Elevator Blues

About a week ago, I came across a fascinating New Yorker article on elevators (via kottke.org). Framing the article and interspersed throughout is the account of Nicholas White, an office worker who was trapped in a stuck elevator for 41 hours.

41 hours. Think about that for a second. That's almost two whole days in a space smaller than most jail cells, with no food, water, bed, or toilet.

The control panel made a beep, and White waited a moment, expecting a voice to offer information or instructions. None came. He pressed the intercom button, but there was no response. He hit it again, and then began pacing around the elevator. After a time, he pressed the emergency button, setting off an alarm bell, mounted on the roof of the elevator car, but he could tell that its range was limited. Still, he rang it a few more times and eventually pulled the button out, so that the alarm was continuous. Some time passed, although he was not sure how much, because he had no watch or cell phone. [...] He also began hearing unlikely oscillations in the ringing: aural hallucinations. Before long, he began to contemplate death.

White's ordeal was captured on a security camera. Watching the timelapse video is quite discomfiting, primarily because White looks like a bug trapped in a glass box frantically beating its body against the walls, but also because I start to imagine what White must have gone through -- panic, boredom, futility, and despair.


The story doesn't end well.

Looking back on the experience now, with a peculiarly melancholic kind of bewilderment, he recognizes that he walked onto an elevator one night, with his life in one kind of shape, and emerged from it with his life in another.

The rest of the article does a good job of delivering details on what is seemingly not a rich topic. I was glad to see that the article mentioned a key fact about elevators and skyscrapers that I learned in a Humanities course in college:

Two things make tall buildings possible: the steel frame and the safety elevator. The elevator, underrated and overlooked, is to the city what paper is to reading and gunpowder is to war.

I also found the concept of "elevatoring" a building--designing the entire elevator system based on predictions of how many people will use them and in what patterns--very interesting. People have a maximum elevator wait time they're willing to endure. Any more and frustration sets in. Elevatoring is an inexact science but you know when you've got it wrong.

And this tied nicely into an article I'd read about bottom-up game design by Ernest W. Adams, where he talked about SimTower. Ostensibly a skyscraper "software toy" in the same vein as SimCity, the fundamental gameplay mechanic of SimTower was really elevator simulation. Elevatoring a building is a great problem to approximate and simulate on a computer but it doesn't necessarily translate into fun gameplay.

As a coda of weird synergy, two days ago the elevator in our building got stuck between floors. They're going to install a 24-hour support phone shortly.

Radioactive Kitty

Just like his brother before him, Rascal turns out to suffer from hyperthyroidism. He's always been a somewhat manic cat but our first real indication came when he lost his appetite and began throwing up all over the place. Luckily, after a quick visit to our vet, Dr. Bill Ignacio, we managed to bring his thyroid levels back to normal through twice-daily applications of methimazole.


Methimazole treats the symptoms of hyperthyroidism but not the cause: it's a lifelong prescription. After much consideration, Kyenta and I decided to give Rascal the radioactive iodine treatment option, which targets the thyroid tumour itself. Rascal had to get some bloodwork done. All was normal except for the initial indicators of kidney disease -- sigh. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

Because the treatment involves honest-to-goodness radioactive iodine, Rascal has to follow some pretty strict procedures. He gets his treatment on Wednesday and has to remain at the clinic for 10 days of observation and isolation. After that, he can come home but we have to avoid holding him for extended periods or allowing him to sit on our laps.

That last caveat made me think of a really cut-rate way to perform sterilization. Instead of going in for a vasectomy or a tubal ligation, you just have to cuddle a radioactive kitty for thirty minutes.

I wonder what superpowers Rascal will manifest when he's back from the vet? The ability to miaow constantly for hours at a time? Super-hearing that detects a can opening anywhere in the house? The powers of incredibly prolonged stasis in the presence of strong sunlight? The mind boggles....

Memories of Pixar

The Vancouver Siggraph event last week was a double bill, with the first half being Michael Rubin talking about Droidmaker, his book about George Lucas and the Digital Revolution.

The second half was Dr. Alvy Ray Smith, one of the pioneers of computer animation and co-founder of Pixar. Over the course of about an hour, Alvy recounted story after story about those early days, starting off at the New York Institute of Technology, getting the call from George Lucas (actually George Lucas' real estate lawyer), moving to San Francisco to start up the Lucasfilm Computer Division with Ed Catmull, the Pixar spin-off and subsequent acquisition by Steve Jobs, and more.

It was serendipitous to have both Alvy and Rubin there because, as Alvy noted several times, Rubin was quick to point out inaccuracies or inconsistencies in Alvy's stories. Alvy was quite frank about this, stating that while his memories of those events were indisputable in his own mind, he had to reconcile them with Rubin's facts. And when facts weren't available and Rubin had to rely on memories alone, he had the people involved "vet" each others' stories and come to a mutual consensus. One such story was the naming of the company's hardware product, the Pixar Image Computer.

Not only did I find Alvy's reminiscences fascinating because of the personal glimpse into the history of a seminal CG company, I also identified strongly with his self-aware recognition of the interplay between malleable memory and immutable fact. Discovering that Alvy is also interested in consciousness and cognition was just the icing on the cake.

A friend of mine, who was the main impetus behind this event, got to have dinner with both Michael Rubin and Dr. Alvy Ray Smith. That would have been wonderful company with great conversation. You are a lucky man, Tim Belsher, and I am deeply envious of you.

The Man Behind the Digital Revolution

I'm talking about George Lucas, of course. Everyone knows that he created Lucasfilm when he made Star Wars (the first one, A New Hope). Most people know that he also started up Industrial Light and Magic to create the effects for his films. And many people know that Pixar was originally a section of the Lucasfilm Computer Division before it was spun off and Steve Jobs bought it.

Michael Rubin, author of Droidmaker, spoke at a Vancouver Siggraph event last night. An animated, energetic individual, Rubin presented highlights of his book and gave us an overview of the genesis of many of the digital technologies in use today: computer animation, digital non-linear audio and video editing, digital optical printing, online avatars, and more.

Rubin also talked about the context behind Lucas' drive and decisions. Much of Lucas' ambition is framed in the context of his friendship and rivalry with Francis Ford Coppola. And despite his films having the reputation of being high-tech and cutting edge, Lucas isn't very techno-savvy. He started up these computer divisions as skunkworks projects--knowing full well that they wouldn't bear fruit for ten or twenty or more years--in the hopes that they would produce results that would help him make better films more easily. And say what you will about his talents as a writer or a filmmaker... you have to give the man credit for funding these projects (and Steve Jobs after him, in Pixar's case) that eventually came to fruition and yielded many of the digital technologies we now take for granted.

I highly recommend the book for anyone interested in a behind-the-scenes perspective of the history of the digital revolution.

• Michael Rubin's blog
• Droidmaker: Chapter 1 excerpt
  
• Droidmaker: Chapter 18 excerpt
  
• The Art of LucasArts (Gamasutra)

Remembering Las Vegas

About twelve years ago, some friends and I flew down to Los Angeles. One friend in particular convinced us to do a road trip to Las Vegas, partly because it was so close but mainly because he was particularly taken with the idea.

I remember two things keenly about that road trip.

I remember thinking that there was a remarkable amount of plant life (cacti, brush and scrubland) in this so-called desert. Having grown up in Kuwait, I associated the word 'desert' with barren sand dunes.

And I remember cresting the mountains and seeing Las Vegas for the first time, the pyramid of Luxor standing out like, well, like a 350-foot tall pyramid encased in black glass. I thought we had maybe 15 minutes tops before we hit the city limits, but we just drove and drove as that pyramid got bigger and bigger and bigger.

It was my first introduction to the sheer scale and whimsy of the Strip. It seemed wasteful and extravagant and I couldn't fully appreciate it.

The thing about Las Vegas is: to enjoy your time there, you have to spend money, either on the shows or on gambling or on drinking. The thing about me at the time was: I was a student with barely any money, I didn't care for gambling and I didn't drink.

Needless to say, I didn't particularly enjoy my visit. The casinos were full of cigarette smoke, which I detest, and I was somewhat beholden to accompany my friends around. We had dinner at the overrated Planet Hollywood, went on a lackluster ride film at the Luxor, ventured into an adult boutique off the strip (where we were somewhat stunned by the sight of a large prosthetic fist), and partook of the international buffet at Feast Around the World.

The highlight of that trip was the New York, New York coaster. It seemed a somewhat tame affair, given that the start and end of the ride went through the building itself. I woke up early, leaving my friends asleep, and went to try it out. I didn't bother putting in my contacts because how bad could it be, really? It's practically an indoor tram, right?

I tell you, once that coaster got started, I had to hold on to my glasses for dear life. I was thrilled by the speed and the turns, and more than half scared that my glasses would fly off and hit one of the tourists on the Brooklyn Bridge. It probably would have been different had I worn contacts. The reason why I remember it so well, why that ride was one of the most exhilirating I've ever been on, is precisely because I spent the entire ride with a death grip on my temples.

Panorama Pandemonium

I like taking panorama photos. My first real experiments with them were on a cheap analog camera without the benefit of a tripod. I'd note what was on the extreme right of the frame, take the shot, pivot extremely carefully until that rightmost object or landmark was on the extreme left of the frame, and take another shot. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Once the photos were developed, I'd scan them in, align them as carefully as possible in an image editing package, and then alpha blend from one to the other across the region of overlap. Pretty crude by today's standards:

(Laughton Glacier, near Skagway, Alaska)

The artifacts from different auto-exposure settings across different photos is pretty apparent.

Still, the technique yielded some nice results:

(View from the Burrard St. Bridge, Vancouver)

Of course, once I went digital, this became much easier because of in-built panorama modes and stitching software. The first one I tried was an HP Photosmart R707, and it yielded pretty good panoramas:

(Cypress Mountain)

Our current camera is a Canon Powershot SD700 IS. Most of the time, its panorama mode and stitching software work well:

(The aptly named Sunset Beach, Vancouver)

And sometimes it fails miserably:


I did some research and discovered that the current software of choice is AutoStitch, developed right here in Vancouver at UBC by Matthew Brown and David Lowe. The algorithm is licensed in several commercial products, but the demo version provided at the website is very serviceable.

I fed it the same input images as the Las Vegas panorama above and got this:


Quite the difference! The software's strength--its no-user-input robust stitching algorithm--is also its weakness. I discovered at least two panoramas that it balked at: one which cropped a distinguishing feature at the very left, and one which produced a very distorted view. I couldn't help feeling that if I had more control over the stitching process I might have been able to get it to work on those panoramas. Perhaps the commercial versions allow you more control.

I'll have to experiment with it some more but at first blush, it's very impressive indeed.

The Armed Man

For Valentine's Day, Kyenta got us tickets to a performance of Karl Jenkins' The Armed Man. The concert was put on by the Vancouver Bach Choir at the Orpheum on March 15, 2008.

The show was a double bill. The Armed Man was preceded by the premiere performance of John Estacio's The Houses Stand Not Far Apart, which, though I applaud its anti-war theme, was a somewhat pedestrian piece overall. During the intermission I was hoping that The Armed Man wouldn't be in the same vein. Luckily for us, it wasn't.


The Armed Man is subtitled "A Mass for Peace", which is an apt summary. The piece is anti-war, and takes its structure from the Christian Mass, with a Kyrie, Sanctus, etc. Jenkins, however, doesn't restrict himself solely to Christian hymns, effectively blending in Muslim (the Adhaan, or Call to Prayers), Hindu (The Mahabharata), and Japanese (a Toge Sankichi poem) texts.

For me, the section that impacted me the most was definitely the "Call to Prayers (Adhaan)". We were seated in the centre section of the Orpheum's balcony with a great view of the orchestra and choir. They'd just finished performing "The Armed Man", the introductory section that opens the concert, and everyone had quieted down.

On the balcony to our right, a man dressed in black with a high collar, surrounded by a calm and serene air, stepped forward to the rail, closed his eyes and extended his arms. He then sang the Muslim Call to Prayers a capella, the way it's meant to be performed.

I managed to find the version of this song that comes on the official Armed Man CD, sung by Mohammed Gad.

For me, it doesn't quite capture the simplicity and melody of Hussein Janmohamed's performance. And though the Adhaan is sung from mosques by muezzins five times a day, every day, in Islamic communities the world over, I've never heard a more beautiful rendition than the one by Janmohamed that night.

A Sour Taste

Kyenta and I went to Las Vegas recently, where I surprised myself by having quite a good time. On the way back, we hit a few snags, mainly as a result of trying to cram in too many activities into too little time. After we boarded our flight, I thought that our return trip misadventures were at an end.

Not quite.

We got through customs and immigration relatively painlessly and waited anxiously at the baggage carousel, keeping an eye out for our sole piece of checked luggage. As the minutes ticked by, we came to the realization that the suitcase wasn't going to magically appear.

At the customer service desk for US Airways, we spoke to a nice but apologetic man called Sonny. He scanned our baggage receipt barcode and verified that our suitcase had indeed made it onto the plane. He scouted around the carousel area briefly for other left luggage and discovered two that were vaguely similar to our suitcase. His theory was that someone had taken our bag by mistake and forgotten their own. Unfortunately, he couldn't get in touch with either of the owners of those pieces of left luggage. He assured us that they usually found missing bags by the following day and that our suitcase would be delivered to us the next evening.

This highlights one of my biggest complaints about the baggage retrieval process. Every customer with one or more checked bags gets a barcode attached to his ticket that corresponds to the bags that he checked. It seems to me that an additional verification check when a customer leaves the airport, confirming that he does indeed have his own checked bags and not someone else's, would be relatively straightforward and would cut down on the number of mistaken and intentional baggage mismatches.

I filled out a missing baggage form and gave them our contact info for letting us know if and when our suitcase was found and would be delivered. In passing, Sonny also mentioned that our bag might be on a different plane. Hmm. But didn't the system scan verify that our bag had indeed made it onto our flight? Yes, he said, but occasionally the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) removed bags for further security checks and didn't notify the system.

Grr. Doesn't that circumvent the whole point of tracking bags?

Thankfully, Kyenta got a call the next day informing us that our errant luggage had indeed been found and would be dropped off that night. An airport van drove by at around 9:45pm and lo and behold, we had our suitcase back. I took it inside, opened it and discovered the following form placed neatly atop our clothes:

Transportation Security Administration

Notice of Baggage Inspection

To protect you and your fellow passengers, the Transportation Security Administration (TSA) is required by law* to inspect all checked baggage. As part of this process, some bags are opened and physically inspected. Your bag was among those selected for physical inspection.

During the inspection, your bag and its contents may have been searched for prohibited items. At the completion of the inspection, the contents were returned to your bag.

If the TSA security officer was unable to open your bag for inspection because it was locked, the officer may have been forced to break the locks on your bag. TSA sincerely regrets having to do this, however TSA is not liable for damage to your locks resulting from this necessary security precaution.

For packing tips and suggestions on how to secure your baggage during your next trip, please visit:

www.tsa.gov

We appreciate your understanding and cooperation. If you have questions, comments, or concerns, please feel free to contact the TSA Contact Center:

Phone: 866.289.9673 (toll free)

Email: TSA-ContactCenter@dhs.dov

*Section 110(b) of the Aviation and Transportation Security Act of 2001, 49 U.S.C. 44901(c)-(e)

The part that infuriates me is the casual absolution of responsibility for any damage incurred: "[...] however TSA is not liable for damage to your locks resulting from this necessary security precaution". In order to facilitate these random security searches and prevent your luggage from being vandalized, you need to leave them unlocked, making your personal belongings less secure.

The easiest way to commit a crime is to legislate it.