I Am 26

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Today I turn 261, so happy birthday to me. If I were a famous musician, I’d only have one year left to live, which would be depressing. So I’m happy for that. And if I were a dog, I’d be pretty lucky to even make it this far. That’s another thing I’m happy for.

At 26 Babe Ruth hit 59 home runs. I’ve got a pretty lofty expectations for myself as well. On the other hand that may not have been his best season2 and Roger Maris hit 61 home runs when he was 26. There are always going to be people that best you, at any age. And although 26 is not a premium age like 18, 21, or 25, there are still some fine things available to help us celebrate.

  1. And so does Mario Chalmers, probably the most famous person to share my exact date of birth. [↩]
  2. The other candidate is 1923, when he was 28. Although he “only” hit 41 home runs that year, he had 25 more walks and a higher batting average. He also won his only MVP in 1923. But really, either of those seasons is a good choice. [↩]

Triple Island

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An island, as I’m sure you’re aware, is a piece of land surrounded entirely by water. A double island, therefore, is an island located on an island itself, i.e. an island in a lake on an island. That’s nothing special. But a triple island is an island located on a double island, i.e. an island in a lake on an island in a lake on an island. Here is the Google Maps image of the world’s largest triple island. The large landmass that extends off the edge of the photo is Victoria Island, making the tiny sliver I highlighted a triple island.

A Conceit of Hair

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She dropped a strand of hair
Rushing by in the park
It landed on my arm

Only later did I notice
The scarlet scintillate
Against my plain jacket

I reached to grab it
But competition was fierce
A gust beat me to it

As I stare at my empty hand
I wonder how many times
I've missed them before

As you might guess from the similarity to the last poem I posted, this was written around the same time. I must have really been worried about missing out on important things.

Top Ten Books With Numbers in the Title

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Since I try to be too clever by thirds, this list is slightly more than it claims.

  1. One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn
    The depressing classic that most people read in high school tells of the title character and his life in a gulag. Hey, at least it’s only one.
  2. A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
    The two cities being, of course, London and Paris. Contrasting pairs show up in Dickensian fashion all over the novel, most prominently in the dual main characters of Charles Darnay and Sydney Carton.
  3. The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas
    Honorable Mention: Three Men in a Boat by Jerome K. Jerome. I had to go with swordfights, war, and betrayal over humorous anecdotes, picturesque scenery, and the Thames.
  4. The Sign of the Four by Arthur Conan Doyle
    The second Sherlock Holmes novel, it has the distinct advantage of avoiding strange forays into Mormon life. The romantic elements are at best half-baked, however.
  5. Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut
    Though probably Vonnegut’s most famous novel, it’s hardly his best. Stick with Cat’s Cradle for science fiction or Mother Night for World War II.
  6. Six Characters in Search of an Author by Luigi Pirandello
    Fun fact: this play was too confusing to audiences, leading to mixed receptions, until Pirandello clarified what it was about. If only James Joyce had done the same.
  7. The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne
    The tale of witches and the Pyncheon family probably did not inspire the similarly-named author, although it did inspire H. P. Lovecraft.
  8. Eight Cousins by Louisa May Alcott
    This was never as popular as Little Women or its sequels, but you’ll have to excuse me as I had some trouble with this number (and I really didn’t want to resort to Janet Evanovich).
  9. Billiards at Half-Past Nine by Heinrich Boll
    The recent translation of what most consider the Nobel Laureate’s best work is supposed to be quite good.
  10. Ten Little Indians by Sherman Alexie
    I thoroughly enjoyed two of Sherman Alexie’s books, but haven’t yet gotten to this collection. I can only imagine it’s enjoyable as well.

Robot Bechdel Test

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The Bechdel Test is a “test” that determines whether a movie (or other media) has a significant female presence. To pass the test, the work must satisfy three criteria:

  1. It includes at least two women
  2. Who have at least one conversation
  3. About something other than a man or men.

It strikes me that as we have stronger and stronger AIs (whether or not they actually approach human level intelligence), we will have a similar issue with respect to their rights. So I propose the “Robot Bechdel Test”, which has the corresponding criteria:

  1. It includes at least two robots
  2. Who have at least one conversation
  3. About something other than a human or humans.

(Feel free to substitute AI/em for robot.) Note that discussions of robot/human relations, or how robots and humans are different (both of which are common) definitely fail to meet condition #3. And even though robot rights are not really concerning us at the moment, we can still look to existing science fiction films for an estimate of how we feel about them. I’ve done the honors of examining a select sample.
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The Empty Highway

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Another old poem of mine. I changed the sixth line a bit, though I still feel it to be the weakest.

The clouds roll by
On the empty highway.
Slow and silent--
We never notice their struggles.

Below them a child cries:
She wants to eat some candy.
The whole world stops to watch--
Caught up in the frenzy.

I think the theme I was shooting for is that it’s hard to know what’s truly important in the world.

Elaborate Futility

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I’ve been reading The Age of Innocence. The subtle social satire is entertaining, though sometimes hard to connect with because of the difference between the contemporary world and 1870s. My favorite parts are when situations are such that they could have happened exactly the same way today:

The next morning Archer scoured the town in vain for more yellow roses. In consequence of this search he arrived late at the office, perceived that his doing so made no difference whatever to any one, and was filled with sudden exasperation at the elaborate futility of his life.

A Benefactor to Society

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More humor from Our Mutual Friend:

Returning to the dining-room, and pausing for an instant behind the
screen at the door, Eugene overhears, above the hum and clatter, the
fair Tippins saying: “I am dying to ask him what he was called out for!”

“Are you?” mutters Eugene, “then perhaps if you can’t ask him, you’ll
die. So I’ll be a benefactor to society, and go.”