I've recently looked around myself, seeing pockets of neglect. My camera has been untouched for months. I haven't touched a string on my guitar(s) in at least the same period. I haven't read a book. I haven't posted to xanga much either (with one exceptional, anomalous period of productivity).
Analysis shows that my life isn't full of idleness either. Other things are sweeping in and taking over the time normally allotted to these old friends of mine. Side projects, those great consumers of time, have been the primary culprit. I'm hoping with the advent of spring, these side projects will dry up and I'll find myself back in the company of my old friends, shutter and string.
Spring is one of my favorite times of year. Newness, freshness, and vitality abound. One cannot help but be swept up in the season when you're surrounded with such vigor. It means I'll have to start mowing the yard again (bummer), yet the boys are getting old enough to be a help in that arena.
The harbinger of spring at my house is wildflowers. We have a lovely variety of flowers native to our yard, and they choose to bloom right before I must start mowing. We're treated to a period of this beautiful variety of color brought on by winecups, evening primrose, horsemint, indian blanket, cornflowers, tawny paintbrush, indian paintbrush and even the lovely bluebonnet. There are others in there yet unidentified, also making their presence known. It's a beautiful sight, the top of our hill, when spring has sprung.
Then boys and I have been working on some home repairs, an ongoing project which may carry us into '10 before we see it finished. It seems a massive undertaking, yet we continue to plod along as quickly as I, the project manager, can push. Spring may breathe some life and energy into the project.
Who ever knew that the purchase of a new cell phone could be such an invigorating thing, yet Hil's testimony proves it true. My phone is a work-provided unit, however I am the "Director of Technology", a true, yet misleading moniker. Being the director of technology, I have sway over cell phone purchases and contracts, a thing my boss, the president of the company, doesn't care to think about. I'm thinking of leading the power users--a group consisting of 5-out-of-8 users--into the realm of nerd phones. Having mobile internet and e-mail, not to mention GPS or a useful calendar/scheduling tool, would be a boon for us. I am totally enthralled by the Blackberry Bold and will be pushing hard for it. I'm thinking that some may opt for the trendy iPhone, but I want something with real buttons.
Amongst the power users, there are a couple of us counting the days until the upgrade. We nurse our old phones, our torn carrying cases, all the while ready to ditch them at a moment's notice. The other power users seem indifferent, yet I know they will like the upgrade, too. There is one in the group that would complain about any change, yet often refuses to speak, knowing that speaking such things will often mean that he is left out when the rest of us get new, cool things. Two more months until new phones, a subject so full of joy that I most definitely will need to write about it.
Hopefully, I'll post some--perhaps a little--between now and then.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Sunday, February 15, 2009
In Search of Pi
I am not a mathematician. Though mathematical concepts came naturally to me during my educational phase, they held no interest for me. I never proceeded beyond Algebra II. I never took advanced maths, such as trig or calculus. Beyond the practical aspects of math, I saw it as boring and non-productive.
In math, even in my small insignificant experience, you quickly learn of pi (π). Pi is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. It is a constant, being the same no matter what size the circle. Calculating the value of pi is apparently not quite so simple as the mathematical formula: π = C/d. It is very involved. However, this is not the magic of pi.
The magic of pi is that it is infinite. Those who have calculated pi to the extreme (the record is 1,241,100,000,000 decimal places) have found that there is no pattern or end to that point and none predicted from there on out until infinity, which is to where they assume pi extends.
I find this amazing. I do not mean I find the marvels of pi amazing. It is amazing, but that's not it. I find it amazing that people will marvel over such things, spending millions upon millions of dollars delving into pi, yet will ignore truths which seem more obvious yet which are far more marvelous. Everything in creation, pi included, bears the fingerprints of its creator. So, when a person sees marvels such as pi, why do they not immediately look to a greater wisdom, a higher power, that was behind the making of such things? Why is it so hard for people to acknowledge that God is behind all these things?
It takes a whole lot more faith in lesser things to believe that what we see evolved from that primordial soup. A big bang seems to be a shot in the dark. It seems to be a guess--a mere stab--at what might have happened if we deny the presence of a creator. It seems to be formulated by someone who, in their desire to write God out of life, takes illogical steps of fancy and places more faith in whims, theories and opinions. I'm amazed at the lengths people will go to in order to avoid acknowledging God. I suppose they know that acknowledging God will mean they are to be subject to him. If they are subject to him, they are no longer the masters of their own destinies.
Then again, it could simply be that faith is indeed a gift of God. He gives us the ability to understand these truths. In our natural state, we don't have the capacity to understand these things. For some, God removes the scales of human nature and reveals the truth that dwells beneath our existence. We will see then, all too clearly, the true nature of life and that it all stands as a tribute to its creator, the only one worthy of such worship and praise.
He does indeed call us to be his subjects, but he is a benevolent Master who wants only our good. We find, in giving up this control, that we are actually liberated rather than enslaved. We are set free from pointless, futile lives that end in destruction. We are set on a path of true knowledge, not empty meaninglessness.
Infinity is the fingerprint of God. Infinity is, to us, a theoretical concept that we can only acknowledge the presence of, yet can never understand. The universe is infinite, with no end. It goes on and on, passing countless stars, planets and galaxies, yet continuing on without end. Pi stretches out to infinity. They say there are small, attention-getting irregularities in its numbers as it stretches out to its known reaches, yet there is no pattern, no end and no reason to expect either of these in the unknown reaches of pi.
Pi is the fingerprint of God.
In math, even in my small insignificant experience, you quickly learn of pi (π). Pi is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. It is a constant, being the same no matter what size the circle. Calculating the value of pi is apparently not quite so simple as the mathematical formula: π = C/d. It is very involved. However, this is not the magic of pi.
The magic of pi is that it is infinite. Those who have calculated pi to the extreme (the record is 1,241,100,000,000 decimal places) have found that there is no pattern or end to that point and none predicted from there on out until infinity, which is to where they assume pi extends.
I find this amazing. I do not mean I find the marvels of pi amazing. It is amazing, but that's not it. I find it amazing that people will marvel over such things, spending millions upon millions of dollars delving into pi, yet will ignore truths which seem more obvious yet which are far more marvelous. Everything in creation, pi included, bears the fingerprints of its creator. So, when a person sees marvels such as pi, why do they not immediately look to a greater wisdom, a higher power, that was behind the making of such things? Why is it so hard for people to acknowledge that God is behind all these things?
It takes a whole lot more faith in lesser things to believe that what we see evolved from that primordial soup. A big bang seems to be a shot in the dark. It seems to be a guess--a mere stab--at what might have happened if we deny the presence of a creator. It seems to be formulated by someone who, in their desire to write God out of life, takes illogical steps of fancy and places more faith in whims, theories and opinions. I'm amazed at the lengths people will go to in order to avoid acknowledging God. I suppose they know that acknowledging God will mean they are to be subject to him. If they are subject to him, they are no longer the masters of their own destinies.
Then again, it could simply be that faith is indeed a gift of God. He gives us the ability to understand these truths. In our natural state, we don't have the capacity to understand these things. For some, God removes the scales of human nature and reveals the truth that dwells beneath our existence. We will see then, all too clearly, the true nature of life and that it all stands as a tribute to its creator, the only one worthy of such worship and praise.
He does indeed call us to be his subjects, but he is a benevolent Master who wants only our good. We find, in giving up this control, that we are actually liberated rather than enslaved. We are set free from pointless, futile lives that end in destruction. We are set on a path of true knowledge, not empty meaninglessness.
Infinity is the fingerprint of God. Infinity is, to us, a theoretical concept that we can only acknowledge the presence of, yet can never understand. The universe is infinite, with no end. It goes on and on, passing countless stars, planets and galaxies, yet continuing on without end. Pi stretches out to infinity. They say there are small, attention-getting irregularities in its numbers as it stretches out to its known reaches, yet there is no pattern, no end and no reason to expect either of these in the unknown reaches of pi.
Pi is the fingerprint of God.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Suit Sleeve Phenomenon
My silence of late hasn't been due to a lack of love towards you, my xanga readership. My insufficient apology is this: I have simply been too busy. Things on the proverbial back burner have boiled over and left a reeking, scorched mess on the bottom of their respective pots as I have tended to those front burner matters. Excuses, excuses. We will make the time, you say, for the things that are important to us. Perhaps you are right. Pitiful apologies aside, I offer you this interesting post: The Suit Sleeve Phenomenon.
Any of you who have read this weblog with any degree of regularity (both of you know your names) will know that I, by profession, am a mortician. A death services merchant. I have worked in this field for the last ten years. Over the years, I have observed many things which seem rather incongruous, given my field of employment. One, there is less crying associated with this business than you would expect. I figure that most dying folks are rather old and full of years and their shuffling off is pretty much expected and natural and not really that sad. There are other things I've found interesting over the years. Some families grossly overestimate their loved one's importance in the community at large. Other families will bicker and argue over the stupidest of things, refusing to put aside their petty differences for even one day to bury Pop. With a little experience, you can spot the fake cryers, too, with their insincere sorrow put on as a show to all present. The insincere cryers are usually those children that lived 1,500 miles away from Dad and only saw him every Christmas, yet they missed the last couple of years due to pressing commitments. Their tears are guilt hopefully disguised as grief. There are many more I could bore you with, yet I'll press on.
There is one thing I've learned that still puzzles me to this day. I call it the Suit Sleeve Phenomenon. Let me explain...
The bane of the mortician's existence is flowers. We hate them. Those funeral directors that don't admit to hating flowers are either, a) making money on the sale of flowers at their on-site shop, or b) liars. Flowers, at a funeral home, are handled repeatedly. They are moved into the room. They are moved from room to room. They are moved from the funeral home to the church. They are moved from the church to the cemetery. They are moved from the cemetery to the family's home. By this time, we hope to be done with them.
Many floral "masterpieces" take advantage of lillies of various kinds. In certain seasons, these lillies have pollinating stamens still attached. Floral pollen has the uncanny ability to horribly stain a shirt or suit if you respond incorrectly to being pollinated by an arrangement as you handle it during one of these junctures. First, you never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never try and clean it off with a damp cloth. That sets the stain in until Christ's return. Also, it is not best to rub it at all, even with a dry cloth.
One way to remove it is to take a towel and beat it off. The force of the beating, plus the wind generated by the beating, often dissipates the pollen and it mostly disappears. I've also used compressed air, like the kind to blow out computers and computer components. It works about as well as the towel beating method.
The best way I've seen is magical. A fellow director showed me this trick one day, probably passed down to him from generations of directors before him. I suffered a pollination one day and he rushed up and wiped the sleeve of his black/gray suit over the pollen. It disappeared. I looked at the sleeve of his suit, expecting to see a smear of orange-yellow pollen. I saw nothing.
Since that day, I have employed the trick myself, teaching it to others as I have had opportunity. To this day, I do not understand how it works or where the pollen goes. It is baffling. Also, since it may be a magical power accorded to only morticians, I would not recommend trying this yourself with your best dark suit. My usage of the Suit Sleeve Phenomenon has not taken place outside of the industry, so I cannot guarantee the same results to non-professionals.
Next: "In Search of Pi"
Any of you who have read this weblog with any degree of regularity (both of you know your names) will know that I, by profession, am a mortician. A death services merchant. I have worked in this field for the last ten years. Over the years, I have observed many things which seem rather incongruous, given my field of employment. One, there is less crying associated with this business than you would expect. I figure that most dying folks are rather old and full of years and their shuffling off is pretty much expected and natural and not really that sad. There are other things I've found interesting over the years. Some families grossly overestimate their loved one's importance in the community at large. Other families will bicker and argue over the stupidest of things, refusing to put aside their petty differences for even one day to bury Pop. With a little experience, you can spot the fake cryers, too, with their insincere sorrow put on as a show to all present. The insincere cryers are usually those children that lived 1,500 miles away from Dad and only saw him every Christmas, yet they missed the last couple of years due to pressing commitments. Their tears are guilt hopefully disguised as grief. There are many more I could bore you with, yet I'll press on.
There is one thing I've learned that still puzzles me to this day. I call it the Suit Sleeve Phenomenon. Let me explain...
The bane of the mortician's existence is flowers. We hate them. Those funeral directors that don't admit to hating flowers are either, a) making money on the sale of flowers at their on-site shop, or b) liars. Flowers, at a funeral home, are handled repeatedly. They are moved into the room. They are moved from room to room. They are moved from the funeral home to the church. They are moved from the church to the cemetery. They are moved from the cemetery to the family's home. By this time, we hope to be done with them.
Many floral "masterpieces" take advantage of lillies of various kinds. In certain seasons, these lillies have pollinating stamens still attached. Floral pollen has the uncanny ability to horribly stain a shirt or suit if you respond incorrectly to being pollinated by an arrangement as you handle it during one of these junctures. First, you never, never, never, never, never, never, never, never try and clean it off with a damp cloth. That sets the stain in until Christ's return. Also, it is not best to rub it at all, even with a dry cloth.
One way to remove it is to take a towel and beat it off. The force of the beating, plus the wind generated by the beating, often dissipates the pollen and it mostly disappears. I've also used compressed air, like the kind to blow out computers and computer components. It works about as well as the towel beating method.
The best way I've seen is magical. A fellow director showed me this trick one day, probably passed down to him from generations of directors before him. I suffered a pollination one day and he rushed up and wiped the sleeve of his black/gray suit over the pollen. It disappeared. I looked at the sleeve of his suit, expecting to see a smear of orange-yellow pollen. I saw nothing.
Since that day, I have employed the trick myself, teaching it to others as I have had opportunity. To this day, I do not understand how it works or where the pollen goes. It is baffling. Also, since it may be a magical power accorded to only morticians, I would not recommend trying this yourself with your best dark suit. My usage of the Suit Sleeve Phenomenon has not taken place outside of the industry, so I cannot guarantee the same results to non-professionals.
Next: "In Search of Pi"
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