Marvels and Mysteries

As I explained in the last post, my dad is quite generous in his presents. In addition to a free seven-mile run, he bought me a second-hand copy of "Marvels and Mysteries of the Unexplained" by Nigel Blundell and Allan Hall for an estimated 50p.



The back cover explains what the book does:

We do no more than present to you the facts. We give you the evidence. We pose the questions. Only you, the reader, can provide the answers.

Among the many mysteries, the book describes the life of the great seer Mother Shipton, who lived in Knaresborough, only 15 miles from Otley.



She must have been a supreme fortune teller, for not only could she see into the future, she could also see The Past. The French had already lost the Battle of Agincourt 73 years before her birth.

Sometimes the book comes closer to solving mysteries than the authors themselves realise, such as when they search for possible reasons for the Hindenburg disaster.

The vessel had a proud record to live up to ... and the safety standards were of the highest.

What could be the reason for the airship bursting into flames? The picture editor seems to have laid his finger on the problem. His caption below a big picture of the airship explains:

The Hindenburg. It was 245 metres long and contained 198 000 cubic metres of inflammable hydrogen.

More seriously, the authors have picked some genuinely interesting unsolved mysteries, and the cause for the Hindenburg igniting is still debated. They also have included many great pictures and there aren't many factual inaccuracies. There is, however, a lot of suggestion, and a distinct lack of respect for Occam's Razer.

Chevin Chase

My dad didn't skimp on christmas presents this year: he bought the family entry into a seven-mile running race called the Chevin Chase. The race starts in the town of Guiseley, rises to the top of the Chevin, drops to the Otley side, then goes back to the top and down into Guiseley for the finish.

I've never run seven miles before today, so I started cautiously, but at the half-way point I decided that I was feeling quite well, so I sped up a bit. I still finished over five minutes behind my dad, who is pretty quick for a 60-year-old.

Otley 42 - Wharfedale 9

I'm in the small North Yorkshire town of Otley, staying with my parents, who have moved here. The sporting highlight of Otley is the Rugby Union club, who even hosted a Rugby World Cup game between Italy and the USA in 1991.



In the first frame of the clip, you can see the flank of the Chevin to the left of the main stand. Right behind the end where Francescato scored his try is a small farm with hens and pigs. The crowd today was much smaller than in 1991, and the ground looked bare in comparison. Otley ground down their opponents at the end of the first half, pushing for the corner inch by inch. After five minutes of sustained charges and pile-ups, they forced their way over the try-line to take a 14-9 half-time lead, before running in four second-half tries without reply.

Has the Cat Died?

I got dressed in a bit of a hurry last night and accidentally tucked half of my trouser leg into my sock. I only noticed after 20 minutes of walking around with one trouser leg hitched up. This took me back to my school days, where I would have been greeted with the inquiry "Has the cat died?". A trouser leg tucked into a sock is "at half mast", and the mourning was then presumed to be for the family cat. There are lots of phrases for too-short trousers, either from growth spurts or rushed dressing, described here: "half-masts", "budgies", "catsdieds", "noahs".

According to this dictionary, the Germans call them "Flood Trousers", but I've never heard it.

Mills Mess (with an effect of vagueness)

There is a very good explanation of the juggling pattern known as the Mills Mess here. It's in slightly garbled Frenglish, but the advice given is pretty much how I learned this trick. I would recommend just skimming over stage 1, as I think the author does too. Don't be put off by the complicated instructions: the trick is famous for being easier to do than say, and has a lovely rhythm so that it sometimes feels less like a trick, and more like the natural way to juggle.

Trying to be clever, I bought three glowing balls, which alternate between red, green and blue, so that you can see the paths of the three balls, and compare them to the animation. Unless when you take the photo all the balls all happen to be blue.

Thanks to my photographer.

I've walked out on another Ceremony!

My best friend in Bochum just passed his PhD exam. I'm really happy for him, but I just left his PhD party during his Laudatio (the bit where everyone says how good he was). I couldn't be bothered to laugh at the unfunny jokes of his professor. I will join him for a beer in 20 minutes, and shake him heartily by the hand. At the risk of sounding like Holden Caulfield, these official celebrations are all so phoney.

The Rock and Roll Years are Over

I'm in a better mood today, mainly due to the psychotherapy, which has been embarassingly simple so far. We've discussed things that have been worrying me, then agreed a time and a way to solve them. So far I have found my income tax card and told my health insurance, the German Physics Society, my bank, and Amnesty International my new (since February) address.

The only beaurocratic thing I'm really scared of is my tax declaration. I so far refused to fill one out, thinking that it wasn't Rock and Roll. I thought of it as being the saddest and squarest part of German life: all those people running around reclaiming tax. The German tax system is so complicated that people buy computer programs to help fill in their tax declaration. These programs used to be (and maybe still are) tax deductible.

I was going to try to find a citation to back up that last claim, but failed. I can't even write income tax in German. Neither can the Germans. The word for income is Einkommen, and the word for tax is Steuer. If you put them together you get Einkommensteuer, but if you like you can add an extra 's' in the middle to get Einkommenssteuer. I just bought a book which tries to explain this kind of thing, but usually ends up by giving a seemingly arbitrary rule

The middle 's' is added if the first word to be joined contains an even number of Umlauts or the second word begins with three consonants in alphabetical order.

and then includes a table of 200 exceptions.

As the figure below shows (red with one 's', blue with two), the german speaking world is as confused as I am in this matter.


Anyway, I dislike the tax system (I don't mind people taking money off me; I just dislike filling in forms), but I'll try to fill out a form this year. May seems to be a popular date according to the graph. I have a cast-iron tax deductible donation to Amnesty International. Now the clever bit is this: I'll give the tax that I get back this year as a donation next year, in addition to the regular sum. I did a calculation on the back of an envelope, and found that by continually giving the original sum plus all tax returned from the previous year to a charitable organisation I would be able to achieve roughly 30% year-on-year growth in donations until I pay no tax at all. Rock and Roll! I'm not quite sure that this will work, but I'm going to give it a try.

p.s.

It's interesting to see the way the world searches for "income tax". The British seem to have no massive peaks, because most people don't declare taxes. The average employee has tax taken at source and never sees the money. The Americans, in contrast, go income-tax crazy once a year. Still, at least they can fucking spell the word!

United Kingdom



United States

Fired?

Clear your desk by the end of January

I'd given up on my job a few weeks ago, but now it is official. Of course officially I've not been fired. Officially, I spent a year as a post-doctoral researcher, but couldn't see any future at the university. Inofficially the faculty will be glad to see the back of me, and I'll be glad to be gone. I suppose you can say "by mutual agreement".

Torpedo Entenhausen 2 - Blue Star Oblomow 3

At the final hurdle we lost for the first time in the Rückrunde, despite leading 2-0 at half-time. The Blue Stars had a chance of promotion, and overcame their nervous start to secure the points, but to no avail: Red Star Fussek won their last game to clinch the second promotion spot and join Black and White Bochum, the second division champtions, in division one next year.

Torpedo Entenhausen finished in eighth place, making up for a disappointing Hinrunde with fourth place in the Rückrunde table. A full statistical analysis of the spare time league can be found here

Can Anyone beat Seven?

I was surfing the internet at work when I found this list of reasons to quit work. Reason zero should probably have been "you found this website while randomly surfing the internet at work." I'm already in internal resignation mode, so my score of 7/10 doesn't surprise me.

I'm not happy with this state of affairs, and I'm trying to change my life. I think I only started this job because last December I was too depressed to think what I really wanted to do. I'm getting help for the depression now, and hope that I will be soon in a position to get a job that suits me, and then be in the position to keep doing it.

The Natural Order of Things

Football is a winter sport. It is played on muddy pitches when it is cold and rainy. The only exception is the Cup Final, played in May, when the sun shines, and the fans have a grand day out. This splendid occasion marks the end of the football season.

During the English summer, there is not enough time to play football! People are too busy watching and playing cricket. If the cricketers are taking a well-earned rest, there may be time to take a round of golf, play croquet on the lawn, see the hats and horses at Ascot, or watch the fine ladies and gentlemen play tennis at Wimbledon.

Switzerland and Austria are small alpine nations. They are covered in mountains, and the more adventurous Englishman may dare to ski down a mountain in the winter. During the summer, Swiss and Austrian people like to relax by climbing mountains, hiking and yodeling. No right-minded Englishman would want to play football in the summer, on the side of a mountain!

...No One Said it's Fair

I just unwillingly threw a portion of cream across a bakery. It landed about 1.5m away, intact, just behind me to my right. I had one of those shakes. I never shook with something in my hand before, and just shook about 20 times in 5 minutes.

I'm in the middle of a nervous breakdown. Literally, my nerves have broken down. I'm not in control of what I do. I think I've calmed down a bit now, though, as I write. It's a scrawl, but I haven't thrown my pen across the room, either willingly [1] or unwillingly.

I slept too little and ate too little last night. I still don't get the tutorial.

[1] Willingly thrown pens travel at least 20 yards unless they hit a wall. Unwillingly thrown pens probably go as far as coffee-cream portions.

Update - I held the tutorial. It wasn't great, but I tried to make the best of a bad job. I wrote the above on a piece of paper at 10:30 this morning. I corrected only for mistakes, and not for the simplistic sentences and repetition of words.

I quit

Warning: Rant.

I've been trying to think positively. I've been trying to avoid perfectionism, and making the best of bad/indifferent/good-but-not-perfect jobs. But today I have failed. I was in a lecture today, and could see the boredom creep across the students faces. Tomorrow I can entertain them with an electrostatics exercise.

It's another of those "I'm a fucking clever bastard: sod the fundamental principles, let's get lost in the mathematics" exercise. Expressions pop up from nowhere and in the end some parameters which I don't understand are calculated. There's some random fucking equation which appears from nowhere with the explanation that "a is a geometry parameter (dimension: length), which determines the diameter and position of the [infinitely long] cylinder".

For my whole life I've been using two parameters to determine the position of long cylinders. One for where it is, and one for how thick it is. The toilet roll is 10cm from the cubicle wall and has 5cm diameter. The lead piping is in the library, 2 feet from Miss Scarlett and 1 inch thick. But no! It is possible to put it all in one, apparently. I think it's some kind of scaling thing: a cylinder twice as thick twice as far away looks the same as one once as thick and once as far away. So is a a ratio? No, it has dimensions.

I want to understand things. Engineers seem happy with parameters which describe some unknown length. I'm not. So tomorrow I will stand and try to explain to the students this crap. They'll be bored and become boring engineers. I will fuck off out of here and do god-knows-what, but something different to this shit.

FC Polterberg 2 - Torpedo Entenhausen 2

I'm undergoing therapy for depression, and trying to see things in a more positive light, so I'm not going to worry about terribly miskicking a tap-in which would have cancelled Polterberg's early lead. The goalkeeper was on the floor, the goal was gaping, the ball wasn't even coming fast and nobody was near me, yet somehow my shot dribbled past the far post.

But enough about that. I've made a habit of scoring with tap-ins and rebounds, and it was time for something better. So two-nil down and with five minutes left, I made a run down the left, passed and got the return, and shot from the edge of the area into the bottom corner. Things got even better in injury time as Markus, our goalkeeper, sprinted upfield to take control of the ball. Seeing the resulting confusion in the defence, he had time to feint one pass, then play in Georg, who shot into the corner of the goal for the equaliser. It was his first shot of the match and his first goal of the season. There wasn't even time to restart the match.

I've never seen a goalkeeper help save a game like that. Usually in professional games they just go forward for corners or freekicks, looking for a header. The difference between the spare-time league and higher leagues is probably in fitness levels (all except the goalkeepers are tired out by the end) and ability (a goalkeeper can be just as good an outfield player as the rest). It's a tactic that we may try repeating.

Torpedo Entenhausen 4 - Megalomaniacs Herne 0

In my absence, my teammates have kept the unbeaten streak of Torpedo Entenhausen intact with two 3-3 draws, helping to consolidate our slow but steady rise into mid-table mediocrity (see graph above, showing league position throughout the season, courtesy of SG Sundern). That green stripe shows the promotion slots, from which we are safely removed.

My travels saw me relegated to the bench for the first half of tonight's game. The Torpedo Fanblock tried winning the affection of the sole WAG[1] of the Megalomaniacs by opening her flask of tea, but without success: we couldn't open the flask, and she seemed happy with her present love, even though he played in a woolly hat.

After the first half ended goalless, our substitutions turned the match, with all four goals coming from the bench, including a rare left-footed finish from me. The Megalomaniacs played the whole match with 10 players who looked a bit tired by the end, so I suppose it's no surprise that we turned out winners.

[1] I suppose that when only one footballing partner arrives, it should be a Wife Or Girlfriend, but I decided not to pursue that acronym.

p.s. The first edition of this post had the word mediocracy instead of mediocrity. The latter is the correct word in this context indicating a state of being mediocre. The former is a rare word meaning "rule by the mediocre"; compare to democracy (rule by the people), aristocracy (rule by the nobs) and plutocracy (rule by a cartoon dog).

Some things I did and didn't do

Thursday 1st November

I had some good plans for today, my last day in New York. I thought of going to downtown Manhatten and seeing the financial district and the Statue of Liberty. I thought of getting a ferry to New Jersey and seeing the site of the Burr-Hamilton duel, where the Burr, Vice President of the US, killed his rival. This would have made a fun day out, and shown how far the US has come since those lawless days of trigger-happy Vice Presidents.

In the end I did neither. The subway looks scary, and walking is impossible, with lights fixed to stop you for a minute at every block.

So I went to Central Park again. It's great. You can walk for more than 100 yards in a stretch. There are trees, grass, birds and squirrels. You start to appreciate these things more when stuck in the concrete of Manhattan. I juggled and got the rocking shoulder motion of the four-ball Mills mess just right. I passed some statues: Columbus, Walter Scott, Robert Burns, Shakespeare and King Jagiello of Poland. I guess this shows the shortness of white American history and the importance of immigration to New York.

On the Great Lawn I saw a man playing baseball with his two kids. I offered my services as a second baseman, and we had a good little game with imaginary runners on the bases. It turned out that the guy was from Nottingham, about 30 miles from Sheffield, my home town. So the only baseball game in Central Park was being played by two cricket-trained Englishmen. You can easily spot cricketers playing baseball, as they don't see the need for a glove, and turn inside pitches disdainfully to square leg.

Health Warning

Wednesday 31st October, 8pm

Watching lots of videos showing heart motion, blood flow and clogged arteries hast got me on a health streak. Seeing a video of a carotid artery (that's the one you feel on your throat, and also the one you learn to cut silently during ninja training), all but clogged up, with just a small gap letting the last drops of blood flow to the brain is scary.

I'm now eating ots of apples and went for another jog round Central Park, feeling my heart to check that it was beating nicely. I've been eating oatmeal (that's the American name for porridge) for breakfast. I didn't expect to find it here, but a small diner on the junction of 57th Street and 7th Avenue do a nice oatmeal/banana combination.

Presentation

Wednesday 31st October, 8am

Well the talk about pulse measurements went quite well. I should have known from my years in particle physics that not knowing what you're talking about isn't really a problem. Just turn up on time with the right clothes and some slides that someone else made and talk away.

I never know how talks that I give are going to go. Sometims I freeze, get confused and lost for words. Other times I get into the flow and it goes well. Today I managed to pronounce "Photoplethysmograph" correctly, and slipped in a couple of jokes that got a laugh. They weren't good jokes, but in an engineering conference they don't have to be.

I then went for a jog all the way round Central Park. I keep thinking about manic depression. Yesterday I went from self-hatred and tears to happy and confident within two hours. I can go back in the same time, if not shorter.

Doubt

Tuesday, 30th October.

I'm holding a talk this afternoon about measuring heart pulse (that expansion of the artery you feel when you put your finger on your throat/wrist). I guess that any medical doctor will see that I know fuck all about arterial blood flow. Any electrical engineer will see that I know fuck all about electronics. And any physicist will see that my error bars are way too big.

I can see it, as I'm a physicist. You don't need to know anything about the subject to say that this graph is bullshit. Nature don't work like that.


If you're not a physicist, let me tell you a secret. If those error bars show one standard deviation, then if you fit a line through all the points, about one third of the points shouldn't touch the line with their error bars. A plausible plot looks something like this:



I didn't make the plots, and couldn't be bothered to sort out the error analysis. I'm just the gimp who does the talk. My worst case scenario is to tender my resignation on the spot (with 3 months' notice), go for a juggle in central park, and find a good strip club.

World Series

Sunday, 28th October

I'm quickly getting the hang of baseball terminology, which is almost as confusing as cricket terminology. The New York Times wrote yesterday that during the regular season

[David Ortiz] looked like he was stumbling down a steep hill and then barreling through a revolving door when he corralled one pop-up on a windy day

This means that, in cricketing terms, he shelled a skier, or spilled a dolly.

I used to think that baseball was about hitting home runs, but there is a lot more to it. I watched games 3 and 4 of the World Series, and have seen a bunt (cricket equivalent: forward defensive shot plus a quick single), a double play (cricket equivalent: a run out at both ends, which is imaginable although not possible with the present laws) and a player stealing third (cricket equivalent: running when the bowler isn't looking).

I've also learnt what a designated hitter is: a batter too fat to run, see Ortiz/Inzamam, and that they exist in the American League but not in the National League. This means that there are two sets of rules for the World Series, which is played between the champions of the two leagues. When Boston (AL) played at home, they could use Ortiz, their immobile slogger, to bat in place of their pitcher, but when they played in Colorado (NL) he had to field at first base. In the end he did just fine.