If you read the little blurb at the top of my blog you'll see that I'm a computer scientist. Some people love computers, software, engineering, etc. In scientific circles they are known as Homo Sapiens Geekus Maximus. Now the fact that I find the previous sentence humorous means I'm probably one myself.
I don't view myself as a geek, though. I wakeboard, snowboard, lift weights, belch, scratch and do other manly things. But, I also enjoy writing software, math, algorithm development and other geeky things.
This week I began learning C# and my geeky side came out in full force. I decided to create a little implementation of Conway's Game of Life. It's not sophisticated, pretty or feature-laden. But, it's kind of fun to mess around with. You can make some neat patterns and watch things grow in unusual ways. I use my own, tweaked version of Conway's rules. I've got a link here so you can download it if you're interested. It doesn't have a setup program so you'll need to install the .NET framework (click here to download). It also doesn't have any instructions. So, here's the "quick-start" guide:
1) Click on any number of squares to change their color.
2) Click on 'Run' and see what happens.
If you find it interesting, write a comment. Or, if you think of something interesting you'd like me to code for you, post a comment and maybe I'll make it for you!
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Mantua
Mantua (pronounced Man-O-Way) is a small town halfway up Sardine Canyon in northern Utah. Last week we drove by to check out the lake that borders the town. Lake is an exaggeration. Puddle may be more appropriate. But, it's big enough to wakeboard on and I've never seen it crowded. Everything looked perfect—the lake rested like a blue blanket on the valley floor while mountain pine trees served as a verdant backdrop. The town itself was quaint, well-manicured and friendly.
So we planned our vacation. I took the day off—always a good idea—and we packed everything into the back of the truck and our adventure began. Somehow, all of our vacations end up as adventures. By adventure, I mean disaster.
We drove the forty minutes to Mantua and realized that our camping spot was not on Loop B (the loop we visited the previous week). No, this was a more “rustic” loop. By rustic I mean not maintained. We turned the first corner and realized we were ill-equipped to handle the situation. Where Loop A was dirt but well-maintained and relatively smooth, Loop B was paved—fifty years ago. Now the pavement resembled large boulders interspersed with potholes and rocks. Luckily, the road was steep enough that even the boulders couldn't stop us from barreling down the hill.
We found our camp site and began unpacking. Having been through numerous wilderness survival experiences, we were careful to pack the appropriate survival gear. We ran through our check list of essential items as we unpacked. Funyons—check. Donuts—check. Licorice—check. Everything looked good so we moved on to phase two—a nap.
The campground at Mantua is about one mile from the lake, snuggled against the side of the mountains and enclosed by a meandering stream. Our spot was right by the stream and the tall, swaying willows and burbling brook proved an excellent cure for the stresses of modern life.
After the nap and a bag or two of Funyons, we were ready to hit the water. We hitched up, got up enough speed to make it up the pavement strewn obstacle course the Forest Service calls a road and headed out of the campground towards the lake.
We'd been here just one week before so we were familiar with the area. Turn left at the small triangular-shaped park in the middle of town. Go past the old country store. Turn right at the parking lot and creep up the small but steep hill on the side of the dike. Being good boaters we read each sign as we passed to make sure we were aware of any potential hazards or unusual regulations.
No swimming by the docks.
No parking on the dike.
The Health Department has banned swimming in this lake due to health concerns.
Uh oh.
We stopped and re-read the sign. Health department...no contact with water...swimmer's itch. Hmm, that explained the lack of people on the lake.
I glanced around and noticed there were two boats pulling inner tubes on the water. Feeling hopeful, I said, “Maybe they put the sign up and forgot to take it down when it wasn't a problem anymore.”
My wife ignored me and suggested that I call my parents and have them look up “swimmers itch” on the Internet.
Luckily “swimmer's itch” is not the amoeba that crawls up your nose and eats away your brain. Small consolation—swimmer's itch is caused by a parasite (flatworm) that causes extreme itching, fever and insomnia.
So, we did what any sane person would do. We let the dog go in and watched for any unfortunate side effects. After a while we noticed that he began panting, scratching and running around in circles, barking loudly. Obviously this indicated the water was just fine so we decided to hop in the boat.
Strangely, my wife was still nervous about swimming with flatworms so we decided to approach the tubers and ask them if we should be concerned about the “swimmer's itch”.
“No problem—I wouldn't worry about it,” they said almost convincingly.
“Just take a REALLY good shower when you're done.”
“We're camping,” I left the obvious, “we won't be showering,” unspoken. The also obvious implication being, “we smell approximately as good as the pile of mildewing grass-and-dog-poop-compost pile in our backyard.”
As they rapidly plugged their noses and threw their boat into reverse to avoid our eau de forest swamp smell they yelled, “Just scrub really, really well with a clean towel then. You'll be okay ... probably.”
“Sounds good, let's hop in,” I enthused.
With a glance that spoke volumes, my wife began pulling out the dinner we'd packed and commented, “There's a nice little spot over there where we can chill, have dinner and listen to some music.”
I relented and pushed the throttle forward enjoying the gut-wrenching feel of the V-8's acceleration as we skimmed over the water. I glanced at my gauges to ensure everything was running smoothly. Oil temp—perfect. Oil pressure—perfect. RPM's—3,000. Water depth—ten inches. Ten inches?
With cat-like reflexes and a captain's instinctive understanding of the sea (or inland, smallish, puddle-like lake), I immediately stopped the boat. Unfortunately my wife, children and dog don't enjoy these same cat-like reflexes and depth of oceanic understanding. Or, perhaps I just didn't give them any warning. After a few band-aids and profound apologies, I peered over the gunwale to see how deep the water really was.
After a moment or two I was still uncertain. However, I did know that 224 acres of seaweed was exactly ten inches shorter than the depth of the water.
“That's a lot of seaweed,” my wife blandly commented as she leaned over beside me.
“No problem. The prop will just cut right through that stuff,” I said with an authoritative captain-esque tone.
Several hours later, after thoroughly removing the seaweed from the propeller, rudder and skegs, we headed back to camp.
“Why don't we try Hyrum Lake tomorrow,” my wife suggested.
“Great idea.”
And Hyrum Lake was great. The water was cool but not cold, the lake was beautiful and so was the setting. I must admit, Mantua is more scenic, especially since it's typically just you, the water, the mountains, the parasites and the seaweed.
If you're looking for a great, little secluded-mountain-valley-hideaway, Mantua Campground (the forest service calls it Box Elder Campground) is great. And, they say the fishing is good, although the fish tend to itch a lot.
But, if you're looking for a good swimming/wakeboarding base camp—I suggest passing by Mantua on your way to Hyrum lake.
I've added a few pictures below and a new Google map.
So we planned our vacation. I took the day off—always a good idea—and we packed everything into the back of the truck and our adventure began. Somehow, all of our vacations end up as adventures. By adventure, I mean disaster.
We drove the forty minutes to Mantua and realized that our camping spot was not on Loop B (the loop we visited the previous week). No, this was a more “rustic” loop. By rustic I mean not maintained. We turned the first corner and realized we were ill-equipped to handle the situation. Where Loop A was dirt but well-maintained and relatively smooth, Loop B was paved—fifty years ago. Now the pavement resembled large boulders interspersed with potholes and rocks. Luckily, the road was steep enough that even the boulders couldn't stop us from barreling down the hill.
We found our camp site and began unpacking. Having been through numerous wilderness survival experiences, we were careful to pack the appropriate survival gear. We ran through our check list of essential items as we unpacked. Funyons—check. Donuts—check. Licorice—check. Everything looked good so we moved on to phase two—a nap.
The campground at Mantua is about one mile from the lake, snuggled against the side of the mountains and enclosed by a meandering stream. Our spot was right by the stream and the tall, swaying willows and burbling brook proved an excellent cure for the stresses of modern life.
After the nap and a bag or two of Funyons, we were ready to hit the water. We hitched up, got up enough speed to make it up the pavement strewn obstacle course the Forest Service calls a road and headed out of the campground towards the lake.
We'd been here just one week before so we were familiar with the area. Turn left at the small triangular-shaped park in the middle of town. Go past the old country store. Turn right at the parking lot and creep up the small but steep hill on the side of the dike. Being good boaters we read each sign as we passed to make sure we were aware of any potential hazards or unusual regulations.
No swimming by the docks.
No parking on the dike.
The Health Department has banned swimming in this lake due to health concerns.
Uh oh.
We stopped and re-read the sign. Health department...no contact with water...swimmer's itch. Hmm, that explained the lack of people on the lake.
I glanced around and noticed there were two boats pulling inner tubes on the water. Feeling hopeful, I said, “Maybe they put the sign up and forgot to take it down when it wasn't a problem anymore.”
My wife ignored me and suggested that I call my parents and have them look up “swimmers itch” on the Internet.
Luckily “swimmer's itch” is not the amoeba that crawls up your nose and eats away your brain. Small consolation—swimmer's itch is caused by a parasite (flatworm) that causes extreme itching, fever and insomnia.
So, we did what any sane person would do. We let the dog go in and watched for any unfortunate side effects. After a while we noticed that he began panting, scratching and running around in circles, barking loudly. Obviously this indicated the water was just fine so we decided to hop in the boat.
Strangely, my wife was still nervous about swimming with flatworms so we decided to approach the tubers and ask them if we should be concerned about the “swimmer's itch”.
“No problem—I wouldn't worry about it,” they said almost convincingly.
“Just take a REALLY good shower when you're done.”
“We're camping,” I left the obvious, “we won't be showering,” unspoken. The also obvious implication being, “we smell approximately as good as the pile of mildewing grass-and-dog-poop-compost pile in our backyard.”
As they rapidly plugged their noses and threw their boat into reverse to avoid our eau de forest swamp smell they yelled, “Just scrub really, really well with a clean towel then. You'll be okay ... probably.”
“Sounds good, let's hop in,” I enthused.
With a glance that spoke volumes, my wife began pulling out the dinner we'd packed and commented, “There's a nice little spot over there where we can chill, have dinner and listen to some music.”
I relented and pushed the throttle forward enjoying the gut-wrenching feel of the V-8's acceleration as we skimmed over the water. I glanced at my gauges to ensure everything was running smoothly. Oil temp—perfect. Oil pressure—perfect. RPM's—3,000. Water depth—ten inches. Ten inches?
With cat-like reflexes and a captain's instinctive understanding of the sea (or inland, smallish, puddle-like lake), I immediately stopped the boat. Unfortunately my wife, children and dog don't enjoy these same cat-like reflexes and depth of oceanic understanding. Or, perhaps I just didn't give them any warning. After a few band-aids and profound apologies, I peered over the gunwale to see how deep the water really was.
After a moment or two I was still uncertain. However, I did know that 224 acres of seaweed was exactly ten inches shorter than the depth of the water.
“That's a lot of seaweed,” my wife blandly commented as she leaned over beside me.
“No problem. The prop will just cut right through that stuff,” I said with an authoritative captain-esque tone.
Several hours later, after thoroughly removing the seaweed from the propeller, rudder and skegs, we headed back to camp.
“Why don't we try Hyrum Lake tomorrow,” my wife suggested.
“Great idea.”
And Hyrum Lake was great. The water was cool but not cold, the lake was beautiful and so was the setting. I must admit, Mantua is more scenic, especially since it's typically just you, the water, the mountains, the parasites and the seaweed.
If you're looking for a great, little secluded-mountain-valley-hideaway, Mantua Campground (the forest service calls it Box Elder Campground) is great. And, they say the fishing is good, although the fish tend to itch a lot.
But, if you're looking for a good swimming/wakeboarding base camp—I suggest passing by Mantua on your way to Hyrum lake.
I've added a few pictures below and a new Google map.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Ant Flat Road
Ant Flat Road – what an awesome name for a road! Call me morbid but it brings to mind a colony of ants trying to cross a freeway. Squished, flat ants. 
I don't know how Ant Flat Road got it's name—I'm guessing there's Ant Flat (as in a meadow) somewhere and this road goes through it. So, how did I end up on a mountain at 8000 ft. on a dirt road, in the middle of a gorgeously sunny summer day, 50 miles away from the nearest lake, wakeboard or boat?
I was feeling a little under the weather—not well enough to wakeboard but well enough to go for a drive in the mountains. That's one of the cool things about Utah—lots of diversity. At least in terms of geography. Lot's of religious diversity too—we've got old Mormons, middle-aged Mormons and lots and lots of little baby Mormons.
We've also got incredible mountains and snow skiing, some of the most spectacular lakes (Lake Powell, Flaming Gorge, Bear Lake, etc.) and some of the most spectacular canyons and desert scenes (Arches, Bryce's, Capitol Reef, etc.) you can imagine.
So, we piled the two kids and the dog into the car, packed a lunch and stole our winding way up the mountain.
It was beautiful up there—desolate, wild, peaceful and lonely. Copses of quaking aspen rustled in the wind and dust devils sent spirals of grit and sand twirling through the air. Husky sounding ATVs pounded over the dusty trails, logs, rocks, the dog, the children...
We had a great time there relaxing, collecting rocks and taking pictures of the beautiful scenery. Below you'll find a few pictures from our trip. I've also added a new map that shows where we went and what we saw. You can view it by clicking here.
Hobbies
Have you ever wished for something and then regretted it when you finally got it? Right now I am experiencing that regret for long-wished for, poorly thought-out things—like a hobby.
Why, you ask would I wish for a hobby and then regret it? Well, for the interest of my reader (you'll notice that's not plural—thanks for reading Mom) I'll explain.
Long, long ago, in a galaxy far far away – okay, when I was in my twenty's, living in Utah (you gotta admit that's practically the same thing) I didn't have a hobby. It's not that I didn't have things to do—I was in college so I was constantly busy playing pool, dating and socializing. Now and again, when I was bored, I would go to class or do homework.
But I didn't have a hobby. A hobby, to me, is something that helps define a person and assists in social interactions.
For the shy and introverted—“Hi my name's Bob, I like to collect stamps.” Or, for the quiet and sophisticated, “Nice to meet you I'm Richard, I collect antiquities.”
You see, a hobby immediately indicates what kind of person you are. But for me, during that sad, hobby-less epic of my life it was always: “Hi. I'm Dave. Nice to meet you. I'm boring.” Of course I never actually said I was boring but it was screamed loud and clear by the fact that I didn't have a hobby.
But, no more! Now, I can proudly proclaim: “Hi, I'm Dave. I'm an idiot.” Of course, I don't really say I'm an idiot but it's screamed loud and clear by the fact that my hobby is boating.
Did you know that the term boat is actually an acronym. B.O.A.T.—Break Out Another Thousand. It's true, I am poor in numerous ways – I no longer have money, or time.
But, foolish as it may seem, I love boating. Spending time on the water with my family, viewing nature's splendor, untangling the ski rope from the propeller in three foot waves, re-machining the prop because I ran it into a rock, fixing the tail lights on the trailer for the thousandth time, getting my toe splinted because I kicked the trailer in frustration when it got stuck in the mud... Ahh, the good times never stop.
So—do I regret it? Only at times. For example, that small period between the time I bought my boat and now.
But, I've got to admit—I'm hooked. The good times far surpass the bad and the bad memories are dulled by the great times I've had together with my wife and kids on the water. So will I stop boating? Never. Just don't ask my wife.
Welcome
This year I was able to scrape enough money together to purchase a boat, and season lift tickets. So in an attempt to rekindle my college ambitions I'm fusing my favorite hobbies with my old ambitions and creating this blog. I'll also try to keep some Google maps up to date with my travels (click here to see a map of places I've lived).
So, stay awhile, leave a comment or two and come back again soon as I intend to update the blog at least once a week.
Dave
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