Jonathan Dobres

Don Herbert, better known as TV’s Mr. Wizard, passed away yesterday at the age of 89.

I remember Mr. Wizard from the 80s Nickelodeon classic Mr. Wizard’s World (itself, I just learned, a revival of Herbert’s Watch Mister Wizard from the 1950s). Mr. Wizard’s science was of the gentle sort; he was the soft-spoken, professorial counterpart to Fred Rogers. He had a polite dignity, and I doubt he would ever stoop so low as to call himself a science guy. He needed none of that television harlot’s flashy tricks. Just a fridge, some salt, and an empty jar with a hole in the lid, and look what we can learn, thank you very much.

I have no idea when I saw my first episode of Mr. Wizard, or at least, I don’t remember the year or month. I do remember the time of day. I’ve never been a morning person, but on the rare occasions when I somehow managed to wake up around dawn, with no one else awake in the whole house (or the whole world, for all it mattered), my greatest pleasure was watching TV. Mundane as it sounds, it was anything but. Strange programs came on at this time of day, like something from a parallel universe. There was that one early, badly dubbed anime based on a videogame I had never played, there was my one brief, terrifying experience with a televangelist, and then there was Mr. Wizard.

Mr. Wizard’s quiet manner was already becoming a rarity in the early 90s, and it was perfectly suited to the way I watched this dawn-hour TV—secretly, and always just a click or two shy of mute. It was here, in the calm of the early morning, that I learned lessons about how ice freezes and how magnets work. Quite vividly, I remember Mr. Wizard’s demonstration of an early graphic computer. It displayed a simple, color drawing of a space shuttle. I watched enviously as that episode’s student got to move the cursor and effortlessly, miraculously, airbrush in the smoke of the liftoff and turn a brownish night into clear, blue day with a few easy clicks.

Mr. Wizard’s World started in 1983 on Nickelodeon and reran its paltry 78 episodes until 2000, making it the longest running show on a network I hardly recognize today. I’m sure that by the time it left the air it came off as more of a historical relic than an educational program, but I’m glad it was around for so long. I’ll always love the oddly surreal intro.

We rented Murderball this weekend. How good is it? On a scale of 1 to 10, I already have a copy on order from Overstock.

Murderball follows the U.S. and Canadian Quadriplegic Rugby (aka Quad Rugby, aka Quadball, aka Murderball) teams as they progress from national qualifiers to the 2004 Paralympic games in Athens. It also offers a look into the lives of people with disabilities that is remarkable for its emotional honesty. Murderball dodges the temptation to play the pity card. The movie does not look at these players and say, “Oh, how brave.” Instead it goes for, “Holy crap, badass!” As a person with a disability, I think this is perhaps the best aspect of the film. Living with a disability, any kind of disability, is not a matter of bravery. It’s just how you are and how you live.

So Murderball has frank discussions about quadriplegic sex, wheelchairs that look like they belong in Warhammer 40k, a heated rivalry between the U.S. and Canada, and the kind of pranks that only a person with no arms or legs could pull off. If you leave Murderball thinking that these people represent the power to overcome adversity and persevere in the face of great obstacles, you have not watched it the right way. You should leave the film with the impression that Mark Zupan and the other players will absolutely kick your ass any day of the week at any time of day or night. I love this movie, and critics agree. Wheelchairs and violence! Yes!

Some related links:

• The International Paralympic Association. The Paralympics are not to be confused with the Special Olympics. The Special Olympics is a very noble endeavor and does great things for people with physical and cognitive disabilities, but everyone gets a medal. Some disabled athletes find that condescending. The Paralympics, in contrast, does not allow persons with cognitive disabilities to compete, is held immediately after the mainstream Olympics at the same venues, and is intensely physical as you can get.
• Sled (or Sledge) Hockey. Take ice hockey, but put everyone in a specially designed leg skate, make the sticks smaller, and have at it. So cool. More here.
• The United States Quad Rugby Association. Warning: BAD design up ahead.

There’s been a lot of chatter around the design blogs about the NYC subway map. New York has what is arguably the most complex subway system in the world: 468 individual stops, not to mention all those different routes and schedules. Plus, this all runs beneath the New York City street grid, which is not crowded or confusing in any way. Oh, and the map needs to be useful for NYC’s many tourists.

The NYTimes has a nice little history of the subway map problems. In short, the MTA usually eschews the preferred world standard of 90 and 45 degree angles on a white background in favor of a geographically accurate overlay of the city. In the 1970s, Massimo Vignelli introduced a map that went the 90-45-white route, but since it included almost nothing of the aboveground city it proved massively unpopular, despite being easier to read. It was quickly replaced with a geographically accurate design. That brings us to Eddie Jabbour’s inspired pet project to get the best of both worlds. His map (in the comparison shots, current official map on the left, Jabbour’s project on the right) is 90-45 with a city overlay. It distorts geography to make the subway lines play nicely, but not as much as Vignelli’s map did. I particularly like that each individual route is given its own line, clustered together by color. The amount of information that needs to be presented in the NYC subway map is pretty close to ridiculous, and I think Jabbour’s version is the most readable.

If you couldn’t tell, I find the whole issue of information design and usability very interesting. Subway maps in particular are a perfect example of why this area of design is so necessary, important, and nuanced. Take Boston’s subway, for instance. In comparison to New York it’s an order of magnitude simpler. I’ve always liked the MBTA’s newest subway map, which was introduced a few years ago. Still, I have to wonder if we’d get more use out of it if, like New York’s map, it included more in the way of aboveground information. Though Boston’s transit system may appear so simple as to not warrant that level of attention, it turns into a real mess once you include the buses, and those bus maps are truly hideous to look upon (particularly the idiocy of a poorly drawn John Hancock Tower jutting up from a flat overhead map). A map that has a basic street grid, subway, and bus routes in one could be tremendously useful to Boston citizens and tourists alike. It might even get people to travel in the city more. Alas, such a project is way, way beyond my skills and free time.

That is all.

As a kid I was really into special effects. I think it started with Terminator 2. Although the visions of a white hot nuclear holocaust terrified my ten year-old self, it was the shape-shifting T1000 that first caught my eye and stuck with me. My interest in special effects persisted for many years after the image of Sarah Connor’s burning skeleton clinging to a playground fence had faded from memory. (Man, how many times in my life will I ever write a sentence that cool?)

For a while my favorite TV show was the Discovery Channel’s Movie Magic, which was like a detailed effects documentary for a different movie every week. It was a far better show than the superficial effects segments on Entertainment Tonight, where the commentary usually amounted to, “So you used a computer? Really?”

Some kids dreamed of being astronauts. Me? I wanted to work for Industrial Light and Magic. Working with computer generated imagery was expensive back then but I dabbled in whatever I could. These days I’m a humble digital warrior, using my Photoshop powers for good instead of evil. I know of at least one kid who lived the dream, Ryan Weber, whom ILM hired after the internet debut of Ryan vs. Dorkman. If you’ve never watched this unbelievably polished lightsaber duel, please do so. Now.

Sure, we all remember the glowing sci-fi broadswords and liquid metal assassins, but there’s a saying in the industry: the best special effects are the ones you never notice. So have a look at this making-of reel from Buzz Image. I’ll bet you never thought Brokeback Mountain needed effects work.

Oh, and Terminator 2? I watched it recently. The special effects still hold up.

Dear Champagne-Colored Sedan Across the Street,

While I am not the type to compose open letters to entities that are unable or unlikely to respond, I feel that your activities in the early morning of January 2nd must be addressed formally. This would be the early morning of one of my few frivolous days off.

To refresh your memory, the events to which I am referring began at precisely 4:00AM. The noise that you emitted at that hour took the form of a high pitched wail, unbroken, unrelenting, and utterly different from the standard car alarm noises that I can sleep through. We shall hereafter refer to it as The Noise. The Noise shook me from an already hard-won slumber.

I initially mistook The Noise for my alarm clock, because if you were to draw a line from my left ear to your location on the street, the line would pass right through my alarm. After mashing every dial and button on my clock (including “Adjust Brightness”) and futilely trying to muffle it under my comforter, I eventually ripped it from the wall. The Noise lived.

At this point you had been sounding your torturous note for a continuous half hour. I ruled out fire alarm, carbon monoxide detector, haywire air conditioner, and unreliable microwave. My house guest, equally perturbed by the alien wail, determined that it was a malfunctioning car horn, located somewhere within your champagne-colored hood. We longed for a sledgehammer.

We debated calling the police. Is this the sort of thing that one bothers a uniformed officer about? Apparently it is, because one arrived midway through our conversation. He was easy to see from my bedroom window, as you are located so very, very close to my building. After gazing at you as if you were a wounded puppy, gently petting your hood at one point, he returned to his vehicle, no doubt thinking, “I can’t believe I’m up at 4:30 in the morning babysitting a broken car.”

A tow truck arrived in short order. I’m sure you thought that, being parallel-parked, there was no stopping you. Humans, however, are marvels of ingenuity, and I got a distinct sense of pleasure out of watching this man attach a chain to your front bumper, roll his truck backwards, and thus un-parallel-park you. You were dislodged from the parallel position like an uncooperative baby tooth. This fixed whatever was wrong with you and The Noise ceased at 5:00AM. It was too late for apologies, however, and you were promptly towed away, never to be seen or heard from again.

I believe I speak for all the residents of my block when I say I hope they crush you into a cube and hand you back to your owner in the same boxes they use for Chinese take-out.

Sincerely,
Jonathan Dobres