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

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.

The anatomy of a tech support call gone wrong

Well, not really. This actually saved me days of waiting and shipping my system back and forth. For those who don't know (the lucky ones who I haven't complained to yet), I've spent most of break trying to get my computer repaired - the internal speakers were not working...except in the bootable diagnostic tool the dell techs use. I'll spare you the gory details, and I'm getting a new system shipped to me now, but one of the early repair attempts involved a motherboard replacement, which I opted to perform myself, as this laptop is quite well documented and has an extensive service manual. So, to satisfy the curiosity that you may not have even had, and in the tradition of all those "inside the iPhone" articles, below is a look at the inner workings of a Dell Vostro 1500, in hopes that you will no longer feel the urge to subject yours to similar treatment, from which it may or may not fully recover (mine did, thankfully). If you do, I warned you and I'm not responsible.
The plastic butter knife is an essential tool for any technician

Now only one question remains: Will it Blend?