On Making Art

Willard Wigan, who creates microsculptures:

I enjoy it when I finish it. Not working on it, no. It's misery, it's painstaking.

I can think of several artists who would agree...

Happy Thanksgiving

The turkey is out of the brine and into the oven; my parents are in Mexico with my Uncle John and Aunt Susie; Ian is hosting a dinner with Liz's family and Caitlin and Ash; Adam's sister Maya has flown down from San Fran, Mike is driving in, and the LA orphan crew will be assembling shortly. We're healthy and happy and in good company.

Plus, our president-elect has given us a message of hope and thankfulness.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Breaks And Paragraphs

[WARNING: Here be web nerdery]

Yikes.

Turns out, I've been writing some crappy code these past years. I haven't been using paragraph tags; instead, I've just been inserting line breaks between paragraphs as I type. Now, initially, this looks the same when converted to HTML for display, as the default paragraph tag setting is almost the same as a line break.

No, the problem appears when you start trying to customize your code.

So, for example, the post prior to this looks funky, with way too much space between paragraphs. This one looks just as lame. It happens because I've recently started using the <p> tag, because it'll let my (eventual) full-site redesign be more powerful. But, because everything old was done with line breaks, I need the blog to perform an action where it displays "returns" as line breaks. So, as I do have returns between <p> tags, suddenly the space is getting doubled between paragraphs anywhere the <p> tag is used.

I am lame. I know. I admit it.

My plan is this: I'm going to let the <p> tag posts look ugly for another week or two. Then, I'll disable the line break setting, making everything old look bad. At that point, I'll begin going back through my old posts and formatting them correctly; it will take a long time, so please be patient.

I'm sorry it has to be like this. I guess it's just my growing pains as a web designer. And, since I am not a web designer, I guess it could have been worse...

Michael Crichton R.I.P.

Michael Crichton died at the beginning of the month, and I feel bad that I haven't gotten to it until now. Other than Tolkien and (recently) Orson Scott Card, he's the modern writer I've read the most of. Jurassic Park, Congo, Sphere, and Eaters of the Dead are books I re-read regularly. I can't claim I do this for sparkling prose or thought-provoking narratives – my motive to return to these wells is pure entertainment.

That I am a science fiction geek is no surprise; the fact that I've read most of Crichton's work follows logically. For all of his weaknesses as a writer (and he had his share), he excelled at blending intriguing narratives with technological questions and dilemmas – those most basic "What if?" questions at the heart of good science fiction. Sometimes the premise was simple and primal – what if scientists cloned dinosaurs – while other times he went for a more specific story – what if a society of anciently trained gorillas came head-to-head with a late-twentieth century tech-heavy search party. But at his best, it was always intriguing, and kept me turning the pages.

One of my first memories of a "new" book is from the early nineties, probably March of 1992. My mom had orchestrated me giving my dad the Jurassic Park paperback as a Christmas or birthday gift, though I had barely glanced at the cover before it got wrapped. So a few weeks later, when my dad handed me some book open to a particular page.

"Read this, from here to here," he said.

So I did.

A narrow path wound down the hill. The air was chilly and damp. As they moved lower, the mist around them thinned, and Grant could see the landscape better. It looked, he thought, rather like the Pacific Northwest, the Olympic Peninsula.

"That's right," Regis said. "Primary ecology is deciduous rain forest. Rather different from the vegetation on the mainland, which is more classical rain forest. But this is a microclimate that only occurs at elevation, on the slopes of the northern hills. The majority of the island is tropical."

Down below, they could see the white roofs of large buildings, nestled among the planting. Grant was surprised: the construction was elaborate. They moved lower, out of the mist, and now he could see the full extent of the island, stretching away to the south. As Regis had said, it was mostly covered in tropical forest.

To the south, rising above the palm trees, Grant saw a single trunk with no leaves at all, just a big curving stump. Then the stump moved, and twisted around to face the new arrivals. Grant realized that he was not seeing a tree at all.

He was looking at the graceful, curving neck of an enormous creature, rising fifty feet into the air.

He was looking at a dinosaur.

And then I was hooked.

I read Jurassic Park over three days, reading almost every moment I could, staying up until 3 or 4 in the morning to keep on going. Sure, the story was a survival adventure about dinosaurs, but it also tied into technology and science,; it was hard to imagine a single story tying into more of my interests.

When watching the news with my parents, we heard a report on Hurricane Iniki, which had just hit the Hawaiian island Kaua'i "disrupting the filming of Steven Spielberg's Jurassic Park." My dad and I looked at each other – our favorite director, making the movie of a book about cloning dinosaurs? It's hard to imagine a time before the internet, when we would have had no way of knowing about it, aside from a lucky newscast, but there we were, and we were excited.

We saw the movie as a family – I'll never forget my mom jumping and screaming when a velociraptor stuck its head through the piping in the maintenance shed. Just two weeks after it's June 3, 1993 opening, I took my dad back as a father's gift, just the two of us.¹ Clearly, an impression was made.

And so my love affair with Crichton was born; soon, I was reading Disclosure, Rising Sun, Sphere, and Congo. Our copy of Jurassic Park starting falling apart, so I got another one. The Lost World is the first book I remember looking forward to; everything else I was excited about, literarily, was either long since published, or a new find. In this case, I got to anticipate, which was a fun all its own.²

I've read most of his books, some bad, most good. I've studied him in class, watched his movies, and enjoyed his TV shows. He may have been a right-wing nutjob (with his "global warming is a myth" book State of Fear which I have not finished), and he may not have written the greatest prose, but the man had a knack for storytelling, and more than the normal share of imagination. Plus, he was a big time Mac user.

And now I'm speaking of him in the past tense.

Thanks for everything, Mr. Crichton.

---

1. Embarassingly, I remember taking him to McDonald's (!) for dinner, and I think he paid for the movie, but hey, it's the thought that counts! [⇪]




2. That this book, as well as the two film sequels, were somewhat disappointing didn't matter; my dad and I saw both of the films together, and found plenty to like in the book (as well as the first sequel). [⇪]

The Secret Lives of Ants

We've all seen ant farms; however, like Khan, they betray a bit of two-dimensional thinking. Eager for a better look at a real colony, a group of scientists scrounged together 10 tons (!) of cement and poured it into a leaf-cutter ant colony.

The results are, in a word, breathtaking. The complexity of the resulting structure, as well as its obvious logic and seeming design, must be seen to be believed. Yes, it looks like they buried a living colony in cement, but it's hard to be upset once the colony is unearthed.

Enthusiasm Beyond Reason

Linked below is a feat that is American down to its core.

Dedication to a seemingly impossible task; refusal to accept defeat; willingness to experience utter humiliation in pursuit of a dream.

Oh – and it's totally, completely pointless. Ridiculous, in fact. Done only because maybe it can be. Not for any benefit to mankind or personal gain. The mountain is climbed because it is there.

O beautiful, for spacious skies...

Primer: Where The Money Went

I don't know many financial pros (Hi Sahra!), but I do know my fair share of smart people. And the only consensus I've seen among them is that the financial mess the United States finds itself in is really hard to figure out. I guess that once you have billions of dollars being traded daily, a government policy designed to obfuscate and enable, and greedy people and corporations who don't care about consequences, chaos sets in really fast.

So it's nice to find a few easily-digestible breakdowns of what exactly went wrong. Most recently, Daily Kos published an organized, succinct, and funny explanation:

Wait a second. Swaps are unregulated. No one says I have to have enough resources to cover the swap, and even better, no one says I have to offer the swap to the person who actually made the loan! Hey buddy, see that loan over there? You may think it's iffy, but I think it'll hold up. In fact, I'm so sure it will, I'll sell you a credit default swap on it that pays off if it fails. You don't make the loan, you don't have to pay off on the loan, you don't have anything to do with the loan. You just pay me the fee. And if that guy loses his money, you collect. How sweet is that!

…At this point, credit default swaps have become completely divorced from the original function. A single loan can be covered by multiple swaps. There's a complicated fiscal term for this. It's called gambling, and at this stage, that's all that remains of those little "insurance" policies. They no longer protect anyone from anything, they just offer a chance to place enormous overlapping side bets on everything.

For the record, the article is overly partisan, and overlooks the role of many Democrats who enabled this mess, but fairly targets the total failure of deruglation, and the role it played in getting us into this mess.

This American Life and Ira Glass have visited this well himself; first in May, he devoted the entirety of episode 355, "The Giant Pool of Money" to the initial mortgage collapse, and again with a follow up a few weeks ago called, appropriately, "Another Frightening Show About the Economy," which is exactly what it sounds like.

I've listened to each program twice, and they're both incredible illuminating. Highly recommended.

Yes, This Is Real

Actually, you know what?

I don't want to link to this.

Everyone's (least) favorite plumber Joe has launched a website. And I'd be laughing my way across the floor if it wasn't so scary and sad.

See, apparently "we are all Joe." Awesome. I'm a tax-evading self-promoting schmuck who, along with Sarah Palin, believes strong opinions and under-education (plus a solid need for celebrity) qualify me for public service and national power.

There was a lot of noise about that fact that Joe isn't Joe – he's Samuel Joseph Wurzelbacher. I am in no position to rag on the man for going by his middle name (we even share first names), and have to say that that criticism is unfair. But if that's how you like to be called, then man up and stick to it; don't credit yourself as "Samuel J. Wurzelbacher" on your book "Fighting For The American Dream," just to make yourself sound like one of those educated media elites you hate so much.

Hmm. On second thought, don't title your book that, either.

Those of you hungerin' for more Joe, head on over to "secureourdream.com" (really). It's exactly what you'd expect it to be, wrapped up in some excellent circa-1997 HTML. I can't say I recommend it, and he shouldn't get the clicks, but some of us (myself included) are gluttons for punishment.

Anyone have a fifteen minute timer?

Digital Terror

A little late for Halloween, but follow the link for a taste of the horror every computer-user lives in fear of.

Backup, people! Backup!

A Bunch of Rocks

As close to poetry as I imagine stick-figure comics can get.

Smokey Days

I was doing some exercises in the living room yesterday, and thought to myself Hey, did I leave a burner on?

Only to realize, a moment later, I hadn't cooked anything all day.

Wildfire season had been doing its thing in Southern California, but the direct L.A. area had been spared – until this weekend.

Orange county is burning. Sylmar, in the northern Valley (only a few miles from where I work and many of my friends live) is quickly turning into ash. Oprah, Rob Lowe, and Christopher Lloyd all have homes in the danger zone.

But we're safe in West Hollywood. I guess being in the middle (or closest thing) of the L.A. metropolitan region has some benefits. When the wildfires rage, we all smell the sticky, hazy odor of burning homes and buildings, cars get a little ashy, our temples may pound from the god-knows-what we end up inhaling, and the sunsets turn scarily-beautiful red, while lasting twice as long as normal. We don't lose homes or life, just oxygen and sleep.

So yesterday, as I walked the neighborhood doing shopping, smelling the burnt California in the air around me, I felt thankful that amidst the personal tragedies these fires bring, where on literally all sides the country is burning, where peoples' lives are falling apart less than 20 miles away, ravaged by a force of nature that has utterly destroyed so many cities in the past, my biggest concern was the odor in my nostrils, and the overpriced chicken at Whole Foods.

As Jamie points out (with a fantastic picture of the fires, I might add – where'd you get that, Jamie?), we don't fight fires that much smarter than we did 100 years ago. Bigger tanks, airborne deployment, and occasional chemical aid pretty much round out the tactical advances. Wildfires still rage, and people braver than I run up to the edge of them with as much H₂O as they can deliver. What worked for the Athenians works for us.

But we've gotten damn good at insulating ourselves from the hot stuff.

Did I leave the stove on?

Charcoal & Honey

This one goes out to my mom and dad, who keep bees back home.

Find out why outdoor grills and bees may not be the best combination, in a story both tragic and amazing...

Wow!

Toast Is In The Air

Yesterday, I read about a toaster that will brand handwritten messages onto your toast (yes, one commenter did refer to these as "Toast-It Notes"). Today, Kevin sent me an e-mail featuring the ultra-cool (and -geeky) Darth Vader toaster. Add in the "Toaster toaster" from July (heh heh), and toasting seems to be weirdly chic.

To round it out, here's a list of novel toasters from September, featuring several out-there designs. Apparently, a lot of work is being done in the "custom-image-on-your-toast" market; it certainly seems smarter than the "combine-exposed-electric-elements-with-water-for-toast-teapot-combo" market.

East vs West

I've got as good a geographical sense as the next guy, but Randall Munroe over at xkcd has a damn good point.

It goes to show, sometimes obvious reasons aren't so obvious from another point of view. Just like Obi-Wan Kenobi told us 25 years ago.

Ri-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ight

Coming to you straight from the planet Htrae, conservative blogger John Hinderacker has some very important advice for President-Elect Barack Obama, culled from the positive examples of our current lame-duck President:

Obama thinks he is a good talker, but he is often undisciplined when he speaks. He needs to understand that as President, his words will be scrutinized and will have impact whether he intends it or not. In this regard, President Bush is an excellent model; Obama should take a lesson from his example. Bush never gets sloppy when he is speaking publicly. He chooses his words with care and precision, which is why his style sometimes seems halting. In the eight years he has been President, it is remarkable how few gaffes or verbal blunders he has committed. If Obama doesn't raise his standards, he will exceed Bush's total before he is inaugurated.

My response is best described by an uncommon typographic symbol: the interrobang.

Birmingham-Southern College hosts an image of the exact thoughts I had while reading this.

History Is Made, And For The Better

One Giant Leap, indeed.

Check out the Newseum for more front pages; a lot of great images from a very slow (overloaded?) website.

More from me later, I promise.

[Note: that link takes you to the "Today" page, as there is no permalink. I suspect this link here may work in the future, even though it isn't functional now. Update to follow whenever that link goes live.]

Let's Do This

Ready to go.

Obama Wins Dixville Notch, NH

Dixville Notch, an unincorporated northern New Hampshire township, has followed a unique voting practice since 1960; at midnight, all registered voters in the town of 75 gather at the town hall, vote, and immediately announce their results.

Dixville Notch provides what is essentially the first official number on election day.

And this morning, the village voted 15-6 for Barack Obama.

A deeper look into Dixville Notch shows that, since the midnight voting tradition began, there has never been a larger electorate than in 1988, when 38 voters cast ballots – 34 of them for George Bush (Sr.).

They have had a Democratic majority exactly once, prior to this, when they voted for Hubert Humphrey over Richard Nixon, 8-4. Not the happiest of portents, but I'll take it.

It's going to be a long day...


[And no, Dixville Notch is not an indicator of the election at large. Interesting factoid, yes. Electoral tea leaves? No. That'd be Missouri.]

This Just In

About five minutes ago, it started pouring in West Hollywood. About a minute in, a bright flash of lightning was followed almost immediately by a thunderclap so loud, it set off car alarms up and down the street. The guy who parked his convertible across the street is not going to be happy.

Fall's over. Winter is here. Good news for the wildfires, I guess.