It really bothers me how toxic the Internet has become. It has such power to connect people with such positive results — a power I’ve been the beneficiary of — and yet, we default, too often, for the opposite. The Internet should be a tool for kindness and empathy; of late, in particular, it seems to be neither. I want to change that. In December of last year, I decided to do a little bit about it. I used my newsletter (with my birthday as an anchor) to raise money for the Sesame Street Yellow Feather Fund, which brings education to children in need. On Twitter, I’ve been posing the question “how can I help?” to anyone who sees those tweets. I figure the least I can do is lead by doing.
Which is why, moments ago, I put $60 in the mail and sent it to a woman from Lancaster, Pennsylvania that I’ve never met and likely never will. She’s a secretary at a public school there and that $60 will cover her Costco membership for the year. That’s a big deal for her and I’m glad I could help.
* * *
“Paul Ryan Deletes Tweet Lauding a $1.50 Benefit From the New Tax Law”
That’s an actual headline from an actual New York Times article. The short version: The Associated Press ran an article titled “Tax bill beginning to deliver bigger paychecks to workers.” It quotes a handful of people who talked about the extra money in their paychecks, each a result of lower withheld federal income taxes from their paychecks. House Speaker Ryan, hoping to show the positive effects of the GOP tax bill he championed, decided to highlight many of those quoted via Twitter. Here’s one of his tweets — the since-deleted one:
As one would expect — and as he should have expected — Twitter exploded in a fiery rage at the Speaker. No matter what you think of the changes to the U.S. income tax system, it’s rather tone deaf to cite this example as an exemplar of its success. Thousands of thousands of Twitter users chastized the Speaker, and he ultimately thought better of it, deleting the tweet. (Of course, the damage is already done.)
My reaction wasn’t just a stunned disbelief at Ryan’s comment. Ryan’s tweet was strikingly lacking in empathy, hence the obvious backlash. I’m not one to often engage in Internet political pile-ons anyway, and this wasn’t going to be an exception. It can be cathartic, sure, but it typically just adds another voice to an already crowded and tribalist echo-chamber. Or, in other words, the backlash also lacked empathy. Having your finances be the butt of everyone’s joke must suck. Hearing thousands of people say “a buck fifty? who cares?!” and thinking “well, I care” — that’s got to be awful. I wanted to make the “Internet dumpster fire,” as she’d later call it in our conversation, a positive experience for her.
Then I noticed this tweet from CBS reporter David Begnaud.
Begnaud caught her on Facetime — while on a school field trip (on a Saturday!) — and asked her “were you happy about that? were you like, this is progress? Or did you kind of laugh like, you know, who cares? It’s a dollar fifty.” Her reply — and you should watch it to get the emotion behind it — was this:
“A dollar fifty is a dollar fifty; I’m not going to — I noticed it. I watch my finances and I noticed it. So, it [her paycheck] didn’t go down, so that was good. I was pleasantly surprised because it went up; it did not go down.”
Honestly: if my paycheck went up $1.50, I’d not notice. Or if I did, I would have kind of laughed — you know, who cares! It’s a dollar fifty. But: It mattered to her. It mattered so much that she knew exactly how she’d be spending it; she’d be using it to offset her $60 per year Costco membership. If I could not notice the $1.50, and if it meant so much to her, well, maybe I should give her my unnoticed $1.50.
So, I replied to Begnaud’s tweet with the following:
“I’d like to buy her a one-year Costco membership. I can afford to and if it can make her life appreciably better, I’m glad to. Can you connect her with me?”
He didn’t, but a few dozen people liked the tweet and three retweeted it… and then the secretary from Lancaster, PA herself replied. We connected via Twitter, she graciously took me up on my offer, and gave me permission to publish my thoughts on why — just a few moments ago — I put $60 in an envelope, to cover that Costco membership, and mailed it to her.
The Internet helped me help make the world a kinder, more empathetic place, I hope.
Originally published on February 5, 2018
(Wherever possible, I’m linking to the actual product I used.)
- Olive oil
- Cumin seeds – about a tablespoon, maybe more. I was liberal with it.
- Garlic – I have a jar of chopped garlic, and I use a lot of it, like 2-3 tablespoons, but I’m a bit nuts.
- Two small/medium onions, sliced
- Two 15.5 ounce cans of Goya chickpeas, rinsed and drained. (I also made another version with okra instead of chickpeas. For the okra version, I cut up about 20 ounces of okra instead of this.)
- One medium tomato, cut into chunks but not diced too small
- Tumeric, about ¼ teaspoon. Could go more.
- Garam marsala, about a teaspoon. Could go more, to taste. I think I did tablespoon in the second one I made.
- Salt, about a teaspoon.
- If you’re into it – I’m not – ¼ tsp of cayenne or red chili powder or flakes.
- Put the Instant Pot on SAUTE mode. Put in olive oil, when it gets hot, put in cumin seeds and garlic. Stir for about 30 seconds.
- Add onions, stirring again for about two minutes.
- Dump everything else into the Instant Pot and stir. Let it saute for another couple of minutes.
- Turn Instant Pot off (I guess to READY/KEEP WARM) and put on the lid. Make sure it is in “Sealing” mode.
- Hit MANUAL and PRESSURE. Set it for two minutes. (Yes, only two minutes.)
- When the timer is done, hit the quick release valve. You’re done!
Originally published on October 31, 2017
I’ve read each of the Harry Potter books multiple times. In Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (HBP), Dumbledore takes Harry through a half-dozen memories — some his, some those of others that the Headmaster has collected. And for years, something was troubling me about them — they didn’t add up. Over the last few days, I’ve finally pieced together why.
(If you’re reading this, I’m going to assume that you know the books rather well.)
The Six Memories: A Timeline
Here are the six memories in the order that the recollected events occurred. (We’ll begin exploring when Dumbledore collected the memories later.) I’ll be relying on these memories throughout, so, it’s good to have a point of reference.
- 1924 or 1925: The arrest of Marvolo and Morfin Gaunt (Bob Ogden’s memory)
- 1938: Dumbledore meets Voldemort 1 in the orphanage (Dumbledore’s)
- 1943: Voldemort asks Slughorn about creating multiple Horcruxes (Slughorn’s)
- 1943: Voldemort and Morfin Gaunt argue before the murder of the Riddles (Morfin Gaunt’s)
- Sometime between 1955 and 1961: Voldemort visits Hepzibah Smith 2 (Hokey the House Elf’s)
- Sometime between 1965 and 1971: Voldemort visits Dumbledore at Hogwarts (Dumbledore’s)
(It’s unclear which of the two memories from 1943 happened first, but it’s immaterial.)
We’ll need to address most if not all of these six memories, but the Bob Ogden one was the one that didn’t sit right with me. As it turns out, it’s not all that important, but let’s start there anyway — because I did.
What is Ogden’s Memory About?
The first one is the memory of Bob Ogden, the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad, who investigated Morfin Gaunt (Voldemort’s uncle) for using magic in front of a Muggle (who happened to be Tom Riddle Sr., Voldemort’s eventual father). Ogden shows up, finds out that Morfin and his father Marvolo are poor wizards who are mean to Merope (Morfin’s sister and Voldemort’s eventual mother), who they believe to be a Squib. The Gaunt men are also pureblood elitists who believe that they are above the law, especially when it comes to how they act toward Muggles and those they believe to be Squibs. 3
For us readers, this establishes where Voldemort came from and his family tree. Like Harry, we learn that the Gaunts are descendants from two major Wizarding families. First, we again learn they are descendants of Salazar Slytherin’s (which we knew about already from the Chamber of Secrets) when we find out that the Gaunt family owns Slytherin’s locket, which Merope wears around her neck. We also find out that Voldemort is a descendant of the Peverell family, specifically Cadmus Peverell (as we’ll learn later) because Marvolo shows Ogden a ring he’s wearing. Marvolo calls the markings on the ring’s stone the “Peverell family crest” and, in the words of the book, “the ring sailed within an inch of his [Ogden’s] nose.”
It’s unclear why Dumbledore shares this memory with Harry otherwise, though. Unlike the other memories, it doesn’t do much to help inform what or where the remaining Horcruxes are. It introduces the ring but Dumbledore already has that, and for that matter, it’s already been destroyed. It also introduces the locket, but Hokey’s memory does that too, and Hokey’s memory is critical for Harry to see regardless. (And Dumbledore thinks he is relatively close to finding the locket, in any event.)
The memory may serve two other purposes, though. First, it kind of, sort of helps establish that Voldemort never experienced love, not even through the relationship of his parents, which was loveless. It explains why Voldemort grew up in an orphanage even though his father and uncle are both alive at the time. Voldemort doesn’t understand love, and that — love — is “the power the Dark Lord knows not,” according to Dumbledore’s interpretation of Trelawney’s first prophecy. If Dumbledore thinks Harry is skeptical about this “power,” driving it home by showing Harry this memory makes a lot of sense.
The other purpose — and the one I’m more interested in: Harry now has a critical clue about the identity and location of the Resurrection Stone. Of course, at that time, he has no idea that there is such thing as the Resurrection Stone, but when he learns about it and the other Hallows in the seventh book, Harry uses this memory-learned connection to the Peverells to figure out that the Stone is real (which he then perhaps aggressively concludes is inside the Snitch). In telling Ron and Hermione this in Book 7, Harry admits that he couldn’t make out the sign of the Deathly Hallows from Ogden’s memory (“There was nothing fancy on there, as far as I could see; maybe a few scratches. I only ever saw it really close up after it had been cracked open”) and couldn’t be sure it was the same sign. But he made the connection nonetheless.
Why Did Dumbledore Seek Out Ogden’s Memory?
This is simple to answer at first — when sharing Morfin Gaunt’s memory, Dumbledore tells Harry that he “was able to secure a visit to Morfin in the last weeks of his life, by which time I was attempting to discover as much as I could about Voldemort’s past.” It makes sense that he’d interview the Ministry official who investigated Riddle’s magical family.
But keep in mind that this is a wild goose chase. While Harry (and by extension, us as the reader) learn a lot from this memory, Dumbledore didn’t. He already knew that Voldemort was the son of Merope Gaunt, the grandson of Marvolo, and the nephew of Morfin. Dumbledore already knows that Tom Riddle Sr. was Voldemort’s dad. Dumbledore was also a member of the Wizengamot and almost certainly knew about Morfin’s attack on Tom Riddle Sr. and on Marvolo’s attempt to defend his son against Ogden and the other authorities. In other words: Dumbledore already knew why Ogden went to the Gaunt shack and how that basically played out. Seeing Ogden’s memory of the events doesn’t add much to that. What was Dumbledore hoping to see?
I’ve seen a few explanations, but only one makes sense.
First, maybe Dumbledore was looking for clues about Horcruxes. That’s unlikely, for a few reasons, most notably because the memory is older than Voldemort himself. (That said, the memories do establish that both Marvolo Gaunt’s Ring and Slytherin’s Locket — two of the Horcruxes — were Voldemort’s family heirlooms.)
Second, maybe he was looking for clues as to what Trewlany’s first prophecy meant when she said that Harry (or Neville, but nevermind that) has the “power the Dark Lord knows not.” That certainly makes sense given the previous section, but the timing seems weird. Ogden was at least 20 years old when he visited the Gaunts in 1925 — and probably much older, given his title of Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad — and the prophecy wasn’t until 1980 (and Harry wasn’t marked as the survivor for a year after that). At best, Ogden was 75 or so. Most likely, he was long dead. 4 (In HBP, Dumbledore tells Harry that Ogden “died some time ago, but not before I had tracked him down and persuaded him to confide these recollections to me.”) It’s plausible, but it really requires you to force the math.
And finally, Dumbledore had no idea what he was looking for but figured it was worth the look. We generally think of that as a good idea: when you’re dealing with the Dark Lord, leave no stone unturned, right? But that’s not consistent with what we already know — Dumbledore began his investigation into Voldemort’s past in 1943 if not before, as established by when he obtain Morfin Gaunt’s memory.
So that leads us to a question:
Why was Dumbledore investigating Voldemort’s past before Voldemort was Voldemort?
Here, to quote Dumbledore, we’re “entering the realms of guesswork and speculation.” I have three theories as to why Dumbledore began this investigation. All are plausible, but I prefer the last one because it’s novel (I think), it’s more likely (as I describe) and because it’s more fun.
Theory 1: He’s Investigating the Chamber of Secrets
A few months before the events of the two 1943 memories happened, Voldemort opened the Chamber of Secrets. He framed Hagrid for it but Dumbledore was skeptical. Dumbledore probably suspected Voldemort, having already learned (during his visit to Voldemort at the orphanage) that Voldemort was a parsletongue, and therefore a potential heir to Slytherin. Dumbledore also likely knew the events of Bob Ogden’s arrest of Morfin and Marvolo, even if he didn’t have the memory yet, which would have further helped establish that Voldemort was Slytherin’s heir. If Dumbledore wanted to exonerate Hagrid, and had Dumbledore noticed the clues above, researching Voldemort’s history would have made a lot of sense.
This is a perfectly plausible explanation — it wouldn’t surprise me if J.K. Rowling endorsed it — but it doesn’t sit right with me. Dumbledore never does anything with the information. And it wasn’t like Dumbledore was going to find any more information. To date, Voldemort’s life was straightforward until that point: he was born, given up for adoption, came to Hogwarts, and… is still at Hogwarts. The only thing odd is the murder of his Muggle father and grandparents, but again, Dumbledore investigated that. Dumbledore — even if he doesn’t have Ogden’s memory yet — definitely has enough to get the Ministry and/or Wizengamot to investigate the theory and is at a dead-end otherwise.
You’d think that, if you had a murderer in your student population, you’d do something about it. But Dumbledore didn’t.
Theory 2: He’s Investigating the Murder of Tom Riddle Sr and Voldemort’s Grandparents
This one almost works. The reason it doesn’t is the key.
In 1943, Voldemort — a student without any friends or family, but one that Dumbledore knew well — shows up one day wearing a new ring. Just weeks before, his father and grandparents were murdered by his uncle. The uncle confessed but didn’t talk much about it; instead, he carried on about a lost ring. That’s going to set off alarm bells, no? Dumbledore already distrusts Voldemort; this link, I think, is something Dumbledore is going to investigate.
Dumbledore investigates this crime by obtaining Morfin’s memory. There isn’t much to the memory; as Dumbledore later concluded, Voldemort tampered with it. But it gives us three key clues.
First, it demonstrates that Voldemort was at his uncle’s house right before the murder. That’s pretty important!
Second, in the memory, “Morfin pushed the hair out of his dirty face, the better to see [Voldemort], and Harry saw that he wore Marvolo’s black-stoned ring on his right hand.” So, we have proof that before Voldemort visited Morfin, Morfin had the ring.
And third, there’s what Dumbledore tells Harry after the two have viewed the memory 5:
So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight.
All that disturbed him was the fact that his father’s ring had disappeared. ‘He’ll kill me for losing it,’ he told his captors over and over again. ‘He’ll kill me for losing his ring.’ And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo’s last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls.
That second paragraph is evidence of two things — first, that Marvolo didn’t have the ring upon his arrest, which occurred almost immediately after the murders; and second, that Dumbledore had reason to look into the whereabouts of the ring. 6
And, from Slughorn’s memory, in still tampered form, we learn that Voldemort had the ring right after the murder:
Harry saw that [Voldemort] was wearing Marvolo’s gold-and-black ring; he had already killed his father.
Dumbledore didn’t have Slughorn’s memory until probably the 1980s — Slughorn only tampered with it well after Voldemort graduated and moved onto greater, darker things. But Dumbledore didn’t need the memory to establish that Voldemort was wearing the ring at the time because Dumbledore was there, in the school, to see it for himself. Dumbledore had all the evidence you’d need to show that Voldemort was a triple-murderer: he had two memories (Ogden’s and Morfin’s) showing that the ring was previously in the possession of Morfin Gaunt — including one memory where Voldemort is present while Gaunt still has the ring; he has Gaunt’s persistent anguish about losing it; and he has the ring sitting there on the finger of the last person to see Morfin before the murders took place.
And again: You’d think that, if you had a murderer in your student population, you’d do something about it. In this case, though, Dumbledore may not have been able to paint the full picture. It’s likely that Dumbledore didn’t have Morfin’s memory unil after Voldemort hid the ring, making it difficult at best to connect the dots. So he kept investigating, and part of that on-going investigation brought him to Bob Ogden. 7
That makes a ton of sense, right? Dumbledore was investigating the murder of the Riddles and, therefore, obtained Morfin’s memory.
But wait — that’s not what Dumbledore told Harry, right? Dumbledore said that he was “attempting to discover as much as [he] could about Voldemort’s past.” Why lie?
Okay, now we’re really going into speculation and guesswork. I think Dumbledore’s explanation — attempting to discover stuff about Voldemort’s past — is a lie. But that’s because he was ashamed of telling the truth.
Theory 3: Dumbledore wasn’t really interested in discovering more about Voldemort’s past or investigating the murder of the Riddles. He was investigating the whereabouts of Marvolo’s ring.
This is the theory I’m going with.
Part 1: Dumbledore’s Lie
In the Deathly Hallows, Harry and Dumbledore reunite at some space-time between life and death, represented as King’s Cross train station. Dumbledore is dead. Harry has sacrificed himself to Voldemort’s killing curse. There’s really no need for Dumbledore to lie to Harry about anything — and yet, he does. To set it up, we need first to revisit Lily Potter’s letter to Sirius Black.
We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda who has always been sweet to us and who dotes on Harry. We were so sorry you couldn’t come, but the Order’s got to come first, and Harry’s not old enough to know it’s his birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell—also Dumbledore’s still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. (emphasis added)
OK, got that? Now, to something Dumbledore said to Harry at King’s Cross.
“You. You have guessed, I know, why the Cloak was in my possession on the night your parents died. James had showed it to me just a few days previously. It explained so much of his undetected wrong-doing at school! I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I asked to borrow it, to examine it. I had long since given up my dream of uniting the Hallows, but I could not resist, could not help taking a closer look . . . It was a Cloak the likes of which I had never seen, immensely old, perfect in every respect . . . and then your father died, and I had two Hallows at last, all to myself!” (emphasis added)
Harry was born on the last day of July; his parents were murdered on Halloween. That’s a three-month gap. It’s possible that Lily didn’t write the letter until a few days before Halloween, but that’s unlikely. It’s much more likely that Dumbledore is lying — especially when you look at what precedes this part of the encounter at King’s Cross.
To set up the scene, Harry meets a broadly-smiling Dumbledore in some place between the planes of living and dead. As the conversation continues, Dumbledore’s smile gets bigger and bigger — and then Harry brings up the Deathly Hallows.
“The Deathly Hallows,” [Harry] said, and he was glad to see that the words wiped the smile from Dumbledore’s face.
“Ah, yes,” he said. He even looked a little worried.
For the first time since Harry had met Dumbledore, he looked less than an old man, much less. He looked fleetingly like a small boy caught in wrongdoing. “Can you forgive me?” he said. “Can you forgive me for not trusting you? For not telling you? Harry, I only feared that you would fail as I had failed. I only dreaded that you would make my mistakes. I crave your pardon, Harry. I have known, for some time now, that you are the better man.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Harry, startled by Dumbledore’s tone, by the sudden tears in his eyes.
“The Hallows, the Hallows,” murmured Dumbledore. “A desperate man’s dream!”
“But they’re real!”
“Real, and dangerous, and a lure for fools,” said Dumbledore. “And I was such a fool. But you know, don’t you? I have no secrets from you anymore. You know.”
“What do I know?”
Dumbledore turned his whole body to face Harry, and tears still sparkled in his brilliantly blue eyes.
“Master of death, Harry, master of Death! Was I better, ultimately, than Voldemort?”
“Of course you were,” said Harry. “Of course—how can you ask that? You never killed if you could avoid it!”
“True, true,” said Dumbledore, and he was like a child seeking reassurance. “Yet I too sought a way to conquer death, Harry.”
“Not the way he did,” said Harry. After all his anger at Dumbledore, how odd it was to sit here, beneath the high, vaulted ceiling, and defend Dumbledore from himself. “Hallows, not Horcruxes.”
“Hallows,” mumbled Dumbledore, “not Horcruxes. Precisely.”
Even in death, Dumbledore was ashamed of his obsession with the Hallows. Here’s more on that from their conversation:
After another short pause Harry said, “You tried to use the Resurrection Stone.”
Dumbledore nodded. “When I discovered it, after all those years, buried in the abandoned home of the Gaunts—the Hallow I had craved most of all, though in my youth I had wanted it for very different reasons—I lost my head, Harry. I quite forgot that it was now a Horcrux, that the ring was sure to carry a curse. I picked it up, and I put it on, and for a second I imagined that I was about to see Ariana, and my mother, and my father, and to tell them how very, very sorry I was . . .
“I was such a fool, Harry. After all those years I had learned nothing. I was unworthy to unite the Deadly Hallows. I had proved it time and again, and here was the final proof.”
“Why?” said Harry. “It was natural! You wanted to see them again. What’s wrong with that?”
“Maybe a man in a million could unite the Hallows, Harry. I was fit only to possess the meanest one of them, the least extraordinary. I was fit to own the Elder Wand, and not to boast of it, and not to kill with it. I was permitted to tame and to use it, because I took it, not for gain, but to save others from it.
“But the Cloak, I took out of vain curiosity, and so it could never have worked for me as it works for you, its true owner. The stone I would have used in an attempt to drag back those who are at peace, rather than to enable my self-sacrifice, as you did. You are the worthy possessor of the Hallows.”
Shame. Lots of it.
So, if Dumbledore were looking into people’s memories to find himself one of the Deathly Hallows, he’d probably be ashamed to admit it — and he’d probably lie. Just like he lied when his afterlife-self told Harry that he only had the cloak for a few days.
Part 2: Dumbledore’s Obsession
That quote above has another key passage: the Ressurection Stone was “the Hallow [Dumbledore] had craved most of all.” I don’t think I need to spell this one out, but just in case: after the death of his sister (perhaps at his hands), Dumbledore gave up the search for the Hallows, but only temporarily. He ends up acquiring the Elder Wand, takes the Cloak for a bit longer than he should have, and, as he admits above, he wanted to see his deceased family members again, and the Stone could bring that dream to fruition. And when he finally obtained the Stone, the normally calculating and logical Dumbledore makes the fatal mistake of putting the cursed ring on his finger — all in hopes of seeing his sister and family again.
The Hallows were an obsession of his youth; I think it’s fair to say that Stone was a life-long obsession.
So, let’s revisit the second theory
Again, it’s 1943. Voldemort — a student without any friends or family, but one that Dumbledore knew well — shows up one day wearing a new ring. Just weeks before, his father and grandparents were murdered by his uncle. The uncle confessed but didn’t talk much about it; instead, he carried on about a lost ring. That’s going to set off alarm bells, no? Dumbledore is probably going to end up getting a look at that ring. What he’s going to see is the mark of the Deathly Hallows. 8
His obsession is now within his grasp. Almost. Shortly thereafter, the ring vanishes.
So, he goes hunting for it. There are two living people who have possessed the ring: Voldemort and Morfin. Dumbledore probably isn’t going to get much out of Voldemort here — he may have tried, for all we know, but as we’d later find out, Voldemort wasn’t about to tell anyone where he hid the now-Horcrux ring. Morfin, of course, gives Dumbledore his memory. That’s a bit of a dead end 9, so the wild goose chase begins. Only one other person in recent memory, dead or alive, possessed the ring — Marvolo Gaunt. And the only person still alive who we know interacted with him? Bob Ogden.
Ogden’s memory doesn’t help Dumbledore locate the ring, but it does confirm (or close enough) that the ring is the Resurrection Stone. Marvolo pushes the ring “within an inch of [Ogden’s] nose,” so maybe Dumbledore got a good look at it; if not, Marvolo proclaims that the crest of the Peverell family is engraved upon it. Remember, as discussed above, that Harry makes the connection between the Peverell crest and the mark of the Hallows; Dumbledore surely would have realized Marvolo’s error.
A Final Piece of the Puzzle
There’s one memory I’ve almost entirely glossed over, and that’s Hokey the House-elf’s memory of the murder of Hepzibah Smith. It’s critical to figuring out that Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s cup (and by extension, Ravenclaw’s diadem) are Horcruxes. The timing, again, has a problem.
If you look at the timeline at the top, you’ll see that the events of Hokey’s memory occurred no earlier than 1955, more than a decade after Voldemort murdered his Muggle family. And after the murder of Smith, Voldemort disappears for a decade. In other words, there’s really no reason for Dumbledore to seek out Hokey’s memory if his objective is to learn more about Voldemort, because at the point of Smith’s death, Voldemort’s basically a nobody. Once again, you need to give Dumbledore a ton of credit for having the foresight to collect this memory — more foresight than even he is due.
But my theory makes it work without that stretch. Here’s another quote from Deathly Hallows which explains why:
By the time Hokey was convicted, Hepzibah’s family had realized that two of her greatest treasures were missing. It took them a while to be sure of this, for she had many hiding places, having always guarded her collection most jealously. But before they were sure beyond doubt that the cup and the locket were both gone, the assistant who had worked at Borgin and Burkes, the young man who had visited Hepzibah so regularly and charmed her so well, had resigned his post and vanished. His superiors had no idea where he had gone; they were as surprised as anyone at his disappearance. And that was the last that was seen or heard of Tom Riddle for a very long time.
You’re Dumbledore. Voldemort’s involved in an event where rare, treasured artifacts — including one owned the Gaunts — have disappeared. Is there a chance that Hepzibah Smith had the ring? Or that Tom had it when he visited her? There’s only one way to find out, and that’s to get that memory from the aged Hokey before he dies. Which is exactly what happens.
Some Concluding Thoughts
As with any theories about works of fiction, this one has lot of holes. That’s what makes it fun.
Also, I think my version of the events makes Dumbledore a lot more human — and a lot more sympathetic. If you believe that he was investigating Voldemort’s background from a very early point, he seems brilliant and wise, yes, but ultimately ineffective because he’s insisting on going it alone. (This is also the vibe you get from him in Order of the Phoenix, so it’s a fair takeaway.) Mine, though, he’s still brilliant and wise, but he’s also flawed. And that flaw makes him accidentally effective — in the search for clues about the Hallows, he ends up learning a lot about Voldemort, his weaknesses, and the Horcruxes.
And you know what? I like that Dumbledore. He’s the greatest wizard of all time — that doesn’t mean he has to be perfect, or even should be.
- Throughout this, I’m going to refer to Tom Marvolo Riddle as Voldemort, even if he hadn’t taken the name yet. It’s just easier, given that I’m going to be talking about both Tom Riddle Sr. and Marvolo Gaunt as well. ↩
- http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Tom_Riddle#cite_note-HBP-19 is really helpful here ↩
- Neither man seems to understand why Morfin’s attack on Riddle Sr. was unacceptable. Similarly, Marvolo tried to strangle Merope when he learned that she had a crush on Riddle Sr. ↩
- Yes, I know that in general, we’re led to believe that Wizards live longer than Muggles, as Dumbledore himself is 115 when he dies and Abeforth is only a few years younger. This never sat right with me either — where are all the great-grandparents? Wizards have kids young — Harry was born to 20-year-old parents, and Harry had his first child at 23 or 24. The Great Wizarding War aside, there should be generations of wizards, particularly old ones, everywhere. But, nope. ↩
- I’m using some pdf of the book I found online to make quoting easier; there may be some typos ↩
- On the other hand, it makes Morfin sound insane, which he probably was, so the officials probably discounted any truth behind Morfin’s statements about the ring. ↩
- Or maybe he went for Ogden’s memory first, dunno. As it turns out, I don’t really think it matters if Ogden’s came before or later; I just think it’s really odd for one of Dumbledore’s first steps — in any narrative — to try to track down Ogden for the purposes of going on a wild goose chase. ↩
- When Harry opens the Snitch, revealing the ring, the book states that “the black stone with its jagged crack running down the center sat in the two halves of the Snitch. The Resurrection Stone had cracked down the vertical line representing the Elder Wand. The triangle and circle representing the Cloak and the stone were still discernible.” ↩
- In fact, we never find out how Dumbledore discovered the location of the ring/Horcrux. ↩
I was a know-nothing first-year lawyer in the fall of 2005 and ended up as an employment lawyer defending corporations against pissed off employees. I hadn’t even gotten my bar scores back, so I wasn’t allowed to practice without supervision. I had never taken a trial law course or an employment law course. I had no idea what I was doing.
I’m assigned to this case — a bank teller is suing a bank for unpaid overtime. Without getting to lost in the weeds, the important part about the case was that it was brought in Federal court but applied New York State law. NYS law, in the employment law setting, doesn’t have a “class action” option. Instead, there’s something called a “collective action.” I’ll explain the difference as we move along, but at this point in the story, I hadn’t even heard about collective actions before either, so don’t feel bad.
Anyway, there were three lawyers on the case: two partners (both pretty senior) and me. There wasn’t a lot for me to do because I didn’t know anything, but the more junior of the partners gave me an assignment: read all the cases in our area dealing with this part of NYS law over the last few years and read all the cases that the judge we’ve been assigned to has worked on over the last six months. It was busy work — no one expected me to learn anything of value to the case, myself included. But whatever, I was getting paid to learn something which could have value to my professional development.
So I’m reading and I find out about this class action/collective action thing. The difference is pretty easy. In a class action, everyone else who is in the same situation as the plaintiff is considered to be already involved in the case (but has the right to opt-out if he or she so chooses). If you’ve ever gotten one of those legal notices about your rights in a class action in the mail, without any prior warning, that’s why. In a collective action, though, all of the other people who could potentially be involved have to opt-in. NYS employment law uses collective actions, not class actions, which kind of makes sense — you don’t want your pissed off former co-worker suing your boss if it means that you automatically end up joining that lawsuit.
OK, so I add that distinction to my toolbox and move on. I then learn about, in an unrelated case, Rule 68. It’s a federal rule of civil procedure called an “offer of judgment.” The details aren’t important for this story; click the link if you want to read more about it — but the idea is pretty simple. If you’re sued, you can make a formal settlement offer to the plaintiff for whatever amount you want. If the defendant rejects the offer and ends up with a judgment that’s worth less than that, he or she is on the hook for all sorts of bad things.
Now, here’s the neat part. You need to know about two other things lawyers know about: (1) that it’s pretty often the case that the maximum damages one can recover is not at all controversial and (2) the doctrine of mootness. The first one is straight-forward. In the case of my bank teller, she was only owed unpaid overtime plus some statutorily-set penalty. Let’s call it, total, $200. (If that seems low, it isn’t; if memory serves, it was only like $50.) The second idea, mootness, is a little harder, but the basic idea is that if you don’t have a claim any more, your lawsuit goes away. (Basically, you can’t just sue because you’re mad.) There are lots of exceptions here, of course, but let’s apply it to my case, as I did, as a know-nothing baby of a lawyer:
I have a plaintiff who, again, can at most get $200. Right now, she’s the only plaintiff, because NYS law makes this an collective action (and others need to opt-in), not an class action (where they don’t). If we make a Rule 68 offer of, say, $250, the plaintiff’s claim is moot. There’s no one else in the lawsuit so the whole case goes away. That’s a huge win for the client because the bank doesn’t have to go looking through its records for other potential plaintiffs.
If you’ve read that far, you’re probably thinking that the previous paragraph is clownshoes insane. It is. It’s abusive and absolutely cannot be right. But I didn’t have that instinct because I was square in the “a little knowledge is a dangerous thing” part of my legal career. So, I took it to the partner who assigned me the question.
And she read me the riot act.
I must have missed something or I don’t know how to research or how come this hasn’t been done before or this is why we shouldn’t hire new lawyers or whatever. Total dressing down freakout on her part. But I stood my ground and I guess she thought better of it, because the next day, she asked a mid-level associate to check my work. And he found nothing that contradicted what I said. So she went to the other partner, and the two grilled me for about an hour about my research. And then they told me that I was almost certainly wrong but they were going to try it, because no one can find a case which says I’m wrong.
The judge in our case agreed with my research and theory, and we won the case.
The partners on the case thanked me and I heard a rumor that I was given credit internally, so I guess I received 0.001 credit for it. Oh well.
In any event, for the next decade, this trick became a staple in the class action defense world. But in January — as in, two months ago — the Supreme Court, by a 6-3 vote, decided I was wrong.Originally published on March 23, 2016
I originally wrote this four years ago for work. I’ve updated the years (“29 years ago” instead of “25 years ago”) but it’s otherwise a straight lift from then. Also: starting at 10:30 AM today, I have a dozen or so tweets about Square One scheduled, in case you want to follow me on Twitter.
Twenty-five years ago today, my life changed for the better. Twenty-five years ago today, Square One TV debuted.
Square One was a thirty minute delight featuring short sketches about math. There was Mathman, a math-parody of Pac-Man, who would go around the game board looking for tasty numbers to eat — but only ones which met the rule of the day. (Fans of the show can probably hear the voice in their head: “Mathman, Mathman, multiples of three, multiples of three, Mathman.”) The show had miniature game shows, likePiece of the Pie and But Who’s Adding?, featuring regular children as contestants. It had math-teaching music videos like Nine, Nine, Nine (“times any number you can find, it all comes back to nine”) and Less Than Zero (“a certified, nationwide klutz”). There was Dirk Niblick, Blackstone, Mathcourt, and more.
And of course — of course! — there was MathNet, which closed every episode with a piece of a week-long story. Be it the kidnapping of Steve Stringbean or the complicated confidence scam perpetuated by the mysterious swami, these MathNet memories are ingrained deep in my psyche. Trying to figure out how George Frankly and Kate Monday (or Pat Tuesday!) would solve the case became an obsession; tuning in on Friday to have the answer revealed became a core part of my week.
It was math. And it was wonderful.
The nine year old me did not know it at the time, but like everything else we do at Sesame Workshop, Square One was designed to address an educational need of children. In this case, Square One‘s goal was to address the “math crisis” of eight to 12 year olds in the United States, using media to help teach mathematical concepts in an enjoyable fashion. And while writing this blog post for the organization which created the show appears self-serving, if you’ve spoken to me about Square One, you know that I can still sing significant parts of 8% Percent of My Love (and have also reserved 10% of my love for the New York Football Giants; sorry Patriots fans) while reciting esoteric plot points from series of MathNet. Does anyone else remember the kid who tried to sell George the $50,000 pencil? He only needed to sell one!
Happy birthday, Square One TV. And may you avoid Mr. Glitch.Originally published on January 26, 2016
I had this idea a few years ago and wrote it up somewhere else, but in hope of actually making it happen now, I’m dropping it here. (To give an idea of how old the idea is, the example player I used in the original version was Albert Pujols.)
- Take a regular fantasy baseball league – 5×5, fantasy points, whatever. Doesn’t matter. Has to be an auction draft and a keeper league though. Determine the winner however you want. The competitors are the owners/GMs of the teams. You know, standard fare.
- Add a second league next to it. The competitors are agents. Winner is the agent who makes the most money in any given season.
Let’s start with step 2 because it’ll make it easier to understand if we momentarily skip step 1. Oh, and all the numbers – salary cap and stuff – they’re just for explanation’s sake. I didn’t try and balance them to make sense.
Step 2: It’s the first year of the league. The GMs have their auction. Each GM has a $120 million budget for this year. Players are auction off as you would in a regular league auction.
Before we get to Step 1, let me explain how agents make money, at least in this fictional world for the game.
1) Take paid a percentage of their players’ contracts and
2) Maybe get some money if a player does well and/or if his team does well. Think of this as a proxy for endorsement deals – if an agent represents the guy who lead the league in homers and his team won the World Series, the player would probably get some big deal from Gatorade or Nike or someone, and the agent would probably get a cut. I don’t know if this one is workable, though. It’d be cool, but may be too hard to pull off.
So anyway, Step 1.
Step 1: Agents have their auction. I don’t know how it’d work exactly, but here’s what I’m thinking:
- Each agent gets $5m or $10m, not sure. Let’s use $5m for example. It’s not a salary cap because remember, they’re being measured by who makes the most money, and whatever they spend, they lose, so keep that in mind.
- Agents bid on players in a bid-or-pass style auction, with two numbers in play: dollars and percentage points. Dollars go in $10k increments, starting at $10k and going up. Percentage points go in 1% increments, starting at 25% and going down.
- Basically, agents spend $$$ to wine and dine players, so that’s the dollar stuff. They also negotiate with players by taking a smaller and smaller percentage of the contract.
- An agent can outbid another agent by upping the ante in either tranche during their turn. So if Mike Trout is up, and the current bid is $100,000 and 8%, you can go to $110,000 and 8% or $100,000 and 7%.
So taking Step 1 and Step 2 together, let’s say you’re Mike Trout’s agent – and to make it simply (and stupid), he’s your only client – and you spent $1m entertaining him and agreed to take only 3% of his contract. The GM who won him at auction bid $20 million. You’d end up with 3% of that, or $600k. So you have $5m – $1m + $600k = $4.6m in your war chest… if it ended there. (And you’d clearly suck as an agent.)
But wait, there’s more.
Step 3: GMs and agents negotiate long term contracts.
Consider the auction bid an offer sheet, and one which either side can unilaterally impose upon the other at any given point in the negotiations, ending it right then and there. It’s not a floor, necessarily, although practically I guess it would be.
What’s up for negotiation? I’d keep it mostly simple:
- Salary per year
- No trade clause
- Options, buyouts, opt-outs, etc.
But you can get creative if the league allows. Imaginations can come up with really neat things.
After that, it’s mostly a regular league, except that agents are involved in transactions.
For regular player salaries, players – and therefore agents – get paid in quarter increments, one each on Opening Day, June 1, August 1, and October 1. This has an effect on both GMs and agents. For GMs, it means that if you have $20m left in your budget on August 2, you can take on effectively $80m in player salaries, because 75% of those salaries have already been paid out.
Agents get paid when the player gets paid. However, that gets locked in once the deal is signed. So as long as the deal isn’t renegotiated, the agent gets paid even if he no longer represents the player.
The implication here is that agents have to manage their cash flow a bit – and of course, they’ll prefer signing bonuses to buyouts. (Whether the league allows the agents and GMs to put in other $$$-laden clauses is up to them; again, your imagination is the limit.)
Agents can try and steal players from other agents. I have no real good way to do this, but here’s what I’m thinking: a morale check, followed by an offer and option to match (maybe?).
Each player has a morale number. It’s calculated – and I’m doing this off the top of my head – as follows:
- Start with 10.
- Subtract one if the player’s team (in the league, not in real life) is currently in the bottom half of the standings.
- Subtract one more if the player’s team is in the cellar.
- Subtract one the player is not one of the three highest played players on his team, by both current year salary *and* average annual value (excluding performance bonuses and options and buyouts?).
- Subtract one more if the player is not one of the eight highest played players on his team, using the same formula as above.
- Subtract one if the player is not one of the five highest played players at his position, same math.
- Subtract one more if he’s not one of the 10 highest played players at his position, ditto.
- Add three if the current agent represents three or more other players on the player’s current team.
- Subtract three if the above bullet isn’t true *and* the stealing agent has three or more other players on the player’s current team.
(Note that the last two bullets encourage agents to try and manipulate rosters.)
The morale check: If the player’s morale is 7+, he can’t be stolen.
After that, the terms of the steal attempt are up to the stealing agent. He spends some dollar amount on a steal and if the current agent matches (with morale notes below), the current agent keeps the player and the stealing agent can’t try again for six months. If the current agent doesn’t match, the player switches agents and gets a +4 morale boost which wears off, 1 point per payday (as above) until it hits 0 in a year.
The terms of the agreement between the new agent and player – as well as what it takes for the current/old agent to stop the steal – are determined by the morale check described above:
- 4+, he can be stolen, but the stealing agent has to decrease the percentage the player negotiated with the current agent by one point *and* the current agent only has to spend half as much to match and therefore block the steal attempt.
- 0+, the stealing agent has to offer the same percentage and the current agent has to match the full money offered.
- Under zero, the stealing agent can offer 1% under *and* the current agent has to double the money the offered by the current agent.
Finally, the minimum money offered by the stealing agent has to be at least equal to the dollars last paid by an agent to acquire that player.
If the steal is successful, the money goes from the stealing agent to the original one. (I’m trading realism here for some balancing.) If it’s unsuccessful, the original agent’s counter-bid just evaporates.
Again, using the Mike Trout example, let’s say his morale check is a 5. To recap, the agent acquired him for $1m and 3%. Someone tries to steal him, so they have to offer $1m and 2% by rule. He makes that offer but the original agent blocks by spending $500,000. That $500,000 evaporates.
Another agent makes a try right after but offers $2 million and, again by rule, 2%. The original agent decides to let him go. That $2m goes to the old agent.
Two years later, Trout’s morale is negative somehow. Another agent offers him $2 million (by rule) and 3%. For his current agent to block, he’d have to pony up $4m.
Too complicated maybe. Too D&D, for sure. Maybe it needs a few d20s, dunno.
I think this could be fun. Stuff like no-trade clauses would be awesome, where you basically have to buy out the agent, and the agent may really really not want a player traded because of the morale hit other players would take, etc.
I don’t know how the second year would work. Part of me thinks free agents should negotiate contracts via their agents; part of me thinks it should be done via auction, just like the initial year. I also don’t know how unrepresented players would enter the league. None whatsoever. Further, there has to be some mechanism for agents to renegotiate deals for their clients, but there should be a way to prevent doing so in order to take over the value from the existing agent. (Probably some present-day-value calculation?)
But that’s the basics. What do you think?Originally published on January 3, 2016
If you don’t know what the title of this post means, don’t bother reading further — it won’t make sense to you.
It’s been a strange MLB off-season. Many free agents — David Price, Jason Heyward (2!), and a bunch of others have signed new deals with new teams, but with the right for the player to opt out of the deal well before it would otherwise come to term. When even Scott Kazmir (three year contract, opt-out after year one) on that list, you have to wonder why.
My guess: teams see post-out out years as non-years, and use them as an accounting trick to make short contracts seem like long ones.
For background, it’s my understanding that the current free agent negotiation process starts with a discussion around the number of years; conversations around the annual salary (and therefore, total value) come later. This makes sense because “years” is effectively a multiplier and one that reduces the risk incurred by a player. If Team A is willing to go to five years while Team B is only willing to commit to four, it’s going to be really hard for Team B to match A’s offer in total dollars, and therefore in risk management as well.
For teams, though, long-term commitments are not a good way to manage payroll. As a Mets fan, I see this all too often — the team regularly balks at signing free agents to market-length deals. (Per the rumor mill, this has come up in regard to Yoenis Cespedes, Denard Span, Tyler Clippard, and a few others — and that’s this off-season alone.) Signing a 31-year-old to a one year, $16m deal is often a smarter move than signing that very same player to a three year, $37.5m one, even if the latter is much cheaper on a per-year basis (and with some fun accounting tricks, you can easily halve the cost of that contract in year one). That’s basically the mix that Daniel Murphy faced.
So for sake of discussion, let’s break his options down, putting aside that he had to decline the first option before the second was even on the table.
Team 1: A one-year deal for $16m.
Team 2: A three-year deal, in total, worth $37.5m, paid out as $8.5m, $12.5m, $12.5m, plus $4m deferred (with no interest) until what would be year four.
That’s pretty close to even, although I think most players would go with Team 2. Let’s add a third team to the mix:
Team 3: A three-year deal, in total, worth $36m, paid out as $12m a year,.
Relative to Team 2, that’s a tough decision. Team 3 is worth less, but only $1.5m less, and because it’s not back-loaded, is probably the one that wins. Still, it’s close.
But now, Team 1 sees an opening. They call up the agent and say that they, too, are willing to go to three years — and are ready to talk dollars.
Team 1A: A three-year deal, in total, worth $37.5m, paid out as $16m in year one, $7.5m in year two, and $8m in year three, plus $4m deferred (with no interest) until what would be year four. The contract also comes with an opt-out after the first year, so if the player wants to walk away from that last $19.5m over two years (payable over three), he can.
This is easily the best deal of the group. You get the $37.m million you’d get from Team 2, plus the time-value of the money from Team 3 — or, at least, most of it.
Realistically, though, the player is almost always going to opt-out. Unless he has a catastrophically bad first season, he’ll likely make more than $10m per year for two or more years. He’d be a fool to remain with Team 1. (And, if he does have a really bad year and rebounds, the team has him pretty cheaply for that last year.)
In practice, teams are going to be close to indifferent between offer 1 and 1A — so from the team’s perspective, the post-opt out years are for show, and aren’t expected to be realized. We haven’t hit the extreme example (with the front-loading) that I’ve articulated above, but as front-loading is economically less preferable than the alternatives, that’s not a strike against my argument. But, in effect, I bet that some teams are seeing the lengths of these contracts as only as long as the pre opt-out part. That’s bringing more teams to the negotiating table, which is what I think is driving the opt-out craze.
Originally published on December 31, 2015
If you’re reading this, it’s because you want to give Star Trek a try. That’s great, because Star Trek is great, and you should watch it. But there’s a lot of Star Trek out there. Where do you start?
I have some suggestions, of course, below. But before I get there, some notes about my viewing habits. With the exception of the original series (“TOS”), the subsequent animated series (“TAS”) and the two new movies, I’ve seen just about every episode and movie. I watched The Next Generation (TNG) when they came out, tried Deep Space 9 (“DS9”) when it came out — and then gave up. That was fifteen years or so, though. In recent years, I’ve binge-watched my way though TNG again, then through most of DS9, and eventually every episode of Voyager (“VOY”) and Enterprise (“ENT”). Along the way, I’ve watched a handful of TOS episodes — probably about a dozen, maybe twice that.
My recommendations are based on two things: (1) my own experience and (2) an assumed preference for modern-day production values. Combined, that means I’m not going to focus on TOS episodes. That said, you should have a basic understanding of Kirk, Spock, Vulcans and Klingons. It doesn’t have to be very much, though — basic means basic.
Phase 1: The Khan Collection
- Space Seed, TOS, Season 1 Episode 24
- Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (movie)
- Star Trek III: The Search for Spock (movie)
- Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (movie)
I selected this path for one big reason: I think most of my generation of Trek fans began this way — or, more accurately, with the second movie. Everything we know about the original cast (and Vulcans and Klingons) starts with The Wrath of Khan. I grew up pre-Netflix etc., so watching “Space Seed” wasn’t an option until years later, but Khan is introduced to us in that episode so I included it. “Space Seed” isn’t the best TOS episode but it sets up Star Trek II. (I didn’t get around to watching Space Seed until years after watching The Wrath of Khan, but it makes the already great movie much better.)
If you really like Space Seed, you may want to add more TOS episodes to your early mix, but you can always come back to those.
Phase II: Klingons
- Optional: Errand of Mercy, TOS, Season 1, Episode 26
- The Trouble with Tribbles, TOS, Season 2, Episode 15
- Optional: More Tribbles, More Trouble, TAS, Season 1, Episode 5
- Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country (movie)
The Khan group should give you a good picture of who the Klingons are but if you’re still looking for more, add in Errand of Mercy. It’s the first time Klingons enter the storyline — they’re only in seven episodes in TOS — so you’re starting from scratch there.
The Trouble with Tribbles episode isn’t really necessary here but it’s important later on, and this is also one of the more well-known TOS episodes. Because of the role Klingons play in the story, I think it’s good to have under your belt before you get to Star Trek VI. The TAS episode just helps flesh out the Tribble storyline a bit more, but has nothing to do with the movie.
You’ll note I skipped the first TOS movie and the Star Trek V. That was intentional.
At this point, you should know the TOS storyline well enough. If you’re interested in testing your knowledge, though, here’s a quiz. You should be able to get at least 12 of 27 right, although the 2 minute time limit may be rough.
After that, it’s pretty straight-forward: watch everything, in order it was made. It’s not all awesome, of course. The first season of TNG isn’t great. DS9 starts slowly, too. A lot of people really don’t like the VOY captain (especially after the Tuvix episode), and ENT is hit-or-miss throughout (and the last season is kind of a let down).
- All the TNG episodes
- The first four seasons of DS9 and the first nine episodes of Season 5 of DS9
- Star Trek: First Contact (the TNG movie)
- The rest of the DS9 episodes
- All of the VOY episodes
- All of the ENT episodes
The reason for shoving First Contact in there is because the uniforms on DS9 change over to match the ones in the TNG movie, so I guess I’m just keeping the timeline intact. There’s a character who is in both DS9 and TNG so there’s a bit of value in doing it this way, too.
For bonus points, you can line up TNG, DS9, and VOY so that episodes which occur in roughly the same time period are being watched contemporaneously. The shows don’t really interact, though, so that’s really not necessary. If you want to do that, though:
- Start watching Season 1 of DS9 so that it coincides with Season 6 of TNG
- Start watching Season 1 of VOY so it coincides with Season 3 of DS9.
If You Want to Do More
I’ve skipped over five movies — the two TOS ones as mentioned above and three TNG ones. The TNG ones are Generations, Insurrection, and Nemesis and all have pretty mixed reviews. But who are we kidding: if you’ve made it this far, you’ll probably end up watching all five.
Also, I’m told that the ENT novel “The Good That Men Do” is very good, and makes the last episode of ENT more palatable.
Originally published on November 2, 2015
This is my favorite brain teaser/logic puzzle, by far. I learned it in my high school math class one morning and spent the rest of the day figuring it out. It comes in two parts.
1) The Heavier Coin
You have a balance and twelve coins, one of which is heavier than the rest, but you don’t know which one it is. Using just 3 weighings on the balance, can you identify which coin is the odd one out?
Okay, you’re probably wondering why that’s so hard, right? It’s a pretty simple puzzle. (I’ll not ruin it in case you haven’t figured it out, though.)
Let’s make it harder by making one very simple change — instead of me telling you that the odd coin is heavier than the other 11, I’m going to make it simply “different.” It could be lighter. It could be heavier. Who knows? Everything else stay the same. Here’s the new question:
2) The Different Coin
You have a balance and twelve coins, one of which weighs a different amount than the rest, but you don’t know which one it is — and you don’t know if the different coin is heavier or lighter than the rest. Using just 3 weighings on the balance, can you identify which coin is the odd one out — and whether it’s heavier and lighter than the others?
That’s a small change but it makes the puzzle much harder. Give it a try, you’ll see.
(If you want the solution, click here.)Originally published on December 30, 2014
One of the habits we try and encourage in my house is reading, and we believe it’s important to instill a love of books at a young age. We’ve been through a lot of books over the last almost-decade and we therefore have some built-in expertise on the subject. I now have three experts on children’s books at the ready to help anyone who wants to know what books make for good presents, so I decided to try a little experiment: Zagat-style reviews of books for young children. (I’m defining “young children” as ages 0-8.)
If you’ve never flipped though a Zagat, what the editors do is pretty simple and effective. They survey a bunch of diners, read through the responses, and then select quotes which summarize the overall take by the diners in aggregate. I’m doing the same thing, below, except that my survey has only three participants, all between the ages of three and ten. (The one over the age of 8 asked that I put this line here, objecting to the characterization that he is a “young child.” So noted.) also happen to live with me, making this rather convenient.
A disclaimer: The opinions stated below aren’t necessarily that of my employer or anyone else I’ve ever known. In fact, they’re not even my opinions, really; I’ve tried to stay as true as possible to the kids’ opinions, even in selecting the books.
All age ranges are via Amazon, if provided; all links are Amazon affiliate links.
Llama Llama Red Pajama (Ages 3-5):
“I have that book!” one reviewer excitedly exclaimed. “Yes!” “It tells kids that pajamas are good clothes” and “to go to bed.” And of course, “don’t scream when it gets dark at night but you’re still awake.” The children advise that this is a good book if your children need to be told to go to sleep when they wake up in the middle of the night.
Dinosaur Versus Bedtime (Ages 2-5):
The children think this book is very funny because “the dinosaur keeps on winning and winning and winning” but in the end, he loses. One kid thinks that the book has a good lesson — you don’t always win — but the other two think that this book doesn’t have a lesson at all. “I met the author in Kindergarten,” beamed one child, who recommends the entire “Dinosaur vs.” series.
“This is one of my favorites!” even though it starts off sad — the girl “loses her monkey balloon!” The girl keeps looking and looking for her monkey balloon “but could not find it” until the end. “Then they find it,” one kid notes, but asked the person typing to not ruin the ending, “because that’s not fun.”
The Day the Crayons Quit (Ages 3-7):
“Everybody should like this” says the oldest of the three but the youngest disagrees — “I don’t like that book!” The oldest warns “don’t read the peach page” because “it makes you want to do this” (he says while wiggling his midsection). The middle guy explains: “the peach page is funny — it’s really funny! — because it says ‘I’m naked’ and the crayons asks ‘would you like to go to school without underwear?'” The only adult in the room adds that the quotes from the book may not be entirely accurate, but they correctly capture the plight of the peach crayon.
Press Here (Ages 2 and up):
It’s a “good book” because “on the page it tells you do something” and when you turn the page, “things happen and it always makes sense.” The book is like an iPhone app but on on paper (except that you have to turn the page). “The end is the same as the beginning!” says one child with gusto. The youngest of the three asks that we stop reviewing books right now because “I want to read this book right now” but the oldest would rather get a snack. “A banana, please,” he asks.
The Very Hungry Caterpillar (Ages 1-6):
“The caterpillar book!” screams the youngest one when asked what book should come next. “I love that book! It’s one of my favorites in the whole world!” She likes that “the caterpillar eats a lot of food” and “gets a tummy ache” and “gets big big big big big.” She explains that he flies away at the end. The oldest one says “that’s called metamorphosis” but she objects — “no! it’s called a butterfly.” The middle child laughed at the misunderstanding.
Interrupting Chicken (Ages 4-8):
This book “teaches you not to interrupt” one child says as another, of course, interrupts over and over again. “Just like the chicken” the reviewer notes. It’s “really funny” and the defining theme of the book is that chicken “always interrupts” suggesting that the book lacks the depth of some other choices. Nevertheless, it involves chicken and is evocative of a massively-underrated joke, both of which are pluses.
Chicka Chicka Boom Boom (Ages 1-4):
The oldest didn’t want to discuss the book — “it’s not for kids my age.” The middle agrees: “I don’t want to talk about this.” The youngest likes that “all the letters drop on the floor” even if “some get boo boos.” The father reminds the other two that they really liked this book until they were, rightfully in their opinions, too old for it.
The Book with No Pictures (Ages 5-8):
A huge hit and all three agree for the main reason: it makes the grown-up say “Boo Boo Butt.” One objection, from the youngest: “I don’t like how it says eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.” None of the three care that the book has no pictures, but all believe that the book wouldn’t be fun to read — you really need the grown-ups to do the reading so you can laugh at them.
The Monster at the End of This Book (Ages 3-7):
“Grover is really silly” laughed one child who then began giggling uncontrollably, unable to add further commentary. Another took over: “Grover really tries hard to stop you from turning the pages and even builds a wall” but “it’s easy to break the wall, you just turn the page!” The popular opinion: the book is more fun of the reader tries to read in Grover’s voice, but that is, graciously, not required for enjoyment.
One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish (Ages 3-7):
The book for everyone: varied enough where you’re bound to have a favorite part, but never quite disinteresting. Selected highlights include “when the girl brushes the pet’s hair,” “the guy with eleven fingers,” “the animals that need haircuts every day,” and “the mouse that cut the phone wire” (he’s “pretty funny,” one smiled). No one likes the man with the old hat and gold teeth though — he was “weird” and kind of “scary.”
Green Eggs and Ham (Ages 3-7):
A “silly” way to teach kids “to try new foods,” says one child, charitably. It’s a “rhyming book” like “most Dr. Seuss books,” some select examples — from memory — are “ham and Sam,” “house and mouse,” “with a fox’ and ‘in a box’,” and “train and rain.” To underscore how memorable the book is, when asked where Sam will not try green eggs and ham, all three, in chorus, acclaim (correctly), “anywhere!”
Pete the Cat and his Four Groovy Buttons (Ages 4-8):
Pete keeps losing his buttons but he always says “that’s OK.” He still doesn’t cry when he is out of buttons because he “lifts up his shirt” and “still has a belly button!” One child wondered why Pete can’t grab the first button as it flew off his coat, but then remembered that “it’s because he can’t grip it” because cat’s don’t have opposable thumbs. (He needed reminding about the word “opposable.”)Originally published on December 13, 2014