hummingwolf (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hummingwolf) wrote2005-03-31 07:26 am
hummingwolf) wrote2005-03-31 07:26 am
Entry tags:
What happens when a hummingwolf spends too much time in bed
Silty stream of consciousness spilled onto paper Monday afternoon.
One time in college a professor was talking about a classic AI called SHRDLU. He paused in his lecture, then meandered a bit, trying to remember where the program got its name. "SHRDLU is named from the most frequent letters of the alphabet," I said. "Really? Wait... that can't be right. The most common letter in English is 'E,' I'm sure of it." I piped up with, "SHRDLU is its last name. Its first name is ETAOIN."
Do you ever wonder why certain memories come burbling up from the depths of your psyche for no apparent reason? Me too.
But dear Etaoin Shrdlu reminds me of the time in 5th or 6th grade when I had to write a report on some topic like codes and ciphers. One of the books I read then said that the most commonly used letters were ETAONRISH. Anyway, after reading the books and writing my report, I created what I thought was a very clever cipher. My cipher used more than one symbol for some of the common letters, you see, thus creating hopeless confusion for anyone who would try to decipher. Of course now I'm sure it would be an elementary thing to break; it was created in elementary school, anyway. But I still write notes to myself in my own notation sometimes just to keep in practice.
I don't remember whether I made a code for my special club in third grade, though I'm pretty sure we had some secret words. When I was in second grade, one of the boys decided that I was a disease, began telling everyone to stay away from me or they'd catch this terrible affliction. The kid didn't bother me much--this joke of his was probably his 7-year-old way of saying he liked me. In third grade, however, my best friend became friends with a new girl who looked down at me over her piggish little nose. When the two of them took up the taunt, proclaiming that I was a revolting illness, the idea spread like wildfire (or, more appropriately, the plague), and soon all the other third-graders were treating me like a leper and I ended up with only a few kids from other grades to play with at recess.
Well, when somebody declares you a tragic infection, there's more than one way you can react. Am I virulent? Could I be deadly? Do I frighten you? Maybe it's time to take your fear and have some fun with it.
You could say the club was a form of empowerment, though I wouldn't have used that silly word back then. Beginning with a first-grade girl who idolized me, moving on to her other friends, then some second-graders, a couple of fourth-graders, and moving on to even a few bold souls in my own grade, I created a happy band who bonded together for the purpose of spreading Carolitis--the disease that was me. In a ceremony which grew more elaborate with time, I laid my hands on their heads, recited bad poetry I'd composed for the occasion, and drawing on "the power of a hundred thousand million billion trillion quadrillion quintillion zillion googolplex suns" (my physicist father taught me about big numbers), I invested them with the ability to run around the playground and smack people, screaming "You've got Carolitis!" Some of the club members brought new people to me, sponsoring them into the business of making people ill. It was kind of like Amway.
The club lasted a while, then faded away. Most of third grade was a type of Hell. Still, it's fun to recall that moment of spontaneous leadership. I'd guess I'll never again have a cult of personality, and I reckon we're all better off that way.
[For those interested: SHRDLU link.]
One time in college a professor was talking about a classic AI called SHRDLU. He paused in his lecture, then meandered a bit, trying to remember where the program got its name. "SHRDLU is named from the most frequent letters of the alphabet," I said. "Really? Wait... that can't be right. The most common letter in English is 'E,' I'm sure of it." I piped up with, "SHRDLU is its last name. Its first name is ETAOIN."
Do you ever wonder why certain memories come burbling up from the depths of your psyche for no apparent reason? Me too.
But dear Etaoin Shrdlu reminds me of the time in 5th or 6th grade when I had to write a report on some topic like codes and ciphers. One of the books I read then said that the most commonly used letters were ETAONRISH. Anyway, after reading the books and writing my report, I created what I thought was a very clever cipher. My cipher used more than one symbol for some of the common letters, you see, thus creating hopeless confusion for anyone who would try to decipher. Of course now I'm sure it would be an elementary thing to break; it was created in elementary school, anyway. But I still write notes to myself in my own notation sometimes just to keep in practice.
I don't remember whether I made a code for my special club in third grade, though I'm pretty sure we had some secret words. When I was in second grade, one of the boys decided that I was a disease, began telling everyone to stay away from me or they'd catch this terrible affliction. The kid didn't bother me much--this joke of his was probably his 7-year-old way of saying he liked me. In third grade, however, my best friend became friends with a new girl who looked down at me over her piggish little nose. When the two of them took up the taunt, proclaiming that I was a revolting illness, the idea spread like wildfire (or, more appropriately, the plague), and soon all the other third-graders were treating me like a leper and I ended up with only a few kids from other grades to play with at recess.
Well, when somebody declares you a tragic infection, there's more than one way you can react. Am I virulent? Could I be deadly? Do I frighten you? Maybe it's time to take your fear and have some fun with it.
You could say the club was a form of empowerment, though I wouldn't have used that silly word back then. Beginning with a first-grade girl who idolized me, moving on to her other friends, then some second-graders, a couple of fourth-graders, and moving on to even a few bold souls in my own grade, I created a happy band who bonded together for the purpose of spreading Carolitis--the disease that was me. In a ceremony which grew more elaborate with time, I laid my hands on their heads, recited bad poetry I'd composed for the occasion, and drawing on "the power of a hundred thousand million billion trillion quadrillion quintillion zillion googolplex suns" (my physicist father taught me about big numbers), I invested them with the ability to run around the playground and smack people, screaming "You've got Carolitis!" Some of the club members brought new people to me, sponsoring them into the business of making people ill. It was kind of like Amway.
The club lasted a while, then faded away. Most of third grade was a type of Hell. Still, it's fun to recall that moment of spontaneous leadership. I'd guess I'll never again have a cult of personality, and I reckon we're all better off that way.
[For those interested: SHRDLU link.]