Steve Rogers is dead, Long live Captain America

Steve Rogers was shot twice on the steps of a federal courthouse and declared dead not long after. His creator, Joe Simon, was sitting shiva for him. Stan Lee gave a eulogy of sorts on NPR so it must be true.

I've been reading the Civil War series and can't say I'm surprised at this turn of events. What really frosts my chickens, however, is the way the story was reported on NPR. They said nothing of the story surrounding the assassination of this icon. He was being led up the steps in handcuffs, through a hostile crowd that taunted and jeered at him and called him a traitor (Captain America, a traitor! Oh, that's rich!) because he chose to disagree with a piece of legislation that was rammed through Congress, fed by the fuel of people's fears without any discussion about the loss of civil liberties said legislation would result in.

Sound familiar?!? Hello?!? Anybody?!?

I was quite upset as I headed up the hill to campus today. I'm OK that NPR ruined the series ending for me (I read comic books for the journey, 'k?) but I'm not OK they let this chance to talk about the similarities in the fictional world and our own regarding the erosion of rights, fear mongering and sheep led by idiots.

Do I dare go on about the billionaire weapons tycoon who struts around in an iron clad jock strap and who came out in favor of the legislation and on top in the civil war? Aaah, go read it yourself. I'm going to sit here and mope.

People smarter than us

OK, I'm back. Sorry about the hiatus. Got busy and then I got sick and then I ... lost my password? ... got a cramp? ... got trapped in a litterbox inexplicably filled with quicksand rather than litter?

Sorry, I drifted there for a moment. I'm back now. School's been fun. I've been working with a student who is very, very close to sounding like that old joke about x: What do you mean x equals 25? Yesterday you told us it was 12!" This student—who is an absolute joy to work with and my tongue is nowhere near my cheek when I say that—really works hard and has no problem asking questions. The issue of note recently involves x and y and the issue of independence and dependence. Think back to a (stereo-)typical math problem. In such a problem, you would choose an x-value, plug it in, do the arithmetic to find the corresponding y-value. In that case, y is dependent upon x because we had no idea what y was going to be until we plugged in an x.

Well, my student is so fixated on the fact that we "usually" choose x first and find y second that when the variables change roles, it is a brand spanking new world for her. Even when the variables are given a context but remain as x and y she struggles. Here's the example from class:

Variables: Number of gallons of paint and Area to be painted

Scenario One: I want to paint my room. When I go to the store, I first need to know how much area I want to paint. Then I know how many gallons to buy.

Scenario Two: I happen upon a pyramid of stacked cans of paint in my garage. I wonder to myself, "How much area can I cover with this paint?"

The variables are the same in both cases yet in the first scenario Gallons is dependent upon how much Area and in the second scenario Area is dependent upon the number of Gallons. Make sense? To my student it made sense too. She was fine and cruising along until we substituted an x for gallons and a y for area and ran through the second scenario where where Gallons (x) is dependent. She could not see how that could be the case. How could we choose y first?

Some days I'm glad classes are only 50 minutes long.

Here's a code that could give Eniac a run for its money. This is how the wise folks at Waffle House code your order using condiments on a plate. For example, a sausage omelot is jelly at 3-o-clock where as a plain omelot is jelly at 9-o-clock.


Click for a fuller, deeper explanation that does not involve either x or y.

How many of you are still wondering what I was doing in the quicksand-filled litterbox in the first place?

Let me state what should be obvious

When applying for a job, here are a couple of tips to get you started off on the right foot.

a) After executing the File Merge and dumping the name of the business or institution to which you are applying from the database of all the job listings into the cover letter you have spent mere minutes or infinite hours crafting, it behooves you to check that the font is consistent across all text.
Reason for this tip: The recipient may realize that their job posting is not the only position you are applying to as you search for an escape route from that deadend life-sucking career position you currently hold but said recipient would like to think so.

b) Following the aforementioned File Merge and preceding the licking of the envelope or the clicking of the Send button, confirm that all materials are actually addressed to the business or institution to which said materials are being sent and not the next institute in your alphabetical data base. See Reason as stated above.

We wish you well in your continued job search.

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The following may help you in your search for organization, beginning with Visualization Methods. This is so very cool.

In an effort to maintain our goal of attending to diversity as well as mentioning the word "shoe" at least every other posting, we bring you the shoe designed for the Beijing Olympics.

What you'd have heard, had you listened in

It's a sunny day! Let's walk to breakfast.

We do. We begin to walk back. I see a super-ultra-cool thingie hanging in a window. Not only is it cool but it brings together two of my interests: mobiles and cut glass. I see this thing hanging there and realize that I would never have combined the idea of a mobile with the media of glass. I look at The T and say, "Just smack me and tell me how stupid I am."

The T, to me: Contrary to what you believe, I do not enjoy advertising your stupidity.

And this is why we've made it together for 10 years.

Just so you know, I'm thinking of you

A few quickies while I continue my countdown to the iPhone's release date.

First they put wheels in kid shoes. Now they've moved on to the adults. Fasionable yet deadly high heel? Sensible and restrained low high? Why not both?



Says the designer: "The high-heeled shoe is a classic example of a no pain, no gain product. Women wearing them take so much trouble for granted! I decided to challenge this compromise. Would it be possible to make a shoe having all advantages of high heels, just as well as the comfort of flats?
via Core77

If that did nothing but get your shoe-mojo going, be sure to check out the Virtual Shoe Museum. I for one was heard to say many, many times, "Wha' the f*&^ is that?"


Feelin' hungry? Have a trilobite.

Says the chef: Trilobites are extinct marine animals which lived gazillions of years ago. Real trilobites may or may not have tasted like chicken. (who knows?)





Just in case you want even more feline chic. These shelves are way too cool.


Wondering where the real cat has gotten off to? Check by the door on your way out. This is totally what we've been looking for to prevent that morning panic of "ohfudgewherearemykeys/glasses/phone/mind?"

Til next time.

My, what a queer power struggle

I know I said I was going to split off the edu talk from my usual blatherings and gadget-droolings but I haven't had time to set up the second blog yet and I have to type this out and oh my gawd I need to take a breath.
aaaahhhhh

I recently agreed to take on the role of advisor for a campus club. Sure, I thought, not a lot of time is required and I might get a cool t-shirt out of the deal (in my head that made sense). Honestly, I was looking forward to working with students in an alternate capacity besides "that math teacher with the awesome sense of fashion." OK, maybe just the first part of that statement can be attributed to the students.

Anyway, the club met for the first time today and is immediately—in my eyes—threatened by an outside force. This individual is not a student at the school but said she is willing to "just sign up for a credit in photoshop or something" so she could officially join the club. I pointed out that the campus by-laws clearly state that at least 8 full-time students—defined as a minimum of 10 credit hours—must be on the club roster to be recognized as an official club and thus be entitled to all the rights and privileges and ASC funding therein. The Little Leader stated that as long as ASC approved the group's mission statement and group-specific by-laws, the club could be opened to non-students. All the voices in my head screamed at once, "Not a good idea!!" Who is this woman?

When the Little Leader of this merry group said she thought going through the paperwork was worth it so that the student government (ASC) would shower us with coinage, The Interloper immediately launched into an anecdote about how "all you gotta do is have a barbecue and sell hot dogs and sodas and people line up, see? What you do is you go to Costco and you get a cooler and I'll tell you when I did this before when I was in school in California we ran out of hot dogs and there I was with a megaphone yelling "Get your pre-circumcised hotdogs here" and people just loved it and we made a kill-"

"If you read the campus by-laws," I calmly but oh so firmly interjected, "they clearly state that selling food is restricted to pre-packaged food items."

"You mean you can't have a hot dog?"

Everyone else around the table answered for me. These little pups had done their homework and had an inkling of what they had gotten into. Who is this person?

Little Leader quietly chimed in with, "What do we need the money for? What do we want this group to be?" I could have high-fived her! Since this was the very first meeting, the students decided to go around and mention what they thought the group could become, what they envision they would be walking into when they scheduled the meeting on their calendars. This was great right up until The Interloper began yet another monologue about how she did it years ago and all the answers she has and how her heart goes out to other students who—

Her babbling was cut off when three students left to go to work or pick up their kids. Thankgawd for interruptions.

Turns out that the very student who is behind trying to get this club off the ground befriended this woman through an off-campus organization. While there may be some experience there worth soliciting in little bits and bites, this woman seems to want to launch this club to the moon and be the captain of the ship.

I am quite aware that yet another by-law says the club needs to work to improve or educate the campus or community in some way related to the club's mission in order to retain their standing (and funding). For instance, the dance squad which traipses out their belly-dancing gyrations anytime the ref blows his whistle and the basketball players leave the court, recently held a kids' dance clinic for a mere three-hours. That activity will probably pay for their lack–of–uniforms next year. (No, I am not their choreographer). However, working within the community does not mean that the community can or should join the club. And have I mentioned that this woman is older than me by about a decade? And I'm no spring chicken.

So I find myself in the dicey position of asking this woman to back off and allow the students to have their own experiences through this club rather than relive hers and do it in such a way as to not alienate the student leader who invited her in the first place.

All I wanted was a t-shirt.

Two signs of the apocolypse

First up: Just when you thought there were fewer rubes willing to be separated from their money so someone else could be rich, this comes across the streams of internet ether: Pooch pilsener. Beer for Bowser. Suds for Spot. Lager for Lassie. Oh, I could go on and on and on and on... Check it out at Happy Tail Ale.

We have a new chicken versus egg joke brewing here, folks, no pun intended. Which came first: beer for dogs or diet pills for dogs?

What's wrong, ol' girl? Did Timmy fall in the well with the bottle opener?

I'll let you off with a ticket this time, but the next time I see your mush team swerve and curve like that, I'm throwing the whole team in the kennel to dry out.

My name is Snoopy and I've fallen off my doghouse. You see, the bald-headed kid thought it would be funny to give me an after dinner drink and I've taken to selling my dog treats to support my hops habit.

Sign of the Apocolypse, Take Two: Yes, I'm going to write about shoes again. Well, not shoes so much as a cool way to organize them. Now that I've accumulated a few pair, I need to start thinking in this direction. Those midnight strolls to the loo have gotten a wee bit dangerous (again, no pun intended) since my collection started growing beyond the foot of the bed. To keep me from stubbing my toes and tripping over laces, I give you organizational art:


This is not too shabby looking. Of course, it'll have to be able to hold up under the weight of these:



Ha!
Click if you're interested in more info—like what was the artist thinking when she came up with this idea. I read too quickly to make out her vision statement. I was looking for info on sales on this side of the Pond, to no avail. (bummer)

The value of education

Just a few links

Need help moving the furniture? Not anymore.



Casio has sold 1 billion calculators. It took 50 years to reach this milestone. Does anyone else enjoy the irony that it took them longer to sell 1 billion than it would take to count to 1 billion? (1 billion seconds = 31 years)



iFone!! Get your iFone here!!
It's an iPod and a Fone! ... and you don't have to wait til June to own one!

Water tank, heal thyself!

What a bizarre week for inanimate objects in our house. Things are repairing themselves in strange ways and in totally unknown ways. The former is downright lucky and the latter is downright creepy.

First, my pedometer. I've taken to walking to school this quarter. A number of factors have led to this choice of locomotion. First and foremost is the fact that the 15 pounds I lost when I started this job 2+ years ago have slowly returned. I rather liked being 15 pounds lighter than I am right now. I don't think I look bad. I don't think I'm unhealthy. I would just like to continue wearing the same size jeans I've been able to wear for as long as I can remember. And those jeans were so baggy 15 pounds ago. I miss that.

The second factor is that my first class is not until 10 a.m. I have the luxury of walking and spending time with my iPod in my ears and being read to by some pseudo-anonymous voice. I say pseudo-anonymous because while I may not know the name of the reader, I never forget a voice. The poor woman who read a novel I absolutely hated yet was forced to listen to because The T was enjoying it (and as we know, The T gets what The T wants) just happens to also read some of the words at Merriam-Webster dot com. Check out the pronunciation of the word "noir" at the site. I have no idea who the woman is but I know she was forced to read complete drivel and I'm glad she can make a living doing something that requires a modicum of intelligence.

But wait. We were talking about things healing themselves. I have taken to wearing my pedometer again because I am a total geek and I love knowing how many steps I've taken in a day. Now that I walk a mile to and from school every day, that is lots of data I can play with (that sound you hear is me drooling over the data). Alas, I dropped the pedometer and lost a couple of days and valuable data because whatever makes this thing work wasn't operating correctly. When I dropped it again two days alter, it reverted back to normal operations. How lucky! The collection of steps-per-day data has commenced once again.

The other item that has healed itself through absolutely zero intervention on the part of humans is our hot water heater. After the familial invasion during the holidays, apparently the tank just got tired and, while it tried to make the water hot, was failing miserably. While my showers weren't lukewarm, there was also no threat of them being too hot, which had been the case previously. So for two weeks, The T and I collected more data regarding the temperature of the water. This consisted of me complaining that the water wasn't as hot as it had been in the past and The T saying she thought I was a nut job. Then one day she agreed with me. So then we had two weeks of us living with things as they were, apparently waiting to get so fed up with it that one of us called a plumber.

But then—lo! and behold!—I took a shower and almost scalded myself. I told The T the water was hot like before. I forget her exact phrasing but her comment implied that I was again displaying the characteristics of a nut job. ... until she took a shower. So now either we are both nut jobs or she was wrong. I am still waiting for clarification on which is the case.

What happened to the hot water heater to revert it back to its previous behavior? We have no idea. A quick crawl-about in the crawlspace revealed nothing that could clear up the mystery. I think it is best to not question it and just enjoy it.