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.
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.
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…
Would you rather…
Would you rather…
What's the most you would pay to…
What's the most you would pay to…
See also:
Relax, and let the answer flow out of you.
Today's riddle has thirteen letters. The clue is: How Mario gets to work?
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
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.
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?
