Content-Type: text/shitpost

In the 1960s my grandparents were involved in the (successful!) effort to integrate the public elementary schools in Teaneck, NJ. One of their most virulent opponents was a man named Warner. (My grandfather said “as I remember all the time that Harry Warner was complaining against busing, he sent his kid to a private school way up county where he had to be bused every day.”) My grandmother was a writer, and one way she dealt with her feelings about Mr. Warner was to go home and write a detective story in which Warner was the murder victim.

So as not to invite further attention from this vicious and bitter man, she changed the character's name to Wagner, or Wapner, or something of that sort.

But when the story was published, her editor, without informing her, changed the victim's name to “Warner”. When my grandmother saw it in print, she was appalled.

Fortunately nothing ever came of it. But my grandmother told me that she had learned her lesson. “If you want to disguise the name of someone named Warner,” she said “you don't change it to Walker; you change it to Brzezinski.”

DEAR PHILADELPHIA CITTY PLANNING COMMISSION:

Philadelphia's east-west streets are famously named for trees, ever since the time the city was planned by William Penn in the 1680s. Chestnut, Walnut, Locust, Spruce, and Pine are major streets. Race Street was formerly named Sassafras, and Arch used to be Mulberry. South Street was formerly Cedar, and in West Philadelphia the street at that position is still Cedar. West Philadelphia also has Osage and Larchwood Avenues.

My previous shitpost depicted a spruce tree, at the intersection of 45th and Pine Street. There are some osage trees near where I live, but none of them is on Osage Avenue. I know where there are some cedar trees, but they're on Spruce. I know where there are some other spruce trees, but they're on Pine. There are a bunch of mulberry trees, but they are all on Ludlow. (There used to be some on 46th but they were cut down.) My courtyard has eight big locust trees, but it is not on Locust Street; it is between Spruce and Pine.

I don't think there are any walnut or chestnut trees at all. Most of the trees around here are London Plane trees and we have no Plane Street and no Sycamore Street.

NOT VERY GOOD PLANNING IS IT NOW? PLEASE DO YOUR JOB AND FIX THIS AT ONCE.

OR SUFFER THE UNSPEAKABLE CONSEQUENCES

On the corner of 45th and Pine Street is this tree:

The new tufts of needles grow out of the twigs with these little protective hats on them. Once the tufts are all the way out, the hats fall off.

Note that despite the location, this is not a pine, but a spruce. Spruce street is one block over.

So I was out in Cleveland last week looking for breakfast, and there was this place in Public Square that I was about to go into, but it had this on the door:

That seemed to me to be clear a signal as any that they wanted someone else's business and not mine, so I took the hint and ate at the anti-vaxxer place down the street.

Here are the volume graduations on the tank of my Water-Pik:

Now what is going on here?

I measured the heights of the marks in pixels in the photo:

Then I ran linear regressions.

For the milliliters values, the line is $$\text{px} = 2.59\text{ ml } -419$$ with a correlation of 99.9988%. Fair enough.

For the ounces values, the line is $$\text{px} = 76.5\text{ oz } -495$$ with a 99.86% correlation. That slope of !!76.5\frac{\text{px}}{\text{oz}}!! is exactly the same as the !!2.59\frac{\text{px}}{\text{ml}}!! slope in the previous line. If we correct the two suspicious ounce numbers from 16 and 19 to 15 and 18, the correlation goes up to 99.9988% but the slope increases to !!84.5\frac{\text{px}}{\text{oz}}!!.

I guess the next step would be to measure the amounts but

Addendum: That's the point at which I lost interest and broke off mid-sentence. It's now about 24 hours later and I've decided to publish what I have.

Enjoy!

Is there a word for when you have an idea that is a really good idea, but you feel dumb for not thinking of it sooner, because it seems so obvious once you have it?

A few years ago there was this variety of pasta sauce we used to eat a lot that had chnuks of Italian sausage in it. Then the brand discontinued that variety. For a long time I would look forlornly to see if it had come back on sale. Other brands make a similar type of sauce but we didn't like them as much.

Today I had my idea: I could buy the same brand of sauce, and a package of Italian sausage, brown the sausage and put it into the sauce myself. Victory! But I feel dumb for not thinking of it sooner.

OR SUFFER THE UNSPEAKABLE CONSEQUENCES

After I told my wife that riddle (and she has to put up with this kind of thing all the time) she pointed out that “butterer” was also a word.

I said “And someone who even more of a butterer is buttererer!”

She rejected this.

“Okay, then the person who is in charge of appointing people to the position of butterer is the buttererer.”

She grudgingly agreed to that.

Q: What's more butt than butt?

A: Butter!

Lately I have been getting messages that look like this:

Dear owner of http://slatestarcodex.com,

I am the owner of [some other site]

I came across your website, http://slatestarcodex.com, and absolutely loved it! The things are, I write on topics very similar to those covered in your blog, and I already have a few ideas for a guest posts in mind that I'm sure will be interesting for your readers.

I was wondering, do you accept guest posts? If you do so, are there any guidelines for me to check out?

I'll be happy to discuss any guest blogging opportunities with you!

Looking forward to hearing from you soon,

which would be annoying if they were asking about my actual blog and is ten times as annoying when they are asking about someone else's blog that I have nothing to do with.

How can I fuck with these people most effectively? Should I invite them to submit articles for publication, and then ask for revision after revision until they give up? What are these folks actually trying to accomplish?

Don't try to put a ham up your ass.

A few jobs ago, I was talking with some so-workers about something or other, and I mentioned something or other that had happened to me when I was at math camp.

One of them exclaimed, incredulously, “You went to math camp?”

I did go to math camp. Me! Of all people. I know it's hard to believe.

… at an event at my kids' school this evening:

Until my post a few days ago I had never tried to write a lipogram. The idea filled me with ennui. It seemed so tedious. But a two-sentence comment on math.se was my gateway drug. The blog post was not originally intended to be lipogrammatic itself. But a compulsion rose in me and once I started I found I couldn't stop.

I tinkered with it for hours. I couldn't think of a way around quoting the original bounty proposal that included the letter “e” so I put it in with a flowery and lipogrammatic apology. At one point I said aloud “this is good enough and I am not going to edit it any more!” But I didn't stick to that; I kept tinkering with it, trying to get the phrasing to be more natural, the words to be better-selected.

When I finally put it aside, I found I still wasn't done. I wrote a plugin for my blog software so that when it is generating a page, on which the title of the first post mentions lipograms, it replaces the name of the blog and all the other boilerplate with e-less versions.

I can totally imagine now how someone could write an e-less novel. Then I went back to my earlier lament about having lost my first writeup, to add a link to the new writeup, and I really meant to just dash it off, but the bug got me again and it came out with no e's.

While writing up this note I felt twinges several times as I wrote words or phrases that contained e's. It is so tempting to stop and try to get rid of them. And when I do write a phrase that is e-less, or almost e-less, I feel a pull to go back and expand it into a full sentence. Just now I stopped for thirty seconds to think about

I can totally imagine now how someone could …

and how I should revise it to:

I can totally identify now how an author could …

Oops, “identify”. Try again:

I now hold a total sympathy for how an author could …

Okay, I will stop now. That was just an example. I precommitted to not turning this article into a lipogram and I am going to stick to that. It was even harder to not turn the pre-commitment itself into a lipogram, or better, to write it so that its only vowel was 'e'. But I managed. Barely.

I mentioned some of this to Rik Signes last week, and looking over the one-line addendum I started editing it again, and then:

OMG, I'm at it again. I just did s/but/and/ and s/outclass/outstrip/.
MUST STOP.
Now I want to post what I just told you, but I'm afraid if I did I would succumb to

at this point I made a major effort and finished:

the temptation to change it to remove all the e's.

I just went back to change the title of this article from

Lipograms are hard to put down

to

I found lipograms hard to put down

and breathed a sigh of contentment.

I truly did not know I had this in me. It's a bit frightening, and I am not going to modify that to say “scary”.

But I did change “change” to “modify”.

Someone help me, I'm sick.

Today I was telling some folks about how there are more chemical senses than just smell and taste. (The chemical sense researchers call these by the highfalutin' names “olfaction” and “gustation”.) The sense that detects the irritation of hot peppers is completely separate, and unlike gustation and solfaction it is carried to the brain by the trigeminal nerve.

The nerve endings sense and respond to the sting of ammonia, the coolness of menthol, and the burn of chili peppers or ginger. We often enjoy these sensations, as well as bubbly drinks and spicy, tingly foods, when the chemicals are present in small amounts.

(“Monell Taste Primer” provided by the Monell Chemical Senses Center.)

Then I tried to remember which cranial nerve carries the sense of olfaction, and I looked it up in Wikipedia.

It is the olfactory nerve.

Oh, yeah. That's what that does.

(The sense of taste is the responsibility of the glossopharyngeal nerve.)

The phases of an eight-phase dual-ring intersection provide an interesting example of a non-transitive relation.

Let !!a!! and !!b!! be phases, and write !!a\sim b!! when the phases are compatible, which means that traffic making those movements will not collide. This relation is reflexive and symmetric, but not transitive, because for example we have !!\Phi6\sim \Phi1!! and !!\Phi1\sim \Phi5!! but not !!\Phi6\sim\Phi 5!!. A mathematician would have numbered the phases differently, but even with the standard numbering the rule is not too complicated:

$$ a\sim b \text{ when any of these holds:} \begin{cases} a\in\{\Phi1, \Phi 2\}\text{ and }b\in\{\Phi5, \Phi6\},\text{ or} \\ a\in\{\Phi3, \Phi 4\}\text{ and }b\in\{\Phi7, \Phi8\},\text{ or} \\ a = b \end{cases} $$

Soon, perhaps tomorrow, I will post about lipograms again, and this is my pre-commitment that I will not try to turn the post into a lipogram. Also I will not try to go the other direction and write it to omit all the other vowels.

I was tempted to end this note with “Yow! Am I having fun?” but I am not going to do it.

That last phrase was e-less but it was by accident. But now I want to go back and fix — arrgh I am doing it again! —ARRGH — thE rEst of thE SENTENCE. HA, THERE. I WILL RESIST. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

e

e

e

OR SUFFER THE UNSPEAKABLE CONSEQUENCES

Same.

(original source)

It's been too long since I did one of these posts. The blame is entirely mine, as the software itself has been holding up its end of the job.

Here I am asking my phone for driving directions to the Wawa store:

1. Why is each of its top 5 suggestions more than 7 miles away, when there must be half a dozen stores closer than that? Is there something so marvelous about the Wawa in Upper Darby that I should prefer it?

2. Why is it suggesting that I might be interested in a Wawa 47 miles away in Bethlehem?

3. Last time I asked for directions to a Wawa, it was to the one on Oak Lane, 5.9 miles away. Why doesn't it guess that I might be trying to go back to the same place?

(I have no problem with the inclusion of item 6, 17 miles away; that is the town of Wawa, Pennsylvania, after which the store takes its name.)

This is old news, but maybe you haven't seen it yet:

Nun Involved In Katy Perry Convent Lawsuit Collapses And Dies In Court