So, if you happen to be one of those folks who was waiting on a nifty feature I promised, you might have to wait just a little longer. At least it will be rock solid when it is delivered, but you already knew that. And if you are someone who paid for a bit of exposure, I will pat your back, so no need to ask where your advertisement disappeared to.

MG signing off (because the guinea pig was injured, but the vet is the best there is)

By the time you hit the turn, chances are you are playing it safe or staring at your umteenth press.

Alternative perspective

Just don’t let either become your sole mode of operation, ad infinitum.

MG signing off (because whining about spring runoff is ghey)

Nobody blinked at the facts as presented – it would be a futile effort. The investigator would be ostracized. Concerted biases I thought. And unless one could provide definitive proof of leaning and/or collusion, through the universal language of numbers, the pillage of critical thought would continue unmitigated.

My skill has always been developing hypotheses based on casual observation of the natural world, documenting inference, inquiring, and pondering; I knew there was no way I could design formulae for measuring political bias, left or right, in the media. So I hired a couple of bona-fide mathmeticians; they cranked away while I sculpted an interface for data collection.

The end of this tale is not full of fancy: the project failed miserably despite the persistent self-reinforcing delusion of its creator its theoretical solidity. Everyone just wanted to tell everyone else who they were shagging friends with, at the time via MySpace. We never developed a plugin for MySpace.

Then, just a week or so ago, I had a brief conversation regarding the gross ineptitude of today’s journalists, their inability (or downright ignorance) in executing on behalf of the public they purportedly serve. To ask the tough questions nobody seems to want to ask. Said exchange was too fleeting for elaboration, but it nevertheless struck a cord.

The media needs to be tested, and the work done nearly eight years ago may or may not still be applicable to our instantaneous information consumption world. Nevertheless, said work, outside of the actually code that was written, is hereby contained below. Yours truly acted as the primer, and the math whizzes I contracted with were well paid. Hence, I hold copyright on the work, but ask for nothing more than attribution should it prove useful in solving the problem: providing checks and balances where none seem to exist.

MG signing off (because I love ham, cheese, onion and green pepper omelettes for breakfast, but watching Sunday morning television not so much)

REFERENCES

Voting Math Primer

Algorithm Take 1

Algorthim Take 2

Algorithm Take 3

Realtime photography by James W. Snyder

Alton Brown-rubbed flank steak, garlic lamb, whiskey-infused sausages, fried pork bellies, grilled tiger prawns, sauteed shrooms and asparagus.  There is no starter, but spinach salad (with honey roasted almonds, dried pomegranates, pink salmon, feta, garlic croutons, and a splash of balsalmic/olive oil covers the entry-way.  Ritas make the perfect beverage match here.

MG signing off (because the table’s being set)

Gyotaku art dates back to 13th century Japan. Then and there, anglers recognized their prized catches through the ink prints; the method is recognized as one of the earliest forms of taxidermy. Mr. Wells happened upon a book of Gyotaku prints, sans even one single word. He was fascinated by what he saw, and set out to understand how they were created. Scott then spent time at Bristol Bay Lodge’s Artist-In-Residence program, a creative conclave put together by none other than Bob White, who also contributes the cover art (and some superb writing) for Pulp Fly.

Three years and roughly two hundred pieces into the portfolio, Scott is unveiling his work to the public. The place is Hapa Sushi, Boulder, 1117 Pearl Street to be exact. The date is Tuesday, May 7th, at 7pm sharp.

Scott hails from Littleton, CO, where he lives with his wonderful wife Janet and his seven year old son Patch (who has every girl in the neighborhood swooning). The Wells work available for sale presently consists of roughly a dozen impeccably framed unique pieces, hanging at Hapa Sushi Boulder and Trout’s Fly Fishing in Denver. And should you miss this first showing, Scott Wells work will be back at Hapa Sushi Lodo, in June, and Hapa Sushi, Cherry Creek, in July.

MG signing off (because the Wells Gyotaku print in my office is not for sale, but you can buy me a drink if you like)

Cody Hoeckelberg swinging flies on the Upper Gallatin

Talk is usually cheap. It’s what you do that defines you.

MG signing off (because a picture is only worth a hundred words if you divide by ten)

THE IMPETUOUS: I sent it two weeks ago via Priority Mail.

YOURS TRULY: Ok…thanks.

[two minutes eleven seconds later]

THE IMPETUOUS: Have you checked your mail in the last two weeks?!

YOURS TRULY: Uh…I’ve been fishing.

[nine seconds later]

THE IMPETUOUS: That’s what I thought.

YOURS TRULY: Hmm…almost sounds like nagging.

THE IMPETUOUS: I hereby declare that is precisely what it is.

[smiles]

The old and bitter hold steadfast on the shop floor, waxing irritably of bygone days i.e. before anglers wore Buffs on the rivers. Then claim they are the reason Buffs exist to begin with. The audience would rather choose their flies and GTFO. Sitting at the bench, mumbling to yet another derivation of the RS2, dreams of book contracts dance in their heads. Only five copies will ever sell. Damn that YouTube.

No time to sum up a fishing story. Because there isn’t one. Gas prices are too high, enthusiastic friends are few, and/or the lawn needed mowing.

THE OLD AND BITTER: You put in as much time as I have and you would be old and bitter too.

NOT SO INNOCENT BYSTANDER: Not a chance. Nobody is getting dragged into that grave you’re digging but yourself.

The rest are having the times of their lives, casually deferring the tales to those that can tell them better. Getting hassled for having so much fun, and finding fun in that too.

MG signing off (because Chupacabras exist, and so do old, bitter fly anglers)

Photo by Nate O’ Taylor

Sadly, said aquatic crustacean was a hook in disguise.

Trip report to follow. Unless Nate beats me to it, which he probably will.

MG signing off (because he is just plain tired)

At which point I put on a demonstration of how to forget everything taught to me during my last lesson.

Photo by Luke “Pointy Beard” Bever

I do believe the anchor popped AND I got smacked in the left cheek with the fly.

MG signing off (because the above described result is quite the accomplishment, at least in my book)

Having absorbed myself in the technique, I now find I’m consumed not by the opportunity of the catch itself – displayed via the Farcebooks and/or Twitlings of the angling world, instantaneous displays of self-gratification that now consume our angling environs – but by the simple pleasure of the cast.

In its own right.

I am once again lost. In defining the supposed skill it takes to deliver a package to a fish. Enticing said water-breather to accept.

Yet at the same time rejuvenated, by the simple concept of signing for it.

MG signing off (because the cast can be everything, no matter the size of the SD card)