and publishing this line of thought I am arguing it) by me - there's a little bit about probabilities there that is missed by this simplification) that if even the best of preparations do not guarantee success, why not just read the cover and spend the time you would spend studying engaged in something more worthwhile/entertaining/both (need the two be mutually exclusive?)), essays excepted. Unless you happen writing something akin to this post which I am currently writing (keep in mind that these words refer to the time of writing, not reading - by the time you, loyal reader (if this is your first visit, you must now come back so as not to have been incorrectly labeled) are reading this post, I shall be long finished writing this sentence, not to mention this post, a fact which I do know to be true by my amazing gift of foresight), which given a sufficiently loose definition (or interpretation of said definition - did you really think the dictionary was meant to be taken literally?) could be considered an essay. Which would require you to tell me which class you are taking, because I would love to have test questions like this. Which is entirely beside the point and is attempting to defeat my attempt to use that brilliant literary technique commonly known as an introduction, leading up to content which will correspond to and hopefully make clear the title and first few sentences of this post. Which will hopefully put an end to this ghastly string of sentences beginning with the word "which". Which I guess wasn't quite true yet. But now it is, by sheer force of willpower and violation of grammatical law (bonus points to the person(s) who can point out both that error and the other violation present in this sentence), the forces of which combine to bring you something at least somewhat related to the subject at hand (or hands - I type with both of them, or eyes - you're probably reading with them (psychic, lucky, or statistics?)). You see (or hear/feel if you happen to be using a screenreader or braille), while taking the aforementioned road trip home at the conclusion of the school year, we (my friend, who was driving me, and I) made several observations which, without further ado (or parenthetical notes ... zut!), I present for your perusal and hopeful amusement

1. Shortly (two miles to be exact) before the transformation of a two-lane highway into a freeway, a sign is posted which reads "Divided road begins 2 miles". What exactly is the purpose of this sign. When one considers the number of such transitions that must exist throughout the state of California alone, and multiplies by the amount of metal and paint required to create each sign, it adds up to a lot of financial, human, and natural resources (is there such a thing as an unnatural resource?) spent. If the sole purpose is to provide travelers unfamiliar with the area with hope that they will soon be able to proceed at a rate of at least one mile per minute, is that perhaps not the best use of said resources. Of course, Caltrans being a government agency, this is a legitimate possibility. The other possibility which presents itself in my mind is that this is for the benefit of any motorists who happen to be driving the road rather than the lane - who may experience a rude awakening when the two sides become divided (a formidable challenge to those who don't own hummers or similar vehicles) split and then later take different courses as rural highways occasionally do. If this is the case, and these signs have actually saved lives, I retract all criticism present in this item only, and will update this post accordingly.
2. The "end construction" sign. It is similar to the previously mentioned sign, in that it serves partly give hope to drivers driven to madness after miles of avoiding cones, obeying flagmen, and driving over steel plates, and partly to notify them that traffic fines will no longer be doubled should they choose to speed (see below) or otherwise violate traffic violations. Yet in a monogamous couple, such a sign does make sense - construction zones should be clearly marked, if only to simplify enforcement of those doubled traffic fines. However, we observed several of these signs which were single (I'm glad that the construction is over, but thanks for telling me it was going to start) or involved in a polygamist relationship (This isn't Utah. Are two "end construction" signs really necessary? I think I got comprehended the message the first time). Of course, the situation is easily explained if, as my dad has suggested, these are actually signs of protest by those who wish to end construction once and for all. If this is the case, then such placements make perfect sense. In fact, they help to eliminate the confusion which understandably results from their juxtaposition with the conclusion of a construction zone (perhaps these placements are part of a government plot to dilute the true meaning of these signs and put an end to what must be a widespread grassroots (literally at times) movement).
3. People go ridiculously fast along the straighter parts of the I-5 passing through the San Joaquin Valley. Not really a surprise, but it ties in nicely with the previous item. Plus it makes the list longer, so why not include it (intended to be rhetorical, but you can answer if you'd like)? Along that stretch of highway lies 52.4% of the solution to California's budget deficit (the other 47.6% being the "california stop" so popular among those who dislike coming to a complete stop (and refuse to accept the argument that as long as their car's temperature is above absolute zero, it is still moveing) while their engine is running).
4. Generic text-to-speech engines should be relegated to the early 21's century where they belong - why settle for a choppy computerized voice when you could have a cowboy or John Cleese directing you to your destination instead? Also a second reason to go with a portable gps unit with usb transfer capabilities (you could try this with a factory installed navigation system but I hope you either have a laptop or a sufficiently wide front door to permit relocation of vehicle in question to an appropriate position alongside your desktop of choice. Of course wireless capabilities can also work wonders). The first reason is to save yourself the harrying experience of attempting to take an alternate route, feeling resistance in the steering wheel and then hearing those dreaded words over the sound system: "I'm sorry Dave...". It's even worse if your name isn't Dave - your car is taking control from you and it doesn't even have the courtesy to learn your name.
   
5. Jack-in-the-box has only two locations in the entire state of Oregon. Well, not really (I checked - there's 46). But traveling along the I-5 from Portland to the California border, we spotted two locations, a number which dwindles to near-insignificance compared with the quantity of locations we observed for some other fast-food chains (sorry, I don't have exact observed figures for this, although to give you an idea the McDonald's restaurant locater reports 23 stores within a half mile of that same stretch of road).
6. This trip was over 1.5 weeks ago. Memory is fallible and fleeting. An observation which fits at least as well as #3 in this list. I intended to write this post within a day or two of my arrival home, and as such did not preserve this list in writing before the creation of this post. Which increased the difficulty inherent in ensuring that each item present should fail to be ommitted from the final copy. Yet difficult is far from impossible, and I believe myself to have included all items which deserved to be present. If not, I reserve the right to publish a second installation of this list.
7. Many consider this number to be lucky.
8. Myself, I prefer 13
13. This number is 7 in base 4.

From centuries-old castaways, to contemporary travels, to quaternary math, this post has lead you in two journeys. One you experienced vicariously through my words. Yet it was only one part of a larger journey, the form of which was conveniently outlined two sentences ago. This journey you experienced directly, my voice reduced to that of a guide. They journey will continue, but I know not where it will lead you. For while I am ignorant of your path beyond the conclusion of this post, I know with near certainty my destination once I type the concluding words of this post. In the words of an immortal camp song, "they all (for certain values of "all") went to bed".

I just finished finals...yet they still expect a creative title

So it's over. My first year of college. It's kind of an odd thought. And it was exactly a year ago today that I walked to the mailbox and ever so tentatively dropped the envelope, containing that fateful paper with my legally binding signature, into its depths. Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating, but proof of this is left as an exercise for the reader (and yes, I did just use those words which, upon their appearance on the pages of a textbook (or notes handout - I'm pretty sure Krune used that phrase at least once) fill every student, myself included (of course, maybe I'm generalizing my thoughts to every student, but you'll have to prove that too), with dread - and which immediately (allowing of course for reaction time and the inevitable speed limitations based on the rate of communication between neurons) trigger the mental translation (at least in my case - I'm not going to project my internal thought process onto the set of all students twice in one sentence (if you can call this conglomeration of dashes and parentheses a sentence - I know I can) )- "I didn't feel like writing this proof out so you get to do it instead". At least they're not killing as many trees that way, but they could at least put a link to the proof up on the web (although if your electricity (and that of the data center for the webhost) doesn't come from a renewable source you would still be harming the environment by looking it up) for perusal by curious students. But I suppose that would defeat the point of it being an "exercise" - and then there's the argument that anything truly worthwhile in life one must work to achieve (although perhaps contradicted by that other statement that the best things in life are free. Or maybe not. As most longtime free software users (such as myself) will tell you, freedom has many different facets - just look for discussions about "free bacliva" (not wanting to endorse excessive drinking) vs "free speech". So I stand corrected (by myself, and I'm sitting). The best things in life could be free, while still requiring work to obtain. At times that which is free is harder to obtain than that which costs. And then there's the matter of how to define free - and for that matter, how to define cost. Is anything truly free? Was that a rhetorical question? Could I pose any other loaded, self-referencial, or philosophical questions? (I'll give you a hint - the answer to the last one is yes - but I won't, at least not for a little while) Actually, let me ask one more, somewhat simpler, question: could I abuse parentheses any more than I already am? (here's a hint (a rather self-referential one at that)) And finally, can you (meaning the reader - as I look back over that statement it appears that I'm talking to myself) keep track of where the sentence was before this giant block of parentheses started? I think I can, and I'm about to test you. Let me know if I get it wrong (it's possible - as is anything until you (and everyone else) stop believing in it), that I may correct this post and not lead future readers astray) , so perhaps my assumption about their motives is fallacious, and therefore this entire rant is unfounded. But then, are rants supposed to be completely calm, logical, and rational? I think if they were, they would be awarded a far more formal title such as "persuasive essay" (and perhaps some of them are - is this one of them? (I'm sure asking a lot of questions today)), the likes of which I haven't written (at least not in a formalized fashion) for some time. But I digress (not as if that's an unusual occurrence around here (if you're wondering, here refers here to the virtual location which is this blog - not necessarily the Christie hall front desk (where I'm writing this), nor wherever your computer is located and displaying this page - for those are both fleeting, capable of changing any moment (you doubt? Finish reading this sentence, close your browser, and try to tell me where here is - then, lest I create a situation similar to that which resulted when NASA sent a signal to one of their probes telling it to lower its antenna, and found themselves unable to tell it to raise the antenna again - reopen your browser, reload this page, and continue reading) - it is only the virtual location of this website (best visualized by the URL, not the data center from which it is served - for that, too, is constantly in flux given the load balancing between the massive number of servers in Google's network) which provides that semblance of permanence necessary for my previous statement to be comprehended at its fullest level of meaning) - these last few entries have been almost pure stream of consciousness (with slight guidance and the inevitable editing which occurs whenever I'm typing something of this magnitude) - far more even than that philosophy journal entry I wrote on the airplane heading home for fall break (the one which was based only upon a really bad pun regarding this being the high (someday I'll post those entries here so you can know what I'm talking about - although some of you (you'll know who you are if you're reading this) may already know) point of my journal) - that's what happens when I start writing without a clear purpose) from my stated purpose which was...never stated. So perhaps I'm not digressing after all. If my purpose was to write a post of complete randomness, would I be digressing by not going off on tangents - or perhaps secants, seeing as at least some of my thought branches ultimate return to the main subject at hand. You doubt? (you do that a lot, you know that). Watch this space and ye shall see, ye of little faith. Or rather, I think I shall leave the proof of that as an exercise to the reader (insert recursion here, or skip if you'd like to avoid a stack overflow and/or read the rest of this post), as I have far more important matters to consider and do not have time for tangents, whether they be line, plane, or otherwise. One thing remains certain: it is now 365 days since I stayed awake, seeking guidance from everyone I knew who was still awake (namely, my family), until finally coming to a decision at 11:59 - and even then, not mailing my form until the following morning (in case I were to receive a message in a dream warning me not to come here - which must not have happened (or if it did I didn't remember the dream to act on it), considering my presence at UP and the existence of this blog). *insert mental time shift* At the tone, the time is now 12:27 (imagine a high pitched beep - and remember it well, for in many locations the time lady is no more, and a great sadness has fallen across the land as a result), Friday, May 2, and approximately 5 hours have passed since I broke off writing - sorry to have left you in suspense for that time (what do you mean, blogger doesn't public my words the moment they type them? Yes, I am psychic. See my last post if you have questions about that, so that I don't go off on the same tangent twice). Please make any necessary shifts in your visualization of this writing, and note a possible cause of any changes in writings style. In twelve hours or less, I will be gone from the UP campus for the summer, and not returning until August (thank you to National University for offering a Data Structures class down by my house so that I don't have to come up here, find a place to stay for a few weeks, and take it up here. Nor do I have to take what are apparently the 15 hardest credits the school offers in conjunction with graduation and the associated activities, nor must I forego my study abroad plans which are the root of all these complications. Yet for all the difficulties, it shall be worth it to be able to spend a few months doing leadership training in the wilderness with NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership School, for the uninitiated) - and to once more exercise my (perhaps questioned, again see previous post) psychic abilities, I am perfectly aware that this has absolutely nothing to do with my chosen major of Computer Science. However, neither do any of the other Study Abroad programs I have come across, and it is for this reason that I risked (or perhaps lost) my sanity at the end of High School through that life-consuming activity commonly known only by it's initials, AP), to commence first my training for the newly-renamed position of Hall Receptionist (read: front desk worker), and later my actual courses. But enough of the future, back to dwelling in the past (this entry was supposed to be reflective) This year has been quite a journey - one which you, my loyal readers (my hit counter indicates the possibility of such beings) , have taken vicariously through my postings (or perhaps directly, considering that if you're reading this there is a high probability of your being one of my classmates). However, I must preface (or rather postface, as it would interrupt my attempt to convey a natural flow of thought if I were to place this warning one sentence earlier) that with a warning (which may sound weird coming from me) not to take that analogy too far - at least regarding the rate of travel of my journey. The frequency of posts has slowed drastically since the conclusion of the fall semester - there have been only three posts this semester, at least one of which was completely unrelated to my journey through college and existed primarily as a medium through which to convey pictures of my dismantled laptop and thus satisfy the curiosity of readers (a curiosity which, if left unchecked (of course, one could also argue that a post such as mine might only pique such a curiosity by indicating what is possible, rather than satisfying it. Indeed, I would (and just did) be such a one), could result in damage to property and voided warranties (<legal>for which I am not responsible (and by reading this sentence you agree to this and any other such statements present in this or any entry here on A Pilot's Ponderings)</legal>). Yet do not be mislead into thinking that the second semester passed slowly for me. The sparse posting was in spite, or perhaps because, of a short and action-packed semester. It feels like just yesterday that I was flying back from Christmas break (it also feels like I started writing this yesterday - and maybe I did. You can work it out if reading this alone is not providing you with a sufficient use for the massive power of your internal parallel computer). A phenomenon for which there likely exist many explanations, of which the only one I will offer is the general decrease in average temperature over last semester (high temperatures tend to increase the processing speed of the brain, causing it to feel like more time has passed than actually has ("actually" here referring to the progression of time generally accepted by the population as a whole) - a phenomenon discovered by a scientist after his feverish wife consistently overestimated the length of his absences. So he got her, while still sick, to participate in a series of experiments quantifying his observations (such a sensitive, caring husband. I love how he was able to involve his wife in his work) - which were later verified using heated hats so as to eliminate the possibility that some other aspect of the illness was causing the effect. Anyway, cold temperatures would have the opposite effect, causing the brain to underestimate the length of a period of time - which over the course of the semester could accumulate for a discrepancy of several days at least (provided that the tendency to separate days based on our sleep cycle (which is covered in another of my philosophy journals to be posted and will therefore not be discussed here) doesn't counteract this effect). This rapid progression of time seems to have left little time for the production of additional posts - there appears to be an inverse relationship between the rate of posts and the rate of passage of time relative to the speed of cranial processing. At least for this semester. I would generalize this to the entire life of A Pilot's Ponderings, but two facts prevent me from doing this, in no particular order: 1.)Last semester didn't feel like it went that slowly, 2.)last semester I had an academic obligation to provide updates at least once ever two weeks - an obligation which as far as I know is not present this semester. There is much I have learned over these 30 weeks of class (and the intervening weeks of break) - far too much to enumerate in this already-far-too-long-given-my-current-layout(one of my first projects upon arrival home is to remove the empty left column and expand the post column to twice its current width, so as to avoid excessive wear and tear (<legal>for which I am once again not responsible</legal>) on scroll wheels, mouse buttons, page up/down keys, and any and all other methods of scrolling through large bodies of text not already mentioned herein) post (current word count (not including the actual number): 2295 (which I believe takes the trophy from my 1300 word teabag entry for my longest published work of this type). Time, technology, and motivation permitting, those may be the subject of a future post. Until then, I shall conclude this post, the last to be posted from Christie Hall 233 (unless I become good friends with the residents next year and start writing posts in their room), declaring that this is <nickname="one of many from which I lack the decisiveness to choose"/>, signing off*

*In a metaphorical sense - I'll still be connected to the internet after I press publish.

Again Connected In Spirit - I Hope They've Got Good Bandwidth

Well, the number of posts on this blog as a function of time is beginning to resemble a logistic growth curve (you know – the one that models the number of people standing during a typical standing ovation). This is partially due to the conclusion of the freshman design competition and my first semester at college, the chronicling of which was the primary (or at least the stated) purpose of the writings previously found here. I started out somewhat slowly, both because I was new to the medium, I was busy getting adjusted to life in college and thus lacked a pleuthera of free time in which to document my lack of free time, and because the design project was still young (if he won't mind the personification necessary to justify such a metaphor). Now before anyone comments (I'm wording it this way to clarify that I'm conjecturing as to the response of a typical (if by typical you mean grammar-obsessed (I'm deliberately avoiding the more commonly used term for such a person so as to not invoke Godwin's law and lose the argument (how one loses what isn't even really a logical argument, much less one in the common definition, is not immediately clear to me, but ignorance is no reason for recklessness), instead going into nested parentheses (which my stream of consciousness writings tend to do – I'll have to write a law about that)) reader, rather than implying a psychic ability to read the thoughts of a future reader (I did that once and ended up on an even larger tangent that nearly crashed my thought process with an infinite loop) during the writing of this post), I am aware that I just used both to precede a conjunction of three statements, in defiance of grammatical convention. What such a person has not considered is that such grammatical limitations are analogous to a method/function which only takes a specified number of arguments. But as we discussed today in computer science, such problems may be obviated by means of overloading. And I created an alternative definition of or that takes an array of any size. This assumes, of course, that you are using a language which supports such actions. I claim that English is such a language, just like (insert a programming language which supports such things here, but not java – java is the Esperanto of electronics). You doubt? Compile it and see for yourself. Only I'm not sure where you can find an English compiler for x86. The only one I'm aware of is for the HBNN (human brain neural network) architecture. You could try whitespace – at least it wouldn't crash on all the unrecognized words – although it'd probably give some rather interesting actions (not to self – download whitespace and try it on this post when it's done, then post the result). Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, on an airplane. Writing about how I didn't write that much here at the beginning of the semester. Posting then picked up during the semester due to additional happenings with the design project and talk like a pirate day meeting first year workshop. Then the design competition passed, dead week set in, and the posting went wek, if not dead. I think I only posted once since finals, inspired by the awesome experience of completely dismantling my laptop. At least that's what I think happened. For the second time, I'm writing a post without an internet connection (shortly after the last time – look for an entry with spirit in the title – I read about plans to offer internet on airplanes, but sadly Alaska Air has yet to implement this on my flights, and when they do it will likely be prohibitively expensive). It's possible that the post values are closer to a square root of time. But whatever the reasons, my heart or my shoes...sorry, wrong story...driven both by this realization that I hadn't written anything so far this semester, and by the addition of another person to my legion of people who know about this site (which is probably in the teens by now – excitement!), (there, I used both in its traditional sense this time) I feel that it is time I started posting here again. Well, I suppose I should be careful with that word “started”, as I am unsure as to the long term effect of this post on my overall frequency. It's possible that this will just be one step closer to the carrying capacity of this site (a value with no relation whatsoever to the storage space available, which I believe is unmetered at least for the text of posts). However, I'd prefer to think of this post as more of a heaviside function consisting of the negation of the logistic growth curve and something close to linear. What will I write? Only thyme will tell (which is why I'm going straight into my kitchen when I get home). I certainly won't write a in stream of consciousness with speculation about the decline in posts to this blog as the central theme. And I certainly won't write it in the air. And of course, I will never be sarcastic. But then, maybe I just don't know me well enough. I'm done with my tests, I'm leaving on spring break, and I've got a whole flight home ahead of me. I'm sure I'll think of something.