Monday, December 30, 2013

Reading log, 2013

Here it is, the year's not-much-anticipated reading log. Of note, I finished Will Durant's 4th volume of his Story of Civilization series. I began that book before I began dating Laura. Yay, done.

Another note: a full-time job is an obstacle for reading. I finished fifteen books Jan–Apr, coinciding with unemployment, and managed a meager seven books in the remaining eight months, coinciding with employment. Yay, money.

Lastly, an unsubstantiated opinion: It's too bad George Orwell has captured the modern imagination because Arthur Koestler's Darkness at Noon is a much better book at showing what went wrong with the 20th century Communist Revolution.

  • John Masefield
    The Box of Delights (1935)

  • Walter Tevis
    The Man Who Fell to Earth (1963)

  • Neil Gaiman
    Anansi Boys (2005)

  • George Orwell
    Animal Farm (1945)

  • Arthur Koestler
    Darkness at Noon (1940)

  • Kurt Vonnegut
    Mother Night (1961)

  • Ray Bradbury
    Dandelion Wine (1957)

  • Richard Feynman
    Six Easy Pieces: Essentials of Physics Explained by Its Most Brilliant Teacher (1994)

  • Will Durant
    The Age of Faith: A History of Medieval Civilization—Christian, Islamic, and Judaic—from Constantine to Dante: A.D. 325-1300 (1950)

  • Joe Hill
    Horns (2010)

  • Isaac Asimov
    Foundation (1951)

  • Isaac Asimov
    Foundation and Empire (1952)

  • Isaac Asimov
    Second Foundation (1953)

  • Lewis Thomas
    The Lives of a Cell (1974)

  • Isaac Asimov
    Foundation's Edge (1981)

  • Isaac Asimov
    Foundation and Earth (1986)

  • Dan Brown
    Inferno (2013)

  • David Mitchell
    Cloud Atlas (2004)

  • Bjarne Stroustrup
    The Design and Evolution of C++ (1994)

  • R. M. Sainsbury
    Paradoxes (2009)

  • Isaac Asimov
    Asimov's Guide to the Bible (vol. 1 1967, vol. 2 1969)

  • Ken Follet
    Pillars of the Earth (1989)

Thursday, December 19, 2013

Riddle #7

It's time to rock out another riddle!

Today's riddle has seven letters. The clue is: Software coding session?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _

Note: Today's riddle is co-authored with Laura. That means Laura is ineligible for guessing and therefore the rest of you three people need to pick up the slack!

Friday, December 13, 2013

Seasons cycling

In Phoenix, every season has its pros and cons for bike-commuting. Spring days are long and mild, but they’re also windy and full of pollen. A summer mid-afternoon ride home may test one’s mettle, but choosing gear is simple: no extra clothes, no bike lights, just lots of water. Autumn is like a windless and pollen-less spring, but both the season and its afternoons end too soon. And winter can be finger-numbing cold—as it was earlier this week—but it makes me appreciate summer.

Monday, December 9, 2013

Unsubstantiated political opinions

My would-be votes concerning a few ideas for constitutional amendments mentioned in this article in the latest New Yorker:

no

Term limits on members of Congress

no

Limit federal spending and taxes

no

Allow three-fifths of the states to overrule any federal legislation

yes

Repeal the 17th Amendment

no

Half the Justices on the Supreme Court be selected by the current method of Presidential appointment and the other half by a vote of the fifty state governors

no

Allow Congress, by a two-thirds vote of both houses, to override Supreme Court decisions

no

Eliminate federal income tax

yes

Prohibit the imposition of unfunded mandates on the states

no

Allow half of the states, provided they represent half of the national population, to rescind any federal law.

no

Freedom of speech and press includes any contribution to political campaigns or to candidates for public office

no

Right to education

no

Repeal the 2nd Amendment

yes

Allow legislators to regulate campaign contributions and expenditures

Thursday, December 5, 2013

Grammar: “Internet” vs “internet”

What’s the difference between “Internet” with an uppercase “I” and “internet” with a lowercase “i”? Are you using the two words correctly?

The proper noun “Internet” refers to the massive, global network of computer networks that most of us use every day and that includes such things as Google and your cell phone network. Whereas, the common noun “internet” refers to any network of networks generally—an “internetwork” to be exact. An internetwork exists anytime you take two or more networks and connect them so that machines on one network can communicate with machines on other networks. If that internet happens to be the global internet we all use and love, then it’s the Internet.

So, as a general rule, you should say “Internet,” not “internet,” because more likely than not you’re referring to the global internetwork we all share. Other internets are the stuff of researchers and hobbyists.

Now you know.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Excerpts from the Munchkin rulesheet

  • “Everyone starts as a Level 1 human with no class.”

  • “Decide who goes first by rolling the dice and arguing about the results and the meaning of this sentence and whether the fact that a word seems to be missing any effect.”

  • “This rulesheet gives the general rules. Cards may add special rules, so in most cases when the rulesheet disagrees with a card, follow the card. However, ignore any card effect that might seem to contradict one of the rules listed below unless the card specifically says it supersedes that rule!”

  • “When you kill a monster, you must wait a reasonable time, defined as 2.6 seconds, for anyone else to speak up. After that, you have really killed the monster, and you really get the level(s) and treasure, though they can still whine and argue.”

  • “There will be times when it will help you to play a Curse or Monster on yourself, or to ‘help’ another player in a way that costs him treasure. This is very munchkinly. Do it.”

  • “If drawn face-down or acquired some other way, Curse cards may be played on any player at any time. ANY time, do you hear me? Reducing someone’s abilities just as he thinks he has killed a monster is a lot of fun.”

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Black Friday Eve

I never thought I would wait in line outside a store Thanksgiving night to be one of the first people to shop on Black Friday Eve. I still don’t. But I’ll stand outside a store to watch other people wait in line, and doing so was more fun than watching midgets fight mixed martial arts.

Consumer spectation isn’t something I plan. It just happens. Tonight it happened because Laura and I drove by our nearby Target on the way home from spending the afternoon with Liz and Dave, and we noticed the store’s parking lot was packed. The hubbub of people and cars contrasted with the dark and quiet emptiness of the other businesses in the area, which were closed for the holiday. “Are people waiting to shop at Target?” I asked. Based on Laura’s questing for some coconut earlier in the day, we happened to know Target was closed for another half hour. Were people camping outside the store? What were they hoping to get? Why Target? Laura and I agreed that after getting home we would walk over to find out.

The line of eager shoppers standing outside the store stretched along the front of the building, wrapped around the corner, and tailed off in the loading area in the back. The first person in line arrived at six o’clock that morning—that’s fourteen hours before doors open. The man who gave me this information was himself eighth in line and had been waiting since eleven o’clock. He was waiting to buy a TV, and the store had twenty-two of the model for sell. Sure, he said, Walmart has as good or better a price, but over there you put up with chaos. Meanwhile, a Target employee walked up and down the line, half reminding and half pleading with shoppers to walk calmly and orderly once the doors opened, and employees inside the store huddled in the checkout area for last-minute instructions, their occasional backward glances at the crowd outside belying fear.

The doors opened. People filed in. Civility ensued.

The end of the line passed through the doors into the store eighteen minutes later. Assuming an entry rate of fifty people per minute puts the line’s initial size at 900 heads.

Most of the first shoppers to check out bought big items: TVs, music keyboards, bicycles, video game consoles, a ping pong table. Laura and I learned that the model of TV most coveted was a $200 fifty-inch LED with bad reviews online. I wondered who was twenty-third in line. Did anyone forget their wallet? Would any credit cards be declined?

Laura and I entered the store after the line passed through, and we walked a loop around the store, which by then had the noisy, crowded feel of a bazaar. People who had waited in line outside the store were now waiting in line inside the store to enter the electronics area. Curiously, not one person was grocery shopping. Laura saw a box of tie-dye cake mix, but that's a purchase for another day.

Monday, July 15, 2013

Losing interest

I'm losing interest in Just Enough Craig. No worries, though. This is temporary.

I returned to full-time work about two-and-a-half months ago, and subsequently the time squeeze of a job plus a commute is taking away a lot of the time I would be spending to think about topics to write about for Just Enough Craig and then writing about them. This is new. Though in times past I sometimes get so busy that don't have time to write, I'm usually thinking about stuff to write about. These days, however, I'm so preoccupied with other stuff that I'm not even thinking about stuff to write about. I haven't had a new philosophical thought in weeks, which is really something.

My preoccupation is software. In addition to putting in a full day of solid coding at work, I come home and begin thinking about a personal project I've started. It's a research project involving HTTP servers and coroutines and performance and technical details I'm not going to write about on this blog.

And that's what I'm up to.

Monday, July 8, 2013

End of an era

After two years of thinking about it, two months of procrastinating doing anything with it, two weeks of building it, and then two years of using it, I spent two days dismantling and discarding my homemade bike rack. It's the end of an era. Fortunately, my professional experience as a software developer provides me immense resolve to throw away something that took a lot of time and hard work to make. I'm calling it a refactoring job. The new plan is to buy a simpler rack that holds two bikes—one above the other—and takes up less space.

Here's the rack in its dismantled state:

I threw out the wood but would like to find a good home for the nuts and bolts—as well as the washers and hooks.

Friday, June 21, 2013

Special announcement: new Illuminati leader

There's a new leader in the Illuminati house stats. Rich sneakily gained another six points with a daring pair of attacks to control the FBI and the Moonies, followed by using his Orbital Mind Control Lasers to zap a group's alignment FTW. Gotta love those commie space lasers!

As a first, this is the first Illuminati game we've played where the dice never rolled off the table and onto the floor or chairs.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

The new apartment

In the year 2000, I moved into my first apartment, a two-bedroom I shared with a college friend. A little more than thirteen years later—a few weeks ago—I moved into yet another two-bedroom, this time shared with my wife and our two cats. In the time between, I lived in eight other apartments.

One might think that by now I would be an expert at moving—especially with my supposedly simple lifestyle. But this move is turning out to be a lot of work. I feel this is because Laura and I never really moved in to our previous apartment. Laura disagrees with me about this, but when you have two bedrooms and one is used entirely for storage—never mind how much of that is taken up by bikes—that apartment isn't really moved in to. This time we're trying to make better use of our space, and so we're sorting through our junk and reorganizing and paring down. I've even agreed to get rid of a bike to further the goal.

Beyond the move, how's the new place? Every home has its charms and irks, its missing things that I want and its available things that I elsewhere missed. Already, after living here only a few weeks, I need bathroom drawers again. The previous apartment had no drawers in the bathroom. How did we ever survive without drawers? Unbelievable.

Some additional charms are the pool area, which is a six-second walk from our front door; a golf course that's a six-minute walk away and that's not opposed to pedestrians and bicyclists locomoting through; and the fact that the apartment has so far stayed between 86°F and 92°F despite having windows open all day and night and not using any A/C. Our previous apartment could have qualified as an oven if only it had some insulation.

How about the irks? For starters, the new apartment has no good place to get naked. With the blinds drawn open and the bathroom doors ajar just a wee bit, the angles and mirrors conspire to make every square inch of the bathroom visible to the outside. Forget about the other rooms; the natural lighting is just too good. And what is the bathroom door doing open, you ask? Our cats need to go to the bathroom, too, and they haven't yet figured out doorknobs.

Another irk is the dwarfish kitchen storage. The pantry is tiny, and the drawers are worse. In the voluminous bathroom drawers, I could store 500 tubes of toothpaste—all purchased in a single bulk pack from the Costco down the street—but in the kitchen it's hard to find space to store four bowls and a medium-size box of Ziplock bags. I would start doing my cooking in the bathroom if it weren't that the neighbors would see what I was doing and think me weird.

Between the charms and irks, I'm undecided about having a washer and dryer in the apartment again. They're convenient, but they take up space and make lots of noise. And besides, who needs a dryer in Phoenix? I'm likewise undecided about the microwave. I feel I need to start using it to justify its presence, which, after all, is the reason why the kitchen storage is inadequate. Don't get me started on dishwashers.

In other news, I've started paying for Internet access for the first time since 2006. What fun! You may not see me all year—unless of course I'm in the bathroom.

Monday, June 17, 2013

Anonymous's price

Longtime reader Anonymous says he would give up a sure win of $1,000 to have a fifty–fifty chance of winning a million dollars, but he would take a sure win of $60,000 and give up a fifty–fifty chance of winning $200,000. Probably many people would choose the same, as each choice maximizes the expected value of its scenario. In the first, Anonymous is taking the expected value of $500,000 (50% × $1 million) vs the lesser expected value of $1,000 (100% × $1,000). In the second scenario, Anonymous is taking the expected value of $60,000 (100% × $60,000) vs the lesser expected value of $40,000 (20% × $200,000).

All is well when the choices are straightforward, as with those scenarios. But where exactly is Anonymous's price? Can we make him squirm? Here are some questions to pin him down.

Note: It's assumed that any remaining, unidentified probability in a scenario results in nothing gained and nothing lost. For example, a 60% chance of winning $1,000 means also having a 40% chance of winning nothing and losing nothing.

Would you rather…

  1. …have a 100% chance of winning $1,000 or a 10% chance of winning $1 million?
  2. …have a 100% chance of winning $1,000 or a 1% chance of winning $1 million?
  3. …have a 100% chance of winning $1,000 or a 0.1% chance of winning $1 million?
  4. …have a 100% chance of winning $1,000 or a 0.05% chance of winning $1 million?
  5. …have a 100% chance of winning $1,000 or a 0.01% chance of winning $1 million?

Would you rather…

  1. …have a 50% chance of winning $1,000 or a 10% chance of winning $1 million and a 90% chance of losing $1,000?
  2. …have a 50% chance of winning $1,000 or a 1% chance of winning $1 million and a 99% chance of losing $1,000?
  3. …have a 60% chance of winning $1,000 and a 40% chance of losing $1,000 or a 1% chance of winning $1 million and a 99% chance of losing $1,000?
  4. …have a 70% chance of winning $1,000 and a 30% chance of losing $1,000 or a 1% chance of winning $1 million and a 99% chance of losing $1,000?
  5. …have a 80% chance of winning $1,000 and a 20% chance of losing $1,000 or a 1% chance of winning $1 million and a 99% chance of losing $1,000?
  6. …have a 90% chance of winning $1,000 and a 10% chance of losing $1,000 or a 1% chance of winning $1 million and a 99% chance of losing $1,000?

Would you rather…

  1. …have a 100% chance of winning $60,000 or a 20% chance of winning $300,000?
  2. …have a 100% chance of winning $60,000 or a 20% chance of winning $310,000 and an 80% chance of losing $2,500?
  3. …have a 100% chance of winning $60,000 or a 20% chance of winning $320,000 and an 80% chance of losing $2,500?
  4. …have a 100% chance of winning $60,000 or a 20% chance of winning $350,000 and an 80% chance of losing $2,500?
  5. …have a 100% chance of winning $60,000 or a 20% chance of winning $400,000 and an 80% chance of losing $2,500?

What's the most you would pay to…

  1. …have a 1% chance of winning $1,000?
  2. …have a 50% chance of winning $1,000?
  3. …have a 99% chance of winning $1,000?
  4. …have a 1% chance of winning $1,000,000?
  5. …have a 50% chance of winning $1,000,000?
  6. …have a 99% chance of winning $1,000,000?

What's the most you would pay to…

  1. not have a 1% chance of losing $1,000?
  2. not have a 50% chance of losing $1,000?
  3. not have a 99% chance of losing $1,000?
  4. not have a 1% chance of losing $10,000?
  5. not have a 50% chance of losing $10,000?
  6. not have a 99% chance of losing $10,000?

See also:

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Riddle #6

Relax, and let the answer flow out of you.

Today's riddle has thirteen letters. The clue is: How Mario gets to work?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Monday, June 10, 2013

Newcomb's Paradox

Last week's paradox poll is a well established if not well known philosophical paradox called Newcomb's paradox. It's the self-referential paradox as it pertains to freewill, and supposedly it divides people evenly, with half of people thinking the smart decision is to pick both boxes and the other half thinking the smart decision is to pick box B. Three people commented on the post last week, with the result that one person chose both boxes and two people chose to open only box B. I also asked two software developers at work, and they each decided to open both boxes. Thus, so far I've seen a 3–2 split.

Each decision has a good argument in its favor. The argument to open both boxes goes something like this:

The Predictor has already made his prediction, and thus the content of Box B is already established—it can't be changed by your choice. Given that Box A contains $1,000 no matter what, you're really choosing whether you want an extra thousand dollars by choosing to open both boxes instead of Box B alone. Meanwhile, we can hope that the Predictor predicted you would open only Box B, in which case you'll also get $1,000,000, too, but you have no effect on that outcome.

Whereas, the argument for opening only box B goes something like this:

The Predictor is usually correct, so it's a mistake to give much, if any, weight to the outcomes where the Predictor is wrong. Thus, you probably won't end up with either $0 (you choose Box B alone but the Predictor predicts you would open both boxes) or $1,001,000 (you choose both boxes but the Predictor predicts Box B alone). Instead, you're really choosing between $1,000 (both boxes) and $1,000,000 (Box B only), so you should choose the bigger amount, which means choosing to open Box B only.

The crux of which argument seems right to you depends on how free you think your choice is. The both-boxes argument assumes a very free choice, whereby the Predictor is at best making a coin-toss guess because the Predictor can't foresee your choice. Whereas, the Box B argument assumes that your choice is causally linked with the Predictor's choice, and thus your choice is the effect of well foreseen causes. As for how it's possible for your choice to be causally linked as such, the fashionable answer today is: deterministic brain chemistry. Then assume the Predictor possesses a superbly accurate brain scanner.

I'm a Box B guy. Though I think of myself as being good at understanding other people's arguments, I can't understand how the both-boxes people discredit the prior evidence of the Predictor being correct so many times. Such evidence precludes the possibility of my choice being free. But some people's belief in freewill is so strong that even hypothetical counter-evidence doesn't change their minds. —The Predictor has been right 98% of the time? No big deal! He's just been lucky, that's all— All this reminds me of the saying, I'll believe it when I see it, which has got it backwards. For most of us, we see it when we believe it.

Monday, June 3, 2013

Paradox poll

Be sure to also check out Riddle #5, which has stalled for a lack of wild guessing.

Today's post is a paradox poll. While I favor one way to resolve the problem, I'm curious what other people think, so please comment below. There really are no wrong answers to this.

Here's the paradox. There are two boxes before you—call them A and B—and you have a choice either to (1) open both boxes or (2) open only box B. You keep whatever is in a box you open, so if you choose to open both boxes then you keep what's in both boxes and if you choose to open only box B then you keep what's in box B but forgo whatever is in box A. Also, you have to make your choice all at once; you can't open box B and then later decide to open A, too. If it helps, imagine you have write down your choice on a piece of paper and that someone else opens the box(es) for you based on what you wrote down. Good so far?

So what's in the boxes? Money or nothing. No matter what happens, box A will contain $1,000. As for what box B contains, that depends on another person who we'll call Bob. Bob will try to predict whether you'll open both boxes or only box B. If he predicts you'll open only box B then he'll add $1,000,000 to box B. If Bob predicts you'll open both boxes then he'll add nothing to box B. Below is the table.

A & B B only
A & B $1,000 $1,001,000
B only $0 $1,000,000

In the table above, you choose the row, and Bob, based on his prediction, will choose the column. You want Bob to predict that you'll open only box B. All else held equal, you would prefer to open both boxes.

Here's the twist. Suppose you've played this game many times already—though presumably for much smaller sums—and Bob has correctly predicted your choice every time.

What do you choose to open?

Thursday, May 30, 2013

15th Ave bike bridge!

For the last couple weeks, a small construction crew has been working on the Arizona Canal midway between 19th Ave and 7th Ave. What kind of project involves symmetrically erecting two concrete platforms on opposite sides of the Canal? A bike & pedestrian bridge!

The sign says: Intermittant [sic] Pathway Closures Mid May – August 2013.

I could have used this bridge for my previous work commute, as it would have given me a non-pain-in-the-butt way of using 15th Ave, which has bike lanes starting just south of the canal and running continuously all the way to downtown. It's one of a very few bike friendly ways of going straight north and south in Phoenix.

Between this bridge, the new 7th Ave underpass half a mile away, and the bike lanes the city installed on Central Ave last year, the city remains committed to building new bike infrastructure. Good spelling, however, has been budgeted out.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Riddle #5

There's nothing saccharine about today's riddle, I promise.

Today's riddle has thirteen letters. The clue is: Installing software for a self-driving car?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Monday, May 20, 2013

Don't utilize

Let's all agree not to use the word utilize. Not ever. Let's strike it from our language and get on with writing and talking like normal people.

Utilize is a waste of space and syllables. Is there ever a case where saying utilize makes more sense than use? To utilize: to make utility of. That sounds like a college-paper-padded way of saying use, a wonderful English word that captures everything it needs in a single syllable.

Thursday, May 16, 2013

Ethics assumptions, rev 1

Reading about moral paradoxes got me thinking about my ethics assumptions. These are things that I believe to be true, not because they follow from other truths, but instead because they are reasoned statements stemming from my observations of the universe.

After some thought, I came up with three assumptions, which I list here with little confidence that they're exhaustive. That lack of confidence is why I've appended to this post's title rev 1: I expect future revisions and additional assumptions.

  1. Moral values are epiphenomenal. That is, what makes an action good or bad derives from the circumstances surrounding it, not from static or objective criteria against which humans are measured. As such, ethics is the theoretical side of social engineering, where the goal is to bring about the best ends for the mass of people. What those best ends are and how they should be brought about has a lot to do with circumstances beyond our control.

    For example, much of traditional morality of the last couple thousand years in the Western world has to do with reining in the inborn appetites that are good for the preservation of a hunting-and-gathering species. The ability to gorge on territory, food, and sex were once the virtues of our forebears, later necessarily turned into vices when homo sapiens settled down into agrarian lives. Consequently, it's because our genetics haven't changed much in the last ten thousand years that our moral ideals have had to change. That modern moralities are dependent upon a lifestyle choice, such as agrarianism versus hunting-and-gathering, exemplifies how morality is derivative.

  2. The moral value of an action in the present partly depends upon how that action affects moral decisions in the future. Human decisions happen in a vast web of feedback loops, where what one person does now affects the likelihood of other people behaving better or worse in the future. These future decisions can't be ignored, morally. If a person does good in the present at the cost of making it likely that other people will bring about badness in the future, that badness is part of the moral value of the present action. If the future badness is significant enough, and the present good insignificant enough, then the action may be morally neutral, if not bad, despite its immediate good consequences.

    One example of a moral feedback is my choice to bike instead of to drive most places. Originally I saw my decision as a morally good act that makes the world a little better. Since then, it has occurred to me that every major city in the United States reaches a transportation equilibrium that involves jammed freeways during rush hour. That is, people collectively drive more and more until any excess road capacity is consumed. Thus, my solitary decision to drive less and bike more probably hasn't reduced motoring in the Phoenix area; rather, it has given every other motorist a tiny extra bit of incentive to drive more. Therefore, the moral benefits effected by me biking rather than driving are selfish benefits to myself, such as improved health, and not benefits to the group as would be the case if there were in fact less motoring going on overall.

  3. In identical scenarios when facing the same decision, there will sometimes be multiple best moral actions. This follows from the necessity of having diversity within any ecosystem, including those occupied by humans, in order for that ecosystem to be productive and resilient. Because humans are best off over the long term in a productive and stable ecosystem, there must be a diversity of moral values to prevent the ecosystem from collapsing into fragile monocultures due to a uniformity of individuals' choices. With the human global population as large as it is, there doesn't exist a self-preserving morality that won't eventually lead to unsustainable destruction to our natural environments. People must choose sufficiently differently from one another.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Crash course

Last Friday morning I crashed my bike on my way to work. I took a route that passes by an apartment complex that Laura and I may move to, thus allowing me to test the new, potential commute. Shortly after having passed by the complex, I easy-pedaled along a winding bike path that runs along the edge of a golf course that had been heavily irrigated that morning. Several puddles had accumulated on the smooth concrete of the path, and after riding through a puddle and getting my tires wet, I leaned into a tight turn in the damp morning shade of a tree and both tires slid out from under my bike. My vision went horizontal and my mouth shouted out an expletive. A fraction of a second later I smacked into the concrete and slid to a stop a few feet away.

The unusual thing about this crash that makes it worth blogging about is that it hurt a lot. After coming to a stop on the pavement, I untangled my legs from the bike and quickly went through my mental post-crash checklist. Is anything in me broken? Are my clothes torn? Is anything on my bike broken? It turned out the only thing that broke was one of the water cages, which snapped after I tried to bend it back into its correct shape. And of course I had the usual scrapes, on my hip and knee, as well as a few unusual scrapes, on my ankle and foot. But nothing in me was broken.

However, my hip ached a lot, and after getting back on the bike and continuing my way to work, I struggled to muster much speed. Partly this was because of the pain and rapid swelling in my hip, but partly it was because I was suddenly spooked by the act of balancing on two wheels, and I involuntarily handled my bike gingerly, even on the dry, debris-free turns. Finally I made it to work and began sticking lots of band-aids on myself. It would take more than forty-eight hours before I would walk without a limp.

Lots of people are afraid of bicycling. What causes that fear? My wife fears the two-wheel balancing act—though to her credit she bikes to her running club most weeks nevertheless—and yet she rarely has any mishaps. Whereas I can think back on a long, hazy history of countless bike crashes, going back to my first year of riding. And always I ended up soon again on the bike, as though I'm unable to connect the painful consequences with the deed. It's a stupidity that I call resiliency, and it's something I'm very proud of, probably much in the same way many lifelong criminals are proud of their resistance to social conditioning.

For the next few weeks I'll have to take care not to fall on my left side. There's still a lot of soreness, and my hip remains swollen enough to have a bit of a feminine look to it. But I've already emotionally forgotten about the crash, and I'm back to leaning into turns and generally biking too aggressively. Seconds, sometimes whole minutes, are at stake.

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Riddle #4

I'm on a roll with the riddles, for today's post is another one.

The answer has seventeen letters. The clue is: A transportation disease?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Monday, May 6, 2013

Back to work

Once again it's time for me to be a respectable, productive citizen of the world: last Tuesday I began a new job. And though five days is too soon to tell for sure, I think I've signed on with a great company. I'll be writing software—of course!—and the one-sentence summary of what I'm working on is that the company makes autopilots for farm tractors.

I don't divulge much information here at Just Enough Craig about career work, instead focusing on stuff such as bicycling, so the bigger news about the new job is the commute. The one-sentence summary is that it's super tough—that's not to be confused with merely tough, as was my previous commute. For the new job, the shortest legal route from Laura's and my apartment to the office is about nineteen miles. But at least they're good miles; I've got three different, viable routes to take, and many of the paths and roads are the same quiet, low-traffic roads I bike on for fun in my spare time. Through those nineteen miles I pass through only eleven traffic signals, compared to about thirty-five signals for the twelve miles of my previous commute. This is to say that the new commute is physically challenging but mentally relaxing, which is exactly what bike-commuting is supposed to be about.

However, only a crazier person than me would try to keep this up indefinitely. The commute takes me 60-80 minutes each way, and an ideal commute is no more than 30 minutes. Fortunately, for my entire adult life I've thrown my money away by renting, and one of the perks of doing so is that I can easily pack up and move to adapt to new circumstances. Consequently, Laura and I will be moving eastward soon. We're now trying to find the best place that evenly splits our commutes and at the same time is walkable, like our current place. These are exciting times!

Thursday, May 2, 2013

Project: super cat alcohol stove

Last week I bought, for the second time in my life, a bottle of Everclear and subsequently ended up doing a little bit of experimentation. I'm referring, of course, to testing a home-built alcohol camping stove.

Camp cooking is something new that I tried on Laura's and my recent trip to the Grand Canyon, and it went very well. Hot food breaks up the monotony of a diet otherwise consisting of trail mix and sandwiches, and besides, playing with fire is fun. However, one needn't buy a special stove at a store to do this: a homemade one can function well. Here are some instructions for making an alcohol-powered stove out of an empty 3oz can of cat food.

Prudently enough, I tested the stove before our trip by repeatedly boiling water near the safety of the swimming pool in our apartment complex.

The stove works simply: first it's primed, which means pouring the alcohol into the stove and then waiting fifteen seconds or so for enough of the alcohol to vaporize. Then one uses a lighter to set the whole stove on fire (as shown above).

Once the stove is aflame, one then places the pot directly on the stove (as shown above, in the second photo). This causes the flame to jet out from the holes drilled in the sides of the can. There's no flame control; the stove burns on high until it runs out of fuel, which can take up to eight minutes.

I bought two types of alcohol: methyl alcohol, from the hardware store, and ethanol, in the form of 190-proof Everclear, from the grocery store. I discovered both fuels work well, but the ethanol appeared to burn cooler than the methyl alcohol, as evident by an ethanol flame that was less blue and more orange than the methyl flame. (The ethanol flame is shown in the third photo; the first two photos are of the methyl flame.) However, the wind had picked up during the ethanol burn, so it wasn't an apples-to-apples comparison. More testing would be necessary to know for sure. I stopped my testing with the satisfaction of knowing that in both cases, despite some wind and no screen for protection, I was able to bring 1.5L of water to a boil in under five minutes.

As for the adage that a watched pot never boils: that's false.

Monday, April 29, 2013

Backpacking tips to myself

Yesterday Laura and I returned from our four-days-and-three-nights backpacking trip in the Grand Canyon. It was fun. It was hard. I entered the canyon carrying a 49-pound pack, including water, and Laura's pack weighed 35 pounds. By the end of the trip we were both suffering for all the unnecessary stuff we had been carrying around. Here are some reminders to myself to reduce my encumbrance for future backpacking trips.

  • Pack less food. I reached the canyon's rim on the last day carrying about five pounds of food. Laura had even more. This isn't the first time I've overestimated beyond prudence my caloric needs for a backpacking trip. In the future, rather than to guess quantities, I'll pre-measure everything and count calories.

  • Don't pack alcohol. Laura and I carried nearly a pound of wine each, all of which is now back in our apartment, unconsumed. The problem was there was never a night that we weren't too exhausted to enjoy some wine at the campsite—and we were exhausted because early in the day we had carried around so much unnecessary stuff in our backpacks, such as wine.

  • Leave the tent at home. Laura and I have been using a six-pound tent on our trips, which I carry. It's spacious and luxurious—and unnecessary. From now on if Laura wants to stay in a tent, she can carry it herself. I'm going to stick with the combination of a tarp and bivy, which should save three to five pounds.

  • Use balloons for a pillow. A couple of veteran backpackers we met gave the advice to fill a stuff sack with two balloons to use as a pillow. This is lightweight and cheap.

  • Pack a smaller cooking pot. I brought along a 2L titanium cooking pot, which was nearly twice as big as needed. A smaller pot won't save much weight, but it will save some space.

  • Don't use a compression sack. For the hike out of the canyon, I experimented with rolling my sleeping pad and sleeping bag together and nixing the bag's compression sack. The combined rolling used less space because it fit more efficiently within my backpack's bottom compartment than two separate items. In addition to saving space, leaving the compression sack at home will save precious ounces.

  • Use a smaller backpack. If I follow enough of my own advice and pack less stuff, I ought to be able to use a smaller backpack, which should save another pound or two.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

Riddle #3

Wake up, everyone! Today's post is another riddle.

The answer has nine letters. The clue is: Stiff drink for a pet?

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Google Maps

Thank you for reporting this problem. We've reviewed your problem and you were right! The default view in Google Maps has already been updated to reflect your suggested change…

Two days ago I received notice of the correction to Google Maps resulting from my first report a problem submission, made a week-and-a-half prior. What was the problem I reported? The missing bike lane on N 59th Ave through Thunderbird Park. Google Maps was missing the designation for bike lanes even though to anyone who has ridden that stretch of road, or, say, has run on foot inside the bike lane as a part of a local informal race, it's clear that bike lanes are indeed there.

Seeing the report a problem feature of Google Maps work inspired me to report seven more problems later that day, all related to missing designations for bike infrastructure:

  • Missing bike lanes on E Doubletree Ranch Rd east of N Scottsdale Rd
  • Missing bike lanes on W Cheryl Dr near N 35th Ave
  • Missing bike route on N 18th St north of E Camelback Rd
  • Missing bike lanes on N 25th Ave north of W Dunlap Ave
  • Missing bike lanes on E Via de Ventura near N Pima Rd
  • Missing bike lanes on N 7th St near the 101

We'll see how those submissions fare. If they get accepted then maybe I'll try to get more of the missing 18th St route included. It's an ugly route, but those green Bike Route signs are already paid for—may as well add the full route to the database.

Thursday, April 11, 2013

Google Reader

In two-and-a-half months, Google Reader will be going away. This will affect at least seventeen of us, if subscriber stats for Just Enough Craig are any indication.

Google Reader's shutdown is disheartening. I've been a happy user of the service ever since a former employer of mine implemented draconian web filtering on its employees. The web filtering stopped just about everything on the Web from getting through, including a lot of useful technical sites, but it strangely allowed Google Reader to get through. Eventually the web filtering went away, but not before my Web-reading habits changed so as to ignore just about everything online that doesn't have an RSS feed. Now Google Reader is going away. What to do?

For now, I've moved all my feeds in my Google account to Thunderbird, which is the email program maintained by the Mozilla people, who are the same people who make Firefox. Say what you want about Google and how they frequently shut down or make worse their free services; at least they allow you to get your data and go somewhere else. Anyway, Thunderbird works well for the time being because I do all my Web reading on one computer. However, Thunderbird doesn't scale to using multiple computers—such as, say, a home computer and a work computer—because it keeps track of which articles I've read and which I haven't in a local database. Multiple computers will each keep their own database, and the databases will be out of sync. Synchronicity was Google Reader's main strength: it was in the Cloud and thus accessible and up-to-date on every device with a modern web browser. In order to synchronize Thunderbird, I might revert to a thumb drive and Sneaker Net. Or maybe some other company will try to make money by providing a similar free Reader service? By the way, who pays for the Internet?

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Zeno

Last weekend my friend Mark gave me his college textbook on paradoxes. I suppose I have a reputation for appreciating these kinds of gifts. I appreciated this one, and I managed to skim through the first chapter, about Zeno's paradoxes, despite being rather busy with the wedding goings-on at the time.

What are Zeno's paradoxes? They are paradoxes that all have to do with a regression to infinity that seems to lead to the conclusion that all change, or motion, is impossible. My favorite variant is the one about the race between Achilles and the Tortoise. Here's how it goes.

Achilles and the Tortoise have a footrace. Achilles, being fleet of foot, is much faster than the Tortoise, so to make things a bit less unfair, the Tortoise is given a head start. Each racer takes his mark, and the starting gun fires. Achilles, fast as he is, soon reaches the Tortoise's starting position. However, during the time it takes Achilles to reach that position, the Tortoise has inched farther along, so the Tortoise remains ahead of Achilles. However, Achilles soon catches up to that second notable position of the Tortoise—i.e., where the Tortoise was when Achilles reached the Tortoise's starting position—but during the time it takes Achilles to move to that second spot, the Tortoise has moved yet farther ahead. And so it goes, with each time Achilles catching up to where the Tortoise was, only to have the Tortoise meanwhile move forward and maintain his lead. This sort of reasoning is then taken ad infinitum, leading some old Greek sages to the conclusion that Achilles can never overtake the Tortoise.

As I said, there are many variants on this paradox, as you can use it to show that motion in general is impossible. For example, you can show that for an airplane that's taking off from a runway, either there's no last moment that it's on the ground or there's no first moment it's in the air. And you can prove that it's impossible to push a pencil a full inch along a table. And that it's impossible to transition from one second to the next. And that it's impossible to eat a cookie. Hopefully you get the point.

Zeno's paradoxes had people baffled for at least a good two thousand years, until calculus was invented. The crux of the paradoxes' arguments goes like this:

  1. You can take any change and subdivide it into an infinite number of progressively smaller changes.
  2. It's impossible to realize an infinite number of changes, however small they may be.

According to calculus, the second point is wrong. For example, if you move an inch today, half an inch tomorrow, a quarter of an inch the day after that, and so on, with each day you moving half as far as the day before, you won't go an infinite distance. Instead, you'll merely get ever closer to having moved two inches. This is an amazing fact that is learned, ho-hum, by thousands of high-school students each year—that sometimes an infinite number of positive numbers add up to a finite number. But it's exactly what allows Achilles to indeed catch up to the Tortoise, overtake him, and win the race—so long as Achilles manages to stay awake for the whole race.

Nevertheless, calculus, like all of mathematics, is just a model of the real thing. Calculus, in its continuous form, assumes an infinite divisibility of all things, just as Zeno's paradoxes do in point 1, above. Whether reality truly is continuous or else is innately discrete is left up to the physicists to try to figure out.

Monday, April 1, 2013

Glasses

This past weekend, as many of you know, Laura and I had our wedding. This isn't to be confused with our getting married, which happened nearly two months before at a local courthouse. I'm not going to write today about the wedding or getting married; instead I'm going to write about another recent life change that some of you noticed this past weekend: me wearing glasses.

Growing up I was the ocular oddball in my family. Both of my parents wore glasses, with my dad being nearsighted and my mom being farsighted and having an astigmatism. Those opposing traits didn't cancel out for my sister, who ended up nearsighted with an astigmatism. Perhaps Rachel could clarify in the comments below, if she wishes, but I'm pretty sure she became at an early age one of those people who struggles to read the big E on the eye chart without correction.

Meanwhile, I went through my teenage years with 20/20 vision, like a positive genetic atavism. I also went through my twenties without wearing glasses or contacts, though in hindsight I'm sure I had lost my 20/20 vision no later than by my mid-twenties. But I soldiered on anyway because I thought I would hate wearing glasses and I didn't want to give up my delusion of superiority. That delusion ended this February—while waiting outside the Justice of the Peace's courtroom to get married, no less—when Nick and Bobby, the two witnesses for Laura's and my marriage, got to talking about their wonderful uncorrected vision, and it occurred to me, with plentiful examples given, that the world wasn't in actuality becoming blurrier every year but that my vision had deteriorated quite a lot. Perhaps the proverbial slow-boiling frog experiences a similar realization of how water doesn't naturally become bubbly over time.

The next day I scheduled an appointment with an optometrist. This was OK by the JP and the advice he gave the previous day, when he explicitly advised against Laura getting her eyes checked but said nothing about me doing the same. Later at the eyeglass store, I learned to no great shock that I had an astigmatism—hence the vertically-aligned blurriness I see everywhere—and also to some mild surprise that I'm nearsighted as well. I picked out some glasses by relying on the salesman's advice to get square frames for my round face, and anxiously went to the store the next day for pickup.

The result has been entirely positive. My earlier fears of hating glasses proved unfounded, probably because with corrected vision I've gained the ability to do many more things. Using a computer no longer gives me eyestrain or headaches—ditto for reading books—and I can read blue neon signs at night without problem. Also, nighttime bike riding is a lot easier, as I no longer depend upon my sense of smell to avoid running into stuff.

We'll see how I feel about glasses as time goes on. A lot of people who wear glasses seem to hate them, or resent having to wear them, and move on to contacts or surgery. Also, I worry about the heat of the looming summer months and being able to keep a pair of glasses on my face without sweat streaming down the lenses. We'll see how that goes. Meanwhile, I'm enjoying the strange neural effects of having corrected vision after having gone without for many years. Perhaps the strangest is how whenever I wake up in the middle of the night, I feel certain that I'm still wearing glasses even though I'm not. I see phantom frames in my peripheral vision and feel phantom temples on each side of my face. Sometimes in a groggy half-woken state I go so far as to clutch at my face to remove the phantom spectacles, before realizing my mind is playing tricks on itself.

Monday, March 18, 2013

Foundation

So by the same reasoning which makes me sure that the Korellians will revolt in favor of prosperity, I am sure we will not revolt against it. The game will be played out to its end.

So then, said Jael, you're establishing a plutocracy. You're making us a land of traders and merchant princes. Then what of the future?

Mallow lifted his gloomy face, and exclaimed fiercely, What business of mine is the future? No doubt Seldon has foreseen it and prepared against it. There will be other crises in time to come when money and power has become as dead a force as religion is now. Let my successors solve those new problems, as I have solved the one of today.

I recently made the mistake of reading a few snippets of Isaac Asimov's science fiction novel, Foundation. The book was lying around at home for a few weeks while Laura was reading it—and while I envied her for getting to read the novel for the first time. Days later, those few snippets I read ended up becoming the entire novel, thus marking what I believe is the fourth time I've read this book.

Foundation is like Frank Herbert's Dune in that both are books that I first read as a teenager, both are books that comprise the beginning of an epic science fiction series, and both are books whose nuances, I think it's fair to say, no teenager can appreciate. They're also the two books I've reread the most times, science fiction or otherwise.

Yet despite my three previous readings of Foundation, there were many details new to me in this latest reread. For instance, religion. I had completely forgotten that religion had a role for the early Foundation, as the fledgling planetary nation quite purposefully set up a religion with which to subdue its more powerful neighbors. By the way, this is the specific purpose of word religion in the quote above, not a trashing of religion in general.

Other new details from the book came out not as a consequence of my having forgotten previous reads but instead from better relating the events in the book to our own planet's real history of crumbling empires. In Part 2 (The Encyclopedists), there's the imperial archaeologist who thinks good research involves little else but to weigh the arguments made by previous scholars—a backwards vision that serves as a prelude to any good dark age. In Part 3 (The Mayors), there's the Foundation's hostile neighbor, Anacreon, relying on a centuries-old, restored Imperial cruiser for the bulk of its naval power, just as mighty empires are not usually brought down by foreigners using foreign-made weapons but by periphery upstarts turning the empire's own technologies against it. In Part 5 (The Merchant Princes), there's the backstory of the imperial admiral plotting against the emperor, a reminder how though empires are finally conquered by a foreign general, it's the ones on the inside who do the most damage on the way down. None of the nuance in these examples, I'm sure, I understood in any of my earlier readings.

Barr's face darkened. Civil wars are chronic in these degenerate days, but Siwenna had kept apart. Under Stannell VI, it had almost achieved its ancient prosperity. But weak emperors mean strong viceroys, and our last viceroy—the same Wiscard, whose remnants still prey on the commerce among the Red Stars—aimed at the Imperial purple. He wasn't the first to aim. And if he had succeeded, he wouldn't have been the first to succeed.

Did Laura have as much as 5% of my enthusiasm while she read the book? I don't know. I tell her the series is worth continuing, as the first book's linear plot eventually gives way in subsequent books to twists and surprises that are as epic as anything in the genre. And both the writing and characters improve—or at least become more immediately gratifying. The first book, stylistically, isn't much more than a lot of guys talking. And by guys I mean that literally—there's exactly one female character in the entirety of the novel, and it's a minor role encompassing just a few pages.

As for me, I think I'll take my own advice: I've placed a hold at the public library for series's second novel, Foundation and Empire. One may eventually run out of Kurt Vonnegut novels to read, but that's hardly as much a problem with Isaac Asimov books—especially when there's so much good rereading to do.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Vonnegut

A sad thought for me is that the total number of books I can read in a lifetime is smaller than the number of good books that exist. Yet, another sad thought is that someday I'll run out of Kurt Vonnegut books to read. Here's a list of the Vonnegut books I have read—maybe in the order I read them, though I can't be sure.

  1. Player Piano
  2. God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater
  3. Breakfast of Champions
  4. Slaughterhouse-Five
  5. Cat's Cradle
  6. Mother Night

According to Wikipedia's list of his novels, Vonnegut wrote fourteen, leaving me with eight unread.

Monday, March 4, 2013

Pieces

One of the great surprises of my childhood was learning how to read music notation and realizing that all music is reducible to mere notes. This may seem absurd to a lot of people; after all, what else would music be reducible to? But at the time it was incomprehensible to me that music is reducible at all. Music comprises a wide spectrum of sound, from the grandeur of a multi-movement orchestral symphony to the simplicity of a solo voice singing a folk song, from the pop music on the radio to the sounds of my sister's piano practice emanating from downstairs those years ago. Not all music appeals to me, but of the kinds that do they seem too special—too magical—to be made of the same building blocks as are other forms of music.

Some wholes are greater than the sum of their parts, and music is one example of such a gestalt whole. Without prior training and experience to know any better, how could one predict the utter difference between a C-G chord and a C-F# chord? One sounds open and pure, the other harsh like a car horn. Yet the three notes played individually each sound plain and ordinary. The individuals give no clue as to what their combined form will be.

Music is only one such emergent behavior, and one of the overarching joys of my life has been discovering and learning about how everything else that's special and amazing we see in the universe is similarly made up only of simple building blocks. One such other whole that's greater than the sum of its parts is modern computing and software. This may seem mundane to a lot of people, but by the fact that you're reading this blog post means you see at least the effects of the magic in front of you right now. Use Wolfram Alpha to search for distance to the sun in inches or use Google Maps to search for a bike-friendly route to the nearest pizza place: to such fuzzy questions you'll get answers in fuzzy English, but under the hood it's nothing but ones and zeros—which is to say it's just electrons getting pushed to and fro in circuit boards. How can anyone look at a bag of transistors and capacitors and other electronic components and see the Internet arising from such simple parts? I suspect no one really does, but it's important that we try.

In his book Six Easy Pieces, the physicist Richard Feynman writes:

If, in some cataclysm, all of scientific knowledge were to be destroyed, and only one sentence passed on to the next generations of creatures, what statement would contain the most information in the fewest words? I believe it is the atomic hypothesis (or the atomic fact, or whatever you wish to call it) that all things are made of atoms—little particles that move around in perpetual motion, attracting each other when they are a little distance apart, but repelling upon being squeezed into one another. In that one sentence, you will see, there is an enormous amount of information about the world, if just a little imagination and thinking are applied.

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Laptop down

Last week I mailed my laptop to Dell Support. The battery stopped working entirely and suddenlny, and a new replacement battery wouldn't work either. The next step is for Dell to replace the motherboard—a costly circumstance that makes me fortunate my laptop is still covered by the default one-year warranty.

In the meantime, I've been using my old laptop to take care of essential computer tasks. That machine suffered a career-ending injury when it fell three feet onto a hard floor. Its screen, which prior to the fall already suffered from several dozen burnt-out pixels, now intermittently goes into psychodelic mode and displays wrong colors, sometimes covering the whole screen, sometimes as splotchy artifacts. As a result, I've been using the machine mostly in text mode, kinda like the old DOS command prompt days. You can still browse the web this way, in fact, using not just one but several text-only web browsers. My text-only web browser of choice is elinks.

You might think the things you miss out on most by using a text-only browser is not being about to see images or watch videos, but that's not the case. A bigger problem is that these days many, if not most, websites require JavaScript to work fully, and no text-only browser (that I know of) has a JavaScript engine.

What can you do without JavaScript? Here are some web tasks that still work:

  • Check email with GMail—basic HTML mode only
  • Check the weather—various sites
  • Read wikis—Wikipedia, Arch Linux wiki, etc.
  • Check sports news—Velonews and Yahoo sports
  • Check movie showtimes
  • Read posts on Blogspot

And here are some sites and tasks that require JavaScript:

  • Google Reader
  • Google Maps
  • Renew a single book at the Phoenix Public Library—renew all works OK, however
  • Post to Blogspot

The second list would be longer if I tried more sites in elinks instead of using my laptop downtime to catch up on sunshine, sleep, and reading real books. And I suppose there's commentary lurking around here somewhere about how the Internet was a remarkably robust set of technologies that's evolving into a glitzy monolith. But that commentary isn't for today.

Monday, February 18, 2013

The sun also sets

Today I finished reading Arthur Koestler's novel, Darkness at Noon. It takes place in the Soviet Union in the 1940s and is about a fictitious top-ranking member of the Communist Party who's arrested as part of the Great Purge, subsequently jailed, tortured, and made to confess to crimes of counterrevolution and sabotage that he didn't commit.

Perhaps in all of history there's never been a quest for utopia that did more harm than the communist revolution of the 1900s and its resulting totalitarian regimes. But I don't know much history, and I know even less about the Soviet Union, so today's post isn't about that. Instead, I'd like to write a few words about the philosophical underpinnings of all beliefs about utopia and why they ultimately result in—if anything at all—more harm than good.

The core problem with utopias isn't just that they're infeasible. Rather, it's that people who act with the belief that what they're doing will cause society to be ushered into a lasting era of widespread happiness are morally free to commit whatever atrocities are necessary in the present in order to make that future certain. This is a logical conclusion of believing in utopia: an infinitely good reward in the future justifies finite suffering—however vast—in the present.

There's only one safe way to believe in a utopia, and that's by believing it's completely off-limits to us here on Earth—as many religions have preached for centuries. Indeed, I've come to think that one of the major benefits religion imparts to humankind is their provision of a safe outlet for utopic dreaming. There's a strong desire within our species to believe that the meaningless suffering of life we observe around us isn't all there is or ever will be, that instead there exists and is achievable something that's wholly good. But the pious man harmlessly projects his Heaven beyond the metaphysics of death, and by doing so frees himself to do actual good Here and Now. Can an irreligious people do as well?

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Till death do us part

As many but not all of you know, last week Laura and I got married. This was an unforeseen event, as our plan was—and still is—to have a wedding at the end of next month. But on Tuesday of last week we drove to the courthouse, met up with our two witnesses Nick and Bobby, and paid the J.P. to make everything official ahead of schedule.

Usually when a couple gets married in a rush at a courthouse, there's a fetus involved. That was evidently the case for one of the other couples at the courthouse that day, but not for us. Why else do couples get married in a rush? For legal residence? To piss off a parent? Or maybe just out of impulse? In our case, it's because of health insurance.

A few weeks ago I developed a medical condition that I thought might need moderately expensive medical treatment to fix. We're not talking a break-the-bank amount of money, but rather an amount for which it's worth looking into possible loopholes to exploit. Of course, not being the responsible type who buys individual coverage for himself after quitting his job, I learned the hard way what it means to have a preexisting condition and what that means for getting insurance to pay for preexisting-condition stuff. The short answer is: it's probably easier to buy homeowners insurance for a house that's already on fire than it is to get coverage for a preexisting medical condition. Several hours of detailed research on different health insurance plans revealed to me that health insurance companies have spent a lot of money employing people to think about preexisting conditions and ways irresponsible people like me might exploit the insurance companies. Hence we have health insurance companies that everyone hates.

Anyway, in doing all that research, I learned some interesting facts relating to health insurance and preexisting conditions. Here are some quick points worth knowing.

  • Every health insurance company describes preexisting conditions and the subsequent exclusions differently for individual coverage. But they all reduce to the same effect: if you show symptoms of a problem in the months (or years) prior to buying coverage, that preexisting condition won't be covered.

  • However, if you've been covered under a plan within the last two months, you're probably OK. Having prior coverage shows that you're not an irresponsible jerk looking to save money after you got sick. Instead, you're a responsible person whose coverage happened to lapse for a short time.

  • The two previous facts are about individual health insurance plans. Since the passage of HIPAA in the 1990s, group health insurance plans can't exclude persons because of a preexisting condition—if that person hasn't in the last 12 months gone to a doctor for that condition. This is why chronically sick people need a job with a group health plan (or else they need a spouse with a job with a group health plan)—it's the only way to get insurance once you're sick.

  • Starting Jan 1, 2014, ObamaCare—a term now endorsed by the President himself—will force all health insurance companies not to exclude preexisting conditions for individual insurance plans.

  • Meanwhile, until that provision of ObamaCare takes effect, there's a government-provided plan called Preexisting Condition Insurance Plan that provides exclusion-free individual health insurance to people with preexisting conditions. But you must have been without coverage for at least six months to qualify.

  • Thus, if you've been without insurance for more than two months (i.e., more than the amount of time insurance companies are OK with your benefits having lapsed) but for less than six months (i.e., less than the amount of time that qualifies you to go on government PCIP), you're currently in preexisting condition no man's land and probably won't find coverage for your condition.

I was in no man's land, but I had a way out—marriage. Now newly married, I'm eligible to go on my wife's health insurance plan—should I elect to do so. But that health problem I mentioned at the beginning of this post has mostly cleared up, and I think I'll instead go with the cheaper option of buying individual coverage. So if ever Laura is asked why she married me, she can answer with the honest truth: she was tricked into it.

Monday, February 4, 2013

Riddle #2

Time to get cozy, today's post is another riddle.

The answer has twelve letters. The clue is: Word in a furniture ad?

I've filled in some letters to speed up the guessing process a bit.

_ _ M E _ _ R _ _ _ _ E

Thursday, January 31, 2013

Reasons and Persons: self-effacement

Last week I described how the rational self-interest theory is self-defeating when it's combined with the belief that one ought to be never self-denying. I described Parfit's example of the car breaking down in the desert at night and how it was better for the stranded person to be trustworthy than to be never self-denying. However, this example doesn't mean that rational self-interest—abbreviated hereafter as S, as in the book—is always self-defeating. Rather, it means that S tells a person to be self-denying at least in some circumstances. If a person is never self-denying anyway, despite what S says, then it's the fault of the person, not the theory.

But what if a person's belief in S causes that person, mistakenly, to become never self-denying? Would S be at fault? Would S fail in its own terms? Before answering that question, I'll explain why the situation it describes is plausible.

There are many ways to be incompetent at following S. Some ways are tractable. For example, I may believe that I'm overall better off eating broccoli, but instead I succumb to temptation and eat a donut. This is entirely my own fault, caused by the straightforward human failure of valuing the present too much over the future. My failure wasn't in any way caused by S or my belief in S. Theoretically, I could have had a stronger will and better followed my own interests.

But some other ways of being incompetent at following S are intractable. Sometimes, as an adherent to S, my failure to do what's in my own self-interest may be the result of my inability to assess a complex situation well and to accurately predict the future. For example, I might believe as a young person that I'm better off making a lot of money and as a result choose spend my prime years working long, hard hours. But maybe that choice turns out wrong and my life would have, in fact, gone better if I had spent more time with my friends and family. While my choice follows from incompetence at following S, it's impossible to blame my failure on any single, straightforward mistake, such as with a failure to reject temptation. Rather, I made a choice as a young man that seemed best at the time and that only after many years of experience proved bad. This scenario, and others like it, are too plausible to be passed off as mere incompetence; we must judge S according to the reality that we're dealing with imperfect humans.

Let's now return to the question: what if a person's belief in S causes that person, mistakenly, to become wrongly self-denying, such as with devoting one's life to a bad pursuit? Would S be at fault? Would S fail in its own terms?

The answer is no. In that circumstance, where otherwise my belief in S causes me to make my life go worse for me by motivating me to work too hard, S tells me to not believe in S. That is, S gives me reason to believe in some other theory, one that leads to the consequence of me choosing to spend more time with friends and family. In this case, S is said to be self-effacing: it tells us to believe in some other theory.

We may want the best ethical theory to be not self-effacing, but that's irrelevant to whether the best ethical actually is self-effacing. It may very well be that the ethical theory that makes our lives go best also happens to give us reason to believe in some entirely different ethical theory. Some people find this to be a discomforting or depressing idea; they feel that the best ethical theory ought to be aligned with our beliefs about truth, that a belief in the truth will also be a belief in the best ethical theory. However, this is a preference—and possibly one that the universe doesn't fulfill—and not a valid objection to S.

But one objection that is valid is the concern that it might be impossible for a person to reject S and to change their disposition, even when doing so is necessary for them to make their lives go best. For example, that person whose car broke down in the desert might be too attached to believing in S and, furthermore, stuck on being never self-denying, with no realistic possibility of changing their mind otherwise. Would such a scenario cause S to fail?

I'll pick up here next week.

Related posts:

Monday, January 28, 2013

Illuminati stats

Three games held: 3 winners, and 14 losers.

Player standings
Player Games Wins Kills
Laura 3 2 0
Rich 2 1 0
Craig 3 0 2
Jace 2 0 1
Nick 2 0 0
Rick 2 0 0
Alex 1 0 0
Jill 1 0 0
Matt 1 0 0

Note: A kill is when a player eliminates another player from the game. It doesn't count for anything but glory to, or condemnation of, one's viciousness.

Wins by Group
Group Games Wins
The Servants of Cthulhu 3 1
The Society of Assassins 3 1
The Bavarian Illuminati 1 0
The Bermuda Triangle 2 0
The Discordian Society 0 0
The Gnomes of Zurich 3 1
The UFOs 2 0
The Network 3 0

Related links:

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Reasons and Persons: What is a self-defeating theory?

Reasons and Persons is separated into four parts. The first part is about self-defeating theories.

Before getting into self-defeating theories, let's make it clear what a theory is. Whereas in science a theory is an explanation that ties together observations into a more general idea, in Reasons and Persons a theory is a set of principles that state how people ought to act. For example, utilitarianism constitutes an ethical theory that states all people ought to act so as to maximize the happiness of all people. This use of the word theory, denoting a principle or practice rather than an explanation, is more like its use in music theory than its use in the theory of gravity.

Ethical theories, like any theories, may succeed or fail. What causes an ethical theory to fail? If we were scientific about the matter, we might try setting up social experiments whereby we would have groups of people live their lives according to different theories, and then we would observe which theories work best. However, such an experiment would be impossible to set adequate controls for, making such experimentation impractical. Moreover, being philosophers, we're more apt to settle things from the comfort of our armchairs, by reasoning through the details.

A common way theories fail is by being measured according to the values of another theory. For example, a utilitarian, who believes we each ought to act so as to maximize everyone's happiness, would conflict with someone who believes the most important principle is that we each worship God. Though there might be points of compatibility between the two theories, where worshiping God would also maximize happiness, there would also be inevitable points of conflict—a dilemma of having to either worship God or maximize happiness, but not both. No matter how rare such points of conflict would be, any one conflict would be enough to cause each theory to fail in terms of the other.

Failure in the terms of another theory isn't ipso facto failure. If two theories conflict with each other—let's call those theories A and B—it could be that A fails according to B because B is wrong. This wouldn't make A wrong; at most it might make adherents of B wrong in their belief of A being wrong. It could turn out that A is either right or wrong, but in either case B would be useless for measuring A.

Is there a better, more objective way to measure a theory? Yes, there is. A theory always fails, regardless how other theories measure it, if that theory is self-defeating. A self-defeating theory fails in its own terms.

How can a theory be self-defeating? Here's an example. Take the following theory about self-interest: that (1) each of us ought to act so as to bring about outcomes that are best for ourselves (and without regard to others' circumstances) and (2) we each ought to never deny ourselves from fulfilling our desires. It turns out that this theory fails in its own terms. Here's a hypothetical scenario described by Parfit that causes the theory to fail.

Suppose that I am driving at midnight through some desert. My car breaks down. You are a stranger, and the only other driver in this desert. I manage to stop you, and I offer you a great reward if you drive me to my home. I cannot pay you now, but I promise to do so when we reach my home. Suppose next that I am transparent, unable to deceive others. I cannot lie convincingly. Either a blush, or my tone of voice, always gives me away. Suppose, finally, that I know myself to be never self-denying. If you drive me to my home, it would be worse for me if [I] pay you the promised reward. Since I know that I never do what will be worse for me, I know that I would break my promise. Given my inability to lie convincingly, you know this too. You do not believe my promise. I am stranded in the desert throughout the night. This happens to me because I am never self-denying. It would have been better for me if I was trustworthy, disposed to keep my promises even when doing so will be worse for me. You would then have driven me home.

(I've previously written about this scenario in a previous post.)

Some of you who may recognize the above scenario as a colorful instance of a social dilemma. Specifically, the narrator's reward and punishment payback is the same as with a prisoner's dilemma, though the stranger's payback is different from a prisoner's dilemma, so this scenario isn't a true prisoner's dilemma.

Be honest Lie
Give ride 3, 4 4, 1
Don't help 1, 3 (tie) 2, 3 (tie)

Here's how to read the table. The narrator chooses the column, and the stranger chooses the row. The pair of numbers in each cells denote the payback for both the narrator and stranger, with the first number being the payback for the narrator and the second number being the payback for the stranger. A higher number is better for that person, but irrelevant to the other person.

Regardless of the choice the stranger makes, the narrator is always better off lying, and stiffing the stranger, as measured by the narrator's own principle of never being self-denying. The stranger has a more difficult choice because he's better off helping the narrator only if the narrator is honest. Otherwise the stranger is better off driving off without helping. However, because of the narrator's transparency, the stranger knows the narrator will choose to lie, and thus the stranger will choose not to help out. This leads to the outcome in the lower-right cell marked in bold, which is the Nash equilibrium for this scenario.

A consequence of all this is that in order for the narrator to create an outcome that's best for the narrator, the narrator must do what's not in his immediate self-interest: the narrator must be honest with the stranger. More to the point, the narrator ought to convince himself that he is better off denying himself the immediate fulfillment of his own desires, thus giving him reason to reject his own ethical theory.

This is a peculiar result, with a possible consequence that goes beyond the mere success or failure of this one ethical theory. I'll elaborate on this in subsequent weeks.

Related posts:

Monday, January 21, 2013

Out sick

The flu, like a cold, is caused by a virus. Anti-bacterial soaps and disinfectants don't help against viruses any more than regular soap or countertop-wiping do. Yet washing one's hands is helpful for destroying the viruses on the hand, some of which go on to infect us through or noses, mouths, or eyes.

I once heard, I think on the NPR show Science Friday, that the important thing about washing our hands isn't the soap, or even the water, but rather the simple act of rubbing, which creates friction and destroys the viruses, or at least dislodges them from the oils on our skin. So when Laura got the flu a little over a week over, I began wringing my hands with restless regularity. However, it didn't work. I became infected nevertheless.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Reasons and Persons: Undefining terms

To follow Derek Parfit's arguments in Reasons and Persons, you needn't change you mind about what constitutes right, wrong, good, and bad. Parfit thinks most of us already have a good, working understanding of these concepts and that, owing to our built-in conscience, we're already good enough at judging one circumstance to be better or worse than another.

Here are Parfit's words from the book's Introduction.

My central concepts are few. We have reasons for acting. We ought to act in certain ways, and some ways of acting are morally wrong. Some outcomes are good or bad, in a sense that has moral relevance: it is bad for example if people become paralyzed, and we ought, if we can, to prevent this. Most of us understand my last three sentences well enough to understand my arguments.

So if we already know so much about right and wrong and good and bad, what use is ethics? It turns out there's still room for improvement. Parfit believes that though we know enough to evaluate morality, we make bad choices effecting it. Part of the cause for our bad choices is an inevitable failure of character, such as when we give in to temptation and do something that is bad despite knowing we ought to do otherwise. But failure of character is only part of the problem. According to Parfit, most of us have false beliefs about ourselves, and these false beliefs lead us to making bad moral choices as a seemingly rational act. That is, even when we act as we believe we ought to act, we still often make bad choices. Here's more from the Introduction.

I believe that most of us have false beliefs about our own nature, and our identity over time, and that, when we see the truth, we ought to change some of our beliefs about what we have reason to do. We ought to revise our moral theories, and our beliefs about rationality.

So Reasons and Persons isn't a book whose thesis is that we ought to change our values; it's about changing our ideas and strategies for best bringing about those values. This makes Parfit's arguments harder to dismiss than many other ethical arguments, ones that require the reader to change their fundamental moral view of things. Reasons and Persons begins with common ground by yielding to most readers' assertions, and only then attacks their conclusions.

An analogy might help show the value in this. Imagine you're interested in making bread, and you're reading a book about it. Further imagine the book tries to convince you that your preferences about bread—how, say, you prefer wheat bread to rye and yeast bread to unleavened—are wrong and need to be revised. The book isn't likely to change your mind. You know what you like, and you're not likely to change your mind about it. Instead, imagine reading a different book, one that accepts your opinions about bread as they are and instead tries to convince you that you're not making the best bread you can, as measured by your own preferences. The book may say, If you're making leavened wheat bread then there's a good chance you're making some common mistakes and not making the best bread you can. Here's how to make it better. But if instead you're into rye flatbread, here's what to do. Such a book is more likely to be useful to you because the book begins with common ground. So it goes with Reasons and Persons. The book's premise is that our core morals values are OK, but most of us aren't following the best recipe for leading the best lives we can.

In the posts that'll follow, I'll write a lot about right and wrong and good and bad, yet I'll never define the terms. This may be a strange way of dealing with an ethics book, but it's how Reasons and Persons goes. As you read my summaries of some of Parfit's arguments, substitute your own values into the arguments, and see what you get.

Monday, January 14, 2013

Riddle

Time to rack your brines, today's post is a riddle.

The answer has eight letters. The clue is: Pickle?

Friday, January 11, 2013

Reasons and Persons

On an episode of the TV show The Big Bang Theory, supernerds Sheldon Cooper and Amy Fowler argue about whose scientific field is more fundamental: physics or neurobiology. Sheldon, the physicist, says his field is more fundamental because a Grand Unified Theory would explain everything in the universe, including brains and anything else neurobiologists study. Not so, says Amy, for a complete theory in neurobiology would explain how physicists' brains would work in deriving that Grand Unified Theory, thus subsuming physics into neurobiology. Or, as Amy says it: My colleagues and I are mapping the neurological substrates that subserve global information processing, which is required for all cognitive reasoning, including scientific inquiry, making my research ipso facto prior in the ordo cognoscendi.

Physics and neurobiology aren't the only fields that vie for being most fundamental. I think of ethics as having an even stronger claim, for what's the use of explaining anything—including particles, waves, and brains—without having started with some notion of the Good and what's worth doing? Everything we humans do, including scientific inquiry, starts with ought. That puts ethics first.

But whereas the sciences have instilled most people with a strong sense of progress—that we really do know more about particles, waves, brains, etc.—ethics has achieved no such thing. Ethics may have gotten more abstract during the last few centuries, just as most other active fields of knowledge have, but we're no closer to being better people as a result—presumably the end goal of any pursuit in ethics. Instead, humans rely as much as ever on base mammalian responses such as emotion and intuition to guide themselves through difficult moral choices. Ethics remains as theoretical and irrelevant as ever as it relates to how people act in real life, with the few attempts during the past century to sell ethical systems wholesale to the public being, by most accounts, disasters—e.g., Soviet communism and religious fundamentalism.

I'm an ethics agnostic: I believe it's impossible to make objectively true statements one way or the other about value propositions. I also believe in moral dissensus, that there's rarely a universal best way to act in any given circumstance for any given person. And yet I love ethics. Despite its continuing pursuit of the objectivity and universality I don't believe in, modern ethics thrills me as a set of logic puzzles where tricky, sometimes paradoxical problems are presented for resolution. Working through those problems may not make me a better person in the direct sense, but they help me to see the weaknesses in other people's ideas. There's solace in having, if nothing else, a healthy mental immune system strong in skepticism.

This year I'm going to hone that defense a little more. In the last half of 2011, I posted a series of essays here on JEC as I read through two religion books, first John Michael Greer's A World Full of Gods (all posts here) and then Edward Feser's Aquinas (all posts here). Though I have my doubts whether many of you readers got much out of those posts—just last week, for example, Laura expressed confusion as to whether Thomas Aquinas was a moral relativist—I found the toil of taking notes and later drafting analyses and critiques to be intrinsically rewarding. That's reason enough to repeat the process and post a new series of essays on a new book.

The book I'll be writing about is an ethics books, Derek Parfit's Reasons and Persons. To put it bluntly, this book scares me. Many times I've started it without having yet gotten past the first hundred pages. But being unable to finish isn't my only concern; unlike the Greer and Feser books, Reasons and Persons is an academic book and not targeted to a popular audience. More specifically, it's an academic philosophy book, with a degree of precision and a density of logic that make it unsuitable for most unpopular audiences too.

Furthermore, the book is separated into 154 sections, each ranging in length from one to a few pages, and I'm unsure how to break that down into a schedule suitable for blogging. Two years ago, with the two religion books, I aimed to do about one chapter each week, and the books were conducive to me doing just that and finishing in a couple months. Pacing a section per week with Reasons and Persons would have me wrapping it up not until after the 2015 World Series—far too much time. I expect to settle into a faster schedule as I go.

So with all these challenges, why have I chosen this book? In short, Reasons and Persons raises good questions about two ethical concerns that fascinate me: time and personal identity. As living things we move through time as surely as we move through anything, and so it would be appropriate to know how our moral choices affect not just the present but also the future, including the far future. Yet it turns out that's really hard to do, and most ethical systems fail at it, breaking down into paradox or outright self-contradiction given the right questions.

The second concern, personal identity, intrigues me because conventional concepts of what a person is—what makes me a different person than you, yet what makes me the same person as I was five years ago, etc.—don't hold up well to scrutiny. And yet we base most of our moral choices chiefly around such dubious notions of the self, starting with how what we choose affects other people. Shouldn't we have a better idea of what we are when we make those choices?

I don't expect to find a lot of answers in Reason and Persons—none, maybe. But I hope to gain a few new questions.