An infinite number of mathematicians walk into a bar. The first orders a beer. The second orders half a beer. The third orders a quarter of a beer. Before the next one can order, the bartender says, "You're all jerks," and pours two beers.

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Yeah, we're shameless. Day after Thanksgiving and everything's already up and all.

We're just trying to get into the spirit this year, promise!

Besides, this is the fruit of an entire day's labor for me. And one very, very stiff back.

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So it turns out I had to drop out of Saturday morning's DND game this week due to such pressing life matters as hanging Christmas lights and setting up Christmas trees. But that doesn't mean I can't celebrate it in my own way.

I claim inspiration from terrible anime scrolls, the 'In The Name Of The King' poster and the lens flare function (emphasis on the FUN!) in Photoshop.

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Below is an interesting video regarding a new form of superhydrophobic spray which literally causes water to bounce or roll away without getting the material wet.

The possibilities are limitless for what could be done with such awesome chemical applications.

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As a psychological experiment a chemist, a physicist, and a mathematician are each locked in separate rooms and told they won't be released until they paint their entire room. They are each given a can of blue paint which holds about half the paint necessary to paint the room and then left alone.

A few hours later the psychologist checks up on the chemist. His room is painted in faded, streaky blue. "There wasn't enough paint, so I diluted it." The experimenter makes a few notes and then visits the physicist. The physicist's walls are completely bare. The physicist explains that he had worked out that there wasn't enough paint to cover all the walls so he saw no point in starting.

Finally, the experimenter opens the door to the mathematician's room. All four walls, the floor and the ceiling are completely blue, and there's a full can of paint still sitting on the floor next to the mathematician. The psychologist is shocked, and asks how the mathematician managed to paint everything.

The mathematician says, "Oh, I just painted the rational points."

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Happy Thanksgiving, one and all. I hope that wherever you're reading this from, you're warm, well-fed and at least mostly content.

In the spirit of things, here's an assorted thoughts list of things I'm thankful for.

- Netflix, especially the 'View Instantly' option. I am not, however, thankful for Qwest's godless metering of internet bandwidth to where I have to watch 30 Rock like a (hilarious) slide-show radio drama.

- SCIENCE!, which provides us with so much awesome information that we tend to forget it or ignore it completely.

- My beautiful beat-up little iPod, which connects me with music (which is awesome) wherever I go. Even if the center button is a little stuck and the track wheel is relatively unreliable, it's spent a lot of years in service of me, and that makes it awesome.

- Rock and roll.

- Food. You don't get overweight for not being thankful for food.

- My college education. Sure, it's a little shaky since I'll be graduating soon without a job, but it's nice to know I've got a real deal-sealer when I'm applying for the managerial position at Arbys.

- I'm thankful that we got plenty of good years out of Alan Moore before he went a little off and stopped producing amazing work constantly. Same with Pink Floyd before they imploded, Elliot Smith before... well..., and The Talking Heads before David Byrne ran out of ideas to communicate through the Heads.

- This isn't a thankful, I just realized this list is coming off as a little dark. It's not really intentional, but that's how it's working. So I'm glad for things being just a little bit dark.

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DID YOU KNOW?

There are 100,000 times as many stars in the universe as sounds and words ever uttered by all humans who have ever lived.

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A mathematician and a physicist are walking down the road when they notice a burning building with people inside. Out in front there is a fire hydrant and a hose on the sidewalk. The physicist decides to put the fire out, so he attaches the hose to the hydrant, puts the fire out, and saves the house and the family. The mathematician is jealous that the physicist saved the day, so he protests and together they put the people back in the house, set it on fire, and the mathematician attempts to solve the problem. He takes the hose off the hydrant and lays it on the sidewalk. “Now I’ve reduced it to a previously solved problem,” and walks away.

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An electrical engineer, a mechanical engineer, and a software engineer are on a road trip to an academic conference when the car suddenly sputters and dies.

"It must a short in the wiring!" proclaims the electrical engineer.

"Of course not, it's probably a stuck valve," responds the mechanical engineer.

"Nonsense, both of you," says the computer engineer, "all we must do is get out of the car and then back in again."

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DID YOU KNOW?

Humans are genetically connected with life on Earth, chemically connected with life on other star systems and atomically connected with all matter in the universe.

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Pro Tip: The best way to get me to end a phone call is to start to cry. My desire to talk to you decreases sharply and emergency measures go into effect to end the phone call.

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DID YOU KNOW?

Dark matter and dark energy make up 94 percent of the universe. We can measure their existence, yet we have no idea what they are.

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Another Monday, another doodle on the chalkboard for the Tuesday morning kids.

(Click above for a better view)

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So I was talking to my sister this afternoon when she mentioned that she wasn't feeling well and was debating missing her Monday night film class. I asked her what her formula value for skipping class was, and she looked at me like I was crazy.

I am not crazy. I am a man of SCIENCE!, which means things must be done precisely and calculatedly. In this case, it actually involves calculating something. I had assumed the Skip Class formula was pretty much universally used, but it's been brought to my attention that it's not. So, in the interest of public good, I will now teach you the Skip Class formula. I sure hope you remember your order of operations.

The formula is pretty much easy to use but, in the event that you're math illiterate, I'll walk you through using it in a sample equation.

Let's pretend I want to skip Research Methods. Why I'd want to do that is beyond me, but let's pretend for just a minute, OK? So first I need to figure out A, which is the total number of times that the class meets throughout the semester. Research Methods is every Monday and Wednesday, so doing a little calendar surfing I find that the class is being held 31 times. So, A = 31. Next we divide A by 100, getting us .31, which I'll then multiply by 15 to get 4.65 . I now multiply that by B, which is how nice the professor is regarding absences and how much she likes me. She really likes me, but attendance is an important part of the class, so I'm going to give her a 2. So, B = 2, which means we multiply 4.65 by 2 to get 9.3. We divide by 2, though, taking us back to 4.65.

So, if I wanted to skip Research Methods, I could miss class either four or five times before my attendance becomes an issue.

I hope this brief mathemagical display has helped to clarify a few of your lingering questions regarding slacking.

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DID YOU KNOW?

Beneath a thick layer of surface ice, Jupiter's moon Europa likely harbors a liquid ocean kept warm by the gravitational stresses induced by Jupiter and by neighboring moons -- a potential haven for life.

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DID YOU KNOW?

An asteroid the size of Mount Everest slammed into Earth 65 million years ago. The ensuing global climatic catastrophe left 70 percent of all the world's species extinct, including the ferocious dinosaurs.

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Thank you, Xbox Live, for forcing me to switch from Blockbuster Online to Netflix.

Click on the link to the right to be my Netflix friend and we'll geek out together!

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This is terribly viral, but it's highly amusing and definitely worth a watch, if only to see the supposed hell that is living in Milwaukee.

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So if you bought 'Left 4 Dead' on your PC, you've got a special treat coming.

A fully modeled version of the mall from 'Dawn Of The Dead'.

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Now, I'm not going to say that I haven't excitedly praised the rise of our robot masters before. All I'm going to say is, the future's arriving awfully quick, and unless you're a super-scientist or are really good at harsh manual labor, it's not likely to be your day, your week, your month, or even your year. Or millennium.

SCIENCE! has now created robots that are better at our recreational activities than we are. Like this robot that can 99% 'Cult of Personality' on Expert in Guitar Hero. It has a small video camera which detects minute changes in light saturation on the fret board and determines what color is coming down the line and which fret needs to be pressed. It's actually pretty impressive.

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DID YOU KNOW?

There are more molecules of water in a cup of water than cups of water in all the world's oceans. This means that some molecules in every cup of water you drink passed through the kidneys of Genghis Khan, Napoleon, Abe Lincoln or any other historical person of your choosing. Same goes for air: There are more molecules of air in a single breath of air than there are breaths of air in Earth's entire atmosphere. Therefore, some molecules of air you inhale passed through the lungs of Billy the Kid, Joan of Arc, Beethoven, Socrates or any other historical person of your choosing.

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So a while ago, on a website I frequent, one of the staff members from Harmonix was taking ideas for Rock Band 2 battles. I put up a list and today, lo and behold, I found that one of my ideas is up and credited to my internet handle. I'm pretty much awesome.

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DID YOU KNOW?

The laws of physics, as measured here on Earth, apply everywhere else in the universe -- across space and time.

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I'm sitting on my couch in the dark typing this. There are a lot of thoughts going through my head right now, and I can't seem to sort them out. So I'm putting them down here for you to read.

I lost a loyal friend today. My dog, Oppie, was put to sleep this afternoon at 4:50 PM. For the past year Oppie has been struggling with blindness, deafness and mobility issues. He went from a healthy, vibrant dog to a frail, old one within the span of two or three months.

Let me tell you about how I got Oppie.

I got Oppie when I was eight years old for Christmas. My dad had put him in a box with a ribbon and gave him to me as a Christmas present. I had wanted a dog for a really long time, and had one briefly before it died of a disease puppies occasionally get after I had owned him for two days. So here in this box was another puppy, this one a Dalmatian, who looked up at me with the big brown eyes I'd come to know over the next fourteen years, and barked. He was ready for a master, and I was ready for a dog.

Oppie bounded with energy. Dalmatians are energetic dogs to begin with, but Oppie was even more so. He absolutely brimmed with life. Never did a day pass, summer to winter, that Oppie wasn't sprinting around the back yard, doing laps, chasing birds or squirrels or anything else only to let it go when he caught them. Oppie was a good dog that way; he never meant anything any harm. Once when we were babysitting another dog, the other dog tried to bite my then very young sister sister. Oppie, easily outweighed by the other dog, immediately bit him and wrestled him to the ground long enough to let my sister get away. That's the kind of dog Oppie was. Oppie liked everything and everyone, even to a fault. If he met someone once, that was all it took; he was in love. He would nuzzle them, trot up to greet them and wag his tail excitedly if they came near.

This is why the next few years were hard. I found myself getting sick every time I played with Oppie until I was taken to a doctor who ran allergy tests and determined that I was violently allergic to dogs. This meant that my time outside, and around Oppie, would be severely limited. And yet, every time I stepped foot into the back yard, there was Oppie, happily running up awaiting the opportunity to follow you around.

Oppie loved doing chores. I'm sure that sounds strange, but you'd have to know Oppie to understand it. If you had to walk something across the neighborhood, Oppie would follow, not on a leash, and walk right next to you. He'd sit obediently, without being told, until it was time to go. And then he'd leave, just as well-mannered as he came. Had to hang Christmas lights? Oppie would sit at the base of the ladder until you came down, and then follow you to the next place to put the ladder.

Over the next few years, I became less attached to him. As a teenager I became completely uninterested in the animal in the back yard; at best, his presence was an inconvenience. At worst, a seeming nightmare. Why would this dog not leave you alone when you were reclining in the sun reading a book, or getting in the hot tub in the middle of winter? Why did he insist on always being close?

As I said, Oppie was a people dog to a fault. He loved everything about people, including their food. He once ate an entire corndog out of my cousin's hand and promptly pooped it, simply the stick, two hours later. How it didn't get stuck or hurt him was beyond any of us; he just grinned happily and hoped someone else might be careless with their food. At our ranch, he was the arbiter among dogs and people, always making sure the other dogs were in line. If one dog tried to eat another's food, Oppie would growl until they returned to their own. If a dog finished early, Oppie would grudgingly share his without protest. He let the smaller dogs nip at his tail and follow him around; he truly didn't care. He was just happy being alive.

Which is what made today even harder. About two years ago, cloudy white spots began appearing in Oppie's eyes. Suddenly he was unable to pounce on a ball or snatch errant food. He became more cautious when he walked, but still retained his playfulness. His hearing went next. Soon it was easy to sneak up on the dog until you were nearly upon him, when he would finally turn and greet you. Then, two or three months ago, his walking became stilted. His back legs simply refused to work, and he began to hop, hobble or drag himself around. It was approaching his 14th birthday (positively ancient in dog years), but he wasn't going to let that slow him down. He was still springy, even if half of his days were dedicated to sleeping in the sun or under his favorite tree. As I said, he was content simply being alive.

This morning I brought Oppie his final meal. I made meatloaf with spaghetti sauce, two of his favorite people foods, for him; he ate them up and licked the plate clean. Knowing this was one of our last times together, I began to cry. Oppie stood up to try and comfort me, but fell over onto the grass and looked up with his big, brown eyes, silently saying that he would help if he could. When I turned to leave, he dragged himself to the gate to watch me go, still staring quietly, trying to understand what was wrong.

This afternoon we took him into the house for the shot of drugs which would end his life; his tail wagged excitedly at the prospect of being inside the house. This was an area Oppie had always wanted to enter as he stared through the glass door into the house... now he was inside. As we lay him on a blanket in the center of the floor, he struggled to sit up, never quite making it. Instead, he would get almost up, and then slip back to a laying position. This broke all of our hearts and, as I pet his head, crying, he did what Oppie always did.

He licked my hand.

Even as drugs coursed through his veins, slowing his breathing and responses, Oppie licked my hand and looked up with his eyes, those big, brown eyes, and said silently, I'd comfort you if I could. When he was finally gone, there was an unnatural stillness. It was more than death; it was if an imposter had come and taken Oppie's place. I'll never forget how still his body looked, lifeless, in the kitchen surrounded by crying family. It wasn't Oppie; it was the shell of Oppie. I took off his collar, which I had put on him myself many years earlier, and set it next to his body as it stared off into space. He was still, but he looked comfortable. He looked at rest.

I could try, for the rest of my life, to find another dog as good as Oppie. I'd never find one. Oppie was one in a million.

Oppie was a good dog.

I don't know what happens to pets when they die. I don't know what becomes of them, if anything. But I hope, and I pray, that right now Oppie is somewhere bright and warm, surrounded by people doing busy work that he can follow around and inspect carefully. I hope that he can see for miles, and hear the sound of the wind as it blows through the grass, and that he can run and jump and skip and not stop for even a second because of pain.

I hope that he's happy.

I miss you, Oppie. I'll always miss you.

Good dog, Oppie. Good dog.

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DID YOU KNOW?

Since light takes time to travel from one place to another, the farther out in space you look, the farther back in time you see. With our most powerful telescopes, we can observe the universe all the way back to its earliest moments -- all the way back to the Big Bang itself.

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So, the holidays are coming up and you're thinking of things to adorn your home with.

This isn't one of them.

Words can't express how terrible an idea this is.

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DID YOU KNOW?

With Mars likely to have been wet and fertile before Earth in the early solar system; with known bacteria that can survive extremes of temperature, pressure and radiation; with asteroid impacts that can cast into space rocks that contain bacterial stowaways, allowing life to move between planets, it may be that life on Earth was seeded by life from Mars, making all of us descendants of Martians.

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So I was putting some pen-ultimate finishing touches on my Senior Project SPSS data (1) when I found some dude's private leather pocketbook sticking out from under the desk. He must have dropped it and then accidentally kicked it to where he didn't notice it was gone. But his loss is my gain! So I rooted through all of his personal thoughts and quotes to see if I could find out who he is and give the notebook back. OK, maybe that's half true, and I really just wanted to know what was in it. Inquisitivity isn't a crime, people.


So I initially thought our journal keeper was some sort of philosopher; the very first quote on the very first page is, after all, very philosophical. As you read on, though, it becomes clear that he's less of a philosopher and more of a religious guy writing down things that sound faux-religion-y. Which isn't bad, if it works for him. I just gave him more credit as a rogue philosopher than as a not-so-rogue listener.

So, on an awesome note, it goes on and on, and becomes more and more incoherent. It's like the little leather pocketbook of a would-be world dictator if he could just get over his own personal hang-ups. There's descriptions of people and things they dislike, there's rants about societal systems and such... as I said, it'd make a great supervillain 'Ah ha, I discovered your plan!' sort of thing. I only snapped a couple of shots before putting the mini-diary on a desk in the center of the room. Hopefully whoever owns it will see it over the course of the day and reclaim it.

(1) If the phrase SPSS data doesn't mean anything to you, truly, you are blessed. Otherwise, just know that it's a lot of complicated numbers that may or may not mean anything to anyone ever in the long run.

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Heaven knows that when the robots invade, we can't trust cats. They will drive the robot battle machines.

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Let me tell you what's not a healthy suggestion --

Spending six hours in front of a small, mid-90's computer screen inputting data and crunching figures.

Due to time constraints on my senior project, I've had to do all my data entry within a day. The process usually takes two to three weeks, and frequently is accompanied by some help. But today it was just me and my will to survive.

So here I am, home finally. I've got a splitting headache, one of my eyes hurts (seriously) and my will to live has decreased sharply. To top it off, I teach bright and early tomorrow morning. I swear. The academic lifestyle's crashing me.

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This combines like one hundred of my passions into one great super awesome wearable prop. Check it...

Victorian space gear! Holy crap!

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I'm a video game nerd, and occasionally articles come along containing information or stories that are just too nerdy and geeky for me. Which is a stretch, all things considered, since I'm pretty much on the far end of geek.



See, that's me over there, just below Neil deGrasse Tyson, who is totally awesome. Anyway, there are things that even out-geek me. This is one of these things.

Meet Amy Taylor and David Pollard. They're pretty much past me on the Geek scale, but much lower on the Cool axis.

They're a loving married couple who met in 'Second Life', got married in 'Second Life', got married in real life and now are getting a divorce. Why?

Because he was cheating on her. In 'Second Life'. By cuddling on a couch, and possibly sleeping with a digital hooker.

It's OK, though, because she's already got a rebound relationship. With a dude she met on World of Warcraft.

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So, I've secretly been tasting of the forbidden fruit that is Dungeons and Dragons with Spencer, Marque and a rotating cast of characters. This was time number two, so we stepped it up from our previous entry using chess pieces... we used Lego mini-figures.

With my extensive dark history relating to THE BRICK (as we in the hobby call it), I was the natural choice to bring the mini-figures. Creating wonderful mini-figures for our DND campaigns was really half the fun, and elevated the nerdfest to a new and much more rewarding level. No joke, it was even more awesome with tiny plastic people.

Anyway, I have pictures of our characters, so enjoy.

This is me. We all came up with fantastic fantasy character names (mine's Alain Lockwood, Paladin extraordinaire), but I'm going for purely self-insertion Mary Sue levels of hackery. Screw escapism, I want to play as myself, if myself had the ability to punch people's heads and cause them to explode. Or use a sword glowing with holy righteous light that smites the wicked. It's pretty awesome. Oh, and I seduced a six-foot-four lady blacksmith today in order to get cheap goods for myself and my friends. We does what we gots to does.

Oh, and that's my cat, Sir Cuddlesworth. I proposed that if I rolled a natural 20 against the enemy's amor rating, that my cat would get to attack too by latching on to the enemy's face. Spencer said we'd have to see, but the first time I dropped a 20, you'd bet that not only did I smite the crap out of the enemy, but my cat also latched on to his face. Rock on.

This is Carl. He's not actually anyone's character... he was a townsperson that I used Charisma on and convinced to be my squire. Spencer tried to take him away by having an even more charismatic sorceror try to seduce Carl with visions of power, but I won the saving throw to keep Carl. The glassy eyed townsperson is with me, bub!

This is Robbie's character. As I said, everyone came up with fantasy names, but I can't remember any of them. So this is Robbie. He's a Dragonborn fighter with acid-y breath and a giant axe. Robbie's only really happy when his character is covered in blood, which enrages him and causes him to do more damage. I think a blood pack would be a good gift for his character for Christmas.

Marque's character is French, and a wizard. If that's not a character statement, I don't know what is. It's pretty great, though, because she casts Magic Missile a lot (lol nerd stereotype!), which tends to come in handy. And she enjoys placing floating clouds of daggers in the faces of pretty much everybody. Oh, and she currently has a pet mouse. I found a miniature Lego owl when I got home tonight that I'm pretty sure will be adopted in a Harry Potter moment of weakness.

The newcomer to our quest today was Karlie, who is a Cleric. I'm not 100% sure about anything more specific than that, so I'm just going to go out on a limb and say that she's mysterious, and definitely isn't interested in being stalked by Robbie's dragon character.

Bottom line is, I've had a lot of fun. A lot of people have given me crap for playing DND, but until you try it, you can't really talk about it. It's like Fight Club with Cheetos and shame. And it's amazing.

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Remember how a few months back I posted a link to a webcam where you could watch baby chickens?

Same deal, but with puppies.

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Now, it's no secret that I love movies. I love most everything about movies, actually, but one of the things I think I love the most is the language of film.

By language I mean the way the story is told or the way the movie is presented. You know, the phrases, camera movements or cinematic techniques that help move the story along. Of course, they have led to some pretty predictable tropes. For those of you who aren't necessarily film scholars, a trope is an often predictable plot point, visual element or film element which appears over and over in movies. Fireworks launching behind a couple who is kissing for the first time? That's a trope.

A lot of filmmakers will complain about commonly used tropes, saying that they're outdated, cliché and should be retired. I'm of the stance, however, that there is a time and place for the trope. The reason they're commonly accepted and used is because they contain universal meaning and to ignore this universal meaning is to lose a tool of storytelling. Yes, over-reliance on common movie tropes leads to weak or subpar presentations, but I think that careful use of tropes leads to seemingly more fulfilling resolutions at the end of movies.

Anyway, that's all a really long lead-up to say that in this blog I'd like to talk about one of my favorite tropes. It's a favorite not because it's good, or meaningful... it's a favorite because it's just so bad. The trope I'm referring to is mentioned in the blog title above; it's a little cinematic maneuver that I've dubbed 'pulling a Ruffalo'.

pulling a Ruffalo • \'pul-iŋ ā ruh-ˈfa-lō\ • verb
: a cinematic technique taken from Mark Ruffalo's performance in 2005's 'Just Like Heaven' in which a character, feeling emotional turmoil, appears to vanish from the frame in an attempt at poignancy.

I'm sure none of you have any idea what that means. Let me show you the scene in question, and I'm sure you'll understand better. In order to avoid unnecessary pain, skip to 4:30 in the clip below.



As you can see, pulling a Ruffalo is as simple as making your character supposedly vanish from frame, as if they were a ghost or an extra who wasn't scheduled to be on camera. The effect is done entirely in post-production, and I'm not entirely sure that anyone who uses the Ruffalo technique actually believes it's as moving and touching as they think it is.

Of course, the Ruffalo maneuver is far-reaching in its implications. Everyone uses it, from big Hollywood directors to the common man on YouTube. Below is a clip from one of my favorite guilty pleasures, a YouTube 'documentary' series known as 'For Guys That Like Asian Women The Impossible Dream'. While my love for FGTLAWTID (as we call it around the office) is the subject of an entirely different blog entry(1), I noticed in the most recent entry that... well, I don't want to spoil the surprise.

Please, do yourself another favor and skip to 5:50 and enjoy.



He pulled a Ruffalo! When I saw the guy with the girl in his arms looking content, I mumbled out loud, 'He'd better not pull a Ruffalo'. As the camera lingered, it slowly dawned on me and I said a little louder, 'He's going to pull a Ruffalo...!' Finally, when he did indeed pull a Ruffalo, I shouted 'Ruffalo!' out loud and pumped my fist. Why? Because I love the sheer awfulness that is the Ruffalo maneuver.

But there are many other examples of pulling a Ruffalo out in the world. I both challenge and encourage you to go find a Ruffalo of your own. Think hard... I'd guarantee you've seen one somewhere.

(1) Short version: it's like watching a slow motion car wreck in which the driver of the car is sitting on the side of the road, clutching the steering wheel, pretending the car is still going.

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So I wrote this, and went to cook dinner when I started thinking sadly of all the girls that I had known in High School that I never made out with when, wouldn'tchaknowit, I pulled a Ruffalo. Life's funny like that.

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So I found this trailer surfing the internet today. Give it a watch.



Turns out the movie's already been released, but it's on extremely limited distribution. EXCEPT...

The director has cut a deal with MSNBC to show it on Sunday, December 7th at 9 PM. Well, I think it's at 9 PM... that's what the website says, but it doesn't say time zones. But I would recommend you keep an eye open for it. I know I will.

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How do you know you've reached 'Awesome' status? When you're drawing complicated art on your children's brown paper lunch bag. Every single day. And it's always awesome.

These kids better appreciate how awesome their parents are.

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Alright, alright, I couldn't resist doing just one more.

Brian Mackey: Election night was well-scored

"Like an Alfred Hitchcock movie, political stagecraft rewards close observation with layers of meaning that might escape the notice of a casual observer.

Tuesday night’s closing remarks — a concession speech from Sen. John McCain, a victory speech from President-elect Barack Obama — provided an excellent example.

“Thank you and God bless you, and God bless America. Thank you very much,” McCain said at the end of his speech.

As he shook hands with Gov. Sarah Palin and acknowledged cheering supporters, the music swelled.

French horns rang above a full, warm brass sound. It was a majestic theme, with minor chords sounding vaguely militaristic. It might also have evoked images of the sea — fitting for a scion of Navy royalty with his own record of distinguished service.

If you could identify the music, you knew it did a lot more than provide a noble backdrop from which McCain could exit the national stage. It told the whole story of the election. But more on that in a moment.

About 1,800 miles away and an hour or so later, Obama ended his speech: “Where we are met with cynicism and doubt and those who tell us that we can’t, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people: ‘Yes we can.’ Thank you, God bless you, and may God bless the United States of America.”

On the night America “Signed, Sealed, Delivered” a victory to Obama, he shed that soulful Stevie Wonder hit for a more noble orchestral piece. It featured pulsing strings and a snare drum under surging French horns.

Obama's music was from the 2000 movie “Remember the Titans,” in which Denzel Washington plays a football coach at a newly integrated high school in the early 1970s. It was stirring music, ennobling and vaguely patriotic, and its story parallels that of Obama, the first black president of a nation that still struggles with racial integration.

In reviewing “Remember the Titans,” Roger Ebert wrote that it was “not an activist 1970s picture, but more conciliatory in tone.” He could have been writing about Obama’s victory speech, which downplayed the harsh campaign and America’s racial history in favor of a call to service and unity in confronting what lies ahead.

McCain's music even more closely paralleled the election. It was the elegiac theme from “Crimson Tide,” another movie starring Denzel Washington.

In that 1995 film, Washington plays a black naval officer who challenges his older, white skipper (Gene Hackman) over an order with potentially grave consequences for America and the world.

The fight gets tough, and Washington’s character gets a bloody nose when the skipper resorts to throwing punches. But the younger black man prevails in the end.

Two brief clips of music tell the story of the election.

All you have to do is pay attention."

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(In case you missed it...)

First comment on the news article...

"Weeeell, according to rumor, he dressed up as a wizard to go with his kids to a midnight new Harry Potter book party.

And slightly less known is something a learned from a find of mine, intern for the campaign, that ran hospitality for the now-President-elect when he was in town.

The job involves getting him something to eat, maybe playing a little basketball with him, and basically chatting and getting whatever he needs between important things. During the conversation, apparently Zero Wing came up.

You know, the Sega Genesis video game. I don't know how.

And apparently, my friend made the off-hand comment of "All your base are belong to us".

And Obama leaned forward in his chair, quirked his eyebrow a bit, and responded "What you say?""

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It's the start of the snow season in Utah. Come on, Salt Lake, let's tighten up and get ready for some miserably cold winter.

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"All things are possible."
- President Barack Obama

There are times in which, if you listen carefully, you can hear the world changing.

It's not a loud noise. If anything, it's supremely quiet. It's a quiet hum, an electric current flowing between people, connecting each of us.

It's in these moments in which you can feel the world changing.

The world has changed for the better. The hum is getting louder.

One of the principal laws of nature is the fact that every action must have an equal opposite reaction. This was the case with both President Obama and Senator McCain's campaigns. President Obama created something raw and powerful; the distilled dreams of an entire generation waiting to be a part of something great. Oppositely, Senator McCain looked to create a movement of his own, and instead ended up creating something different... something less innocent. This is why President Obama's crowd cheered at the mention of McCain and Senator McCain's crowd booed President Obama. These are two opposite dynamics, hopefully which can now begin to grow back together.

The hum grows louder.

America has chosen, collectively, to disregard race. A dream that may have seemed impossible decades ago has become flesh and blood tonight in a landslide election. The soul of America has spoken.

The hum is audible.

MSNBC just started a sentence with 'President Obama'. Not 'President-Elect Obama'. President Obama. The sun will rise in eight hours and, with it, a new day will begin.

The hum is deafening.

The world has changed. Welcome to the new world.

In summary, spastic dancing is in order...



Also, as of midnight tonight, this turned out to be strangely accurate...

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So long, Politi-Crap '08. See you in 2012.

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Go vote, go vote, go vote, go vote.

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Uhhh... Governor Palin?

We realize that more and more Americans are starting to see the light there and understand the contrast. And we talk a lot about, OK, we’re confident that we’re going to win on Tuesday, so from there, the first 100 days, how are we going to kick in the plan that will get this economy back on the right track and really shore up the strategies that we need over in Iraq and Iran to win these wars?

Or, in case you don't believe it...

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Go vote, go vote, go vote, go vote.

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I have absolutely nothing whatsoever to say about this, other than that it's not edited in any way and is completely real.

Right-Click and Save As

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Funny how things change over time. Published in 1967, Richard and Kaiti found this book and thought it was particularly... interesting.

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