Recently, I spotted a “Nutter For Mayor” campaign sign on the side of a VW van, and I experienced a small explosion of nerditry. First, my inner Anglophile had a chuckle; Philadelphia’s current mayor is widely appraised as batshit insane, so it would be a natural transition if the office goes to a man whose name is “Nutter.”

  After I was finished (mentally) giggling like… well, like a nutter, I started thinking about the vehicle itself. When you read the words “VW van,” chances are you picture something shaped vaguely like a loaf of bread on wheels, with an interior featuring shag carpet, a pungent patchouli reek and a cloud of marijuana smoke so dense that it shows up on weather radar. Alas, the van in question wasn’t the iconic hippie mystery machine featured in countless American movies and TV shows. It was the modern version, the EuroVan, that VW made until 2003. It more closely resembles an aluminum baking pan and if it has a typical smell, it’s likely fast-food wrappers and middle-aged resignation.

  I went off on a weird internal tangent about how much more information and context would have been transmitted if the sign had been hanging on the side of an original VW van. Given Nutter’s popularity among the University City crowd, it would have been easy to picture affluent white kids in Che Guevara t-shirts, passing around a joint and pretending to be anarchists, or grey-haired hippie grandparents with fringed vests and ponytails, passing around a joint and pretending it’s medicinal. But there’s just no cultural information transmitted by a EuroVan. Can you picture the “typical” EuroVan driver? I get a vague notion of “pale and balding,” but that may just be residue from the momentary glimpse I got of the driver. I just can’t dredge up a satisfying mental picture.

  Usually, I’m all for individuality, and I consider stereotypes the worst kind of slothful thinking. Still, in this context, I feel like the message is somehow diluted. If I’d seen an original VW van sporting the “Nutter For Mayor” sign, I’d have some notion, however vague (or wildly incorrect), about the person making the endorsement. In the absence of any other argument - candidate credentials, plans for the office, criticism of other candidates, tabloid scandal - I’d at least have an idea of who else is supporting Nutter’s candidacy. With the EuroVan version, I’m left with nothing but an anonymous exhortation, like somebody ran up behind me on the street, yelled “Vote for Nutter!” and then darted into an alley before I could shout “Why should I?”

  The luscious fruit topping on this layer cake of nerdiness is that, since I’m a non-party-affiliated voter I can’t even vote in the upcoming primary. This also means that I’m effectively shut out of the mayoral election, since the Republican has a trailer-in-a-tornado’s chance of being elected. So all of this musing about campaign signs and arguments and information transmission is just for my own amusement.

  This is why the Internet is my closest friend.

Dear Little Bald Bastard,
  Why do people have to use silent letters? Seriously! They should just be eliminated.
- Fonetically Challenged

Dear Fonetically Challenged,
  Silent letters are artifacts from the slapped together, ad hoc conglomeration of words that is the English language. They are the linguistic equivalent of the appendix, glaring evidence that the language just sort of happened, without any conscious (or competent) guidance.

  Ditching silent letters would go a long way toward simplifying a notoriously difficult to learn language. Unfortunately, spelling nerds have opposed every effort. For those of us without any particular physical prowess or intellectual acumen, an obsession with perfect spelling gives us a rare opportunity to feel superior to more gifted individuals. We’re not about to give up our secret weapon.

From the Skepchick store:

*But especially for Michele.

I just discovered an interesting podcast called To The Best Of Our Knowledge. It’s produced by Wisconsin Public Radio and distributed by Public Radio International. It’s a little hard to distill, but I’ll give it a shot. Otherwise, this will be a complete waste of a groggy, early morning post.

It’s kind of an audio idea tapestry. They do two themed hours every week, and they interview a bunch of people with really different backgrounds on each topic. It turns out to be a thorough, nuanced and often surprising treatment of each week’s central idea. Think This American Life, replacing the “fascinating lives of ordinary people” with “the engrossing implications of commonplace ideas.”

I’ve listened to a few episodes so far, but I was really hooked by last week’s second hour, “Revenge Of The Nerds.” Five interviews illuminate some unexpected facets of a defiantly intellectual outcast culture. It was amusing and enlightening and weirdly empowering. I’ve always self-identified as pretty nerdy, and I suspect that I’m not the only one around here. =)

I’ve blathered enough. Go check out the podcast. And consider yourself lucky that I spared you my little tangent about how much I love podcasts of radio shows that don’t air in my geographical area.

Roger Ebert posted an item on his website that purports to be from someone practicing selective breeding of M&Ms.

Here’s how he describes the selection process:

I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels. Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them breaks and splinters. That is the “loser,” and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, along with a 3×5 card reading, “Please use this M&M for breeding purposes.”

Aside from a hearty chuckle, I had a couple of reactions. First, this method doesn’t guarantee that the fittest will survive the process. The survivor is always the winner of the last “duel.” If a superior M&M, weakened by the stresses of several previous rounds, happens to splinter when paired up with an inferior, but previously unsqueezed specimen, then the “winner” of this final matchup might be less fit than many others in the bag.

The only way to prevent this would be to create a bracket system, like in a sports tournament. Only match winners against winners from other rounds, and make sure that each contest is played out between individuals that have been subjected to the same number of stressful squeezings. This would go a long way toward ensuring that you’ve chosen the fittest to survive.

My second thought was that I’m a gigantic nerd, and I really need to knock it the hell off once in awhile.

I’ve been a video game geek for most of my life. It started in the Seventies with Space Port, a local hangout in the Mall for kids with an excess of time, energy, and quarters. My parents bought a Magnavox Odyssey for family fun. It had FOUR games, and they were all variants on PONG, although they had much catchier names like Tennis, Hockey, Racquetball, and the one I can’t remember.

Because I was an overweight schmuck who thirsted for pixels and eschewed sweat, the Odyssey became the standard for sporting events. When I saw my first tennis match, I was amazed that the players could move toward the net - unbelievable!

After the Odyssey, my parents went with an Atari 2600 instead of the Intellivision system (like the one owned by my friend down the street), and they supplied me with game after game from Atari and Activision. This piqued my interest in game programming, which I tried once or twice on a Commodore 64. This lead to playing bigger and better games, as well as running my own BBS service. I went to college and soon forgot all of that. It wasn’t until I was introduced to Mechwarrior 2’s multi-player options that I got re-hooked into the gaming world.

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