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Mar. 17th, 2022

Akirlu of the Teas

What Was Old Is New Again

Savery Hall in Springtime
Savery Hall in Springtime

So, Hal has reminded me that having all my old journal posts saved only at a Russian-owned journaling site might make them vulnerable to the repercussions of our current geopolitical situation.  Fair point.  So I've taken the precaution of importing all my old posts over to Dreamwidth so that all these snapshots of former days needn't disappear even if this journal does.  Heck, I might even start journaling again, though mostly, I suspect, over there.


Feb. 10th, 2017

Akirlu of the Teas

Snow Day

snowpocalypse pano

Actual snow falling in the Puget Sound is pretty rare. The combination of cold enough and wet enough at the same time is tricksy and unpredictable even when it might happen. If it's cold enough, usually that's because the air is clear as a bell and you can see the Pleiades at night. No snow. If it's wet enough, the cloud cover insulates against cold and we get rain. Even with practiced meteorologists running multiple forecast models, as often as not the warnings go out for snow and little or nothing comes of it. You get pretty skeptical about the warnings. But Sunday afternoon Hal was reading aloud to me from Cliff Mass's post on the predictive models for the incoming weather front:

As noted many times in this blog, the European Center has the best large scale forecasts and their large ensemble is considered the best. [...T]heir 51 ensemble forecasts...[v]irtually all go for snow, with some showing as much as 10-12 inches. The ensemble average ... is for about 8 inches (see panel below), with their single high resolution run, a bit more.


Pause. If I heard that right, it sounds like the most trusted models are predicting something like a minimum of 8 inches of snow. Says local weather god, Cliff Mass. Well, okay then.

I needed to pick up dog treats and bread for the week anyway, so we turned it into a more serious shopping run and hit both Trader Joe's and Fred Meyer and laid in Serious Supplies. By the time we'd run the errands, the rain had turned to sleet and then full on snow, though it wasn't sticking yet. By the time I'd unpacked the groceries snow was accumulating, and we saw about two inches pile up in the next hour. Somewhere in there we decided to make dinner at home and watch streaming movies rather than go out to dinner and the cinema. Retrospectively, a wise choice. The local weather nerd, er, Weather Underground station, reported our neighborhood got 7.5" overnight. Not much by Midwest standards, but the Midwest doesn't have our 12% grade hills. Accumulation varied a lot -- North Seattle weighed in at only 1.5", some parts of the East Side got literally ten times as much. Elevation matters.

We never lost power except for flickers, so we had heat, internet, and plenty of food, Mondays are Hal's weekend, and my office was closed for weather, so it was about as pleasant and low key a snow day as you could wish for.

Only today, after a whole day of semi-tropical rain squalls yesterday, are the last patches of snow melted. Now we have mud and flooding instead. Far less picturesque.

Feb. 2nd, 2017

Akirlu of the Teas

Department of Silver Linings

Seattle Sunset

My phone was stolen on Monday.

I was distracted at the time, so I wasn't 100% sure it was theft because anybody can do stupid shit when distracted. But I was like 98% sure, because I hadn't gotten far from the point of loss and my phone was absolutely, positively, completely not there. It had a bright pink flip cover, so it's pretty hard to miss.

So I filed a report with my insurer to start the process of getting a new phone. I tried to file online, but their website kept giving error messages toward the end of the data entry process. I tried a different browser, just in case, but got the same file error message. So I had to file by phone. I reported the error message through an online webform (that worked fine) and then called Assurant. That seemed to go fine, and the operator told me that she would e-mail me a "Proof of Loss" form and instructions for same, because when you file a loss/stolen claim you have to say "Mother May I?" while froghopping widdershins on one foot, and seal an oath in blood, as protective nostrum in case you're trying to pull some scam on the insurance company. The form was supposed to come within 5 minutes to an hour. Never arrives. So I go online again, requesting a re-send. No response. I guess I could have called again, but by this time they had worn me down for the day.

Next morning, I finally get an e-mail response to my request for a re-send of the "Proof of Loss" form saying the form had already been sent. Hmm. Back in my e-mail in-box, yes, yes it had. Whole seconds before the response to my online request. Once I open the form attachment the scales fall. Apparently, the woman who took my claim misspelled my name and so by extension presumably spelled my e-mail address wrong. Original send got lost in the ether. No, by the way, it wasn't my first name she got wrong. I always spell that for people. She misspelled "O'Brien." Oh, Eff me.

So it was Tuesday before I completed filing my insurance claim, and paying the usurious deductible. The Fairy Godmother Department finally gets off the bench and the replacement phone shipped out the same day, arrived yesterday. Whereupon Practical Jokes tags in again for a final go: when I called T-Mobile to transfer my number to the new SIM card, get transferred three times and put through multiple identity confirmation confirmations, it turns out that the final confirmation involves texting a verification code to me, and they can't text that to the phone I'm activating the SIM card on so if I don't have the other phone on the account nearby (I don't, it's Hal's, he's at work) they can't send it and I'll have to go in to a store to activate. Wowsers. What do people with only one phone on their account do? Go in to the damn' T-Mobile store, I guess.

By this time, it's gotten to be just after 8:00 and the local store (naturally) closed at 8:00 sharp. So, I hie me out into the freezing gale and drive up to the East Hill store where, thankfully, the activation process is quick, simple, and painless.

Also, thankfully, I for some inexplicable reason decided to charge my new phone on the kitchen counter last night, rather than in the more usual spot on the bed stand right next to my head. That was lucky because around 1:00 in the morning, some woman acquainted with the guy who has my phone started calling my cell number at intervals throughout the wee hours. The one I actually answered came in at 6:15 but there had been a half dozen before it. I explained to her, and the next caller for the same guy, that the person they were trying to reach had my stolen phone but now that I had replaced it and wrested back control of my number he could no longer be reached at it. Asshole. So at least now I'm 100% sure it was theft.

But this started out as a post about silver linings. There are silver linings. For one thing, it looks like eBay can cough up a replacement OEM S-View flip cover case for the replaced phone, and that makes me happy. I really prefer the S-View style because it has a handy little window you can see the time and weather through even when the cover is closed. But the really exciting discovery as I was downloading apps and setting them up to achieve something like my preferred configuration was realizing that all the handwritten notes in S Note that had been on prior phones and I had thought lost forever turn out to be archived in the cloud by Evernote. I didn't realize the two applications talked to each other. A whole host of little scribbled story ideas and observations that I could never have reconstructed in a million years are mine again. So there's most definitely that. Which enables me to share this tidbit of business:

Misheard from an eavesdropped conversation at the pub meet: "Prostituting attorney."
"They wear the really big wigs."
"And glitter. Lots of glitter."

Here's to finding glitter linings.

Feb. 1st, 2017

Akirlu of the Teas

I'm Batman

Scattered Hearts

I sometimes have to send broadcast e-mails at work, to let people know about security concerns, or facilities issues, or departmental protocol, or whatnot. It has long been my practice to try to make these bread-and-butter notes interesting, and funny in a snarky sort of way, to encourage people to actually read them. Also to vent a little spleen when there's a failure of collegiality or RTFM. I once sent out a note explaining how to tell the difference between a hardcover and a paperback book, since people kept discarding paperbacks in the Hardcover-Only Recycling toter, and I had grown tired of dumpster diving to fish them out. (Yes, we were recycling books. It was a dark time.) The approach seems to work pretty well -- I occasionally get notes or comments back, some even claiming to look forward to my little pearls. They tell me that I'm funny. The lurkers support me in e-mail.

Today I ran into one of the graduate students on the street. He stopped me to introduce to a friend whom he forwards my notes to -- her face lit up: "Oh, you're The E-Mailer?!" "Yep, I reckon so." Andre also explained that he's keeping a file of my e-mails that he occasionally reads through to cheer himself up. Which I guess I am a force for good, in my small way. That was kinda the idea.

So there you have it folks. I have achieved a secret identity. I'm The E-Mailer. And the lurkers support me not just in e-mail but on the mean streets of the city. I'm Batman.

Jan. 24th, 2017

Akirlu of the Teas

Moments in Winter

Dark Pearl Skies

This morning I dreamed that a man came to my door, asking if he could take a look at some books that he had seen through my window. I told him that the books weren't really in my house, they only appeared to be there. They were visible when you looked in through the window, but not from inside the house. They were, I explained, due to a ghost -- various things around the house would appear to be there that really weren't. These were signs that the house was haunted. About as I said this, it occurred to me that the man at my door was the ghost. I also realized, in the way that you do in dreams, that he needed to find a way to get to those ghost books to get a crucial piece of information, and that I was going to have to help him. And then I woke up.

The afterimage of the dream feels like the kernel of a story to me. I wonder if I'll write it?

Jan. 3rd, 2017

Akirlu of the Teas

2016 - (Most of) A Year in Pictures

Since I didn't do much posting to Livejournal in 2016, and therefore doing the year-in-first-lines meme would be a little thin and ragged, I thought it would be cool to recap the year in photos instead. My original concept was to post one picture for each month. Looking back through my Flickr uploads, it's really hard to pick just one photo for many months, as most have several that are either particularly attractive or evocative of the time. Then I got to February. Apparently, I didn't upload a single photo taken in February of last year. I think that must be because my original Nikon Coolpix went AWOL in early January of last year, and it took grief-stricken while before I decided to bite the bullet and replace it with an exact duplicate so I could go back to carrying a pocket camera. So here's a look back at 2016, with a bit of a fudge for the February photo.

January
Above the Rooftops

February
Aspirational Magnolia

March
Chorus

April
Details

May
Baby Helicopters

June
Variegated Nasturtiums

July
How 'Bout Them?

August
Blue Outreach

September
Silent Fireworks

October
Mixed Confetti

November
Gull

December
Gerberding

Jan. 2nd, 2017

Akirlu of the Teas

Quiet Life

Across Lake Washington

Today I am doing a bit of housekeeping, mostly of the non-literal sort. Little projects I meant to take care of sooner, but didn't, like getting all the photos from the Paris trip copied onto my hard drive -- more of a chore than I'd hoped because for some reason my card reader at home refuses to read one of my two SD cards without formatting it first, and as you can imagine, I'm not loving the idea of formatting a card full of photos, even if most of them are backed up on my laptop. So instead I'm using my laptop to transfer the photos to a known USB drive and porting them over that way. I would just send them over the house network, but for some reason the network won't let my laptop access my desktop and my support guy is still asleep. Oh, woe, the complications of modern life. I'm sure someone will chime in to explain how none of this would ever ever happen if I used Apple systems but 1) I don't actually believe that and 2)bite me.

All of this project was precipitated by my getting a mug of tea earlier and being reminded that I wanted to take a picture of my Whitechapel Bell Foundry mug next to my Bofors 350th Anniversary mug, in commemoration of the sad shut down of Britain's oldest operating manufacturing business, and still hadn't done that, and so I got the mugs out and took the pictures, only to discover that I had managed to grab the wrong Nikon and so my card reader wouldn't read the card in question, because see previous paragraph. Quite a lot of bother just to be able to post a picture to Facebook. On the other hand, I've been wanting to make sure my vacation photos are properly backed up and that SD card formatted to use, so it's all stuff wot needed doin'.

Mugs of Two Manufactories

Dec. 30th, 2016

Akirlu of the Teas

On the Threshold of a New Year

The Suspense of Waiting

I haven't been around LiveJournal much over the past year. I really should try to rectify that -- journal the days as they go and participate in what community is left here. And so, a post! A post!

Truth to tell, I dropped in today partly prompted by the news that a friend was migrating entirely over to Dreamwidth, owing to the tiresome service outages on Livejournal. And now that I'm here, poking around my friends feed, I see that here in LJ-land there are concerns about security of personal and financial data, now that the servers for Livejournal have been physically located in Russia. I can can certainly understand the concern. But for me there isn't much that happens in my journal that isn't publicly visible anyway, and I don't have a paid account so there's no financial information associated with my account either. And truthfully, I just don't like Dreamwidth very much. It's always felt like the most anti-social social medium I've had contact with, ugly in design, badly set up for reading comfort, and a nagging nanny about constant sign-ins, while throwing impediments in the way of building a viable network of friends. So, like sartorias, I guess I'm here until the place burns down and falls into the swamp, or until the Russians do something sufficiently egregious to force me out.

Meanwhile, it's a lovely, sunny day in Seattle and the office is dead quiet due to the impending three-day weekend, so I believe I'll lock the place up and take myself off to lunch, by which I mean taking some pictures and buying some art supplies. Wishing you all a Happy New Year, and, to borrow a page from the often wise and very smart Avedon Carol:
this year I wish you all the strength you need to face the future, and many moments of peace and joy.

As always, I also wish you good, reliable health care that's free at the point of use, and the fortitude to admit it when you are wrong and cope with being right when no one else is.

I wish you these things no matter where you come from, what you look like, what you believe, or how you voted.


Be kind to each other, dear friends.

Nov. 24th, 2016

Akirlu of the Teas

An Idea: Political Action and Behaviorist Experiment on a Grand Scale

His Imperial Honor, Der Schoobenheimer

How do you train a dog to do what you want when you ask it? This does not seem like a political question, but bear with me.

There are a great many techniques for training dogs, and historically they often involved punishing "bad" behavior: shouting, threats, violent leash jerks, swatting with newspapers, and so forth. These techniques work, but perhaps mostly because dogs are incredibly biddable animals. They don't tend to work well with "difficult" dogs (or, indeed, with "difficult" children). The range of approaches for training animals who are, unlike dogs, too large and powerful to readily correct by force is much narrower. When you are training, say, a dolphin or an orca, applying violent correction is impractical, and potentially lethal for the trainer. So some highly effective, positive reinforcement training methods emerged in part out of human beings learning to train cetaceans to do tricks, and these methods work well when applied to dogs, too. The neat thing about that is that along the way, we learned that positive reinforcement works better than negative, not just for whales and dogs, but for pretty much anything with a central nervous system, including planaria, and human beings.

The key to these methods lies in "shaping" the behavior you want by reinforcing things the trainee does spontaneously, using immediate application of a positive reward when the trainee does something, anything really, in the direction of the desired behavior. At first you reward whenever the trainee does something close to what you want. Then only if the behavior is closer to what you want. Then only when it's exactly what you want. And then only occasionally even when it's exactly what you want. This produces reliable execution of exactly what you want from your trainee. The main art lies in finding what reward the trainee is most responsive to.

There are stories of classes of students training their professors using positive reinforcement. One class of colluding students trained their instructor to lecture with his hands on his head by using active listening (nodding, smiling, acting attentive and engaged, leaning forward in their seats, etc.) whenever his hands moved higher, and acting bored and inattentive whenever they moved lower. Karen Pryor has taught behavioral shaping to all sorts of groups, and when she taught a class of teens, some of them apparently took the techniques home and retrained their own parents. And I know from direct family experience that my aunt turned my hyperactive monster of a cousin into the most polite, interested, engaged and respectful teenager I ever met when she switched to only ever using praise with him. So yeah, this stuff, it works on human beings.

Okay, so that's background I had in my head, owing much to Karen Pryor's book Don't Shoot the Dog: The New Art of Teaching and Training, which I commend to you if you are ever in a position to teach, train, or lead other creatures with a central nervous system.

Then I read a couple of unconnected (well, unconnected, except insofar as they are both responses to the current US political circumstance) posts in my Facebook feed.

First, Avedon Carol wonders out loud whether it mightn't be a good idea to tweet sensible suggestions to Donald Trump in hopes of his taking up some. At the very least, it couldn't hurt. To the response that Trump is not that interested in what people tweet of or to him, she says, "Oh, yes he is, that's why he is constantly retweeting anything positive someone says about him and also constantly attacking people for negative tweets." Note that it's positive and negative tweets he specifically responds to. I'll get back to that.

The second post was a reblogging of Charles M. Blow's op ed piece in the New York Times, "No, Trump, We Can't Just Get Along," in which Blow says, among other things, "You don't get a pat on the back for ratcheting down from rabid..."

And my first thought was, "No, but he should." Not because that's what he deserves, but because that's what he needs. And because if he gets what he needs when he takes steps in the right direction, he might just take more such steps. I may well be wrong, but it seems to me you don't get to be Donald Trump without needing just an assload of positive reinforcement. Certainly he seems to respond to attention. And creatures that respond to attention can be trained.

It seems to me that we are living in a potentially pivotal moment. The ability of many, many people to impact anyone who pays attention to their Twitter stream is demonstrably great. Huge, in fact. Admittedly, most of the examples we've seen have been negative. But that doesn't mean the same aggregation of individual action could't be used for good, if there were a collective will to do so. And we have a President Elect who appears to be particularly susceptible to the power of public attention, even childishly so.

What I'm hinting at here is a simple action that we can all take: tweet directed, training praise at Trump. The downside is that unlike attending a protest (which it's perfectly compatible with, by the way), it will not be a big collective feel-good moment. It isn't cathartic. It doesn't provide the galvanic thrill of vindictive bile. It's work. It's incremental. It's a process. It's something that would require attention and going back to, day in and day out. It's more like a chore. Like doing dishes, or training a puppy. It takes a grown up to swallow their feelings and pick up the poop, clean the floor, and skip the punishment in favor of waiting to praise the puppy the next time she does her business outside. Or at least on the designated pad. Or closer to the pad or the door. And then to iterate that process until your dog always poops outdoors. But that is how you train a puppy. And when the puppy in question is far too large and powerful to be trainable by punitive methods, training it with positive feedback is probably your best bet anyhow. And a lot of grownups willing to swallow their feelings long enough to send a positive tweet whenever anything remotely positive comes out of the White House is just possibly one way to do it.

So yeah. I have to start paying attention to Twitter. Because I mean to praise the hell out of Mr. Trump whenever he does something that moves him closer to where I want him to be. When he backs down on terrible campaign promises, I will praise him for his maturity and vision. When he reflects that the general who told him torture doesn't really work, and a pack of smokes and a sixpack will get better information, is a great guy and probably right, I will praise the living crap out of him. And I hope you will join me. Because it will take a lot of us working together to retrain a President. But with enough of us on task, it could make a crucial difference. At the very least, it couldn't hurt to try.

Aug. 26th, 2016

Akirlu of the Teas

Checking Pro Privilege

Teatro Olimpico, Vicenza

Pro Privilege is rearing its ugly head again.

In the world of science fiction and fantasy fandom, there is one long standing, basic, golden rule: those who do the work get to make the rules. And make no mistake, it's a lot of work. Modern Worldcons, in particular, are a species of miracle. The logistics, the finance planning, the web design, the program, the facility negotiations, all of them are as good as, and often significantly better than, what you can expect from an academic professional conference, and all happen for free -- that is, no one on the committee or staff is paid for the work they do. Thousands upon thousands of unpaid volunteer hours go into making a fan run convention happen.

A World Fantasy Con is not as big, but still a remarkable production of unpaid labor. And World Fantasy has always been an essentially exploitative affair. That is, unlike Worldcon, World Fantasy likes to regard itself as a strictly professional conference for working professionals in the field. Fans are not really welcome to attend or participate. And yet the labor to make this event happen has traditionally all been provided by fan organizations. Must be nice, huh?

Now Andy Duncan and a number of pros in the field are up in arms because they don't like the programming choices for the upcoming World Fantasy Con. They want the program head sacked, and a new program of their choice put in place. And they want new rules put in place so that future World Fantasy Cons are more like they would want. Notably, none of the people who are asking for this to happen are themselves volunteering to do the work.

Now, the changes they want may be perfectly reasonable, I'm not actually disputing that. What I am suggesting is that if fantasy authors want to be in charge of World Fantasy Con in every specific detail they should either a) volunteer, and do the work of running it themselves or b) hire paid professionals to do the work of running the event for them, which is what real professional conferences do.

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