When Geof’s weekend went to crap.

And we’re back. Sorry for the outage — the server needed an OS upgrade and Geof worked like a madman all day yesterday to make it happen.

So how was your weekend? Ours involved taking more pictures. Imagine!

Click through for more photos. Lana Bob!, click through for more captions.

I told you I was only taking photos for a while. I wasn’t kidding.

For a little while, I will not write in complete sentences. I will only post photos until the new of the camera wears off.

While these are some of Eli’s favorite toys, he was supremely uninterested in the photos of the objects.

Also, never gonna get tired of this focus effect.

In graduate school, many of us physicists would joke about how the business students couldn’t do math. Those working on their MBA took business-specific versions of math classes, like business statistics, and we suspected that those classes just weren’t rigorous enough. It was an unfair generalization, but it was not without reason.

Consider this letter to the editor that ran in the school newspaper. Jason Pratt was annoyed at how basketball tickets were to be distributed. Some background: at Duke, basketball tickets for graduate students are hard to come by. To buy season tickets, you had to camp out for a weekend. Random checks helped keep grad students from wandering too far away. Even that didn’t reduce the number of people wanting tickets enough, so if you did camp out for the entire weekend, your name was entered into a lottery. If your name was drawn, you got to buy a ticket.

At the time, given the number of people who camped out, you had roughly a one-in-three chance of getting tickets. The GPSC used to guarantee tickets to those who were in the last year of their graduate program. When they stopped doing that, Jason became outraged. He pointed out that it was unfair to those, like him, in a two-year MBA program. After all, if he camped out for tickets both years, he had a “1/3 + 1/3 = 2/3 chance of getting one season ticket.”

That’s not the best part, though. The best part is when he applied his logic to people in longer programs.

Now, let’s look at the four-year graduate student. This person has a 1/3 + 1/3 + 1/3 + 1/3 = 4/3 chance of getting at least one year’s ticket. Hmmm… statistically guaranteed.

Yes, indeed.

Shortly after that, the business school had a casino night party. At one point in the night, the organizers decided that the action wasn’t hot enough. They declared that, for a limited time, all bets would return double the normal amount.

The physics students promptly marched to the roulette table and, minus a reserve, put half of their money on black and the other half on red. Normally black or red pay out at a rate of 2 to 1, since there’s just under a 50% chance of hitting either. But in the brave new world of doubled payouts, my friends were all but guaranteed to double their money with every spin of the wheel.

Eventually the guy running the roulette table figured out what they were doing and muttered, “Stop that.” One of my friends cheerily replied, “Hey, you make the rules.”

I understand that statistics can be tricky. The results can even be counter-intuitive. But I’d feel better if the above business students had had a better grasp on the basics.

We got a new camera and now we are all arty.

Click through for more photos with the new camera.

I always preface these posts with, “I don’t talk about work, but…” In this case, what I wrote is for public consumption and is up on the web, so I figure it’s okay. My company works on ways to measure where one spacecraft is relative to another. We’re applying some of that technology to the Hubble Space Telescope. The Hubble’s dying, and needs repairs, but NASA’s leery about sending astronauts to it, since if something happens to the Shuttle, they’d be unable to reach the International Space Station. So the next mission to Hubble is likely to be the last one unless they can come up with a way for robots to do the repair job.

That’s where we come in. For a spacecraft to reach Hubble without a pilot at the stick, the onboard computer has to know where Hubble is. We’ve got a way to do that. Behold: using video to measure the Hubble’s position and orientation in orbit.

[tags]space, hubble space telescope, the things you can do with cameras these days[/tags]

I’ve always loved flying, especially take-offs. There’s something about being pressed back into your seat, watching the buildings slide past you faster and faster and then you’re in the air! The airplane hums around you as the world drops away. It’s even more spectacular at night, with the buildings becoming geometric patterns of light. I watch the cars drive along the roads, tiny twin cones of light, and imagine where they’re going.

Growing up I flew very rarely, so each one was an event. I would look around at all of the people ignoring the sights out the window and think, what’s wrong with everyone? Why aren’t they enjoying this? These days I take several business trips a year. A while back I was taking them so often that I got to where I shuffled into the plane, began reading, and didn’t look up again until we were on the ground. One day I considered what young Stephen would have thought of business Stephen. Since then I’ve looked out the window on every takeoff and landing.

On last night’s trip, as I watched the lights of Huntsville grow closer, I thought about flying in for my interview years ago, and how I had no idea I’d someday live here. As we banked over Madison I thought of a boy curled into a little ball underneath his rocket blanket, of a baby girl wrapped tight in a blanket, of a woman listening for our garage door to open. I pressed my hand against the window and watched the runway come closer and closer.

With a squeal of tires, I was home.

Michael, thanks for coming. I wanted to give you a chance to see a number of our students before they know you are their new principal and have their guard up. You’re in luck: since it’s lunchtime, nearly all of our students are in the cafeteria.

Right through here, please. Sorry about the color scheme. I suspect the orange walls with blue hexagons looked very futuristic in the 1970s. Perhaps next year will be the year the school board decides we can afford new paint.

I suppose it is very loud. Our students certainly like to talk, though I don’t know how many of them truly listen to each other.

Yes, they do tend to divide themselves up like this. Lunchtime is an especially good time to see the cliques as the students congregate into groups.

Of course. I’d be happy to discuss the students’ groupings with you. Let’s start with the fellows in the camouflage. They’re very interested in military science fiction. It’s all guns and dropships and the like with them. The student who’s holding forth very loudly is John Ringo, and that’s David Weber next to him. The quieter fellow holding the Bob Heinlein mask is John Scalzi. He’s one of our newer students. I’m not sure he’s going to stay at that table, to be honest. The MilSF crowd has been asking to stage mock battles during the lunch break, complete with imitation guns and blood packs. You can imagine how that request has gone over given the political climate. They’ll be in your office the first day you’re principal, mark my words.

Besides, if we let them bring imitation guns to school, the multi-book series fantasy students would want peace-bonded swords and rapiers. Just the other day Robert Jordan was telling me that we catered too much to the MilSF students. I reminded him that these days the only history classes we offer are on medieval Europe, but he was not mollified. They’re on the opposite side of the cafeteria from the MilSF students — look for the students wearing cloaks and carrying staves. I see Steven Erikson over there, and the nervous-looking girl standing near their table is Jacqueline Carey. The other high fantasy students aren’t sure what to make of her yet, I don’t think. One of our teachers, Mr. Tolkien, is of the opinion that she is far too interested in sexual matters for a proper high fantasist.

Ah, Mr. Martin. Your teacher says that you’re late on your term paper again, and that your last draft was above the allowed page count. Mmm? Yes, I see that Mr. Erickson is waiting for you at your usual table. Do try to be more prompt on finishing your assignments, George.

Michael, duck! Mr. Egan! Be careful where you clank! I apologize. Greg Egan’s robot body is a little hard to get used to, but either we let him wear it to school or he will simply upload a copy of himself into the school’s computer network. If we let him get away with that, that entire set of tables would be mostly empty, especially with the large number of Singularity students at that table. Kim Stanley Robinson would still show up in person, I expect, as would Robert Charles Wilson. Not planning on spinning up the school again, are you, Mr. Wilson? Once he accidentally encased our school in a bubble for two seconds and we missed most of the 1990s.

Oh, you’re unfamiliar with the Singularity? It’s all the rage among some students. It’s all computronium and s-curves that never turn over and uploading minds into silicon. Young Charlie Stross is the one with the interface glasses and all of that computer equipment, though his friend Ken Macleod runs a close second in terms of number of gadgets. The boy in the red cape and goggles is Cory Doctorow. He’s something of a Singularity student, though he uses more tag clouds than is usual. And Vernor Vinge is next to him. He could be sitting at the seniors’ table, but he stays at this one instead.

That’s the seniors’ table over there. They’re done with their exams. Many, though not all, of them are just marking time until they graduate. Generally they stay quiet, though you’ll have to watch Harlan Ellison. Mr. Ellison! I see you preparing to throw that food. We’ve had enough of that this year, thank you.

The mostly-empty table next to the hard SF students is where the cyberpunk students used to eat lunch in their leather dusters and mirrorshades. We haven’t had many new students join that group since Richard K. Morgan.

Mr. Ryman, I’ve asked you and the other Mundane SF students not to linger by the lockers during lunch. You can sit at a table like the other students. Yes, I know you have leaflets you want to hand out. That doesn’t permit or excuse your behavior.

I have to admit being puzzled by Geoff Ryman and the other Mundane SF students. Rumor has it they own no rocketpants underwear, which is unusual among our students.

Ms. Bujold, Ms. Asaro, good morning. I see you chose the chili. Brave of you both.

Lois McMaster Bujold and Catherine Asaro are among the students who are interested in science fiction that approaches romance novels. Some of the other students give them grief over that interest, though I enjoy seeing students who are interested in non-mainstream subjects. When you are principal, you may want to investigate an exchange program with a more romance-oriented high school.

Mr. Miéville! Mr. VanderMeer! That is enough! If you want to argue about what is and isn’t New Weird, you can do it after school. Thank you. And you as well, Mr. Duncan; all three of you can move along.

Do you have a handkerchief, Michael? I appear to have nicked my hand on China Miéville’s remade body.

Ah, yes, the urban fantasists. They’ve complained about our history classes focusing on the Middle Ages, and I expect them to bring those complaints to you. Neil Gaiman’s recent term paper on American legends was quite good. Across the table from him is Robin Hobb, and next to her is Jim Butcher, though I see Jim is going back to the high fantasy table to talk to the students there.

I saw that, Mr. Ringo! No, it does not matter that the gun fires Nerf bullets. You’ll turn it in to me right this instant. Thank you.

That very large group of students near the middle of the cafeteria are the short fiction students. They look so underfed because they are. This group contains our poorest students. One of our teachers has called them the “government cheese brigade,” though I discourage such language from our staff. Ted Chiang is the best-fed among them. Also at that table are Yoon Ha Lee, and Eugie Foster off to one side, and I see K. Tempest Bradford and Nisi Shawl as well.

My apologies, Mr. Chiang. I did not mean to point this Nerf gun in your direction.

Mmm? Yes, it’s true that the nec-romance students’ clothing skirts near the line of propriety, but they’re careful not to exceed the bounds of our school dress policy. Laurell K. Hamilton is the de facto leader of that group these days, though Kelley Armstrong has her followers among the group.

Sorry about the glare. The space opera students’ sliver jumpsuits and bubble helmets have an unfortunate tendency to reflect the sun into your eyes. Here, I’ve been carrying this extra pair of mirrorshades around for years and not worn them. Perhaps you will get more use out of them. We’ve spoken to students like Alistair Reynolds, Karl Schroeder and Wil McCarthy about their jumpsuits, but they too are within the bounds of our dress code.

That nearly empty table is where our minority students often sit. I remember when Octavia Butler and Samuel R. Delany attended this school and sat at that very table. Of course, Butler has graduated, and Chip Delany transfered to another school. What? Who are our current minority students? I mentioned Butler and Delany, did I not? Well, there is Nalo Hopkinson and Steven Barnes. Really, a lot of our minority students these days sit at the short fiction table.

The other nearly empty table is for exchange students. Ms. Atwood, I see you are eating by yourself again, and that you chose the pizza for lunch.

No, I’ve never seen her speak to any of the other students, either.

Mr. Turtledove, Ms. Novik, I see you two are holding forth on historical matters again. Yes, I’m aware of your complaints regarding our history department. I trust you are aware that your teachers are tired of essays and term papers about historical events that did not happen and that include bibliographies filled with books that are not in our school library?

Some of our students are interested in fiction for younger audiences. You can see them over near the food line. Philip Pullman is on the side next to the wall, and Diane Duane is opposite him. Jane Yolen is the one carrying the tiny stuffed dinosaur dressed in pajamas. It’s dark because of the shadow cast by you-know-who — unavoidable in this case.

The new freshmen tend to stay together when they first arrive, no matter what group they might better fit with. Toby Buckell, Elizabeth Bear, and Jay Lake are among our freshman crowd, as is the aforementioned John Scalzi.

Ah, so you’ve heard about a number of our students transfering to other schools. I hear good things from other school administrators about William Gibson and Neal Stephenson, and of course Jonathan Lethem, one of our most recent students to transfer from here, is making quite the name for himself.

Don’t concern yourself about the students surreptitiously smoking under the bleachers and setting off firecrackers. Those are the infernokrusher students. They’ll either tire of blowing things up really good or take off some fingers, after which they’ll no longer be our problem.

Now, you should not think that these are set in stone. Many of our students wander from group to group as the mood strikes them and the groups will have them. Why, Charles Stross is so peripatetic that he’s lunched with the space opera students, the mundane SF students, and even hosted a lunch with the urban fantasists and the high fantasists.

Thank you again for coming, Michael, and I hope this has been instructive. If you have time before you go, I’d like you to stop by our writing classes. Our writing-in-longhand instructors are among the best in the school system.

[tags]science fiction, fantasy, sff, writing, authors as schoolchildren, longhand instruction[/tags]