Welcome to Entry 256! As any math nerd worth his or her salt can tell you, 256 is a special number: It's a power of two. Powers of two are especially prominent in computer science because at the lowest level computers are binary. A "switch" is either on or off; that is, there are two choices. If you add another switch then there are four (2^2) choices -- on-on, on-off, off-on, off-off. If you add yet another switch then there are eight (2^3) choices. I'm not going to list them all, but you can do it if you want. I remember in high school computer programming class (my favorite and most influential class ever, by the way) one of the first things we learned to do was convert numbers from decimal to other bases of powers of two like binary and hexadecimal (16). I don't know if I've ever applied this knowledge directly, but it did allow me to understand two "great" math jokes:
Speaking of math jokes, they (very indirectly) caused a small argument between S and I. I've said before that S and I have the same two or three arguments over and over in different forms, well, here's a classic example of our "I think I say something completely inoffensive; S hears something condescending" argument. It's also called the "tone" argument, for short.
The other day S comes home with some books from the library -- mostly they're kids' books for Lil' S, but there are a few for her too. One of them is called What If?: Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions by Randall Munroe. I recognize the name of the author because he's the guy who does xkcd -- a math-y, science-y, nerdy (and very funny) comic strip. It surprises me that S would pick out a book of this genre, so we have a little conversation about it. I don't think anything of it.
Then later I'm flipping through the book, thinking I might read it, so I ask S if she's going to read it soon, and she says, "You can read it now if you want ... Since apparently I'm not smart enough to understand it." She said it half-jokingly, but only half. That's what she took away from our conversation earlier. I thought I was making an innocuous, offhand comment about personal preferences. She thought I was disparaging her analytical skills. Sigh ...
By the way, I'm not going to read the book. It looks too heavy on the physics. Despite being really into math, I've never found physics all that interesting. My sister says I have a little bit of Sheldon Cooper in me. But I always point out that I'm not into theoretical physics. Also, I don't like comic books, and given the opportunity, I'd totally get it on with Blossom. (I'd just have to make sure to steer away from the topic of vaccines during the pillow-talk.)
Anyway, since I'm on the topic of arguments, I'll give you an example of another big one between S and I -- the "can't let it go" argument. This one is mainly on me, I will admit. When I hear or see something that isn't right or that doesn't make sense, I am virtually incapable of just letting it go. When it comes to debugging complex computer code (a large part what I do at work) this serves me very well; when it comes to dealing with my with my wife, not so much. In general, to be successful in marriage I think you have to be a lot like Queen Elsa in Frozen.
Here's the example. We eat a lot of hard-boiled eggs in our house -- all three of us eat them. As a result we (meaning I) have to boil a lot of eggs, which is fine, but I'd prefer to do it as infrequently as possible. So one thing I ask S is to give Lil' S only half an egg at each meal and save the other half because otherwise he takes two bites and we waste most the egg -- which over the course of weeks adds up to a lot of wasted eggs. Apart from the additional boiling, I just hate wasting food. It's a big pet peeve of mine.
So the other day she's giving him lunch, and I see a bunch of egg that he's obviously not going to eat sitting on a plate. And then S (perhaps in a preemptive strike) says, "He ate an entire egg today!" Now at this point, I should just say "cool", and move on. (Let it go, let it go...) But I see a pile of ovum detritus sitting there, and I can't help myself:
"It doesn't look like it," I say motioning toward the remaining egg.
"Sorry," S says in an a sarcastic tone, "he ate three-fourths of an egg today."
"There's not three-fourths missing from that egg."
S holds up a sliver of egg white, "Babe, this is all that's left."
"What about all that yolk?" I say pointing to what looks to be close to the entire yolk.
"He didn't want the yo- ... whatever ... just ... whatever."
And that pretty much sums it up. Arguing over the proportion remaining of an egg that is about to go into the trash disposal anyway.
After telling these stories, now I feel like I have to say something positive about S and my relationship, so I'll say this: We make a pretty good team with Lil' S. This teamwork was in full effect last night at "Boo at the Zoo" -- a Halloween event at the National Zoo, where sponsors set up booths and kids go around trick-or-treating at them. Some of the animal exhibits are open as well. We went with a friend who brought her two girls, so the ratio was one parent per one child, and it was barely adequate. Keeping up with Lil' S in an open space is getting to be a serious challenge. Actually, in an open space it's not too bad; it's where there are railings and ropes and poles and nooks and stuff that's it's difficult. And a bagful of readily accessible sugar certainly doesn't help the situation. Lil' S was constantly climbing something he shouldn't be climbing ("Hey, stay off the railing to the alligator pit.") or just bombing forward full-steam ahead, zigzagging through peoples legs, while I'm trying not to flatten the throngs of other kids in pursuit. There were several times he got far enough ahead that he couldn't see us (but I could see him). So he'd stop and get scared and start crying, "mommy! mommy!", and then all the other parents would look around and wonder if he was lost and if they should do something before I could reach him and scoop him up.
But it was a lot fun. It's a good event. I'm not sure if Lil' S can do "real" trick-or-treating yet, and if we will even try to take him out next Friday or not, so maybe this will be it for our Halloween celebration.
And this is it for this entry as well...
Actually one more thing. What do you think of the adult who wears a genuinely creepy Halloween costume? Not like a fun, cartoonish creepy, but something that would actually scare the shit out of you if you were six years old? There was a guy at the zoo last night who went as Bane from Batman, and with that weird mouth mask on, he looked legitimately scary. I mean, it's fun to spook the kids and all, but the goal isn't to traumatize them, right?
Anyway, until next time ...
- There are 10 types of people in this world. Those who understand binary and those who don't.
- There are 16 types of people in this world. Those who understand hexadecimal ... and f the rest.
Speaking of math jokes, they (very indirectly) caused a small argument between S and I. I've said before that S and I have the same two or three arguments over and over in different forms, well, here's a classic example of our "I think I say something completely inoffensive; S hears something condescending" argument. It's also called the "tone" argument, for short.
The other day S comes home with some books from the library -- mostly they're kids' books for Lil' S, but there are a few for her too. One of them is called What If?: Serious Scientific Answers to Absurd Hypothetical Questions by Randall Munroe. I recognize the name of the author because he's the guy who does xkcd -- a math-y, science-y, nerdy (and very funny) comic strip. It surprises me that S would pick out a book of this genre, so we have a little conversation about it. I don't think anything of it.
Then later I'm flipping through the book, thinking I might read it, so I ask S if she's going to read it soon, and she says, "You can read it now if you want ... Since apparently I'm not smart enough to understand it." She said it half-jokingly, but only half. That's what she took away from our conversation earlier. I thought I was making an innocuous, offhand comment about personal preferences. She thought I was disparaging her analytical skills. Sigh ...
[My favorite xkcd joke.]
By the way, I'm not going to read the book. It looks too heavy on the physics. Despite being really into math, I've never found physics all that interesting. My sister says I have a little bit of Sheldon Cooper in me. But I always point out that I'm not into theoretical physics. Also, I don't like comic books, and given the opportunity, I'd totally get it on with Blossom. (I'd just have to make sure to steer away from the topic of vaccines during the pillow-talk.)
Anyway, since I'm on the topic of arguments, I'll give you an example of another big one between S and I -- the "can't let it go" argument. This one is mainly on me, I will admit. When I hear or see something that isn't right or that doesn't make sense, I am virtually incapable of just letting it go. When it comes to debugging complex computer code (a large part what I do at work) this serves me very well; when it comes to dealing with my with my wife, not so much. In general, to be successful in marriage I think you have to be a lot like Queen Elsa in Frozen.
[What? Lil' S is really into this movie right now.]
Here's the example. We eat a lot of hard-boiled eggs in our house -- all three of us eat them. As a result we (meaning I) have to boil a lot of eggs, which is fine, but I'd prefer to do it as infrequently as possible. So one thing I ask S is to give Lil' S only half an egg at each meal and save the other half because otherwise he takes two bites and we waste most the egg -- which over the course of weeks adds up to a lot of wasted eggs. Apart from the additional boiling, I just hate wasting food. It's a big pet peeve of mine.
So the other day she's giving him lunch, and I see a bunch of egg that he's obviously not going to eat sitting on a plate. And then S (perhaps in a preemptive strike) says, "He ate an entire egg today!" Now at this point, I should just say "cool", and move on. (Let it go, let it go...) But I see a pile of ovum detritus sitting there, and I can't help myself:
"It doesn't look like it," I say motioning toward the remaining egg.
"Sorry," S says in an a sarcastic tone, "he ate three-fourths of an egg today."
"There's not three-fourths missing from that egg."
S holds up a sliver of egg white, "Babe, this is all that's left."
"What about all that yolk?" I say pointing to what looks to be close to the entire yolk.
"He didn't want the yo- ... whatever ... just ... whatever."
And that pretty much sums it up. Arguing over the proportion remaining of an egg that is about to go into the trash disposal anyway.
[Dueling banjos at "Boo at the Zoo"]
After telling these stories, now I feel like I have to say something positive about S and my relationship, so I'll say this: We make a pretty good team with Lil' S. This teamwork was in full effect last night at "Boo at the Zoo" -- a Halloween event at the National Zoo, where sponsors set up booths and kids go around trick-or-treating at them. Some of the animal exhibits are open as well. We went with a friend who brought her two girls, so the ratio was one parent per one child, and it was barely adequate. Keeping up with Lil' S in an open space is getting to be a serious challenge. Actually, in an open space it's not too bad; it's where there are railings and ropes and poles and nooks and stuff that's it's difficult. And a bagful of readily accessible sugar certainly doesn't help the situation. Lil' S was constantly climbing something he shouldn't be climbing ("Hey, stay off the railing to the alligator pit.") or just bombing forward full-steam ahead, zigzagging through peoples legs, while I'm trying not to flatten the throngs of other kids in pursuit. There were several times he got far enough ahead that he couldn't see us (but I could see him). So he'd stop and get scared and start crying, "mommy! mommy!", and then all the other parents would look around and wonder if he was lost and if they should do something before I could reach him and scoop him up.
But it was a lot fun. It's a good event. I'm not sure if Lil' S can do "real" trick-or-treating yet, and if we will even try to take him out next Friday or not, so maybe this will be it for our Halloween celebration.
And this is it for this entry as well...
Actually one more thing. What do you think of the adult who wears a genuinely creepy Halloween costume? Not like a fun, cartoonish creepy, but something that would actually scare the shit out of you if you were six years old? There was a guy at the zoo last night who went as Bane from Batman, and with that weird mouth mask on, he looked legitimately scary. I mean, it's fun to spook the kids and all, but the goal isn't to traumatize them, right?
Anyway, until next time ...
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