A Mover and A Shaker

Perhaps my favorite Halloween party (of my grown-up costume party years) was the year my little sister and I dressed as a 'mover' and a 'shaker' in college. As the 'shaker', I pulled my hair into a ponytail, wore all black, and pinned a rather large white letter 'S' to my sweater: little sis wore a ballcap and all yellow with a black-and-red "Ryder" sign pinned to her back. (As I recall, she wore very cute red flats, too.) We were awarded 'Most Clever' costume. And lots of free beverages.

Good times.

Wish I had a photo.


Today's conundrum: How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll tootsie-pop?

Future conundrum: If we only use them one night each year, how many years will the lights last that we use for the notorious 'red eyes' on Halloween?

Thanks for perusing this blog; blog you again soon!

Finally!

I had a phone call last night from the lovely Mary at the Learned Owl bookshop: Wolf Hall had arrived. Finally.

If you don't hear from me for a few days... Actually, given my blog frequency, that might not alarm you. Regardless, I will be reading.

Today's conundrum: When big-box retailers go up against online giants - and collectively confound MainStreet shops, is price-fixing a question of economics or laissez-faire? Check out these articles from the Wall Street Journal and the Plain Dealer for some interesting points-of-view.

Future conundrum: How will you support the 3/50 Project?

Thanks for perusing this blog; blog you again soon!

It's October and all is well.

In light of current events, here is a re-post of an earlier tIO post, originally dated 26 March 2006. Enjoy. And Go Yankees.


So where was I?

Oh, yes. Football. Well, I'm over football now, FYI. You see, at heart, I am a true baseball fanatic. I prefer baseball to any other sport - even Aussie Rules. Even tennis. Even (insert sport here).

Spring has sprung, officially, and they are training hard in Florida. They haven't started Johnny yet, and I haven't fully accepted him yet either. Oh, now wait. I can hear you all cringing, and writhing on the floor in anguish that someone else has declared themselves a Yankee fan. I'll have you all know that I have been since birth, as my father is and deemed it so for me. Yes - I have lusted in my heart for other teams (the '85 Royals or the Mets - gasp - of the Lee Mazzilli era). I have never strayed, however, from my first loves: Ron, Bucky, Dave, Reggie, Tino, and Donny Baseball.

I could go on and on, but will stop short and state that one of the happiest days of my life was the day I experienced first-hand a Yankee victory parade through the Canyon. Having spent my entire life in Indians/Reds/Tigers/Cubs/WhiteSox-country, I was finally able to scream myself silly in a frenzied, jubilant celebration of MY team's victory. Moreover, I shared this altered state with 1/2 million others. Sheer bliss.

So, welcome, Spring! Let's line the base paths, dust the plate, and kick the rubber. I'm stretched and ready. And, may the Yankees pennant soar high once again in October.


Today's conundrum: What happens if you build a new stadium and it quickly becomes known as a 'hitters' park'?

Future conundrum: What would you do for a Klondike bar?

Thanks for perusing this blog; blog you again soon!

It's a Banner Day!

I'm starting something new on tIO: banner days.

What are "Banner Days", you ask?

Let's start from the very beginning (don't sing it without me). The definition of 'banner', from the Merriam-Webster online:

banner \ˈba-nər\ Etymology: Middle English banere, from Anglo-French, of Germanic origin; akin to Gothic bandwo sign; probably akin to Greek phainein to show

'Banner' is a NOUN 
Date: 13th century
1 a : a piece of cloth attached by one edge to a staff and used by a leader (as a monarch or feudal lord) as his standard b : flag c : an ensign displaying a distinctive or symbolic device or legend; especially : one presented as an award of honor or distinction
2 : a headline in large type running across a newspaper page
3 : a strip of cloth on which a sign is painted s stretched across the street>
4 : a name, slogan, or goal associated with a particular group or ideology —often used withunder
5 : an advertisement graphic that runs usually across the top of a web page

'Banner' is an ADJECTIVE
Date: 1840
1 : prominent in support of a political party
2 : distinguished from all others especially in excellence

'Banner' is a VERB
Date: 1889
1 : to furnish with a banner
2 : to print (as a news story) under a banner usually on the front page

I firmly believe in banners. They are heralds: markers of identity and camaraderie. They symbolise loyalty and confidence. Joy in declaration; signifiers in defeat. Predictably, one of my favorite lyrics from a song (an alma mater actually) extols the banner: "Unfurl your banner into the sky, hurray, hurray, hurray!" Simply put, banners are optimistic. Inveterately, so. And as such, this blogger has decided to have some "banner days". Starting with today. And starting with this:



A lovely local-to-me shop. (I love it when they're local!) The proprietors, Angie and Tyson Lamielle, are out-of-the-box thinkers who create seriously wonderful art and not-too-serious hand-crafted home decor. Check out their blog: http://cantonboxcompany.blogspot.com/ and/or follow them on Twitter. And here's the banner in their etsy shop that caught my eye.

I'm off and running now. Make it a banner day, kids!

Thanks for perusing this blog; blog you again soon!

For the love of physics, will someone burn that book?

I am considering selling some of my textbooks from college, so I did a little research on how to go about it and what my books might fetch.

Guess what I found out?

They aren't very valuable, if they have resale potential at all.

On an extremely positive note, however, textbooks are now being reviewed. (Another "Huzzah!" for the internet - and technology in general.) And guess what? My nightmare-inducing, "we-will-use-this-textbook-no-matter-how-much-you-protest" Mathematical Methods for Physicists is lambasted in the reviews. Hah! [Yes, yes, I was a physics major as an undergraduate. I also majored in psychology, if that appeases. Probably not.]


The "Methods" book was the bane of my emotional life as a physics major. I would literally cry over my papers when I reached page 8 of a proof only to find out that a) no answers were provided in the book and 2) I had made an error "somewhere along the line" and needed to "rework the entire problem", according to the helpful-but-equally-unnerved grad assistant. To rub salt in the proverbial wound, about half-way through the semester, we found out (from a friend-of-a-friend at another university) that there was more than one way to skin Schrodinger's cat. And our book didn't mention it.

Yet we were compelled to use it: it was co-authored by the illustrious Professor Emeritus, who popped-in from time-to-time to lecture, and edited by a current professor, who was the instructor. While an honor to study with the source, I kept thinking: "Couldn't we just have him to tea once a week?" and "Isn't the lecture series dedicated to and named for him?" and "Could he possibly stop smiling at us as if this is all very amusing?" Eventually we students concluded (and had confirmed) that the book was written for the authors as a challenge to themselves and for other 'practising theoretical physicists' as a reference encyclopaedia. Indeed. At least we knew the truth. And the book served its purpose for our puerile, undergraduate minds as well; it was an impetus to drink.

One of the online reviews ends with this: "If ((this book)) is going to be your first introductory text to these topics and if you are not supported by very good lectures I can only say that may God have mercy on your soul."

He did mine: my course load the following year was in French, genetics, religion, and Shakespeare. I did finish the "Methods" class, though; and throughout the second semester, I was better prepared for the long hours of homework that would inevitably dissolve into a bedtime routine of washing the streaks of tears from my face and falling into bed exhausted. And, after (mumbles incoherently) years, discovering these reviews reminds me that we weren't alone in our frustration. In fact, the reviews just might put an end to my recurring nightmares of forgetting how to solve the Taylor expansion, showing up to class unprepared for an exam, and walking up to turn it in only to discover that I am stark naked. And not with my 'pre-babies' body.


In reality, it was torture. But I now know that the professors were putting us through our paces, hoping to leave us with an appreciation for the material and a sense of accomplishment. We were taught with enthusiasm about the subject we all loved, an infectious trait that rarely escaped me and always kept me coming back to class. Most importantly, though, they were kind: they always graded on a curve and a 24/100 was an 'A'.

PS: Obviously, I still have the book. But now I have these comforting words, too: "...this book is truly quite poor. Oh, it certainly looks very boss on one's shelf, and those tastefully formatted integral equations bursting with funny symbols and Greek letters really turn the grandchildren's heads. But this book is utterly useless for teaching mathematics. ... Relegate ((this book)) to doorstop duty: it will perform admirably."


Today's conundrum: If Schrodinger's cat climbs a tree in the woods, does anyone care? And why isn't it in its box?

Future conundrum: Who wrote the book of love?

Thanks for perusing this blog; blog you again soon!