09/09/09

Today is all about nines… a fine whole number indeed, as elucidated here.

 Painting: Apollo and the Nine Muses (c. 1599?) by Flemish mannerist painter Hendrik van Balen.

From the land of (don’t just) Nod…

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The best teacher I ever had

Mr. Whitson taught sixth-grade science. On the first day of class, he gave us a lecture about a creature called the cattywampus, an ill-adapted nocturnal animal that was wiped out during the Ice Age. He passed around a skull as he talked. We all took notes and later had a quiz.

When he returned my paper, I was shocked. There was a big red X through each of my answers. I had failed. There had to be some mistake! I had written down exactly what Mr. Whitson said. Then I realized that everyone in the class had failed. What had happened?

Very simple, Mr. Whitson explained. He had made up all the stuff about the cattywampus. There had never been any such animal. The information in our notes was, therefore, incorrect. Did we expect credit for incorrect answers?

Needless to say, we were outraged. What kind of test was this? And what kind of teacher?

We should have figured it out, Mr. Whitson said. After all, at the very moment he was passing around the cattywampus skull (in truth, a cat’s), hadn’t he been telling us that no trace of the animal remained? He had described its amazing night vision, the color of its fur and any number of other facts he couldn’t have known. He had given the animal a ridiculous name, and we still hadn’t been suspicious. The zeroes on our papers would be recorded in his grade book, he said. And they were.

Mr. Whitson said he hoped we would learn something from this experience. Teachers and textbooks are not infallable. In fact, no one is. He told us not to let our minds go to sleep, and to speak up if we ever thought he or the textbook was wrong.

Every class was an adventure with Mr. Whitson. I can still remember some science periods almost from beginning to end. One day he told us that his Volkswagon was a living organism. It took us two full days to put together a refutation he would accept. He didn’t let us off the hook until we had proved not only that we knew what an organism was but also that we had the fortitude to stand up for the truth.

We carried our brand-new skepticism into all our classes. This caused problems for the other teachers, who weren’t used to being challenged. Our history teacher would be lecturing about something, and then there would be clearings of the throat and someone would say “cattywampus.”

If I’m ever asked to propose a solution to the problems in our schools, it will be Mr. Whitson. I haven’t made any great scientific discoveries, but Mr. Whitson’s class gave me and my classmates something just as important: the courage to look people in the eye and tell them they are wrong. He also showed us that you can have fun doing it.

Not everyone sees the value in this. I once told an elementary school teacher about Mr. Whitson. The teacher was appalled. “He shouldn’t have tricked you like that,” he said. I looked that teacher right in the eye and told him that he was wrong.

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Thanks to Robert Nijssen for this retelling of a story by David Owen.

I guess that’s likely why this diagrammatic animation of a hyptotrochoid turns my crank… remember Denys Fisher’s spirograph?

Winnipeg, Canada

I’m constantly amazed at how many people in this day and age seem to accept the status quo and appear content with whatever is apparent or convenient. It’s been my experience that an attitude of “Question Everything!” opens whole new avenues of exploration and discovery… often leading to totally unexpected and serendipitous opportunity. Einstein famously stated: “Around every corner lurk a plethora of possibilities…”* but to experience these, one must of course have the courage, and make the effort, to round those proverbial corners. There’s no doubt in my mind that our aspirations are our possibilities. Seek and ye shall find, indeed. So, question everything… and then keep questioning the answers!

*(my translation from the original German—I came across the quote on a visit to the Jewish Museum in Berlin some years ago)

Image: one of a series of lovely illustrations about ‘Questioning’ that my friend Ronald Kapaz of Oz Design in São Paulo sent me.

…the guy who failed his Rorschach Test? (hint—that’s a joke)

I work with a talented young designer named Adrian Shum (who’s coincidentally celebrating his birthday today). Adrian blogs at the eponymous and palindromic MUHSASHUM, where he posted an interesting piece about a fast-evolving online controversy amongst psychologists regarding public exposure of Rorschach’s famous inkblots last week, here.

The moon (the one we see from earth on virtually every other night than tonight, a new moon, go figure…)

I remember vividly the wee hours of Monday, 40 years ago today, when I saw Neil Armstrong take his first steps on the moon (at 02:56 GMT in the early hours of 21 July—I was living in Germany at the time, so it was already Monday there, while North Americans enjoyed a Sunday night special). Our family did not have a TV and I was quite sick with the flu at the time… but I got up in a fevered haze and walked six blocks to the nearest Radio & TV shop which had TV sets tuned to the moon landing in their display window, with loudspeakers of the English reportage playing into the street. (I ended up translating the action and the English announcer’s coverage into German for an assembled group of Italian and Turkish foreign workers from the nearby barracks, disoriented drunks, and assorted street-people and others too poor to own a TV set—all of whom had gathered outside the shop to take in the spectacle in real time).

That unique moment offered a fresh view of our wee blue-green planet for all of humankind, and triggered Marshall McLuhan’s phrase “Global Village” as well as Buckminster Fuller’s “Spaceship Earth.” Trivia factoid: it also marked the first time in history that the New York Times used a 96-point headline: “Men Walk On Moon.”

(Thanks to GDC-Listserv friend Marilyn Matty, from New York (fittingly), for pointing out the latter re: the NYT a few minutes ago).

1962 on the Italian Riviera—topless girls, big baguettes, family camping… life was good.

Nevada, 1948

It’s hot. Really hot. Thousands of years ago you would have been swimming in a lake, but climate changes dried it completely up and left behind a 159 square mile (412 square km) expanse of densely packed salt up to six feet deep. This bizarre landscape exists right outside the small casino town of Wendover, Nevada, 115 miles (185km) from Salt Lake City. The land is completely inhospitable to plants and is so flat that it’s almost perfectly aligned with the curvature of the Earth. Once a year men and women come from all over the planet to test their mechanical creations against this barren expanse of densely packed salt. This place is known as The Bonneville Salt Flats, also dubbed “The Fastest Place on Earth.”

One particularly hot morning, on Sept 13, 1948, a man known as Roland “Rollie” Free hopped on his Mobil Oil sponsored Vincent HRD Lightning, determined to break the world record of 136.18mph (219.16kmh). A record that had been unbroken for the past 11 years. His first attempt shattered the record with a speed of 148.6mph (239.15). Rollie wasn’t satisfied. Convinced his safety leathers were creating unnecessary drag, he stripped down to nothing but a pair of swim trunks and goggles. His trademark style of lying flat across the motorcycle instead of a traditional riding stance added to the insanity, hurtling Rollie to a record of 150.313mph (241.91kmh) and into the books for the next twenty years. It was a run that resulted not only in the record, but also in the creation of motorcycling’s most famous photo ever (the shot above of Free piloting the bike horizontally), taken from a speeding car racing alongside. —Sean Sullivan

Found at A Continuous Lean. (where you can find additional photos)… thanks to Gregor Brandt for the link.

Mammoth Lakes, California

Sad news today from my long-time climbing buddy (and client) Gregor Brandt… John Bachar, a leading light among free solo climbers of our age passed on two days ago while climbing (solo) on the Dike Wall above Mammoth Lakes where he lived with his son Tyrus… ; a tribute here; an interview here; and more here, and here.

RIP… or climb on, John!

(Thanks, UPS…)