If you haven't already read Part I, go check it out now. Oh, come on, you can just scroll down; you don't need a link, do you? I can wait....
So I was waiting for the beginning of the tournament when I discovered something I enjoy even more than Sudoku -- free food. Of course, it kind of amazes me how we can delude ourselves about these things: I paid $25 to get into the event, and while I eventually found out there would be prizes, I'll bet they got a lot of stuff donated. I can tell you for a fact that while I hit the freebies pretty hard, I didn't get 25 bucks' worth out of it.
On my way back from the snacks, I mentioned to the reporter that I was there in part because I knew it would make good blog fodder. He wrote that down and even took my URL, but said he couldn't guarantee a mention. I was not surprised by that (nor by my omission entirely from this morning's feature story). I think what he was really looking for was someone to say, "I discovered Sudoku in your newspaper and it's brought me so much pleasure!" But since I didn't, and since their puzzle is generally so easy it's hardly even entertaining, I didn't give him the hook he was looking for.
Soon we were under way -- they distributed the Round 1 puzzle and we all began to work. This first one was pretty simple and, although I got off on the wrong foot by putting a 1 in a box that already had a 1, I got straightened out and quickly hit a respectable rhythm. I was probably 75% done and feeling good, when...
... the first person finished. Then another, and another, and.... I realized I had forgotten something crucial. I'm thorough. I'm methodical. I might even be called reliable; I almost always solve the puzzle eventually. However, I've never been called a fast mover, or particularly speedy -- at anything. As my shot began to slip away -- in the middle of the first round! -- I was able to turn up the dials in time to finish in the middle of the pack. The first 5 finishers get 7 points each; I was in the second (5-point) group. Then we all waited for the hapless 3-pointers to finish, or not finish as the case might be.
OK, not lost yet. Just gotta buckle down, pick up the pace a little. Round 2: the puzzle's a little more difficult, the results are exactly the same. The same woman finishes first; I wind up in the dead center again. We take a break, fortunately, for I've started to notice an uncomfortable sensation inside my skull. While I'm working the puzzle at (my) top speed, I can feel my synapses snapping and crackling like the power lines and tree limbs in our recent ice storm. Is it just the aging process? Or encroaching mental infirmity? I don't suppose it matters -- the warranty has long since expired and this is the grey matter that's going to have to get me through my Golden Years. I have to guess that my Blue Book trade-in value is close to zip at this point, as well.
For the results of Round 3, see also Round 2. And Round 1. Same winner, same clueless group bringing up the rear -- and me bobbing ineffectually around the median. As a math guy, I can't help but think of the statistics involved: the Spearman rank-difference coefficient of correlation has to be astronomical for this group, if you know what I mean, and why wouldn't you?
However, I'm still thinking that I might be able to creep up into 4th place, and one of the prizes, if I catch a break in the fourth and final round. And I get off to a lightning-fast start in Round 4; I might still be able to pull this out. Of course, this puzzle ... doesn't seem... all that... hard? That's when they announce: Oops, we gave you the final puzzle from the kids' event earlier. Misdeal!
We wait for the replacement to be Xeroxed at the front desk. and I wonder if I have any gas left in the tank. And when it finally comes down -- I could've had jet fuel, it wouldn't have made any difference. It was probably the hardest puzzle I ever saw; you know the phrase about "nowhere fast"? I was getting nowhere, excruciatingly slowly. The time was dragging on like I was at the opera.
It seemed no one was getting anywhere, so they announced we'd take a couple minutes to finish up, then score the round on the basis of how many correct numbers we'd filled in. At this, the guy across the table said, "I'll just start filling in numbers, then!" But I stubbornly stuck to my method -- what I would I prove by guessing right anyway?
Final score: me 9, Random Fill-In Guy 30. In fact, I believe I had the lowest (reported) total of anyone. So for the day, I wound up in a tie for 9th out of 15. That's even a lower rank, percentage-wise, than when I competed in the City-Wide Spelling Bee in 6th grade... and goodness knows I haven't recovered from that yet. I can tell you what place I finished in, and out of how many, and what word I missed (and why I missed it) -- but I'm not talking about it. I'll just say sometimes the people they have announce the words at these affairs talk kind of funny.
I did, however, win one of the door prizes: the book the puzzles were taken from, and an extremely tiny and cheesy Electronic Mini-Sudoku (I'm talking "attached to a keychain" tiny/cheesy). Plus, I did something for myself (and by myself -- not at all to be taken lightly). Also, I got a Coke and 3 M&M cookies absolutely free, if you don't count the $25.
And if the 8 people who finished ahead of me are unable to fulfill their duties as Champion -- maybe they'll get disqualified for using calculator watches or something -- I'm ready to step in and wear the crown.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Saturday, January 20, 2007
The Battle of the Ballroom, Part I
I like to read history -- not so much the kind of history that relates big battles and geopolitics, but moreso the kind that helps you understand how the people lived. What life was like, in other words. That might more properly be described as anthropology, I don't know.
There are obvious differences between eras, but recurring themes as well. For example, every period seems to go through fads or crazes over games. The 1920s featured both crosswords and mah jongg; the 50s was notable for Hula Hoops; the 80s saw the success of Rubik's Cube. At present we're experiencing at least 2 such crazes -- not including video games, which have taken on a life of their own.
According to our friends at ESPN, poker is now a sport, with a televised World Series and everything. Now, a generation that mostly gave up homey family recreations like card-playing as unexciting has instead discovered the thrills of watching other people play cards on TV. I have perhaps remarked on such curiosities before (how unlike me to return to a familiar theme).
Although I'm pretty sure televised Sudoku will have to wait till the advent of ESPN-(some double-digit number), there's no question it has also become part of our cultural vocabulary (do I get any points for refraining from using the word Zeitgeist?). Why, just recently, Sherman's Lagoon did a whole week on Sudoku, and there can't be any better indicator of what's hip than the comics page. And no, I don't get all my ideas from the comics page.
You know -- by the way, this is our regularly-scheduled digression -- I sometimes feel bad about linking back to my previous posts so much. Then this week I was reading a Scholarly, Learned Theological Treatise that arrived in my e-mail inbox. The author constructed his argument at length and with care, complete with footnotes. When I got to the bottom of the page, I discovered that four of the six sources cited were this author's previous writings -- unpublished, at that. So this isn't just me yammering; I'm actually observing the current standards of scholarship.
As I have mentioned (ibid.), I enjoy Sudoku; I also have a bit of competitor in me, so when our local newspaper announced a Sudoku tournament, I was in all the way. Today was in fact that fateful day, so off I went to a local hotel "ballroom" to test my brainpower, and my knowledge of single-digit numbers, against the best this area has to offer.
It turns out the area doesn't have that much to offer (at least in volume), as only 14 other souls turned up on a sunny winter Saturday to match wits. I was issued ID# 10, which actually came in handy; later, when I had trouble finding my assigned seat, I was able to explain it by claiming I wasn't prepared to deal with any numbers greater than 9.
Since the newspaper was a co-sponsor, a reporter was circulating through the crowd (well, group, at least) interviewing my competition. I heard him say he was looking for a male contestant to interview, and someone pointed me out.
I didn't get to use any of my "A" material on him, like how I had brought my Sudoku dictionary (a Sudoku dictionary is an index card with the digits from 1-9 written on it. Or if not, it ought to be). Before I had much chance to uncork a magnum of sparkling wit, we were called into the room -- where I had the aforementioned seating issue.
You can imagine how I felt sitting there (at last) waiting for the tournament to begin... but to give you a better sense of what that was like, I'm going to continue this post next time in Part II.
There are obvious differences between eras, but recurring themes as well. For example, every period seems to go through fads or crazes over games. The 1920s featured both crosswords and mah jongg; the 50s was notable for Hula Hoops; the 80s saw the success of Rubik's Cube. At present we're experiencing at least 2 such crazes -- not including video games, which have taken on a life of their own.
According to our friends at ESPN, poker is now a sport, with a televised World Series and everything. Now, a generation that mostly gave up homey family recreations like card-playing as unexciting has instead discovered the thrills of watching other people play cards on TV. I have perhaps remarked on such curiosities before (how unlike me to return to a familiar theme).
Although I'm pretty sure televised Sudoku will have to wait till the advent of ESPN-(some double-digit number), there's no question it has also become part of our cultural vocabulary (do I get any points for refraining from using the word Zeitgeist?). Why, just recently, Sherman's Lagoon did a whole week on Sudoku, and there can't be any better indicator of what's hip than the comics page. And no, I don't get all my ideas from the comics page.
You know -- by the way, this is our regularly-scheduled digression -- I sometimes feel bad about linking back to my previous posts so much. Then this week I was reading a Scholarly, Learned Theological Treatise that arrived in my e-mail inbox. The author constructed his argument at length and with care, complete with footnotes. When I got to the bottom of the page, I discovered that four of the six sources cited were this author's previous writings -- unpublished, at that. So this isn't just me yammering; I'm actually observing the current standards of scholarship.
As I have mentioned (ibid.), I enjoy Sudoku; I also have a bit of competitor in me, so when our local newspaper announced a Sudoku tournament, I was in all the way. Today was in fact that fateful day, so off I went to a local hotel "ballroom" to test my brainpower, and my knowledge of single-digit numbers, against the best this area has to offer.
It turns out the area doesn't have that much to offer (at least in volume), as only 14 other souls turned up on a sunny winter Saturday to match wits. I was issued ID# 10, which actually came in handy; later, when I had trouble finding my assigned seat, I was able to explain it by claiming I wasn't prepared to deal with any numbers greater than 9.
Since the newspaper was a co-sponsor, a reporter was circulating through the crowd (well, group, at least) interviewing my competition. I heard him say he was looking for a male contestant to interview, and someone pointed me out.
I didn't get to use any of my "A" material on him, like how I had brought my Sudoku dictionary (a Sudoku dictionary is an index card with the digits from 1-9 written on it. Or if not, it ought to be). Before I had much chance to uncork a magnum of sparkling wit, we were called into the room -- where I had the aforementioned seating issue.
You can imagine how I felt sitting there (at last) waiting for the tournament to begin... but to give you a better sense of what that was like, I'm going to continue this post next time in Part II.
Friday, January 12, 2007
The Sound of Music
My wife reminded me recently of a moment I'd completely forgotten. When our son was born, he had some trouble with jaundice and with getting his breathing regulated, so he was kept in the hospital for 6 days. His room was not quite the high-tech hospital room teeming with expensive equipment... it always seemed to me more like a storage room or perhaps an exam room with a "baby hospital bed" jammed into it.
While he was there, there usually was a radio playing in the background -- after all, we couldn't be there 24x7, so he was alone most of the time. On this particular long-forgotten occasion, I turned to my wife and expressed a festering anxiety: "I don't want my boy to grow up a country-music fan."
Well, for the first seven years, at least, I seem to have avoided that fate, but only because he's a musical omnivore. I only wish that there were an elementary version of "Name That Tune"; I could get a pretty good college fund started for him, because if he hears any sort of mildly kid-oriented tune (he's also pretty adept with Christmas music), he will identify it. And if it's playing anywhere in the environs, he will hear it. This is actually a useful extension of the axiom that says a kid can hear anything but his parents telling him what to do.
He certainly gets plenty of exposure in plenty of directions. When I was a kid, my parents were "easy listening" devotees. If you're not familiar, easy listening is basically elevator music, (occasionally) with words. While this has come in handy recently, since the "easy listening" music of the 60s & 70s makes up most of the "easy piano" books of the present day, it didn't necessarily help me develop a sophisticated musical palate.
In fact, I was surrounded; since I lived outside the school district I attended, I was transported not by a standard bus -- nor even by the now-legendary Short Bus -- but in fact in a regular station wagon with the rest of the literal outcasts (how sad is that, that I didn't even merit the Short Bus?). Every afternoon, all the other kids were called by bus number; then the voice intoned, "Station wagon, please... station wagon." Not that I'm bitter.... anyway, Mrs. Dickenson, the driver, was an aficionado of that same easy listening station. Narrow range of musical exposure -- that, and hymns! -- is what I'm getting at here. I was in high school before I figured out you could do a song with an electric guitar and drums.
The kids today, however (or "Those kids these days", if you prefer, but I'm not wearing my flannel shirt and suspenders today) get all kinds of chances to hear all kinds of cool stuff. Just watching kid TV, look (listen) what they can hear:
While he was there, there usually was a radio playing in the background -- after all, we couldn't be there 24x7, so he was alone most of the time. On this particular long-forgotten occasion, I turned to my wife and expressed a festering anxiety: "I don't want my boy to grow up a country-music fan."
Well, for the first seven years, at least, I seem to have avoided that fate, but only because he's a musical omnivore. I only wish that there were an elementary version of "Name That Tune"; I could get a pretty good college fund started for him, because if he hears any sort of mildly kid-oriented tune (he's also pretty adept with Christmas music), he will identify it. And if it's playing anywhere in the environs, he will hear it. This is actually a useful extension of the axiom that says a kid can hear anything but his parents telling him what to do.
He certainly gets plenty of exposure in plenty of directions. When I was a kid, my parents were "easy listening" devotees. If you're not familiar, easy listening is basically elevator music, (occasionally) with words. While this has come in handy recently, since the "easy listening" music of the 60s & 70s makes up most of the "easy piano" books of the present day, it didn't necessarily help me develop a sophisticated musical palate.
In fact, I was surrounded; since I lived outside the school district I attended, I was transported not by a standard bus -- nor even by the now-legendary Short Bus -- but in fact in a regular station wagon with the rest of the literal outcasts (how sad is that, that I didn't even merit the Short Bus?). Every afternoon, all the other kids were called by bus number; then the voice intoned, "Station wagon, please... station wagon." Not that I'm bitter.... anyway, Mrs. Dickenson, the driver, was an aficionado of that same easy listening station. Narrow range of musical exposure -- that, and hymns! -- is what I'm getting at here. I was in high school before I figured out you could do a song with an electric guitar and drums.
The kids today, however (or "Those kids these days", if you prefer, but I'm not wearing my flannel shirt and suspenders today) get all kinds of chances to hear all kinds of cool stuff. Just watching kid TV, look (listen) what they can hear:
- Ziggy Marley does the theme from "Arthur" (the aardvark, not the drunken Dudley Moore!)
- Little Richard sings the "Magic School Bus" theme
- They Might Be Giants do opening AND closing themes for "Mickey Mouse Clubhouse", as well as "Higglytown Heroes"
- Taj Mahal performs the theme for "Peep and the Big, Wide World"
- and many, many more... perhaps you get the point
In addition, one of his favorite tapes is the soundtrack to Fantasia, which is honest-to-goodness, no-kidding-around, Philadelphia Orchestra classical music. Not only that, but he was flipping through TV channels not long ago when he stopped, transfixed by a sound I don't think he'd ever heard before.
It was polka, and he was clearly diggin' it.
He doesn't say no to much, although when we are in the car he will occasionally ask me to change the station if there are too many "girl songs" (i.e. female singers). Just in case, though, I stick to the radio preset buttons -- that way I know we're not going to wander into a country station by mistake.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Second Annual Christmas Performance Review
The bad news about reaching my first blogiversary is that now the calendar turns over and I hit many of the same occasions again – that is, many of the same occasions I wrote about the first time around. So the next challenge: should I attempt to write about all the same things, but try to do it better (or risk doing it worse – or perhaps more painfully, end up repeating myself)?
Right after Christmas 2005, I wrote a piece about my expectations for (and subsequent frustrations with) the Christmas season. I also included my plans for doing it better “next time”.
Well, we’ve just passed through next time, so I thought it would be worthwhile to review last year’s piece and see if anything’s changed.
I guess the good news is that I don’t have to write a “Christmas piece” this year, because I already said it all the first time. I find that basically everything I wrote last year still applies… oh, wait; the kids are now 7 and 4. Everything else still holds true. I’m going to choose to view that as a validation of the Universal Truth of my writing, rather than an illustration of my Complete Inability to Change.
Note that this post is really also in keeping with the fine holiday-season tradition of repeat programming – or if you prefer, “classic episodes”. So in lieu of any original thoughts, please enjoy an encore of Christmas 2005!
Right after Christmas 2005, I wrote a piece about my expectations for (and subsequent frustrations with) the Christmas season. I also included my plans for doing it better “next time”.
Well, we’ve just passed through next time, so I thought it would be worthwhile to review last year’s piece and see if anything’s changed.
I guess the good news is that I don’t have to write a “Christmas piece” this year, because I already said it all the first time. I find that basically everything I wrote last year still applies… oh, wait; the kids are now 7 and 4. Everything else still holds true. I’m going to choose to view that as a validation of the Universal Truth of my writing, rather than an illustration of my Complete Inability to Change.
Note that this post is really also in keeping with the fine holiday-season tradition of repeat programming – or if you prefer, “classic episodes”. So in lieu of any original thoughts, please enjoy an encore of Christmas 2005!
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