Where to use audio books

There are many places where you can listen to recorded books. When considering a potential listening location, a common concern is distraction: the world around you making it hard to follow the world in the book. Last weekend I discovered a complimentary combination: my physical environment augmented the reality of the book.

I listened to the first two hours of the unabridged 9/11 Commission Report (Chapter 1, “We have some planes”, details the events of that day) while traveling on a domestic flight. Imagine that.

There must be a great many interesting combinations of content and location. Have you ever run into anything like this by accident?

One Year Without Things I’d Rather Not Like

I had an idea for a New Year’s Resolution. This idea came while I was eating one of my favorite Ben & Jerry’s ice creams, Phish Food. It had been half a year since my last B&J fix (a longer-than-customary interval for me, also being a product of Vermont) and I found it less satisfying this time.

Chips and Soda

I also used to have a fondness for chips and soda but a few years of scant consumption cured that. It should be admitted here that my first successful tactic against consuming junk food was a holier-than-thou attitude. I quickly saw how such an attitude can become itself addictive and found new, entertaining ways to reject some of my baser attractions.

To wit, and to be witty, I took to describing the chip-chomping experience this way: once you’ve eaten a chip, the pleasant flavor and crunch are replaced by an awful aftertaste that can only be defeated by the most thorough oral cleansing or, more handily, swigging soda and chomping another chip—it’s a downward spiral that ends when you’ve up-ended the bag for crumbs and sucked the soda dry and finally resigned yourself to tasting your garbage-flavored mouth until you can find a toothbrush.

In 2008 I will use the New Year’s Resolution tradition to test the proverb “absence makes the heart grow fonder”. By trick or by treat, I will avoid each item on a privately kept (and by no means final) list of Things I’d Rather Not Like. At the end of the year, I will be free to indulge any desires which might remain. Results will be posted in 2009.

Carry the one

I’ve been nibbling through Douglas R. Hofstadter’s Pulitzer Prize-winning book, Gödel, Escher, Bach. In Chapter XVII he mentions the mathematician Srinivasa Ramanujan (1887-1920) who had a talent for extremely fast mathematical analysis. This class of mind (including so-called idiot savants) he called lightning calculators. In this passage he discusses the unlikelihood that such minds have access to resources or processes outside of general recursive functions:

One could probably make a nice plot showing how the time taken by a lightning calculator varies with the size of the numbers involved, and the operations involved, and from it deduce some features of the algorithms employed.

This got me thinking about my own mathematical algorithms. By that term I mean the series of atomic steps taken to produce a result such as the sum 14 + 38 = 52 or the quotient 39 ÷ 3 = 13.

I vaguely remember being taught to add two-digit numbers in grade school. The process begins with the numbers stacked so that the ones and tens places are vertically aligned. A horizontal line is drawn to separate the stack from the result below. Starting with the right-most column, we sum each column and place the result below the stack. If the result is two digits, place the “ones” numeral below the current column and the “tens” numeral above the next colmn to the left. (“Carry the one.”) Here is the final product, showing the work done:

  1   ← carry the one
  14
+ 38
  52

That is the most basic algorithm in my mathematical toolbox. You probably have a similar algorithm that you use to add a column of numbers. Maybe you visualize the stack and proceed consciously through the steps or perhaps you have trained your mind to produce mathematical results at a subconscious level. Hofstadter’s point was that everyone’s result must be produced, at some level, by a series of simple steps he called a general recursive function (Church-Turing Thesis).

Reading about this, I realized that my own addition algorithm proceeds not from right to left but from left to right. Whereas the standard method begins with the least significant digits, my method begins with the most significant digits. (Lets leave the Freudian isomorphisms out of this discussion, interesting though they may be.) Here is the way I add numbers:

Stack the numbers as before. Sum the left-most column and write the result below. (Begin loop.) Sum the next column and if it exceeds one digit, increment the previous result and append the new result. (End loop.)

I wonder whether my algorithm can produce results with fewer operations on average. I guess that if the likelihood of column sums exceeding one digit is less than a certain threshold, my method will be faster (completing in fewer operations). Perhaps one method is easier for minds having a specific learning preference, i.e. visual or auditory or tactile.

Here’s homework for the curious: write a program that compares these algorithms in terms of number of operations to sum every possible set of two, three, and four numbers having two, three, and four digits. If my method is faster for some class of sums, such as those having an instantly recognizable feature like a low occurrence of digits greater than five, would the extra steps of recognizing such a class and selecting the most appropriate algorithm improve the overall speed of doing sums?

My hope is that somebody can produce objective proof that my summing algorithm is not always slower than the right-to-left method taught to me in school. If not, I might be afflicted with mathematics disorder—an actual diagnosis in the DSM-IV. Pfizer?

Time Machine almost makes backups fun

OS X Leopard has a fantastic new feature called automated backups. They called it Time Machine and gave it an imaginative cosmic interface but it’s nothing more than a backup service at heart.

Setting up Time Machine was delightfully easy: I started Time Machine and it asked for a location to store backups. I plugged a Firewire drive into the laptop and clicked its icon. I was momentarily put off when I had no choice in the matter of whether to reformat the drive; I thought it meant I would not be able to use the drive normally but I was wrong. I guess it just needed Apple’s journaled file system. Less than an hour later, all of my files were backed up and for the first time in ages, I felt inviolable against data loss.

As long as I leave the backup drive plugged in, Time Machine makes an incremental backup each hour. If I unmount and unplug the drive, Time Machine patiently waits for the next time I attach the hard drive and then quietly resumes its duties.

I tested the file restoration facility by deleting and restoring a few files. You probably saw the interface already, so I won’t recap the Apple hype here. What I found really nice was that I could be looking at a folder in Finder and when I invoked Time Machine (via Quicksilver, which I won’t link here because their server has been down all weekend) that folder was conveniently selected. I also liked that I could see the deleted pictures in Cover Flow mode without having to restore them first. This is much, much nicer than the Windows XP Recycle Bin.

The cosmic interface works well but I don’t like that I can’t resize the Finder window to more than about half the screen. The Time Machine cosmos is an unabashed screen hog. That’s my only complaint and it’s a small one.

Another perk with Time Machine, which Steve Jobs did not deem sexy enough for his demo, is the way the backup archives are mounted. You can browse each hourly snapshot the same way you browse your hard drive, whether you prefer Finder or Terminal or something else. Here are mine:

Time Machine archives

I will spare Apple the “what took you so long” diatribe and just say that it was worth the wait. Thanks, Apple.