The "Art" of a Statistician

If you were to describe statisticians in three words you might come up with dull, analytical, crazy, etc. but I'm sure one of the last words on your list would be "artistic". And for good reason too. But no more! Behold the art of a statistician. Let's just say I have too much time on my hands at work...


Sure you've seen the 7 color rainbow, but check out this 657 color rainbow (perfect parabola I might add). Oooh...Ahhh.


He may have a disconnected scalp, but that's what makes this guy true "art".


And lest you get the idea that all I do at my job is produce worthless graphs, here is an example of the true "art" of a statistician. Next stop...the Louvre.

Oh to be a kid again...

"Back when I was a boy" just rings with images of an old man recounting stories of his childhood without color TV, cell phones and iPods: "Everything was better back in the (fill in your decade)". But now that I've reached the ripe old age of 23, I find myself looking back with fondness on my childhood of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, the original Nintendo (NES), neighborhood laser tag games, and sleep-overs. There's just something magical about childhood.

But why grow up? Sure it's cool to have the freedom to drive, set your own bedtime, and have a steady income...but why not have some of the joys of youth with the freedoms of "old age"? Now I realize that this philosophy has limits (nobody wants a 40-year old living in their basement vegging on anime and World of Warcraft), but with a little responsibility you can have the best of both worlds.

As unique as I may be, Christy and I have a lot in common. And so, on Friday night we decided that we were going to sleep out at Christy's parents' house - on the trampoline (and I want to say it was initially Christy's idea that I ran with...just for the record). And we did.

I was amazed at how comfortable sleeping on a trampoline can be. I always remembered the tossing, turning, and sliding into the middle (why I even wanted to sleep out is a mystery really), but I slept perfectly...until 4:30 A.M.

I became conscious when Christy rustled me awake because the sprinklers had turned on. I was pretty groggy and so I decided we were just going to burrow down under the huge pile of blankets and sleeping bags and wait out the "storm". Smart idea...yeah right. Not only could we not fall back asleep with the water hitting our protection every 10 seconds, but it wasn't long before the water started making it through. Even if our barrier had held up, I was dumb enough to leave my pillows unprotected.

Finally, Christy had the common sense to go inside. We used our 10 second gap wisely to dash to the back deck, only to find that someone had locked the sliding door that we had left open just in case. Brilliant! And to make matters worse, we had no key to the house and our car keys and phones were inside. Christy sat resignedly on a chair and looked like she might go to sleep, so I tried to formulate some plans. I managed to cap the sprinkler with a water bottle I found, but the bedding was toast by that point. I grabbed the only partially dry piece to warm my feet and resigned myself to sleeping on the deck.

Fortunately, Christy took pity on my situation (with a few of my convincing groans I'm sure) and came up with a real plan. A few taps on a front window brought us safety and warmth. And thus ended our youthful adventure - being rescued by a true adult.

We should have learned my lesson, but we haven't. We shall meet again trampoline - without your sprinkler friend! And our youthfulness will conquer!

Revenge of the Cube Steaks

Occasionally I find that I end up doing something so stupid that I can't help but laugh at myself. This is one of those little episodes:

Last Tuesday, Christy and I decided to go grocery shopping together - not exactly a party, but it had to be done. Christy dutifully went down the aisles picking out items for our week's meals while I pushed the cart and looked at snacks and other things that I could wish I were eating.

Ultimately the trip was as uneventful as any other shopping trip and I remember only two things in hindsight: 1) Wondering what cube steaks actually were and why they got their name, as Christy added them to the cart and 2) That the cube steaks were privileged enough to get their own bag when we checked out. Weren't they special?

Sunday dinner is one of our nicer meals of the week. Christy will usually throw some things into a crockpot before we go to church and then we can eat right when we get home. So it was no surprise that this past Sunday, Christy had planned to use the cube steaks for our meal. Only she couldn't find them. And my second search of the freezer only confirmed that they were truly missing.

My mind ran through the possibilities: Fridge? No luck. Store? Very unlikely. Car? Uh-oh.

I went out to the car expecting the stench of rotten meat to spew out of the trunk the moment I popped it. To my surprise, there was nothing: no stench, no cube steak. It wasn't until I went back inside that I realized where the cube steaks were. In our otherwise fairly clean house there were two assumed-empty Smith's bags next to the kitchen table. One of them wasn't empty and held the rotten cube steaks. How we could have left them to rot on the kitchen floor for 5 days is beyond me. How they even got there is a mystery since we put our groceries on the table when we bring them in. But the facts stand that we left them to rot (and we're just lucky that the packaging contained most of the smell).

So while those cube steaks may not have made it past the slaughterhouse, they had the last laugh. And instead of a lavish Sunday dinner, we had corn dogs.