Azore loser

 

I was in the Azores for the last few days. Never been here before. I went because my ol’ buddy Christoph invited me to stay for a couple days at his pad on Santa Maria Island – known as the quiet island. Great fun. He smiled – and drank more alcohol – over those few days than the entire 24 years I’ve known him. He should get divorced more often. There’s another obvious reason for his altered affect but I was asked to keep it secret from all of my reader. That wasn’t a typo. You’ll figure it out, Gerv.

He had a dog named Luis Miguel who was as dumb as Christoph is smart. He didn’t seem to understand that he should get out of the way of cars or that leashes limit leaping. Looked painful. Over and over. But he is cheerful and non-threatening. Dye his fur blonde and release him in Hollywood and he’d end up on a casting couch stained white with coke and white trash wanna-be actress tears, then on the cover of Elle.

The trip declined after that. Flaneur means risk; risk means periodic failure.

I ended up losing the hotelfinding game. I had to spend last night in a hostel. I used to stay in them all the time. The internet here worked as well as the last time I stayed in a hostel – meaning none. Unlike then, decades ago, you expect a hostel to have internet. Also no A/C. I did at least get my own room by paying for it. Other aspects not so bad. Twin bed, fine, I’m not that fat. Shared bathroom, doesn’t bug me, I’m OK with being naked in public gyms and hot springs. (Well, more specifically, the showers in the mens’ bathrooms in public gyms.) No spa facilities, pretty bare room, no problem – I didn’t need more. It had a bed and a desk, which is enough for me. The mattress was only slightly firmer than air.

I came here to Ponto Delgado because Santa Maria Island doesn’t have any flights west across the Atlantic. Also, I heard there were hot springs here. When I checked into my hotel, they said the hot springs are all full and my bathing suit will get stained red from all the iron. That sounded kinda fun, but not the full hot springs. Why, I can get that at Orvis Hot Springs! I’ll probably be there soon after my arrival in Colorado to enjoy the shoulderfalls.

Oh. Portuguese. When I was in school, I was told that Portuguese is kinda like Spanish. That’s true, in the same way that Italian and Catalan are like Spanish – not enough that you can really communicate across languages, but enough that you can recognize many words after you fail to translate them. Some words are pretty easy. Even most Americans who (think they) don’t speak Spanish can probably figure out the Portuguese word “cerveja.”  

Many people on Santa Maria Island – like those in Dolce la Hulpe in Brussels – spoke surprisingly poor English. Unlike the stereotypical English speaking tourist, this didn’t bug me. I can pantomime. And I kinda respect them for bucking the dominant paradigm. As RATM says, fuck you, I won’t do what you tell me. I would guess what the locals here would understand is fuck you, ?? ?? ?? ??? ???????.

I think BCI. Waterloo thinking?

The 10^th BCI Meeting was glorious and emotional as always. This one was in Belgium’s Sonian Forest near Waterloo, the first BCI Meeting in Europe. It was also the first BCI Meeting with no bonfire. I organized an unofficial and “officially unendorsed” bonfire at all of the prior in-person meetings, so it was quite reasonably assumed that I would try to do so again. The Board and Podium were so worried I’d sneak off and organize a stealth bonfire that they threatened to follow me around at night. I was flattered. They ended up putting two bonfire parties on the schedule even though they had no fires, which we quickly dubbed nonfires.

 

I was up late every night carousing with an impressive crowd, driven by jet lag, willpower, and stupidity. Alcohol was involved. I brought a bottle of mezcal aged in bamboo barrels that I got in Puebla that seemed well received. Since it was Belgium, they sold beers through vending machines, which we rapidly exhausted. This exhaustion was exhausting but y’know commitment. The main bar kept closing on us just because it was 2 AM. I’m glad BCIs couldn’t track the disgraceful plans I kept formulating after the bar closed. Then they put up this sign and I realized they didn’t need a BCI. 

The bar is also unable to serve tap water. Multiple bartenders said there's a law in Belgium: giving a glass with tap water is illegal. Belgium is legendary for its silly government(s). So many people just did the same thing I did - ask for an empty glass they could fill themselves. From looking online, it seems that Belgium keeps waffling on whether restaurants should be required to serve tap water. This might merit a spinoff blog post titled "Belgian Waffles."

My shirt with “Will Argue Science for Money” seemed fitting, so I wore that some days. Glad I copyrighted that phrase. I was disappointed that I didn’t think of printing a BCI Society T-shirt too. I’m thinking of logos now. You think. We know. Could be interpreted so many ways.

Oh yeah. Those conferences have content too. I was quite impressed with Satellite Event 1, Gerv’s workshop on BCI for mass populations. The workshop was loosely based on our upcoming paper in Nature Reviews Bioengineering. Wolpaw’s talk was of course brilliant. So many posters with real advances, notably new directions. It wasn’t always that way, younger readers (not you, Gerv). The second meeting, for example, there was some buzz that there wasn’t anything truly new, just more advances in how to help the same group (people who otherwise couldn’t communicate). I could comment more on content and serious topics, but that gets away from the theme of the blog.

To Jose Millan: Jose, remember when I said that BCI conferences are ever more a reunion of old friends? That was 10 years ago. What are they now?

Jose: Older friends.

 

Thorsten Zander: Do you realize we’re the old guys now?

Me: In 20 years, we’ll look back on this and think we weren’t that old.

Mandet Mandate?

I poked around a little for fun. And I also did a quick online search. "Mandet" is a neologism in modern English, but bidets designed for men exist. 

I thought that all bidets were meant for post-potty cleaning. There's so much more. I learned that man-bidets could be used before or after sexual intercourse (presumably with someone else), treating hemorrhoids or jock itch, or even nobler goals. I remain too unsophisticated to appreciate the added value over a wet washcloth. Also unclear why any bidet couldn't be used by any sex, gender, or junk. 

These are images from a quick online search. Notice anything these men have in common? 

Rate them on a 1-5 scale for:

Youthful

Successful

Handsome

Physically healthy

Manly

Not-nerdy

But all products aimed toward men use such men, right? No. Wilford Brimley. Life Insurance. Senior living. Oxygen machines. Timeshares. AARP. Manpons. 

"But how do you market moisturizer to the Marlboro Man?"

--https://www.businessinsider.com/marlboro-man-meets-moisturizer-2011-10?r=MX&IR=T

The Design of Everyday Sinks

I shared the last post about the "mandet" with a few friends. 

Highly educated grown-ups may discuss the silliest topics with overblown erudition while quoting the true innovators. Richard Feynman. Don Norman. Ralph Lauren. Thomas Crapper. It keeps us humble; we mock ourselves as well as the topic. Cargo cult science, UX, and bathroom design/invention were all relevant and funny. 

Go team!

THIS WAS DEFINITELY MEANT AS A SINK.

Continuing the reasons it's a sink from the last post:

 
5) Bidets are about as common in Mexican bathrooms as American ones. 

6) Have you seen, heard of, or even thought of a man-bidet until now? 

7) I don't think man-bidets would be widely used. At least not for self-cleaning. We would certainly mock them. 

8) Man-bidets would often be misused by very drunk men. They could become water fountains, face washers, foot baths, urinals, vomit sinks (Speibecken), reservoirs, or worse. Would give a new meaning to the term "reservoir tip." Good. That term with condoms always made me feel inadequate. Other men must have a much, much greater storage capacity. 

9) If man-bidets were popular, they would only be in bathrooms that also had standard bidets. Would you want to manage a hotel that only has bidets for men?

10) What if an innocent pet dog drank from a mandet? Ewww! Next thing you know, a dog somewhere might drink from a toilet. Very unsanitary. The CDC has extensively simulated this remote possibility and concluded that these poor dogs would suffer thirst reduction. 

11) Here's a picture from the hotel's website. The sink is bracketed by a shower on the left and a toilet on the left.

12) This screenshot (for that room) shows a sink, but nothing like a bidet. 

Soooo... it's a sink. 

This sink reminded me of this book cover:

This book was required reading for us at UCSD Cog Sci. It's now read much more broadly, but still not enough. Its caption for Figure 1.1 calls it a coffeepot for masochists. You could sell that sadistic sink to masochists. Other target buyers: men who want to become "smaller" and also prefer cold water instead of surgery. Invest today! Operators are standing by!

This tea kettle, like the horizontal sink, would deliver water to an unwanted part of the body. The kettle could be practical, clever, even beautiful, iff you ignore or reframe its intended function. You know, like the sink or that body part. 

If the kettle were used as a planter, then the spout wouldn't be used as a spout. The putative spout could be used for a second type of herb, different color flower, or incense holder. What you idiots thought was a misplaced handle is actually trellising so you can plant Virginia Creeper. The so-called lid is the next fashion breakthrough. I admit I was the only one who wore one to that Bar Mitzvah.

 

Mandet

I just asked The Internet to define “mandet”. It wasn't a word in modern English. It is now. A mandet is a bidet for men.

My dad and his brother have been licensed contractors for decades. Their work has been in Architectural Digest repeatedly. They’ve built for billionaires and still do. So I saw a lot of fancy bathrooms and faucets. But nothing this crafty!

Faucets normally aim down, so unused water goes into a basin with a drain instead of on the user and floor. I was among the first to experience firsthand the next Kuhnian Paradigm Shift of shifting strong shooting snow-streams toward my shaft. Not down, or even up/adjustable like some bidets – straight out. Almost horizontal. 

I had just taken a shower. I saw this... abomination. How naïve I was!! I thought it was a sink because:

1) Most restrooms have a sink somewhere.

2) It looked like a sink.

3) It was right where a sink would normally be.

(4) It was obviously a sink.

So I turned it on, launching high pressure freezing water several inches below my navel. If you think it doesn't seem like sufficient water pressure to bruise, you've never been male. Lefty's one of those sensitive types.

I had just washed appropriately during my shower. As usual. I mean, I *am* a filthy American, but at least I’m not a Hun or Duke of York. I didn’t realize I... it… they… needed to be pressure-washed, tetherballed, flash-frozen, and shrink-wrapped. I was a sopranino niño. Imagine the foreheads of 2 Mastiffs or Shar Peis. 

Or don’t. Too late? You only had to ponder it briefly. I’m still too numb to tell whether they’re descending or unraveling.

UPDATE: This post elicited such fun discussion that I just added 2 follow-ups. Thanks to my old buddy David Leland for making me laugh so hard that I couldn't use face recognition for over 30 seconds.