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Not for the faint of art. |
Complex Numbers A complex number is expressed in the standard form a + bi, where a and b are real numbers and i is defined by i^2 = -1 (that is, i is the square root of -1). For example, 3 + 2i is a complex number. The bi term is often referred to as an imaginary number (though this may be misleading, as it is no more "imaginary" than the symbolic abstractions we know as the "real" numbers). Thus, every complex number has a real part, a, and an imaginary part, bi. Complex numbers are often represented on a graph known as the "complex plane," where the horizontal axis represents the infinity of real numbers, and the vertical axis represents the infinity of imaginary numbers. Thus, each complex number has a unique representation on the complex plane: some closer to real; others, more imaginary. If a = b, the number is equal parts real and imaginary. Very simple transformations applied to numbers in the complex plane can lead to fractal structures of enormous intricacy and astonishing beauty. |
It should be well-known by now that one shouldn't get one's facts from comedy sites like Cracked. Especially when that source tells us we shouldn't be getting our facts from movies, either. If you see something in enough movies, you assume it’s true. If every movie has bears growling or frogs ribbiting or vampires hating lemons, we assume that’s how the real world works, because movies are the only form of education we have. For instance, thanks to movies, I know that cars inevitably explode when run off cliffs. Sometimes, however, no trend is necessary. All it takes is one influential movie... Kind of like how the documentary Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory taught me how candy gets made. 5 Presidents Are Supposed to Wear Flag Pins A few years ago, a friend of mine got married. The bride asked me to be her Dude of Honor, so I had to buy a suit. The suit came with a flag lapel pin. I didn't wear the pin to the wedding. Too political. You might even say a president wearing a flag pin is redundant, since he’s already the president and his nationality isn’t in question. Oh, how quickly we forget. The first president to wear the pin was Richard Nixon, and his staff convinced him to adopt it after watching a 1972 Robert Redford movie called The Candidate. So, to be clear, the clowns we have in office these days all emulate a disgraced former president, who in turn got the idea from typical Hollywood bullshit. This explains a lot. As for Redford, a few years after The Candidate, he starred in All the President's Men, a movie we trust Nixon enjoyed just as much. Ooooooh, sick burn. One final amusing note: in the alternate universe of The Watchmen (the original graphic novel, published in the late 80s), the President was Robert Redford. Imagine that, an actor as President. 4 Pirates Used the Pirate Accent We have this concept of “pirate speak,” of a single accent that pirates use. The more pirate-y the pirate, the closer they’ll adhere to this accent... Our idea of the pirate accent comes entirely from one actor, Robert Newton, and his performance in 1950’s Treasure Island. Eh, doesn't matter. It's iconic at this point. Arrr. Shiver me timbers. 3 Rabbits Like Carrots We all associate rabbits with carrots, but the two don’t go together naturally at all. The carrots we eat don’t exist in nature at all, as they’re the result of a whole lot of selective breeding. Otherwise known as genetic modification. Rabbit like greens, and they can eat the leafy top of a carrot, but if a rabbit gorges itself on carrots, that’d be like you trying to live on cotton candy. Or on rabbit meat, for that matter. Of course, Bugs Bunny wasn't a movie star at the time, but as the article notes, he was emulating Clark Gable. 2 Mohawks Wear Mohawks The mohawk is a hairstyle. It’s also a name for an indigenous people from the eastern United States, so you probably think that hairstyle is named after the people. Gosh... Hollywood getting Native American culture wrong. Who could have expected that? 1 Rockets Should Count Down to Takeoff Except that there's sound reasons for a lot of the countdown. Rockets are somewhat intricate and complicated machines (hence the equating of "rocket scientist" with "genius,") and their launch preparations require a checklist of things to be done in a precise order at precise times. Not that I know anything about it, though; I'm not exactly a rocket surgeon. NASA got the idea of counting down to launches from a German film called Woman in the Moon. This Fritz Lang silent picture was the first ever big-screen depiction of rocket travel — Georges Méliès’ earlier A Trip to the Moon was a far less serious look at lunar travel. The Méliès film (itself a Verne adaptation) is the one with the absolutely iconic image of a space capsule getting in the eye ![]() Anyway, it's no surprise that NASA got its idea from German cinema instead of French, considering the history of NASA. Countdowns really are thrilling. Just look at this very article. It could have counted up from one to five, and newcomers to this site may be baffled at why it doesn’t. “Is this a ranking from five to one?” they might ask. It’s not. Anyone here not expect the self-referential humor? I certainly did. |
Another random prompt from "Journalistic Intentions" ![]() St. Louis 1904 There are, in the world, very few cities with icons more iconic than the Gateway Arch. There's the Eiffel Tower, of course, arguably the most recognizable structure in the world. Across the Channel, there's the unmistakable steampunk intricacy of Elizabeth Tower, known worldwide but usually mistakenly labeled as Big Ben (which may be a case of metonomy, as Big Ben is the largest bell within the tower, but is more likely just mistakery). You have the sweeping, nested shells of the Sydney Opera House, the Washington Monument, maybe the Space Needle, CN Tower, and the Empire State Building. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the Pyramids, but they're not technically a city symbol, located as they are outside the boundaries of Cairo. Almost all of these establishment-shot-bait constructions have one thing in common: the "tower" bit (the Opera House being an exception). This inevitably leads to jokes about phalluses (Phalla? Phalli? Hell if I remember what Latin declension it belongs to), especially in the painfully obvious case of the Washington Monument (Father of his Country and all that). Not so with the Gateway Arch. It's not a tower; it's... well... an arch. Two foundations, not one. Curvy, not straight (unless you view it from one side or the other, but who does that?) I'm not saying it's the equivalent expression of feminine potency, mind you; just that it's not an erection sticking straight up into the sky. Thus, it might surprise younger folks and those not familiar with the US in general, the State of Misery, and St. Louis in particular, that the Arch is barely 60 years old. Thus, when one considers the condition of St. Louis in 1904, one must utterly wipe any image of the Gateway Arch from one's internal visualization of that important Midwestern city. That year, St. Louis, just over 100 years after the Louisiana Purchase, hosted a World's Fair, formally known as the Louisiana Purchase Exposition. ![]() For other context, consider these historical milestones: ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Apparently, the 1904 Summer Olympics ![]() But, regardless, it turned world attention to the site that used to be a major Native American gathering place (see my April entry, "Things Go Better With Cahokia" ![]() Some things, it seems, are universal. At least the Gateway Arch is unique. |
Given the proliferation of confidence schemes these days—business, political, religious, and otherwise—I wanted to save and share this article about the con artist to whom every other grifter is compared. ‘I’ve Got a Bridge to Sell You’: The Con Artist Who Peddled the Brooklyn Bridge ![]() Dean Jobb on John McCarthy, the "last of the old-time crooks." It's kind of a long read, and I won't be quoting much. The New York police considered him “an aristocrat of crookdom.” In the press, he was crowned the “dean of confidence men” and “the biggest of the big-time” swindlers. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle hailed his signature fraud as “the epic of the confidence world.” His real name appears to have been John McCarthy. And he was the con man who sold the Brooklyn Bridge. Well, not really, as the article goes on to point out. I'd always wondered about that. No, he sold fractional shares of the thing (at the time, it was a toll bridge), like a stock trader or banker selling collateralized debt obligations—the latter of which may not technically have been fraud, but turned out to be a Bad Idea anyway. It was hailed as the Eighth Wonder of the World. The Brooklyn Bridge was “the greatest work wrought by the hand of man” in the nineteenth century, Brooklyn’s Daily Eagle proclaimed on the day it officially opened in May 1883, a “monument to human ingenuity, mechanical genius and engineering skill.” As an engineer myself, I was always fascinated by bridges. Of course, by the time I hit the scene, many bridges had surpassed its superlatives, but as with other massive public works projects, we had to start somewhere. The bridge was also a magnet for crime. Allegations of fraud, graft, and political corruption dogged the massive project during the construction phase. Come on, now, that's just New York. New York police estimated McCarthy reaped as much as a million dollars during his swindling career. And this was back when, as Tom Waits put it, "a million was a million." McCarthy’s swindle has become the ultimate con, synonymous with gullibility and blind trust. The catchphrase, “if you believe that, I’ve got a bridge to sell you” has been around almost as long as the bridge has been standing. Did you know "gullibility" isn't in the dictionary? And if you just went to look it up, I have some land in Florida for you to buy. When New Yorkers celebrated the bridge’s one hundredth birthday in 1983 with parades and fireworks, the structure went on sale for real. Bits of wooden walkway and slivers of cable salvaged during repair work were sold as souvenirs, and ten dollars bought a certificate purporting to be the deed to the bridge, signed by Sid E. Slicker. I was there for part of that year, though I didn't attend any of the celebrations. But the selling of souvenirs from it strikes me as something also ripe for cons, like churches having a saint's knucklebones or a sliver of the True Cross. I used to have a chunk of the Berlin Wall, sent to me by a friend in the Army stationed there at the time. Just a hunk of concrete, really. Could have come from anywhere. At least I didn't pay for it. Mostly, though, I find the name "Sid E. Slicker" disproportionately hilarious. (Of course it's made-up, but it harks back to the many aliases used by McCarthy.) Unlike some people, I don't really find this sort of thing fascinating. But it did occur to me that con artists serve an important function in society: they keep us from trusting too much. Skepticism is good. Would I prefer to live in a society where there isn't a thief or scammer on every corner? Of course. But as it is, at least it makes me know better than to buy naming rights to a star, or an extended warranty for my car. |
The current round of "Journalistic Intentions" ![]() To make it even more potentially difficult for myself, I'll be picking the prompts (there will be eight of them, including this one) at random from the list. Vanderlei de Lima I've long thought of the Olympics as the exclusive province of young people. Well, in the sports, anyway; I imagine the IOC as a bunch of septuagenarians proclaiming this and that from on high (I don't know who actually composes that body). And by "young," I generally mean "teens and early twenties." Then you retire, do commercials, and eventually get involved with a family who's famous for being famous. Hell if I know; it's so hard to Keep Up these days. But, according to this guy's Wiki page, ![]() For context, I'm only three years older than him. For more context, Springsteen was 35 when he released Born in the USA (but much younger when he released Born to Run, which might have been more appropriate for Lima). From that Wiki page: Vanderlei Cordeiro de Lima (born 4 July 1969) is a Brazilian retired long-distance runner. Now, see, I'd have guessed Peruvian from the name. Shows how much I know. (And no, I've never even heard his name before, to the best of my recollection.) While leading the marathon after 35 km at the 2004 Summer Olympics, he was attacked on the course by Irish former priest Cornelius "Neil" Horan. There's gotta be a story there. Fortunately, the article later expands upon it: Soon after the 35 km (22 mi) mark, holding a lead of around 25 seconds, Lima was halted and grappled with by spectator Neil Horan, an Irish priest who was later defrocked. The implication is that Horan was actively serving as a priest at the time, so saying he was attacked by a "former priest" up there is a bit misleading. What Godly or worldly reason could Horan have had for being a human stumbling-block? Horan said "I wasn’t doing it as a prank, I was doing it to spread the gospel and to prepare people for the second coming.” Religious "logic," folks. I know if I wanted to convince someone my invisible sky-wizard was about to press the big red reset button, I couldn't think of a more appropriate way to spread the message than to fuck up someone's marathon run. 2004 was before social media infected the internet, but the internet itself was absolutely a thing then. I know this because that's the year I joined WDC, not long after the Olympics. And here we are, 20 years later, and despite every effort and fervent prayers, the second ain't come yet. In any case, there's not much else at the Wiki link besides Lima's other accomplishments in putting one foot in front of the other faster than everybody else. He did win sportsmanship awards, though, so I figure that counts for something regarding his character. Which is more than I can say for his attacker. |
Today, from Cracked, we have an article that should be of interest to writers. Yeah, people avoid me because of my darkly personality. Words have opposites. That’s one of the first thing we learn about words, thanks to Grover demonstrating to us the difference between “near” and “far.” The truly messed-up thing is, I remember that bit. I can't remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, but I remember Grover's running and shouting with near-perfect clarity. Well. Probably not. Memories change. But at least I know what he's talking about (in the words of Captain America: "I understood that reference!") Some words, however, have no opposites. Think about “lie,” for example. We’re not talking about lying down (though, that also has no exact opposite either, with “standing up” being just kind of an opposite). We mean the word for telling a lie. We don’t have a word for the opposite, a single word that means “tell the truth.” As much consideration as I've given to words and language, I'd never thought of that, instead having to rely on a juvenile dick joke site to point it out to me. To the limited extent of my knowledge, French is the same way. Other words, meanwhile, have opposites that you’ve never heard of. Or maybe we have, as in the case of "darkle" (or at least its poetic relative, "darkling"), but it's usually fun to go through these countdown lists anyway. 5 Forget Sparkles. It’s Time to Darkle This appeals to me on a visceral level. Darkling then gave birth to the word darkle. If something becomes concealed in the dark, it darkles. And here I figured it was the other way around. 4 If You’re Not Ambidextrous, Be Thankful You’re At Least Not Ambisinistrous Oh, but I am. Ever hear the expression "two left feet?" That's Waltz. Having two of the same foot would ruin your dance skills, whether it’s two left feet or two right feet, but somehow, we never say someone has “two right feet.” Hopefully, we all were already aware that "sinister" derives from a word meaning "left," revealing how important conformity is to society. 3 Euphemisms Smoothen the Conversation. Dysphemisms Make it Worse If "dysphemisms" weren't already a word, we'd have made it up (well, all words were made up; it's just a matter of how long ago they were). Consider how they coined "dystopia" as the opposite of "utopia," for instance, the latter being a pun of "eutopia." Over time, it’s quite possible for euphemisms to become dysphemisms. Originally, the words “moron” and “imbecile” were objective ways of categorizing someone by I.Q. When those mutated into insults, we came up with a euphemism that was more acceptable: retard. In time, retard became a dysphemism more offensive than any earlier synonym, and almost more offensive than any other word period. I've noted this before, which is exactly why I don't accept the taboo around the word "retard." (Besides, it's a perfectly good word in French, albeit pronounced slightly differently, meaning simply "delay.") We replaced "retarded" with "special," and now you can't call someone special without them thinking you're slyly calling them an idiot (which was another precursor to "retarded"). No matter what words we come up with for people in the slow lane, it will inevitably become a general insult, and then we have to think of something new and value-neutral, which will quickly become an insult in turn, and we have to find yet another word. Sure, it would be nice (a word that used to mean "foolish") if we stopped insulting people altogether, but that ain't gonna happen. 2 Serendipity’s Great. Watch Out for Zemblanity Okay, one I've never heard of or would have guessed. George Carlin had a joke about how we call it a miracle when someone barely escapes death, but it’s actually just as miraculous when someone who’s almost certain to escape death dies anyway. We need a word for when the world seems to conspire so events pan out in just the worst way. Let’s call that zemblanity. I've just been calling it "the normal state of things." Or maybe "exactly what I expect." Pessimism pays dividends on those rare occasions when things actually go your way. 1 Natural Gas Replaced Unnatural Gas Except that nothing's really unnatural, but okay. “Gas” refers to any number of substances that happen to occupy a certain state of matter. You’re currently surrounded by oxygen gas and nitrogen gas, for example (at least we hope you are, because if you’re not, you have just moments left). “Natural gas,” however, refers specifically to cooking gas, which consists mostly of methane, along with a few other trace ingredients. I've known about chemistry from a very young age. I'm pretty sure I memorized the alkane series (methane, ethane, propane, butane, etc.) before I learned the alphabet. So it has bugged me almost my entire life that we (in the US) also use "gas" as an abbreviation for "gasoline," which is obviously a liquid (albeit a volatile one). I'd call it "petrol," but then people would think I'm trying to be British. The reason natural gas got that name is it had a predecessor, which wasn’t nearly as natural. Back in the 19th century, we used to make gas — out of coal. Which is also natural, but whatever. I won't go into the cooked-up controversies surrounding natural gas use right now. Another time. This one's about words, and I've reached the end of mine for today. |