Beautiful fluid mechanics

Posted on June 24, 2012 by Katherine Wikoff

I added cream to my coffee this morning and watched, mesmerized, as the white streak slowly triangulated and formed individual spirals, each of which then continued triangulating, until at last a giant, unified spiral sprawled across the surface of the liquid.

It reminded me of a session I attended at the engineering educators conference two weeks ago, in which student art from an engineering course on fluid mechanics was presented. 

You know Vincent van Gogh’s The Starry Night?  Perfect example of fluid mechanics as art. 

Take a look at this gallery of student work done over the past several years in a mechanical engineering course called “Flow Visualization,” taught by Prof. Jean Hertzberg at the University of Colorado-Boulder. 

Although the term “fluid mechanics” once sounded like technical drudgery to me, now even the words themselves look like poetry.

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Pixar’s (nearly) unbroken streak

Posted on June 22, 2012 by Katherine Wikoff

I want Brave to be good. 

 My younger daughter and I have a standing date every year to see the newest Pixar movie during its first weekend in theaters.  Already today I’ve seen so-so reviews for Brave, but don’t want to give them much credence because these same two reviewers also gave so-so reviews to Cars, and I loved Cars anyway.  I’m like a child on Christmas Eve who has asked for a really expensive present – brimming with hope but trying hard not to be unrealistically optimistic.                    

 I adore Pixar movies.  Not only does their dazzling 3-D animation mimic the “cinematography” and artful “editing” of great films, but also their content is built around the fundamental core elements of great literature: theme, character, story, and plot.  Year after year, Pixar has continually exceeded my expectations, astonishing and delighting me with every new film. 

 Except for last year, with Cars 2. 

 That’s why I’m a little nervous about Brave.  Was Cars 2 an anomaly or does it mark the beginning of the end for Pixar’s remarkable record of excellence?  Although plenty of reviewers have already pointed out Cars 2 ’s flaws, I’d like to contribute my two-cents’ worth now. 

 Two things went seriously wrong with Cars 2, and I can hardly believe that John Lasseter, the creative genius chiefly responsible for Pixar’s string of innovative successes, allowed them to happen.  I was going assign the blame to Brad Lewis, the first-time director who ended up sharing co-director credit on the film with Lasseter (and who left Pixar shortly after Cars 2 was released).  But then I read a New York Times interview in which Lasseter asserts somewhat defensively that Cars 2 is a great movie and that “it’s clear that audiences have responded” to it.  Either he doesn’t believe it and is trying to convince himself, or he truly feels that nothing is wrong.  Whichever, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge there’s a problem.

 Pixar’s first mistake with Cars 2 was to forget its audience.  You don’t release a G-rated movie with scenes of torture and killing, not even in animated form.  You just don’t. 

 Pixar’s second mistake was to lose focus on those fundamental core elements of theme, character, story, and plot that have been so key to creating “enchantment” in its films, (to use a word cropping up frequently in reviews).  Despite exotic locales and impressive action sequences, Cars 2 failed to “enchant” me.  In fact, I don’t remember anything at all about any new characters introduced in that film, except that one of them was voiced by Michael Caine. 

 When I watch a movie, I am more than willing – quite eager, actually – to suspend my disbelief and engage with the story on whatever terms it requires of me.  Unfortunately, Cars 2 was boring, and that is one term of engagement that few moviegoers (including myself) will tolerate.

 So, please, please, please . . . let Brave be good!

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Perspectives on depth perception as metaphor in film

Posted on June 20, 2012 by Katherine Wikoff

I took this photo of the hallway outside my hotel room in San Antonio last week.

I loved how the striped carpet and the alternating patterns of light and shadow added to the telescoping effect created by the distance perspective.

Of course, once you’ve viewed The Shining, it’s difficult to see a hallway like this ever again and not think of the Overlook Hotel and Danny’s encounter with the two daughters of a previous caretaker, who whisper, “Come play with us, Danny.”  (warning: this film clip contains flashes of gore)

All this got me thinking about one of my favorite Alfred Hitchcock films, Marnie.  When I teach the film studies class, we examine the principle of perspective drawing (and with it, the “vanishing point”) and how cinematographers use it to compose an image within the frame.  In Marnie, Hitchcock brilliantly marries the technique itself with plot events to move the film’s opening scene to a higher level of art.

Marnie, the title character, is a serial embezzeler who regularly adopts a false identity, moves to a new city, takes an office job, cases the business operation, then burgles the company safe as soon as an opportunity presents itself – whereupon she discards that job’s identity and slips away to her country retreat to lie low for a while before starting the whole process over again.

Turner Classic Movies has a clip of the film’s opening credits and first little bit (like 30 seconds) of the movie itself.  If you click on the link below, you’ll go to the TCM page.  Fast forward through the credits (yawn 🙂 ) till you hit the 1:58 mark.

http://i.cdn.turner.com/v5cache/TCM/cvp/container/mediaroom_embed.swf?context=embed&videoId=242261

In these opening moments of the film, we see Marnie at a train station, on the platform, walking away from us  . . . and INTO  THE  VANISHING  POINT.  Here the literal onscreen image corresponds with, and amplifies, the actual meaning of what the character is doing.  Not only does Marnie walk into the vanishing point in terms of perspective drawing, but she is also about to shed her criminal alias and “vanish” into thin air.

If you don’t want to click through to TCM, you can just take a look at the image below, instead.

“Marion Holland” (Marnie) vanishing into the vanishing point

When you see stuff like this, you just know you’re in the hands of a master.  Alfred Hitchcock never won an Academy Award for directing, but his work speaks for itself.  It is a reassuring reminder that quality endures and that external validation, although gratifying, is by nature capricious and, therefore, not the best measure.

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Getting use to journalists who can’t spell?

Posted on June 18, 2012 by Katherine Wikoff

This morning I was watching The Weather Channel® and saw this promo for an upcoming story: “Getting use to the heat.”  Sigh.  It reminded me of my disappointment two weeks ago when one of my favorite writers, Peggy Noonan, penned a column containing a similar sentence: “This didn’t use to be true.”

 As a college writing teacher, I’ve seen words like “used” misspelled in freshman composition essays for so long that I’m pleasantly surprised when a student actually gets them right:

  • A prejudice person (should be “prejudiced”)
  • A cliché expression (should be “clichéd”)
  • An old-fashion ice cream social (should be “old-fashioned”)
  • It use to be . . . (should be “used”)
  • He was suppose to be here (should be “supposed”)
  • Close captioning for the hearing impaired (should be “closed captioning”)

 The reason for these misspellings is completely logical: the “d” is almost always silent to listeners, especially when followed by a “t” sound, as in “it used to be.”  Someone who only hears (but never sees) the words doesn’t even realize his mistake, which is why the misspellings are so prevalent in student writing.  Few undergraduates are serious readers, and this is doubtless a reflection of the culture at large.

 However, it’s depressing to see these mistakes occur so often in newspapers or text graphics in television news broadcasts.  Such misspellings are particularly odious because they expose a writer’s lack of familiarity with the written word.

 Journalism is still a “glamour” career, and those lucky enough to make it to the field’s major leagues have a professional obligation to know how to spell the words that constitute their stock in trade.

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Home from the conference, the homework begins

Posted on June 16, 2012 by Katherine Wikoff

Details have never been my strong suit.  I’m a big-picture thinker, which is a good thing, but I’ve learned the hard way that the only way to make things happen is to pay attention to the details.

At the conference I attended in San Antonio this past week, I met many interesting people who, like me, work in some capacity (faculty or administration) in the field of engineering education.  Building a strong network of connections with them, my peers, will allow all of us to move forward more effectively in our careers. 

Years ago I would have squandered these potential relationships.  Going to conferences is exhausting for me, and when I returned home in the past, all I wanted to do was run a couple loads of laundry and go to sleep. 

I’m far more mindful of details now.  Because I’m older?  Because I’ve spent the last 15 years working with scrupulously detail-oriented engineers?  Who knows. 

But I’ve definitely reformed my Type-B personality habits as far as making sure I tie up loose ends after a conference.  There’s a relatively small window of time during which we’ll all remember each other, so it’s important to follow up with forwarding any promised materials and sending out LinkedIn invitations while that window is still open.

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Phil Collins, Alamo historian. Yes, that Phil Collins.

Posted on June 14, 2012 by Katherine Wikoff

So on the plane from Dallas to San Antonio last Saturday, I met Steve, who lives about 45 minutes northwest of the city.  Among the other tourist tips he gave me, the most intriguing was his joking suggestion that I keep an eye out for Phil Collins at the Alamo. 

The singer?  Yes.  According to Steve, Phil Collins has visited the Alamo several times and made a passionate hobby of the historic Texas fort. 

Admission to the Alamo was free, but there were boxes for donations near the entrance, so I contributed.  The old fort and mission are now a tourist spot, but people seemed respectful of what had happened there.  Although not somber, the mood was quiet compared to the good times happening on Saturday afternoon just outside the compound’s walls in the bustling downtown and famous Riverwalk. 

The only remaining portion of the original fort is called the “long barracks.”  Inside is a museum exhibit that tells the story of the deadly 1836 siege and battle.  And there, in a glass case containing several weapons, was a “short sword” (espada ancha) with a card stating that it was on loan from Phil Collins.  If Steve hadn’t alerted me, the name’s significance wouldn’t have registered at all.

Once I got home, I googled “Phil Collins + Alamo” and found many documents supporting Steve’s remarks.  Apparently Collins’ lifelong interest in the Alamo was sparked by the Davy Crockett fad during his childhood in the 1950s.  Now retired from drumming and living in Switzerland, Collins has recently written a scholarly book,  The Alamo and Beyond: A Collector’s Journey, about his extensive collection of Alamo artifacts and was in Texas just a few weeks ago to promote it, as detailed in this article from the online archives of San Antonio’s daily paper, the Express-News.

Isn’t life is full of surprises?  Discoveries like this one certainly make each new day an adventure!

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On the road in San Antonio

Posted on June 10, 2012 by Katherine Wikoff

I am in San Antonio for a few days at an engineering educators conference, so I’m experimenting with using my iPod Touch to post an entry.  The flight was $500 cheaper if I came Saturday instead of Sunday, so I came a day early.

Met a guy on the plane who lives in the hill country about a 45-minute drive northwest of town.  He gave me tips on what to see, so I spent yesterday afternoon sightseeing.  I did the Riverwalk boat tour and visited the Alamo.  Ate Tex-Mex, as recommended, at a particularly pretty spot on the Riverwalk, where I had pork tacos with cilantro and onions and the best margarita I’ve ever tasted.

My airplane buddy also told me to keep a lookout for Phil Collins when I was at the Alamo, and I did indeed catch a glimpse of the famous singer . . . sort of.  More about that later this week, when I’m able to write using an actual keyboard!

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Light and Shadow

Posted on June 10, 2012 by Katherine Wikoff

When I got home late from the Great Books session the other night, I loved the shadows cast by the gate on our driveway and decided to take a picture.  I don’t have a tripod, so this photo is blurry and maybe a little Halloween creepy, but still kind of pretty . . .

And then the next morning when I let the dogs out, I also liked the stiking interplay of light and shadow on the stone wall in our back yard.

In fooling around with the “upload” of this photo, I saw a button for making it a “featured” photo.  I didn’t know what that meant until I saw it stretched across the top of my blog page.  I think I like it for now, even though it seems “pretty” in a clichéd and generic way.

With so much to learn about the WordPress software, I think a good project for summer will be to play around with as many features as possible.

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Did you get the “Wilhelm scream” joke in Google’s drive-in doodle?

Posted on June 8, 2012 by Katherine Wikoff

Special thanks to Brandon, a student in my film studies class this past quarter, for alerting me to the Wilhelm scream in the Google Doodle on Wednesday (June 6) celebrating the 79th anniversary of the first drive-in movie theater.

The Wilhelm scream is a bit of film history lore that I teach in the course during our “sound” section.  It is a scream recorded in the 1950s, with a very unique and recognizable quality.  It was a “stock” scream inserted into B-movies in the ’50s and then seems to have fallen into obscurity until it was resurrected in the mid-1970s by sound designer Ben Burtt.

Burtt, whom I’ve written about before, is passionate about the history of Hollywood sound.  He used the Wilhelm scream extensively in the Star Wars films.  Other sound designers picked up on it and have used it in scores of movies since.  Once an in-joke of affectionate regard among sound designers, the Wilhelm scream has also gained a following of movie fans who delight in spotting it.  Several compilation videos exist on YouTube, such as this one. 

Once you’ve heard the Wilhelm scream, the fun begins and you’ll start recognizing it in unexpected places . . . like Wednesday’s drive-in Google Doodle!  Watch and listen.  Do you hear it?

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The appeal of Lisbeth Salander

Posted on June 7, 2012 by Katherine Wikoff

What a wonderfully energizing discussion of Stieg Larsson’s Millennium series last night at Great Books! 

 In one of those truth-is-stranger-than-fiction coincidences, guess who was across town at Boswell Books at the same time?  Eva Gabrielsson, speaking about her book “There Are Things I Want You to Know” about Stieg Larsson and Me.  When I mentioned this fact to the group, one woman called out, “Field trip!”  Another woman said that she had friends attending the Gabrielsson event and they were all going to meet at a restaurant later to compare notes on their respective “Millennium” evenings.

 One more coincidence: I just found out that yesterday, June 6th, was National Day of Sweden, a public holiday observing the election of King Gustav Vasa in 1523, which is considered the start of modern Sweden. 

 During our discussion last night, participants agreed with me that the series’ main draw is Lisbeth Salander.  Here are a few of the reasons we decided why.

 Lisbeth is a survivor.  Because her very existence is supposedly a threat to national security, she was locked up in a mental institution at age 12 and later kept under the thumb of a social welfare agency that “protected” her as a mental incompetent.  Lisbeth has been bullied and abused her entire life, and she has learned from bitter experience that if she turns to the authorities who are supposed to protect her, things will only get worse.  As a result, Lisbeth develops extreme self-reliance and circumvents the system to maintain her independence. 

Lisbeth is clever and resourceful.  After being shot in the head and buried alive, she manages to dig her way out of her grave.  And when cornered in the empty brickworks factory by Niedermann, the blond giant with superhuman strength and no sense of pain, Lisbeth escapes certain death by shooting dozens of seven-inch nails through his feet with a nail gun, thereby attaching him solidly to the floor and rendering him immobile.

Lisbeth has a strict moral code and is protective of those who are weaker.  She also has a strong sense of justice and sees to it that those who deserve punishment receive it.  Martin Vanger.  The man who tries to kill his wife on the beach during the hurricane in Grenada.  Hans-Erik Wennerström, the corrupt financier who tried to ruin Blomkvist.  Zalachenko.

Lisbeth does not suffer fools.  She sizes people up quickly and decides whether they are worth her attention.  If not, she ignores their existence.  Most authority figures are idiots.

Lisbeth is not what others assume from her appearance.  The police investigating the triple murders are continually flummoxed when all the people they interview provide accounts of Lisbeth’s intelligence and competence that are completely at odds with her officially documented mental disabilities. 

Lisbeth is intelligent and curious.  Although she dropped out of school (no tolerance for incompetent teachers and administrators), Lisbeth spends much of The Girl Who Played with Fire reading a book on math theory and scribbling equations in a notebook.  In one of my favorite moments, Lisbeth circles stealthily toward Zalachenko’s farmhouse in the woods . . . then stops in mid-stride when, out of the blue, she realizes the solution to Fermat’s riddle.  She sits down on a tree stump to relish her discovery, then resumes her approach through the trees.

Lisbeth is worthy of love, even if she is awkward and socially inept.  Although labeled an anti-social loner, Lisbeth actually has created a strong network of people with whom she has long-term connections.  She forms attachments almost in spite of herself (“I keep squandering my friends,” she realizes unhappily at one point).  And when she is in danger, those who care about her come to her rescue without hesitation.  In addition to Blomkvist, there is Armansky, her boss at Milton Security; Paolo Roberto, the celebrity boxer who long ago gave Lisbeth lessons at his gym; Holger Palmgren, her former guardian; Mimmi, her girlfriend and sort-of roommate; Dr. Anders Jonasson, who is in charge of her care at the hospital following her brain surgery; and of course, Plague, Trinity, and the worldwide hacking community, who help expose the corrupt government agents who want her institutionalized to cover up their illegal activities.

 Rereading the entire three-book series over the past week has been an intense experience I never want to repeat.  However, taking in the story all at once has enabled me to hold it in mental suspension, as a complete whole, and examine its details in ways I previously could not. 

 Most valuable to me are these insights into Lisbeth’s character.

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