Some of my opinions/thoughts/reactions:

Dear Amazon.com Customer,

As someone who has shopped digital SLRs or lenses, you might be interested in checking out a picture-perfect deal on some of our most popular Sigma lenses . . .

I guess it's not that different from the way ads all across the web tend to hawk products you've been researching of late.  Brian has been noting/mocking those for quite some time now (ever since the specific pair of motorcycle boots he'd be ogling started showing up in ads on every other web page he visited).   Still, those are just images off to the side of the screen, easier to entirely tune out, and without the text bearing perky pretense of wanting to help you out, or of being a personal connection.

• I found the detailing of the world to be very well done: the meat farms (though that still didn't dampen my long-running enthusiasm for lab-grown meat); the layers of suburb bubbles, artificial environments accessed by upcar and interspersed with swarms of cockroaches; the disease and decay and war that are marketed as trends . . .

• Except for the scenes depicting microgravity on the moon.  (As we all know, lunar gravity is weak compared to Earth gravity, but not at all the same as weightlessness.)  I can almost begrudgingly give Anderson the benefit of the doubt and assume that he's talking about establishments in orbit around the moon, rather than on the lunar surface.  But it feels like a stretch.

• Kevin described the book as "a sledgehammer trying to make a very blunt point to young adults."  And indeed, some of the main themes are laid on so thickly as to be nearly suffocating -- for example, the "corporations as heartless manipulators" motif.  But the author does touch on more sophisticated points, as well, such as what decisions parents can/should make for their children, or the danger of being born into a society you fundamentally reject (reminescent, perhaps, of We The Living).

The plot itself is believable and compelling, if not all that complex.  But the setting is worth the read, if you can get past the prose used to describe it.

My take on the obstacles, as we encountered them:

1. Braveheart Charge: I'm not sure if "charging into battle" would really count as an obstacle, if not for the snow machines trained at the route, going full blast. The description doesn't mention snow machines, though, so I think this was combined with number 4.

2. Boa Constrictor: Crawl downhill through one tunnel, into a puddle of really cold water, then uphill through another to exit. Except for the breath-taking coldness, not too difficult.

3. Kiss of Mud: Crawl through mud/water under barbed wire. Pretty easy, except for the girl we saw get her hair stuck and narrowly escape before a guy was about to "help" with a pair of scissors.

4. Gauntlet: There wasn't any sort of high pressure hosing, nor anything resembling a half pipe, on this downhill section of the course. We did have to go through the snow machines right at the beginning, though, so I'm guessing this was combined with number 1?

5. Blood bath: Our vats of ice water (literally -- there are a ton of ice cubes in it) weren't dyed red. But they were incredibly chilly. I jumped straight to submersion and went under the beam before coming up for air. There was a guy helping people climb out on the other side, and I took his place for a few people who followed me, before we continued onward.

The next section after this was a steep uphill climb -- the one we'd seen people wearing the head shields on back when we were in the parking lot.

6. Devil's beard (MIA): These low cargo nets weren't actually anywhere to be found on the part of course where they're shown.

7. Log bog jog: The ground was dry, so hopping over the logs was simple.

8. The map said this was supposed to be the Evil Knevil (a "slippery pyramid"), but it was actually the Funky Monkey (shown on the map as 16). The description for that one: "some of [the bars] have been greased with butter, and you'll get a shock when you fall into an ice-cold lake."

Despite hooking my knees on the bars in front of me, as insurance against the greasing, this was quite difficult. The bars were made of metal, after all, and the temperatures were below freezing. Even with mountain biking gloves on, my hands were becoming numb pretty quickly. I did end up making it across by grabbing the wooden beams, though apparently you weren't supposed to do that. Still, it was quite a struggle -- and the water was pretty far down, and not that deep -- so I don't feel like it wasn't justified.

Even with the effort expended, during my time on the monkey bars, I transitioned from feeling OK to feeling really, really cold.

8.5. BBQ pit (not on the map): You had to crawl through an increasingly low space that was a bit smokey and a bit muddy. I only wish it'd been warmer.

9. Hold your Wood: We were about halfway up the hill, carrying our logs, when we decided we needed to cut things short. We weren't convinced that our feet and hands weren't in danger of getting frostbite, it was still snowing, it would only get colder as we went higher in elevation, and even though we were working hard, lugging our logs, we weren't getting any warmer.

As we headed down the hill, we figured we might as well check out the last three obstacles while we were there:

21. Mud mile: The website promises "waist deep sludge," but it wasn't actually that muddy or that long. It's possible we were supposed to go through something that we accidentally went around?

22. Mystery obstacle: Just a short crawl through some hay-bale obstructed tunnels. Pretty mundane.

23. Electroshock therapy: I got shocked at least twice, and it was intense enough to be fairly unpleasant.

The ones we missed:

10. Underwater tunnels: "Bob beneath the obstacles on the surface of the water."

11. Walk the Plank: 15-foot jump into the lake. I'd really been looking forward to doing a back layout on this one.

12. Ball shrinker: A "rickety swinging rope bridge," in which you walk on one rope while holding on to a higher one. This looked like it would have been fun.

13. Mystery obstacle

14. Death March: steep hill. No big loss, as we did others.

15. Primal scream: I.e., the summit. Cool in theory, except I heard there the wind chill was 10 F, and the view would have consisted of the clouds socking it in.

16. Where the Funky Monkey was supposed to be. Maybe they put the Evil Knevil there instead?

17. Cliffhanger: "Teamwork is essential as you scramble up and over this steep and slippery motocross slope." This would have been fun to try.

18. Greased lightning: Basically, a huge slip-and-slide into the pond.

19. Kentucky derby: 8-foot beams you need to help one another get over.

20. Berlin walls: Same idea, with with 12-ft wooden walls.

The Southern California Tough Mudder took place at Snow Valley ski resort 28-29 May 2011. Saturday turned out to be a sunny day, with a high that broke 60 degrees F. Sunday, though, stood out on the weather.gov page as the lone cold day in the entire forecast. Instead of being in the 50s or 60s, the high was expected to be 36. There was a 100 percent chance of precipitation, with snow accumulation of 1-3 inches, and wind gusts up to 30 mph.

Unfortunately, back when we were signing up for the race more than a month earlier, we'd chosen Sunday.

When we woke up that morning, I had a text message advising us to leave an extra hour early due to fog, snow, and ice on the road. This was not at all helpful, since it would have required us to leave earlier than we'd even had our alarm set. It also turned out to be completely unnecessary; the roads were fine.

We got to Snow Valley, signed in, got our numbers and wristbands (the guy asked for my ID before giving me the one that you exchange for a beer), and got ready to go. As we headed up to the starting area, the sun even came out! Things were looking up -- metaphorically, at least. (If you actually looked up the mountain, you'd see the frost on the trees.)

The announcer was very entertaining, we all said the Tough Mudder Pledge, we counted down to 11:30, and we were off!

We ran through the snow machines that were turned on full blast. We crawled through tunnels and under barbed wire, both accentuated by freezing cold, muddy puddles. We hiked up black diamond runs, past admonitions not to have a heart attack and to stay on the course lest we fall victim to velociraptors, then back down again. There was a "log bog" that wasn't very bog-like and a "BBQ pit" that wasn't nearly toasty enough.

The two most noteworthy obstacles were the vat of ice water -- literally, there were ice cubes -- in which you had to submerge, and the monkey bars. It is an understatement to say that Brian really dislikes swimming in cold water, but he bit the bullet and conquered the ice bath. Monkey bars might not sound difficult, but they were by far the most physically demanding obstacle we encountered. I did make it across, though sheer stubbornness, though the rapid numbing of my hands on the cold metal bars caused me to grab the wooden part, which apparently you weren't supposed to do.

But the weather was against us, to put it mildly. By the time we'd gotten to obstacle 4, only about a mile and a half in, the clouds were closing in. After the third mile, it was definitely snowing. A lot of trucks and other support vehicles were heading up the mountain; others were heading down with truckloads of pale, huddled Mudders. There were lots of people walking down, too.

We were about four miles in when the hypothermia set in. I've been cold before. I've shivered before. But I've never before experienced my body shaking so violently and uncontrollably. At this point, the next obstacle was to carry large logs up a hill. We decided to try to continue, figuring it would warm us up. But it didn't. And halfway up, we made the difficult call of deciding to cut things short.

There were some serious water obstacles coming up -- including the Walk the Plank, which I'd really been looking forward to, but now felt unsure about. Would I be able to control my limbs enough to do the requisite swim back to shore? And Brian's feet and hands were numb. The prospect of continuing the course without doing all the obstacles felt just as disappointing as simply heading down. The obstacles were the whole point, after all; we can do trail runs and climb mountains on our own anytime. Plus, it seemed like the organizers were already struggling to deal with the volume of participants who needed aid. In the end, it was supposed to be an enjoyable -- if challenging -- experience; requiring medical care was not part of the plan. We decided to get ourselves off the mountain before we got to the point where someone else would have to haul us off.

On the way down, we figured we might as well check out the three obstacles that remained between us and the car. The first two were pretty tame, but the last one, which gave electrical shocks, was intense. Back at the base of the resort, we first huddled in a hallway that we thought was nice and warm, yet for some reason kept shivering. In hindsight, it was probably only in the 50s in there; it just seemed warm by comparison. We returned to the purple car, turned on the heater full blast, started peeling off our wet clothes, and finally stopped shivering. Then we headed home.

It was easy, once we were back at lower, warmer elevations, to feel regret about having not soldiered on, even though frostbite would probably have been a bigger regret. We heard the windchill at the summit was 10 degrees F, but the completion rate for the day was still 55 percent. (Not the usual 78 or whatnot, but not impossible by any means.) Still, we had on our polypropylene shirts and wool socks -- both materials that are supposed to be warm when wet. Short of carrying a dry bag with changes of clothes, I'm not sure what else we could have done to prepare.

The triumph of the weather over us is all the more frustrating because I'm confident we could have completed the Tough Mudder had we not gotten such rotten luck, weather-wise. We were in at least the 50th percentile in terms of fitness level; we passed a lot of people on the uphills. And while some obstacles were psychologically intimidating, and a couple had an element of physical difficulty, all the ones we encountered were eminently doable.

It was too bad we didn't get to do all of them. But we will next time. Be assured, there will be a next time. And even if the improbable happens and we face horrible weather again, we'll come up with something. Possibly involving dry bags . . .

Photos on Flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/eveofdiscovery/sets/72157626902622211/

Browsing scuba gear on ebay/craigslist is kind of like looking at wedding dresses on those sites; you can get the occasional brief look into someone else's life, and it can be touching, entertaining, or depressing.  (E.g., "Worn one too many times.")

This ad for fins struck me as very sad, for example:
This one for a mask, dive light, and snorkel was kind of cute: 


And this was my absolute favorite:

It's kind of amazing how once you start looking at scuba gear, motorcycle and ski gear begin to seem inexpensive.

I would ask, "Why do I keep getting hooked on progressively pricier activities?" except that my parents would probably take exception, given that they were the ones who paid for 17 years of gymnastics classes and meets and leotards and warm-ups and grips and boxes of tape and . . .

Dear Xerion,

Although your passion for snuggling up is usually quite endearing, when it inspires you to start dry-tooling up my back, perforating both my person and my triathlon t-shirt (that I worked rather hard to earn, I'll have you know), it is considerably less so.

Love,
Eve

Fortunately, a few quick stitches seem to have mitigated the worst of the damage.

A little over 11 years ago, I headed off to college; before Christmas arrived, my parents had adopted a replacement (or so claimed my sister, who insisted that he slept in my bed and ate at my place at the dinner table).

A medium-sized fellow with the coloring of a German Shepherd but a build more like a border collie, he'd been wandering the neighborhood on his own, so Mom and Dad had the appropriate authorities detain him while they tried to locate his family. When their attempts proved unsuccessful, they decided to take him in -- and did so just in time. He was already en route to his "final destination" when they made the call.

Named after a mathematician, as all pets in the family are, Newton did little to endear himself to his feline colleagues, Sonya and Josiah. His most egregious offense was when he tried to play catch with Sonya as the (very terrified) projectile. (She emerged unscathed physically, albeit fluffier than I'd ever seen her and somewhat damp from being slobbered on.) Eventually, though -- and with the appropriate barriers -- coexistence was achieved.

With humans, on the other hand, Newton was a charmer. It was hard to resist the way the tips of his ears flopped over, bouncing when he ran, or the way he always looked like he was smiling. He was also a leaner; it only took a pet or two before he was pressing himself against your legs adoringly. Sitting on your feet was good, too; he wasn't picky. He was even thrilled to put up with all the undignified ways Kate liked to shower him with attention (for example, dubbing him a canine motorcycle and making "vroom"ing sounds as she played with his ears).

When I was home for breaks, and when Newton was a young dog, we'd go for runs together. During the summer, we went down to the Euclid Creek Park a couple times, giving him the opportunity to bound through the water. During the winter, it was hard to get much continuous running done, since every house or two Newton would be overcome by the desire to fling himself into the snow and paddle through it on his side, plowing it with his nose as he went.

Three years after I did, Kate headed off to college herself. But Newton remained my parents' faithful companion, resting at my mom's feet while she graded papers or played Spider Solitaire. He was also part guard dog, alerting them whenever a potential intruder dared set foot on his sidewalk, protecting them from everything except for the thunderstorms and fireworks that scared him so.

Going down to the cabin in southern Ohio was a special treat, as Newton had the run of the place (no cats there to traumatize) and fields and forests in which to romp. One time, though, his excitement got the best of him, and he ran off and couldn't find his way back. Unable to locate him when it was time to head back up to Cleveland at the end of the weekend, my parents had to leave without him. Neighbors and "lost dog" signs spread the word to keep an eye out for him . . . and amazingly, he was found -- hungry, filthy, and collarless, but otherwise whole!

Years passed and age slowed Newton, as it does most creatures, but he still had his people to care for, and them to care for him, feeding him pills wrapped in cheese. And then, when the unthinkable happened and he grew tired of cheese, braunschweiger.  

Finally, as it had to, Newton's time came. He was 11 years; two rescues; and countless joys, adventures, pets, and snuggles late for his appointment.  I'm not sure if he ever lived up to his namesake -- I'd once called him "Sir Isaac" early on, and my mother assured me that he was certainly not deserving of knighthood -- but he did get a lot of good living in.

So here's to a dog who knew how to frolic, who liked to insert himself into the middle of a hug, who came when he was called except when he didn't feel like it, and who provided my family -- especially my parents -- with many years of doggy love and companionship.

A few weeks back, I read an article talking about the history of diabetes, and was amazed by just how recent many of the advancements are, not just in terms of technology, but with regard to fundamental understanding of how the disease works.  It's been less than 90 years since insulin was even discovered.  My paternal grandmother (who about 60 years later had a brief flirtation with type 2 diabetes, but managed to lose enough weight that it wasn't a factor for her last two decades) turned 12 that year.

Admittedly, even 50 years is a long time, and medicine has advanced at breakneck speed these last few decades.  My mom lost her mother to polio in the early 1950s.  In 1963, a baby died when he was born 5.5 weeks early, even though he was the son of the President of the United States; today, 98 percent of babies born that early survive.  Still, I'm not sure I really appreciated how momentous the advancements have been, until I juxtaposed them against the lives of my family members and, most staggeringly, myself.

It was just two years before I was born that the HgA1c test was invented, after which it was the used for a 10-year study called the Diabetes Control and Complications Trial.  Quoting from the article:

It's been three years since we first embarked on the project, primarily because we kept finding ourselves in need of a new tool or part, resulting in the the carburetors going back in the box in the closet for another spell. This spring, though, with no dance classes to teach or wedding to plan, we finally were able to make time to really move forward.

We made countless trips to Pasadena Yamaha for parts and advice. (The guys there are awesome, by the way.) When we found ourselves in need of new jet block assembly gaskets, a part Yamaha apparently doesn't manufacture, they told us how to make our own.

We devoted our dining room table to carburetor rebuilding, then our kitchen to fuel tank cleaning/rehabilitation.

We spent three straight days filling, emptying, and juggling the two fuel tanks, neither of which has openings well-oriented for getting out the handfuls of rust that were inside. I should have counted the number of iterations of each step -- first rinsing with soapy water, then plain water, then acid, then more water -- but lost track very early on.

Even after the final polymer coating dried enough that we no longer had to turn the tanks every 10-20 minutes, the apartment smelled like methyl ethyl ketone for days.

We had a repair manual that had a lot of redeeming qualities and helpful pictures, but neglected to mention the fact that it's nigh impossible to pull the air filter joints down from the air box when the carbs are in place. There were also some key omissions involving the air injection system.

Yesterday morning, though, we finished installing the last sections of new fuel line, then reattached the last few parts with bolts that had been waiting idle for years. (Fortunately, they'd been waiting in carefully labeled plastic baggies. There's only one extra bolt.) We put in the battery (which we'd also rehabilitated), put on the seats, and added a tank of gas.

And in the end, much to our amazement and delight, it started right up!

This time last year was incredibly exciting and frenetic: We threw a DIY wedding shindig.  I choreographed/lead the Ceroc formation and competed trampoline and tumbling.  There were GRB cases for me and the March meeting for Brian and both of us giving talks at UofI and teaching the Ceroc class . . .

This year, we get to attend other people's weddings and watch the Caltech Dance Show from the audience.  We're still quite busy with reseach and motorcycle work and tutoring and visiting art exhibits . . . but I actually have time to post photos and write things down.

We received lovely anniversary cards from family members, and my parents also included a check that they said we should use for a celebratory dinner, since they couldn't be here to take us out themselves.  So we went to the Parkway Grill, where the food was amazing and our waiter brought us complimentary champagne and a small bouquet of orchids.

I wouldn't give back last year's triumphs for anything, but right now, I'm awfully glad to be in this year.

The carbs are about as clean as they've ever been, completely reassembled, and outfitted with new O-rings and slide diaphragms.

Weekend before last, we took the cover off the bike for the first time since we moved and got to work: doing some serious cleaning, wrestling with the main fuel tank until we managed to extract it from the frame, changing the oil.  We took one break to go pick up a few more tools and supplies (and boba), and another for me to go tutor.  It was hard work, but I got pretty excited by how much my understanding of how the system works was really improving.

Last weekend was pasically three straight days of juggling the two fuel tanks.  I should have kept track of how many times we filled and emptied them, first with soapy water, for degreasing and removing the handfuls of rust that had been inside, then with water, to get out the soap and more rust.

It was a lot.  Literally dozens of times.  And it wasn't helped by how small the openings are in the main tank.  Or how none of the openings in either tank can be oriented to be completely "downhill", so that trying to get all the liquid and sediment out requires strategic manuevering and vigorous shaking.

Once they were as clean as we could get them, we filled them with phosphoric acid (the same stuff that's in colas, but at a higher concentration) and left them to etch while we visited the Getty to see their demonstration about large format cameras and platinum prints.  The tricky part about this step was figuring out how best to seal the various ports and tubes to keep the acid contained.  I jury-rigged systems of pen caps covered in balloons for the five smaller openings,   Brian rigged up gaskets and plastic covers for the two larger ones, and they we both wrestled mightily with how to put enough pressure on the one on the fill port.  In the end, my rubber resistance band intended for exercise/PT was involved.

Pouring out the acid (which is still sitting under our sink, so the cat can't get into it, because we haven't gotten a chance to properly neutralize it yet) was followed by still more virorous rinsings, to get out all the additional rust flakes -- some quite large -- that had been detached by the acid.  Finally, the water was coming out relatively clean, and it was time to rinse each tank with methyl ethyl ketone then pour in the polymer solution that, once dry, would line the tank and prevent future rust.

The next step involved rotating the tanks every 10-20 minutes to keep the inner walls evenly coated as the polymer dried, whle also trying to make sure that the one little tiny port didn't get completely covered over.  (At least I had plenty of reading material.  And got to take a break for a delicious Danish dinner.)  Things spend up after I turned a fan on high and aimed it at the openings; after 12 hours or so, the polymer was no longer liquidy and could be left alone to cure.

To summarize:  It's awesome that we're making so much progress; that by the time we're done, the bike will be in better condition than it was when I bought it; that once the tanks are dry, all that's left is putting it back together; that I've learned so much about how my motorcycle works; that I'll get to ride it again soon.  That said, I'm very much looking forward to having our kitchen fully returned to its intended use and our apartment no longer smell like organic solvents.

* A solid day of accomplishing Annoying Human Stuff (such as I did the day after HEDLA) is just incredibly satisfying.  And though nobody else really needs to know about it, it's hard not to share.

* Dancing until well into the night is pretty fun; sleeping through a run for which you were supposed to meet up with people the next morning is less so.

* I'm not sure exactly why my "They Might Be Giants" Woot shirt decided to take the scenic route through New Berlin, WI, on its way from Dallas, TX, to Chino, CA.  Nor why it then spend another week hanging out in the Los Angeles area as FedEx handed it off to the USPS, who finally managed to bring it over to Pasadena.  But, honestly, the absurdly indirect route was a source of amusement, and there was no real need for speedy delivery, beyond my desire to wear my new shirt.  I finally got to do so yesterday and enjoyed it no less for having not done so sooner.

* Danish food apparently involves lots of fish, cream, butter, and dill.  'Tis tasty stuff.  (This message brought to you by the Ath's Denmark International Night.)

Movies I have seen
* Banff film festival: As expected, it included some stunningly impressive footage and accomplishments.  However, the selection of films was a little light on culture and nature and a little heavy on the "the more my life is at risk, the more awesome it is" climbing/skiing/biking mentality.

* Up In the Air: An entertaining movie, though I might agree with Brian's assessment that it's "not as deep as it thinks it is."  Also, despite being happily married, I tend to be irked by the "you need a partner to be truly happy" mantra, and felt like the movie courted that theme a bit more than it needed to.

* Serenity: Another "Insomniac Cinema" event.  Just as impressive the second time.

Originally posted on Facebook (in response the oft-repeated "Atheists claim to have precise knowledge of the unknown; if they were actually reasonable, they'd all be agnostics" sort of thing), because apparently I can't always resist the urge to point out when someone is wrong on the internet.  I put enough time into it, though, that I figured I'd put a copy somewhere more permanent, too.

I think the concept of Russell's Teapot is a very useful one in this argument: atheists "know" there isn't a god in the same sense that most people "know" there isn't a china teapot halfway between the Earth and the moon. Without a convincing argument for why there should be one there, the default ought to be to think that there isn't. Someone might have faith (used here to mean "belief that is not based on proof") that that teapot is out there, but it is not reasonable for them to demand that those who don't share that faith prove them wrong or else be making an outrageous claim.

It seems like a key aspect of this disagreement -- and one that is often neglected -- is the shifting definition of God. The most common conceptions of God tend to be the ones atheists find most nonsensical and disprovable: the anthropomorphic being who hears prayers (but may or may not respond to them), who loves human beings (but may or may not torture them), who is all powerful (but may or may not do anything at all), etc.

Suppose, however, you take a scientific concept -- energy or entropy or whatnot -- and call that "God." Is that part of the "set of all possible gods"?

Or suppose you define God as something that cannot be fathomed by human beings and that acts on our universe in ways that make it indistinguishable from a God-less universe, ask if such a god might possibly exist, and declare to be an agnostic anyone who answers, "Sure, it's theoretically possible, not that anyone could ever tell the difference, nor that there's any reason to think it would be the case."

To do so is misleading, though, for those are not the Gods for which theists so passionately argue. The common sense of "agnostic" is someone who claims to be unsure of the existence of a God in the sense that the majority of the population accepts, and the most important sense of "atheist" is someone who declines to have faith in such a deity, and for good reason. Faith, after all, isn't supposed to be reasonable.


My second response:

We see most of our movies at the Academy, but since they don't so much have 3D there,we saw Avatar at a real movie theater, in RealD. (The other option was IMAX on a screen that's rumored to be not all that big.) It was visually stunning, as advertised.

It's truly a shame, though, that they created such a beautiful, deep, nuanced setting but couldn't put that same degree of dimensionality into the characters or the premise. It seems like just a few tweaks to the script -- even relatively minor ones -- could have gone a long way:

1.) Give the antagonists a plausible reason for wanting to evict the Na'vi and/or not having any regard for them.
The colonel and the administrator are practically inhuman in their lack of empathy for a communicative, sentient race that so closely resembles our own. (The Navi are even quadrupeds, unlike every other creature on their world.) Provide some sort of backstory that could make the antagonists more legitimately embittered: incredibly violent first contact, broken treaties, that sort of thing. Leave out the collaborative school of smiling children. Make the Na'vi harder for an outsider to understand. Raise the stakes; make unobtanium something that could save humans from an impending demise, not just a hot commodity.

The LA Times did an article with the actor who played Colonel Quaritch in which he said, "I didn't play a villain; I played a man who is doing his job the best way that he can." Maybe he could have had a chance at succeeding if the "job" were something with a more powerfully meaningful goal than just appeasing stockholders. Suppose Quaritch saw himself as morally bereft, but therein uniquely suited to make terrible but necessary choices that empathetic people would never be able to make. Wouldn't that be a bit more interesting, for actor and audience alike?

2.) Drop the fallacy that Pandoran environmentalism is a parallel for Earth environmentalism.
No matter who makes the comparison -- environmentalists or anti-environmentalists or characters in the movie or James Cameron himself -- the fact remains that it is fatally flawed. Pandora is very clearly a completely different system than Earth; one of the main premises is that there is a real, neurological connection among all creatures on the world, including the Na'vi. Their "Mother Pandora" is a physical reality.

"Mother Earth" is not. Humans cannot connect telepathically with other species, nor with a planet-wide neural network, as no such thing has ever existed. Instead, our species has struggled to overcome challenges, from predators to pathogens, presented to us by an incredibly complex system we are still far from fully understanding, despite our best efforts, but which is turning out to be be far more sensitive to our solutions to those challenges than we could have imagined.

Does the intimate link between the Na'vi and Pandora also provide built-in population control, or do they use other methods?  Even without the explicit communication, simply having such a low ratio of people to moon must go a long way toward preventing any unintended "back action" of the inhabitants on the surrounding system.

3.) Take a moment here or there to explore the deeper implications of how humans and Na'vi differ.
Apparently, James Cameron has said that the Na'vi don't actually need breasts for their reproductive functions, but they have them because Avatar "is a movie for human people" and he wanted to "focus on things that can create otherness that are not off-putting." But the movie is so busy showing what the Na'vi can do that humans can't, that it never really looks in the other direction.

What about all the triumphs of human endeavor, like medicine, airplanes, and communication networks? Even if the Na'vi don't have need for such things because Pandora provides them with equivalents, wouldn't they at least find it fascinating how a species so handicapped as ours managed to accomplish all that? Or do the Na'vi not have the same curiosity that humans do?

How does their art differ? Do they know anything about the sciences? Do they know anything about the stars?

The concept of building a two-way relationship with another sentient race -- one that comes from a completely different evolutionary perspective -- has enormous potential for introducing new ideas. (Mary Doria Russell, for example, did a great job with that in The Sparrow. ) James Cameron, however, was content to stick with the old ones -- including ideas that are tired or faulty -- and apply a shimmering veneer.

If only he had reached a little deeper, I could have walked out of the theater eager to talk about the concepts the movie involved, rather than just lamenting, "I want a flying friend!"

With only a handful of changes in the script, some subtle shifts in tone, Avatar could have been a triumph of science fiction. Would the lovers of blue breasts been any less likely to see it? I doubt it. I bet it would have made at least as much money, gotten better reviews, and actually been a good movie.

But I guess it just wasn't on the right evolutionary track for that.

Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus
Interesting to see. I'm not sure if I really got the point, though.

2012
Very entertaining. Of course, it'd be tragic to witness the actual destruction of the world as we know it (due to solar activity heating up the inside of the Earth, in this case) and corresponding loss of life . . . but point of the movie was to be a spectacle -- like watching a fireworks display -- and it was quite satisfying as such. Some of their "plot" developments were a little unnecessary, especially toward the end, but for the most part the story and characters were sufficient to support the starring special effects.

Plant 51
For the "date night" deal, we figured it couldn't hurt to check it out, and I thought it was way better than the reviews indicated. It had more positive themes than a lot of kids' movies (like "don't believe things just because authority/society tell you they're true" and "the unknown doesn't have to be scary; it can be exciting"), didn't take itself too seriously, and was pretty adorable (especially the rover that behaved like a Rover).

Dollhouse
The "Attic" episode (which is the most recent we've seen) was a little nerve-wracking, especially toward the beginning. On the whole, however, I don't know that I'm too disappointed the series was cancelled. While it's nice to have character development as a series progresses, I think I like it better when episodes can actually stand alone for the most part, rather than just being the next installment in a serial.

My tooth number seven was extracted over a month ago. That is, it's number seven in the standard counting system, and the fifth I've had extracted, if you count my wisdom teeth. Unlike wisdom teeth, though, it's right up near the front, so when I don't have my "flipper" (a retainer with a single, substitute tooth attached), I end up rocking the pirate/hockey player look.

It isn't the sort of thing that I thought would bother me much . . . but that first weekend, when I smiled at myself in the mirror, I discovered that I wasn't sure how much I liked that look. I usually have a pretty toothy (and frequent) smile, too.

One person told me she thought it made me look young, like a kid with a missing tooth. It seems like a stretch, though. I expect to be carded in nearly all situations, and I'm not too surprised, even, to be mistaken for a high-schooler, depending on the context . . . but I'm pretty sure that, even with a gaping hole where tooth number seven used to be, I almost always look older than an 11- or 12-year-old.

The retainer is entirely cosmetic, and not designed to be used for eating in any way. Hence, before conversing with someone over a meal, I'll usually just explain my "party trick" outright, rather than leave the other person to have to keep attempting subtle double-takes to figure out what's going on.

When I'm not eating, though, I wear the retainer more often that I thought I would. Ultimately, I guess I like the way I look with it more than without, just like I like the way I look without glasses much better than with. Good thing they make contact lenses and dental implants!

• Rehabilitated skates: So quiet! And roll-y! Mostly in the intended direction, no less. #
• Star magazine: "Kim's New Nose!" Brian, in check-out line: "Who's Kim?" Eve: "I think she's a Kardashian?" Brian: "Cardassian? Kim's nose threatens demilitarized zone!"#
  
• Addendum: The discussion continued with suggestions about what sorts of events the reality show "Keeping up with the Cardassians" would chronicle . . .

Courtesy of LoudTwitter.

• 14:30 Tea: Earl Grey, hot, drunk from a thermos while watching the Leonid meteor shower. Accompanied by Brandy Beans. (belated Tues a.m. tweet) #
• 14:30 Tea: Earl Grey, hot, with boba. #

Courtesy of LoudTwitter.

• 21:39 Quote of the day: "Washington remains in the United Kingdom, Scotland Yard said." (context: tinyurl.com/yblntgf) #
• 21:53 Saturday's quote of the day: "Members on both sides of the aisle are reminded not to use guests of the house as props." bit.ly/2rwZvp #

Courtesy of LoudTwitter.

• 09:45 After an amazing week of hanging out with plasma physicists and hearing about great science, exciting research possibilities seem myriad. #

Courtesy of LoudTwitter.

• 11:38 How can one little cat, in the course of the night, come to monopolize such a large proportion of the bed and blankets? #

Courtesy of LoudTwitter.

• 04:31 The purple carrot does not mess around. Its purpleness is seriously hard core, and it could easily purple an entire kitchen. #
• 04:33 But the merely yellowish Chilean carrot is much tastier. In conclusion, it is too bad the Boise farmer's market is so far from Pasadena. #

Courtesy of LoudTwitter.

• 16:44 I probably should have replaced my bearings BEFORE they got so warped that the friction made the axles hot enough to melt my skates a bit. #
• 16:44 Plumber's epoxy to the rescue! #

Courtesy of LoudTwitter.

• 07:54 ORCPRCSTSWA (Operation Replace Cell Phone Ribbon Cable So The Screen Works Again) was a complete success! Next up: motorcycle carburetors. #
• 07:59 Well, "complete" in a non-literal sense, since the phone did end up two screws the poorer. But those should be easy enough to replace. #

Courtesy of LoudTwitter.

So you know that part in a movie where the protagonists, having spent the last few scenes finding their way through a maze of trails/hedges/tunnels, wind up back at the same place they started, just facing another direction?  Yeah, that was me last night.

The whole story:
I wanted to make up for runs missed due to being "under the weather" for the past week, but I didn't have time to run before our 8:30 - noon group meeting (yes, it did, in fact, take all 3.5 hours).  The natural solution was to bring my running clothes to campus and plot a nice 4ish-mile course around the perimeter of the Huntington.  Now, I didn't actually get around to running said course in the daylight, as I'd hoped to, but I found myself with an appropriate block of time come 9:30 p.m.  No matter; at least I'd get the run in, and I could do the route some other time to enjoy the scenery (read: really fancy houses).

Now, it was a little dark, and I hadn't actually factored in the sparsity of street lights and sidewalks that characterize the area.  "That's OK," I thought, there aren't many cars to worry about."  Then I encountered the skunk.  Fortunately, it and I immediately turned and ran away from one another, and nobody had to spray anyone else with foul-smelling liquid.

Shortly thereafter, I turned where I thought I was supposed to . . . and found myself at a dead end.  Back to the previous road I headed, and onward.  Then, just when I thought I was lost, though, I encountered the entrance to Lacy Park, which was my next landmark.  Next, just when I thought I knew where I was going, I found myself at the juncture of Virginia, Rosalind, and Circle.

None of these were names of streets I recognized from my intended route.  I made a judicious choice against Circle, headed up Virginia . . . and a little over a mile later, found myself at the juncture of Virginia, Rosalind, and Circle.  Having arrived via Circle, no less.

This time I tried Rosalind, and pressed on even as I found myself becoming increasingly pessimistic about my choice, as the street narrowed and meandered.  Next was Oak Grove Avenue, which seemed suspiciously familiar, though I wasn't sure it was the same street I'd been on 15 minutes earlier*, given how many Oak-themed street names I was encountering.  I also passed Oak Lane and Oak Grove Place, and I knew that if I ran into Oak Knoll, I'd gone out of my way.  Though at least I'd know my way.**

As it was, I was starting to wonder when, if ever, I'd find my way out of the San Marino Maze.  Since my cell phone was in pieces back at the apartment (waiting to have its ribbon cable replaced), I not only couldn't call Brian to ask him to provide me with navigational or retrieval services, but I also didn't know how much time had passed.  I had visions of wandering the streets until dawn.  Which would, of course, also imply not making it to the boba place before it closed at midnight.

Finally, just when I was beginning to feel like one might feel when scrambling up the side of the Alps in the middle the night in the rainstorm looking for the trail, because I'd accidentally taken us down a mountain goat path instead (circa May 2007) . . . I encountered a street whose name I vaguely recognized.  And shortly thereafter, I was on Wilson Avenue, heading north back to campus.

Having located my husband in his lab, I recounted my harrowing adventures.  He suggested that, had worse come to worse, I could have knocked on the door of one of the fancy houses and asked for directions, or to use their phone, before I just curled up on their front porch like a lost cat.

"Found: one wife," Brian envisioned the poster reading.  "No collar, answers to the name of Eve."

As it turned out, when I reexamined Gmaps Pedometer to see where I'd actually been, I found that I only went about an extra mile and a half.  It's more than I've run since I started doing it regularly four months ago, though, and I did the whole thing in about an hour -- certainly less than I'd expected, what with the stopping to check street signs and attempting to navigate by the overcast heavens.

As with most such experiences, I've learned a few things:
A.) I shouldn't have any trouble running a proper 10k, when I finally decide to try that.
B.) Never stray south of California Blvd without flares, a rudimentary knowledge of how to communicate via smoke signals, or both.

* Turns out I was, just in the opposite direction.
** I have since learned from Google Maps that there's also an Oak View Avenue, but I managed to miss that one, at least.