The Airplane Lottery Hospital Crash

This month is just a short rant.

I love probability statistics - not that I'm great at calculating them, but because of the paradoxes that they seem to support.

Example: Air travel is safer than driving.

Is this true? Well... yes, but also no.

It is "safer" than driving if you calculate number of deaths per passenger-mile traveled.

Hm? What's this? What's "passenger mile?"

If a car has two people in it and travels 100 miles, you get two statistics. (1) Vehicle miles (1 vehicle x 100 miles = 100 vMiles). Then there's (2) Passenger miles (2 passengers x 100 miles = 200 pMiles). So compare the car trip to the airplane that travels 1,000 miles and has 100 passengers.

(1) Vehicle miles: 1 vehicle x 1,000 miles = 1,000 vehicle miles.

(2) Passenger miles: 100 passengers x 1,000 miles = 100,000 passenger miles.

BUT, imagine the car tops a hill (at its 100 mile mark) just as the plane flies over (at its 1,000 mile mark) and they collide in a spectacular display of light, color, and noise (i.e., all dead)!

Probability of Death
CAR	PLANE
2.0%/vMile	10.0%/vMile
1.0%/pMile	0.1%/pMile

Yeah, ok, you don't like math. So instead of figuring out what I did in the table, look at it this way: If "safety" is determined by looking at number of deaths per something (miles, accident, whatever), then you can twist the numbers to suit your needs.

Where's the most dangerous place to be in the world? A hospital! Look at how many people die there! I wonder what the statistics are? Hm, calculating the number of deaths per type of building will surely reveal that hospitals are the most deadly. Probably worse than bathrooms, kitchens, and that married person's bedroom when their spouse comes home all combined!

So you might say something like, "Yeah, sure, if you look at it THAT way, then it seems bad, but people who are sick or are more likely to die usually go to a hospital. So it isn't fair to say that it is the most dangerous place to be."

Good, got that out of your system. But you've missed my point. The point is that NO comparison of apples to oranges is "fair" to make.

People don't treat airplane travel the same way as car travel. How much do you feel threatened by an engine failure if you are driving a car? Is it scary enough that you do a complete check of the engine before every trip? What about engine failure on your plane? Don't you think there is a little more attention given to equipment in one scenario compared with the other?

Also, most fatal accidents are due to human error. Where is human error more common? Wherever there are more humans. How many humans are flying planes at any given moment? Compare that to the number of humans driving cars.

So in terms of the above two cases, would you rather be in a car or a plane if there is complete engine failure? (I'm going to go ahead and assume you picked CAR.) I'd bet that there are WAY more fatalities due to engine (equipment) failure in aircraft than in cars.

Then we switch to human error. If you fall asleep driving a car, you don't get to sleep long before you crash. But in most aircraft, there are backup and safety features to decrease the chances that a brief nap will result in death. (Frankly, though, I doubt that the car or plane option seems too good when human error is involved.)

Up to here then, I hope you can see that these sort of things depend on how you look at them, right? So next time someone throws out some little statistical factoid, you should ask, "Compared to what, exactly?"

Which brings me to the smug idiotards who spout off about how the lottery is a "tax on stupid people." Yikes! Are they WAY behind on their lottery tickets, then!

Their "argument" is based on the premise that all a person get's from their $1 (or whatever) outlay is a virtually sure loss of that money. Not much different from rolling down your car window and throwing your cash into the street. In other words, if I may extrapolate the view: Nothing is of value unless it is tangible.

Wow, that seems more materialistic than the people who can't wait to spend the money they hope to win playing the lottery.

Must all transactions result in a tangible exchange? Are these people demanding to take home fragments of the movie screen when they visit the cinema? Should all roller coasters and Ferris wheels be dismantled because they don't provide tangible gains? When these people go on a date, do they insist on taking souvenirs? (Ok, that one sounds good to me, somehow…) Should every sex act result in a baby?! (Please, nooooooooooooooooooo!)

The idea that people who play the lottery are getting absolutely nothing for their $1 seems farfetched to me. They get something similar to what people get when they go to a movie or to an amusement park.

So would it be fair to say that amusement parks are playgrounds designed for stupid people? Or that movies are ways to keep stupid people in one spot for about two hours?

Ok, I've seen the quality of most of the movies lately, so maybe the argument breaks down here...

A Love Story

In my naïveté, I had deluded myself into believing that to survive the great tragedies in my life it would only take the endurance to last the painfully slow process of an "emotional healing." Certainly, there would be the scars... always there to remind me of my pains... and, if I ever became careless enough, always there to be opened slightly. A renewal or rather, a reminder of the original pain.

This isn't true at all.

I find that great tragedy; loss; do not rip open gaping ragged edged wounds that slowly heal back up. No. Nothing at all like that. Instead I find that there is no "healing process" whatsoever. No such thing as "emotional scars." The wound persists. I think that all that will ever happen is that I will learn to avoid that particular spot in my soul. Find ways around the pain.

Often I find myself suddenly at the edge. Looming over the abyss trying not to fall inside again. Sometimes I can pull myself away. Sometimes not. There is some perverse pleasure, I admit, to sometimes falling in and succumbing to the pain, but for the most part it seems more of a relief to put distance between me and her.

It was a day in the later part of a New England summer when we first met. She was the boisterous orange/yellow pup in a tiny cage of the animal shelter's. Her reaction to us (although in retrospect, probably to all who passed her) was that of a joyous reunion between close friends tragically separated years before, never truly expecting to meet again. We could not resist. The drive home was an adventure. She squirmed and fidgeted all through the car. From under the gas peddle to the back seat, to Cindy's lap to the back seat again and then to my lap! We laughed, sometimes nervously, as we contemplated the potential of this four-legged dynamo.

The puppy was supposed to be for my father. My mother, though, simply stated that either the dog goes or she does. To my father's credit, the ultimate decision involved my taking her (the dog, not my mother) to college with me. There, Elizabeth Freedom (as she was eventually named) squirmed her way into my heart as well as numerous garbage pails and other troublesome spots.

Very briefly, Elizabeth began her dog's life with me and my undergraduate years at Plymouth State College (now university). She would ride with me in my navy blue 1975 Ford Maverick (no seatbelts) from Plaistow New Hampshire to visit my someday-to-be wife in Portsmouth. With each trip Elizabeth made it about two miles further before vomiting. Finally, she was able to hold her biscuits for entire car trips and going "bye-bye" became one of the phrases most certain to wag her tail and excite her sparkling eyes.

When home in Plaistow, we would walk in the trails behind my parents' house. With Elizabeth along it sometimes became a surrealistic experience. She would race ahead of us along the pathway until we'd lose sight of her. After a brief while she would shoot across the path in front of us left-to-right. Moments later she'd be passing us on the trail again to race ahead, while in a very short interval after that, she'd pass us again and race ahead as if she'd just lapped us on a race track or was an identical pup chasing her twin up the trail. We never could tell from which direction she'd appear!

After a while, I graduated from college, worked for a year and then married and moved to Kansas for graduate study. Of course Elizabeth came with us. She shared the passenger seat (built only for one I might add) of a Ryder truck one-way rental. The trip was memorable for us all.

I was six years at Kansas. We lived in three different apartments while there. Elizabeth tolerated each move with the easy-going good natured fatalism of a true companion. Wherever her "mom" and "dad" were (or maybe just her food bowl) was home to Elizabeth. And that was ok.

The University of Kansas campus included quite a large park filled with green grass and hills for rolling, trees, water, and most importantly, squirrels. As soon as the door of the car was opened the golden streak flamed into the woods. Elizabeth was like a locomotive charging from tree to tree with the unwavering determination of a guided missile. Many a squirrel no doubt traded red for grey coats because of Elizabeth. When she tired of the chase (that is, when all the squirrels were safely back in their trees), Elizabeth would nose-dive into a plush pile of green grass and squirm onto her back and kick her legs skyward. A sort of "Snoopy-dance" we called it. Her best trick was to find a slight hill and surf down it like an upside-down wiggling dog-torpedo.

Elizabeth was not fond of water. I've wondered why that might be from the day it first became obvious. Did someone try to drown her as an unwanted pup? The best we could get was a little wading until water touched her belly. Then it would be a few licks and maybe, if it was a warm day, a brief rest on the mud perhaps a tail's length from the shoreline into the water.

The six years ended and we moved a half-day closer to New England, Elizabeth's birthplace. This meant we had made it as far East from Kansas as St. Louis. I spent a mere four years there as a post-doc at Washington University. St. Louis was not as dog-friendly as Lawrence, Kansas. The closest running grounds never really compared with the University of Kansas campus nor were the squirrels as friendly or abundant. Our apartment was on the second floor of a converted house which meant quite a number of stairs to climb. This became more and more problematic for Elizabeth given her attraction to food and food-like things as well as her advancing years (she was nearly 13 years old when we finished up in St. Louis).

For the most part, Elizabeth had retired her serious squirrel chasing legs for a more stealthy approach to squirrel hunting. And, truth be known, squirrel hunting wasn't nearly as rewarding anymore as gum or tid-bit hunting. We did manage a few trips to a distant park where we would occasionally mosey along a trail. But it was clear that Elizabeth would never again amaze us with her limitless racing energy.

I finally took a "real" job in Mississippi and moved there June of 1996. For the first time in our lives we lived in a house by ourselves. No more apartments, and best of all for Elizabeth, only four steps to get inside! We stayed in this house for just over one year. This would be Elizabeth's last move. Her last home.

We traveled north during the Winter months of 1997. Cindy's father was quite ill and it seemed that he was declining fast. Elizabeth weathered this trip as any other. With calm interest and a keen eye for snacks. Once in New Hampshire, she stayed with my parents who naturally adored her. My father would kick me out of his chair, but if Elizabeth were in it, he'd hook a fanny-cheek on the edge of the cushion and share rather than disturb her highness. After a great deal of sadness, our reasons for coming to New Hampshire were laid to rest. We drove back to Mississippi and Elizabeth would never be close to her place of birth again.

She lasted until August of 1997. We made a number of tearful trips to the veterinarian's office and were given an assortment of pills. It was clear now that Elizabeth was not in very good shape. Congestive heart failure imminent, she still wagged her tail and seemed to smile pleasantly at us whenever we'd walk into the room. Her looks were always expectant, "Are we going 'bye-bye'?" or "Is it time to eat/play/cuddle?" I honestly don't think that in her heart she understood that she was old and failing. Maybe she lived each day with the expectation that whatever her ills, they would eventually pass and she'd once again run like a rabbit through the woods behind our house.

We've since bought two houses. Elizabeth would truly have loved our first house. Not even a single step to get inside. Plenty of cool spots to lie down. Sun spots to warm her belly in every room. And, a fireplace. She never knew a fireplace. I sometimes look wistfully at the flames and imagine how well she would have looked stretched in front of its warmth. I miss her. I always will.

My good girl has been gone now for as long as she'd lived. While it pains me even to write these few words, I hope that maybe when Elizabeth died beneath my caresses fourteen years ago today, somehow all that she was and knew of us passed back to that fidgety pup in that small cage so few years ago. Perhaps that was why she was so happy to see us. Perhaps she knew us already. Maybe we were the long lost friends she longed to see again. Her happiness was that she could do it all again.

SPAM Baiting

This month's entry is pretty lame. It is just an experiment to see if I can get as much spam as possible in my "comments" section for this month. I fairly regularly get crap "comments" sent to a couple of earlier posts which are obviously spambot created based on some combination of words I'd used. I have always filtered them out. BUT THIS TIME my plan is to allow them in for this posting to see what I can collect. So the next few paragraphs are going to use sets of words that I believe might lure spambots into spamming me. These will of course be written innocently (and will probably read like boring drivel) so as to better demonstrate the lack of context needed to attract this sort of attention. Maybe this will fail, but I am curious to see what will happen.

So I was thinking about stuff in my past, you know, sort of dating myself in my mind, but it wasn't so much the date that I was focusing on, as what girls and boys of that day might look like today as men and women. How these groups might look today… In this regard, and regardless of their sex, I wondered if they exercise their imaginations. If they also think back to their past, feeling the weight of the years pressing down on them. Did they make the right decisions, did they experience loss and gain in equal amounts. Did they follow the recipe of their life in ways that allowed each ingredient to play its part? So much food for thought, I suppose. It was too much for my brain to eat in a single sitting, though. So I switched topics.

I wanted to invest some time to speculate on futures. By that I mean, of course, spend some energy on what tomorrow would bring. But to do that, I would have to buy into the whole "today predicts tomorrow" way of thinking that doesn't really hold the same currency with young people today. Young people today seem to me to save their free time mostly for digital media rather than interacting with actual people.

That line of thought depressed me a bit because it seems like nowadays, people my age can't relate as well to the blossoming generation. I would practically need to be psychic to have half a chance to figure out what kids today are feeling. And frankly, it just isn't in the stars for me to be a psychic - nor would I consult an astrologer for that matter… surely they possess no viable alternative to understanding the digital generation. Besides, our cultures barely overlap enough to share that common ground needed for communication. Just the differences in health situations insures a communication gap that no medicine can cure. I don't need a graduate degree to figure that out. Life is education enough, my friend!

Speaking of education, I cannot help but be reminded of my job before I decided to go to college. I worked at a company that built the Patriot Missile, if that rings a bell? Spending so many days of my life at that job made me realize the importance of variety. Day in and day out, the same work, the same faces. The days slipped by - and I wasn't even drinking alcohol! Although if I were still there, I'd no doubt have a beer gut by now. Seems like that is one of the paths to the "American Way" I've heard about. With the other extreme becoming president, like Obama. Seriously, though, I doubt that path was as possible as the beer gut path. Besides, I'm more of a video game kind of guy.

Games that I enjoy tend to be the first person shooters. They suck you in like movies. I even own an old Vectrex game (look it up) that needs some repair. But it was awesome! You'd think with my interest I'd have considered a career in programming. Nope. Too lazy and not quite a good enough thinker or problem solver to do well in that field. Dammit! There's money to be had there, though!

Oh, but I got off the track of health up above. Which reminds me that if I plan to do some traveling next month, I might want to get checked out. Maybe get a shot to protect me from an exotic virus. Hm. Just thinking about health care today makes me wonder about people of the past, like the Trojans who battled across the lands. They never worried about shots. But on the other hand, they probably didn't live as long… Ok, I won't talk myself out of the shot. I will have to download the list of local clinics where my insurance will pay for at least a tetanus booster. Better to be illness free on any trips I take. Don't want to lose my stamina on those long treks through the ruins of Greece or up the steep trails along the Grand Canyon.

Whatever. Maybe I should just be satisfied that I am healthy enough to consider travel, rather than whine about the past. Let's just see where things take us?

I will give this some time and actually ALLOW whatever "anonymous" posts I get to be listed. Any bets as to how many?

===========

Ok, so I gave it 8 months and I was able to attract 27 spam-bot posts. That's more than 3 per month (although I haven't gotten any for the past two-three months). Compare that to the maybe 1 I get per post otherwise. So clearly I was able to catch some spam-fish! Whoop-de-doo!

===========

This Is Why I Hate Winter!

The wind that day was gray. Dark swirling maniac gusts that tugged and pushed with clearly evil intent. I tried to pull my coat tighter around my body, hands deep in leaky pockets. My flannel pajama bottoms snapped and rippled as I tried to keep from slipping on invisible ice. As I passed beneath the tree in the back yard clumps of snow broke from the branches and disintegrated into tiny cold pellet-bombs. Plops of snow tapped my head warning me too late that kamikaze ice was about to drop between the back of my jacket and neck. Every step I took, icy wads of heel-squashed snow flipped out of my slippers as the backs of my feet emerged like swimmers gasping for air between strokes. Fresh downy snow puffs cascaded into my inadequate footwear with each step, machine-like, preparing a new pancake of ice to eject on the next step. My legs cranked and my feet punched ahead into deeper and deeper drifts of cold white powder.

Each numbing step I took away from the warmth of my house became more resentful. Stomp… Stomp! STOMP!

My back was cold and yet also oddly sweaty. I snorted an irritated puff of air at this ridiculous thought. Steam rose to my eyes then split and drifted to either side of my head. The inner edges of my glasses clouded slowly from my nose and I knew it wouldn't be long before they'd be entirely fogged. "What the hell am I doing?"

I stopped to look back at the house, which was now hidden behind the gray wind. The turn dislodged a dribble of half-melted snow from the back of my neck and down my back to wedge into the elastic waistband of my pajamas. "Christ, that's cold!" I actually yelled this while I did a quick twisty-dance to dislodge snow from flannel.

Carefully I turned back to consider the tree line I had been walking toward. Again, "What the hell am I doing? This is stupid." Yet my feet resumed their mechanical trudge despite my growing doubts.

After about twenty more ice-cake wads were processed through my assembly-line march, I finally arrived at the trees bordering the back of my yard. I couldn't see much. The spindly tree branches formed a black haphazard spider web against the impenetrable milky soup. Behind this shifting gray backdrop I could see nothing but imagination.

It had taken a great deal of nerve to push me out into the yard this distance. Now that I was here, my nerves were reversing polarity. I had left the back door unlocked. Maybe what I thought I had seen through the window had circled around and was now waiting in my warm house? I was beginning to feel safer in this cold cocoon of dense gray. Well, I couldn't stay here, so I peered as bravely as I could into the wooded fog. I hoped that who- or what- ever was there would see the warrior in me instead of the shivering sweaty overweight boob I was feeling like.

With as a cruel a sneer as I could manage, I turned to head back toward my house. I hadn't taken four steps when the skin and hair on my neck began to prickle with anticipation of an attack from behind. Although I knew that the footsteps I heard were my own, my imagination overrode my intellect and I ran as fast as I could toward that back door. My first step in this sprint toward safety exposed my entire right foot to the raw elements, leaving behind a wet leather slipper. The other slipper was never more than half on my foot all the way back to my house.

I felt foolish as I fumbled the door open and slammed it shut behind me. My fat chest heaved with joy and exertion at the successful finish to my race with whatever imaginary fiend had been chasing me. Truly my smile at this point was one of mild embarrassment. Shaking my head I turned around and twisted the bolt to lock the door. As an afterthought, I pushed the blinds up a bit to see if I could see the tree line. Instead, through the glass I saw the red eyes and yellowed fangs of what looked like a giant man-wolf staring back at me just inches from my face.

If I hadn't lost one slipper outside, I might have pissed myself. I could feel my bladder twinge a bit as if to say it was ready to give it a try.

The truth of the matter, though, is that a man cannot pee if his feet are uneven or if one big-toe is cold and the other warm. The whatever part of my brain responsible for laying down the man-laws issued a military "NO" to my bladder's tentative twinge. That was enough to lock my plumbing. It also had the side effect of clenching my sphincter. I hadn't even been aware of how close I was to shitting myself. I guess it's just another type of man-law: "Focus on one, two will follow."

All of this happened in a matter of milliseconds. My brain had yet to process even a little of it, really. Instead, the moment was dominated by the high-pitched and very girlish sounding scream that I gave as I threw my whole body back from the door. While flying away from the door, a small part of me was only beginning to process the realization that the face I thought I had seen outside the window had really been a reflection of what was behind me.

The Future Me Is AWESOME!

Sitting next to my diet coke and headless chocolate reindeer, I marvel at how heavy I've become. Guilt seasons each mouthful and I assure myself that things will change. They must!

Yes, tomorrow, I will collect my willpower and resolve.

Tomorrow I will eat only healthy foods and avoid all the garbage that has stuck to my ribs (well actually, more than just the ribs… let's go with all 206 of the bones - yeah, I have chocolate reindeer and other junk foods stuck to ALL of my skeletal system; plus maybe also stuck on some tendons, blood vessel walls, surely; brain, liver… ok let's say I have gobs of fat stuck everywhere and leave it at that).

To feel better now, I tell myself about what I will do tomorrow. In addition to a better diet, I will of course also be heading back to the fitness center! Despite not having the knees to run… or apparently to walk now, too… I can start swimming! I love to swim! The downside of smelling like chlorine every day for the rest of my life is a small price to pay for health!

As soon as I am done fitnessing, I will do some health-eating. Then I will NOT turn to my game computer and visit the vast wastelands of Fallout 3 (or other exotic and exciting locales waiting for me to double-click on their welcoming icons). And while that's on the chopping block, it would probably be for the best if I just canceled the satellite service too. No need to be wasting time watching Fringe and The Mentalist. Instead, I will use that time to get all the chores around the house done. There's lots of stuff in need of being sorted and thrown out or donated! Not to mention the painting, sanding, and minor repairs that need to be done here and there. Oh yeah, the cellar could REALLY use a makeover! So that's what I will do starting tomorrow!

Well, at least some of that tomorrow. I can't do everything in one day.

So, then... probably this weekend I will get that other stuff done. That really makes the most sense. The weekend is better for big jobs like cellars. Then in the afternoon, when I finish those bigger jobs, I can settle in and work on getting lectures tweaked. New material worked into the PowerPoints. Look over alternate texts for future classes. Get my next research project panned out. You know... Whatever else needs attention.

It is a great relief to me to know that Tomorrow-Me and Weekend-Me have everything under control. So for now, I can sit back, finish my reindeer and 0-calorie carbonated beverage and hope that Today-Me doesn't get in the way of any of the Awesome-Me's of the future!

I really can't wait to meet them! They are soooo cooler than me. Unlike Yesterday-Me who ruined my chances of being Tomorrow-Me, today…