You may have heard about the recent meme battle between Princess Leia (played by the very interesting Carrie Fisher) and Captain Kirk (played by the equally interesting William Shatner). The battle prize: which is “better,” Star Wars or Star Trek?
It began with a photon torpedo fired from the Enterprise. The warhead contained an anti-Wars payload of roughly one-quarter Mega-grin:
I felt a spark while shaking hands with someone tonight, and that [obvious pun]ed the thought that, “Oh, geeze, here we go: The Season of the Spark.”
Now I do mean a literal spark, as in zap, as in ouch, and that ouch-rageous zap signals (again, in the very literal sense of exchanging a very readable, very detectable, signal) the Season of the Spark. And that means two things.
First(ly) [no, real(ly), it's ly], Winter is a-coming. Humidity and temperature are headed south; so are some birds, some with’s'no wings. Standing—or “piling” might be more apt—exterior water will be assuming solid form. A selected group will involve in repositioning the solidified water to enable transportation for themselves and for others. It will be a time that some will love, that some will hate, and sometimes both at the same time. Or at other times. Main thing is: it’s a fairly extreme time compared to, say, summer. Or spring, or fall, just to randomly name a couple of others.
But secondly [you see how it ties together now], seasonal metaphysics aside, it means literally the Season of the Zap, Ouch, Spark. A time of being stung by the natural physics of the situation. And, along with its metaphysical overcoat, Spark Season is extreme. In both cases, sometimes ultra, if not über, extreme.
The equivalent of antarctic winter is a good long walk in leather shoes across a plush wool carpet. Wearing nylon on your legs. That’ll jolt you down to your toes.
Which all brings me to this fairly techno-geeky advice. For the techno-challenged, item number one is your meat. You can stop paying attention during the other two, if you like.
1. Any metal object you can use as a “lightning rod.” Your keys would probably do the trick. The idea is simple: move the spark away from your body. You’ll still feel a jolt from the zap, but it won’t sting. What really hurts in the spark is the hot gas from the plasma caused by the tiny bolt of lightning you just generated. And make no mistake: the spark is exactly the same as lightning, although quite some distance away in terms of scale.
You may have noticed that the stronger the spark, the longer the spark. The higher the voltage, the more air it can blast through. When you have big enough voltages (way more than you’ll ever generate), you can spark thousands of feet from clouds to ground. Being on the end of a spark that big is usually bad news for trees, buildings and living things. No one knows if the clouds mind it.
[[The electrical algebra is simple: A spark is lightning, but humans much bigger than spark, so humans win. Lightning much bigger than humans, so lighting win.]]
So basically, that’s the deal. Find a short bit of metal you can carry around with you. When you’re about to touch something metal–especially metal that’s grounded–use your lightning rod to touch the metal first. As always, once you spark the spark, touching metal is safe.
You can improve on this, though (warning: electrical knowledge a plus)…
B. Any resistive object you can use as a “(resistive) lightning rod.” By putting resistance between you and the ground, you drop voltage across the resistor, and this limits the maximum current. The spark doesn’t have much total power (it expends big energy, but in a very short time). Since the flow is limited, the spark’s power is spread out in time; that shrinks its strength.
Which should remove the electrical shock you feel in your hand–and sometimes your arm!
But you can go even one better…
III. A mini-Neon bulb! If you happen to have one of these handy—and you almost certainly don’t, since it’s not the sort of thing most people do have lying about—your lightning rod now lights up rather than sparking.
When I was a kid, there was a company with an incredible science-based mail-order catalog (Edmund Scientifics—turns out it’s still around). They made such a device for exactly the purpose of absorbing static shocks. [Sadly, all they seem to offer now is the bare bulb with leads shown to the right. Click the picture to see the item in their online catalog.]
The “toy” I got from them long, long ago (in a childhood far, far away) consisted of a short tube of plastic, about four inches, like a soda straw, but tougher and with a slightly larger radius. On each end were two brass balls (simmer down, or it’ll seem worse). One of them had a hole with a mini-neon bulb sticking out of it. You held one ball with your fingers and touched the other ball to the metal object (like I said: worse).
The neon flashed nicely, and there was no shock felt!
That’s cool science for you!
As a postscript, I learned about the neon trick long before LEDs existed. I don’t know if an LED would work. Maybe with some resistance (and possibly some inductance somewhere, or maybe capacitance would help). The problem is that a spark is very short. You have to memorialize its passing somehow. (On the other hand, a single bright LED flash is fairly noticeable.)
As a post-postscript, in my search for Edmund and neon bulb static killers, I also found this link to a device touted explicitly for static killing. I can’t quite tell from the ad whether the light is from the LED (or if that’s just an added flashlight). The “orange glow” bit makes me think there’s also neon involved.
And try not to get zapped!
I suppose a “golden” date could refer to a really good time out with the perfect someone. Or it could refer to a couple of hot oldsters, past their silver years, tearing up the town. And I suppose the oldsters could double the value of their gold by being with that perfect someone. It doesn’t matter; I mean neither perfect occasions nor advanced years. I speak, literally, of the date.
It’s 11-11-11, and that’s slightly fun and slightly rare. It’s a bit like your Golden Birthday, when your age matches the date (for example, when you turn 19 on the 19th of whatever month). Today we match on the date, month and year; trifecta gold! And of course, double bonus points just before lunch at 11:11:11!!
[By the way, (BTW: remind me about "by the way"), speaking of "oldsters," number me among those who find such phrases as "67 years young" … at best too silly to utter, if not in fact insultingly stupid. I passed the half-century mark in the last decade, so I am at least beginning to have some say in these matters.]
Anyway, today’s date is slightly fun in a numerical sense. We only get twelve triple-matches every 100 years, and we’re nearing the end of our twelve for the next 100. This is, as its numbers imply, the eleventh this century. We’re just about done with golden dates for the 2000′s—no more until the 2100′s. Next year will be the last one for until nearly 100 years.
These magical dates only blossom, one per year, in the first part of any given century. Back, 100 years ago, in the early 1900s, the equivalent of today was 11-11-1911. In 100 years, someone will be noting that it’s 11-11-2111 (which has an extra “1″!).
We began this era’s progression ten years ago, in the true and proper first year of the millennium, 2001, on the first month of the first (true and proper) year, and, in fact, on the very first day of the first month of the first (true and proper) year. Specifically: on 01-01-01. After that they came a month later each year until this year the golden date is in November. Our last one this century takes place on December 12th next year (12 minutes past noon).
Today’s date is also fun, because it’s binary! So was a golden date from last year: 10-10-10. These two are the only others except for the one already mentioned above, the first one of any century: 1-1-1. And that’s it on binary dates!
I while back I mentioned some of my favorite CS jokes, probably my most favorite of which is the one about there being 10 kinds of people: those who can count in binary and those who can’t. (A joke that’s funny only to the people the joke is actually about.)
The most excellent xkcd featured a new spin on that joke recently:
xkcd 953
As always, the real punch, or a really funny secondary punchline, is in the image’s hover text. In this case it reads, “If you get an 11/100 on a CS test, but you claim it should be counted as a ‘C’, they’ll probably decide you deserve the upgrade.“
And I confess, I didn’t fully get it until I was explaining it to someone else. I was thinking the test score, 11/100, was intended to be a binary score. It wasn’t… the student actually got eleven out of 100. And that’s certainly not a ‘C’ grade!
I had a pair of weird dreams this weekend. They’re worth remembering. I’m not sure what the hell they mean, but they’re also worth considering. (For me, I mean… I’m not sure what your interest is. Consider it another webside tale.)
Now, I’ve never had a nightmare. The one time I did have a nightmare, it turned out to be reality. I don’t mean that in a metaphorical (or even metaphysical) way, as in, “My marriage turned out to be a nightmare.” I mean, what supposedly was a bad dream, wasn’t a dream at all, but a misinterpretation of reality. (Actually, we’re back to my marriage again.)
I mean dreams, literal dreams. When you sleep dreams. I’ve never had a bad one. Except for the time when I was just post infant (headed for post modern), and I had what I was told was a bad dream about a bird running across my New York City bedroom floor. Except later my rents found a mouse in the house (or something house mouse-like). So that was no bird.
Ha! He (meaning me), observant and raising situation issues at a very early age. Sadly, that says a lot. On the other hand, also, hello, right again. That, too, is in the portfolio.
But back to mining mine dreams. (It’s about mine mind, if you don’t mind.) Mine are a blast; involved cinematic narratives. (None, so far, actually in a mine.) Sometimes I wake up from a dream and lie there thinking, “I’d pay money to see that!”
I usually don’t remember dreams, but when I do it’s like a trip to the weird movies. Weird, but always a good show. Which brings us back to the nightmares; the ones I never have. Sometimes a dream gets dicey or tense, but always one of two things happens: I wake up or—and this is fun—in the dream I think, “Hey, wait a minute, this is my dream, and I won’t stand for this. Change the channel!”
I can’t quite control my dreams, but I can change the channel. It’s kinda cool.
The other thing that’s different for me than I seem to hear about other people is I don’t have any re-occurring dreams. I also have never had any of the “common” dreams I’ve heard described. I’ve never dreamed of being naked in a clothed crowd. I’ve never dreamed of being late for class or unprepared for a test. I’ve never had any of the classic dreams.
Always the outlier… as unintentionally as intentionally. Must be a core aspect.
Which all sets a bit of context for the two interesting dreams I had this weekend. Both worth the reflective lie and storage for later recollection (regrettably, memorized not written, and it’s not like I don’t have bedside paper and pen… warm stillness was just too comfortable).
Sadly, even upon wakening, often only the tail of the tale remains. And there’s something about captured dreams that evaporates with time. Often by “later that day” the sense of having lived the story vanishes. After that, it’s just a story I wrote. (Or maybe that’s another personal oddity: I have no vividly recalled dreams.)
So this is what I remember…
The first dream involved being on some sort of mission that involved finding enemies and dealing with them in some unspecific (yet probably effective) way. The memory kicks in as I’m driving on a good-sized urban freeway on this mission. I suspect, and then confirm, that an enemy is behind me (and “enemy” is exactly the term I recall thinking in terms of). What’s behind me looks like a large military jeep. On the back is mounted an outrageously large missile. Not Kremlin Parade sized, but way bigger than shoulder sized. Maybe ten, twelve, feet, and a foot in diameter.
The missile is tipped with a broad arrowhead warhead with swept-back delta wings. But I can see that the warhead isn’t on straight. It’s canted to the side. I think, “A-ha! Good luck firing that at me!”
And sure enough, they fire, and it goes wide, veering off to the side harmlessly.
However, with the missile now gone, the follower puts a hefty machine gun into play. I can see huge bullets flying towards me, smashing the glass of my car (Hollywood movie-style). I duck below the dashboard, and the bullets pass harmlessly overhead. But I can’t see to steer the car!
The original plan was to get the enemy to follow me back to base. This was supposed to be a game of cat and mouse. There was no question the mouse was seriously outgunned, but the plan was planned to end with the cat seriously outmoused.
Thing is, I nearly made it. I was on the right off-ramp when the fire fight broke out. Well, one-sided fire fight. Him, entirely, firing at me. Me steering blindly. But understand: it was exciting, not particularly scary.
And here’s where it got really exciting. I drove the car off the off-ramp. Which you might think wasn’t a huge deal, except this off-ramp was apparently way off high in the sky. Like major mountain high. Above the clouds high. Like, “Oh look, they look like tiny ants… wait, no, those are tractor trailers!”
Which is about as close to flying as I’ve ever dreamt. I have done a bit of skydiving, not a lot, but enough to make a number of solo jumps and pack my own chute. I know the feeling. And the feeling is falling, but in the abstract. Skydiving is mostly windy up to the point the wind stops. At that point, it’s either all over, or you enjoy a nice glide down the rest of the way.
I knew I was falling… cars don’t typically “fly” (in fact, an advanced skydiver game is pushing a car out an airplane and riding the car down… most of the way). But as with skydiving, there was no sense of vertigo, no sense of falling. (Technically speaking, no sense of acceleration.) And the best part is that I was falling pretty slowly. I didn’t feel endangered.
Far below me, toy-sized, I saw one of those large military helicopters. Not the huge ones with two big props, the next size down. Gunship. Hulky, one big rotor with a shielded tail rotor. I appeared to be headed right at it, but the closer I got, the more I could see I would miss it just to my left.
[For those keeping score, the off-ramp went right off the freeway, as one would expect, and I drove off the right side. And for what it's worth, the missile's warhead was canted to the right (away from the freeway), and the missile veered off the same way. Basically everything headed right, right off the freeway. Yet, I swear I lean left.]
The enemy jeep had followed me off the off-ramp cliff and was falling behind me (yet keeping up with me, as it were). But at least no more bullets. I’m not sure, either they kept falling off to the right of the helicopter, or possibly they landed in the rotor, which destroyed them without affecting my ride.
And it was indeed my ride. They were here to rescue me. I could see a docking bay in the side that might have been an option for the car, but as I floated down to them I saw I’d miss it. Then the copter’s tail swung towards me, and I could see a helmeted figure in a flight suit strapped into a cubby hole in the tail. He was reaching out his gloved hand to me as the tail swung just over the hood of the car (“bonnet” for some of you). All I had to do was stand up and reach over the windshield (apparently at this point, I was driving a convertible… I’m pretty sure I wasn’t earlier).
Just as our hands met…
I woke up.
And not only that, but I was lying on my right front quarter (between face down and right side), my body was fully extended, my right arm was curled beneath me, and my left arm was stretched fully out. Dreams normally suppress your physical movement, nearly all of them anyway, but at that moment, baby, I reached.
And—as usual—lay there thinking, “Wow, what a ride!”
The second dream tail is much shorter and is mainly remarkable for also taking place on a freeway. (And, no, I haven’t done much driving lately. But for what it’s worth, I’ve always loved driving and driving on the freeway particularly.)
I couldn’t tell you the context; only the punchline remains. I was driving on a major freeway, and again, something blocked my view. In this case, I think it was along the lines of fog or a weather condition. I was aware of no one else driving nearby.
I tried to follow an off-ramp, but it was somehow confusing. Twisty and blocked from view. It was only moments, but suddenly I realized I’d somehow screwed the pooch.
I realized that I wasn’t driving on an off-ramp at all, but on some sort of suspended giant concrete pipe that ran among the freeway maze. The pipe was big enough that I could drive along it. This pipe had bands of bare wire loosely wrapped around it at roughly three-foot intervals. Almost suggestive of rungs in a ladder or crosswise treads on a ramp.
And the pipe was indeed a fairly steep ramp headed upward. Worse, a short ways up ahead, I could see the pipe bent vertically towards the sky. That, obviously, was the end of the road. It appeared the only option was to try to back up.
I thought, “Well, this isn’t good! … Hey, wait a minute… this is preposterous! This can’t be real! This is a dream!”
And then I woke up.
