Fugato

Baldur Fróði blowing out his four birthday candles. Dash’s token resistance proves futile.

This, apparently, is Fredkin’s paradox:

The more equally attractive two alternatives seem, the harder it can be to choose between them — no matter that, to the same degree, the choice can only matter less.

This, along with a million other human quirks, is an effect worth identifying in oneself in order to catch it and work around it, etc., etc., blah blah. And the observation I have just presented was an example of what we might call “philosophical homeopathy” … real wisdom, but in very small doses.

It was also an example of an odd effect I’m noticing lately, wherein I discover a new idea in an amusingly appropriate context. Let me explain:

I didn’t get much work done today (a visit by piano tuner guy in the morning; a café chat with a former student on his to-PhD-or-not-to-PhD dilemma; my nephew’s 4th birthday party; babysitting; etc.), so I was trying to decide whether to go to work and get some work done before bed, or go straight to bed and get up really early to go to work.

These two options made just about the same amount of sense … so instead of choosing one, I spent the evening reading stuff, discovering Fredkin’s paradox, and blogging about it. In doing so, I unconsciously chose an implicit third option, probably inferior to the two options I couldn’t choose between.

I just demonstrated Fredkin’s paradox to myself by example — in the very act of spending my time stumbling across Fredkin’s paradox. Neato!

Now was this the good kind or the bad kind?

Stóri Litli-Ívar, nýfæddur systursonur minn, umluktur verndarhöndum foreldra sinna

Hann „Litli-Ívar“ systursonur minn fæddist í nótt.

Vinnuheitið reynist vera rangnefni; hann er hreint ekkert lítill.

Hann er eins og svosem tveggja mánaða barn, en meira hærður.

57 sentimetrar og rúmar 18 merkur, og tók andvirði nokkurra maraþonhlaupa í klukkustundum og kaloríum. Dóra er hetja.

Móður og barni heilsast vel. Sogklukkuáhrif eru strax að rjátlast af honum, og hann hefur sýnt af sér rósemi og jákvætt lundarfar það sem af er ævinni.

Hann hefur sama hökuskjálftahæfileikann og Ari Sigurður frændi hans, og undurljúfan kjökurtón sem einmitt hljómaði þegar þessi mynd var tekin. Heimsóknarnefndin hafði haft af honum lúrinn.

Móðuramman gat þess að það væri „ekki hægt að spilla þessu barni.“

Reading this in your RSS reader? It probably will not display this effect. Open in a browser to see it.

Click here to turn the 3d effect on/off.

Well, it does trick the mind with a 3d stereo effect, with no need for nerdy plastic red-blue glasses or staring intently into infinity through a bunch of random dots.

Shame about the motion sickness though.

Kudos to Jim Gasperini for the idea.

Ég fékk nafnlaust sms í dag, þar sem ég gekk eftir Laugaveginum til að sækja bílinn minn á Grand Hótel Reykjavík eftir góðgleði gærkvöldsins.

Skilaboðin voru þessi:

From: OgVodafone

ther thykir vaent um
mözduna thina?
---
Sæktu tér nyja hringitòna à
ogvodafone.is - Og Vodafone

Ég beið eftir því næsta („Settu tha x m.kr. i omerktum sedlum undir bekkinn i austurhorninu a BSI klukkan tvo, annars heyrirdu mjukt malandi motorsud hennar ekki framar“) en það kom aldrei. Kannski átti ég að sækja þessa bannsettu hringitóna til að bjarga Mözdunni minni? Hún var alltént enn þar sem ég skildi við hana, og ómeidd.

Ég veit ekki um neitt samhengi sem gæti skýrt þetta — hef ekki rætt bílinn minn (sem mér þykir vissulega svolítið vænt um, svona að því marki sem mér þykir vænt um verksmiðjuframleidda dauða hluti almennt) við neinn síðustu daga.

Eina tengingin sem mér dettur í hug er að lokaprófið í Merkjum og kerfum var nýafstaðið þegar þetta sms barst; þetta gæti verið nemandi að hafa í hótunum við mig vegna yfirvofandi einkunnagjafar. Ég efa það samt. Eftir eitt misseri í Merkjum og kerfum á enginn eftir orku til illvirkja.

Skýringar óskast!

It’s a hard life being an absurd hero.
But it works wonders on your figure.

Today I finished writing an exam for my class.

If I’m counting right, I have now written thirteen exams. I have hated it every time. I’m pretty positive about work in general, but writing exams is nasty business. I enjoyed my work at Sómi, the sandwich factory, more. It consisted of standing at a table arranging condiments on bread. A variety of condiments, on various types of bread. And the sense of relief in being finished with the exam is nullified by the impending task of grading it. Because grading an exam is even less fun than writing it.

Giving lectures is a lot more fun — that is, of course, why I’m still teaching. I’ll bet Sisyphus gets a kick out of watching that rock roll down, too; thankfully both of my jobs feature a more favorable fun-to-strife ratio than his. One must imagine me happy.

There is a student survey at the end of each semester, so that we get feedback on our teaching. My students have left remarkably charitable comments through the years; I hope that keeps up. Makes my day every time.

This year, to encourage students to fill in the survey, the university is offering prizes: “Those students who participate in the survey have a chance of winning a 100-sheet print quota sponsored by the University IT Facility. One lucky participant wins every day.”

I bet that sent participation through the roof.