Geek of All Trades

In the old ball game

Stuart Miller's editorial in the New York Times the other day advocated that baseball return to its golden era in one respect: push out the fences. Retreating the typical center field fence from 400 feet to 450 feet, as some center fields were into the 1960s, would cut down on home runs, Miller argues, and would have positive ripple effects on the excitement of the game.

Instead of home runs, Miller writes, we'd get more triples. Cavernous outfield dimensions would increase the premium on speed and athleticism in outfielders, making for more spectacular plays (instead of the whiplash play as an outfielder watches a jack sail over his head into the stands). Players who are faster in the field would also be faster on the basepaths, leading to more basestealing and more hit-and-runs. Pitchers would be more willing to challenge the best hitters. Batters, no longer swinging for the fences, would shorten their swings, putting more balls in play and increasing the emphasis on defensive fundamentals.

I think Stuart Miller is exactly right, and I've long pined for the 487-foot straight-away center field of Babe Ruth's Yankee Stadium even though I never saw anything remotely close to it myself. Pushing back the outfield fences will not necessarily cut down on scoring; but it would cut down on home runs, and return the focus from jacked-up sluggers to baseball fundamentals. This is something I would give my eye teeth to see.

Unfortunately, it will be a cold day in hell before this occurs. The baseball establishment is convinced that homers sell baseball. Even the Players' Association, the powerfully entrenched union of baseball players, would oppose this change, since home run prowess translates directly into the biggest payoffs come contract time. But it's a great loss for baseball. Instead of a spacious field with room for outfielders to roam and balls to travel, parks keep getting smaller and players keep getting bigger. I love baseball, but I long for a brand of baseball I never saw - an elegant interaction of ball and ballplayer, played on a field as expansive as the American imagination.

Lexicographic serendipity

Anu Garg's wonderful daily e-mail, A.Word.A.Day, left the following fantastic example of lexicography capitulating ontogeny in my mailbox today:

bushwa (BUSH-wa), n. (also bushwah): Nonsense; bull.

You just can't make this stuff up. My Compact OED (complete with magnifying glass, a Chanukah gift from David very much appreciated by this geek of language) does not offer much in way of etymology of this apt expression, merely noting that it is "app[arently] a euphemism for BULLSHIT." The earliest usage offered by the OED dates to 1920, but the best one dates to 1932, attributed to J. Dos Passos: "They said this war-talk was a lot of bushwa propaganda." (In another piece of synchronicity, a Dos Passos collection is a featured book on Jerry Colonna's blog just now.)

Remember this handy bon mot when faced with the next credulity-straining pronouncement from the White House: it's nothing but a load of bushwa.

Flipping and flopping

In a piece that is unfortunately not available on line without a subscription, The Economist analyzes the Bush camp's oft heard charge that John Kerry is a "flip-flopper." The Economist hits the nail on the head: once again, the Bush administration is oversimplifying, and John Kerry is being smeared for having the gall to see shades of gray in issues so obvously simple as welfare reform and international terrorism.

The Economist notes, rightly, that "a certain amount of flip-flopping is inevitable in 'the art of the possible'." George Bush himself was a staunch supporter of free trade, until he slapped tariffs on steel imports. He opposed the formation of a Homeland Security department, until he embraced it.

And, of course, he was a beer-guzzling, hard-partying frat boy, right up until he wasn't any more. But you don't hear the Bush camp talking about that kind of flip-flop.

The problem with the Bush charge against Kerry is that, like most positions taken by the administration, it is largely a gross oversimplification. It is true that some of Kerry's apparent changes of tune reflect the bending in the wind in which all politicians - of any party - engage from time to time. But most of the examples cited on the RNC's website (in its "Kerry vs. Kerry" video game) gloss over the real reasons why the senator may legitimately have rethought his position. Bills go through many revisions in the Senate, and merely because a senator supports the principal goal of a bill is not a sufficient reason to vote for any and every implementation of that goal. In addition, the economy underwent explosive growth during Kerry's tenure in Congress, another fact which rightly affected the Senator's views.

"As John Maynard Keynes said," the Economist writes, "'When the facts change, I change my mind. What do you do, sir?'"

Indeed, Mr. Bush, what do you do? The answer is "nothing," because unlike John Kerry, the Bush administration can not be bothered by facts, or let the harsh complexity of reality interfere with its bombastic approach to politics both at home and abroad. John Kerry's willingness to consider the nuance and shade that color our real world may not win him any elections - sadly, most American voters like to think issues are as baby-book simple as Republicans present. But Kerry's ability to think - to weigh the facts and revise his views when necessary - should be commended, not caricatured.

There oughtta be a law

The AP reports that the town of Aliso Viejo, CA came within a hair's breadth of banning styrofoam cups at city-sponsored events. The reason? Concern over a dangerous and toxic chemical used in the production of styrofoam: dihydrogen monoxide. That's right, folks - dihydrogen monoxide, good old H-2-O, otherwise known as water.

"It's embarrassing," said City Manager David J. Norman. "We had a paralegal who did bad research."

When in doubt, blame the paralegal. Evidently, the hapless, humor-impaired para-scapegoat (or gutsy practical jokester, depending upon how cynical you are) came across the DHMO.org spoof warning site - or one of the dozens like it - and his employers took it a bit too seriously.

In 1997, a junior high school student circulated to his classmates a flyer warning of the hazards of dihydrogen monoxide and polled them about what should be done to protect their community against the vicious chemical. The prizewinning science fair project in which he reported the results was entitled "How Gullible Are We?" In Alisa Viejo, the answer may be "just exactly gullible enough."

Letting the Cat out of the Locked Box

The Wall Street Journal reports (available here without a login) that the Outagamie Country Historical Society's exhibit on Harry Houdini includes an exposure of the workings of his famous "Metamorphosis" illusion, known in modern circles as the Sub Trunk.

In the Sub Trunk illusion, the performer steps inside a duffel bag inside a trunk. An assistant ropes or chains the duffel bag shut, and closes the trunk, locking the performer inside. The assistant then steps atop the trunk, raises a curtain and, in an instant, the performer rips the curtain aside, revealing that the performer and assistant have switched places. It is a truly eye-popping illusion. I have seen it performed by, among others, The Pendragons and David Copperfield, and I never get tired of it.

A subset of magicians, however, is outraged at the Historical Society's exposure. They call it a betrayal, a heresy, an atrocity that would have Houdini spinning in his grave. Even David Copperfield himself called the Historical Society to protest the exhibit.

Every couple of years, the magic community undergoes fits of apoplexy as the latest TV special or museum exhibit threatens exposure of popular illusions. It's undercutting our livelihood! These secrets are our stock in trade! Our code of ethics dictates that we only share secrets with those who show a real interest in the art! And yet, in spite of the hysteria, magic rumbles onward. Indeed, recent years have seen a magnificent revival of grand illusion and close-up magic alike. Acts like Lance Burton and (until their recent tragedy) Siegfried and Roy are among the hottest tickets in Vegas. Close-up magicians wander the aisles in family restaurants and attract thirsty onlookers behind bar counters. Magic is as strong as it has ever been, and it will live to overcome the exposure in Appleton, Wisconsin of one of its venerable secrets. It always has before.

Looking at God

This is the picture released by NASA a couple of weeks ago, showing the deepest view yet of the early universe, taken by the Hubble Space Telescope's Ultra Deep Field Camera. Nearly every speck of light that you can see in it is an entire galaxy; it is a view of only the tiniest section of the sky.

Pictures like this one illustrate the tremendous vastness of the universe and make me feel very, very tiny. I am sometimes given to thinking of God as the master experimental scientist, who sets the physical parameters for the universe - the fine structure constant shall be this, Planck's constant shall be that, the speed of light shall be just so - and then kicks back and watches the great experiment unfold. Looking at early universe pictures like this one truly does make me feel closer to God. I suppose that's a bit cliché, but there it is.

And so it begins.

As long as I can remember, I idolized my oldest brother Philip. He's nine years older than I am, and when I was a small child and he was a teenager he seemed impossibly grown and free. I wanted to do all the excruciatingly cool things that Philip did. I listened to his music. I copied the little cartoon characters he created and drew them in my schoolbooks. I learned play the bass guitar because that's what he did.

I'm a grown-up now (in theory), but little has changed. Philip started a blog, and so I did too. Welcome to Geek of All Trades. I created this blog as a place to gather and catalog an eclectic collection of topics I think about from time to time. If it is interesting to you, tell me what you are thinking.