This morning, I photographed Stage 2 of the Tour of California (think Tour de France, but in California).  Because of the speed of the riders and the difficulty of travel, I had to chose a single location.  After scouting along the mountainous Tunitas Creek Road, I settled on a spot next to my favorite California lighthouse: Pigeon Point.

The Pigeon Point Lighthouse

My plan was to have two cameras: one radio-triggered remote with a wide-angle lens, and one handheld with telephoto glass.  Each of them would be framed so that both the riders and the lighthouse would be visible.

The lighthouse was the deciding factor in my choice of location.  Although the climb on Tunitas is beautiful, it is really nothing but a nondescript climb in a thick forest.  That could be anywhere.  The Pacific coast?  Well, there’s only one of those.

My remote camera (wrapped in plastic) in the lower right

The weather was dismal: rain, wind, and cold.  Fortunately, the conditions changed by the moment: there would be a downpour, and then all of a sudden, it would be sunny.  Then I’d see another squall barreling towards me over the ocean, and it would be raining again.

After a wonderful dry spell, just after the first advance vehicles from the Tour passed me, torrential rains made landfall.  I had hastily wrapped my remote camera in a zip-top bag, added a makeshift cinefoil hood to its lens, and gaffer-tapped the mess up tight.  My other camera went into a big garbage bag with a hole for the lens.  Who needs those expensive covers?  Everything stayed perfectly dry, even in the worst of it:

Rain!!!

All of these are from the remote camera, hence the identical framing.  Gradually, the rain began to subside:

A little better…

Then, like magic, the clouds parted and the sun emerged — right as the peloton approached.  It was so remarkable that I feel compelled to show it visually:

Amazing!

After that, the storms seemed to disappear, and it became a very pleasant day.  I hope the weather holds for the riders as they continue along the Tour tomorrow!

Some of you may be familiar with the work of William Gosset, though not his name.  Gosset was working for the Guiness Brewery about 100 years ago when he came up with the t-distribution.  However, he could not publish under his own name, so instead he used the name “A Student.”  Unfortunately for Gosset, the name stuck, and we now know that result as Student’s t-distribution.

Ok, great.  But are you familiar with the story of M. A. Poubelle?  A Google Scholar search shows that Marie-Antoinette Poubelle is the first-listed author of a number of papers, with an especially prolific period in the mid 1980s.  However, Mme. Poubelle does not exist.

It’s a story that seems to have been floating around grad student circles while remaining surprisingly absent from the web: the other authors of those papers were acknowledging the contribution of… their trash can.  Yes, “ma poubelle” is French for “my trash can.”

I propose a challenge to you publish-or-perish types out there: do something equally clever in a paper that you write.  Bonus points if it gets people to read your paper all the way through.  Super mega bonus points if it gets people to at least glance at your dissertation!

Let’s say you have high cholesterol, but you don’t have atherosclerosis.  Your doctor recommends you pop a pill, probably a statin, likely Lipitor.  Will that be beneficial for you?

Probably not.  On top of that, it represents an enormous expense for you and your insurance company.

Wait… what?  Yes, it turns out that taking a statin is unlikely to prevent you from having a stroke or heart attack.  The advertisements say as much, albeit in small print, but that hasn’t stopped numerous doctors from prescribing them to people whose cholesterol numbers are “too high.”  In fact, according to a survey of statin clinical trials undertaken by the Therapeutics Initiative at the University of British Columbia,

“If cardiovascular serious adverse events are viewed in isolation, 71 primary prevention patients with cardiovascular risk factors have to be treated with a statin for 3 to 5 years to prevent one myocardial infarction or stroke.”

Doesn’t seem like a very good return on investment to me.  What’s more, it seems that many of the people in these studies have poor diets and get little exercise; to my knowledge, a proper study comparing statins to improved diet and exercise has not been undertaken.

One other evidence-based pearl: treatment with stimulants (e.g., Ritalin)  of children diagnosed with ADHD appears to do little except make the children shorter and weigh less.

Of course, people continue to demand antibiotics to treat viral infections, so maybe they just don’t care about actual science.  (Ironic that I’d finish with an apocryphal statement, eh?)

Pop quiz: You’re observing a once-in-a-lifetime event.  There is plenty of professional media around, and their photos will be readily available afterward. What do you do?

1. Take a photo
2. Enjoy the moment
3. Miss it because the jerk in front of you spilled his drink on your shirt

All too often, people choose the first option.  Instead of enjoying the moment, they make a misplaced effort to take a snapshot.

I noticed this while watching the Obama inauguration today.  Throngs of people, cell phones and compact cameras held high, looking at LCD screens instead of what was right in front of their eyes.  Did they really think that they could get better photos than the professional photojournalists who shot with superior vantage points, superior expertise, and superior equipment?  Why distract themselves just to make an inferior product?

Some events are meant to be enjoyed, and others are meant to be recorded.  Similarly, there are many beautiful things in this world, but not all of them work well in the photographic medium. I find that if I attempt to split my attention between photography and enjoyment, both suffer.

The Grand Canyon is well known as a subject for photographs.  However, the images I captured during my time there were halfhearted.  I made a few, sure, but I made a conscious decision to stow my camera for most of my hike.  I was more concerned about experiencing the canyon, hiking between the rim and the river.  It was beautiful.  Attempting to capture that beauty would have ruined it for me.

Yes, I acknowledge the value of pictures in jogging memories.  In certain social situations, where I am one of the participants and there is no press corps standing by, I will take snapshots of my friends and me.  Even then, I am careful not to let photography become the focus of the event.  But a fleeting moment that is better covered by others? No.

Knowing when not to take photos can be just as important as knowing when to snap the shutter.

Ah, the things we do for love.

My legs hurt.  It’s a good hurt.  It’s the kind of hurt that makes one feel like something has been accomplished.

The cause?  After a two-year sabatical, I have returned to something I love doing: I played ice hockey on Monday.

It was a low-pressure environment, just two hours of pick-up hockey at a rink in Cupertino, CA (better known as the location of Apple’s headquarters).  I was nervous: Would I remember how to skate?  Would I be able to stop any pucks?  Would I be horribly outclassed?  Fortunately, everything came back to me, and everybody was close enough in skill level to make it fun.  I met not with great embarrassment but with great fun.  I plan to play frequently in the future, and I don’t plan to give it up again so long as I am physically able. Thus, a truth:

I never should have stopped.

I love playing hockey.  I harbor no illusions about my skill level; I simply play because I enjoy it.  When I moved to California, I convinced myself that I would not have time for both hockey and grad school.  I believed that the rinks were all too far away, and surely I wouldn’t be welcomed if I went.  All of that seems ludicrous now.  I’m still kicking myself for quitting.

Here’s the upshot: Don’t stop doing what you love, and if you’re not already doing it, start.

Life is too short to make compromises.  We all grow older every day, and our windows of opportunity for doing what we love are small.  Why wait?