We here at Slightly Humorous wish all of our readers a wonderful Christmas. Tomorrow the Princess and the Hero embark on their trip to the castle of the King and Queen in the Great White North, where the inhabitants take a dim view of one's closeting oneself in a room with a computer. They would prefer everyone closeting themselves together in the TV room to watch -- and comment upon the various merits of -- endless renditions of "Miracle on 34th Street." Therefore, new postings to this blog will appear sporadically, if at all, until their return next week.
We leave you with this happy thought: As of last Friday, only 8% of American shoppers had finished their Christmas shopping, so if you are in the other 73.6% (due to Fuzzy Math, numbers do not add up to 100), you are not alone. Unfortunately, this also means you are not alone at the stores for the next few days.
Monday, December 22, 2008
Friday, December 19, 2008
A new threat to security
This blog generally does not concern itself with political topics, mainly because they make our head hurt. Every once in a while, however, an issue comes to light that must be addressed, no matter how complex. Today we have just such an issue: the failure of the Secret Service to protect the president from a reporter's flying shoes at a news conference in Iraq.
Luckily, the president is in excellent physical condition and was able, despite his agents' slowness, to avoid the incoming shoe missiles. Bush is known for being one of the fittest presidents ever, and even though he has taken some ribbing for sticking to his workout regimen no matter what is happening in the rest of the country, we now see the wisdom of this. It's as if he knew that someday, he was going to face a situation in which his safety would depend on his own quick reflexes. Possibly he has also had extensive practice dodging airborne objects precipitated by his wife.
Officials have of course defended the Secret Service agents' lack of action, because "We failed" was voted down as their motto. The participants in the conference had all been vigorously screened and searched multiple times, officials say. We expect that after this incident, further news conferences will be subject to Standard Inane Airline Security Screenings, in which shoes must be removed and inspected for Potential Airborne Missile Properties.
In response to this situation, several observations have been offered that should reassure us about the president's safety, although they may not reassure the president. One is that having reviewed the tapes of the incident, agents will no doubt make some adjustments, so that the next time a shoe is thrown at the president they will be able, while the shoe is in mid-flight, to get the make and shoe size. How this will help the president is not clear, but it would be a notable feat.
We are further encouraged that the agents did not shoot at the thrower, which, in the words of one official, would have caused "extensive collateral damage" in the crowded room. It is surprising, however, that no one thought to shoot at the shoes. This would have been a cool feat, too.
In their defense, the agents did manage to tackle the reporter after he threw the second shoe. It is not clear whether they thought he had a spare pair that he might start throwing, or possibly a medical condition involving a third foot.
Luckily, the president is in excellent physical condition and was able, despite his agents' slowness, to avoid the incoming shoe missiles. Bush is known for being one of the fittest presidents ever, and even though he has taken some ribbing for sticking to his workout regimen no matter what is happening in the rest of the country, we now see the wisdom of this. It's as if he knew that someday, he was going to face a situation in which his safety would depend on his own quick reflexes. Possibly he has also had extensive practice dodging airborne objects precipitated by his wife.
Officials have of course defended the Secret Service agents' lack of action, because "We failed" was voted down as their motto. The participants in the conference had all been vigorously screened and searched multiple times, officials say. We expect that after this incident, further news conferences will be subject to Standard Inane Airline Security Screenings, in which shoes must be removed and inspected for Potential Airborne Missile Properties.
In response to this situation, several observations have been offered that should reassure us about the president's safety, although they may not reassure the president. One is that having reviewed the tapes of the incident, agents will no doubt make some adjustments, so that the next time a shoe is thrown at the president they will be able, while the shoe is in mid-flight, to get the make and shoe size. How this will help the president is not clear, but it would be a notable feat.
We are further encouraged that the agents did not shoot at the thrower, which, in the words of one official, would have caused "extensive collateral damage" in the crowded room. It is surprising, however, that no one thought to shoot at the shoes. This would have been a cool feat, too.
In their defense, the agents did manage to tackle the reporter after he threw the second shoe. It is not clear whether they thought he had a spare pair that he might start throwing, or possibly a medical condition involving a third foot.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Duty calls
The Princess has been filling in for some of Santa's helpers during this busy holiday season (tasting eggnog, etc.) and has therefore been unavailable for her regular duties regarding this blog. We apologize for this, and hope at some future point to return to a more regular schedule.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
The sounds of Christmas, in B-flat BEEP!
This time of year, the sounds of Christmas cheer are everywhere: Santa's jolly ho-ho-ho, strangers wishing you "Happy Holidays!", "I want a hippopotamus for Christmas" playing on the radio an estimated 8,497 times per season, etc. And at the malls we hear the joyous strains of:
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Please return to the nearest service counter. It seems we have neglected to remove the security tag from your purchase. We apologize for the inconvenience and for making you feel like a criminal.
At least, those are the sounds I hear when I go Christmas shopping. I -- and of course anyone within 900 yards of me -- hear BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! when I go into stores, and BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! when I come out. At first this curious occurrence did not seem to have anything to do with me, because of course I had not stolen anything, although I checked my bags to make sure. I figured it must be whoever I happened to be walking out of the store with, and I would look at them with suitable disdain. But then sensors started beeping when there was no one else around. After a couple of incidents I waited to go into or out of a store until someone else was also going in or out, so as to transfer any suspicion aroused from me to them, which may seem pretty unscrupulous. But, in my defense, I did drop the look of disdain.
Despite this maneuver, my palms started getting sweaty whenever I was about to enter or leave a store. I conducted reconnaissance to make sure no salespeople were in proximity. I began to feel that I was guilty. I figured it was only a matter of time before some security person tackled me. And sure enough, finally the inevitable happened:
Nothing.
No one rushed to stop me. No one even called out to me. I went to every store in the mall with a trail of BEEPs! behind me, and no one did a thing.
It happened again when I was shopping with my sister. After an entire day of being at the mall without hearing any BEEPs!, we walked into a department store, and immediately a bevy of BEEPs! announced our arrival. I began to think someone had planted a security tag somewhere inside me, making me a walking Stolen Item.
Rather than do something sensible, like go to the nearest salesperson or return to the last store we'd purchased something from, we decided to conduct an experiment of our own to identify the offending item. "You wait here," my sister said. "I'll go through with my stuff."
She walked out. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I gave her my look of disdain.
"Ah HA!" I said. "It's not me."
But when she came back through, there was no beep.
"You go through," she said.
I went through and came back in. Both times, BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"Ah HA!" she said. "It's not me."
This went on for about five minutes, during which time not one salesperson came to see why the sensor was going off every three seconds. A couple of customers gave us odd looks, but we merely continued on as if this was something completely normal that we did every day.
One of us would remove some items and go through with a few other things. Sometimes we beeped, and we thought we had identified the offender. "Ah HA!" we would say. "It's the jeans from Old Navy!" But then the jeans would not beep on the way back in, and something else would beep on the next trip out. "Ah HA!" we would say. "It's the Hogan's Heroes DVD we bought for Dad!"
As you can see, this was a very scientific experiment.
Finally my sister went through without holding anything, not even her purse.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
We gave up and went home. And no one stopped us.
In time, we figure BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! will be heard so often at this time of year that it just may rank right up there with the all-time favorite Christmas songs.
Which do not, in my opinion, have anything to do with hippopotamuses.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Please return to the nearest service counter. It seems we have neglected to remove the security tag from your purchase. We apologize for the inconvenience and for making you feel like a criminal.
At least, those are the sounds I hear when I go Christmas shopping. I -- and of course anyone within 900 yards of me -- hear BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! when I go into stores, and BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! when I come out. At first this curious occurrence did not seem to have anything to do with me, because of course I had not stolen anything, although I checked my bags to make sure. I figured it must be whoever I happened to be walking out of the store with, and I would look at them with suitable disdain. But then sensors started beeping when there was no one else around. After a couple of incidents I waited to go into or out of a store until someone else was also going in or out, so as to transfer any suspicion aroused from me to them, which may seem pretty unscrupulous. But, in my defense, I did drop the look of disdain.
Despite this maneuver, my palms started getting sweaty whenever I was about to enter or leave a store. I conducted reconnaissance to make sure no salespeople were in proximity. I began to feel that I was guilty. I figured it was only a matter of time before some security person tackled me. And sure enough, finally the inevitable happened:
Nothing.
No one rushed to stop me. No one even called out to me. I went to every store in the mall with a trail of BEEPs! behind me, and no one did a thing.
It happened again when I was shopping with my sister. After an entire day of being at the mall without hearing any BEEPs!, we walked into a department store, and immediately a bevy of BEEPs! announced our arrival. I began to think someone had planted a security tag somewhere inside me, making me a walking Stolen Item.
Rather than do something sensible, like go to the nearest salesperson or return to the last store we'd purchased something from, we decided to conduct an experiment of our own to identify the offending item. "You wait here," my sister said. "I'll go through with my stuff."
She walked out. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! I gave her my look of disdain.
"Ah HA!" I said. "It's not me."
But when she came back through, there was no beep.
"You go through," she said.
I went through and came back in. Both times, BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"Ah HA!" she said. "It's not me."
This went on for about five minutes, during which time not one salesperson came to see why the sensor was going off every three seconds. A couple of customers gave us odd looks, but we merely continued on as if this was something completely normal that we did every day.
One of us would remove some items and go through with a few other things. Sometimes we beeped, and we thought we had identified the offender. "Ah HA!" we would say. "It's the jeans from Old Navy!" But then the jeans would not beep on the way back in, and something else would beep on the next trip out. "Ah HA!" we would say. "It's the Hogan's Heroes DVD we bought for Dad!"
As you can see, this was a very scientific experiment.
Finally my sister went through without holding anything, not even her purse.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
We gave up and went home. And no one stopped us.
In time, we figure BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! will be heard so often at this time of year that it just may rank right up there with the all-time favorite Christmas songs.
Which do not, in my opinion, have anything to do with hippopotamuses.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
A gaggle of geese, a crash of rhinos
Today we are pleased to host a very scholarly discussion of the animal kingdom, thanks to our vast knowledge of how to find trivia on the Internet, and also to our boredom with human topics of interest of late.
Scientists who study animals have the job of making the animal kingdom, which is pretty simple when you think about it, extremely difficult to understand. For instance, if you, an ordinary citizen, were naming a group of, say, partridges, you would probably call them a group of partridges. But scientists, of course, do not think like ordinary citizens. They call a group of partridges a "clutch." But more than that, scientists have to have a different name for groupings of different animals. Pheasants cannot also be said to gather in a clutch, mainly because it does not make them sound pretty enough. So a group of pheasants (who are extremely vain) is called -- really -- a "bouquet."
Groups of both bees and ants, although typically referred to as "swarms" or "groups of bees or ants," are also known as "bikes." This is the REAL secret to how they can travel great distances and still get back to the nest in time for dinner. Also note that young bees are called "fry," as in "The young fry just don't sting like us old folks can."
More than one bullfinch is referred to as "illegal," and they can be ticketed for unlawful assembly. Well, not really. Actually a group of bullfinches is called a "bellowing." If you look up "bullfinch" to see whether it is a bird, a fish, or perhaps a bull, you will find this very helpful description at Wikipedia: "True bullfinches are thick-billed finches in the passerine family Fringillidae." Although enlightening, this definition does nothing to explain why a group of birds might be termed a "bellowing."
But let us not argue with esteemed scientists, who have also given us the term "rabble" to describe a group of butterflies. I myself have been compelled to call the police on several occasions to report rowdy group behavior among the butterflies in our yard. They've opened up little nectar bars, and there they hover, sipping their nectar and generally causing a nuisance.
Among rooks -- which are in the order passerine along with the bullfinches, although they are of a different family, commonly known as the MacPhersons -- you can take your pick of (actual) names for a grouping: a building, clamor, shoal, wing, congregation, or parliament. Rooks are further subdivided into (not actual) right-winged and left-winged parliaments.
If you want to be ordinary when you see birds flying south, you can go ahead and say, like everyone else, "There goes a flock of birds," but if you want to distinguish yourself from everyone else, say "There goes a dissimulation of birds!" Everyone will be very impressed with your knowledge. Or they will think you have been indulging at the nectar bars with the rabble of butterflies.
Mares used to be called, collectively, a "herd," but -- possibly because they wanted a break from being pursued by the opposite sex, or maybe just to mess with the stallions' minds --retermed themselves a "stud." This, of course, confused the stallions, causing them to strut on over to check out the parliaments of rooks.
A "knob" appears to be a term used for a small quantity of some animals, among them the pintail and the pochards. So if you are ever out to dinner at someone's house, and they offer you either pintail or pochards, you can say graciously, "Oh, just a knob of that, please." Do NOT, under any circumstances, inquire what a pintail or pochard is.
This is just a small sample of the vast, amazing world of clamors and dissimulations. We hope you have enjoyed today's presentation, and we look forward to bringing you more bellowing and rabble.
(And yes, a group of rhinos IS called a crash. A group of scientists -- well, you come up with something to describe them.)
Scientists who study animals have the job of making the animal kingdom, which is pretty simple when you think about it, extremely difficult to understand. For instance, if you, an ordinary citizen, were naming a group of, say, partridges, you would probably call them a group of partridges. But scientists, of course, do not think like ordinary citizens. They call a group of partridges a "clutch." But more than that, scientists have to have a different name for groupings of different animals. Pheasants cannot also be said to gather in a clutch, mainly because it does not make them sound pretty enough. So a group of pheasants (who are extremely vain) is called -- really -- a "bouquet."
Groups of both bees and ants, although typically referred to as "swarms" or "groups of bees or ants," are also known as "bikes." This is the REAL secret to how they can travel great distances and still get back to the nest in time for dinner. Also note that young bees are called "fry," as in "The young fry just don't sting like us old folks can."
More than one bullfinch is referred to as "illegal," and they can be ticketed for unlawful assembly. Well, not really. Actually a group of bullfinches is called a "bellowing." If you look up "bullfinch" to see whether it is a bird, a fish, or perhaps a bull, you will find this very helpful description at Wikipedia: "True bullfinches are thick-billed finches in the passerine family Fringillidae." Although enlightening, this definition does nothing to explain why a group of birds might be termed a "bellowing."
But let us not argue with esteemed scientists, who have also given us the term "rabble" to describe a group of butterflies. I myself have been compelled to call the police on several occasions to report rowdy group behavior among the butterflies in our yard. They've opened up little nectar bars, and there they hover, sipping their nectar and generally causing a nuisance.
Among rooks -- which are in the order passerine along with the bullfinches, although they are of a different family, commonly known as the MacPhersons -- you can take your pick of (actual) names for a grouping: a building, clamor, shoal, wing, congregation, or parliament. Rooks are further subdivided into (not actual) right-winged and left-winged parliaments.
If you want to be ordinary when you see birds flying south, you can go ahead and say, like everyone else, "There goes a flock of birds," but if you want to distinguish yourself from everyone else, say "There goes a dissimulation of birds!" Everyone will be very impressed with your knowledge. Or they will think you have been indulging at the nectar bars with the rabble of butterflies.
Mares used to be called, collectively, a "herd," but -- possibly because they wanted a break from being pursued by the opposite sex, or maybe just to mess with the stallions' minds --retermed themselves a "stud." This, of course, confused the stallions, causing them to strut on over to check out the parliaments of rooks.
A "knob" appears to be a term used for a small quantity of some animals, among them the pintail and the pochards. So if you are ever out to dinner at someone's house, and they offer you either pintail or pochards, you can say graciously, "Oh, just a knob of that, please." Do NOT, under any circumstances, inquire what a pintail or pochard is.
This is just a small sample of the vast, amazing world of clamors and dissimulations. We hope you have enjoyed today's presentation, and we look forward to bringing you more bellowing and rabble.
(And yes, a group of rhinos IS called a crash. A group of scientists -- well, you come up with something to describe them.)
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Restroom hazards
If you are one of the readers who voted in the recent survey against the inclusion of sensitive female issues in this blog, you might want to avoid two places: today's post, and the ladies' restroom at my office. Of course, if you voted in this manner and are also male, we sincerely hope that you would avoid the ladies' restroom anyway, but there is no harm in pointing out the dangers that lie therein.
In restrooms you are held captive to other people's conversations. There is no escaping, because you have to be in there a certain amount of time, and from my experience people holding personal conversations in that location never leave before you do. I keep hoping that during one of these conversations someone will leak the whereabouts of a hidden treasure, or at least the secret to baking really soft cookies, but the only discussions I hear generally involve what Joe's family calls TMI, or Too Much Information.
Yesterday while I was in the restroom, a prominent figure in my company entered with her daughter, who -- this is something I learned while listening to them, which demonstrates that restroom conversations can be enlightening -- apparently works with us. There ensued between mother and daughter, who chose adjoining stalls, a lengthy, detailed discussion of a certain monthly female event, to an extent that I certainly never shared with my own mother. Their motto seemed to be: "No Detail Left Undiscussed."
This left me in a quandary. The longer I waited to leave, the more awkward it seemed to do so. My thought processes went something like this:
Do they know I'm there?
Do they care?
Should I hide? How?
I'll make a noise so they know I'm here.
No, it's too late to make a noise now. The window for letting them know someone else is in here has passed. They'll know I've been listening, and they'll think I listened on purpose.
I'll make myself as small as possible, and keep myself squarely lined up with the center of the door. Maybe they won't notice a closed door.
Of course they'll notice a closed door. The paper towel dispenser is right outside the stall where I am hiding.
I suddenly realized that they had moved on from the topic of Too Much Information and were actually preparing to leave. I was free! But before I could make my own escape, two more people came in. One was saying, "So I went to my gynecologist yesterday...."
Rats. Better luck escaping next time.
In restrooms you are held captive to other people's conversations. There is no escaping, because you have to be in there a certain amount of time, and from my experience people holding personal conversations in that location never leave before you do. I keep hoping that during one of these conversations someone will leak the whereabouts of a hidden treasure, or at least the secret to baking really soft cookies, but the only discussions I hear generally involve what Joe's family calls TMI, or Too Much Information.
Yesterday while I was in the restroom, a prominent figure in my company entered with her daughter, who -- this is something I learned while listening to them, which demonstrates that restroom conversations can be enlightening -- apparently works with us. There ensued between mother and daughter, who chose adjoining stalls, a lengthy, detailed discussion of a certain monthly female event, to an extent that I certainly never shared with my own mother. Their motto seemed to be: "No Detail Left Undiscussed."
This left me in a quandary. The longer I waited to leave, the more awkward it seemed to do so. My thought processes went something like this:
Do they know I'm there?
Do they care?
Should I hide? How?
I'll make a noise so they know I'm here.
No, it's too late to make a noise now. The window for letting them know someone else is in here has passed. They'll know I've been listening, and they'll think I listened on purpose.
I'll make myself as small as possible, and keep myself squarely lined up with the center of the door. Maybe they won't notice a closed door.
Of course they'll notice a closed door. The paper towel dispenser is right outside the stall where I am hiding.
I suddenly realized that they had moved on from the topic of Too Much Information and were actually preparing to leave. I was free! But before I could make my own escape, two more people came in. One was saying, "So I went to my gynecologist yesterday...."
Rats. Better luck escaping next time.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
What's causing YOUR headache?
Over the years, medical personnel have identified a number of different types of headaches people suffer from: stress, migraine, sinus, lack of chocolate, etc. Less studied is a very common type of headache among married couples: spouse-induced.
Out of the blue one day, Joe mused that if we were going to have kids -- you will realize that this was an entirely hypothetical conversation -- he would want to name one of them Rufus. He did not specify whether this would be a name for a male or a female.
I wanted to be clear that Rufus was not an acceptable name for a child, real or hypothetical. "Rufus is a dog's name," I said in disdain.
"It's in the Bible," he pointed out.
"Nebuchadnezzar is in the Bible, too," I said. "You want to name a kid Nebuchadnezzar?"
The spouse-induced headache, were it recognized by the medical community, would rate right up there with migraines. The only known cure is for the spouse causing the headache to say something sensible, such as "Honey, let's go to Hawaii this year!" Instead the spouse, whether aware or not of the effect of his or her words upon the partner, generally persists in inflicting further physical pain.
"Ezekiel is another good name," Joe said decisively. "Rufus and Ezekiel."
The spouse-induced headache may be the greatest medical concern of our time, but recognition is scarce. I urge you to lobby for funding to address this very real malady. Any such funding will go directly to sufferers, to send them to Hawaii.
Disclaimer: The above is NOT a cleverly disguised attempt to announce that there are any Rufuses or Ezekiels expected. In fact, conversations like these merely confirm for me that the world is better off without any offspring in our household, no matter what they are named.
Out of the blue one day, Joe mused that if we were going to have kids -- you will realize that this was an entirely hypothetical conversation -- he would want to name one of them Rufus. He did not specify whether this would be a name for a male or a female.
I wanted to be clear that Rufus was not an acceptable name for a child, real or hypothetical. "Rufus is a dog's name," I said in disdain.
"It's in the Bible," he pointed out.
"Nebuchadnezzar is in the Bible, too," I said. "You want to name a kid Nebuchadnezzar?"
The spouse-induced headache, were it recognized by the medical community, would rate right up there with migraines. The only known cure is for the spouse causing the headache to say something sensible, such as "Honey, let's go to Hawaii this year!" Instead the spouse, whether aware or not of the effect of his or her words upon the partner, generally persists in inflicting further physical pain.
"Ezekiel is another good name," Joe said decisively. "Rufus and Ezekiel."
The spouse-induced headache may be the greatest medical concern of our time, but recognition is scarce. I urge you to lobby for funding to address this very real malady. Any such funding will go directly to sufferers, to send them to Hawaii.
Disclaimer: The above is NOT a cleverly disguised attempt to announce that there are any Rufuses or Ezekiels expected. In fact, conversations like these merely confirm for me that the world is better off without any offspring in our household, no matter what they are named.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Readers have their say
In case you missed the recent Slightly Humorous reader survey, sorry, it is too late to cast your vote. Better luck next time. But we can learn many important things from the results of the survey, which tied with a previous survey for the lowest number of respondents. The first is, never put out a poll right before a major holiday. Turkey brain has already set in, and no one can remember to vote.
With only four readers voting, you might wonder how we can make any conclusions when we did not reach our scientific sample of 6.3874932 voters. The answer is complicated, but basically, the reason is that we can do whatever we want.
The good news is that 75% of respondents said they actually read 100% of any given blog post. 25% read just half. Adding 75 and 100 and 25 and half, we get 250%, which means that people are reading more of a post than is actually there. (We are able to extrapolate these figures thanks to our specialized, secondhand knowledge from Joe's Fuzzy Math course, in which numbers are just suggestions.)
"Random words" did not appear to be a popular method of reading the blog, although we think it might prove more interesting in some cases. Perhaps in the future, as a scientific experiment (or when we run out of things to talk about), we will create a blog consisting entirely of words pulled at random from a variety of blog posts, including other people's.
No one indicated that they read only the first and last words of a blog post. This means that my mother did not vote. Reading only the beginning and ending is her approach to all written materials, including recipes, which makes for some interesting dining experiences.
The next question on the survey was "What topics would you like to read about in this blog?" Surprisingly, no one chose politics or pets. We surmise -- although it is difficult to know with certainty -- that this is because these choices did not appear.
The number one choice of topic was "Joe's math homework on Poisson processes." We are mystified at this, although we surmise two reasons it was so popular: People misread it and were intrigued at the idea of reading about poison processes -- which makes them very suspect -- OR, Joe voted several times. No doubt he would like someone to give him answers to those Poisson process questions.
The adventures of the Prissy Princess and the Gallant Hero came in second in the desired topic category, showing either the enduring popularity of these characters or the limited choice of answers for this question. We choose to believe the first reason.
In contrast, only one respondent noted a desire to read more about the world outside of the Princess and Hero's castle, possibly indicating the majority's belief that there IS no such place.
Although this survey is entirely anonymous, we can surmise, from the two votes for wishing "sensitive female issues" to not appear in the blog, that at least two voters are male. And speaking of sensitive female issues -- ha! Just kidding. You're safe from such things here.
According to scientific polling standards, the final question of the survey -- "How could this blog improve?" -- really should be dismissed from the results because it did not include an obvious answer that I'm sure all our respondents would have chosen had it been an option: "This blog is perfect just as it is." But give people a chance to point out shortcomings, and they certainly will.
Votes were evenly split among "adding pictures," "letting Joe tell his side of things," and "adding new posts more often." As for pictures, you may remember the outcome of the first attempt of this blog to include pictures. If so, you will know why we do not include, and are not likely to include in the near future, pictures.
The votes for adding new posts more often is not surprising, given the reader dissatisfaction we incurred when moving to an every-other-day format, but let me point out that even some major newspapers in the country, due to poor economic times and a lack of interesting news now that the election is over, have themselves moved to fewer issues per week. Although this has nothing to do with us, I just thought I would point it out.
We are relieved that no one chose "shut down immediately" as a suggestion for improving the blog. This is definitely a sensitive female topic, especially to this particular female. We cannot help admitting, however, that secretly we had hoped someone would vote for "having someone else write the blog," and that that someone would also have volunteered to write it occasionally. And include pictures.
With only four readers voting, you might wonder how we can make any conclusions when we did not reach our scientific sample of 6.3874932 voters. The answer is complicated, but basically, the reason is that we can do whatever we want.
The good news is that 75% of respondents said they actually read 100% of any given blog post. 25% read just half. Adding 75 and 100 and 25 and half, we get 250%, which means that people are reading more of a post than is actually there. (We are able to extrapolate these figures thanks to our specialized, secondhand knowledge from Joe's Fuzzy Math course, in which numbers are just suggestions.)
"Random words" did not appear to be a popular method of reading the blog, although we think it might prove more interesting in some cases. Perhaps in the future, as a scientific experiment (or when we run out of things to talk about), we will create a blog consisting entirely of words pulled at random from a variety of blog posts, including other people's.
No one indicated that they read only the first and last words of a blog post. This means that my mother did not vote. Reading only the beginning and ending is her approach to all written materials, including recipes, which makes for some interesting dining experiences.
The next question on the survey was "What topics would you like to read about in this blog?" Surprisingly, no one chose politics or pets. We surmise -- although it is difficult to know with certainty -- that this is because these choices did not appear.
The number one choice of topic was "Joe's math homework on Poisson processes." We are mystified at this, although we surmise two reasons it was so popular: People misread it and were intrigued at the idea of reading about poison processes -- which makes them very suspect -- OR, Joe voted several times. No doubt he would like someone to give him answers to those Poisson process questions.
The adventures of the Prissy Princess and the Gallant Hero came in second in the desired topic category, showing either the enduring popularity of these characters or the limited choice of answers for this question. We choose to believe the first reason.
In contrast, only one respondent noted a desire to read more about the world outside of the Princess and Hero's castle, possibly indicating the majority's belief that there IS no such place.
Although this survey is entirely anonymous, we can surmise, from the two votes for wishing "sensitive female issues" to not appear in the blog, that at least two voters are male. And speaking of sensitive female issues -- ha! Just kidding. You're safe from such things here.
According to scientific polling standards, the final question of the survey -- "How could this blog improve?" -- really should be dismissed from the results because it did not include an obvious answer that I'm sure all our respondents would have chosen had it been an option: "This blog is perfect just as it is." But give people a chance to point out shortcomings, and they certainly will.
Votes were evenly split among "adding pictures," "letting Joe tell his side of things," and "adding new posts more often." As for pictures, you may remember the outcome of the first attempt of this blog to include pictures. If so, you will know why we do not include, and are not likely to include in the near future, pictures.
The votes for adding new posts more often is not surprising, given the reader dissatisfaction we incurred when moving to an every-other-day format, but let me point out that even some major newspapers in the country, due to poor economic times and a lack of interesting news now that the election is over, have themselves moved to fewer issues per week. Although this has nothing to do with us, I just thought I would point it out.
We are relieved that no one chose "shut down immediately" as a suggestion for improving the blog. This is definitely a sensitive female topic, especially to this particular female. We cannot help admitting, however, that secretly we had hoped someone would vote for "having someone else write the blog," and that that someone would also have volunteered to write it occasionally. And include pictures.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Black Friday, then and now
No doubt many of you participated in Black Friday, which supposedly is the official opening of the Christmas shopping season but which is really a cleverly disguised activity for working off all those Thanksgiving calories indulged in the day before. More weight is lost among Americans, collectively, on this day than any other day of the year. If Black Friday shopping is fully participated in, shoppers can expect to expend the following number of calories (all numbers are in the thousands):
-- Hitting, shoving, and otherwise plowing through crowds of fellow shoppers: 972 calories
-- Running through store to get to electronics area: 763 calories
-- Searching for an empty table in the food court: 207 calories
-- Eating while standing up because you could not find an empty table in the food court: 178 calories
-- Shuffling from stall to stall in the public restroom in search of one that is not totally disgusting: 5 calories, or 0 for males, because this activity is generally considered unnecessary for them
-- Going back and forth from one checkout line to another in an attempt to discover which is moving faster: 134 calories
-- Wandering around parking lot looking for lost car: 13,389 calories
Unfortunately, although driving around looking for a parking spot consumes an enormous amount of gas and patience, 0 calories are expended during this activity.
The Pilgrims, of course, did not have to worry about finding a parking spot at the mall on Black Friday, as there were no malls. And no cars. They just ambled on over, at a leisurely pace, to the Indians' place, where they could get all their Christmas gifts in one trip, provided everyone on their list wanted beaver furs and pelts.
But lest you think they had it easy, remember they had to do a lot of bartering. This is because they didn't have coupons yet. "You trade daughter for beaver blanket," the Indians would insist. And the Pilgrims would think hard for about 30 seconds, shrug, and say okay, figuring that meant one less person to buy gifts for.
"Can I have it by Christmas?" was a common question the Pilgrims would ask when putting in their special orders. And the Indians, who had no idea when Christmas was, would shrug and say sure, for an extra helping of mincemeat pie. "What's in that mincemeat pie, anyway?" the Indians would ask.
"You don't want to know," the Pilgrims would say.
Compared to us, the Pilgrims had sharply curtailed shopping hours, because the 3-6 a.m. sales hadn't been invented yet. Plus, they didn't like to be out after dark, especially in Indian territory. The Indians' offer to "have them for dinner sometime" might take on a different meaning if they stuck around too long.
So in this season of thankfulness and cheer, we can be grateful even for all the headaches of modern shopping. As always in life, if you try to avoid the unpleasant parts, you will pay a price. If you choose to do all your shopping online, be warned: You will expend a grand total of 2 calories.
-- Hitting, shoving, and otherwise plowing through crowds of fellow shoppers: 972 calories
-- Running through store to get to electronics area: 763 calories
-- Searching for an empty table in the food court: 207 calories
-- Eating while standing up because you could not find an empty table in the food court: 178 calories
-- Shuffling from stall to stall in the public restroom in search of one that is not totally disgusting: 5 calories, or 0 for males, because this activity is generally considered unnecessary for them
-- Going back and forth from one checkout line to another in an attempt to discover which is moving faster: 134 calories
-- Wandering around parking lot looking for lost car: 13,389 calories
Unfortunately, although driving around looking for a parking spot consumes an enormous amount of gas and patience, 0 calories are expended during this activity.
The Pilgrims, of course, did not have to worry about finding a parking spot at the mall on Black Friday, as there were no malls. And no cars. They just ambled on over, at a leisurely pace, to the Indians' place, where they could get all their Christmas gifts in one trip, provided everyone on their list wanted beaver furs and pelts.
But lest you think they had it easy, remember they had to do a lot of bartering. This is because they didn't have coupons yet. "You trade daughter for beaver blanket," the Indians would insist. And the Pilgrims would think hard for about 30 seconds, shrug, and say okay, figuring that meant one less person to buy gifts for.
"Can I have it by Christmas?" was a common question the Pilgrims would ask when putting in their special orders. And the Indians, who had no idea when Christmas was, would shrug and say sure, for an extra helping of mincemeat pie. "What's in that mincemeat pie, anyway?" the Indians would ask.
"You don't want to know," the Pilgrims would say.
Compared to us, the Pilgrims had sharply curtailed shopping hours, because the 3-6 a.m. sales hadn't been invented yet. Plus, they didn't like to be out after dark, especially in Indian territory. The Indians' offer to "have them for dinner sometime" might take on a different meaning if they stuck around too long.
So in this season of thankfulness and cheer, we can be grateful even for all the headaches of modern shopping. As always in life, if you try to avoid the unpleasant parts, you will pay a price. If you choose to do all your shopping online, be warned: You will expend a grand total of 2 calories.
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