komplexify!

12.30.2009

Carmike karma

Despite all the claims that Hollywood glamorizes loose morals and fornication, I can think of no better argument against unsafe sex than any of the trailers for Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel.

Just think about it: engage in the “big wiggle” too carelessly, and you might be forced to sit through it with your offspring.

* Shudder *

Of course, the Ladybug wants to see The Squeakquel, but fortunately she’s amenable to other choices too.  We’ve seen The Princess and the Frog (which was awesome, by the way) and Planet 51 (which was less than awesome, but still okay).

The latter movie begins with a spoof of a fifties-era alien-invasion movie before panning out to reveal that the movie is being shown on an alien world, evidenced in part by the etherized image of a ringed planet hanging in the evening sky.

“That looks like Saturn,” noted the Ladybug.

“Yes,” I agreed.  “Yes it does.”

The Ladybug thought about it a moment more, and piped up again.  “Does that mean that Planet 51 is Jupiter?”

Man, I love my smart kid.

The Queen B and I don’t often get a chance to steal away for date nights, owing to the twin difficulties of (a) procuring a babysitter for the Ladybug and (b) getting all the necessary schoolwork we bring home as teachers each day out of the way.  That’s why school vacations are awesome — we both have the day off, so we can send the Ladybug off to preschool for the day while we enjoy a movie and a meal.

So today we decided to do just that.  We sent the Ladybug off to the kiddie-kastle, while we headed out for a nice lunch, a little post-X-mas window-shopping, and an afternoon showing of Paranormal Activity at the town’s old-timey Elks Theater.  Lunch was delicious, our window shopping tour of Best Buy was edifying (didja know a Blu-Ray player also plays DVDs, and many can stream movies directly from NetFlix?  Sweet.), and soon it was time to head to the theater to buy tickets.

Unfortunately, when we actually got to the Elks, we found taped across the doorway a small piece of paper, on which in frantic script was scrawled

Today’s movie showings are cancelled,
due to burst/frozen water pipes.

Drats!

Still, while the Elks is the only old-timey theater in Rapid City, it’s not the only theater at all, so the Queen B and I headed back across town to the Carmike Theater.  A quick glance at the marquee revealed that the only two movies showing within the next half-hour were Avatar and Sherlock Holmes.  Unfortunately, both of these movies ended at 6:25… which was after the Ladybug’s preschool closed.

Drats again!

Still, we had one more theater to try.  We zipped over to the movie theater by the mall, told the gal at the ticket window when we needed to leave, and asked what options were available.  “The good news,” replied the gal in the box office, ” is that we’ve got one movie that starts right now and ends before 6:15.”

“The bad news,” she continued, “is that it’s Alvin and the Chipmunks 2.”

Filed under: Komplexify

12.27.2009

Merry X-mas!

Now that the Big Day is past, allow me to fire one last salvo in this year’s War on Christmas.

As hinted at previously, I find the whole Merry Christmas / Happy holidays battle pointless and irritating. On the one hand, the phrase “Happy holidays” does recognize the potential that the wishee might, in fact, celebrate one of the many non-Christmas holidays that occur during the winter season, such as Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Ramadan, Saturnalia, the winter solstice, or even Festivus (”for the rest of us!”).  On the other hand, the phrase itself has become a problematic on two counts:

  • first, it’s become a symbol of political-correctness taken to an extreme, and
  • second, it really drives evangelicals insane, so then they yell about it at great length and therefore drive everybody else insane with it,

so clearly this is a lose-lose proposition.

Is it possible to find a “holiday greeting” that simultaneously recognizes the many potential celebratory “reasons for the season” while also keeps vocal evangelicals happy?

It think I have one.

Let’s just all agree to call the general American holiday season — that portion of Winter that begins on Black Friday (the day after Thanksgiving) and ends on December 31 — as X-mas.  Why?  Three reasons:

  1. The symbol X here refers to the the generally recognized symbol one first learns to represent a variable quantity — the little x from your first algebra class.  In this case, this variable can represent any of the religious or spiritual or secular reasons one might find to celebrate the holiday season; for example,
    • X = Christ if you’re Christian, or
    • X = Yahweh if you’re Jewish, or
    • X = Flying Spaghetti Monster if you’re Pastafarian, or
    • X = Santa is you’re under 5 years old, or even
    • X = \varnothing if you’re a militant atheist.
  2. The suffix mas is derived from the Late Latin missa, which meant dismissal.  It is the etymological root of the modern phrase mass, which should make the devout happy.  However, the term literally meant “Go! You’re dismissed!,” which I think is an excellent sentiment to express vacation time, something that should appeal to the secularist.
  3. It’s what they call the holiday in the year 3000 anyway (as foretold by Futurama), so it’s gonna happen anyway. We might as well get on with it.

The symbol itself should be pronounced as ecks-mas, but recognizing that the symbol X is also called a criss-cross, the symbol could also be reasonably pronounced as crisscrossmas, which can be conveniently abbreviated to criss-mas.

So why would this symbol work?  Well, it addresses the two concerns listed above.

First, a greeting of Merry X-mas or Merry Crissmas would make all those evangelicals happy, since all they hear is, well, what they want to hear.  Moreover, those guys have been abbreviating the December 25 celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ as “Xmas” since the mid-sixteenth century, which should effectively answer any complaints they might make about this symbol “taking the Christ out of Christmas.”

Second, the greeting and symbol were specifically designed to address to a wide range of potential religious, spiritual, or secular sentiments.  Moreover, there’s an appealing subversiveness to it — a sort of modern reclaiming of the symbol Xmas and the sound Crissmas from the noisy and divisive to, well, the rest of us.

So… Merry X-mas, and Happy New Year, too!

Filed under: Observations

12.26.2009

Daze of Christmas

The Queen B often accuses me of humbuggery this time of year, but I blame it on Christmas lights manufacturers.  I mean, why else would every set of Christmas lights I own have a plug that looks like this

while every outdoor extension cord one can buy has a plug that looks like this

Humbug.

It seems as though our neighborhood is decked out with even more Christmas lights than usual, and while I find the winter wonderland of a million billion twinkling lights a delight, if not a bit a theologically disorienting.  For example, the dude down the street with the inflatable Santa Claus standing in the midst of his nativity might need a refresher on the “official” Christmas story, while I’m not sure what’s to be done for the guy who decorated his lawn with the row of flashing candy canes leading up to the crucifix.

The Ladybug and I are driving to the park to go sledding, driving along the back road that winds through the middle of the hilly field that separate its two playgrounds.  The hillside is blank and white with new-fallen snow, except for the shape of large heart etched into it by some persons unknown.

“That’s cute!” exclaims the Ladybug when she catches sight of it.

“Yeah,” I agree. “A heart picture means love.”

As we round the loop, we both notice that the heart itself is framed by letters.  However, the glare from the sun off the snow is a bit much to see through, and the road itself is pretty slippery, and so I pretty much ignore the message on the field in favor of vehicular safety, but the Ladybug remains fascinated.  She starts to read the letters off:

“Tee… Oh… Dee… Dee…” she says. “What’s that say?”

“That says Todd,” I explain. “And the heart says loves…

“Ay… En… Ay… Ell…” she finishes.  “What’s that say?”

“That says…. er… Ana L,” I flub.

“Todd loves Ana L?  That’s sweet.”

We’ve been watching a lot of Phineas and Ferb Christmas Vacation.  My favorite bit is Dr. Doofenshmirtz’ heckling of a quintet of carolers who appear singing “We wish you a merry Christmas” once they get to the “No bring us some figgy pudding” bit:

Are you threatening me?  No one comes to my home and demands desserts!  I mean, what kind of plan is that anyway?  Let’s go to some stranger’s house, and in song form refuse to leave unless he hands over a food dish no one’s prepared since the sixteenth century.

Speaking of merry Christmas wishes, on my way out of the grocery store, I noticed that the woman in front of me drop one of her bags as she was loading her cart.  I picked it up and placed it back in her cart.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” I replied.  “Merry Christmas!”

“And good on you for saying ‘Merry Christmas’  instead of that ‘Happy Holidays’ horseshit.”

“Riiiiight.  In that case, you have a fertile solstice,” I said, and continued on my way.

When I told this story to the Queen B later on, she accused me of being a dick.

In my defense, I argued that it was in fact the lady who had been rude, since while the correct responses to a friendly “Merry Christmas!” range from a simple smile to a complementary “Merry Christmas” to even the apparently atrocious “Happy Holidays,” using it as a segue to rank about your own personal bitter religious bigotry is not one of them.

(I have little patience for people who whine about a “War on Christmas.”  When Obama and his liberal elite minions ban Christmas as a federal holiday and instead replace it with Yom Kippur or Ramadan or even Saturnalia, then we can talk about Christmas being under fire.)

To counter, the Queen B said that perhaps the lady was merely expressing her relief, since she would be otherwise too scared to say “Merry Christmas” in an age of hyper political correctness. Quoth the B, “Instead of Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, we’re now stuck with the following:

“Please accept with no obligation, implied or explicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious or secular persuasion and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all. I also wish you a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2010, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great. Not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country nor the only America in the Western Hemisphere . Also, this wish is made without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith or sexual preference of the wishee.”

To the Queen B, I say… Touche.

The Ladybug had been very, very specific about what she wanted for Christmas:

  • A Snow White dress,
  • Snow White shoes,
  • A Snow White crown, and
  • Presents.

Clearly, she was a good girl:

That, and Toys ‘R’ Us thankfully keeps a large surplus of Snow White couture handy on Christmas Eve.

12.22.2009

Finale

Sorry for the lack of posts, but ’tis the season for final exams, and those are always a massive timesuck.  But it is a chance to bask in the glory that is the idiot student.

Adam gave up on his two-hour final at the 60 minute mark, turned in a half-finished exam sheet, and disappeared.  When I arrived at my office, in my inbox was a message from him, the whole of which read

Hey i'm in your calc 1 class... what can we do to make sure i pass?

My immediate response was “Pray like hell the rest of the class failed worse than you”, but I scratched it on the grounds that (a) it was unnecessarily mean and (b)  praying like hell was most likely a contradiction in terms.

Instead, I sent back a terse:

There is nothing you can do after the final exam.  That's more or less what the "final" adjective of "final examination" implies.

A day later, Adam replied back.

Dr. K.  This is my fourth attempt at Calculus 1, I will not be able to take it a fifth time.  If I don't pass this course, I will most likely have to quit school here, since my engineering major requires Calc 1 as a prerequisite.  I've seen all these  concepts before with Drs. X and Y, so I'm confident I know what's important in Calculus I'm just not that good at tests.

I replied back that he was also not very good at turning in homework, or computer labs, or podcasts, or any of the other parts of the class for which a grade was assigned, and that his previous three semesters of attempts should have illustrated to him that that particular approach to Calculus be re-evaluated.

To which he replied back

Can you send me my grade in the course as soon as possible.  I have a very busy and stressful semester next semester with a lot of engineering classes I've had to put off while I was in Calc I, but I can't enroll in them until I get a passing grade in Calculus.  This is very stressful for me.

The email I sent back began as follows:

Your final exam has been graded, and I've got good news and bad news for you. The good news is that your schedule for next semester just eased up a lot...

I had another student, who signed his exam with the moniker Joe XXX, who apparently glommed onto the idea that “Calculus = Limit in every problem,” and hence spent his time on the test trying to solve calculus problems using the limit definitions of derivatives.

Seriously.  Every solution to a problem on the exam, whether it involved finding critical points or antiderivatives or areas bounded by curves, all began with

\lim\limits_{x \to a} \displaystyle \frac{f(x) - f(a)}{x - a}

followed by some ghastly mess of algebra that bore only some passing semblance of the problem in question, before finally devolving into a barely rectifiable plane curve.

On the one hand, it made the test easy to grade.  On the other hand, where had this Joe been?  He was not on my roster, although curiously enough he had taken the previous exam.

I remained confused by this until one of my colleagues sent out the following email

Dear Colleagues, I had a student send me an email indicating that he didn’t do well on the test this morning.  He said he didn’t recognize the material.   The only problem is, he wasn’t at the test this morning.  This student has been in class exactly two times this semester and didn't know we changed rooms mid-semester.  So my question is, did anyone have an extra student take an exam this morning?  His name is Joe XXX.  I’m quite curious what exam he took.

This is certainly a first for me — a student who managed to fail two classes with a single exam.  Nice.

Filed under: School daze

12.3.2009

Punk’d

It was a little past 6 o’clock.  Queen B was upstairs fiddling around on Facebook, with the Ladybug playing nearby.  I was downstairs in the laundry room, loading the washer with jeans and tee-shirts.

The Ladybug bounded downs the stair and ran into the laundry room.  With a sense of parental urgency, she called out “Dad! Get your shoes and jacket on!  We’re going out to eat.”   She then disappeared upstairs, presumably to get bundled up for the cold herself.

I finished up the laundry and headed upstairs, where I found the Ladybug already snugly packaged in her new snow jacket, with the Queen B following suit.  As I get grabbed my shoes and jacket, the Queen B asked “Where do you want to go for dinner?”

Chili’s!” shouted the Ladybug.

“Sounds good to me,” I concurred.

The Queen B shrugged her assent as well, whereupon we assembled in the family car and made our way to Chili’s.

As we were driving, I turned to the Queen B.  “I’m kind of surprised you want to go out to dinner when it’s so cold and snowy out.”

“What are you talking about?” asked the Queen B.  “I didn’t suggest going out.”

“But the Ladybug came down stairs and told me we were going out to dinner,” I explained.  “Wasn’t she relaying a message from you?”

No…” the Queen argued back, “the Ladybug went downstairs to see you.  When she came up the stairs she told me to get dressed because we were going out to dinner.  I thought she was relaying a message from you…”

“Wait,” I said, momentarily confused.  “If you didn’t want to go out and I didn’t want to go out, why are going out…?”

The awkward silence that followed was cut short by the sound of maniacal giggling from the car seat behind us.

Filed under: Ladybuggin'
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