So, for the two of you who are interested, the post below this one was written by Brett to explain the scoring of the Tuley Baby Guessing Contest 2009. I am now going to explain his scoring method in my own words and according to my understanding.
See, instead of running the scoring the way I suggested (a total of 100 points; a certain number of total points possible for each category; fewer points awarded the further from the actual value your guess is) Brett decided to conduct much of the scoring like a bookie at a horse race. It’s all about odds. For example, we asked and found out that 90% of all births at our hospital used epidurals for pain relief. So, if you guessed epidural and were right, you would be awarded fewer points for that correct answer than you would have been had you guessed natural and been right. So, how many points were “possible” in the “method of arrival” category? Well, we didn’t know ourselves until we knew what the right answer was.
Of course, the “method of arrival” was an all or nothing category. For weight, length, and date the horse race scoring method was again used, but this time every guess received was awarded some number of points (or fraction of a point, as was usually the case). We obtained a graph indicating the range and average weights/lengths at 37 through 42 weeks gestation; so Brett figured out how good your guesses were (based on expected values) and then ran them against the actual weight/length of the baby. The percentage of births occurring before the due date, on the due date, and after the due date were used in computing the points that should be awarded for each date.
Gender was simply all or nothing, but I demanded that the number of points assigned to this category be low enough that a person could still win without having to guess it correctly.
A brief caveat:
While Brett did the computing, I did the research for the “expected values” (a great way to occupy my time at the work desk). I must here admit my own misgivings about basing our “expected values” on the averages of the public at large. My family generally has large babies, has them early, and has them naturally. So, the guesses from my family members generally indicated larger weights, earlier dates, and natural delivery. I’ve felt bad about this possible “edge” from the start. But, in the end, my family did not produce the winning combination of guesses (although the second, third, and fourth placers were relations). In fact, the baby was not as early as the family trend would dictate and was a pound larger than the largest
guess, so the advantage of my family members was minimal.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Explanatory Note on Equations
[Note: there is also a cool graph (which is referred to in this write up) that will be included in this post at a later time. Also, the equations would not work in Blogspot, so L paraphrased them. Good luck deciphering the paraphrasing.]
Intention
My intention was to normalize the point values and adjust the point distribution for each category so that the expected value (Ex=[strange sign]Pxi*xi) for uniform random guesses within a reasonable guessing range for each category would be equal, and contestants would be rewarded proportionately greater for more accurate guesses. The difficulty for me was to define what is a reasonable range for each of the parameters, and how to shape the distribution. There were also various types of data among the different categories, some continuous and others discrete. The expected value for each category was 10 points.
Distribution Ranges
I relied on research L did on the internet to help define the relevant ranges. It was difficult to find satisfactory and matching statistics for all the categories so we used the process of best guestimation.
Discrete: The categories with discrete data types were: Gender; Method of delivery. Gender ranged from Male to Female. Any uncertainties were to be settled decisively by the doctor. Method of delivery could range widely. We limited the range to only those that were guessed by contestants and those suggested as possibilities on her website which all fit into five broad categories: C-section; Epidural; Forecepts; Vacuum; Natural.
Continuous: The categories with continuous data types were: Length; Weight; Time; Date. Admittedly "date" could be treated as a discrete data type, but it worked well with a continuous normal distribution and bins. The range we settled for length was 18-21.5 inches. Weight was 6 lbs 2 oz to 8 lbs 5 oz. Time was 0 to 24 hours. The range for dates was the range of the guesses from contestants: May 3 to May 24. These ranges do not include all the possibilities, but they set up a good range to bound point distributions.
Distribution Shapes
Discrete: Gender: the approximation was made that each gender is equally likely and therefore worth 10 points if correct. Method of Delivery: according to the data we were able to gather on P hospital and other general trends we calculated the probability of C-section = 20%, probability of Epidural = 57.6%; probability of forecepts = 6.4%; probability of vacuum = 8%; probability of natural = 8%. Using the expected value formula with the condition that Pxi * xi = Pxi+1 * xn. So, like horse betting or roulette, contestants win more points for guessing correctly a less likely outcome. The points were: Forecepts = 31.25; C-section = 10; Epidural = 3.47; Vacuum = 25; Natural = 25.
Continuous: I decided to use a normal curve for the base distribution. This is different from what many use, such as exponentially decaying point distributions, in that it has two ranges each side of the peak separated by an inflection point instead of a single range of rapidly decreasing values, were the penalty starts off very steep but slowly decreases or visa-versa. The first range starts with only slight point penalty as you deviate from the correct answer, but with increasing penalty as you get further, peaking at the inflection point. The second range has decreasing penalty as you get further away from the correct guess, however in this range the point values are already pretty low.
The height of the curve can be adjusted by a scaling factor so that when multiplied by a uniform guessing distribution the resultant expected value can be adjusted to zero.
The next adjustment that must be made to this shape comes from the previous heading title "range". By adjusting the ranges of each category (or equivalently adjusting the standard deviation) such that approximately 99% of the area under the normal curve fits within the defined guessing range it is hoped that "good" and "bad" guesses within each category carry equivalent penalties, making each category as important as the other.
Guesses were made into bins in order to calculate the area under the normal curve, for example if someone guessed May 18 the area would be calculated as that of the left tailed probability of 18.49999 minus the left tailed probability of 17.5.
The general form of the equation in excel is:
=(Scale Parameter) * (NORMDIST[(guess + (nealry one half of bin width) , (actual birth value) , (Assumed St Dev) , 1] - NORMDIST[(guess - (one half of the bin width) , (actual birth value) , (Assumed St Dev) , 1])
The scale parameters and standard deviations are on the spreadsheet for your perusal. Contact this blog's host with a special request to have it emailed if you are really a glutton for punishment.
Conclusion
I wasted many hours of my life coming up with a baby guessing contest that is convoluted and not significantly different or cooler than others, but it is our baby guessing contest and I don't plan to change the methodology. However, if you request a copy of the spreadsheet and can find error in my calculations, I may be glad to correct such an error.
Intention
My intention was to normalize the point values and adjust the point distribution for each category so that the expected value (Ex=[strange sign]Pxi*xi) for uniform random guesses within a reasonable guessing range for each category would be equal, and contestants would be rewarded proportionately greater for more accurate guesses. The difficulty for me was to define what is a reasonable range for each of the parameters, and how to shape the distribution. There were also various types of data among the different categories, some continuous and others discrete. The expected value for each category was 10 points.
Distribution Ranges
I relied on research L did on the internet to help define the relevant ranges. It was difficult to find satisfactory and matching statistics for all the categories so we used the process of best guestimation.
Discrete: The categories with discrete data types were: Gender; Method of delivery. Gender ranged from Male to Female. Any uncertainties were to be settled decisively by the doctor. Method of delivery could range widely. We limited the range to only those that were guessed by contestants and those suggested as possibilities on her website which all fit into five broad categories: C-section; Epidural; Forecepts; Vacuum; Natural.
Continuous: The categories with continuous data types were: Length; Weight; Time; Date. Admittedly "date" could be treated as a discrete data type, but it worked well with a continuous normal distribution and bins. The range we settled for length was 18-21.5 inches. Weight was 6 lbs 2 oz to 8 lbs 5 oz. Time was 0 to 24 hours. The range for dates was the range of the guesses from contestants: May 3 to May 24. These ranges do not include all the possibilities, but they set up a good range to bound point distributions.
Distribution Shapes
Discrete: Gender: the approximation was made that each gender is equally likely and therefore worth 10 points if correct. Method of Delivery: according to the data we were able to gather on P hospital and other general trends we calculated the probability of C-section = 20%, probability of Epidural = 57.6%; probability of forecepts = 6.4%; probability of vacuum = 8%; probability of natural = 8%. Using the expected value formula with the condition that Pxi * xi = Pxi+1 * xn. So, like horse betting or roulette, contestants win more points for guessing correctly a less likely outcome. The points were: Forecepts = 31.25; C-section = 10; Epidural = 3.47; Vacuum = 25; Natural = 25.
Continuous: I decided to use a normal curve for the base distribution. This is different from what many use, such as exponentially decaying point distributions, in that it has two ranges each side of the peak separated by an inflection point instead of a single range of rapidly decreasing values, were the penalty starts off very steep but slowly decreases or visa-versa. The first range starts with only slight point penalty as you deviate from the correct answer, but with increasing penalty as you get further, peaking at the inflection point. The second range has decreasing penalty as you get further away from the correct guess, however in this range the point values are already pretty low.
The height of the curve can be adjusted by a scaling factor so that when multiplied by a uniform guessing distribution the resultant expected value can be adjusted to zero.
The next adjustment that must be made to this shape comes from the previous heading title "range". By adjusting the ranges of each category (or equivalently adjusting the standard deviation) such that approximately 99% of the area under the normal curve fits within the defined guessing range it is hoped that "good" and "bad" guesses within each category carry equivalent penalties, making each category as important as the other.
Guesses were made into bins in order to calculate the area under the normal curve, for example if someone guessed May 18 the area would be calculated as that of the left tailed probability of 18.49999 minus the left tailed probability of 17.5.
The general form of the equation in excel is:
=(Scale Parameter) * (NORMDIST[(guess + (nealry one half of bin width) , (actual birth value) , (Assumed St Dev) , 1] - NORMDIST[(guess - (one half of the bin width) , (actual birth value) , (Assumed St Dev) , 1])
The scale parameters and standard deviations are on the spreadsheet for your perusal. Contact this blog's host with a special request to have it emailed if you are really a glutton for punishment.
Conclusion
I wasted many hours of my life coming up with a baby guessing contest that is convoluted and not significantly different or cooler than others, but it is our baby guessing contest and I don't plan to change the methodology. However, if you request a copy of the spreadsheet and can find error in my calculations, I may be glad to correct such an error.
Monday, July 20, 2009
de Colores
And now for another issue of “I would. Would you?”
There are few things that interest me more than home improvements/decorating. Of course, it’s just the thought and sight of them—I’ve never really done any. But I love reading on the internet or in magazines about what could be done. Then, while we were living in the Holiday Inn Express I found the home improvement channel!!!! HGTV. I was in heaven. I watched it with or without the sound each time I had to nurse. I’ve never enjoyed nursing so much.
So, now here we are in our rented town home. I am allowed to paint, provided that I paint the walls back to white before we move. I was faced with this dilemma when we moved to Atlanta, and I decided NOT to paint, since we only had a 15-month contract. It would be a waste of time and money, I thought. We ended up staying in that apartment more than two years and I often regretted not painting it the way I wanted. And so, with that, I give you the pros and the cons this time:
Pro:
I could practice painting—like learning a new skill. Although I just have to paint over it in less than a year, I will have a little more experience when I go to paint my own house. Plus [provided that it looks good] it will look good! Cheap home improvement.
Con:
Painting will mean work for me now and, worse, work for me in a year when I’m getting ready to move and have a one-year-old running around. Why go through the trouble for such a short return?
So, I’ve decided to paint. Originally I had big plans. Paint lots of rooms! But I scaled back to just the baby’s room and a bath room (I even got the baby’s room taped up for painting). Now I have scaled back to just the half bath. It’s the smallest (and ugliest) room in the house—even the closets are bigger.
Now for the “I would. Would you?” portion of this post. (You may have thought it already happened. Alas, no.)
Color selection. I went to Lowes and picked out four triptych paint samples (meaning: four little cards that each has three similar shades of paint). They all “work” with the flooring and I know I don’t want to go with the mid- or light shade on each card. That narrows it down to the darkest four shades. I found the one that matches best: Ivory Brown. But then, I remembered HGTV. Have I learned nothing? Why match your floor exactly? Why live so monochromatically? I should choose the one that is the biggest stretch. Sure, it still matches the floor (it’s sort of multi-colored flooring), but it’s kind of orange. It’s the shade I first threw out. But now, thanks to my home decorating education, I know that THIS is the color I should probably be painting. So, the decision came down to the monochromatic color or the “stretch”/counterintuitive option. It was at this point that I really noticed the color names: Prairie Dance, Lovely Buff, Cake Batter, Sahara Sands, Woodlawn Lace, Woodrow Wilson Putty. Maybe these names will contain the answer... And what were the names for the two colors I was choosing between?
Ivory Brown vs CORAL GABLE BILTMORE MEDITERRANEAN CARAMEL!
Decision made. Why didn’t I just look at the names to begin with? Seriously, who wants "Oatbran"?
There are few things that interest me more than home improvements/decorating. Of course, it’s just the thought and sight of them—I’ve never really done any. But I love reading on the internet or in magazines about what could be done. Then, while we were living in the Holiday Inn Express I found the home improvement channel!!!! HGTV. I was in heaven. I watched it with or without the sound each time I had to nurse. I’ve never enjoyed nursing so much.
So, now here we are in our rented town home. I am allowed to paint, provided that I paint the walls back to white before we move. I was faced with this dilemma when we moved to Atlanta, and I decided NOT to paint, since we only had a 15-month contract. It would be a waste of time and money, I thought. We ended up staying in that apartment more than two years and I often regretted not painting it the way I wanted. And so, with that, I give you the pros and the cons this time:
Pro:
I could practice painting—like learning a new skill. Although I just have to paint over it in less than a year, I will have a little more experience when I go to paint my own house. Plus [provided that it looks good] it will look good! Cheap home improvement.
Con:
Painting will mean work for me now and, worse, work for me in a year when I’m getting ready to move and have a one-year-old running around. Why go through the trouble for such a short return?
So, I’ve decided to paint. Originally I had big plans. Paint lots of rooms! But I scaled back to just the baby’s room and a bath room (I even got the baby’s room taped up for painting). Now I have scaled back to just the half bath. It’s the smallest (and ugliest) room in the house—even the closets are bigger.
Now for the “I would. Would you?” portion of this post. (You may have thought it already happened. Alas, no.)
Color selection. I went to Lowes and picked out four triptych paint samples (meaning: four little cards that each has three similar shades of paint). They all “work” with the flooring and I know I don’t want to go with the mid- or light shade on each card. That narrows it down to the darkest four shades. I found the one that matches best: Ivory Brown. But then, I remembered HGTV. Have I learned nothing? Why match your floor exactly? Why live so monochromatically? I should choose the one that is the biggest stretch. Sure, it still matches the floor (it’s sort of multi-colored flooring), but it’s kind of orange. It’s the shade I first threw out. But now, thanks to my home decorating education, I know that THIS is the color I should probably be painting. So, the decision came down to the monochromatic color or the “stretch”/counterintuitive option. It was at this point that I really noticed the color names: Prairie Dance, Lovely Buff, Cake Batter, Sahara Sands, Woodlawn Lace, Woodrow Wilson Putty. Maybe these names will contain the answer... And what were the names for the two colors I was choosing between?
Ivory Brown vs CORAL GABLE BILTMORE MEDITERRANEAN CARAMEL!
Decision made. Why didn’t I just look at the names to begin with? Seriously, who wants "Oatbran"?
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Everest Kai
Date: May 16, 2009
Time: 13:13
Method: Natural
Weight: 9 pounds 3.3 ounces
Length: 20.75 inches
Gender: Male
Total points possible: 127.73
JLS 75.96
LAN 75.14
EMN 73.47
DAN 68.55
RAJ 61.74
DLK 58.29
CB 54.44
DMN 53.43
MB 49.65
TJN 49.56
KES 49.49
RSA 45.79
JMB 40.50
NW 36.80
GD 32.87
ECH 30.19
BT 27.54
DP 25.26
JEM 22.49
TKY 15.80
Time: 13:13
Method: Natural
Weight: 9 pounds 3.3 ounces
Length: 20.75 inches
Gender: Male
Total points possible: 127.73
JLS 75.96
LAN 75.14
EMN 73.47
DAN 68.55
RAJ 61.74
DLK 58.29
CB 54.44
DMN 53.43
MB 49.65
TJN 49.56
KES 49.49
RSA 45.79
JMB 40.50
NW 36.80
GD 32.87
ECH 30.19
BT 27.54
DP 25.26
JEM 22.49
TKY 15.80
Congratulations JLS!
*More scoring info to follow shortly.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
In a way I envy my friend at work who says she always knows what her taxes are going to look like because nothing ever changes. My tax situation is so different year-to-year that I NEVER know what to expect at all. Owe or refund? And to what order of magnitude? $20, $200, or $2000? This makes preparing taxes a rather hopeful, exciting endeavor, but admittedly one that can end VERY badly.
When I was a teen (and when I was out of the country for three years in my early 20s), the responsibility of seeing that my taxes were paid fell to my dad. He dutifully filed them and billed me for what I owed (the government and him). It wasn’t until I was in college AND in the country during tax time that I finally started getting money back and eventually MAKING money on taxes. While at BYU I used their tax lab most of the time, a friend once. Seeing how much money I was getting on my return made me question what on earth my dad had been saying that had always left me owing. After age 25 (yes, still in college) the EIC boosted things to a whole new level. These experiences gave me confidence to try doing my own taxes on paper a couple years ago. After all, I was in GA—no BYU tax lab here. Well, like the years of dad-prepared taxes, again I came up owing…this time a lot. So, I waited until my next trip to Utah (you know, the week I traveled there to defend and revise my thesis, and get married, and do my taxes…) and used the tax lab again, who true to form got me a hefty return.
The last two years, I have been the primary tax preparer. I get them all worked up online while at work. I have plenty of time to try different things—even different tax preparation software. I ask B questions in the evening and search for information during the day. Then, once I’ve done everything, he looks them over on a Saturday, changes/adds whatever he wants, and files them.
This year, the first tax preparation software I used was telling me that we owed a lot. Really, a lot. I was not satisfied with this outcome, so I tried the other software. The best I could do with the new software was to “balance” the taxes [keep in mind we have three states to deal with]. This was quite a feat, considering what the first software had been telling me. How is it that I put the same information in and the softwares tell me vastly different things, both guaranteeing the lowest owed amount and biggest refund? Of course, breaking even was still not what I was hoping for, even though I know that no return means you didn’t give the government a free loan on your money, so theoretically it’s ideal. B spent ALL DAY Saturday going over the federal and trying to get the states sorted out (I had been too frustrated with my week of taxes to do more than the federal) and ended up getting us a nice return. Can you believe that?
The fact that he was able to get a substantial return SHOULD be because he’s so stinking honest, but we all know things don’t work like that. It is true, though, that B is the most honest person I know. That $1.67 interest from your savings account? It needs to be taxed. The odd job someone gave you $20 or $100 for? Mention each of those. I like to laugh at this and complain that it’s ridiculous, but that just sets off a long speech about integrity. What’s it worth? Is my integrity worth $1.67? $1000? Do I want to go to hell over an amount of money? Well, there really is no legitimate retort/rebuttal to these questions, for while I cannot definitively say how much my integrity really is worth or whether there is an amount of money for which I would want to go to hell, I am certain that none of the amounts of money we talk about are enough. So, I simply respond by trying to come up with as many things that we could try to pay taxes on as I can. There must be more things for which we can be taxed…
When I was a teen (and when I was out of the country for three years in my early 20s), the responsibility of seeing that my taxes were paid fell to my dad. He dutifully filed them and billed me for what I owed (the government and him). It wasn’t until I was in college AND in the country during tax time that I finally started getting money back and eventually MAKING money on taxes. While at BYU I used their tax lab most of the time, a friend once. Seeing how much money I was getting on my return made me question what on earth my dad had been saying that had always left me owing. After age 25 (yes, still in college) the EIC boosted things to a whole new level. These experiences gave me confidence to try doing my own taxes on paper a couple years ago. After all, I was in GA—no BYU tax lab here. Well, like the years of dad-prepared taxes, again I came up owing…this time a lot. So, I waited until my next trip to Utah (you know, the week I traveled there to defend and revise my thesis, and get married, and do my taxes…) and used the tax lab again, who true to form got me a hefty return.
The last two years, I have been the primary tax preparer. I get them all worked up online while at work. I have plenty of time to try different things—even different tax preparation software. I ask B questions in the evening and search for information during the day. Then, once I’ve done everything, he looks them over on a Saturday, changes/adds whatever he wants, and files them.
This year, the first tax preparation software I used was telling me that we owed a lot. Really, a lot. I was not satisfied with this outcome, so I tried the other software. The best I could do with the new software was to “balance” the taxes [keep in mind we have three states to deal with]. This was quite a feat, considering what the first software had been telling me. How is it that I put the same information in and the softwares tell me vastly different things, both guaranteeing the lowest owed amount and biggest refund? Of course, breaking even was still not what I was hoping for, even though I know that no return means you didn’t give the government a free loan on your money, so theoretically it’s ideal. B spent ALL DAY Saturday going over the federal and trying to get the states sorted out (I had been too frustrated with my week of taxes to do more than the federal) and ended up getting us a nice return. Can you believe that?
The fact that he was able to get a substantial return SHOULD be because he’s so stinking honest, but we all know things don’t work like that. It is true, though, that B is the most honest person I know. That $1.67 interest from your savings account? It needs to be taxed. The odd job someone gave you $20 or $100 for? Mention each of those. I like to laugh at this and complain that it’s ridiculous, but that just sets off a long speech about integrity. What’s it worth? Is my integrity worth $1.67? $1000? Do I want to go to hell over an amount of money? Well, there really is no legitimate retort/rebuttal to these questions, for while I cannot definitively say how much my integrity really is worth or whether there is an amount of money for which I would want to go to hell, I am certain that none of the amounts of money we talk about are enough. So, I simply respond by trying to come up with as many things that we could try to pay taxes on as I can. There must be more things for which we can be taxed…
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Classified
Could someone make the case for me in favor of going private on a blog? Why is this done? I understand that ANYONE can read my blog if it isn’t private. Of course, I’m one of those “anyones” and I am only somewhat ashamed of the amount of blog browsing I do on blogs belonging to complete strangers. But really, how much of a threat am I? Ok, so maybe for some, just the idea of ANY unknown reader having access to their blog is distasteful. But, all in all, the threat of people like me stumbling across my blog and reading it doesn’t bother me.
So, I guess there are a few other “anyone” types out there. They are the threat, right? But what, exactly IS the threat? Will they move from blog stalking to physical stalking—shadowing me as I run errands, watching me through windows, and copying my birthday wish list and children’s names? Certainly, there are those who would steal my SS# and bank accounts if I let them, but you will notice these numbers are conspicuously missing from my blog (and I suspect from the private blogs as well). So, why does everyone go private?
Basically, I’m wondering if I missed a report on some sort of new and growing trend [threat-trend] that has everyone scared, and the way to protect yourself and fight back is by going private. Did something awful happen? Was it in the news? I read both TIME and Newsweek every week, which, of course, means that I know exactly what is NOT going on. So, if you know what the threat is, please tell me so that I can evaluate it and decide whether I need to go private. So far, I’m comfortable but open to privatization should anything make me sufficiently uncomfortable.
It’s funny, because I consider myself a very private person. I only want people to know what I tell them, and I carefully consider what information I want to go public (this blog is fully-approved, by the way—no secrets here). Don’t even get me started on what an irritable hostess I am for house guests—even under the best conditions. Mi casa is no tu casa. But mi blog is tu blog. For now.
So, I guess there are a few other “anyone” types out there. They are the threat, right? But what, exactly IS the threat? Will they move from blog stalking to physical stalking—shadowing me as I run errands, watching me through windows, and copying my birthday wish list and children’s names? Certainly, there are those who would steal my SS# and bank accounts if I let them, but you will notice these numbers are conspicuously missing from my blog (and I suspect from the private blogs as well). So, why does everyone go private?
Basically, I’m wondering if I missed a report on some sort of new and growing trend [threat-trend] that has everyone scared, and the way to protect yourself and fight back is by going private. Did something awful happen? Was it in the news? I read both TIME and Newsweek every week, which, of course, means that I know exactly what is NOT going on. So, if you know what the threat is, please tell me so that I can evaluate it and decide whether I need to go private. So far, I’m comfortable but open to privatization should anything make me sufficiently uncomfortable.
It’s funny, because I consider myself a very private person. I only want people to know what I tell them, and I carefully consider what information I want to go public (this blog is fully-approved, by the way—no secrets here). Don’t even get me started on what an irritable hostess I am for house guests—even under the best conditions. Mi casa is no tu casa. But mi blog is tu blog. For now.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Just listen to me.
This all started a long time ago…
My gas mileage used to be inconsequential. By that I mean, I don’t know what it was. It didn’t stand out as being totally AMAZING or very, very poor. My gas gage has been broken since I’ve had the car, so I have to fill up when the gas light comes on (or soon thereafter). In order to have one additional aid, I also reset the mileage counter each time I fill up. I don’t work out the miles per gallon, but I figure that the light WITH the mileage counter is nearly fail proof. And it is. I’ve only run out of gas twice. That’s average, right?
Well, it’s been really bugging me for a year now that my gas mileage has been falling akin to the stock market. True, I don’t know what it ever was to begin with, but I can remember it being well into the 200s before the light would come on. Then I was sad when it was in the 220s, then 180s, then …eventually… 140s. This caused me no small amount of concern. I would dread seeing the gas light—REALLY dread it—“just a FEW more miles…don’t come on yet…” I drove in a state of fear even greater than the state of fear that I normally always drive in. So, a couple months ago, the dealership was called and they asked me to drive three-tanks-worth of gas from the same station on my normal route, recording the miles/gallon.
…
This all started a long time ago…
About a million months ago, I noticed that my tires looked low. I mentioned it to B and he gave me a very “my dad” type response, “Your tires look fine.” Sure. He knows more about tires. Whatever. But the tires still looked low to me. It was bugging me as the months went by. I’d mention it monthly, “Honey, the tires look really low to me.” Always the answer, “They are not low; they look just fine.” I couldn’t understand it. I even SHOWED him the tires. “Look at THAT one!” How could he not see it?
Finally, after MONTHS of this, as we parked his car next to mine one day and the weather was nice and we were not in a hurry to get somewhere, he decided to prove to me that I was crazy. So, he got out his tire-pressure-checker-device, intent on making this a learning experience. “I’ll check the first one, and then you can check the rest.” First, he showed me that my tires are 44lb. tires. Then he used the device: 22lb. Ha HAH! He was so shocked he quickly checked the next one, forgetting about how he was going to make me do it. This next tire was so low, we don’t even have a reading for it. The pressure thing didn’t even pop out, which means it was 10lb or fewer. Now I was excited! The next tire was the one that looked the worst (and that, when I showed it to him thinking he would not be able to deny how low it was, he could not see anything wrong with it). But B was done checking. “Well, they’re all going to be low. I’ll pump them up tomorrow.”
And he did. B normally gets up when I leave for work, but on this day he got up 15 minutes early, put on his jacket (it was POURING RAIN) outside, and headed out to my car with his bike pump (the tall, stand-up kind you use your arms for). When I got out there he was soaked and working hard. I sat in the car for a few minutes (the rain, you know) until finally he stopped so I could get to work (the final tire was mostly pumped up). He said it was a great start to his workout. His arms and chest were burning and he was worn out.
So for months we had both fretted and despaired over the tanking gas mileage, but also for months I, alone, had fretted and despaired over the ever-more-flattening tires—the very CAUSE of our mileage problems. Think of all the wasted gas. Think of all the wasted fretting! The car is currently getting GREAT mileage (I guess). Comparatively the mileage is great; certainly it’s good enough to be inconsequential. And, a lesson has been learned. I finally got B to see that not only do tires have a HUGE impact on gas mileage (bigger than he thought they would), but I should be listened to when I think there’s a problem. It will save us money and save him 15 minutes in bed on a rainy morning.
My gas mileage used to be inconsequential. By that I mean, I don’t know what it was. It didn’t stand out as being totally AMAZING or very, very poor. My gas gage has been broken since I’ve had the car, so I have to fill up when the gas light comes on (or soon thereafter). In order to have one additional aid, I also reset the mileage counter each time I fill up. I don’t work out the miles per gallon, but I figure that the light WITH the mileage counter is nearly fail proof. And it is. I’ve only run out of gas twice. That’s average, right?
Well, it’s been really bugging me for a year now that my gas mileage has been falling akin to the stock market. True, I don’t know what it ever was to begin with, but I can remember it being well into the 200s before the light would come on. Then I was sad when it was in the 220s, then 180s, then …eventually… 140s. This caused me no small amount of concern. I would dread seeing the gas light—REALLY dread it—“just a FEW more miles…don’t come on yet…” I drove in a state of fear even greater than the state of fear that I normally always drive in. So, a couple months ago, the dealership was called and they asked me to drive three-tanks-worth of gas from the same station on my normal route, recording the miles/gallon.
…
This all started a long time ago…
About a million months ago, I noticed that my tires looked low. I mentioned it to B and he gave me a very “my dad” type response, “Your tires look fine.” Sure. He knows more about tires. Whatever. But the tires still looked low to me. It was bugging me as the months went by. I’d mention it monthly, “Honey, the tires look really low to me.” Always the answer, “They are not low; they look just fine.” I couldn’t understand it. I even SHOWED him the tires. “Look at THAT one!” How could he not see it?
Finally, after MONTHS of this, as we parked his car next to mine one day and the weather was nice and we were not in a hurry to get somewhere, he decided to prove to me that I was crazy. So, he got out his tire-pressure-checker-device, intent on making this a learning experience. “I’ll check the first one, and then you can check the rest.” First, he showed me that my tires are 44lb. tires. Then he used the device: 22lb. Ha HAH! He was so shocked he quickly checked the next one, forgetting about how he was going to make me do it. This next tire was so low, we don’t even have a reading for it. The pressure thing didn’t even pop out, which means it was 10lb or fewer. Now I was excited! The next tire was the one that looked the worst (and that, when I showed it to him thinking he would not be able to deny how low it was, he could not see anything wrong with it). But B was done checking. “Well, they’re all going to be low. I’ll pump them up tomorrow.”
And he did. B normally gets up when I leave for work, but on this day he got up 15 minutes early, put on his jacket (it was POURING RAIN) outside, and headed out to my car with his bike pump (the tall, stand-up kind you use your arms for). When I got out there he was soaked and working hard. I sat in the car for a few minutes (the rain, you know) until finally he stopped so I could get to work (the final tire was mostly pumped up). He said it was a great start to his workout. His arms and chest were burning and he was worn out.
So for months we had both fretted and despaired over the tanking gas mileage, but also for months I, alone, had fretted and despaired over the ever-more-flattening tires—the very CAUSE of our mileage problems. Think of all the wasted gas. Think of all the wasted fretting! The car is currently getting GREAT mileage (I guess). Comparatively the mileage is great; certainly it’s good enough to be inconsequential. And, a lesson has been learned. I finally got B to see that not only do tires have a HUGE impact on gas mileage (bigger than he thought they would), but I should be listened to when I think there’s a problem. It will save us money and save him 15 minutes in bed on a rainy morning.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Srant Eyes
When people hear that you don’t know whether the guest in your human hotel is a boy or a girl, they will try to enlighten you. Their guess, regardless of what it’s based on, is as good as mine or yours or anyone’s. Still, many people feel conviction when they share their insight. For all I know, most people either go with a random guess or a gut feeling, that is, these folks don’t share how it is they came to believe [or KNOW] one way or the other. That’s me. When I guess about others, I’m just playing the game, because it’s FUN to guess when the odds are 50/50!!! I might be right! Other people try to impress upon me the accuracy of their guess by sharing the way they came by it. For instance, the FedEx Ground guy knows because of the height of the belly. Others know by asking me about cravings or fetal movement. The grocery bagger…well, I don’t know how she knew, but she’s from India and told her guess to the cashier who translated it to me, so it sounded…well, very sage coming from a tiny Indian woman in one of billions of Indian languages. The girls at work know because of the “ring test.” In fact, they didn’t think I would let them try it on me, since I didn’t want to know the gender. Ummm…okaaaaay.
But the most interesting gender prediction to date was given a couple days ago by a Japanese man. I work for a Japanese company, so I work with a lot of Japanese people as coworkers and clients. This man was a client, here in the office to meet with one of my coworkers. His English was very limited (much like that of the guy he was meeting) but we’re all totally used to that. He saw the belly and the following conversation ensued:
Him: [pointing] When? When…auhhh…when…auhhh…
Me: In May.
Him: Boy or gull?
Me: I don’t know. It’s a surprise!
Him: Suplize. Ah-huh. I sink it is gull.
Me: Maybe!
Him: [pointing] Very round. If boy, … [bringing his hands together] peak.
Me: Oh.
Him: Also, you have calm, nice face. If boy, … [at this point words fail him and he proceeds to put a finger on the outer corner of each of his eyes and pull up and back, creating very slanty eyes—or, srant eyes, as some might say. I am a bit perplexed by this Japanese man making slanty eyes in an effort to tell me how my face would look if I were carrying a male fetus. What does he mean? If it were a boy, I would look Asian? I would have srant eyes? I don’t feel comfortable asking him these things or supplying him with these words, although I cannot figure out what else he could be saying. Finally, it comes to him:] mean! Mean face.
And now we know.
But the most interesting gender prediction to date was given a couple days ago by a Japanese man. I work for a Japanese company, so I work with a lot of Japanese people as coworkers and clients. This man was a client, here in the office to meet with one of my coworkers. His English was very limited (much like that of the guy he was meeting) but we’re all totally used to that. He saw the belly and the following conversation ensued:
Him: [pointing] When? When…auhhh…when…auhhh…
Me: In May.
Him: Boy or gull?
Me: I don’t know. It’s a surprise!
Him: Suplize. Ah-huh. I sink it is gull.
Me: Maybe!
Him: [pointing] Very round. If boy, … [bringing his hands together] peak.
Me: Oh.
Him: Also, you have calm, nice face. If boy, … [at this point words fail him and he proceeds to put a finger on the outer corner of each of his eyes and pull up and back, creating very slanty eyes—or, srant eyes, as some might say. I am a bit perplexed by this Japanese man making slanty eyes in an effort to tell me how my face would look if I were carrying a male fetus. What does he mean? If it were a boy, I would look Asian? I would have srant eyes? I don’t feel comfortable asking him these things or supplying him with these words, although I cannot figure out what else he could be saying. Finally, it comes to him:] mean! Mean face.
And now we know.
Observations
Being pregnant makes people really friendly—not pregnant people, OTHER people. If you aren’t moving, everyone around you will start talking to you and asking you questions—and without you returning the asking, they will tell you all about their experiences. They can’t HELP themselves. The time you spend in line at a grocery store or post office, the time you spend waiting on an elevator (or IN the elevator), the time you spend filling up at a gas station, you are a sitting duck and EVERYONE wants to talk to you.
I don’t typically like strangers knowing things about me without me telling them. It’s a tiny bit uncomfortable. Strangers have known about the pregnancy for months; now they also know I’m having a baby SOON. The other time I can remember having everyone know something about me without me telling them was on my mission. The nametags we wore everywhere drew people’s eyes to them like moths to flames, although based on their glares and other reactions you would think they got too close and the flame was burning their eyeballs out. No pleasant (or even apologetic) smiles, and beginning conversations with those who seemed unable to divert their gaze ended in a pleasant conversation approximately .00001% of the time. Everyone who saw us would know our names and that we were religious, never less than that and, sadly, rarely more.
This time, people just can’t HELP but talk to me based on what they instantly know. And they are happy, friendly, even thrilled when they see me. When the elevator stops halfway to the ground floor to take on an additional person, the formerly deadpan face the elevator opens up to will invariably smile at the sight of the belly and start talking to me. It’s as if I made their day by being on the elevator. By the time we get off the elevator they will know that I’m expecting, when I’m due, that it’s my first, and that I don’t know if it’s a boy or girl. Additionally, they may also know where I’m having the baby, how long my maternity leave is, whether I’m coming back, how I’m feeling that day, and whether I feel “ready.” They also may feel compelled to let me know many things about themselves. It’s the complete opposite experience of the mission, and while it’s very pleasant to have everyone so friendly and happy to see me, it’s still a little strange knowing that no one who sees me won’t know these things. Elevator rides used to be conducted in silence. I actually find the current phenomenon entertaining and amusing in its predictability and a bit fun in its departure from normalcy, although I admit that I sometimes wish not EVERYONE knew--or at least that the elevator will occasionally make it to the ground without stopping.
B does not wear a veritable scarlet alphabet on his belly, so strangers do not know that he is about to be a father…for the first time…to a nameless…currently non-gender specific progeny…so soon [unless we’re together]. (ok, ok, so people don’t know all that from just looking, but like I said, they are compelled to ask, and of course I have to answer, so basically, everyone I come in contact with inevitably will know these things.) I’ve told B about how “popular” I’ve become and regaled him with stories from some of the people I’ve encountered, but he finally had his own “experience” a couple weeks ago. Our crib had come in, and I had sent him to pick it up. The thing was supposed to weigh over 80lbs. Even if other people managed to get it in my car [I would be no help], I’d never get it out again. When he picked it up, the worker who retrieved the box for him began, “So, you’re going to be a father? First time? You’re gonna need to buy a lot of stuff. I have ___ kids, and believe me _______. Is it a boy or a girl?....” [B must think: Goodness! They’re doing it. It’s just like L said!] All the way out the store, people saw and knew.
[This is not even the story I intended to tell… Time to start a new post. This one got away.]
I don’t typically like strangers knowing things about me without me telling them. It’s a tiny bit uncomfortable. Strangers have known about the pregnancy for months; now they also know I’m having a baby SOON. The other time I can remember having everyone know something about me without me telling them was on my mission. The nametags we wore everywhere drew people’s eyes to them like moths to flames, although based on their glares and other reactions you would think they got too close and the flame was burning their eyeballs out. No pleasant (or even apologetic) smiles, and beginning conversations with those who seemed unable to divert their gaze ended in a pleasant conversation approximately .00001% of the time. Everyone who saw us would know our names and that we were religious, never less than that and, sadly, rarely more.
This time, people just can’t HELP but talk to me based on what they instantly know. And they are happy, friendly, even thrilled when they see me. When the elevator stops halfway to the ground floor to take on an additional person, the formerly deadpan face the elevator opens up to will invariably smile at the sight of the belly and start talking to me. It’s as if I made their day by being on the elevator. By the time we get off the elevator they will know that I’m expecting, when I’m due, that it’s my first, and that I don’t know if it’s a boy or girl. Additionally, they may also know where I’m having the baby, how long my maternity leave is, whether I’m coming back, how I’m feeling that day, and whether I feel “ready.” They also may feel compelled to let me know many things about themselves. It’s the complete opposite experience of the mission, and while it’s very pleasant to have everyone so friendly and happy to see me, it’s still a little strange knowing that no one who sees me won’t know these things. Elevator rides used to be conducted in silence. I actually find the current phenomenon entertaining and amusing in its predictability and a bit fun in its departure from normalcy, although I admit that I sometimes wish not EVERYONE knew--or at least that the elevator will occasionally make it to the ground without stopping.
B does not wear a veritable scarlet alphabet on his belly, so strangers do not know that he is about to be a father…for the first time…to a nameless…currently non-gender specific progeny…so soon [unless we’re together]. (ok, ok, so people don’t know all that from just looking, but like I said, they are compelled to ask, and of course I have to answer, so basically, everyone I come in contact with inevitably will know these things.) I’ve told B about how “popular” I’ve become and regaled him with stories from some of the people I’ve encountered, but he finally had his own “experience” a couple weeks ago. Our crib had come in, and I had sent him to pick it up. The thing was supposed to weigh over 80lbs. Even if other people managed to get it in my car [I would be no help], I’d never get it out again. When he picked it up, the worker who retrieved the box for him began, “So, you’re going to be a father? First time? You’re gonna need to buy a lot of stuff. I have ___ kids, and believe me _______. Is it a boy or a girl?....” [B must think: Goodness! They’re doing it. It’s just like L said!] All the way out the store, people saw and knew.
[This is not even the story I intended to tell… Time to start a new post. This one got away.]
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
St. Patrick's Day
Today’s entry was written this morning by B. He doesn’t know I’m posting it, and if he objects when I tell him (I can't call and check as his cell phone is out of commission), I will remove it. So this may be a treat just for the few who visit the blog the second it is updated.
Quick background:
1. Last night we were at a birthing function when B started feeling some severe abdominal pain and pressure. Although he thought he was experiencing labor, I am sorry to report that after helping him relax and breathe through it, he had produced nothing by bedtime--least of all a cute miniature human.
2. This week is B’s spring break. He is, however, waking up before dawn (5:20 AM) to drive some youth to our church for seminary. He waits there for an hour and then drives them back home. We do not live near the youth or the church, so it’s something I would never do, but it’s just like him to volunteer.
This morning at work I receive the following email from him. It also is “just like him.” I laughed and laughed out loud at work each time I read it. It’s a great email to get anytime, but especially on your anniversary. Lucky me!
[WARNING: VERY GROSS BEGINNING.]
So, I was dropping some really large turds in the church toilet this morning after the intestinal pressure had built to a point I could no longer withstand. I have this nice pair of fleece pants that you like so much, that however, are not good at keeping my cell phone in their pockets. Many a time my cell phone has fallen out and under my seat in my car. So, I put the phone in my jacket pocket, which has never failed me. Today I found that my jacket pocket also has one position where it likes to release its contents. Warning: this is where the story gets gross, if you thought it was gross above think again. Having found this new weakness in my pocketing systems, my cell phone dropped down into the toilet and found itself a place surrounded by large, fuzzy turds. I briefly considered leaving it there but quickly realized sooner or later I would have to dig it out because it certainly wouldn't flush down, and I would lose all those numbers like I did when my sweet phone from China got wet shortly before we got married. I quickly grabbed it out, tossed it on the floor, and finished my business.
Well, what do you do with a poop-water soaked cell phone? You don't want to get it more wet, but you can't leave the poop-water on there. So, I briefly rinsed it, hoping not to further the damage too much. Then I dried it with paper towels and remembered a recent article in consumer reports on "what to do if your cell phone falls into a liquid" (this may have paid for the magazine in itself) and quickly took my phone to the oven, which was warm from something that somebody from seminary must have baked or warmed up. I left my cell phone in there being careful to check it often that it at least wasn't getting too hot to touch. Of course, I also immediately took the battery off, since corrosion, as we recently learned, is essentially an electrical process that is advanced with the presence of water. It can also be advanced in the presence of electrical charges.
I baked my phone while at seminary and then put it on my defroster on the way home, which I ran the whole time even though that meant running the ac. It actually got hotter there than it did in the oven. Hopefully not too hot.
I brought the cell phone home, took off some of the outer casing, blew it out with the compressed air computer duster, and it is sitting in our warm oven as we speak.
You will not be able to reach me today because I do not plan on turning the phone on today. I will just gently bake it and hope it dries out by tomorrow.
I'll see you when you get home from work. And don't worry--I have washed my hands and will likely shower before you get here anyway.
Love, B
Quick background:
1. Last night we were at a birthing function when B started feeling some severe abdominal pain and pressure. Although he thought he was experiencing labor, I am sorry to report that after helping him relax and breathe through it, he had produced nothing by bedtime--least of all a cute miniature human.
2. This week is B’s spring break. He is, however, waking up before dawn (5:20 AM) to drive some youth to our church for seminary. He waits there for an hour and then drives them back home. We do not live near the youth or the church, so it’s something I would never do, but it’s just like him to volunteer.
This morning at work I receive the following email from him. It also is “just like him.” I laughed and laughed out loud at work each time I read it. It’s a great email to get anytime, but especially on your anniversary. Lucky me!
[WARNING: VERY GROSS BEGINNING.]
So, I was dropping some really large turds in the church toilet this morning after the intestinal pressure had built to a point I could no longer withstand. I have this nice pair of fleece pants that you like so much, that however, are not good at keeping my cell phone in their pockets. Many a time my cell phone has fallen out and under my seat in my car. So, I put the phone in my jacket pocket, which has never failed me. Today I found that my jacket pocket also has one position where it likes to release its contents. Warning: this is where the story gets gross, if you thought it was gross above think again. Having found this new weakness in my pocketing systems, my cell phone dropped down into the toilet and found itself a place surrounded by large, fuzzy turds. I briefly considered leaving it there but quickly realized sooner or later I would have to dig it out because it certainly wouldn't flush down, and I would lose all those numbers like I did when my sweet phone from China got wet shortly before we got married. I quickly grabbed it out, tossed it on the floor, and finished my business.
Well, what do you do with a poop-water soaked cell phone? You don't want to get it more wet, but you can't leave the poop-water on there. So, I briefly rinsed it, hoping not to further the damage too much. Then I dried it with paper towels and remembered a recent article in consumer reports on "what to do if your cell phone falls into a liquid" (this may have paid for the magazine in itself) and quickly took my phone to the oven, which was warm from something that somebody from seminary must have baked or warmed up. I left my cell phone in there being careful to check it often that it at least wasn't getting too hot to touch. Of course, I also immediately took the battery off, since corrosion, as we recently learned, is essentially an electrical process that is advanced with the presence of water. It can also be advanced in the presence of electrical charges.
I baked my phone while at seminary and then put it on my defroster on the way home, which I ran the whole time even though that meant running the ac. It actually got hotter there than it did in the oven. Hopefully not too hot.
I brought the cell phone home, took off some of the outer casing, blew it out with the compressed air computer duster, and it is sitting in our warm oven as we speak.
You will not be able to reach me today because I do not plan on turning the phone on today. I will just gently bake it and hope it dries out by tomorrow.
I'll see you when you get home from work. And don't worry--I have washed my hands and will likely shower before you get here anyway.
Love, B
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