Author: gulley

We have a natural grasp of the fact that we can’t see small things. Likewise things that are very large escape our notice because they exceed our field of view. We might call these aspects of the spatial domain. When I began studying engineering, I learned about this marvelous concept of a frequency domain. It’s an acknowledgment of the fact that some things happen very slowly and some happen very quickly. And just as things can hide from us because they are too small or too big, they can also hide because they are too fast or too slow.

Technology helps us on all these frontiers. High speed cameras slow down the invisible wings of a hummingbird, and time-lapse photography shows a sapling reaching sunward like a hand. And recently I’ve noticed that, as these camera technologies get better, they bring with them the cinematographic techniques of conventional cinema: zooming, tracking, and pulling focus. For time-lapse, this is a fairly straightforward process of carefully mapping out your camera’s motion across the hours. If you’re really good, you can end up with something like this.

At the other end of the frequency domain is the fast stuff. Tracking and changing focus at these speeds is more problematic. For this, you need fast, stable robotics. Here’s a wonderful “how we do it” video from a German special effects company that specializes in high-speed cinematography. They do things that you’ve never seen before. Things that simply haven’t been possible until now. Watch.

[Spotted on the IEEE Spectrum Automaton blog]

In this modern age, we’re subjected to all kinds of outrageous and essentially unchallenged assertions: the earth is four and a half billion years old, the gross domestic product of Montenegro is $4.1 billion, it takes 364 licks to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop, and so on. Most of these just wash over us. You’d go crazy trying to challenge them all. But every now and then you see some number blithely mooted and say to yourself, how could we possibly know that?

For example.

It is approximately, we are told, 2.5 million light years, give or take, from the end of your nose to the Andromeda galaxy. So: if your bathroom mirror was hanging in Andromeda, you’d have to stare at it for 5 million years before you realized you had a little hair hanging out of your nose.

Think of all the ways we measure how far away things are. Now think how none of these things could work for something so very far away. It would take way too much measuring tape. You can’t drive there and back with an odometer. You can’t bounce radar off it and wait for the reflection. You can’t use trigonometry, because you don’t know how big it is.

Measuring such remote extragalactic distances makes use of something called the cosmic distance ladder. It’s a remarkable and complex set of measurements and algorithms, but this little video from the Greenwich Royal Observatory describes it beautifully. Watch it and you’ll feel a tiny bit more in control of this otherwise bewildering world.

(thanks to the cyclist for forwarding this)

At my college reunion this weekend, the topic of Official Speak came up. Jay gave us a sonorous version of the air gate cattle call: “For those of you with small children or special needs we do ask that you come forward at this time.” The phrases we do ask and at this time are unnatural. Why do we persist in using them? What is the hidden message they convey?

There’s something soothing about codified language. It may be stilted, but it’s familiar, and it tells you where you are. Churches know this.

Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

The repetition is calming, mantra-like. The point is not so much to send an explicit message as to put your mind in the right state.

Please ensure your seatbelt is securely fastened and your seatback and tray table are in their full upright and locked position.

Just hearing those words calms me down. Everything is fine. The plane is landing and everything is fine.

This kind of thing reminds me of a related but more annoying phenomenon. What is the name for phrases like this?

• Don’t go there!
• It’s all good.
• How great is that?
• You had me at ____.
• It is what it is.

Are they clichés? I don’t think so, but they’re close cousins of some kind. They must have a name, but I’m too lazy to read through the whole Language Log to discover it. Sometimes the phrases come from a popular TV show. Other times it’s hard to say, but suddenly we’re all saying “You go girl!”

I hear them all the time. Some people delight in them and make a point of pushing them together like greasy dumplings on a fork. They are the comfort food of conversation: high calorie and essentially empty. Altogether they form a kind of extended vocabulary to the language, a skin that billows and blisters and eventually boils away.

Can you think of some others? And help me give them a name.

A friend of mine has been working at Twin Creeks Technologies since it was formed, and all he was able to tell me was that they were working a new angle on solar technology. So I’ve been itching to know what they were up to. For several years the Twin Creeks website was just a placeholder, devoid of meaningful information. But at the end of March this year, they finally put their cards on the table. I had expected their trick to be in the physics of the electrical generation. But instead it’s about manufacturing efficiencies, specifically, in their ability to make solar cells that are up to ten times thinner than traditional cells.

The technology is exotic, but their elevator pitch is satisfyingly straightforward. Imagine that you’re a lumberjack trying to cut thin disks of wood from the end of a log. Now let’s say you want to make a lot of very thin slices. As the slices get smaller, you will eventually be grinding up more wood with your chainsaw than you’re keeping in your finished product. How can you pop off a thin slice of wood (i.e. silicon) without throwing away a ration of sawdust?

That’s the picture. Now here’s the secret weapon (fun jargon ahead) … Proton Induced Exfoliation with the Hyperion Ion Beam. They’ve made a knife as thin as a proton, and with it they can slice the silicon neatly 20 microns at a time. Pop! Look at this page for the explanatory video, and just reflect on how insanely complex and expensive this machine must be.

Reading about this technology reminded me of Tom Murphy’s Energy Trap. The energy trap argument goes like this: It will be tempting not to invest in new energy sources as much as we should. These new technologies are expensive and risky, and old fossil power is still pretty cheap. But when old power gets expensive, we won’t have the money we need to invest in new technologies. We’ll be pedaling hard just to keep food on the table and mobs off the street. And that is the nature of a trap. You don’t realize you’re in a trap until you’re in it. And by then you’re in a trap. Or, as the addicts say, when you can stop you don’t want to, and when you want to stop, you can’t.

Which is to say, I’m really glad that there are people willing to invest the big bucks in places like Twin Creeks Technologies. And I wish them luck.

I work with a talented designer named Claudia Wey. My company is lucky enough to benefit every day from her good taste and design skills. Now you too can benefit by following her Design Snapshots blog.

Here is one of her catches: impress.js, a presentation tool. Go here and press the right arrow key to step through the presentation.

It’s a fun example of breaking out of the box of “typical” PowerPoint presentations, but too much of the spinning and vaulting gives me vertigo. The inspiration for impress.js was Prezi, and before that people like Ben Bederson have been working on zoomable UIs for years. I would guess that prezi.com is the closest thing to a true ZUI product that made it into the wild.

Here, watch this one: Meaning in Communication | Understanding Information Architecture (or lack thereof). It’s about information architecture, but the structure of its own information is jello on a roller coaster.

Is it more than a gimmick? What do you think?

I was in college when Halley’s comet came by. In the media, the comet was getting star treatment, but the comet wasn’t following the script. It made a pathetic display, fizzing at a level barely visible to the naked eye. I went to the campus observatory where a astronomy professor gave us binoculars and told us where to look. “That’s it?” said my friend when she finally found the faint greasy smudge with the famous name.

Astronomy is a funny game. It’s a cerebral activity that masquerades as a visual feast. The pictures we see from the Hubble Space Telescope set our expectation for what we will see when we peek into a telescope. But the Hubble Telescope is 350 miles above the atmosphere and it’s got an eyeball seven feet across. Nothing you see in a telescope will remotely resemble what it sees. Buy a telescope and you’ll mostly be looking at greasy smudges or bright points of light that all look more or less the same. This is why most telescopes end up in the basement.

If you can get excited by the science, then it all becomes great fun. My favorite example of astronomy as a head game is the AAVSO. That’s the American Association of Variable Star Observers based near me in Cambridge. Technology has made their job a lot easier, but these people used to stare at the same star for hours on end looking for barely noticeable changes in brightness. Train-spotting suddenly seems thrilling by comparison. But again, the science is quite interesting.

Given all this, I was pleased to see physicist Tom Murphy of the Do the Math blog addressing the issue of SUPER! MOON! DISAPPOINTMENT! The last full moon was one in which a close moon coincided with a slow news day, and so, improbably, the supermoon landed on page one, thereby leading to a sunset chorus of “That’s it?” A slightly large moon is cool, but it’s no great thrill compared to an average moon.

Hype is the enemy of satisfaction. Low expectation is the gateway to bliss.

You know what’s cool? The moon.

When I first read about the Descriptive Camera, I thought, “Smells fishy to me. I’m not falling for that Invisible Camera routine.” The Invisible Camera, you may recall, was an extremely well-made hoax about a “revolutionary” new camera. It was so successful (at least in the spirit of War of the Worlds or the Emperor’s New Clothes) that eventually they had to post a long response to explain why they wanted to trick people. Even when they tried to explain it gently, it seemed like an elaborate cruelty joke. What they said amounted to this: We wanted you to believe so that you could experience a childish sense of wonder and delight. Oh yeah, and when we burst your bubble, you get to experience a childish sense of powerlessness, humiliation, and forlorn aspiration. Ha ha!

Anyway, the Descriptive Camera, as far as I can tell, really exists and really works. Here’s what it does. You push the button and it provides a prose description of whatever is in the field of view. So you might get a snapshot like this:

	-----------------------------------
	| ------------------------------- |
	| |                             | |
	| |   This is a faded picture   | |
	| |      of a dilapidated       | |
	| |         building.           | |
	| |                             | |
	| |                             | |
	| ------------------------------- |
	|                                 |
	|                                 |
	-----------------------------------
 

Is it real? And if so, how can it possibly work? If this was the Flintstones, there would be a little dinosaur in there carving the words onto a stone tablet. The secret is that there is a person inside the camera. The person is provided by Amazon’s Mechanical Turk. Nifty solution! But now I want a prose cam that has various Hipstamatic-style filters. Switch it to Thomas Hardy and you might get this:

	-----------------------------------
	| ------------------------------- |
	| |                             | |
	| |   A Saturday afternoon in   | |
        | |   November is approaching   | |
        | |   the time of twilight, and | |
        | |   the vast tract of         | |
        | |   unenclosed wild known as  | |
        | |   Egdon Heath embrowns      | |
        | |   itself moment by moment.  | |
	| |                             | |
	| ------------------------------- |
	|                                 |
	|                                 |
	-----------------------------------
 

And by the way, the Star Chamber was way ahead of the curve on this one. We had a ProseCam TI-2100 installed years ago. I’ll plug it in again so you can take a look at what it sees.

My daughter Carolyn and I are in a singing group called the Newton Family Singers. It’s an intergenerational family chorus, which means that, even though she’s just 8, we get to enjoy the experience of singing together. Like all kids these days, Carolyn stays very busy. We’re always taking her to this or that class or practice or rehearsal. With this group, I like the fact that I’m taking her someplace where I belong too.

All that is by way of saying that our big Spring performance is coming up this Sunday. And I want you to come to it.

Here’s all the info you need to find us, along with a way to buy tickets.

We’ll be performing songs that celebrate the tradition of Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie. One member of our group, Jack Cheng, wrote an article about Seeger for the Newton TAB.

If he were alive, Woody Guthrie would be 100. Pete Seeger is still going at 93. But are they still relevant? Read this account of how 40,000 Norwegians recently joined to sing Seeger’s song My Rainbow Race. Why? To underscore their commitment to the multi-ethnic harmony so specifically reviled by the mass killer Anders Behring Breivik.

Pete Seeger is still relevant.

I just listened to a SALT talk (the little brother of the TED talk) by Jim Richardson, a photographer for National Geographic. In the introduction Stewart Brand said something that is somehow strangely non-obvious: Journalists can write prose from a distance, but a photographer always has to be there to get the shot. Richardson joked that many people, on looking at his portfolio, ask the same question: “Did you really go to all these places?” His well-rehearsed reply: “Well, yes. That’s how it works.”

The National Geographic website has a series called Extreme Photo of the Week, by which they mean breathtaking pictures of people doing really stupid, dangerous things. The kinds of pictures that make otherwise sane people say to themselves “My life is so dull. I should really take up poisonous kayak cliff diving.” I’m as much of a sucker for them as the next guy. Just see if you don’t spend the next fifteen minutes annoying the other person in the room: “Holy crap! Look at this guy! That’s insane! I know I said the last one was insane too, but this one is really insane. Come look. Seriously.”

Since it’s National Geographic, you get this extra benefit of the photographer explaining how they got the shot. So I was pleased to come across this picture of a crazy person dancing on a rope in front of a great big moon. Now the thing that interests me here is actually the big moon and not the crazy person. There are a great many irresponsible moon photos in this world, pictures where a moon has been pasted into implausible or impossible positions, sizes, and phases. And you rarely get the story of how the moon ended up so big (assuming it’s not a total fake job). Ever notice how if you try to take picture of the moon it’s always a teeny-tiny thing off in the corner? The angular diameter of a full moon is around a half a degree, a small fraction of the human field of view. You will never ever seen a scene like this with your naked eye, partly because your eye is incapable of making a moon look this big, and partly because their just aren’t enough crazy people dancing on mountaintop ropes to go around. And the photographer spells it out for you, which is the part I like. He was 1.2 miles away from his human subject, and using a hell of a lens (800mm f/5.6 lens with a 2X doubler).

That’s how you make a giant moon.