Scrabble

I have not read Going Rogue. Nor will I. I did, however, read on someone else's blog that the Palin family played Scrabble, which is the second time time Scrabble has popped into my field of vision lately. The first time was in a phone conversation with Davis a couple of weeks ago. He was headed to the store to buy a game that would challenge him and was looking for recommendations. I buzzed through several options which he rejected for various reasons. Then I suggested Scrabble on the theory that as a mathematician who rocked at strategy games (he is practically unstoppable at Pente, Risk, Monopoly, and any other game based on recognizing patterns) that maybe a word-based game would take away his usual edge.

That's when Davis explained to me that Scrabble really was a math game.

Do you believe that?

He went on to explain that Scrabble required a knowledge of sets and combinatorics. The basic strategy was to maximize the overlap between the various combinations of letters on your rack and then to compare the combinations with the set of words in your mental dictionary. Once you had a set of matches, you can maximize your score through the placement of tiles on the optimal available spot on the board.

Is that how you play Scrabble?

No hording of Ks and Qs, as the Palin family does?

No memorizing of obscure words that contain multiple high point tiles (for example, QUARTZY)?

No coming up with convincing definitions of fanciful words so that you can, in one fell swoop, get rid of the problematic letters or perhaps the several "i"s that always gravitate towards your tray?

Ripstick Love

This is a Ripstick:

This is Love:


This is Ripstick Love:

My first inclination, if faced with a skateboard that someone had attached super-fast wheels to, sawed in half, and replaced the middle with a wobbly joint, would not be to claim my prize, jump on, and look for something to run into. I guess that's why I haven't yet become a ripstick enthusiast, in love with the speed, thrill, and danger.

I am mildly curious about them, however. Last Sunday before I left Louisville to head back to Bryan I opened an email from Davis's friend, Evi, which included the photo you see and an brief explanation:

Yesterday evening we ripsticked from Lovett Hall to the bike track. On the bike track we practiced a trick where Davis pushes me forward and then as I go by, I grab his hand and propel him forward. Then, before he passes me completely he grabs my hand and catapults me past. When I go by him again we repeat the process.

This, my friends, is why Health Care reform needs the provision that young adults can stay on their parent's insurance policies until the age of 26. Perhaps by then, they will have retired their ripsticks. Evi went on to write:

We also tried to ride one ripstick together but we did not achieve mastery. The smooth concrete floors of the McMurtry hallways are also perfect for "rip-sticking" study breaks!


In case you hadn't guessed, I have been released from my vow of silence and am cleared to "Repore!"

Division Sudoku

Davis has a new challenge for you.

Division Sudoku:

Everyone loves sudoku (well, maybe not everyone, but most people that read The Davhee Repore), the number placing logic game. Typically the 9x9 sudoku grid has a few numbers filled in and through careful examination of potential solutions you slowly fill in the grid. The puzzles range from mild to diabolical.

This sudoku, however, is different, and some say, tricky. Where other sudokus have a few starter numbers embedded in the puzzle to help you begin your logic, in this sudoku you don't get any numbers. Instead of numbers the puzzle provides the necessary information for a solution through showing the mathematical relationship between two squares. Complete rules are listed below.

None of the concepts needed to solve this puzzle go beyond knowing how to divide and to determine less than and greater than. The puzzle, however, will push the solver to think about the problem in a new way.

Instructions:

1. Fill in the grid so that the numbers 1 through 9 each appear exactly once in each row column, and block.
   
2. In addition, each time a cell's value divides one of its neighbors within a block, the line between the two cells is marked with a red arc shaped like a "C". That indicates that the number in cell A evenly divides into the number in cell B. You can think of this as "A goes into B with no remainder." For example, if you figured out that cell A was 3 then cell B would be 9. (Two hints: 1. The number "1" divides into any of the other numbers. 2.You might want to look for chains. . .that is, groups of cells connected by the red arc.)
   
3. The grid also contains a few greater than (>) symbols to guide your logic.

Good luck!

Things that Make Me Say HMM in Rochester

Walter, Davis, and I dined in the hotel restaurant last night.  When we walked into the dining room it occurred to me that our collective mean age of 42 lowered the average age in the room considerably.  We didn't spend the whole evening listening in to conversations at other tables, but occasionally scrumptious parts of conversation wafted into our range.  

At one point the two ladies next to us had a couple of hundred bucks in ones, fives, tens, and twenties spread out across their table, as one of them explained to the other the finer points of bill splitting and tipping.  This went on for at least fifteen minutes.  If they didn't looked like such dear friends, I would have assumed that they were playing a parlor game where one was trying to bilk the other into paying more than their share.  I was actually a little surprised that one of them didn't pull an abacus from her enormous handbag, to finish the calculations.

The highlight of the evening came shortly before we packed it in.  The table behind me had two two women and a man.  Their conversation had ranged broadly over the course of their meal and included one of the women declaring her intention to see Hair (the first ROCK musical) with her sister in the coming week.  That led me to mentally adjust my evaluation of their age downward.  Just as we paid our bill, their conversation turned to travel, and one said, "Have you spent time in the Southwest?" to which I perked my ear, in case they had something to say about Texas.  

One response:  "I lived in New Mexico for a year in the '30s."

The other:  "I was working in Alamagordo when we dropped the bomb."

Wow!  My internal tote board whirred forward by decades as I re-adjusted my assessment.  The mental calculations kept me from laughing out loud at the unexpected turn of the conversation until we had cleared out of the room and headed to the elevators.

Of course, other things have led me to lift an eyebrow and go "Hmm."  Driving back from Davis's yesterday, I spotted a monastery, something not in and of itself comment worthy.  What made it a Hmm moment was its proximal location across the street from the country club.

Davis also spotted a young man who had hair the same color as the back pockets of his pants.  Again, not particularly noteworthy if he had on khakis, but he was wearing jeans with neon lime patch pockets.

The last thing I have to report is the half dozen woodchucks Walter and I saw near downtown Rochester when we went to view the High Falls on the Genessee River while Davis napped.  In Texas, these would have been prairie dogs, but according to the local expert who we turned to in the absence of our own, private master naturalist, these were definitely woodchucks. . .and very common ones, indeed.  Here's what they looked like:

See, nothing remarkable.  However, it would have been another story, if we had spotted this:

Eating Out

Jerry Harvey published "The Abilene Paradox and Other Meditations on Management" in 1974 (you can read the story at the bottom of this entry) to describe a common type of group decision making when a group of people collectively decide on a course of action that is counter to the preferences of any of the individuals in the group. I know I have this experience regularly when my colleagues and I try to decide where we will have lunch as we stand around waiting for the elevator. You know the conversation:

Person 1: Where do ya'll [this is Texas, remember] want to eat today?

Person 2: I don't care. What's everyone up for?

Person 3: Anything's fine with me.

Person 4: Not pizza, but other than that I don't have a preference.

and so on. Eventually, we drift towards some non-descript chain that probably doesn't offend anyone, but is also probably not particularly good.

Nobody really wants to take responsibility for the decision and so we all just go along.

What does The Abilene Paradox have to do with The Davhee Repore? It decidedly does NOT describe the way Davis acts when his group needs to choose a place to eat. Last Thursday evening they were headed to a restaurant that they had agreed upon, but that no one had ever patronized. It was, in my opinion, a pretty risky choice.

I talked to him about this on the phone before hand. When I heard that they had decided on a Mexican food restaurant, I let my regional bias show by remarking something like: "Good luck with that."

He wanted to know what I meant, and I said, "Well, you can always have fajitas." He got a little huffy and asked me to clarify further. I responded, "I've never actually eaten at a Mexican restaurant east of the Mississippi that I would go back to. I'm thinking maybe you'll have the same problem in Rochester, especially if no one has tried it out beforehand."

He said, "You probably don't use a good algorithm when you choose restaurants you're unfamiliar with. I look at the menus on the internet." I pooh poohed that suggestions, telling him that seeing the list of menu items didn't say anything about what they would taste like.

Davis patiently explained that I didn't need to look at the menu items per se. I needed to focus on the menu style. Apparently there's an On-the-Border-style menu with clever descriptions of each item, an emphasis on painting a culinary picture of the food, and a delineation of what is healthy and what is tasty. There's also a Gina's-style-menu (which, frankly, has always seemed just fine to me, but I think in and of itself may not indicate much about the quality of food) and a taqueria-style menu. Davis explained that if you go to restaurants with a taqueria-style menu, the food has to be good because you know the owners aren't in business because they went to business school or because they are adept marketers. Ergo, the only thing left is for them to serve tasty food.

I'll let you know if he found empirical evidence to support his theory.

*********************************

The Abilene Paradox

On a hot afternoon visiting in Coleman, Texas, the family is comfortably playing dominoes on a porch, until the father-in-law suggests that they take a trip to Abilene [53 miles north] for dinner. The wife says, "Sounds like a great idea." The husband, despite having reservations because the drive is long and hot, thinks that his preferences must be out-of-step with the group and says, "Sounds good to me. I just hope your mother wants to go." The mother-in-law then says, "Of course I want to go. I haven't been to Abilene in a long time."

The drive is hot, dusty, and long. When they arrive at the cafeteria, the food is as bad as the drive. They arrive back home four hours later, exhausted.

One of them dishonestly says, "It was a great trip, wasn't it?" The mother-in-law says that, actually, she would rather have stayed home, but went along since the other three were so enthusiastic. The husband says, "I wasn't delighted to be doing what we were doing. I only went to satisfy the rest of you." The wife says, "I just went along to keep you happy. I would have had to be crazy to want to go out in the heat like that." The father-in-law then says that he only suggested it because he thought the others might be bored.

The group sits back, perplexed that they together decided to take a trip which none of them wanted. They each would have preferred to sit comfortably, but did not admit to it when they still had time to enjoy the afternoon.

Harvey, Jerry B. (Summer 1974). "The Abilene Paradox and other Meditations on Management". Organizational Dynamics 3 (1): 63.

Wordless Wednesday

Ruby Does Rochester

If I were really cool, I would begin this entry with references to Ruby on Rails (or RoR, as those in the know say), but I'm not. Instead, I have typical vacation pics. Yep, this is what you get when you take someone's bike on vacation.

First, you have to introduce her to everyone. Her name is "Ruby," but she's so exotic, she had the French translation of her name tattooed on her chest:

She did not want to travel coach. She wanted a sleeper car. So, we made her a lovely bed:

We let her choose the soundtrack for the trip:

And the side trips:

And where we ate:

Every night, when we finished the drive for the day, we brought her up from the van and let her luxuriate in the room:

Every evening we tucked her in and read books aloud to her to help her fall asleep, including stories about her favorite conspiracy theory (Jack Ruby) and her favorite bunnies (Max and Ruby):

We only had one oversight. We forgot to pack her bedroom slippers:

Finally, after what seemed to Ruby an interminably long time, she was at last reunited with Davis.

Time past more quickly then, though it still seemed an eternity. Finally, she found liberty and her new summer home: Rochester.

Let the Wild Rumpus Begin

I have the television on in the hotel in Rochester waiting for The Running of the Belmont and reflecting. I am letting my masculine side dominate by flipping back and forth between pre-race coverage and the second game of the Rice/LSU super regional that is tied 2-2. We made it through the winding, hilly road of eastern Pennsylvania and central New York. During the trip I saw one thing that made me go HMM--an empty helicopter sitting on the edge of a ridge overlooking the highway.

Our day started with me behind the wheel of the fully loaded van (three adults, four suitcases, three duffle bags, three briefcases, one backpack, and two full-sized bikes, and extraneous detritus). Walter took the middle shift (and unfortunately, the roughest drive time: too many construction zones, lane shifts, and non-expressway routes). About a hundred miles outside of Rochester, six-and-a-half hours into the trip, Walter pulled into a rest stop to turn the driving over to Davis.

Davis had chomped at the bit to drive all morning and complained about the delay every time we stopped. For those of you who have known Davis a long time, you know that he's not particularly hyper, but he can get jicky (for a definition of jicky, think about that time when you had three too many cups of coffee). We all loaded back into the car with Davis at the wheel. He beat both hands on the steering wheel in agitation while we took our various seats and belted up. Then, he cranked up the radio and announced, "Let the wild rumpus begin."

DC

Davis will D/C (discontinue, in medical parlance) his stay in DC on Saturday and head back into the heady world of mathematics.

Our reunion was sweet yesterday, and I can't tell you how fascinating I found it to get my capital tour from a guide I gave birth to. I won't go into the details of how, in our hurry to meet up with him, we failed to read the fine print of the sign by the parking meter that we parked next to. Big Ooooops: $100 fine and a request for towing. Luckily, Walter had gone back to put more quarters in the meter and moved the car before someone fulfilled the request.

We have plans to see DC United play tonight, but may have to ditch given the forecast for 100% chance of rain. We did get to watch three innings of McLean Little League before lightning cut the game short (and coincidentally allowed us to forego ballpark corndogs in favor of a real sitdown meal at Pucinella's). Driving back into the city was a real adventure (we had to re-route a number of times because streets were blocked by downed trees and progress on the parkways was slowed by the unexpected sheet-like, Texas-style rain dump) that required a beer at the bar before bedtime.

Davis had to pop up for work this morning, but I took it easy while WB worked out. More later.

He Gets Around

Davis has two full weeks plus of work as a Congressional intern under his belt. Lest he get too comfortable, that leaves only thirteen more days before he changes venues and moves 369 miles to the north and east to internship dos: Rochester Institute of Technology.

Walter and I will head that direction by car in even less time than that to have the first of our two road trip vacations this summer. We have plans to take the southern route on the way up and stop in at Tuscaloosa, Alabama and see our dear friend and Walter's college roommate, Mort. (If you don't have a long history reading Erin's Home Page--and by long I mean as far back as November 2006--you probably want to read more about Mort so you can see why we might want to start out our trip with a stopover in Tuscaloosa.) I think this route then veers north up through Knoxville and through the Blue Ridge Mountains at the edge of Virginia and West Virginia. . .absolutely new territory for me.

But, oops, I got distracted (probably a bright, shiny object flew by just at the edge of my vision). This post is called "He Gets Around," not "His Mom and Dad Get Around." Besides his current residence in DC and his future residence in NY, Davis added another state to his summer experience by grabbing a train at Union Station (located conveniently just blocks from his house) after work last Friday and railing it to Trenton, New Jersey to visit a friend (thanks Bethany and Shari for your willingness to be on "Davis Watch" in case anything unplanned happened. It didn't.). He has also asked me to bring his passport when we go to Washington. Who knows what other side trips he has planned?

The other thing I wanted to share with you, actually does have to do with another trip Walter and I will make (in about an hour). As President of the Texas State Historical Association, Walter has some ceremonial duties at Texas History Day in Austin this week. I had not originally planned on going with him, but when the moratorium on UIL actitivies mandated by the near (far?) miss on the Swine Flu epidemic pushed the contest back a couple of weeks, my services became more valuable (Yes, I am going to be one of the replacement judges. Only about 130 of the originally scheduled 160 judges could shift their schedule around, so voila, I am promoted.).

This honor brought to mind my dear son, who as as a seventh grader (back when I was still taller than him), won the Robert Henry Chapter of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas Certificate of Award for Excellence in Texas History Studies. It made me wonder then, as it makes me wonder now, who actually joins the Daughters of the Republic of Texas these days? Perhaps the mothers of the youth who are competing at Texas History Day this week. I will have to ask around.

Adhesive

And so a weird enough semester ends for Davis. He returned from his study abroad experience and had to fit back into the flow of dorm life that had started without him in August: new roommate, new routine. The sister he left when he headed back to Rice seemed as fit and robust as ever,

but by March he found himself headed home more often to get some time in with Erin as she got sicker. Even so, classes fell into place. Will Rice swept Beer/Bike. He took finals in stride and rung the old school year out with good friends and style.

And now what?

Two days at home to unpack, regroup, and pack again. Destinations: DC for five weeks; followed by Rochester until August.

So, as I paid bills today, Davis sorted through some of the laundry baskets where he had tossed everything in an effort to empty his dorm room quickly and efficiently (emphasis on quickly). Of course, he had the requisite sets of dominoes, playing cards, and poker chips. He also stacked up several re-usable, re-sealable plastic containers that I must have shoved in his hands each time he returned back to school this spring with cookies or some other kind of consumable to tide him over until he could make it to the servery. I don't know where he go the bottle of Fe-Breeze, but he claimed that it was indispensable, and I believe him.

Among the detritus was also a dozen packets of epoxy, two bottles of gorilla glue, multiple colors of duct tape, super glue and puzzle glue, foil tape, scotch tape, and masking tape.

Now I know how he kept it together all semester despite it all: a heavy investment in adhesives. And do you know, I can take complete credit for that. Eight (or more) years ago, I personally turned him on to the potential of adhesives.

That summer Davis and Robbie made a substantial investment in driving me mad as a hatter by fussing and bickering about absolutely anything and everything. They refused to played together nicely and refused, even more adamantly, to split up and spend some time apart. One afternoon, out of sheer frustration, I reached for my roll of duct tape and firmly joined them at the forearm and calf (really quite an accomplishment because Davis had started his growth spurt, but Robbie hadn't). Within moments they were best friends, trying to figure out how to run across the backyards, climb up on to the trampoline, and jump without falling into splayed shambles.


For those of you who weighed in on the storytelling poll a few weeks ago, I would like to reveal the outcome:

57% of you thought that Escape from Babysitter Mountain was true.
30% of you thought that Time Stands Still was true.
38% of you thought that The Danger Boys was true.

Do the math. Did 125% of you vote?

No. You're right some of you voted twice (maybe thrice) and you were right to do so, because Babysitter Mountain and The Danger Boys were both true stories. Congratulations to the winners. Next time the truth won't be so obvious.

Presenting. . .Ruby

Davis turns 21 on Saturday.



He brought someone special home last weekend.



Her name is Ruby.





Apparently, she is our birthday present to our fine son.

P.S. There are still a few hours left to vote in the poll (see the stories below and the poll directly to your right). You can change your previous vote. In fact, you may want to in light of the launch day of the poll (April Fool's Day).

Storytime

Derelict. Absolutely derelict.

How could I have let three weeks slip by without a "Report?"

Especially since during that three weeks, Davis's bike team set new records and recorded an unprecedented fourth sweep of the 52nd Annual Rice University Beer/Bike race. Beyond that, during those three weeks, Davis accepted a summer mathematics research internship offer in Rochester, New York at Rochester Institute of Technology. Then, only yesterday, he called with the news that he had been selected to captain the bike team next year and that he might want a new road bike for his 21st birthday which comes up on Easter weekend.

In honor of these accomplishments, I am offering a special glimpse into the world of Davis Buenger.

At Rice, story telling with a twist has grabbed the imagination of the students. They have made up a game where people tell stories (elaborate or simple), and everyone in the circle has to decide whether the story is true or false. Apparently Davis has gotten quite good at the game (more because of his range of interesting stories than because of his ability to lie effectively). Here are three examples. You choose which one is true.

Story 1: The Danger Boys

You all know we live out in the country, so Davis never had a neighborhood full of friends to hang out with in his idle time. He did, however, have two brothers: Jaret and Robbie, AKA The Danger Boys. I don't want to get off track with this story to give you the many examples of their behavior that led to that moniker (perhaps I'll explain some other time), but this story gives you a glimpse.

President's day of 1997 brought us brilliant weather. Davis, Robbie, and Jaret were beside themselves with the idea that they had a day off school and it was truly warm and beautiful. The Danger Boys had waited for just such a day to launch their floating trampoline. That's right, their dad/stepdad had welded sheet metal and old 55 gallon drums to the legs of their ancient trampoline, and they were ready to pull it out into the lake to give it a try. No thought that the winter lake level was really low in most parts of the lake (so that an unlucky bounce might lead to someone burying his head in the bottom of the lake. . .or worse). No thought of the bleeding potential of clamboring up onto a trampoline with random bits of sheet metal and rusty edges attached to it and submerged in the muddy waters.

I put my foot down. "No, Davis, you can not risk tetanus nor paraplegia just to go jumping around on an unstable and rickety trampoline on the middle of the lake."

Instead, we pull up lawn chairs on the back porch, where we could watch the lake, enjoy the springlike weather, and finish the book we were reading together. Bliss.

After a while, Robbie and Jaret, having survived the outing on the trampoline, headed over to our house to check us out. They had a Christmas toy with them that would record voices, then skew them, and play them back in some cracy, silly way. Of course, for eight- and eleven-year old boys the potential was enormous. They walked up and activated the machine to play some high-pitched screechy speech they had programmed. This completely startled our yellow lab, Luke, lying under Davis's chair. He scrambled his ninety pounds up to his feet, upending Davis's chair. Davis fell off the porch, the chair fell across his forearm and snapped the bones in half, and . . .

I became the mom who injured her son by reading to him on the back porch instead of letting him play with The danger Boys on the rusty, rickety floating trampoline.

Story 2: Time Stands Still



Do you know what this is?

This is the world's largest hour glass, containing enough sand to measure the elapse of exactly one year. It lives in Budapest, Hungary, where Budapest people erected it to commemorate the 1957 revolt against the communists.

What does it have to do with Davis Buenger?

Last fall, Davis had an encounter with the clock. He was driving down the road on his bicycle with his Hungarian friend when suddenly we were sidewiped by a drunk Hungarian (Hungary has the highest per capita rate of alcohol), forcing them to crash into the clock. Fortunately, they only hit the granite edge. None of the glass shattered, but the force knocked the massive clock slightly off center.

As a result of the mishap, the sand flow slowed just a smidge. The local paper confirms Davis's calculation. The sand will now take a year and a day to flow through.

Davis truly made his mark on Hungary.

Story 3: Escape from Babysitter Mountain

I made an exceptionally bad hiring decision in the summer of 1995. I needed to hire someone to watch Davis while I worked. I had done theis many times before and really thought I had a handle on hiring (usually college students) to do interesting things with him and help around the house a bit. I have to admit that the one I hired that summer buffaloed me during the interview. I promise, I would not have knowingly hired someone who would not let Davis play outside (too hot for her) and who valued her own television time more than life itself.

Luckily, Davis was a problem solver extraordinaire, even back then.

When this sitter, once again refused to let Davis play outside (even though his best friend Bradley was over) and sent them back to his room so she could watch her programs, Davis and Bradley thought of an alternative.

They spent about an hour playing with Rockin' Robot. Davis had gotten Rockin' Robot when he was about two. It was a almost indestructible cassette player shaped like a robot. For years he carried it around by it head handle, listening to his tunes and later listening to episode after episode of Hank, the Cowdog and whatever other audio books he fancied.

That day, however, they discovered Rockin' Robot's recording capabilities. For the first hour that the babysitter sat in the living room, they entertained themselves telling jokes and in general messing around with the tape player. In the second hour, they set Rockin' Robot on autoreverse play (basically a repetitive loop) and snuck out of the house down to Robbie's. The sitter would never own up to how long she went without checking on them, satisfied that she could hear them playing away happily behind the closed door in Davis's room, but I think it was several hours.

She tried to quit, saying that Davis was the nastiest little boys she had ever taken care of, but I fired her before she got to the point that she said "I quit."

Now that you have read these three stories, vote in the poll on the right for which one you think really happened.

My Van Vacationed at Mo Ranch

Not everyone can afford to send their minivan on a much needed vacation. As a reward for performing admirably during its first six plus months in our family, I decided my van should go to Mo Ranch without me. I found six young men, Davis included to chaperon her trip. I'm glad she got to go. Here's one of the panoramic views she got to see.


She didn't swim in the river, but her chaperons did. She also had trouble fitting on the sled on the Mo Slide. Here's Davis encouraging her up the steps.


With that refreshing trip (I'm sure she took advantage of the Mo Ranch amenities), she is ready for another twenty thousand miles of grunt work around town and on the highway.

The Return of the Prince

Walter and Davis will roll up shortly for a week of respite from the grind of college life. This afternoon Erin made him a mandarin orange cheesecake and grated dark chocolate with almonds on top. I wonder if there will be any left when he arrives?

If it's all gone, perhaps Willie will distract him with multiple licks and jump ups.

I just want to say that having a grown son who I can talk to on an even basis, instead of having to parent all the time has been a big and unexpected blessing.

The Dragon Riddle Resolved

Since I teased you with Davis's riddle, I thought I might show some mercy and give you the solution (I have also attached a copy of Davis's recent topology homework. Let me know which one makes the most sense to you).

HOMEWORK:


SOLUTION TO THE DRAGON RIDDLE:

If the product of the ages is 1 or a prime number, then you could easily deduce the ages (for example: if the dragon whispered to Geoff, "7", then Geoff would know the children were age 1 and age 7). Since he did not know that from the start, you can eliminate all prime numbers as possible products.

From there you could make two tables, one for products and one for sums, starting with the simplest non-prime products:

Product: (Possible Factors)

4: (4 x 1) (2 x 2)
6: (6 x 1) (3 x 2)
8: (8 x 1) (4 x 2)
9: (9 x 1) (3 x 3)
10: (10 x 1) (5 x 2)

And one for sums, starting with the lowest possible sum from the pairs in the table above:
Sum: (Possible Addends)
4: (3+1, 2+2)
5: (4+1, 3+2)
6: (5+1, 4+2, 3+3)
7: (6+1, 5+2, 4+3)

After "7" the number of possible addition combinations becomes too large for Sailesh to ever know the answer (clue #4, below).

Now, let's proceed. Assume initially that the product of the ages is 4 (the lowest composite).

Geoff tells Sailesh that he does not know the answer, it could be either 1 and 4, or 2 and 2. Still assuming that the dragon had whispered "4" into Geoff's ear, Sailesh would have heard either 4 or 5. If Sailesh’s sum were 4, he would have two possible combinations: 1 and 3, or 2 and 2. If this were the case, rather than answering "I don't know the ages either," he would "I know the ages." This is because he could eliminate 1 and 3 on the assumption that Geoff would have said he knew the ages if they were 1 and 3 (prime). If that were the case, Sailesh would say the ages were 2 and 2.

Since he did not know, we can eliminate those two age combinations. The remaining option is a sum of 5.

From the table we can again see that there are two possible combinations for a sum of 5: 1 and 4, or 2 and 3. Since the product of neither of these combinations can be multiplied into a prime, Sailesh also has to admit he does not know the ages either. This declaration would provide Geoff with the information that that the sum the dragon told to Sailesh was 5, not 4.

Geoff would then know that the product of the ages is 4 and the sum of the ages is 5, therefore at least one possibility is that the ages are 1 and 4.

The interesting thing about this riddle is not actually trying to solve it yourself as if you are Geoff or Sailesh, but to use the conversation the two of them and your assumption of their perfect logic to solve it.

Thus, what needs to happen next is to show the uniqueness of the answer 1 and 4. You do that by examining other combinations in the tables and see if the conversation between Geoff and Sailesh could have occurred the way it did with any other dragon ages.

Go back to the sum table. We have already elimated certain sums (5 +1 and 3+1) because the product of those ages equal prime numbers.

Another case are numbers like 3 + 2 (or 4 +2, 3 + 3, 6 + 1, 5 + 2, or 4 +3 or even larger sums). In these cases, Geoff's second statement (that "now I know the ages") would be impossible for any of these examples. Take specifically dragon ages of 3 and 2. If Geoff knew the product of these two (6), he could only guess if the dragons were 1 and 6 or 3 and 2. He has no basis for eliminating one to arrive at the statement "now I know the ages." The same logic applies to other sums listed in the table.

That leaves only 2 and 2 and numbers larger than the ones listed above. I showed how 2 and 2 were eliminated above (when Geoff knew the answer was not 1 and 3) .

Davis will be home in about a week. Because his semester started so early, his spring break starts a week from Friday. I think he will need the rest.

The Dragon Riddle

Everyone knows that dragon's love riddles. So, it follows naturally that Davis is sponsoring another contest for his classmates. I think you can enter, too. Here's how it goes, according to the e-mail he sent me:

For the pursuit of glory and riches, I present to you a challenge of wit and will power. Whosoever solves this problem will be awarded a king’s treasure of $20 and be known throughout the college as the one who slayed the dragon.

One day Sailesh, in full armor, was walking with his serf, Geoffrey, through the grove, when suddenly a dragon swooped down and pinned them to the ground. The dragon, being quite merciful, told Sailesh and Geoffrey that she would eat them unless they could name the ages of the dragon’s two children (both positive integers).

[ASIDE, inserted by Davis's mom: you can tell by the reference to positive integers that you have to know math to figure out this riddle].

In Geoffrey’s ear the dragon whispered the product of the two ages. In Sailesh’s ear the dragon whispered the sum of the two ages. Their conversation went as follows:

Geoff: "I don’t know the ages."
Sailesh: "I don’t know the ages, either."
Geoff: "Now I know the ages."
Sailesh: "Now I know the ages, too."

What are the ages assuming Sailesh and Geoff have perfect logic?

Which is more interesting to you? That Davis knows the answer to this riddle or that he would sponsor a contest among his peers with a monetary reward to solve the riddle.

Creativity

I caught a glimpse of Davis on Tuesday. He biked over to clinic to deliver his phone. The screen goes white regularly, and it has seen better days in other ways as well. So, I'll carry it down to my phone guy.

ASIDE: Do you have a phone guy? I have had the same phone guy, John Miller, since I got my first cell phone in 1999. He used to try to talk me into fancy phones, phones with features, anything beyond the phone that comes free with a contract extension. He doesn't even try anymore. He knows we are not hip, and he knows that we don't care if everybody else knows we're not hip, too. We don't listen to music, surf the web, or take photos with our phones. We don't use them for navigation nor for watching live television. We make phone calls. We receive phone calls. If I need to communicate with a teenager, I text, always in complete sentences with proper punctuation.

Anyway, Davis needs a new phone, and his only parameter is size: the smaller the better. In fact, his first choice is so small I think it will get lost in his pocket.

Anyway, Davis biked over to clinic to deliver the phone and give me a hug. He got there about ten after 9:00; his first class started at 9:25. You can imagine the in-depth and intricate conversation we shared.

I'm probably lucky I got a glimpse and a hug. Davis has taken on a lot this semester. He is taking seventeen hours and auditing three more, has taken on a job grading Math 366: Euclidean Geometry, and has just put the finishing touches on his applications for summer internships and research opportunities. Intramural soccer has started, and his bike team is holding time trials regularly to make sure everyone takes training seriously.

I think keeping busy will keep him out of some sorts of trouble, but I should have warned him about its stultifying effect on creativity. If he fills his days with classes and work and exercising, how will he think of interesting things for me to write about on The Report? Has he thought about that, I wonder? Probably not, he doesn't have time.

Infrastructure

President-elect Barack Obama recently promised to make “the single largest new investment in our national infrastructure since the creation of the federal highway system in the 1950s." He stole Davis's idea.


Consider the potential impact of building multi-armed turbines (while trying to overlook the downside problem that birds may be attracted to a tree-shaped turbine base).

Seriously, the second dam break in Tennessee last week and the resulting hard-to-clean spill signals a great need for TVA-era infrastructure re-development. One problem that the administration faces is the dearth of "shovel-ready" projects that could start contributing to the larger economy sooner rather than later. Again, Davis has one-upped the incoming administration.

According to Davis, the current and planned construction on the Rice campus fits the bill. Rice is involved in building new colleges, rebuilding old ones, adding new labs, and even building a student rec center. The rebuilds are especially valuable to the economic recover of the nation.

Last year one of the ceilings collapsed in Davis's dorm, and the effected students had to live for a month in another room. Clearly, this fits the definition of shovel-ready. Plus, the improved living space will be substantially greener than what it replaces. The previous dorms were build in the fifties and leak heat in the winter and cold in the summer. The new and/or improved buildings would consume less coal and electricity, supporting the long term viability of Rice. Along with reduced consumption comes a reduction in costs. Following the impact argument about infrastructure, the investment in the beauty and value of the Rice Institute would increase its competitiveness in the national market.

Now, anyone who has had their commute re-routed for bridge upgrading or highway construction knows that infrastructure projects are a pain in the proverbial heel of the loaf. Davis hasn't been immune from those concerns: He recently wrote:

"The increasing number of of construction workers on the campus forced, the administration to open the center of the bike track [NOTE OF EXPLANATION: the bike track is the sacred home to the Rice beer-bike teams, a sanctuary of sorts to Davis and his compadres.] to parking. This has greatly increased the risk of biking. Just think of combining tired construction workers driving across a track where bikers are madly racing along at 30 mph with limited stopping ability."

Ever the optimist, Davis wrote on:

"But with proper planning, the hassles of the construction crew can be avoided. For the most part they have been restrained and cautious when approaching the track. Indeed I've had more trouble with pedestrians and other bikes than cars. On the bright side, the inner track parking lot closes at 4:00 pm, and the police have been unrelenting in giving tickets to the tardy removers. So after 4 no problems."

Other than a concern with infrastructure and and an equal concern with keeping his bike track clear, Davis is great. He has a week and a half of the semester under his belt, has taken advantage of the dry weather to log a bunch of miles on his bike, and he got back on the pitch last night with his championship-defending soccer squad. He did seem appropriately (how should I say this?) awed? disconcerted? put off? when I mentioned a little tidbit about one of his classmates. It seems that I still have my mojo going and the Six Degrees of Separation and The Mom's Network are more truth than fiction, when I can hear through a friend, who heard through an acquaintance, who heard through a relative, who heard through a classmate of Davis's about something going on in one of his classes.

I highly recommend cultivating the illusion of omniscience with your children. It's the ultimate investment in infrastructure.

Hungarian Retrospective

I'm not sure what drives the Rice University calender, but Walter drove Davis back to Houston yesterday so that he could start class this morning at 9:00. They left early enough to beat the cold front to Houston, which meant that Davis and Sam could get a decent training (bike) ride in before the weather turned cold and nasty on them. We hated to see him go so soon.


Davis definitely brought a little Hungary (and a little hungry) back with him. I have the habit of buying everyone in the family a gift from a fair trade catalog every Christmas (whether they want it or not) and labeling it "From The World." I have never, however, actually traveled beyond my living room to procure said gifts. This year Walter, Erin, my mom, and I actually received presents brought from somewhere other than home, namely Hungary. The theme: purple, the most with it, happening color in continental Europe this season. A shirt for Erin, scarf for Walter, and hats for my mother and me.




Davis also brought photos that captured various aspects of his life in Budapest over the last five months:

Who knows what this semester will hold? After having four math classes and a political philosophy course last fall, he is mixing it up some: Spanish, either semantics or a study of gnosticism, history of Iraq, topology (math), and I think some hours doing math research. I just skyped with him, using the video, and I can say with confidence that he has resumed Rice life with no problem. I think an afternoon nap was in his immediate future plans.

The Audacity of Hop

Davis's buddy Adam sent photos of his family's pre-Christmas vacation to the beach near Canberra. I don't know what I expected to see on my first view of an Australian beach--maybe a bikini clad beauty carrying a Vegemite sandwich or perhaps strapping young men wearing hats with the brim cocked up on one side. I did not expect to see kangaroos. Nor did I expect that the Tjoelkers could walk right up and pet them. And I certainly didn't think they would feel soft like bunnies instead of coarse like, I don't know, goats.

Well, I kind of got it right about the hats.

And continuing with the hop theme. Davis hopped aboard his transcontinental flight last Saturday and headed home. You already knew that. Do you know what he had in his suitcase [guess now and I will tell you later]?

There is (literally) a grassroots movement in Budapest where people in the parkolas group build littles parks in parkings spaces around the city. They will capture a parking space, fill it with turf and other plants, and temporarily make a little miniature park in the space. Davis witnessed this happening a few weeks ago, and for his support the group gave him his own tulip bulb.

Fast forward to the day the tulip started to sprout, which coincidentally was also the day that Davis left Hungary. When he touched down in Houston, he called us to let us know he made it safely onto Texas soil. He also expressed concern about bringing illegal contraband home in his suitcase. Apparently, he was unwilling to leave his friend the tulip bulb, in a cold, heartless apartment [Did you guess he brought a tulip bulb--that he did not get in Rotterdam--home from Budapest? Were you thinking paprika? Hungarian wine? Lace? A porcelain doll?]. As he explained on the phone, he hoped it would be okay, even though it was a foreign (and thus forbidden) plant, because he had declared it on his customs form.

As soon as he hung up the businessmen who sat around him, eavesdropping on his conversation, wanted to call the flight attendant over and get him a new customs forms, so that he could undeclare the tulip bulb. He refused to try to sneak it in (this is so Davis, and I'm proud that he doesn't have a deceptive bone in his body), and of course it didn't clear customs. Imagine it blooming in a trash can in Bush Airport in Houston.

Anyway, even if the tulip didn't make it to Bryan safely Davis did, which brings us to the final episode of Hop(e).

Davis doesn't ask for much for birthday or Christmas. He lives a "more is less" lifestyle. Shopping for him becomes a challenge (you mothers will understand) because I feel some pressure to keep the stacks approximately even (amount spent, # of gifts, etc., between Erin and Davis). When he told me in November the new fashion color in 2009 was going to be yellow because it stood for optimism and hope, I knew what he would have under the tree:

Return of the Prince: a Pseudo-Photographic Essay

All I can say I'm glad my skill as a photographer is not my main bread-earning talent. I attempted to photograph Davis's first moment on the ground in Bryan last night and ended up with this dark, blurry, indistinguishable, but grainy image [note: the green blob in the bottom corner of the photo is not an olive, but in fact is Erin, waiting as close to the door as security would allow]. At this point, if we rely on photographic evidence, none of us are really sure if this is Davis or some stranger walking up:

Then, I tried to capture the pure joy of my children greeting each other [my hand must have been shaking with joy?]:

Oh well, Davis made it home, whether I have a photographic record of the event or not. The dogs will testify that those blurry images in the pictures actually smelled like Davis.

My mom thought it smelled like him, too.

The only way I truly knew that we had the real Davis, and not some cheap, Eastern European imitation was to take him to Gina's. Since it was the last thing we did before he left, it made sense for it to be the first thing we did when he returned.

The person with us order Los Bomberos (The Firemen's Special). At the end of the meal we were pretty sure the Prince had returned.

Still Counting Down

Davis has finished packing, played his last game of beer pong with his BSM (Budapest Semesters in Mathematics) compadres, done a little Christmas shopping, visited the automatic teller machine for his final batch of forints, and collected all his grades (A pluses in two of his course, woohoo!). I think he leaves for the airport in about ten or twelve hours. His final task: leaving a note for next semester's students who will take his place in the program.

What can you say in a letter to prepare someone for five months in an eastern European city studying math with some renowned professors?

• Directions to the basketball court, the soccer cage, and the ultimate frisbee course.
• Combination to the lock for the bike you are leaving for your successor.
• Advice on local shops and shopkeepers about how to buy shortening (and other delights).

I'm not sure what else, but I'm sure whatever else Davis has to say will be interesting.

Dutch Boy

Did I mention I would only have to wait eleven more days until Davis returned from Hungary and joined the family in their pre-Christmas celebrations?

We missed him at Thanksgiving and had originally planned a week in Budapest and surroundings, just to see him and enjoy the benefit of him studying abroad. Alas, with the uncertainty of Erin's treatments and general health we had to bag that plan. Thanksgiving isn't actually a Hungarian holiday, so Davis didn't have days off from school that would allow him an extended vacation. Our nephew, Matt Taylor, found himself in similar circumstances, far from home on Thanksgiving for the first time and little time off for a vacation (Matt works for Price Waterhouse Coopers in Rotterdam).

Davis boldly made flight plans on Wizz Air (does that name inspire trust? or at least the promise of inflight bathroom facilities?) and took a weekend in another country. Matt took Davis on a walking tour of the city center on Friday night followed by dinner at a Mexican restaurant (I thought Rotterdam was in The Netherlands, not Mexico). On Saturday, being strapping young men, they went to the gym, relaxed a little, then went to see 19 old windmills in Kinderdijk, a small town 25 minutes outside Rotterdam. After seeing the windmills, they cooked Thanksgiving dinner in Matt's apartment and had some friends over.

Middle School Projects

Erin has entered Project World, the time in middle school that every teacher gives an at-home project every six weeks, just to drive parents crazy. This madness takes one of several forms:

Some parents join right in and do perfect project after perfect project on behalf of their children.

Other parents avoid the actual work, but feel compelled to harangue their children every day. . ."have you started yet?" "have you made any progress?" "do you need supplies?" "are you almost through?"

Others use projects to make social comparisons and one up other parents (usually those with less accomplished progeny).

So far Erin has made a Day-of-the-Dead alter for Spanish, a made-up continent for social studies, a mutimedia presentation about England for technology applications, and prepared a debate on drilling in the Alaskan Wilderness Preserve for science. She also worked on some sort of paper for English about the book, Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor. It's this last project that qualifies this entry for the Davis Report.

Back in the fall of 2000, Davis read that book for 7th grade English and did a project of his own. I think he and Robbie Mondragon, his buddy and neighbor, did a dramatic re-enactment of the personal conflict between two of the central chacracters in the book: Cassie and Mary Lou. Here is the photographic record:


Besides the obvious quality of their project, the other thing worth noting is the penguin. As soon as Erin saw the boys dressing up in the costumes, Erin ran to transform herself into a penguin, the under-explored, and under-analyzed character in Roll of Thunder.

The penguin also provides the perfect segue into Davis's most recent experience: it snowed in Hungary yesterday for the first time this fall. Davis had seen snow as a two-year ol in Nashville, Tennessee, but he had no recollection of the multiple times I dressed him in long johns, flannel pants, coveralls, snowboots, mittens, and overcoat only to follow him outside for seven minutes before he got too cold or a little damp and started lobbying to go back inside for "mo co co" [translation: more cocoa] "Mo co co" is the first full phrase Davis ever spoke. His older cousin Matthew Taylor taught it to him to drive me crazy. I am going to have my revenge though because Matt is currently stationed in Rotterdam, The Netherlands, where he works for Price Waterhouse, etc. etc. I am sending Davis there for Thanksgiving, which they don't celebrate as a holiday in Hungary, and I am going to instruct Davis to persistently ask for "Mo co co."

Anyway, after meandering down memory lane, let's return to modern Budapest where Davis has encountered increasingly cold weather. Recollect that this is the Davis I know to abhor temperatures under 70 degrees Farhenheit. Yesterday, on Skype he claimed to have to argue with his fellow students from Minnesota about the state of the window in the classroom each morning. I assumed they wanted it open and he wanted to avoid temps in the 30s.

I got it wrong. He bikes to school every morning, and by the time he's in class, he's warmed up like toast. He has to use his best negotiation skilss to get his peers to keep the window open so that he can get some air and cool down.

Since he's a math major now, the number of projects he has has dwindled to a trickle. He wakes up each day, cleans up his apartment, makes breakfast (hashbrowns and eggs), bikes to class, and plays some pick up basketball. Afterward he rides home, tunes in to Keith Olberman on TV, works homework problems, then goes to the gym. After awork out he fixes dinner and eats, and of course works more homework problems. He might catch the Daily Show on delay broadcast and works some more homework problems. Then, he sleeps. No projects, and it's sort of a loss.

Davis has always been a project sort of a guy (subject of a later entry, I promise). Here's proof. As an 8th grader, he made a model of a DNA atom using a rainbow of sculpi modeling clay and toothpicks. It included actual representations of all the single and double bonds in the double helix. He got no help from either parent, except to carry it into the school. It is still on display in the 8th grade science room.