Plinth

It is not my intention to start "a word of the day" theme, nor is this space going to devolve into some kind of Jungian dream journal.  However, I have had more vivid dreams lately than normal, several each night, and one of them was highly unusual.  Two nights ago, I dreamed of the word "plinth".  In my head, I saw it in print, I heard it spoken, and I myself said the word, repeating it.  At the time I had no idea what it means and was only vaguely assured in my dream that it is, in fact, an actual word.

I trolled the internet for definitions and the one I like the best came from the ubiquitous Wikipedia:

In architecture, a plinth is the base or platform upon which a column, pedestal, statue, monument or structure rests.^[1] Gottfried Semper's The Four Elements of Architecture (1851) posited that the plinth, the hearth, the roof, and the wall make up all of architectural theory. According to Semper, the plinth exists to negotiate between a structure and the ground. Semper's theory has been very influential in the subsequent development of architecture.^[2]

I especially like the line, "exists to negotiate between a structure and the ground."

Why I dreamed this word, I have no idea.  Maybe I should ask a Jungian.  Here are a couple of more gratuitous plinth pics:

Here is a different kind of plinth...evidently it is also a kind of sophisticated, articulating medical chair:

And here's a short video about an art project involving a famous plinth and a bunch of English folk:





Has anybody else ever had a dream about a word? Next, I just need to start working it into as many conversations as possible.

Ethiopian Mathematics

For a couple of reasons, I've been thinking about mathematics lately.

JP had a homework assignment from his Finite Mathematics class (IU/East) this past week that was really interesting. His assignment was to create an instructional video, a visual tutorial for the solving of a complicated problem incorporating ratios, matrices, chemicals, fertilizer, and marketing.

First, I marveled at the ease with which that he could solve such a tricky problem. My family's DNA is largely minus this particular gene. But my son is not only good at it, he also takes a measure of enjoyment from it's successful pursuit. The class itself is interesting in that it's emphasis is on real-world applications, not merely theoretical abstractions. Not that there is anything intrinsically wrong with theoretical abstractions, per se.

Secondly, even though he thought the whole thing was no big deal, JP was very creative in the way he assembled his tutorial video, using markers, Sharpies, digital camera, and a confident, engaging patois that made it all surprisingly interesting. No, really. His teacher is planning to use this video, and the others created by JP's classmates as the basis for a website that student's can use to learn how to solve different types of math problems. Personally, the whole thing struck me as yet another remarkable example of how technology has transformed the way we learn and communicate. However, as recently as 10 years ago, the capability of producing this kind of thing on the dining room table did not practically exist within the reach of most people. Twenty years ago, we really didn't even have the vocabulary to discuss or understand the concept.

Here is another short math video, produced by the BBC, that I found fascinating, too. It is about the strange connections between an ancient mathematical practice still in use today by Ethiopian merchants and it's connection to modern computer calculation algorithms. Check it out.



Personally, I find it a compelling argument for intelligent design and strong evidence of the creative mind of God. But I digress...

Postcards from Hell

I get them. I am certain you do too. If you are like me, most of the time you either ignore where they come from or you minimize their significance. Occasionally, you may not even realize who sent you that Postcard, but most of the time you know.

I need to quit reading the Postcards from Hell. Sometimes I get several a day. How did That Guy get my address, anyway? Oh, yeah, now I remember. I gave it to him and he's always had it. And he sends me Postcards even though I've asked to be taken off of his mailing list. Are you on his mailing list? I bet you are.

Postcards from Hell are full of lies and bad news. Mostly just lies, and mostly lies about The News. Because The News is not really bad. The News is Good.

I need to quit reading the Postcards from Hell. Otherwise, how can a man like me remain in the light?

Trent over at Morphine Life has some excellent things to say about this, too, and a great song to share by the Wood Brothers. Check it out.

Hell, Norway
Is that train about to leave the station?
-----

High School Reunion - NHS Class of 1978

This past weekend, while in Texas on business, I also attended my high school reunion. It was a modest celebration at the local Knights of Columbus hall on Saturday night. There was barbecue, classic rock, and, fortunately, name tags. Other than the observation that all of those people have somehow gotten old, I am pretty much at a loss for any particularly “deep thoughts” with respect to the Chester W. Nimitz High School class of 1978. I had a very nice time. Simply, it was fun to see some of my old friends again and swap a story or two. Most of them I had not seen since our graduation, although I have had some sporadic correspondence with a few in the intervening years. I even enjoyed good conversation with people to whom, even in high school, I had not been especially close to.

Turns out, it is very hard to convey in one 15-minute conversation all of the life that you have seen in the past 30 years, even to someone who is genuinely interested. And, even when you are interested in hearing what their life is all about, you realize as you listen that you are only getting the AM radio version of a 60-second trailer to an epic movie that was itself an adaptation of a richly written ten-volume historical novel series transcribed from a language you dimly remember but no longer actually speak. (How’s that for a torturous metaphor?) That’s not to say that what is said is not meaningful or appreciated, because it is. But it is inadequate, incomplete. And it must ever be.

For example, one of the things that happens is that everyone stands around and wonders aloud about the people who aren’t there. “Whatever happened to James? And what was his sister’s name?” That’s kind of an interesting thread but it, too, either leads to a dead end or to a place that just kind of trails off into the hills, uncertain and unknowable.

I was saddened to hear about those who had died, grieved to hear of the stories of broken marriages, disappointing careers, ill health, poor choices, and difficult trials. But I was also glad, genuinely happy, to hear of the long, happy marriages and the stories of success and fulfillment, of going back to college for a new career, of surviving the death of a spouse, and of building a rich family life on a bedrock of faith and unflagging love.

It is likely I’ll never see most of those people again, I suppose. Some I will undoubtedly see on the other side and I look forward to that, too.

More than anything else, I came away with a greater sense of appreciation for my own family and a deep, strong affirmation that God is in control of it all.

And now for something completely different

This is a great, low-budget video by Aimee Mann, a singer/songwriter I've admired for many, many years.  She sings some of the best sad songs you will ever hear.  If her music is even marginally autobiographical then, poor girl, I don't think she has ever had a relationship that turned out well.  

As humorous as the video piece is, the song itself is poignant, expressing lyrically what many people feel as they approach the middle season of their lives:

"I thought my life would be different somehow,"

"I thought my life would be better by now."

Honestly, there are times when I feel this way, but it is usually just my episodic and passing melancholia, my small portion of "the artist's temperament."  Most of the time I am stunned at how blessed I am.  Really.

That doesn't mean that my life is perfect, or that it is what I thought it might be when I was 22 years old, looking forward.  It doesn't mean that I'm done either, ready to quit the race, cash in my chips, and relax.  Because I'm not.  But, by and large, I am content, happy with the choices I've made, and pleased with the things I've been able to do.  I've done absurdly stupid things and learned some difficult lessons the hard way, as many people do.  But mostly, I've been the beneficiary of such amazing love and consideration, such undeserved blessing.  Gratitude and humility is what I feel most of the time.  So far, I can count my regrets on one hand.

Life is interactive, and the world changes you over time.  More than you are ever going to change it, to be sure.  This is not a bad thing, and it is a true thing.  It takes 30 or 40 years before that realization starts to sink in and make some sense in a usable way.

At the moment, it looks like I will be attending my 30th high school reunion next month, Nimitz High School, Irving, Texas, class of 1978.  I hadn't planned to, but serendipitous events colluded to make it so.  It should be fun.  It will probably be strange. 

h/t Instapundit, who consistently has excellent taste in music.

Facebook gets personal

Okay, so Facebook's idea of a clever advertising strategy is to put an ad like this on my Profile page:

48 and Overweight?

 

Fat burning green tea will get you in shape! Try it free.

Just pay shipping!

Of course, clicking on the above ad takes me to a webpage that describes in hyperbolic detail the life-changing effect that green tea tablets will have on my physique and pysche.  And it's free!  Just pay shipping!

Now, I ask you, what makes them think that I want to be insulted on my own Facebook page? Obviously, since I gave them my date of birth on signup, they are using that information to attempt a devious ploy.  I wonder what would have happened if I told them I was 103, would I still get the same invitation?  What percentage of 48-year olds have (or want) abs like this, do you think? And what other information from my profile are they bending to their nefarious marketing purposes?

Admittedly, I'm not built like I was 25 years ago when my metabolism first started winding down to it's present crawl, but I am still reasonably healthy and able-bodied for a geezer.  It is worthwhile to note, also, that is not only circumference, softness, and a general weathering that comes with age, but also at least a modicum of wisdom and understanding about the world. Two things I know: Green tea does not produce six-pack abs (see Buddha), and more importantly, if God intended for 48-year old men to have abs like that he would not have blessed the earth with pasta.  

Amen.

Metaphor

I was going to post some lyrics that I had written recently that I liked.

However, I can't seem to find them anymore. I believe they are buried somewhere under all of the business paperwork that is on my desk.