Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Imaginary Existence
If you could be anything you wanted, what would it be?
Some of you may know, but I’ve been playing a game called Second Life in my free time (what little there is). Perhaps calling it a ‘game’ is a misnomer. It’s really more of an online virtual environment that the ‘players’ can control. The game developers give players the power to create virtual objects, program them, and (if desired) sell them to other players for real money. Some players have made playing Second Life their full time money job, and, as reported in Business Week and elsewhere, are making enough money to support themselves.
As for myself, I have drifted through several SL ‘careers’, none of which have been particularly successful (it should be noted that success in this game requires large time investments, just like the real world, which I do not have).
First, I built airplanes. Yes, virtual airplanes that fly in a virtual sky. I soon discovered that my programming abilities were not up to the task of virtual airplane design (though they are now – I intend to give planes another whirl during the next school break).
Next, I built houses. Very cute virtual buildings for all the virtual people staking out a virtual homestead in Second Life. “Why buy a virtual house?” you ask. I don’t know, but you don’t get paid for asking virtual questions. Virtual people buy them, so I built them. I was moderately successful at the house building, but there was such a glut on the market (house makers are virtually everywhere – ha! OK, you’re right, bad pun) that I didn’t have the time to keep ahead of the virtual competition.
After that, I tried my hand at being a land baron. All these virtual people are buying virtual land from a virtual someone right? Might as well be the virtual me. I bought virtual land cheap on foreclosure auction, developed it, broke it up, and sold for a profit. I made money at that, but the margins were not large, meaning that you’d have to increase the total number of land ‘flips’ to make real profit. Again, that means time and time is something I do not have in large abundance.
Following land, I made a great deal of virtual furniture. Oh come on, you knew this was coming, right? Virtual land… virtual house… virtual furnishings. Personally, I think my virtual furniture beats the pants off the competition, (most of it is natively programmed with sliding doors, special sit scripts, lights that turn on and off, etc) but I seem to be having a problem with advertising. Err... imaginary advertising.
Now, I make flags. That’s right, flags like fly outside office buildings and banks and homes on flag day – just a virtual version. I designed a virtual flag that orients itself to the virtual wind. None of my virtual competitors seems to have figured this out yet (Shh, don’t tell them that once you figure out the vector mechanics, the program is only 6 lines of code. Hopefully none of them read this blog.).
So, I’ve made my largest profit yet selling imaginary flags. Not just any imaginary flags, but the best darn imaginary flags that exist.
I love the irony of that last sentence…
Some of you may know, but I’ve been playing a game called Second Life in my free time (what little there is). Perhaps calling it a ‘game’ is a misnomer. It’s really more of an online virtual environment that the ‘players’ can control. The game developers give players the power to create virtual objects, program them, and (if desired) sell them to other players for real money. Some players have made playing Second Life their full time money job, and, as reported in Business Week and elsewhere, are making enough money to support themselves.
As for myself, I have drifted through several SL ‘careers’, none of which have been particularly successful (it should be noted that success in this game requires large time investments, just like the real world, which I do not have).
First, I built airplanes. Yes, virtual airplanes that fly in a virtual sky. I soon discovered that my programming abilities were not up to the task of virtual airplane design (though they are now – I intend to give planes another whirl during the next school break).
Next, I built houses. Very cute virtual buildings for all the virtual people staking out a virtual homestead in Second Life. “Why buy a virtual house?” you ask. I don’t know, but you don’t get paid for asking virtual questions. Virtual people buy them, so I built them. I was moderately successful at the house building, but there was such a glut on the market (house makers are virtually everywhere – ha! OK, you’re right, bad pun) that I didn’t have the time to keep ahead of the virtual competition.
After that, I tried my hand at being a land baron. All these virtual people are buying virtual land from a virtual someone right? Might as well be the virtual me. I bought virtual land cheap on foreclosure auction, developed it, broke it up, and sold for a profit. I made money at that, but the margins were not large, meaning that you’d have to increase the total number of land ‘flips’ to make real profit. Again, that means time and time is something I do not have in large abundance.
Following land, I made a great deal of virtual furniture. Oh come on, you knew this was coming, right? Virtual land… virtual house… virtual furnishings. Personally, I think my virtual furniture beats the pants off the competition, (most of it is natively programmed with sliding doors, special sit scripts, lights that turn on and off, etc) but I seem to be having a problem with advertising. Err... imaginary advertising.
Now, I make flags. That’s right, flags like fly outside office buildings and banks and homes on flag day – just a virtual version. I designed a virtual flag that orients itself to the virtual wind. None of my virtual competitors seems to have figured this out yet (Shh, don’t tell them that once you figure out the vector mechanics, the program is only 6 lines of code. Hopefully none of them read this blog.).
So, I’ve made my largest profit yet selling imaginary flags. Not just any imaginary flags, but the best darn imaginary flags that exist.
I love the irony of that last sentence…
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Black cauldron vs. Kettle
Don’t you hate it when strangers offer you their unsolicited opinions about your lifestyle?
Yeah, but it’s even better when you can offer an unsolicited opinion of your own in return.
Last week the guys from work, as is customary, went out on Friday to our favorite BBQ place. When I went to refill my soda, a nice older lady let me cut in front of her to refill my diet coke. Turns out, this, albeit nice lady, was one of those who could not keep her comments to herself.
“Those diet sodas have aspartame…” she commented in a slightly bored, down the nose tone. “Aspartame is a neurotoxin.”
I replied with a bit of polite conversational fluff (i.e. “Is that so?”), but which was meant to convey, “Yeah, sure, whatever lady.”
However, she chose not to let it go, thus dooming her to my ire, and instead continued, her voice now dripping with disdain. “Yes, you should read up on it.”
That was too much – hint: no one ever tell me to “read up” on something, especially not in a superior tone. I cocked my head slightly, looking at her plate, which contained barbeque links and brisket. In a quiet but confident voice I said, “Smoked meats are carcinogenic, you know, perhaps you should look it up on the internet.”
I turned and walked away. And as my winning smile spread, I could feel the heat rising behind me, a nova of frustration collapsing into the intellectual red dwarf it had become.
Yeah, but it’s even better when you can offer an unsolicited opinion of your own in return.
Last week the guys from work, as is customary, went out on Friday to our favorite BBQ place. When I went to refill my soda, a nice older lady let me cut in front of her to refill my diet coke. Turns out, this, albeit nice lady, was one of those who could not keep her comments to herself.
“Those diet sodas have aspartame…” she commented in a slightly bored, down the nose tone. “Aspartame is a neurotoxin.”
I replied with a bit of polite conversational fluff (i.e. “Is that so?”), but which was meant to convey, “Yeah, sure, whatever lady.”
However, she chose not to let it go, thus dooming her to my ire, and instead continued, her voice now dripping with disdain. “Yes, you should read up on it.”
That was too much – hint: no one ever tell me to “read up” on something, especially not in a superior tone. I cocked my head slightly, looking at her plate, which contained barbeque links and brisket. In a quiet but confident voice I said, “Smoked meats are carcinogenic, you know, perhaps you should look it up on the internet.”
I turned and walked away. And as my winning smile spread, I could feel the heat rising behind me, a nova of frustration collapsing into the intellectual red dwarf it had become.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Where's Darwin when you need him?
Did the cavemen wipe their rears?
No, no, I’m not just being gross… that’s a legitimate question and it’s has broad reaching ramifications for the theory evolution.
Oh, I suppose they could have used leaves… but having done my wilderness survival training I know that leaves don’t works so well. Wait a minute, though… they survived an ice age… so there probably weren’t too many broad-leafed plants during that period. Maybe they used snow? Brrrrr. Despite the cold, surely snow would be better than pinecones. Anyway about it, they could not have been very clean people.
Ok, my little boy is prone to getting horrible diaper rash if you don’t keep him sparkly clean and dry. The same thing would happen to an adult without at least some form of primitive hygiene. Rash leads to broken skin, broken skin leads to infection, infection leads to fever and then death. Long story short, diaper rash kills.
So what kept the cavemen from dying of diaper rash early in life? Perhaps some sort of immunity – a hyper immune system – fought off such infections. Alternatively, some form of helper bacteria might have been present which kept staph and other such nasties in check. Either one, improved immunity or symbiosis, would be a distinct advantage – an advantage which modern humans do not have.
Therefore, I think this raises a serious question that theories of evolution cannot answer. Why did the cavemen not die out from terrible infections resulting from their unhygienic ways? If they were immune, that would be an evolutionary advantage, but the advantage didn’t get passed down to us – therefore (simplifying somewhat) the strongest did not survive to pass on their genetic material. “Ow,” says evolution, “that hurt. Is there a Doctor in the house?”
(What about animals? They’re dirty, too. OK, I don’t really want to go there, but three things: animals lick themselves, their hind legs leave the body at such an angle as to not create a crevasse, and most animals don’t sweat like humans – they pant. Yeah, gross, really gross, I told you don't want to go there. ‘Nuff said.)
However, I can see how the events contemplated above might have helped the cavemen develop language skills. With all the melodrama of a friend dying of diaper rash, surely they’d wish to talk about it, right? I envision the scene like this:
(tribe of cavemen standing about a pile of stone – a cairn – looking quite dejected)
Caveman 1: “Grog…”
CM2: “Grog… die”
CM3: “Grog die… itch?”
CM1: “Uhh, Grog die bad itch.”
CM4: “Miss Grog.”
Too bad they all died shortly thereafter, taking their new found language skills with them.
No, no, I’m not just being gross… that’s a legitimate question and it’s has broad reaching ramifications for the theory evolution.
Oh, I suppose they could have used leaves… but having done my wilderness survival training I know that leaves don’t works so well. Wait a minute, though… they survived an ice age… so there probably weren’t too many broad-leafed plants during that period. Maybe they used snow? Brrrrr. Despite the cold, surely snow would be better than pinecones. Anyway about it, they could not have been very clean people.
Ok, my little boy is prone to getting horrible diaper rash if you don’t keep him sparkly clean and dry. The same thing would happen to an adult without at least some form of primitive hygiene. Rash leads to broken skin, broken skin leads to infection, infection leads to fever and then death. Long story short, diaper rash kills.
So what kept the cavemen from dying of diaper rash early in life? Perhaps some sort of immunity – a hyper immune system – fought off such infections. Alternatively, some form of helper bacteria might have been present which kept staph and other such nasties in check. Either one, improved immunity or symbiosis, would be a distinct advantage – an advantage which modern humans do not have.
Therefore, I think this raises a serious question that theories of evolution cannot answer. Why did the cavemen not die out from terrible infections resulting from their unhygienic ways? If they were immune, that would be an evolutionary advantage, but the advantage didn’t get passed down to us – therefore (simplifying somewhat) the strongest did not survive to pass on their genetic material. “Ow,” says evolution, “that hurt. Is there a Doctor in the house?”
(What about animals? They’re dirty, too. OK, I don’t really want to go there, but three things: animals lick themselves, their hind legs leave the body at such an angle as to not create a crevasse, and most animals don’t sweat like humans – they pant. Yeah, gross, really gross, I told you don't want to go there. ‘Nuff said.)
However, I can see how the events contemplated above might have helped the cavemen develop language skills. With all the melodrama of a friend dying of diaper rash, surely they’d wish to talk about it, right? I envision the scene like this:
(tribe of cavemen standing about a pile of stone – a cairn – looking quite dejected)
Caveman 1: “Grog…”
CM2: “Grog… die”
CM3: “Grog die… itch?”
CM1: “Uhh, Grog die bad itch.”
CM4: “Miss Grog.”
Too bad they all died shortly thereafter, taking their new found language skills with them.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Raise a glass
Friends, remember Robert Allen today. Friend, scholar, and the only student Professor Ragazzo could never stump. The brightest student in the class has passed, and we are all a little less.