Chandra Clarke

To Boldly Go to a Galaxy Far, Far Away

November 13, 2018 By Chandra Clarke 1 Comment

This spring, there have been two major events in the world of science fiction: The latest Star Trek TV series and the release of the latest Star Wars movie. I haven’t specified which one in either case, because it really doesn’t matter when you’re reading this: there will be a new one of each until the year 3000.

For those of you who aren’t into sci-fi, all the hubbub might be a bit confusing. So to explain it all, this week we compare and contrast Star Trek (ST), Star Wars (SW) and their respective fans.

SW: The phrase “I am your father” usually refers to Darth Vader talking to Luke Skywalker.
ST: The phrase “I am your father” could refer to James T. Kirk talking to any number of youngsters across the galaxy.

SW fans: Really, really want a light saber of their own, but would use it sparingly and only against forces of the Dark Side.
ST fans: Really, really want a phaser of their own, set on stun, but would use it indiscriminately against: that idiot who cut them off on the freeway; their boss; the yappy dog across the street…

SW: Has the Millennium Falcon, which is a fast, extremely maneuverable ship… unless the hyperdrive is broken…
ST: Has the Enterprise, which is a large, powerful ship… unless the dilithium crystals have been shattered, used up, stolen, burnt out…
Fantasy novels: Have wizards with amazing powers and fantastic spells… unless the wizard is rendered unconscious, has lost his staff/wand/familiar…

SW fans: Dress up like Stormtroopers, Wookies, and Jedis, and are generally regarded as weird by society.
ST fans: Dress up like Vulcans, Romulans, and Ferengi, and are generally regarded as weird by society.
Sports fans: Wear giant foam cheeses, or call themselves puckheads, and paint their bare chests or faces with team colours and are generally thought to be perfectly normal by society.

SW: In the “character written in to state the obvious for the benefit of the audience” department, has Admiral “It’s a trap!” Akbar.
ST: Has Counsellor Deanna “I sense danger, Captain” Troi.

SW fans: Of all the characters, Star Wars fans don’t really want to play Jabba the Hutt, from Return of the Jedi. That’s because he was a big, ugly slug.
ST fans: Of all the characters, Star Trek fans really don’t want to play the guys in the red shirts from the original Trek series. That’s because their main job was to be eaten by big, ugly slugs, or worse.

SW: The women of Star Wars were made to wear elaborate hairdos that involved the painful application of hair accessories to keep them in place.
ST: The women of Star Trek were made to wear elaborate costumes that involved the painful application of duct tape to hold them in place.

SW fans: Have never forgiven George Lucas for Jar Jar Binks.
ST fans: Have never forgiven the writers for the Ferengi.

Non sci-fi fans: Assume that because Star Wars or Star Trek fans like to obsess over the details of technology, costume, or space travel, that they are anti-social types that don’t like relationships with the opposite sex.
Non sci-fi fans: Clearly have never seen Star Wars or Star Trek fans swoon over Han Solo, young Obi-Wan Kenobi, Seven of Nine, James T. Kirk, Princess Leia, or Benjamin Sisko.

ST fans: Like to point at Princess Leia’s unfortunate ‘buns on head’ hairdo and laugh.
SW fans: Like to point at Yeoman Rand’s unfortunate ‘beehive gone mad’ hairdo and laugh.

SW: Is all about the fight between good versus evil, with good winning. This beats having people watch shows like Jackass, which is all about people doing really stupid stunts.
ST: Is all about a hopeful future and thoughtful treatment of interesting issues. This beats having people watch shows like Fear Factor, which is all about people eating worms. Okay so the Klingons ate worms (Gagh), but you get my point.

My message to all sci-fi fans: Live long and may the force be with you.

If a Tree Falls in the Forest…

October 31, 2018 By Chandra Clarke Leave a Comment

We’ve known for a long time now that plants ‘feel.’ That is, if you have sensors hooked up to a plant, and you cut it, the sensors will register a signal that roughly translates into: GEEZE, THAT HURT!

Scientists are now discovering that plants may also ‘think.’ One type of plant, for example, is known to be able to sense the presence of friends or foes, and decide how to approach them. Another plans its growth two years into the future, based on its predictions of weather patterns, making it a great deal smarter than your local weather broadcaster.

Some plants remember past transgressions. Most seem to be able to communicate — to other plants, and insects — using chemical signals. And apparently some can even do Euclidean geometry, which puts them ahead of the average American high school student.

These findings have profound implications for scientists, philosophers, and yes, you over there, sitting on your couch. For example, this means that it’s not just your imagination — the dandelions really *do* duck when you mow your lawn. They’ve also probably worked out how to hold their breath until you’re done spraying the weed killer.

It gets worse. If plants remember past wrongs, then you might want to consider apologizing the next time you bump a tree with your car — otherwise you might find yourself concussed by a falling branch when you pass by again. Or for that matter, it may turn out that none of us has ever really stepped on a rake — maybe the grass has been throwing it at us all this time. Think I’m being paranoid about the possibility of plant aggression? Just remember that it is, as they say, a jungle out there.

On the positive side, parents can now get their own back. Well-meaning but generally rebellious teens delight in announcing — usually after Mom has spent several hours on a fancy Sunday roast dinner — that they’ve suddenly taken up vegetarianism. Parents can wave these studies under the teen’s nose, and follow-up by offering a tempting bacon sandwich every time the kid is playing music too loud or taking too much bandwidth.

Also good news is the fact that we’ve discovered the secret talents of plants before it was too late. If the average strangleweed has decision-making capabilities, this does not bode well for the future of the human race. Indeed, we’re always making movies and writing books about machines going berserk and taking over the world. Perhaps we should be more worried about the local flora.

That’s because there are trees that have survived since before Socrates was a wee lad. A strong vine can, over time, pull down a solid brick wall. An innocent patch of moss can make walkways slippery and treacherous. In fact I’m beginning to think that, opposable thumb or not, the only reason it’s me sitting here writing this and not a humourous oak tree is simply that I type faster. Most mornings, anyway.

I would suggest that we need to do more research into plant intelligence. Do they have religious beleafs? Is a tree’s bark worse than it’s bite? Having mastered geometry, have any plants branched out into calculus? Twigonometry?

What about the legal and moral ramifications? Will pasturing sheep suddenly be tantamount to grass genocide? Are we likely to see the rise of advocacy groups named PLANTA who decry the overcrowding and forced yield increases of crop farming? Will grocery stores sell free range oatmeal at a premium?

Finally, philosophically speaking, we may have to ask that ancient, puzzling question once again: If a tree falls in the forest, and there’s no one around, does it make a sound?

And if it does, is it: GEEZE, THAT HURT!

—

PS – If you liked this piece, you’ll love Knock on Wood.

Incoming search terms: do plants have feelings, plants feel pain, are plants sentient

A Well-Trained Mind

October 16, 2018 By Chandra Clarke Leave a Comment

So, I’ve been very busy, working on things like house renovations, keeping the laundry at bay, and of course, solving the world’s energy problems.

For the latter, I believe I’ve hit upon a solution. All we need to do is come up with a device that can tap into hobbyist power.

I say this because I was recently taken (read: dragged) to the National Train Show. An event put on by the US National Model Railroad Association, it was a huge display of model trains, Lego, layouts, accessories and more. And because I’m married to, and have apparently given birth to, train enthusiasts (darn defective genes!), we visited all 188,000 square feet. Twice. Slowly.

It’s not that I didn’t enjoy myself. Indeed, I learned rather a lot about what is modestly dubbed “the world’s greatest hobby.” For example, I learned that a proper train “layout” (read: play area), includes not just a track and a train, but model buildings and houses, model people, simulated topography, signals, switches, software, sounds and controllers. Given the amount of excited gawking and pointing my eldest did, I also learned that anything I would consider “disposable income” has already been disposed of, well in advance.

I discovered that model trains come in different scales. “N” scale, for example, looks just as painful to step on and as easy to lose as Lego bricks. “G” scale trains are for the backyard, just in case your resident enthusiast(s) feel the need to take over both the entire house and the whole garden.

It also turns out that when train model manufacturers say they build authentic pieces, they really mean it. I am still trying to wash the smell of oil and smoke out of our clothes.

Finally, I realized that I have a new business and marketing god: whoever the genius was at Lego who decided to launch both train and Star Wars-related product lines. Lego already had a cult-like following, so putting it together with other cultish pursuits was like creating a license to print money. Indeed, in the display at the show, just one skyscraper had more pieces in it than I’ve owned in my entire life (although I sense that’s about to change).

This brings me to my point. The entire building was practically crackling with enthusiasm and creative energy. As I listened to two men talking very earnestly about the best methods for creating a realistic granite cliff, I realized that train layouts involved a lot of thought, effort and care. Each one of them must have 1000s of micro-inventions and clever ideas to solve problems. The same can be said about many hobbies, crafts and pursuits.

I don’t know what compels us to devote this much of our time to such things, but I think if we could manage to siphon off even one percent of that personal energy from hobbyists, we’d have enough to power the entire eastern seaboard in North America.

Or at the very least, enough power to keep all those model trains running on time.

I, Roomba

October 9, 2018 By Chandra Clarke 2 Comments

For the past couple of years now, I’ve been saving two-dollar coins, carefully tucking them away in a wee piggy bank instead of using them to buy my weekly cafe mocha at Tim Horton’s. Those of you familiar with Tim Horton’s coffee know the extent of my sacrifice. For those of you who aren’t, think of your favourite caffeinated beverage and imagine what it would be like if it were ten times tastier. Think whipped cream. Think chocolate sprinkles. Right, now you all understand my pain.

I was saving for something that I figured I couldn’t justify as a household budget expense, but that I really wanted. And last week, I finally had enough to buy it.

A robot.

Not one of those Robosapiens, or the cute little Aibo, and sadly, not the big Asimo of the Honda commercials. Nevertheless, something very cool: A robot vacuum.

There, I’ve admitted it. I am a geek. Other people save up for new bikes, or big screen TVs. For me, this was like having a Ferrari show up at my door. Better, actually, because a Ferrari would have screamed “mid-life crisis!” to the neighbours. The only statement my robotic vacuum makes to the neighbours is that I have a cleaning crisis. Okay, it says that I’m a geek with a cleaning crisis.

You see, nature may abhor a vacuum, but I’m rather partial to clean floors. I also have kids. This means that A) It’s impossible to keep the floor clean — the Cheerios dispersion rate alone defies measurement; and B) The floor must be kept clean, because toddlers don’t differentiate between dropped Cheerios, marbles, onion skins, grocery lists, or dirt tracked in from the garden. Combine this with the fact that children have this rather inconsiderate habit of requiring food, diaper changes, and lots of playtime while you’re trying to do frivolous things like run a business … well, you’ve all been there. Or you are there, and really want to leave.

Dreaming of my robotic vacuum cleaner has kept me going through many a midnight tidy-up session. Much like my washing machine means I don’t have to take the clothes down to the river and pound them with a rock, I looked forward to a time when the vacuum canister wasn’t getting caught in door jambs, smashing into the back of my ankles, or falling down the stairs. Right, so maybe what I should have purchased was the book Vacuuming for Dummies.

Never mind. What’s important is that it arrived last week. A circular machine about the size of a large pizza, it’s not a very bright little ‘bot. It starts in the centre of the room and works its way out, gently bumping into things and turning away – just like me first thing in the morning before I’ve had my coffee. If it strays too close to the stairs, little sensors warn it of impending danger and it backs away – sadly, not just like me in the morning. Prior to my coffee, all *my* sensors do is throw an “ILLEGAL OPERATION: WINDOWS WILL REBOOT NOW” error and down the stairs I go.

When it comes to dirt though, this little robot is an Einstein. Around and around it goes, sucking up crushed Doritos, crayon crumbs, and the large handful of pine needles my smallest son thought was fascinating until they poked his palm. It hoovers up the dog hair left by our last canine visitor, and it attacks our doormat again and again. Did you know our mat actually says WELCOME and not WE C M ?

I must confess my productivity hasn’t increased yet — I’m too busy following the thing around the house, cheering it on as it successfully clambers over the extension cord strip and scoots under my bed to suck up things that neither broom nor regular vacuum have been able to touch. I’m so enthused, I have seriously considered making it a bumper sticker that says: DUSTBUNNIES FEAR ME.

Once the novelty wears off though, I’ll be able to do any number of things while it cleans the floors. I can spend more time with my kids. I might have a shot at finding my kitchen sink under all those dishes. I might even be able to file my column more than a few hours before deadline.

Well, maybe not. It’s not a miracle technology, after all.

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