The Bolt

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January 24, 2006

Ink, Pink

It was bedtime for the girls (about 8:30 pm) one evening a few weeks ago, and I had just finished reading Dr. Seuss' "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish" to them. My youngest daughter was already in bed, but the oldest was dragging her feet a bit. So I was patiently waiting in the bathroom for her to come and brush her teeth...

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Just in case your recollection of "One Fish, Two Fish" is a little spotty, here's an excerpt from it:

There, now you have the basic metre in your head. Also keep in mind that my daughter is five, and thinking up new rhymes is quite entertaining to a five-year-old.

She slowly walks into the bathroom, looks at me, and says: "ink, pink, you have a dink."

I'm so shocked I don't know what to say. Nothing comes out of my mouth at all, and my face remains frozen for a few seconds. I'm torn between congratulating her on forming a new, ingenuitive rhyme or admonishing her for inappropriate language. I decided that it really wasn't that bad, it was more the incongruity of the sentence with normal bedtime rituals, so it would be wrong to chastise her for it. I better just ignore it (I'm sure I read that somewhere, didn't I?)

"Um... how about you brush your teeth now?" was all I managed to get out.

Later, my wife and I were almost rolling on the floor laughing over the whole matter. Maybe this will be material I can use decades from now in a wedding speech... :)

Posted by Hammer at 11:52 PM | Comments (0)

January 23, 2006

My First Dive

I had never seriously thought of myself as a diver before. I was curious, but like so many other things in life, it was one of those cases of "I wonder if I would like it?" Sadly, I think I had also already convinced myself that finding someplace to dive would be either difficult, expensive or frustrating.

So when a co-worker, Dale, asked if I was interested in scuba diving a couple of weeks ago, I admitted to him that I had been curious for a number of years. Well, he had a simple solution for me...

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Dale had somehow found his way onto the Campus Recreation site at the U of S, and he saw that they were offering an "introduction to scuba" class for a mere $20, and it actually included some time under water. We were both quite surprised, thinking that at $20 there was no way we could go wrong: even if we found out we didn't like it, at least it was only a $20 lesson to learn. I'm still not sure if they're making any money on that class - I can't see how, assuming that the instructor was actually paid.

I agreed to head over to the Campus Rec office with Dale in order to find out more information. When we got there, we were informed that there were only three seats left in the class. So we made up our minds on the spot and signed up for the class.

Two weeks later, the day of the scuba class arrived, and I headed over to the swimming pool. I wasn't surprised to learn that we first had to sit in a classroom and watch a video, followed up by some good discussion with the diving instructor. (I still don't think that there is ever any need to talk about how you would only be eaten by sharks if they decided to hunt "as a pack", and that you're normally very safe from them. No need at all!) And of course, we had to sign some waiver of liability forms, the ones that say that there are risks involved and if I die then nobody can sue the university. Yep, it's all good.

After the classroom portion, we headed over to a pile of equipment. As luck would have it, the bright pink face masks were the best fitting ones for Dale and I, which gave the instructor some moment of laughter. But I had to chuckle to myself when he went up to the overweight person beside me and say, "sir, due to your body composition, you're going to have to wear this weight belt." That's a really politically correct way of saying that fat people float, isn't it.

Then we ran though some drills that showed us the basic comfort and survival skills we needed. We learned the hand signs to use for "my ear is in horrible pain, I can't go down any further" (waggle your hand and point to your ear) and the ever-popular "I'm about to die due to lack of air, can I have some of yours?" (put your hand flat, palm down, and make a throat-slitting motion). We also learned how to clear the water out of our masks (but the pink one fit so well, I hoped I wouldn't be taking in any water) and then finally how to recover from losing our air regulator (who would ever let the air reg out of their mouth while under water?!?)

Then, we were cut loose. That's it - dive, be free! Swim like the fish! Well, not quite. The shallow end was OK (about five feet of water), but going to the deep end (fifteen feet) resulted in my ears popping and hurting. Ouch. Time to surface.

As I came up and inflated my BCD (they call it a buoyancy control device, but it's basically water wings for adults) I saw a few other people at the surface, Dale being one. We both commiserated about our ear problems, and then went under again. After a few more trips up and down, I finally got the hang of "balancing" my ears so they didn't hurt so much. I can't even imagine getting down to 50 feet, though, I think my ear drums would rupture.

Truthfully, after ten minutes, the novelty of the experience was starting to wear off, simply because we were all alone in a large tank of water. No fish, no manta rays, no coral reefs - just other novice divers, flailing around under water. But that's not to say it was boring - it was just becoming "natural". And that's the interesting part; here I was, poking around the bottom of a swimming pool in full scuba gear, and it was becoming normal quite quickly. It reminded me of wall climbing, which was so exciting the first time up a wall, but then became less of a wonder and more of a personal challenge as I moved to harder and harder walls.

I walked away from that class not with some unnatural desire to become the world's next best deep sea diver or underwater welder, but with more of a curiosity of what was under the water that I had been missing up until now. Are there neat things to see, hidden deep under the surface of all of the lakes that I've been swimming in since childhood? (I know there are a few rusted fishing poles down there, having dropped a few myself over the years) I wonder what the walleye in Anglin Lake look like when viewed from under water? Are there any sunken boats (or cars!) in La Ronge? I have a hunch that Emma lake has at least one sea-doo at its bottom.

Finally, I'm thankful that my friends and co-workers care enough to invite me out to try new experiences. It was less than two years ago when Ken phoned me up out of the blue and asked, "do you want to start curling?" Some times, you just have to say "yes" to these things and see where they will take you.

Posted by Hammer at 11:20 PM | Comments (1)

January 18, 2006

The Balance of Judgement

I like sweeping! It's a great part of the game of curling, and something that I would much rather do in a game than have to formulate the strategy like the skip does. I have two stories to tell about sweeping that, in the end, aren't completely all about sweeping as much as they are about having confidence in yourself.

Both stories involve sparing for other teams...

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I spared as lead for a team Thursday of last week, playing in a men's league out of the Granite Curling Club. Nobody on this team used a stopwatch. After the first end, I could also tell that I was the strongest sweeper on the team. Putting these two facts together, I surmised that I was going to have to do most of the weight judgement for the rest of the game.

The game was pretty close, with both teams curling fairly well and yet still making a few mistakes along the way. But then in the fifth end where we did not have hammer, it came down to our last skip rock... our skip was drawing against two and absolutely had to get it there, or we were likely going to give up three points.

The skip's delivery was fine, but about half way down the sheet the rock started to slow down too much. I started sweeping aggressively. The third was yelling "woah, line!" from in the back of the house, but I couldn't stop, so I just yelled back "needs it!" We fought back and forth like this as the rock travelled toward the button, but I never stopped sweeping. I did look up and make sure that our line was eventually going to be OK, and it was. At last the rock came to rest biting the button and about one inch to the good - that is, we were lying shot. We made it. (The great conclusion to this part of the story is that their skip wrecked on his last shot, and we ended up stealing a point that end!)

The reason that I didn't stop sweeping was because I had confidence. I knew that I could judge the weight, and I knew without a doubt that this rock had to be swept. I wasn't willing to let the third override me, but I certainly did let him know that I wasn't just ignoring him - I let him know that I was in a better position to judge the weight, and I wasn't stopping. That level of confidence came to me early in the game, and it never left me for the rest of the game. In fact, the final rock that our skip threw in the eighth end that game had to be swept to within a one foot circle, and we got it there. After that game was over, and we won because of that last shot, the skip thanked us for a great job of sweeping that night.

Fast forward to the next game that I curled... again, I spared as lead on another men's league team, this time at the CN Curling Club. However, this time I knew the other three guys from before, and I knew they were all better at curling than I was. So I had very shaky confidence that night; I knew that I could judge the weight of rocks, but I did not feel that I was the *best* judge of weight among the four of us. I was completely willing to be overridden on my decisions, and in retrospect it really hurt us.

In the sixth end of that game, we were facing a similar situation: our skip was throwing his first rock, and although we did have hammer, the opposition had two rocks in the four-foot, one completely buried. There was no way to hit them out, so he had to draw. Again, it absolutely had to be there, or we were going to have at least one point stolen against us.

The skip's delivery on this rock was good. We watched the rock travel down the ice, curling nicely as it went... and then about two-thirds of the way there we dug in and swept fairly hard. As the rock crossed the far hog line, the third called out, "line's good, just for weight". It actually wasn't so much the words that were important, it was his tone and what we inferred from it. We thought he was saying, "take a look; are you sure you need to sweep it?" So both of us stopped sweeping and watched the rock slide for the next six feet. Wrong move, since the rock still needed sweeping. We got on the rock again, but it was too late and it ended up stopping a little short - it was only second shot. The opposing skip threw a guard, and then we were in trouble. They stole one point from us that end.

What went wrong? Why did we stop sweeping? It was all about confidence. Personally, I didn't feel confident enough to say, "needs it", and let the third know that although the line was good we still needed to sweep. I didn't feel confident enough in my own ability compared to his in judging weight. However, I was in a much better position to judge the weight being right over the rock, and I should have taken the responsibility. Instead I deferred, placing his experience above my own ability.

This mistake only led to a further decrease in my confidence - and I can only imagine that our second was feeling the same way. It should be pretty obvious that more sweeping errors were going to be made that game. And they were. Perhaps not as large as that one, but they were there, and everyone on the team could see when these errors occured.

Now comes the final blow: when the person making a shot has lost confidence in the two people who are going to sweep his rock, then his stress level goes up by an order of magnitude. Now he feels that he has to be much more precise in his shot-making. So not only do these sweeping errors serve to undermine the sweepers, they also undermine the shot-makers, and it becomes a downward spiral.

The last rock in the last end of that game was a draw to just inside the eight foot cirle. It should have been quite easily makeable. However, two factors contributed to this shot not being made: first, the skip likely threw a little extra weight on the rock just at the last moment of being delivered (called "raising" the rock). I am only guessing this, because the interval time on the stopwatch actually said that the shot should have been good for the draw we needed. Secondly, this rock was swept from the time it crossed the first hog line to the time it reached just over center - because there was no way that us sweepers were going to be light and come up short on this draw like we had in the past.

So the rock is raised and given a little extra weight, and the sweepers are on it for half a sheet. Ouch. That's a recipe for disaster, and that's exactly what we got. The rock sailed right through the house, and we lost the game.

If sweepers are to do their jobs effectively they must be confident in their own ability, and they must assert themselves to ensure that rocks are swept when they know that they need sweeping. To do anything else is not playing the position properly, and will easily contribute to losing the game.

Posted by Hammer at 11:20 PM | Comments (0)

It's Hard to Be Humble

I took classical guitar lessons from the ages of eight to thirteen. Because I was able to play, and because my grandparents were proud of this and liked to listen to me playing, I was asked to play a piece for their 50th wedding anniversary. I accepted, and agreed to play one of my Nana's favorite songs, "Moon River"...

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The CN community hall was packed with friends and family. Part way through the event came my time to play; I was fairly nervous but bound and determined to do a good job. A chair was set out in the middle of the hall and I sat on it, just me and my guitar, facing a crowd of people with my grandparents sitting and smiling in the front.

The performance ended up being quite moving; everyone was silent, and the sound of the guitar filled the hall. After it was over, a reverberating round of applause let me know that it was well-received, and the expression on my grandparent's faces told me that they appreciated this little part of their celebration. I was ecstatic.

After the excitement had died down and people had moved on to other activities, my aunt Mary came up and said, "that was wonderful, you played really well!"

Sadly, my response to her was, "I know."

Her face immediately registered disappointment and disgust, and she said, "that's an entirely inappropriate response. When someone pays you a compliment, you should accept it gracefully. You have just ruined the moment."

Wow. What a shock. I did not know what to say, so I just stood there staring at her. Eventually I managed to mutter, "I'm sorry", but it was quite obviously too late for that.

I have to thank my aunt Mary for that. To this day, when someone pays me some special compliment, I am always gracious and humble. Every single time. Even when it kills me not to joke about it.

I told my aunt Mary this exact story a few months ago, and I wasn't surprised to learn that she had completely forgotten the incident. She then apologized for being so hard with me at the time. I wouldn't accept that apology - I knew that I needed that lesson.

When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom.

Posted by Hammer at 12:23 PM | Comments (0)

January 16, 2006

False Friends

I was in the Calgary airport this morning, waiting for the plane that would take me back home, and I witnessed a poor display of social interaction. It was kind of like an accident scene, where you don't really want to look, but it's so captivating that you can't avert your eyes...

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I walked into the Harvey's restaurant and placed my order for a breakfast sandwich and coffee. The order-taking lady spoke into the intercom microphone, and quickly parroted my order to the kitchen staff. Shortly after I ordered, another man walked up and didn't speak at all - the lady behind the counter merely spoke into the microphone again: "regular customer, eggs over easy, bacon and white toast". The man thanked the lady for remembering his order, and he paid for his food. As I stood there waiting for my order, I was somewhat curious what kind of special treatment the "regular customer" tagline was going to give this person - was he going to get extra bacon? extra toast? (Well, I suppose he already did get one more thing than I did... clairvoyant service!)

Just after Mr. Regular and I received our orders (I think he got extra bacon), another woman in her early 20's walked up and started talking with the order lady. I would have walked away to eat my order somewhere comfortable, but this new woman's banter was interesting since she started talking as if she and the order lady were friends. I sat down a few chairs away and listened; the conversation went like this:

Order Lady: May I take your order?

Customer: Hey, how's it hanging? Having a good morning?

Order Lady: I'm fine. Would you like to order?

Customer: Yeah, boy I'm really looking forward to a burger. Are you guys making burgers yet? It is time?

Order Lady: (looks back at the clock behind her) Yes, you may order a burger.

Customer: Oh, great. So, are you gonna have a great day today? I mean, is it going to get busy do you think?

Order Lady: I'm not sure. (stares at customer, waiting for order)

[By now, it's painfully obvious to me, eavesdropping and watching, that the customer wants something from the order lady, but hasn't worked up the nerve to ask. Oh, this is entertaining.]

Customer: So, are you from India? Because I had a boyfriend one time, and he was from India...

Order Lady: Yes, I am. Your order?

Customer: Oh that India, what a neat place, hey?

(no response from the order lady, just a glare)

Customer: Oh, OK. Um, so, yeah, I'll have a single burger with cheese...

Order Lady: (speaking into the microphone) Cheeseburger!

Customer: ...and I guess you're just getting done the breakfast orders then, hey?

Order Lady: Yes. Would you like fries or a drink?

Customer: I bet you have some bacon left over from the morning, hey friend?

Order Lady: We have bacon.

Customer: So, could I maybe get you to throw a couple slices of bacon on my burger then? (pathetic smile)

Order Lady: Bacon is one dollar per slice extra if you wish to add it.

Customer: Oh.

Order Lady: Would you like to add bacon to your burger?

Customer: You couldn't just throw on a slice as a favour, then, hey?

Order Lady: Bacon is one dollar per slice extra if you wish to add it (said with a blank expression - no malice at all, she's just tired of this).

Customer: No, I'll just get the burger. (sigh)

All of the above was interesting to me because here on one hand was Mr. Regular, who asked for nothing yet received special treatment. Then came Ms. Bacon, who asked for special treatment yet received none. Mr. Regular obviously had some existing relationship with the Order Lady that didn't need to be affirmed - it just was. As much as Mr. Regular enjoyed his extra bacon, I'm sure that the Order Lady derived as much pleasure in being generous with him.

The false friends are usually easy to spot a mile away, it just takes a bit of backbone to call them on it. I admit that the Order Lady's job was made a bit easier since it was correct and company policy for her to say no to Ms. Bacon's request, but I've seen people get taken advantage of by these false friends in the past (myself included) because they didn't just step up and say "no".

Posted by Hammer at 07:38 PM | Comments (0)

January 03, 2006

Are We Really Getting Smarter?

I've been wondering this for a while. Even though it's apparent that our body of knowledge is expanding rapidly in certain directions (generally "high tech" directions), how much knowledge are we losing each year? And although society as a whole is gaining this knowledge, how much of that filters down to the individual?

While I was working as an apprentice sheet metal worker in the summer of 1987, an almost-retired journeyman remarked to me, "I've already forgotten more about this trade than you'll ever learn". We laughed at his joke at the time, but that sentence stayed in my head for years to come. And now, years later, I think that we was right - although on a larger scale than we was imagining.

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I went back to that same business many years later and watched some of the sheet metal workers on the shop floor. What they used to do by hand was now automated: instead of looking up formulas in a trade manual, they dialed up shapes on a computer; instead of cutting lines and arcs by hand, they watched a plasma cutter rapidly burn through the desired shape; instead of assembling metal panels into final pieces, they watched power brakes and seamers assemble pieces rapidly and without worker injury. Yes, the whole trade was becoming more automated and required less actual brain power from the individual worker (leave the thinking to the computer).

As I watched all of the above, standing on the shop floor with my Dad beside me, I commented on the increased automation. He agreed, but then he also related a story: recently, he had to dig out some of the old trade manuals, and show a journeyman sheet metal worker how to construct a complex piece that the computer wasn't programmed to cut out or assemble. The journeyman was quite astounded, as he thought that if the computer couldn't make it, then it couldn't be made.

I thought about his short story, and thought back to the old journeyman giving me a lecture about lost knowledge. Yes, there it was right in front of me: one small example that as we improved processes and streamlined the business of sheet metal manufacturing, the individual tradesperson wasn't getting any smarter.

A few years later, in 2004, I would read Robotic Nation and find that Marshall greatly expanded on this "dumbing down of the individual worker" concept. It's a good read, but quite long. Grab a snack first if you're going to dive into that.

Then just today I read something related from David Gelernter:

David's response is only one of many that were submitted to the question "What is your most dangerous idea?" You may want to read the rest of the dangerous ideas.

So where does that leave us? What's my point? Only that we must continually challenge ourselves, stretching our knowledge in ways that we hadn't even intended or desired some times. Learn for the sake of learning, and don't stop. I know, that sounded a little trite - but sometimes these silly expressions are overused only for the mere fact that they're actually true.

Last night my wife paid my the biggest compliment I've heard from anyone in a very long time. I was talking with her about an idea that I have for a new method of wireless video transmission. She looked at me, smiled, and said, "your brain is always working, isn't it?"

Yes, yes it is.

Posted by Hammer at 11:52 PM | Comments (0)

January 01, 2006

Nothing Changes on New Year's Day

Since the first time that I heard the song "New Year's Day" by U2 back in 1988, I've been haunted with the thought that there is some deeper meaning to this song that I'm just not getting.

So today, New Year's Day 2006, I did something about it. Oh nothing astounding - I just searched and found explanations from people who know more about history than me...

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On the surface, this song is fairly obviously a love song, with one partner desiring to get back together with the other. And coincidentally enough, it's that part of the song that holds a personal connection for me: on New Year's Eve 1988, I was going to drive from Prince Albert to Yorkton in order to be reunited with my girlfriend at the time. So that part of the song I understood.

But a few of the lines in the song just didn't fit with a purely "unrequieted love" theme... the ones that talked about crowds, newspapers and war. OK, so this is U2 and I should be looking for some political or social commentary from them, especially considering the album from which this song comes. However I was lazy, and up until today I was merely content to listen to the song and enjoy it on a superficial level.

So here's an interesting explanation that I found from one enlightened soul:

That's a nice, short lesson in history, and I think that knowing this does add to what one can take away from hearing the song again. However, after reading all of the above explanation, I'm still drawn back to the main theme of the song; so to me, it's still a love song, and now I just know more of the setting.

Perhaps not much does change on New Year's Day after all.

Posted by Hammer at 11:45 PM | Comments (0)