Tagged: Blogging

Fatherhood: Stopping Entropy

I randomly clicked on a video explanation of the thermodynamic concept of “entropy” by Brian Cox. In it, he is sitting on a sand dune type local, an abandoned, weather-worn house as the backdrop—both concretely and symbolically.

I randomly watched my two toddlers play with (generally “break” would be more the appropriate description) their unseemly number of toys—unseemly as I never wanted to turn my children into spoiled brats and so am not sure how it came to this.

Did I just repeat myself?

Spiritual truths, such as entropy, take nothing more than observation, certainly not formal education.

Brian who? An on-location TV special is necessary which explains what any father knows?

The real question, the remaining question, of course, is when (if ever) do humans stop destroying everything they touch?

The answer: some combination of—

1. The advent of written language.

2. Writing down observations that can be confirmed.

3. Writing down laws—with the express purpose of sticking to the spirit of the law, if not the letter.

Bear in mind, fellow fathers, entire civilizations have never avoided entropy.

So let’s get to work.

Flattery for Women. Like in This Post I Am Complimenting a Woman. Seriously.

Women don’t get “a pass” in my book. People who know me truly, know this about me truly.

The “compliment” that I read in a book and inspired this post is great (still included at the end), but in truth, “Women don’t get ‘a pass’ in my book,” (my hook for the post) is actually about the best compliment I could ever pay y’all.

You’re not weak; you’re not “special” in some “need extra allowances” sort of way. Dishes are dirty after you do them, same as men. You can figure out how to pull into a garage correctly, same as men. Wooden utensils still get ruined when left to soak absentmindedly in the sink for long periods of time. Some ice cream scoops are not dishwasher safe, for me and for you too. Kids don’t learn obedience only from fathers. Neither do they learn strength and steely character only from fathers. You do not get a pass, women. Hear me?

The following comes from Jack London’s short story, “The Wisdom of the Trail.” Sitka Charley is an injun, back when there were those. As for nearly all London tales, the setting is the great white Northlands. The only two words I would add is, “…land…sea…and air!”

****

“Sitka Charley did not know this kind of woman. Five minutes before, he did not even dream of taking charge of the expedi-tion; but when she came to him with her wonderful smile and her straight clean English, and talked to the point, without pleading or persuading, he had incontinently yielded. Had there been a softness and appeal to mercy in the eyes, a tremble to the voice, a taking advantage of sex, he would have stiffened to steel; instead her clear-searching eyes and clear-ringing voice, her utter frankness and tacit assumption of equality, had robbed him of his reason. He felt, then, that this was a new breed of woman; and ere they had been trail mates for many days he knew why the sons of such women mastered the land and the sea, and why the sons of his own womankind could not prevail against them. Tender and soft! Day after day he watched her, muscle-weary, exhausted, indomitable, and the words beat in upon him in a perennial refrain. Tender and soft! He knew her feet had been born to easy paths and sunny lands, strangers to the moccasined pain of the North, unkissed by the chill lips of the frost, and he watched and marveled at them twinkling ever through the weary day.”

Final Blog Name Change

Just a quick note to didactically state that this is still Captain’s Log, which became Pete’s Blog.

I recently changed it to: “The Impression I Get, I Give” after still feeing unresolved about what the blogs are supposed to convey. They are convey, and have always conveyed, impressions. They might just change your life, too, though. (It was an Emerson essay on Thoreau that recently brought the word “impression” to mind, if you must know.)

Some Days Are Dark

H- hasn’t spoken to me since boldly declaring to me on a random phone call (why don’t kids know how to use the phone?) that she wasn’t coming to Christmas and didn’t understand why I wasn’t “getting it”.

I don’t stop believing in Jesus on dark days. Yet I cannot deny that there is an appeal to giving up on god and all–that is part of the darkness.

But I will unashamedly confess that on dark days, days when I take inventory of my life only to realize more fully that there has been a general lack of support (social, financial, or emotional) from anyone ever remotely falling under the umbrella of “family”, I do conclude god is unknowable.

We Must Stop the Hype!!

I have a rule. Each day, I won’t read anything until I have read from the Bible.

On night shifts, I sometimes break this rule, but only in its relative sense. The calendar day might have changed, but if the morning is the end of my shift, then I think I can justify perusing whatever strikes my fancy without incurring divine wrath.

The calendar day, then, today started with one of my favorite things to read: eulogies. And not just any eulogies opened the day, this April 20th of 2024, but the ones about the victims of the Columbine school massacre. If you have never read them, you owe it to yourself to find them and read them. They are terrible. The parents, or writers or whoever, should be ashamed. Did these people even know they were parents before their kids were murdered? You wouldn’t think so if you only read the eulogies. Nearly every sentence, and the sentiments behind them, vie unceasingly for the award of “Worst Ever Written”, but one stands out. “Her mother, Dawn Anna, helped coach the team.” What? I’m so confused. Your kid has been murdered and you want the world to know something about you? Lady: you had maybe 8 sentences with which to pay tribute to your daughter and you used one to highlight that showed up to a couple cheer practices? What is wrong with you?

Anyhow.

That was the first thing I read. The next was the Bible, Exodus chapter 35. Exodus should really be called “Building Yahweh’s Tabernacle”, if books should be entitled with words that indicate the general content. But what do I know? This particular section is not exactly riveting material, but the idea of taking a contribution only from people who possess a willing heart is certainly a good balance and teacher to how local churches should talk about tithes and offerings. And I can happily report that the Black Baptists are of a mind with scripture, in their words at least. “…A cheerful giver…” is almost always the only encouragement/exhortation when the weekly collection is taken up. Don’t believe me? Then head to a service tomorrow and see for yourself. (“cheerful giver”)

Next, I read “1.3 Volume forces and surface forces acting on a fluid” or, rather, part of that section of G.K. Batchelor’s An Introduction to Fluid Dynamics. I picked this book up to investigate if it may contain information useful to my quest to more fully understand the area of my professional operation—the sky. Today’s reading had another benefit, being this part of a sentence, “…is of course –S(n,x,t)dA, and since this is also the force represented by S(-n,x,t)dA, we see that S must be an odd function of n.” (S = Sigma, which character my keyboard here doesn’t easily offer for use.) My step-son is working through algebra and here was a perfect example of the truth of the assertion, “Math is the language of science.” So I called him to tell him so. You can imagine for yourself how excited he was to be shown this.

Next on the reading list for today was Sir Isaac Newton’s Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy, the section called “Scholium”. And it was amazing. I’ll just add here that the biggest lie you’ve ever believed is that science is hard. The actual inventors, Newton being King Inventor, necessarily make it easy to understand. Pick it up the next chance you have.

Then it was onto the essay The Art of Biography by Virginia Woolf. In it, she essentially announces that “biography” is neither fact, nor fiction, but something else entirely—and maybe the best thing.

Why do I share my readings of today with the blogosphere? Because I remember where I was as Columbine unfolded (at school myself, excitedly awaiting the final bell so I could go to work and then go see some new sci-fi movie, The Matrix, that was getting rave reviews) and I remember that people wanted me to believe the shooting was momentous and carried great import. And 25 years later, I know through and through with a certainty that is rarely found—they were wrong. No one cared then. No one cares now. The massacre should hardly have made the news. The eulogies should never make the news. It was a tragic, senseless crime. It was nothing more or less. Move on.

We must stop the hype!!

I Can Now Describe Gravity. Could You?

Gravity is one example of a certain force, being the centripetal force. This force can be analogized to the force that is keeping a rock in the whirling sling of a warrior or hunter—it is a force, not merely the leather or fabric that connects the rock and hand.

Gravity, then, is the name of this centripetal force when describing why we walk on the Earth instead of drift away, and gravity is how the moon maintains its orbit. And gravity is how the Earth (and moon) maintains its orbit around the sun.

Or at least that is how Newton conceived it.

Thank you, Great Ideas Program and Great Books of the Western World. Thank you very much.

Why I Can’t Adopt MLK’s “Content of Character” Line

“Is that okay to say these days?”

“Probably not. To be sure, ‘No.’ But they’re my kids, and I like mulatto best. Haha.”

****

Mulatto has a certain clarity of meaning beyond just the fact that they are the product of me and their mom. Don’t you agree? Yes, it means white and black parents. But it also conveys, in 2024, “You’re kinda barking up the wrong tree already, stupid.”

Sure, I admit this is a bit harsh. And as such, I have not been using it exclusively. But my wife and I’s two kids garner enough attention, or I should say, my wife and I’s two kids’ hair garners enough attention that I needed something “full Pete” to say in response to all comers. In other words, I needed a line. But mulatto wasn’t cuttin’ it.

Naturally, MLK’s “not by the color of their skin” line is accurate, but as everyone has seen, it is also terribly ineffective. At the least, it is tired.

In having and using a “line”, I also am arming the two kids with their own “line”. Cuz, despite my general optimism in life and even my new line’s particular contribution to that hope, the problem ain’t going away. So I have been wanting to come up with something worthy of my progeny, for my progeny. And I have.

Again, they’re mulattos. Through and through. That is a fact. But while that word is funny to me and folks who know me well, it is unintelligible to Ethiopians and taboo to Yankees.

Here’s my solution. It starts with the fact that “mixed” is kinda en vogue. So, picture with me, say, a Home Depot parking lot. On a Sunday. Got it? Heavy foot and vehicle traffic. Sunny blue sky. Wind that negates low-talk.

I have J- in the cart, An- is at the car, and Ag- is about to help An- into her door when a dude, older, and a mix between homeless and Colorado Native, says to his partner—wife or fellow bum—and loud enough for all to hear, “Oh those are two beautiful babies.”

I smiled and thanked him politely.

Then he randomly re-appeared and continued as if never having left the area—but he and his companion had left—“I have some mixed grand-babies and they are just the most beautiful kids. You are lucky to have them grand-babies.”

I informed him, good-heartedly, that they were my own children, to his shock, and then he doted some more before leaving.

Mixed? Hmm. Mixed.

Eureka!

Next time, here’s my response.

“Mixed? Oh, look kids! A purebred! In the flesh! It is a pleasure to know you. Good day, Sir.”

****

That is my new Full Pete “line” and I believe it accomplishes everything I want it too and probably a teensy bit more at no additional charge. It has bite, but is not record-stopping like mulatto. It is at least as memorable as “content of character”, if not more so. And most importantly, it can carry the fire of truth forward into future generations.

Mixed?

We have to stop the nonsense, folks! Who’s with me?

“Mixed? Oh, look kids! A purebred! In the flesh! It is a pleasure to know you. Good day, Sir.”

Little Hands, Little Burritos, Big Memories

I needed some canisters for flour, sugar, brown sugar, and chocolate chips, and I have such fond memories of such ingredients coming from yellow Tupperware of the 1970s and 80s, that I thought, “Why not search for some ‘vintage’ canisters on Ebay? I bet they’d be in great condition and cheaper than new, flimsy versions to boot.”

I was right.

And like any search, I quickly detoured onto a search for another item—the yellow Tupperware drinking cups we used to have when growing up. All throughout my suburban childhood, one of these cups sat eternally beside the faucet as the “water cup.” All the family drank water from the faucet from this one cup. That seems bizarre and uncouth today (not to mention like the opening scenes of the next deadly pandemic), but the five of us did it for 15+ years.

And I found them, too. And ordered them.

Let me tell you that the experience of holding them again was priceless. Memory is usually faulty, but these cups felt more familiar than old t-shirts and jeans.

To be clear, they make excellent cups for young kids. To start, they are indestructible. The cups I now hold are at least 30 years old and do not have any distinguishing marks on them, nor would anyone guess they were not brand new—let alone 30+ years old. Beyond indestructibility, there are two other features that lead to their appeal for kids’/family use. Firstly, they have a subtle texture which allows for easy gripping. Secondly, while 12 oz cups, they are narrow enough for a 3 year old to confidently grasp with a single hand. Maybe it is only because the previous cups we had my 3 year old on were smooth and wider, but these vintage cups truly seem a godsend.

Abruptly changing items, but not themes, what is not a godsend is the shrinkage of Chipotle burritos. Am I the only one who has always thought these Colorado burritos were huge—essentially too much for one meal? I mean it takes at least two hands, and arms, to raise the things. But we all went back for them again and again, partly because the $10 price seemed like a steal for such an abundant meal.

Skip to the end; the other night I grabbed one after a couple month hiatus and it seemed like my same 3 year old could grasp the thing with one hand. I appreciate an inexpensive dinner as much as anyone, but I would’ve rather been seen switching from debit to credit card by the general public at the unexpectedly higher total than have the other option unfold, which did occur, having arrived home, ate, and still been hungry. Bummer.

Oh, and US military aircraft were shooting Iranian weapons headed for Israel out of the sky.

Defense of My Understanding of AI

And I quote, “In a wide-ranging interview on X Spaces that suffered multiple technology glitches, Musk also told Norway wealth fund CEO Nicolai Tangen that AI was constrained by the availability of electricity and that the next version of Grok, the AI chatoot from his XAl startup, was expected to be trained by May.”

Once more, same article, “But he added that while a shortage of chips were a big constraint for the development of AI, electricity supply will be crucial in the next year or two.”

Recall my definition, “AI is mankind’s ability to sense electricity—and nothing more.”

You can bicker with me, and quibble, but it changes nothing. AI is mankind’s ability to sense electricity—and nothing more.

But be afraid!!! Be very afraid!!! The bogeyman is on his way! AI is coming for your job! It’s coming for your wife! It will fight us in the next war! In fact, the war is already being waged!! Muhaahaha!

The REAL Truth About AI

AI is mankind’s ability to sense electricity—and nothing more.

To repeat, AI cannot read. It definitely cannot read English. But it also cannot read any other language.

Also, AI cannot see the road.

Furthermore, AI cannot think up answers.

To be fair, to describe these and other negative facts about what AI cannot do is easy when compared to accurately describing the relationship between one of us “using” AI and persuading themselves (or being persuaded) that AI is reading, that AI is aware of the road, that AI is “thinking”. It’s not impossible though. In the most important sense, that relationship does not meaningfully differ from when a person feels the handle of a hammer in one hand and a nail in the other hand—and is persuaded that the nail will be driven into the board without a doubt.

No inanimate machine “hears” the sound (or any one of the many sounds) the letter “a” makes when it senses the electrical representation someone has coded for “a”. (It’s not like the electricity buzzes itself into an “ahhh” sound.) Instead AI senses some distinct electrical value which corresponds to what some person had decided should consistently and uniquely (though not exclusively) correspond to the English letter “a”. This is no different from how your hands consistently sense hammers and nails which correspond to what we have come to call hammers and nails when it holds them.

AI as a name is likely here to stay, unfortunately. But this is no more difficult a situation than, say, the QWERTY keyboard sticking around.

But AI is not artificial, it is not intelligent, and it is certainly not artificial intelligence. That is, unless you mean to convey that AI is mankind’s ability to sense electricity—and nothing more.