Scattered Thoughts on Intelligence

In a dark, secret corner of the internet, Tammy has dug herself in deep by choosing to rate her siblings in order of intelligence. Naturally she rates herself first on the list. I will not be so brazen, but I will rate my ~~children~~ cats in order of intelligence: Toto, Meatball, Simon, Nemo.

I believe one of Toto’s problems (and lordy does she have problems) is that she’s too damn smart. Ever since she was a kitten, she’s shown signs of extraordinary cat intellect. At one time she would eagerly play fetch. I had never seen a cat do this, though I’d read about it. It was great fun. Once or twice she was able to open the bathroom door while shut inside. She’s always had an uncanny ability to guess our intentions, and to convey her own.

Nemo’s at the opposite end of the spectrum. He’s a dopey, cross-eyed freak, but he’s a sweetie. He’s so dumb that the birds and the squirrels mock him. I once watched three squirrels torment him around the base of the walnut tree.

I think it’s dangerous to start rating how smart you think people are. We each think in different ways. There are different sorts of intelligence. I’m smart about some things, but woefully ignorant of others. I believe that my brothers and I are of roughly equal intelligence, but I doubt we’d test out as such. We each have different strengths. One of mine happens to be standardized tests. But Tony’s better at dealing with people, and Jeff’s better and dealing with space and numbers.

I have a tendency to think of others as brilliant who are capable of performing feats of which I am incapable. For example, when I first met her, I thought that Pam was the smartest person in the world. When I met Joel, I thought he was. Both are smart, but I came to realize that what I really admired was their ability to think and act in realms that were foreign to me.

I used to love to get together with Andrew and Dana. (Sadly those days seem to be gone.) Each of us is pretty bright, but each of us is borderline autistic in our his way. This leads to some entertaining discussions and arguments as we’re each convinced of our rectitude, unwilling to yield to another’s viewpoint. (Dana, in particular, is set in her ways. In our more than fifteen years of friendship, I’ve never seen her alter a viewpoint.) We each recognize that the three of us are pretty smart. It’s just that each of us thinks that he’s a little smarter than the other two.

Ultimately intelligence is overrated. Which would you rather be: dumb and happy, or smart and miserable?

Cannonballs and Splinters

After reading even a little nautical fiction one is impressed by the brutish qualities of life aboard ship. This is especially true during the battles at sea, during which heavy lead balls were flung across the water, hurtling into air, into ship, into rigging, and into men. One of the most memorable passages in Patrick O’Brian’s Aubrey/Maturin series occurs during just such an engagement. Captain Aubrey is on deck, giving orders, and he turns to speak to one of his men, only to find that the man’s head has just been taken off by a cannonball. Not pretty.

But one gets the impression from these tales that even more deadly than cannonballs was the shrapnel they created. These “splinters” of wood (it seems odd to call a large hunk of jagged wood a splinter, yet such is the case) were reportedly a common source of injuries.

Apparently the show Mythbusters recently attempted to answer the question, “What hurt more people, cannonballs or the splinters they made?” From what I can gather, they weren’t able to produce satisfactory splinters, which led the hosts to conclude the splinters weren’t as dangerous as many people think. (This paragraph is all based on third-hand accounts, but I think I have the gist of things correct.)

This led to a fascinating AskMetafilter question regarding cannonballs, splinters, and the Mythbuster methodology. (The thread features a response from one of the show’s hosts, Adam Savage.)

All of this is prologue, however. What this entry is really about is showing Dave and Joel and Andrew (and all my other pirate buddies) the keen Fighting Sail Exhibit page. It’s awesome, particularly for the video of cannons being fired into a reconstructed mid-section. I’ve mirrored the video here in case the original page goes away. Watch and enjoy!

[I wouldn’t have found this without Matt pointing it out]

Ho Ho Ho!

I’ve been a busy little beaver at Custom Box lately. Or maybe I should say a busy little elf.

During the holidays, I get to put on my Santa hat (literally) and drive my sleigh from customer-to-customer delivering goodies. Time is tight this year. Jeff is leaving for vacation tomorrow. Nick’s taking Thursday off, too. That means today is the last day I can be out slipping down chimneys. I’ve had to rush the deliveries this year, but I think I’m going to get them all done.

So far I haven’t had any mishaps: no slugs of whiskey with clients, no smoking my pipe in the car before going into an office. In fact, I’ve had some downright pleasant conversations with clients. They’re uniformly pleased with us, which is good to hear.

Shockingly, doing actual work at work means I have little time to write. So, my evenings have been filled with weblog stuff. (I’m taking next week off from Get Rich Slowly, so I’m scrambling to prepare content now.) It’s all rather hectic.

I’ve made time to watch a couple movies with Kris, though. Over the weekend, we watched the fifth James Bond film (I’m watching them all in order), You Only Live Twice. It was terrible. This far into the series, my order of preference is: From Russia With Love (which is vastly superior to the others), Dr. No, Thunderall, Goldfinger, and You Only Live Twice. Look for a huge recap entry in a couple months, when I’ve finished watching them all.

On Monday, we watched an early Jodie Foster film: The Little Girl Who Lives Down the Lane. Even at the age of fourteen, Foster was a great actress. But this is one strange film. (It features President Bartlett as a pedophile.) Last night we watched the much-lauded Little Miss Sunshine. I’d heard a lot about this film. It’s received almost unanimous praise. Yet Kris and I were both left feeling underwhelmed. The jokes had no depth. (The joke about the Proust scholar is simply that he’s a Proust scholar? Come on. Get a little deeper than that.) The film had no depth. It’s not a bad movie — I just don’t get the universal praise.

Oops. Customer with an emergency in Salem. Time to leave.

A Lot Like Christmas

We’re still test-driving Max. “He is cute,” Kris admitted last night, as he snuggled next to her to watch Amelie. The other cats — Toto, Simon, and Nemo — aren’t convinced.

Actually, Toto is a little less growly at Max than she is at Nemo, though she’s still growly. Simon and Nemo were both cranky initially, and they’re still concerned, but their fears seem to be waning. Last night Max made blind jump onto a chair where Nemo was sleeping. Though Max stepped on him, Nemo maintained composure. Then, while we were getting ready to sleep, Max was stalking Simon’s tail. Simon was sleeping on a corner of the bed, and as he dreamed his tailed flicked gently. This was too much to resist apparently, and Maxie pounced. Simon snapped awake, but he didn’t growl or hiss — he simply glared.

Max loves to play, and I think that eventually his brothers will be pleased to have him around. Especially Nemo.

My wellness program is going well. Despite a week of temptations — some of which I succumbed to — my weight remains unchanged and I feel good. (The real benefit of this program is how I feel, actually, and not how much I weigh.)

I’ve re-discovered something I already knew: it’s a mistake to have anything tempting in the house at all. For example, I bought some hard candies for the Roth family Christmas on Saturday. Only a few got eaten, so all Sunday I munched on the leftovers. I have no self-control. This is my first real sugar lapse since starting six weeks ago. I intend to simply toss the candy when I get home tonight. Yes, it’s a waste of a couple bucks, but so what? The benefit is worth much more.

As I mentioned, we had Roth family Christmas on Saturday. It was actually rather nice. Since Tony moved his family to Bend, we don’t see him them very often. It was good to spend some time together. (This must be what it’s like for normal families — when you spend most of your waking hours with your siblings, holiday gatherings can be rather anticlimactic.)

I was startled at how much Tony’s oldest son, Michael, resembles me at that age. He’s in second grade, and looking at him is like looking at one of my school photos. I know lots of other kids, and like most of them, but looking at Michael is different. It’s eerie. It’s like looking at future J.D. Or past J.D. Or something.

The Wii was a hit, yet again. That sports game Nintendo included was a stroke of genius. It’s so easy that a four-year-old can play. Well, okay, not quite. But a five-year-old could. And a four-year-old can with the help of a parent. Until he’s bored and lays down in the middle of the floor where everyone else is trying to play tennis!

The problem with being a professional blogger (yes, I did just write that) is that there’s never any time off. A free Sunday afternoon? Should I get together with friends? Head down to Zion for sing-your-own-Messiah? Watch movies with Kris? Nope. Time to whip up a few entries because I know that I won’t have time during the day this week — I’ll be off playing Santa Claus with my customers.

The Decemberists and Stupid Pet Tricks

It’s YouTube day here at foldedspace! First up, for Kris, is The Decemberist’s recent appearance on David Letterman. Craig should like this, too. They perform “Valencia”.

Next, for my brother Jeff, is the stupidest dog in the world:

And, finally, for me there’s videos of funny cats. (The first clip is short and very, very funny):

I love cats.

The One-Hundred Mittens Project

Amy Jo has a ~~knitting~~ sewing project, and she’s recruiting help.

Hello everyone! I have a favor to ask. Would you mind digging through your closet(s) to see if you have any 100-percent wool sweaters that you are willing to donate to a good cause? I hope to make 100 pairs of felted wool mittens by Christmas to donate to local senior, women’s, and homeless organizations.

One medium-sized woman’s sweater will make one pair of adult mittens and at least one pair of child-size mittens. It doesn’t matter if the sweater is tatty or has holes in it, or if you’ve washed and shrunk it somewhere along the line (that would actually help me save the step of “felting” the sweaters before making the mittens). And, if you are feeling ambitious and would like to join me in the sewing of mittens, I’ll gladly send you the template and instructions. They are very easy to make — only one seam!

If you’d like to contribute to Amy Jo’s mitten extravaganza, leave a comment here or drop me a line. Also: I’ll happily ferry old sweaters, if needed.

God Hates Blogs

The Restored Church of God has revealed a secret hitherto unknown: God hates blogs. Why?

First, there are the obvious dangers: on-line pedophiles, filthy language, risqué pictures, bullying, and addiction. But these are just the tip of the iceberg. A greater danger is that blogging gives a person a “voice”.

Whether or not it is effective, as soon as something is posted the person has a larger voice. It often makes the blogger feel good or makes him feel as if his opinion counts—when it is mostly mindless blather!

The horror! There are other evils, too. Bloggers are too open. They’re vain. They write too many idle words. What’s The Restored Church of God’s official position on blogging?

…No one — including adults — should have a blog or personal website (unless it is for legitimate business purposes). When this policy, now being instituted, was discussed with Mr. Pack and other Headquarters ministers, there was not a shadow of doubt in anyone’s mind that blogs are something youth should not be doing in any way. As has been said before, Jesus Christ and His Church have standards. Those who desire fewer standards should go to the splinters or to the world.

I would comment on this, but it would just get me into trouble. Suffice it to say that I believe you should simply go forth and blog!

[From the Restored Church of God’s own blog, and via waxy.]

The Carrion Drive

Near home it’s squirrels. Even on the rough-pocketed side streets, it’s squirrels, and often with the crows pecking at the corpse. “I have a theory,” I tell Kris. “I think the crows raise the squirrels. They nurture them. They bring them to fatness. Then, when they’re good and ready, they herd the squirrels into traffic. Squirrel is a delicacy for crows. That’s my theory.”

Sometimes it’s cats, too, but not very often. Cats are generally smarter than that. They don’t freeze in the face of oncoming traffic the way a squirrel does. Cats get it when they’re making some mad dash across traffic. They’re too cocky about their speed and agility, and they don’t quite make it.

There aren’t many cats around our place, but once you get toward Canby, it’s the cats for sure. Just on the bluff, near the fruit stand and the trailer park, that’s where you start to see them. And then down toward the Foursquare Church, and certainly after driving through town, heading out into the country again. The cats hit me in the gut. “That was somebody’s pet,” I think. “That was Toto or Simon or Nemo.”

But once you get through town, it’s more than the cats. Mostly it’s skunks and coons, depending on the time of year. It used to be the possums, but frankly I don’t see them much anymore. But I see the skunks and the coons. The coons make me sad — though not like the cats — because I think of them as smart. It makes me sadder still when it’s not one coon, but two, as it sometimes is. Sometimes it’s one coon in the middle of the road and one coon at the side. “Husband and wife?” I wonder. “Do coons mate for life?”

Today, at the bottom of Good’s Bridge, it was a deer, lumped in the middle of the road. I came upon it fast in the melting light, and at first I thought it was a body. A human body. But it was a deer, a small doe, slumped and bleeding from the head. It was in the center of the road, which is a good thing, because otherwise maybe it would have been human bodies, too, and twisted metal and shattered glass.

It was a deer at almost the precise spot where a week ago it had been a horse. I didn’t know it was a horse. I drove past in the morning, and it was a mound on the side of the road, like a pile of barkdust maybe, or a pile of dirt. It was covered in some crazy-quilt blanket, and I thought, “That’s odd.” But I didn’t know it was a horse until Nick got to work and said, “Did you see the horse?” “What horse?” I said. “The one at the bottom of Good’s Bridge,” he said, and then I knew it wasn’t a pile of barkdust or a pile of dirt.

But you know what it never is? It’s never dogs. I don’t get that. It must be dogs sometimes — I hit a dog once. But why isn’t it ever dogs on the road? Do people pull them off? Maybe they’re just not let loose outside like they used to be.

About a month ago, I drove from Custom Box to Sandy, by way of Estacada. Turning off the highway, heading up the hill toward Sandy, traffic had slowed to a crawl. “What gives?” I wondered, but then I saw: up ahead two dogs — a silky Golden Retriever and some little mixed mutt — were strolling down the middle of the road, following the striped line. It was like they were out for a pleasant walk after lunch. The Golden Retriever walked evenly, following the striped line; the little mixed mutt orbited around it. Traffic in my lane crawled along behind. Oncoming traffic came barreling around a blind corner to halt abruptly and then creep past the pair. That’s how it went: a car came barreling around the blind corner, and I held my breath because I was sure one of the dogs would get it, but the car would brake hard, stop, and then creep past. The dogs didn’t care. Traffic followed the dogs for a quarter mile before the pair found a side street they preferred and ambled off to find whatever it is they were looking for.

I wonder why it’s never dogs.

Blog Speculation for Fun and Profit

The web is an interesting place, and the blogosphere more interesting still. It’s become clear that there’s space for millions of voices to write on millions of topics. But only a few weblogs rise to the top.

How, then, can a person be sure that a weblog will obtain popularity? The short answer is: “We can’t.” But I think that just as domain-name speculators have been able to make their trade profitable, it’s becoming possible to make money from blog speculation.

I kid you not.

When Nintendo announced that its next-generation gaming system would be dubbed Wii, it took me a few hours to realize the obvious: Wii Blog was the perfect name for a Wii-themed news site. By the time I’d figured this out, the domains were gone. One is home to a lame-ish blog (and others are dead or mere placeholders), but it didn’t have to be that way. With a little style and panache and a lot of content, the Wii Blog could have been a hub for Wii enthusiasts, and a huge money-making proposition.

Blog opportunities aren’t limited to the realm of consumer electronics. I was reading an article today about Illinois Senator Barack Obama. Obama is a rising star in the Democratic party. (Perhaps the rising star, the One Great Hope.) He has cross-party appeal, bridging all sorts of gaps. He’s black. He’s religious. He’s an excellent orator. He knocks ’em dead wherever he goes. He’s widely expected to be a viable Presidential candidate inside a decade. “Why not an Obama blog?” I thought, and before the thought had even finished forming, I was on my way to the computer to set one up. But, alas, the idea has occurred to others already.

What other sorts of blog topics could generate traffic and cash? It doesn’t take much of an imagination sometimes to make a prediction. How about a blog about the 2008 U.S. Presidential campaign? Start it now, add quality content, and in two years you have a search-engine-friendly popular blog with huge traffic. And huge revenue.

Think making money from blogs is impossible? It’s not. If I can make several hundred dollars a month (or more) from my loose collection of blogs, how much could a person who pursued this seriously make? A savvy techie could make a fortune in passive income.

In the future, I believe we’ll see more blog speculation as people create sites devoted to the Next Big Thing.

As some of you have already noticed, I’ve begun working on a foldedspace.org remodel at the root of this site. Yes, it’s true: I’m going to switch this blog from Moveable Type to WordPress. I’m also going to move its location again. With any sort of luck, this will be the last major overhaul for a long time.

RIP Crocodile Hunter

It’s always startling to discover which celebrity deaths affect me. Ronald Reagan? “He was so old, man.” River Phoenix? Meh. But Steve Irwin, the crocodile hunter? My heart aches.

But why? I never watched anything the guy ever did. I always thought he was kind of goofy. But somewhere deep inside, I admired Irwin’s spirit, his enthusiasm, his vocation. He was a man living his dream.

And so when I read the news of Irwin’s death last night, I went to bed in a funk. I dreamt of wild animals. I woke still sad.